An interesting day of tests. Prepared until 1 AM. I was entering the code array for the Delta program, and suddenly it seemed the “Entry” indicator didn’t light up. That would mean the array wasn’t loaded. Flying over the Soviet Union, I tried to reach the ground on comm. Called for five minutes — silence. Then they blamed a comm failure. The shift supervisor came on. I say: “Are you sleeping? I have doubts about the parameters.” His voice sounded as if I’d called him at home in the middle of the night. Fine, I held my tongue. He says the codes didn’t load. I ask him to read back the radiogram in case there’s an error. He barely finished reading the codes before we left the zone. I start entering again — the checksum doesn’t match again. So I went to the cargo ship to dig through the trash for the old radiogram. Found it, compared — several codes differ. Entered again until 3 AM, cross-checking. Got it in. When I looked at the indicators, everything was normal. Still, good that I worried — now I’m at peace.

Tomorrow evening there’s serious work. Working in the orbital module, I put on headphones and heard, faintly in the distance, “Wide Is My Motherland.” It smelled of home. How powerful a good song is! It can instantly lift your mood, make an ordinary day feel festive or wistful. Good songs are like little keys to the secret chambers of the soul, which aren’t always open and accessible to others. A person’s soul is a world, and a good song can stir it, fill it with patriotism, lyricism, transport it into history. Song moves with the person. That’s why new songs are born.