Now that I had a plan, my daily visits to the pod became worklike – I had a project with a deadline. Every day I went through a number of tests, and the fact that all of them were unsuccessful did not depress me as before; on the contrary, I felt anxiety and was motivated to try out as many reports as I could.
The days went by following pretty much the same routine: after breakfast I went to the docks and tried my best to move the capsule; then I had a lunch break and continued my exercises until dinner. Then, depending on the mood, I could return to the pod for “one more try”. Although other candidates in our group had a similar regime, we rarely saw each other in the cafe as all of us had different circadian rhythms. Still, every day we tried to get together after dinner in a bar where we exchanged our, mostly disappointing, experiences and at the same time encouraged each other to carry on. I was usually the first to come and had a quiet couple alone reflecting on the day’s events and waiting for others.
One evening, while I was sipping my beer and looking through the viewport at the busy traffic around the station, my reverie was interrupted by the sound of running feet after which the swinging bar doors almost exploded letting a new visitor in. It was Lenka; she was breathing heavily as if she ran all the way from the docks, but her eyes were shining. Her gaze found me in my seat and she yelled across the bar, “Vlad, I did it!” and rushed towards me. Continue reading “The First Success”