A day like any other, but I feel I’m starting to get tired and nervous, though my health is good. And tomorrow will be even harder. Today was the first drill for emergency evacuation of the station in case of depressurization or fire.

At 12:31:30, during the comm session, they announced: “The station is depressurizing,” conditionally setting the state of alarm indicators on the instrument panel and switching on TV to monitor our actions and time them.

Using the vacuum gauge and the special “Dyuza” instrument for monitoring air leakage, we had to determine the extent of the leak, its danger level, and calculate the reserve time we had before pressure dropped to 500 mmHg, at which point we’re required to be in the ship in spacesuits.

Simultaneously we mothball the station for potential evacuation. The most dangerous case gives us only about 5 minutes of reserve. Then we go to the ship, if it’s sealed, taking research materials, and perform a standard descent, waiting for the orbit passing through Baikonur. If the depressurization is caused by the ship losing integrity, we close the station hatch and wait for a rescue ship. The drill went well. We’d forgotten a lot and had to re-read the documentation, discovering inaccuracies and oversights that could have hindered rescue actions.

I’m starting to work intensively on my doctoral dissertation materials — it would be unforgivable to miss such an opportunity.

Today we planted tomatoes, cilantro, radishes, and cucumbers in our space garden, the “Malakhit” unit, which we named “Orbita.” The water supply had issues — all those little tubes, switches, and valves, but no water. Had to improvise a watering device. Took a soft water container from the ship — it’s like a bulb — and rigged a hose to it. The peas from the new planting in “Oasis” have already sprouted.

Years of preparation are behind them, dozens upon dozens of exams passed before strict commissions, and ahead lies the main test — months of working together in orbit.

Before bed, for the umpteenth time, I watch the video recording of my home, my loved ones — and my soul warms. I remember driving through the Moscow suburbs one evening, rising and dipping on the hills of the Yaroslavl Highway, and before me, as in a fairy tale, different views of the boundless expanses of the homeland opened up. And by the road in the lowland, mist was gathering, and birches stood in it against the sunset sky, and my heart ached so much that I stopped the car, stepped out, breathed deep, and my soul cried out:

O Rus, o dear, beloved!

I’m ready to give my life for you.

Just tell me when and where,

And I will answer only yes.