by Stanislaw Lem (1961)

translated from the French by Joanna Kilmartin and Steve Cox (1970)

At 19.00 hours, ship’s time, I made my way to the launching bay. The men around the shaft stood aside to let me pass, and I climbed down into the capsule.

Inside the narrow cockpit, there was scarcely room to move. I attached the hose to the valve on my spacesuit and it inflated rapidly. From then on, I was incapable of making the smallest movement. There I stood, or rather hung suspended, enveloped in my pneumatic suit and yoke to the metal hull.

I looked up; through the transparent canopy I could see a smooth, polished wall and, far above, Moddard’s head leaning over the top of the shaft. He vanished, and suddenly I was plunged in darkness: the heavy protective cone had been lowered into place. Eight times I heard the hum of the electric motors which turned the screws, followed by the hiss of the shock-absorbers. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I could see the luminous circle of the solitary dial.

A voice echoed in my headphones:

“Ready Kelvin?”

“Ready, Moddard,” I answered.

“Don’t worry about a thing. The Station will pick you up in flight. Have a good trip!”

There was a grinding noise and the capsule swayed. My muscles tensed in spite of myself, but there was no further noise or movement.

“When is lift-off?” As I asked, I noticed a rustling outside, like a shower of fine sand.

“You’re on your way, Kelvin. Good luck!” Moddard’s voice sounded as close as before.

A wide slit opened at eye-level, and I could see the stars. The Prometheus was orbiting in the region of Alpha in Aquarius and I tried in vain to orient myself; a glittering dust filled my porthole.