Page 65 of Atmosphere

And she thinks of Joan.

When she gets to the forward bulkhead, a shudder runs through her. She can see the other side of the hole on the forward bulkhead. But then, in addition, the payload bay door is bent. It took a hit, most likely from the debris that flew from the explosive cords.

“Houston, the right payload bay door is warped. I am going toattempt to manually latch it closed, but I am not positive I can get the edges to make contact.”

Joan’s voice comes through: “Navigator,copy. The PLBDs can withstand some measure of variation. We would like you to get started so we can assess.”

Vanessa looks around. The doors make the shape of a capital I on the top of the payload bay, and when closed, they are held together with a total of thirty-two latches. Eight on the forward bulkhead, eight on the aft bulkhead, and sixteen down the centerline. First, she’s going to pull the forward bulkhead latches closed as best she can.

The left set of four have been closed electronically. So she moves to the right set, beginning with the one farthest from the center. The first has jammed, but she knows what to do. In almost any other scenario up here, this might even be Vanessa’s shining moment. This is what she’s here for. The mechanics.

She grabs the tool kit from behind the thermal blanket and floats back to the first latch. She takes out the ratchet wrench. There can be no rushing in space, really. And in this moment, she is grateful that she is forced to work through the problem methodically. She has trained for this moment. Back on Earth, she learned where to put her right hand, where to put her left hand, how to get into the foot restraints, and how to brace herself for maximum leverage. She gets into position and begins.

How is she going to be an astronaut without Steve? How is she going to get home without him? She can’t. She can’t do any of this. She’s going to fuck this up and they are all going to die. She can’t do this.

Vanessa inhales sharply.

Maybe rushing would be better. Maybe, if she didn’t have a moment to think, it would all be easier. Gravity is underrated. It gives us something to fight against.

She tries to clear her mind. She aligns the ratchet wrench to the gearbox and begins to turn.

Steve had told Vanessa, at one point, that even though he was the younger of two brothers, it felt likeshewas his little sister.

Vanessa had replied that she, too, felt like a little sister, always the focus of the attention between them, always asking too much of him. But Steve had corrected her. He said he got something out of it, too. “Talking to you, hearing what you’re going through, it makes me realize how far I’ve come since I was your age. And hell, I might be a great astronaut. But if all I’m doing with what I’ve learned is using it for myself, what kind of legacy is that?

“This way, I’ll help you, and you’ll help another ASCAN, and she’ll help another, and on it will go. And then one day, decades from now, when we get to Mars, I’ll be long gone. But I’ll still be a part of it.”

She turns the gearbox, pulling it as tight as she can. The four latches close. The firm connection of the latches feels good in her hand.

“Navigator,we see the first gang of four is done. Thank you.”

Vanessa looks up. The bend in the door is preventing the doors from making total contact. She puts the ratchet wrench back on the gearbox and tries to turn it farther, pulling the door in as much as possible.

If the gap between the doors is sizable enough, the shuttle will burn up upon reentry into the atmosphere. Vanessa will never see Joan again.

She tries to release her jaw and focuses on her breathing.In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.She knows if she repeats the same pattern of breath, she can occupy her mind enough to stop her from thinking about the rest of it.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

She continues turning.

It is dark inside the payload bay, and there is still much to be done.

Joan is not going tosay it out loud. No one is. But if the forward bulkhead latches cannot pull the door flat, things are going to take a turn.

Ray stands up. “Flight, Surgeon. I’m concerned about Griff’s heart rate.”

This is the fourth time Ray has noted this, but now his tone is calmer and less animated, which has an inverse effect. Joan turns to him. She can tell from his pale face and wide eyes that he’s exerting a lot of effort to control himself.

Jack: “What are we at?”

“Twenty-one bpm and it is growing more irregular.”

“How irregular?”

Ray checks the instruments again and swallows.

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