Got up in a good mood, especially since interesting work is starting — preparation for the “Egress,” that is, the spacewalk. We cleared the transfer compartment (TKhO) of movie and photo equipment, bags, sacks of return cargo, maps, binoculars, sights, porthole adapters, so nothing would get in our way during the EVA. We pulled the spacesuits from behind the panels of the working compartment, where they were stored, and moved them to the transfer compartment. We inspected the spacesuits and tested their systems. The water-cooling garment (KVO) had lost quite a bit of water through evaporation, so we had to refill it. Then we purged air bubbles from the water — there weren’t many.

No large ones, and the small ones, like mercury droplets about 1-2 mm in diameter, about 10 of them, spinning in the separator without merging, easily entered the ejection funnel along with some water into a special container.

Here I’d like to say a bit about the KVO cooling garment we put on before entering the spacesuit. It’s a knitted mesh coverall with a hood, through whose large cells transparent plastic tubes are threaded in serpentine fashion, totaling about 100 meters. Through these tubes, which press snugly against the body, water circulates in the cooling circuit, drawing off excess heat from the entire body surface, including the head, and rejecting it in a heat exchanger that uses the principle of evaporating water into vacuum from a secondary water circuit. This way the spacesuit maintains a comfortable thermal regime for the body.

Then we installed the carbon dioxide absorption cartridges, oxygen bottles, and moisture collectors. We put on the suits, checked their airtightness, and adjusted them for size. Now the spacesuits are ready for work. They float through the transfer compartment like two brothers-in-arms — one with blue stripes, the other with red. Blue is mine, red is Tolya’s. We filmed the entire equipment preparation process with the movie camera. Then we set the suit attachment fixtures in the starting position for the EVA and locked the suits into them.

During the day we did a TV broadcast, congratulating the Adygea Autonomous Republic on its 50th anniversary — Tolya is from there. It’s funny how life works: several years ago I happened to visit that republic and stayed in the village of Enem, never imagining that my next flight would be with a guy from the very same village.

We worked hard all day and enjoyed it. In the evening we decided to try the electronic photometer (EFO) again, but since it’s hard to identify stars through its viewfinder because of the narrow field of view, we cut a piece from the vacuum cleaner tube and attached it to the instrument — there’s your finder scope.

Today I had a good workout on the cycle ergometer, up to the fifth switch — the maximum load of 1,300 kGm, comparable to riding a bicycle uphill on a steep grade.

I worked up a sweat. Sweat doesn’t drip here — it hangs in a band across the forehead and sways like a jellyfish in time with your movements.

We’re eating apples and tomatoes, just like on Earth. The station is a mess right now: bags of equipment hang on the scientific apparatus module (ONA). The transfer chamber (PRK) is packed with regenerators and absorbers; the transport ship is also packed with regenerators and EDV containers. Only the transfer compartment looks tidy and spacious — nothing extra.

The wheat in Oasis is shooting up by leaps and bounds.

It’s pleasant to watch it grow — it’s life. In the second plant container, where peas were sown, the sprouts are just breaking through, and with the onion bulbs meant for the experiment, we got ourselves into a funny situation. About a week after we were supposed to plant them, the biologist comes on the line and asks: “How are the plants behaving?” We told him. Then he asks: “And the onion?”

We answered that it’s fine, growing. In reality, while sorting through the cargo ship supplies, we found rye bread and a nicely sharpened kitchen knife.

Good for them. A real treat. We each ate a slice of bread. How wonderful. We see the onion bulbs lying there, the ones we’re supposed to grow. We couldn’t resist and ate them with bread and salt — so tasty, just hit the spot. Time passes; they ask again how the onion’s doing — we answer: it’s growing. And the leaves are big? Big, we say.

Once, to the question “Any flower stalks on the onion yet?”, without thinking, I answered that yes, there are. I noticed — or rather, felt — some commotion on the line. Tolya says: “Valya, flower stalks — those are the onion’s blossoms.” Oh my — we’d spun such a tale, we were on the verge of a sensation. After all, onion had never bloomed in space before. We quickly asked them to get the biologist on a private channel, and we told him: “For God’s sake, don’t make a fuss — we ate your onion.” What can you do. We laughed and promised we’d definitely grow the next batch.

Tolya says we still have 4 months to fly. I look at him — he’s gone quiet. Thinking. Tomorrow is medical day; the doctors will give us a thorough examination before the spacewalk.