Fuel transfer is underway. The ground does most of it; we just monitor. Did a lot of geology work today. It’s very interesting to observe the Earth, her face, when from our altitude you can see 2,000 km to the right and left of the ground track. We continue to study in detail the regions around the Caspian, the Aral, and Balkhash. From Cheleken toward the southern shore of the Caspian on its eastern side, a lineament extends in ridges of dark brown color, bordered by light patches along its edges.

The lighting is remarkable, since it changes the colors and relief — this mountain formation along the coastline at low Sun becomes literally black. Solid blackness. Photographed it.

I’ve plotted so many faults on the map that it should probably crack soon itself. In the Volgograd area, forest tracts are stretched in a line from south to north. I need to consult the geologists about what this might mean. Then I learned they’re forest belts planted back in the fifties as a measure against dry winds and dust storms. They’ve grown so much by now that they’re easily visible from orbit and show up on space imagery. I started looking at the middle Volga and Ukraine. The Far East has no clear weather.

I’m still poorly oriented there. We approach Baikal — it’s clear, but the southwestern part is somewhat polluted. Along the southern and southwestern shores, the water is greenish-yellow for 5-10 km. Algal bloom. Clouds are reflected in Baikal, in its blue expanse. How calm it is! We pass into the Primorye region. The confluence of the Zeya and the Amur is very beautiful. I see an interesting effect — breaks in the cloud cover and their shadows create the impression of a chasm.

During the day there was a TV broadcast. We congratulated Tolya’s daughter on her birthday. She turned 8. We made a cake out of bread packets, used felt-tip pens instead of candles, and simulated flame tips with foil. There were electric candles too — we set up 4 flashlights, and behind them placed a mirror so their reflections made 8 (her age). We hung colorful balloons, rode around on the vacuum cleaner, floated on a balloon by its string. In short, we entertained the girl on television.

Beregovoy came on the line and showed us the French decorations we’d been awarded. We drank tea for the birthday, had tomatoes and apples with lemon. We planted fresh green onion shoots. We planted three bulbs and consumed one. We nearly finished unloading the cargo ship; only the regenerators remain, we’ll finish tomorrow.

My left finger has started to fester; I swabbed it with rubbing alcohol from the medicine kit. When you climb into the cargo ship to remove some unit, sometimes you end up in such a position that you think you’ll never get back out — while you were working, some structural member that’s already been detached floats over and jams the hatch or exit, and you’re ready to cry.

At last we found the letters. They’d put them in container No. 32, at the very bottom — you’d never find them right away. When I got to them — what joy!

Six letters from Mama, two from Lyusya, one from my sister, one from Vitalik, and from friends. So pleasant to read. And we got newspapers too. The orchids the crew brought us have finished blooming and shed their petals; only the skeleton and two last little flowers remain.

Today I noticed that Lake Balkhash is the beginning of a fault. One tail of the lake curves toward southern Kazakhstan, and the other toward the southeast, continuing in a chain of lakes on Mongolian territory. They are similarly elongated, as though completing Balkhash’s shape, and are connected by a dark strip of a sand-buried fault, like a knife scar.