THE VISITOR

PART ONE - SCAFFY WAGON - 1 Window On The World

What a ride!

As if a switch had been thrown, the deafening roar of the rockets ceased and silence descended upon the three of us. We were in freefall. The Soyuz capsule had achieved orbit.

Moulded to my body, the seat had been made-to-measure to protect me from the forces experienced during blast-off and re-entry. The straps no longer dug into me, and now loosely restrained me, stopping me from floating away. Mind you, the view captivated me more effectively than the restraining belts ever could. I was transfixed by the panorama from the small circular window.

Intermittent Russian chatter and the crackle of the communication system were now the only sounds. The unpleasant falling sensation confused my inner ears which insisted I was on a roller-coaster careering earthwards. It overwhelmed my senses. Dizziness and nausea were battling for dominance. How could I tolerate freefall for seven whole months? Had I made a dreadful mistake? Too late to regret it now.

I opened my visor. The claustrophobic nature of the Soyuz capsule didn't help. I'd never have been selected if constrained spaces seriously bothered me, but the bulkiness of the pressure suits, the helmets, the proximity of the walls, instruments, and my fellow cosmonauts was oppressive and didn't diminish my queasiness.

I had to control it. I must.

The beauty of the view compensated for everything else. Earth's curvature seen first-hand was awe-inspiring, the vista stunning – the land verdant and fertile, surrounded by sea of the most vibrant and azure blue, all visible through pristine swirls of snow-white clouds. Despite growing nausea, I couldn't stop smiling. The surrounding jet-black of space threw our unique haven of life into stark relief.

I felt sick. I pulled a bag from a pouch beside me. Don't be sick. Don't be sick. Control it. Control yourself.

'Вы все в порядке, Ева?'

I snapped out of my self-pity. Yuri, our bullish, shaven-headed commander in the seat next to mine, had sensed my discomfort and asked if I was okay, 'Yes. Да.'

I eased his concern, telling him the view had stunned me into silence. Concentrating on speaking Russian helped relieve the nausea. He laughed, then, in his less than perfect English, said, 'It is to amaze the first time, Eva. Enjoy.'

I managed to say, 'Yes, amazing, Yuri. Mind blowing!'

The pageant of scenery drifted past my porthole. I cast my mind back to my first plane ride to Tenerife as a ten-year-old girl. That magical moment when we punctured the clouds and the thrill of then seeing them beneath me. But this – this was on a whole new scale. The only known refuge of life in the universe stretched out beneath me. My space mission promised to change me forever. The nausea diminished a little.

More Russian radio dialogue between Roscosmos and the ship. Russian was an essential part of our training for a Soyuz launch, but I had struggled to achieve fluency. I have no affinity for languages. At thirteen, my fail in French and a disastrous nine per cent in German saw me confined to the science labs. Fondness for mathematics morphed into fascination and university beckoned with the promise of astronomy and space. I was a scientist, not a linguist.

Yuri Bulgakov switched back to his thickly accented English, 'Hello, ISS. Soyuz MS-one four seven here. Over.'

'Is that the Sahara?'

Yuri leaned over to see. 'Yes, deserted,' he quipped.

I couldn't stop my grin as I watched Africa moving into the wings and the Sahara taking centre stage. Its vast, scorched expanse of cloudless desert was, in turn, displaced by the sparkling blue of the Mediterranean. I listened to the communications, but the view seduced me absolutely. I could no more turn my gaze from the porthole than I could slow my racing heart. My queasy stomach made me wish weight might return, but there'd be only spasmodic weight from now until I returned home for Christmas and could share the thrill with Mario.