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Eagle Station

Floating close enough to read the display, Yanin followed along. “The switch is active,” he confirmed.

“Deploying the decoy,” Liu said. He tapped the button once. And then a second time, confirming for the computer that his first motion had not been an accidental swipe across the display screen.

POP-POP-POP-POP.

The Federation vibrated rhythmically for several seconds. Beyond the hatch, a cylindrical bag fixed around the upper outer hull burst open. Within seconds, a structure made of layers of interwoven Kevlar-like fabrics and vinyl polymer foam ballooned into being. Tightly tethered around the command module’s hatch, it was the same size and shape as the now-departed Chang’e lander. Carefully placed radar reflectors studded the decoy’s outer surface.

Readouts on Liu’s console turned solid green. The decoy was secure, fully inflated, and holding its shape.

Both men smiled at each other with relief. To American surveillance satellites and telescopes, it would appear as if the Chang’e lander and the Federation 2 were still docked.

Aboard Chang’e-10, Lavrentyev set their lidar system to continuous pulse — providing the computer with the steady flow of data it needed to track their altitude, rate of descent, ground speed, and position. “Altitude now twenty thousand meters. Rate of descent still one hundred meters per second.”

Through his window, Tian saw the battered outer rim of the Tsander crater growing larger as they slanted down. Tsander was ancient beyond measure. Over hundreds of millions of years, it had been pounded by debris raining down from space. In places, these impacts had almost obliterated Tsander’s once-distinct edges — turning it into a jumble of secondary craters, slopes, and folds.

Another large crater was just coming into view, far away across a plain pockmarked and pitted by much smaller hollows. Its slopes rose gradually, steadily climbing until they were several thousand meters above the lower ground. They were relatively unmarked, splotched and scarred only in places by lighter-colored ejecta — masses of once-molten debris — hurled outward from the asteroid impact that had created this large crater. “I have Engel’gardt in sight,” Tian announced. “Stand by for descent engine nozzle gimbal and relight.”

He flexed his hands on the two controllers. He was prepared to shut down their landing program and come in manually at the first sign of trouble.

From his position, Lavrentyev watched the indicators for their descent engine change color. Numbers scrolled across his display. “Gimbal complete. The angle looks good. Engine Arm light is on. Good fuel flow. Three… two… one—”

WHUMMP.

Once again, the two men swayed against their harnesses, jostled by the sudden deceleration. “Ignition. Throttling up to ten percent power,” Lavrentyev reported. He switched to his nav readouts. “Rate of descent slowing to fifty meters per second. Forward speed dropping, too. Down to three hundred meters per second. Altitude now fifteen thousand meters. Coming down steadily.”

This time, the lander’s rocket motor kept firing. They could see the east rim of the Engel’gardt crater growing larger and larger in their windows. Seconds from landing, it was all they could see. They were coming in on top of a flattened peak rising higher than any other point along the rim wall. Only a few kilometers beyond this high point, the ground fell away, plunging steeply more than four thousand meters to the crater floor.

“Altitude one hundred meters. Down at ten meters per second. Twelve meters forward. Fuel at fifteen percent,” Lavrentyev intoned, keeping up a running commentary as the computer brought them in.

Tian kept his eyes fixed out the window, watching the ground coming up at them with what felt like astonishing speed. There were only a few small boulders visible, widely scattered across the rim plateau. Part of him desperately wanted to shut down the computer and bring the lander in under his own control. Self-discipline instilled by years of training enabled him to resist the temptation.

Outside, a cloud of moondust billowed up, obscuring his view.

“We’re at five meters. Zero relative forward velocity. Down to three meters. Two. One. Engine cutoff!” Lavrentyev snapped excitedly.

The rocket motor shut down and Chang’e-10 dropped the last few centimeters. The spacecraft rocked slightly and then came to rest on its four landing struts.

Tian breathed out. After sharing an exultant grin with the Russian, he opened a radio channel to the Magpie Bridge communications relay. “Beijing Flight Control, Moscow Control, Korolev Base here. Chang’e-Ten has landed.”