Eagle, I don't want to form an alliance anymore.

His eyes lit up.

"—We could even try to establish a lunar base."

When a 78-year-old man in a wheelchair, whose days are numbered, talked about this topic, he seemed to become 20 years younger.

Slava hesitated for a moment, knowing that what he was about to say would disappoint the old man.

"Comrade Grushko, I heard everything you said. The moon landing, the lunar base... these are all remarkable goals."

He took a deep breath: "I'm sorry, I can't lie to you."

"The Soviet Union's top priority now is to develop the economy, improve people's livelihoods, and resolve internal contradictions."

You know better than I do that space exploration is a money pit—every rocket launch costs astronomical sums of rubles. It's not that I don't want to invest in space, and I plan to invest more, but I want to spend that money...in places where it can be monetized as quickly as possible during this period.”

Grushko pursed his lips slightly.

"General Secretary, what do you mean by 'quickly realizing profits'—?"

“Commercial spaceflight,” Slava said. “I plan to use Energia for commercial launches. We’ll send things into space for other countries and international organizations, and then we’ll get paid.”

Our shipping capacity is the largest in the world. At this time, the United States is in the Great Depression, and NASA's top priority is to avoid declaring bankruptcy. We have no competitors at this time!

This is a lucrative business that can both generate revenue and sustain the aerospace industry itself. And then there's the space station; the Mir space station is already in orbit, and I want to expand it.

We want to build a larger space station based on Mir, one that can accommodate international cooperation!

We can bring astronauts from Western Europe, China, and other countries aboard Mir. This is scientific research, diplomacy, and a source of revenue, and it also enhances our global influence.

He laid out the plans he had considered: commercial launches, international cooperation on the space station, commercial operation of satellite communications, and the sale of remote sensing data to foreign countries... all of which are projects that can generate benefits in the political, economic, scientific, and diplomatic dimensions.

"These projects can help the Soviet Union more efficiently, reduce the burden on the national treasury, and better develop the aerospace industry. The jobs and scientific research progress generated as a result will also greatly benefit the Union!"

He looked at Grushko.

"As for the moon landing—we certainly won't give up on the moon landing! I just feel that now is not the time. We should wait until the Soviet Union becomes strong and we have a sufficient economic foundation before we go to the moon. My idea is that the Soviet Union should be able to try a manned moon landing before 2010."

2010 years?

Grushko did a quick mental calculation: there are still 22 years left from 1988 to 2010, and he's 78 this year.

“22 years... Good! It’s not about being slow, it’s about not standing still! Even having this goal is better than not having one at all.” Grushko nodded. “Our communism is superior to capitalism. If capitalism can do it, why can’t we?”

Even if he doesn't live to see the day the Soviet Union lands a man on the moon, even if he can only meet Comrade Korolev with regret and the promise of the General Secretary of the Soviet Union, trembling and unsteady.

The celebrations continued in the command center, where someone was singing a very old song that had been passed down orally among Soviet spacefarers. The lyrics seemed to be related to the stars and grass.

“Comrade General Secretary,” Grushko said, looking at Slava with admiration, “you are so young.”

"I don't have much time left, and it seems I won't live to see the day the Soviets land on the moon," Grushko said calmly, as if stating a technical parameter.

Slava didn't say anything like "you can definitely do it"; he knew the old man didn't need comforting words.

"Since you're more interested in building a space station, let me introduce you to someone."

He turned his head and glanced in one direction. In the crowd, a man in his fifties, wearing dark work clothes, was talking to several engineers, holding a stack of printed track data in his hand.

"Comrade Semyonov! Comrade Yuri Pavlovich Semyonov!"

"This is my first deputy, and also the project manager for the Mir space station." He said to Slava while waving to Semyonov.

"You can contact him for anything from now on. The future of Soviet spaceflight... we'll leave it to him."

Semyonov was called over. He bent down beside Grushko's wheelchair, and Grushko whispered a few words to him. Semyonov straightened up, turned to Slava, and bowed.

Slava sized up the man.

Semyonov's temperament was completely different from Grushko's—Grushko possessed a sense of world-weariness inherited from that era. Semyonov lacked these qualities; he was part of the second generation of Soviet space engineers—they hadn't experienced the Shalashka Movement or the Great Purge, and they didn't possess the genius-like madness and obsession of their predecessors. They were technocratic engineers who rose through the ranks within the system.

This is exactly the kind of person Slava needs.

Commercial spaceflight, internationalization of space stations, commercialization of satellite communications... these projects don't need a crazy genius; they need a pragmatic engineer who is good at navigating bureaucratic systems, can control budgets, and can bring projects to fruition.

Semyonov was that kind of person.

"Comrade Semyonov, let's find a place to sit down and talk about the space station."

"Yes, Comrade General Secretary."

Grushko's subordinates slowly pushed his wheelchair away. Slava turned his head and glanced at the back of the old man huddled in the wheelchair as he was being pushed away.

He was the last living root of the great tree of Soviet spaceflight.

When he passes away, the era of that generation—Korolev, Grushko, Chelomey, and Yanger—will come to a complete end, and what remains will be the era of Semyonov and his contemporaries.

The Soviet space program has no living legends left.

Grushko's wheelchair disappeared around the corner of the corridor. Slava withdrew his gaze, and he and Semyonov found a table and sat down, discussing the space station for a long time. Just as Slava and Semyonov shook hands and were about to leave, the atmosphere in the command center hall suddenly changed!

"Beep beep beep—!"

Several engineers were huddled around a terminal. Their expressions were grim; one man's fingers were flying across the keyboard, while another was on the phone.

"What's wrong?!" Semyonov immediately ran towards the terminal.

An engineer turned around: "The Blizzard has lost contact!"

The lobby was so quiet you could hear the air conditioning humming. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at the large screen—the location of the Blizzard had stopped updating; the last update was a few minutes ago.

The Buran spacecraft was launched unmanned. According to the plan, it will return to Earth after 200 minutes in space and land under the control of a computer-automated program.

The Buran was far more advanced than the American space shuttle. American planes relied on gliding to land, but the Buran's propulsion system allowed it to maneuver multiple times, adjust its flight trajectory parameters, and even go around!

But why did it disappear? Was it a communication failure? Or did it crash? Or did the autopilot system malfunction?

Time ticked by, second by second. The launch director in the lobby had already placed his hand on the remote control button for the self-destruct system. The Buran was equipped with a self-destruct mechanism—standard equipment for Soviet spaceflight. If the spacecraft went out of control and deviated from its planned trajectory, potentially crashing into an unwanted location, ground control could issue a command to destroy it in mid-air.

"Initiate the self-destruct program? Vote now."

According to the command principles, the order can be executed as long as two of the three people—the launch supervisor, the Buran designer, and the base commander—agree to self-destruct.

"Wait a moment!"

The speaker was an elderly man with gray hair; he was the head of the Soviet-Mornia Commonwealth and the designer of the Buran spacecraft. He knew more about the spacecraft than anyone else present!

"No, self-destruction is unnecessary! Communication disruption does not equate to being out of control!"

The head of Mornia walked to the terminal and said, "The autopilot system of the Blizzard was written by my people. Don't underestimate it! It can handle far more situations than you can imagine!"

"But it disappeared from the radar—"

"That might be it maneuvering," the old man said. "If its flight path deviates from the coverage angle of the ground radar, it will temporarily disappear from the screen! It might—"

He paused, as if rapidly deducing something in his mind: "It might be doing something we didn't foresee."

"Can you guarantee it hasn't gotten out of control?" asked the military commander in charge of the base. He didn't understand the technology; his mission was to ensure that Soviet state secrets weren't leaked to foreign countries.

"It's about to land; it was already in Kazakhstan before the signal disappeared. Don't worry, it won't fly out of our border in that short time!"

He looked at the person in charge whose hand was still outstretched above the button.

"Give it some time. Wait five more minutes. If it hasn't regained contact within five minutes, then press again."

KGB officers immediately reported the incident, and soon reconnaissance planes from nearby air bases took off to search for the Buran, while an airborne unit was also in position—if the plane landed in another country and failed to self-destruct, the Soviet Union would defend its national security at all costs!

"Okay, then wait five minutes," the launch supervisor said.

Three hundred seconds was too short; everyone in the hall was silently counting down. Semyonov stood in front of the terminal, staring at the radar screen. The screen was blank, only the static of background noise flashing.

Two hundred seconds

Slava stood in a corner of the hall, nervously watching the large screen. The Buran project had cost the Soviet Union nearly 50 billion rubles over the years, and although failure is the mother of success, he sincerely hoped that Lenin would bless it to land safely.

One hundred seconds

The head of Mornia stood beside the terminal, his gaze fixed on the radar screen. His face was expressionless; he stood there like a stone.

Fifty seconds.

The person in charge reached for the self-destruct button.

"and many more!"

Semyonov suddenly straightened up, and a bright spot appeared on the radar screen!

"Signal!" Semyonov shouted.

"Signal! It's back!!"

The tracking data was restored, and the parameters of the Blizzard started jumping on the screen again. The only variable was that the Blizzard had gone somewhere else!

According to the preset flight procedure, Buran should approach the landing point from the northwest, but telemetry data now shows that Buran is approaching from the south.

The direction turned almost 180 degrees.

"It made a sharp turn when it was only eleven kilometers above the ground! And it even chose a new landing route on its own!"

Eleven kilometers above the ground! This is an altitude with virtually no margin for error for a space shuttle gliding at extremely high speeds. Making a 180-degree turn and replanning the course at this altitude is practically suicidal.

The Buran's computer made the decision after receiving information about unfavorable weather at the landing site at that altitude—strong crosswinds from the northwest. If they had continued along the original route from the northwest, the crosswinds would have made the landing extremely dangerous.

The Buran's computer determined that the original approach route was unsafe and then planned a new landing route, approaching from the south to avoid the crosswind.

"Are our computers really that powerful?" Slava asked incredulously.

"Yes... Comrade General Secretary, this is the automatic program written by our scientists."

P.S.: This is actually how the Buran landed in history. It's incredibly absurd, and you can only say that the scientist who wrote the program was amazing.

"boom--!"

The Blizzard taxied toward the landing runway on its new course. Everything was ready on the runway: fire trucks, ambulances, and the recovery team were all in place.

Slava and everyone else rushed to the window of the command center. He no longer cared about any security regulations; he had to see this man-made miracle!

Against the greyish-white sky, a triangular white silhouette emerged from the depths of the snow. Its engines were firing—the Buran had entered the landing phase and was flying toward the runway.

The Buran was aligned with the runway with incredible precision. As it drew closer, Slava could see that its nose landing gear was down, the doors of the three landing gears were open, and the wheels were rolling in the wind.

In the final few dozen meters, its rear wheel hit the track first. With a muffled thud, the friction between the wheel and the track kicked up a small cloud of water and snow. Then the front wheel landed with another muffled thud.

"Boom!"

The Blizzard's drag chute deployed, and a few seconds later it came to a stop in the middle of the runway.

An unmanned, computer-controlled space shuttle autonomously replanned its landing route and landed safely on the runway in winds of 20 meters per second!

"Hurrah!!"

Cheers erupted in the command center. Some people slumped into their chairs, while others hugged the person next to them, forehead to forehead. Some squatted on the ground, covering their faces.

The head of Mornia stood leaning against the wall for a long time. His glasses fogged up. He took them off, wiped them, put them back on, and glanced out the window—on the runway, the Blizzard was quietly parked there, its parachute trailing behind it like a long dress that dragged on the ground.

“This is the culmination of the wisdom of the Soviet Union…” Slava exclaimed.

The final investigation concluded that the Buran lost contact with the ground during a turn due to a communication design flaw, requiring improvements to the communication system. The Buran's autopilot system performed its function perfectly and required no modifications.

But the investigation also uncovered another problem—the Buran did not have a manual landing mode; from the very beginning, it was designed to be completely computer-controlled for takeoff and landing!

That's right. Since the project was initiated in the late 70s, the Soviet Union had planned to design a space shuttle that could land automatically!

After this close call, both the spacecraft testers and the astronauts strongly requested that a manual landing control function be added to the Buran spacecraft.

The computer made the right decision this time, but what about next time? What if the computer makes a wrong judgment? What if an unexpected event occurs that the computer's program doesn't even cover?

At that time, if there are astronauts on board, they will not have the ability to operate the machine manually—they can only sit inside and watch a machine make a potentially wrong decision for them and then die together.

The request was adopted, and a manual control mode was added to the subsequent improvement plan for the Blizzard.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The day after the Buran landed, Slava and Semyonov continued their conversation, which had been interrupted by the loss of contact.

Slava made a few decisions.

First—the Soviets were awesome! We have to pay more!

The Buran and Energia flights proved that the Soviet space industry produced world-class products! The Buran's unmanned autonomous landing capability was something the American space shuttle could not do; the American space shuttle required manual piloting by astronauts to land because their aircraft did not have sufficient power!

Slava was very satisfied with the aircraft and hoped to build several more to maintain the operation of the space station.

Second – the expansion of the Mir space station.

The core module of Mir was launched in 1986, and several other modules were later docked, and it is in stable condition. However, it is far from being the complete design – there are still several planned modules that have not been launched.

"We aim to send all the planned segments up by the end of 1989. We'll use the Energia—it has enough capacity to carry a much larger payload than the Proton, which will speed up the process."

"If you encounter any difficulties, as long as it's a budget issue, I can solve it! Just go ahead and do it!"