Science Fiction: The Last Astronauts
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It took almost another hour to finish prepping the flight. Zagovich, myself, and Pavel all crammed into the tiny re-entry vehicle. We were fully suited for a long spacewalk, and expected fully to do just that. Without much peremptory activity, we began the launch sequence.
“All systems are nominal and on the line,” Zagovich called to the station, where Captain Jackson was acting as our groundside control.
“Flight One, you are clear for launch. Good luck boys.” It had suddenly struck me that, there we were, three men all crammed into a tiny capsule of air and about to be jettisoned across the sky to another tiny capsule, all based on twenty year old photographs taken by an alcoholic engineer from Russia. What the hell were we thinking? Thinking was the one thing I soon ran out of time for, though.
“Launch in three, two, one, go!” Zagovich punctuated his last word with a flourishing punch of the launch release button. Nervous energy forced another untimely chortle out of me. I felt like an Irish soccer fan on an all night pub crawl. Puddled out of my mind.
“Good, lets get over with!” came the ebullient retort from Pavel. He must have downed the entire flask before they sealed him into his suit. Nobody even cared.
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