A good day. We did visual observations. We’re passing over the Soviet Union right now, and that’s the region I most want to work on, with many interesting tasks set. But we have to do radio exchanges, so you’re pulled this way and that, trying during the comm session to receive radiograms for tomorrow’s work and observe the indicated regions, and when you spot something interesting and can’t photograph or record it in time, you practically yelp with frustration. Visual observation work is mostly unplanned, done on enthusiasm, and the needed orientation isn’t always available. So in every free moment you try to peek through the porthole so as not to miss something on Earth or in the atmosphere.

Passing Odessa. It’s in haze. A blurred picture, as if in fog. I’m now lying in the transfer compartment, crosswise, in my favorite position — feet braced against the opposite wall. Spacesuits are stowed, so it’s roomy; seven portholes around give good panoramic view, like from a captain’s bridge — not of a schooner but of an orbital complex floating in space. This feeling is especially strong in gravitational orientation.

In this compartment there are two control stations. Many instruments hang on the handrails for work in shadow and light. Along the walls are maps of the Earth and sky, a star globe floats about, along with a sextant, the compact optical telescope “Puma,” and various film, photo, and spectral equipment. On one porthole a baffle is installed to block stray light during daytime atmospheric observations. By the hatch lies the bag of scientific experiment materials, always ready for return to Earth.

Almost every evening I read letters from home and feel as if I’ve visited there. Right away, things feel cheerier and lighter, and in my thoughts I sometimes even have an argument with Lyusya about where and what she described poorly.

I thought about what a crew commander is in spaceflight — it’s above all knowledge, experience, and conscience.