Leonov

On close approach to Jupiter

"Dear Caroline," Floyd's communication to Earth began, "I miss you terribly. The time has come to put ourselves in an orbit around Io, which is where the Discovery is, and we don't have enough fuel to slow down, so we are about to use a technique called aerobraking.

"The theory is that we will enter the outer layer of Jupiter's atmosphere, using what is called a ballute for a shield. The atmosphere will slow us down, and Jupiter's gravity will grab hold of us and slingshot us around behind the far side. If all goes well, we'll wind up in a gentle orbit around Io. It's dynamite on paper. Of course, the people who came up with the numbers on the paper...aren't here. But we are.

"Since no-one has ever done this before, everyone up here is as scared as I am. The difference is...they're busy. I have nothing to do but wait for it to happen. And I hope this is all worth it.

"Whatever happens...my best wishes, and all my love, to you and Christopher. I'll be thinking of you when the manoeuvre happens.

"I love you both.

"This is Dr. Heywood Floyd, aboard Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov, signing off."

Hopefully not for the last time.

Floyd was quietly terrified, but there was nothing he could do. The entire manoeuvre was in the capable hands of Captain Kirbuk and her crew. They had practised for this, not once but many times, taking unexpected occurrences into account.

Only one training manoeuvre had ended in simulated disaster.

The crew seemed to him to be scared, but confident.

He truly wished he could share that confidence.

Dr. Floyd's quarters

Aerobraking in 2 minutes

"Aerobraking in two minutes. Two minutes to aerobraking," came the PA announcement. Floyd took a shuddering breath and settled back.

"One minute, fifty seconds."

Floyd fixed his gaze on the photo of Caroline and a laughing Christopher. It was his favourite.

Half seriously, two days before departure a tipsy Caroline had offered to take some explicit if not obscene nude photos of herself as a sexy reminder of what he was leaving behind. She had no idea how badly he'd been tempted to accept her offer, half-joking though it was. God, she was so beautiful. Just picturing her, whatever she was wearing, gave him a raging hard-on. Caroline could look sexy in a lab coat.

"One minute, forty seconds."

As he sat and worried, crew members were sealing airtight bulkheads as a safety precaution. Responding to the command crew's orders, Leonov began rotating 180º as she positioned herself for the planned manoeuvre.

"One minute, thirty seconds."

More doors were sealed.

"One minute, twenty seconds."

The bridge

Captain Kirbuk was manipulating controls, as were other crew members. Since Dr. Floyd was not present, they could and did proceed in Russian for added efficiency.

"One minute, ten seconds."

All was well so far.

"Aerobraking in one minute," Orlov announced. The Captain acknowledged.

"Deploy ballute," she ordered, and Orlov complied.

The protective covers were jettisoned, and the ballute inflated, emblazoned with Leonov's insignia even though no-one could see them. As her designers had known, the crew knew they were there. It was enough.

"Aerobraking in fifty seconds."

"Ballute is deployed," Kirbuk reported, though Orlov already knew this from the telemetry. "All systems nominal."

"Lenin preserve us," Max murmured. Kirbuk heard, but did not rebuke him. During an untested manoeuvre, she knew they would need all the help they could get.

Stay strong, tovarishch, she thought to herself. Ilyana, I love you dearly. I pray for your sake that this will work.

"Forty seconds."

Outside Floyd's quarters, a young woman stood nervously. Other than Dr. Rudenko, she was the only crew member who had not been assigned official duty during aerobraking. By rights she should have retired to her quarters, as Dr. Floyd had. But for the first time in her life she couldn't bear to be alone.

She had no idea if the American would accept her presence, but she had no choice. She was so frightened she wanted to wet herself. In his unofficial position as ship's counsellor, Dr. Rudenko had attempted to console her yesterday, but even he had to admit that aerobraking was by definition an untried and therefore unproven manoeuvre. No-one was absolutely sure it would even work. The theory was beautiful, but it was just that: a theory.

If it did not work, Leonov would burn up in Jupiter's upper atmosphere.

Rudenko conceded that Irina's fears were real and justified. Lenin's Ghost, he shared them.

Her fear shamed her greatly, even though it was natural and understandable. But she doubted Captain Kirbuk would understand. As a Soviet officer, she was accustomed to danger and had faced it many times before.

But Irina had not. She had jumped at the chance to accompany Leonov; her mission offered much glory and, it was hoped, an answer to the riddle of what the Russian press had come to call Zagadka, the Enigma - or the Monolith, as the Americans called it.

She had, however, only understood in theory what aerobraking meant. She hadn't considered what it would mean for her.

How frightening it would be.

She really needed the lavatory.

I must try, she resolved.

She keyed the release mechanism for the door.

Abruptly the door slid open. Floyd was startled to see a young crew member there. It was Irina Yakunina, if he recalled correctly; her dark brown hair was in a careful, neat crop. She looked cute...usually.

"Thirty seconds."

Right now, though, she looked as scared as he felt. She was sweating with fear. Her eyes pleaded with him; almost by reflex he hurriedly unfastened the restraints and allowed her to snuggle up to him. Irina held him close; she was trembling uncontrollably. He braced her head and reapplied the restraints.

"Twenty seconds."

Floyd knew all too well why she was there: she was terrified, but ashamed to face her countrymen (not that he could blame her for either), and so she turned instead to the only outsider aboard who might offer her comfort and support during the aerobraking.

"Ten seconds."

In a way, he was flattered. For all the sheen of sweat he could see, she was darkly attractive. "You speak English?" he asked. It was a natural question; most crew members he'd met so far could speak it fluently.

But she shook her head, though she had at least understood his question from context. "No. No English," she answered. Her accent was, as usual, thick but lovely.

Figures, he thought. Be hard to carry out any hanky-panky if we don't speak the same language, even if I wanted to - and even if we weren't aerobraking and likely to flash into vapour at any time. Caroline, my love, I hope you'll understand: she's just a scared kid turning to me because there's no-one else.

He recalled her personality profile. God, the poor kid was only 23 - young enough to be his daughter. He wondered if she had a boyfriend (or a girlfriend; even Russia had to have lesbians, surely), and what they thought Irina was doing. He just held her as Dr. Orlov's countdown continued, in English as a gesture of courtesy to him.

"Eight. Seven. Six."

During the last few seconds of the countdown, Kirbuk and her comrades fastened their safety belts. Leonov was now in the hands of the aerospace gods. No manoeuvring was possible during aerobraking.

"Five. Four."

All was prepared.

"Three. Two. One."

Max was right. Lenin preserve us. Stalin watch over us. All hail Mother Russia.

"Zero."

With that, the aerobraking began, exactly on schedule. That, the Captain thought, was a good sign.

Leonov's structural members began making a horrible groaning sound as the torsion warped them; their metal shrieked. The entire ship shook.

Outside the craft, the tremendous heat generated by atmospheric friction ignited the hydrogen in their immediate vicinity, fuelled by the scant oxygen in Jupiter's atmosphere, and Leonov was engulfed in flame. But this had been anticipated; her hull was fireproof. The ballute was holding its pressure despite the enormous forces acting on it.

As they passed, the wake of their passage was limned in fiery flame.

Leonov continued on her fiery path, slowing all the while. The flames were attempting to reach and vaporise her, but the ballute was doing its job of keeping them at bay. Captain Kirbuk cried out instructions her comrades could barely hear over the incredible noise. But gradually it receded, as the vessel slowed more and more. As her temperature dropped below critical, the flames went out.

Dr. Orlov took a velocity reading. It was within 0.0001% of that calculated. He decided joyfully that he could live with such a tiny error. "We have...made it," he reported, breathing heavily. "Bojemoi."

"Confirmed," Max nodded. "All systems read stable. Structural member distortion is minimal, and precisely as predicted. We are 100% operational, Captain."

Bathed in sweat, Kirbuk briefly found it in her to relax. They had successfully completed the first ever aerobraking, confirming the theory to the last decimal place. She gave thanks to Leonov's design engineers for creating such a tough ship. Then she became all business again. "Eject ballute," she ordered calmly. "We shall not need it again."

Dr. Orlov nodded and complied. The balloons were ejected, travelling swiftly away. They would be captured by Jupiter's gravity and pulled in. Leonov, however, was free to manoeuvre towards Io and her objective.

"Reorient us to face along our orbital trajectory," Kirbuk finished.

"Da," Orlov replied.

Dr. Floyd's quarters

Neither had moved for a while, but the noise was gone. Apparently they'd made it. Seems the guys who put the numbers on the paper put the right numbers there. Way to go, guys, he thought, relieved. He'd have to tell Caroline and Chris; they'd be worried, bless them.

He looked down at the still-trembling Russian, though she too was breathing a sigh of relief. He had an impulse to stroke her brunette crop, but it would be inappropriate...and never mind the fact that she was in here at all. "Okay?" Floyd asked Irina.

Shakily she nodded. Again she had understood the context. A tear trickled down her soft youthful cheek. "Da. Okay," she whispered. He unlocked the restraints to release her. She started to make her way out. As he settled back she paused, turned back and kissed him on the cheek. Thank you, she said wordlessly. Or spaseba, to be more accurate.

Without a word, she left. Floyd let out a breath.

What, he wondered, would Caroline have made of that, huh? Mmm, I gotta admit I like the scent of her sweat. Whoever gets her, if no-one has already, s/he is gonna be one lucky Russkie.

Irina Yakunina's quarters

Shortly after

Once Irina was safe in her quarters again, the first thing she did was to use the lavatory; she had never needed to pee more in her entire life. Even during her training she had never been so afraid. She took a shower to wash off the stink of fear and resolved never to mention it to her comrades.

She touched her full 34B breasts, feeling warm at the memory of the gracious American who had offered unconditional support to her. Irina knew he was married, and wished his wife well. Did they have children? She had no idea, but she hoped so.

Irina's hand slid between her legs, caressing her copious dark brown pubic hair. Before joining the CCCP, she had debated posing nude for We Are Hairy, knowing she would fit in well as its subscribers liked women who seldom or never shaved or even trimmed their genitals. She had hairy armpits, too, as she preferred her scent when she went unshaven. At 17 she had tried shaving, only to abandon it when she started to smell bad. She hadn't shaved her armpits since.

Under better circumstances, she might well have made a pass at Dr. Floyd, even whilst involved with Tomir Pushkin. He was handsome and very attractive for an older man. She tended to like them. Yuri Romanoff, a man old enough to be her grandfather, had taken her virginity when she was but 16 years of age - to be more accurate, she had happily given it away.

When she was 12, her periods had started. Mama had lectured her about sex, and exhorted her to pop her cherry only with a man who cared about her. "If he gets you wet, he cares, Irina," Mama had told her. "If he doesn't, run far away, child, for he does not deserve your cherry."

Yuri had gotten her so wet as she had eagerly spread her long legs wide, and she had come so hard as he'd licked, frigged and then fucked her. Masturbation was nice, but it could never compare to sex.

He had been so gentle with her.

In a gesture of celebration of the life she still enjoyed, she masturbated in the shower, climaxing hard as she imagined Yuri and Dr. Floyd taking turns to screw her, then Yuri was spit-roasting her, fucking her hard from behind as she eagerly sucked Dr. Floyd's cock. Luckily no-one heard (at least, so she thought). She was soaking wet from more than just the shower as she came, her pink nipples rock-hard.

Almost embarrassed by her own lurid fantasies, she resolved never to mention the incident to Dr. Floyd, either.

But she would always be grateful to him for his kindness.

She was well-educated in all areas save the linguistic, but she had lied to Floyd - she at least knew a little English.

Lenin keep you, tovarishch. Or as Americans would say, God bless you.

With that thought, she dried herself, dressed in her nightwear and fell asleep.

Outside, Captain Kirbuk smiled fondly. She had been well aware of poor Irina's fear, but she had been at a loss as to how to comfort her. But the CCTV camera in Dr. Floyd's room, the one he didn't know about for security reasons, had shown her clinging to him in her understandable terror. So she had found a constructive way to deal with it instead of succumbing to panic. She was touched by Dr. Floyd's unAmerican kindness. She had also been a little turned on upon hearing Irina masturbating. Atypically for a Russian, she enjoyed porn.

And though she would never, ever admit it to anyone, she too had been frightened enough during the manoeuvre to wet herself. She could and did sympathise with Irina, the youngest member of her crew but no less competent for it.

Now, though, she had ship's business to conduct. Their orbit was precisely as calculated, a tribute to the Russian mathematicians who had conceived and designed the manoeuvre. Thus Discovery was close at hand.

Discovery… and the Monolith.

She peed first, though.

Heywood and Caroline's home

An hour later

"Dear Caroline, it worked. The aerobraking manoeuvre came off exactly as calculated. Leonov is just fine, and so am I - just thought I'd give you a quick heads-up, so you wouldn't worry. Looks like the Russians know what they're doing. We've settled into the nice gentle orbit as planned, and we're headed towards Discovery. Chandra and Curnow will be revived tomorrow, so I won't feel so isolated. I gotta tell you, the Russians aren't as friendly as I hoped.

"My love to you both, sweetheart. Take care.

"This is Dr. Heywood Floyd, signing off."

Caroline breathed a sigh of relief. Heywood was okay.

"Did they make it?" Chris asked.

She hugged him. "Yes, honey, they did. The Russians know what they're doing."

"Tom at school said Russian ships used to be death traps."

She shook her head. "No, that was in the early days. They've moved on a lot since then. The Leonov is the best ship they could build. There's nothing to worry about, Christopher."

With all her heart, she was trying to believe that.