The Russian astronaut's room is plain and neat. Her bed is nearly always made, her things put away, her windows open to let in the air. There are models on the desk, or rather there were; the Soyuz rocket is looking lonely without the MiG-21 to keep it company ( Read more... )

It's late afternoon - still warm, but late enough that the moon is out - and Esfir is lying on the grass, shoes next to her and pants rolled up. She's gazing up at the blue sky, one hand under her head ( Read more... )

She'd had a shower, after. Washing off the sweat of space and panic far more than the mess of sex. Combed out the snarls from her long, almost curly dark hair. Felt human ( Read more... )