In the morning we went over our contingency actions with Oleg Tsygankov. It’s now 4 PM. I’m lying in bed. Read “Nedelya” — need to sleep, since we get up at 11 PM and early in the morning I’ll open the door to space. My mood this morning was poor.
Today I asked whether a family meeting was scheduled; they told me it was, but audio only, no television, because over Soviet territory at that time we’ll be passing in the Far East region, and the “Molniya” satellite relay channel will be occupied. I asked the ground for the settings to load into the gyroscopes for programmed station maneuvers, so that during the EVA the station would be rotated such that while I work outside, the Sun would shine on my back and not blind me. The ground asked me not to let go of the handrails and to stay on the safety tether.
Today we were told over the link that station “Salyut-6,” launched on September 29, 1977, has ceased to exist, entering the atmosphere over the Pacific Ocean. Before that, there had been discussion of raising its orbit to give it a lifetime of several years — preserving the station as a relic that inaugurated piloted “Intercosmos” — and returning it to Earth when the capability appeared.
Just now I went and disassembled the air duct between the transfer compartment and the working compartment, had lunch, and lay down. My weight keeps dropping. What’s happening to me? Today I weighed myself: even lighter — 70 kg. I try to eat more, and my appetite seems fine. I sense that Tolya, too, understands that in a few hours this is no joke — serious, dangerous work lies ahead. Everything seems done, everything stowed and checked one more time. Now the main thing is: stay calm, don’t rush, and don’t jump the gun. I’m sure everything will go well. I look at the photograph of Vitalka — my dear boy; he’s always looking at me slightly upward, with a smile at the corners of his lips and love in his eyes. It’s remarkable how his face changes with my mood — now it’s tender, now mocking, now stern. Time to rest.
10 PM. Didn’t sleep at all. Thoughts, thoughts — about home, the flight, work, friends. I should sleep, at least a little, but I couldn’t fall asleep; instead I got the pleasure, or rather the delight, of being lost in thought. Tolya is already up — apparently he slept badly too. He floats over to me and says: “Good morning,” though it’s 10 at night; we got up an hour ahead of the scheduled wake-up. I thought it was only I who couldn’t sleep. For today I will cross the threshold of our orbital home.
This imminent reality feels surreal — that it happens today, not “someday.” There’s no anxiety, no fear, though my pulse is racing. Probably from the nerves and the sleeplessness, plus uncontrolled emotions. Well then, time to get up. The next comm session is a medical check, so I need to put on the medical belts first, and then it’s work on the strict EVA preparation timeline. An interesting thought comes to me now. We don’t count the days of the flight; instead, the milestones of our journey are the long-duration missions of previous crews. Yesterday we passed the 75-day mark — the flight of Kovalyonok and Savinykh is behind us. Ahead is a new mark — 96 days. That’s the flight of Romanenko and Grechko. So onward. I feel a twinge in my heart and a spasm in my stomach. My son looks at me with pride. Onward, I say, son.