One minute to LOS, You’re go all the way.

“Copy that.”

Soyuz, Houston, ten seconds.

“See you round the corner…”

Henry watched the clock, intently. At precisely 65:54:05 — two days and seventeen hours from Earth — static filled his headset.

“My God,” he said. “Right to the second.”

Geena laughed. “Aw, they probably just turned off the radio to make us feel better.”

Henry felt awed by the careless accuracy of the moment. To think that human beings could dig out this shell of metal and plastic, of Earth materials, wrap it around themselves and hurl it across space all the way to the Moon and arrive to the second.

Arkady and Geena began the checklist for the burn, working carefully and slowly, swapping languages all the time. They seemed doubly careful not to make any mistakes now, out of sight of the Earth.

The celestial geometry adjusted smoothly, the two great beacons of Earth and sun shifting steadily around the sky, illuminating the battered Moon. Through Henry’s window, the crescent of sunlit Moon ground grew, narrowing still, until it dwarfed the fleeing craft; and at last it narrowed to invisibility.

…And, quite suddenly, the craft was enveloped in darkness, in the shadow of the Moon.

It was the first time in three days Soyuz hadn’t been bathed in unfiltered sunlight. He craned towards his window. As his eyes dark-adapted, he could see stars, emerging from the gloom, each of them shining with a steady, gemlike brilliance. And, where the sun had been, the Moon was a giant, perfect hole in the star field — no, he saw now as his eyes adapted, not complete darkness: Earthlight played here, making the craters shine blue-black, like ghosts of themselves.

But, ahead of him, maybe a third of the lunar disc was in true darkness. It was the double shadow, the place neither Earthlight nor sunlight reached, as dark as any place in the Solar System.

Only the Apollo astronauts had known this experience before.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck.

“…Translation control power, on.”

“On, Geena.”

“Rotational hand controller number two, armed.”

“Armed.”

“Stand by for the primary TVC check.”

“Three minutes to the burn. We are still go, Geena…”

The ventilation hummed, the fans whirred, the machinery gleamed, mundane sights and sounds, as if he was in the guts of some immense pc; after three days they were enveloped in a persistent aroma of Russian cabbage and stale farts.

But there was nothing mundane about where he was, a warm pink body, sailing through the shadow of the Moon.

Come on, Henry, he thought. You aren’t supposed to feel like this.

There was an explosion of light. Henry craned to see.

Far ahead of the craft, the sun was rising over the Moon.