Let me simply say that the model of our rocket was full-size and there was room for another one just as big beside it. The lift was an old prewar model that took so long getting down that you could read two or three pages of a book on the way. The model rocket was a rather patchy construction, with parts of it just knocked together from planks, and only the crew members’ workplaces were precise recreations of the real thing. It was all intended for practical training, which Mitiok and I would not begin for some time yet. Even so, we were moved straight into a spacious box down below, with two pictures pretending to be windows presenting a panoramic view of Moscow under construction. There were seven beds, so Mitiok and I knew our numbers would soon be increasing. The box was only three minutes’ walk along a corridor from the training hall where the model rocket stood. An interesting thing seemed to happen to the lift—whereas before it had seemed to take a long time to go down, now it seemed to take even longer to go up.
