TonyHarmsworth
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- Feb 7, 2016
- Messages
- 82
This is a first chapter of a book I would like to submit to publishers soon. Please pick holes, but most importantly I need to know if I'm using too much passive writing.
Book description: Specialist astronaut Evelyn Slater encounters a badly damaged, ancient alien artefact on the first ever space junk elimination mission.
A security clampdown is imposed by the USA, Russian and European governments. Evelyn leads a team of hand-picked scientists who make amazing discoveries within the alien device.
Secrecy is impossible to maintain and she becomes embroiled in international politics as the existence of the alien emissary is announced to the world.
Chapter: I was strapped into a seat moulded to the shape of my body but I no longer needed its support and the same harness was now restraining me, holding me tightly to prevent me floating away. I didn't care. I was captivated more by the view than the seat's restraining belts. I was unable to divert my gaze from the small circular window.
Silence descended upon the three of us, broken only by some words in Russian and the crackle of the communication system.
There was the expected, yet still disconcerting sense of falling. The feeling we had reached the pinnacle of a devilish roller-coaster which, at any moment, would rush headlong along the downward slope back towards Earth.
But it wasn’t a roller-coaster. I was in a Soyuz spacecraft and I would not be hurtling earthwards – well not for seven months, anyway.
The vista of Earth was stunning, the land green and brown, the clouds brilliant white and the sea was the most vibrant and azure blue. The whole sat in an ocean of jet-black. The curvature of the Earth was another phenomenon I was expecting, yet seeing it first hand was an awe-inspiring experience.
“Вы все в порядке, Ева?”
I snapped out of my trance, Yuri, our commander, a bullish man with a shaved head, had asked if I was okay, “Yes. Да.”
He was worried about my quietness and I told him it was the view which had stunned me into silence. He laughed.
I returned to watching the astonishing scene which floated past my eyes. Remarkable. I was going to love my time on the International Space Station.
There was more Russian radio dialogue between Roscosmos and the ship. Learning Russian was an essential part of our training. It was difficult as I do not have an affinity for languages.
Yuri Bulgakov switched to English, but with a thick Russian accent, “Hello ISS. Soyuz MS-87 here. Over.”
Africa and the Mediterranean slipped away to the left, the Sahara standing out, a vast cloud-free expanse of desert. I listened but the view seduced me and I could not turn from the porthole.
At any moment, normal weight might return and ease my queasy stomach, but of course there would only be spasmodic weight now until I returned home in time for Christmas.
The radio, sprang into life, “That you Yuri? Mike here. How’re you guys doing?”
“Hi Mike, yes me again. Bringing some professionalism to you American spacemen who still have no spaceship!”
A chuckle emanated from the speakers. The smiling round-faced Russian told me it was normal to wind the Americans up about the demise of their shuttle and the delays in their new low-Earth launch vehicle which was due into service in 2025, but was still undergoing tests two years later.
“We are about to change orbit. See you in a few hours.”
“Okay. Copy that. We’ll put the dinner on.”
“Roger that. Will speak soon, Mike.”
Yuri pressed a couple of buttons, switched back to Russian and told Roscosmos he was in contact with the ISS.
Roscosmos acknowledged his message as a cloud streaked Russia passed across my field of view and the shadow of night appeared on the right.
A jerk caused me to grab my armrest. For a horrible moment, I believed I was falling instead of being in freefall. Zinaida Sobolevskaya, a more rotund version of myself and the third crew member, had fired a jet to raise our orbit to the next level. Weight returned for a short while.
I was a square peg during this part of the mission as the computers, monitored by Zinaida and Yuri, carried out all the control functions on our approach. I was merely a passenger, travelling to the ISS to continue my research into space junk.
More thrusts. On each occasion, there was the disturbing movement of my internal organs to compensate for the vectors being applied to the ship.
“ISS. We have aligned. On course. It is excellent trajectory. Copy?”
“Looking good Yuri.”
There was another burn. A short side-burn to take the Soyuz out of the ISS’s plane to prevent a collision if the retro jets failed.
“Side burn complete,” confirmed Yuri, his piercing blue eyes flashing at me with the excitement of the launch achieving its orbit.
“Copy that.”
Unimportant Russian chatter continued, while I peered at the night side of Earth and its ribbon of sparkling jewels. I knew these spangled clusters were towns and cities lining the rivers and highways beneath. Celestial jewellery.
“KURS locked on,” said Yuri, confirming a positive lock on the ISS. Now the approach was automatic.
“Copy that.”
“Rotational burn complete.”
“Copy that.”
“Docking probe unlocked. He is extended.”
“Copy that.”
Now we faced a long slow approach taking an hour or so. I had more time to indulge myself with the view.
“Eva, look at here. You can see station,” Yuri said using the Russian version of my name and pointing at his main screen upon which a tiny spot sat at the centre of a pair of dotted cross wires.
I glanced at it for a few seconds, but I was almost immediately drawn back to the view of the sun breaking over the curvature of the planet. Amazing. Sixteen sunrises each day.
Gradually the Soyuz approached the gigantic framework of the International Space Station. Some of the structure was visible through my porthole. Yuri pulled out the manual docking controls in case of emergency. If anything were to go wrong with the automatic system, he would take over. The ISS now filled the view screen.
The Soyuz was not aligned with the docking port yet and there were a series of burns to change our attitude and bring the spaceship into position.
“30 metres.”
“Copy that.”
The docking hatch on the station grew larger until it filled the screen.
“Have contact,” he said.
“Copy that, Yuri.”
There was a slight push from behind, plus a judder as the docking probe settled into its hole and the hatch seals started to close.
The sealing procedure was lengthy, taking almost an hour to ensure all the clamps were properly tightened. Yuri monitored the process from the upper module of the spaceship. Finally, the hatch was pulled away from before us. There was a slight equalising of pressure and Yuri asked, “Permission to come aboard, sir!”
“Permission granted,” Mike Wilson’s American accent sounding much more human now it no longer passed through the electronics of the communication system.
Zinaida waved me through before her. Grabbing my small pouch of personal items, I pulled myself into the Soyuz orbital module and there was Mike’s familiar ebony-skinned, smiling face on the other side of the constricted access hatch.
“Welcome to the ISS, Eve,” Mike offered a hand and pulled on me to help me through into the docking module.
Another face appeared behind him. Dr. Brian Gregory of Caltech’s overweight figure strangely graceful floating in mid-air before me.
“Lovely to see you again, Brian. Great place to meet up.”
“Yes Eve, a better venue than the Caltech coffee shop,” he laughed and we embraced briefly.
I watched Mike’s lanky legs finding their way ahead of me. Brian followed them and I tried to keep up.
I couldn’t believe I was here, aboard the space station. It had taken more than a decade. Five years of dreaming and hoping, four years of hard work and another two years of detailed planning and intensive training.
My reminiscing ended prematurely as a siren sounded.
Mike shouted, “Quick, follow me!”
Within a few seconds there were several of us pulling ourselves through the corridors of the space station. We were under attack and the enemy was invisible.
Book description: Specialist astronaut Evelyn Slater encounters a badly damaged, ancient alien artefact on the first ever space junk elimination mission.
A security clampdown is imposed by the USA, Russian and European governments. Evelyn leads a team of hand-picked scientists who make amazing discoveries within the alien device.
Secrecy is impossible to maintain and she becomes embroiled in international politics as the existence of the alien emissary is announced to the world.
Chapter: I was strapped into a seat moulded to the shape of my body but I no longer needed its support and the same harness was now restraining me, holding me tightly to prevent me floating away. I didn't care. I was captivated more by the view than the seat's restraining belts. I was unable to divert my gaze from the small circular window.
Silence descended upon the three of us, broken only by some words in Russian and the crackle of the communication system.
There was the expected, yet still disconcerting sense of falling. The feeling we had reached the pinnacle of a devilish roller-coaster which, at any moment, would rush headlong along the downward slope back towards Earth.
But it wasn’t a roller-coaster. I was in a Soyuz spacecraft and I would not be hurtling earthwards – well not for seven months, anyway.
The vista of Earth was stunning, the land green and brown, the clouds brilliant white and the sea was the most vibrant and azure blue. The whole sat in an ocean of jet-black. The curvature of the Earth was another phenomenon I was expecting, yet seeing it first hand was an awe-inspiring experience.
“Вы все в порядке, Ева?”
I snapped out of my trance, Yuri, our commander, a bullish man with a shaved head, had asked if I was okay, “Yes. Да.”
He was worried about my quietness and I told him it was the view which had stunned me into silence. He laughed.
I returned to watching the astonishing scene which floated past my eyes. Remarkable. I was going to love my time on the International Space Station.
There was more Russian radio dialogue between Roscosmos and the ship. Learning Russian was an essential part of our training. It was difficult as I do not have an affinity for languages.
Yuri Bulgakov switched to English, but with a thick Russian accent, “Hello ISS. Soyuz MS-87 here. Over.”
Africa and the Mediterranean slipped away to the left, the Sahara standing out, a vast cloud-free expanse of desert. I listened but the view seduced me and I could not turn from the porthole.
At any moment, normal weight might return and ease my queasy stomach, but of course there would only be spasmodic weight now until I returned home in time for Christmas.
The radio, sprang into life, “That you Yuri? Mike here. How’re you guys doing?”
“Hi Mike, yes me again. Bringing some professionalism to you American spacemen who still have no spaceship!”
A chuckle emanated from the speakers. The smiling round-faced Russian told me it was normal to wind the Americans up about the demise of their shuttle and the delays in their new low-Earth launch vehicle which was due into service in 2025, but was still undergoing tests two years later.
“We are about to change orbit. See you in a few hours.”
“Okay. Copy that. We’ll put the dinner on.”
“Roger that. Will speak soon, Mike.”
Yuri pressed a couple of buttons, switched back to Russian and told Roscosmos he was in contact with the ISS.
Roscosmos acknowledged his message as a cloud streaked Russia passed across my field of view and the shadow of night appeared on the right.
A jerk caused me to grab my armrest. For a horrible moment, I believed I was falling instead of being in freefall. Zinaida Sobolevskaya, a more rotund version of myself and the third crew member, had fired a jet to raise our orbit to the next level. Weight returned for a short while.
I was a square peg during this part of the mission as the computers, monitored by Zinaida and Yuri, carried out all the control functions on our approach. I was merely a passenger, travelling to the ISS to continue my research into space junk.
More thrusts. On each occasion, there was the disturbing movement of my internal organs to compensate for the vectors being applied to the ship.
“ISS. We have aligned. On course. It is excellent trajectory. Copy?”
“Looking good Yuri.”
There was another burn. A short side-burn to take the Soyuz out of the ISS’s plane to prevent a collision if the retro jets failed.
“Side burn complete,” confirmed Yuri, his piercing blue eyes flashing at me with the excitement of the launch achieving its orbit.
“Copy that.”
Unimportant Russian chatter continued, while I peered at the night side of Earth and its ribbon of sparkling jewels. I knew these spangled clusters were towns and cities lining the rivers and highways beneath. Celestial jewellery.
“KURS locked on,” said Yuri, confirming a positive lock on the ISS. Now the approach was automatic.
“Copy that.”
“Rotational burn complete.”
“Copy that.”
“Docking probe unlocked. He is extended.”
“Copy that.”
Now we faced a long slow approach taking an hour or so. I had more time to indulge myself with the view.
“Eva, look at here. You can see station,” Yuri said using the Russian version of my name and pointing at his main screen upon which a tiny spot sat at the centre of a pair of dotted cross wires.
I glanced at it for a few seconds, but I was almost immediately drawn back to the view of the sun breaking over the curvature of the planet. Amazing. Sixteen sunrises each day.
Gradually the Soyuz approached the gigantic framework of the International Space Station. Some of the structure was visible through my porthole. Yuri pulled out the manual docking controls in case of emergency. If anything were to go wrong with the automatic system, he would take over. The ISS now filled the view screen.
The Soyuz was not aligned with the docking port yet and there were a series of burns to change our attitude and bring the spaceship into position.
“30 metres.”
“Copy that.”
The docking hatch on the station grew larger until it filled the screen.
“Have contact,” he said.
“Copy that, Yuri.”
There was a slight push from behind, plus a judder as the docking probe settled into its hole and the hatch seals started to close.
The sealing procedure was lengthy, taking almost an hour to ensure all the clamps were properly tightened. Yuri monitored the process from the upper module of the spaceship. Finally, the hatch was pulled away from before us. There was a slight equalising of pressure and Yuri asked, “Permission to come aboard, sir!”
“Permission granted,” Mike Wilson’s American accent sounding much more human now it no longer passed through the electronics of the communication system.
Zinaida waved me through before her. Grabbing my small pouch of personal items, I pulled myself into the Soyuz orbital module and there was Mike’s familiar ebony-skinned, smiling face on the other side of the constricted access hatch.
“Welcome to the ISS, Eve,” Mike offered a hand and pulled on me to help me through into the docking module.
Another face appeared behind him. Dr. Brian Gregory of Caltech’s overweight figure strangely graceful floating in mid-air before me.
“Lovely to see you again, Brian. Great place to meet up.”
“Yes Eve, a better venue than the Caltech coffee shop,” he laughed and we embraced briefly.
I watched Mike’s lanky legs finding their way ahead of me. Brian followed them and I tried to keep up.
I couldn’t believe I was here, aboard the space station. It had taken more than a decade. Five years of dreaming and hoping, four years of hard work and another two years of detailed planning and intensive training.
My reminiscing ended prematurely as a siren sounded.
Mike shouted, “Quick, follow me!”
Within a few seconds there were several of us pulling ourselves through the corridors of the space station. We were under attack and the enemy was invisible.
