Page 67 of Atmosphere

Jack looks at Joan. He shakes his head. “Our job is not to tell her the truth, our job is to get her home.”

“Navigator,yes. We are still confident about the PLBDs at this time. Please continue to the eight aft bulkhead latches.”

Joan can feel that her soul has gone dormant. Her mouth is moving, but her heart is not here anymore. She knows she will get through this—these hours will pass with one outcome or another, and she will physically survive it. But she is not sure, when it is all over, if she will ever come back to herself.

Vanessa can hear the unsteadinessin Joan’s voice. But if Joan does not want to tell her what’s causing it, there’s a reason.

“Roger that,” Vanessa says.

Vanessa maneuvers over to the aft bulkhead.

Each one of the eight latches snaps into place sequentially. That is sixteen of thirty-two down. Both the top and bottom bars of the capitalI are done, however imperfectly.

She imagines the feel of her feet on the tarmac, the relief of seeing the doctors rush into the flight deck to save Griff and Lydia. She thinks of the way the air will smell to her, full of dirt and fuel.

Steve had told Vanessa that getting off the ship was like walking into your house after a long vacation. That you will get that rare moment of smelling the familiar scent of Earth, before you grow too used to it again to sense it.

She’d been looking forward to that.

She scoffs to think of how much she’d been looking forward to this entire mission. How she’d protested against being “only” a mission specialist. How she’d begged for the chance to be a pilot.

But, of course, it had been Steve who had told her she’d deserved the chance to fly the shuttle someday. Steve who’d lobbied for her. Who’d told her he would keep at it until Antonio understood.

She moves on to the centerline latches. Thankfully, the first four close easily. She continues to the next four.

Steve had cheated on his wife ten years ago. It was one time. He’d been drunk. He never forgave himself for it, even though, after he confessed to Helene, she gave him a chance to make it up to her. And he did. Make it up to her.

Vanessa didn’t quite understand either side of it—the betrayal of someone or the forgiveness possible. But Steve had said that overtime, she would understand both. Once she’d loved someone long enough, she’d understand that anything is possible, that she was capable of worse and greater acts than she knew.

He’d taught her that, too.

She closes the last latch in the gang. Twenty-four down. Eight to go. If she can get all eight done, it is reasonable to assume that the shuttle can withstand the issue with the forward bulkhead as its only weak point. She moves on to the next set of four, the centerline latches up by the forward bulkhead.

Quickly, she can see that the gearbox has cracked, hit by the debris.

“Houston, how many latches can we lose?” Vanessa asks. “The shuttle was designed to withstand what level of failure?”

She looks down the line to the final set of four latches, all the way at the forward bulkhead. She can see, for the second time, that the door is bent.

“Navigator,we believe it is possible that, even with the forward bulkhead latches not lying flat, the orbiter may be able to withstand some unpredictability with the centerline latches.”

“How much? I may have eight latches that do not connect at all, in addition to the gap in the door.”

“Roger that,Navigator.We are calculating.”

Vanessa already knows the answer is notThe Shuttle can withstand reentry with eight latches open and a one-centimeter gap at the forward bulkhead.But if she can get this gearbox to turn and close this gang of four latches, it might pull the payload bay doors tight enough on the aft bulkhead end. Which means that even if she can’t get the rest of the latches closed, they still have a chance of makingit.

She does her best to get a good grip on the ratchet wrench and applies it to the gearbox. But it doesn’t move. She twists as hard as she can, but the harder she tries, the more microgravity pushes her away from the latch, so that she has to brace herself with one arm and one foot against the payload bay door, using her own body ascounterforce to keep her leverage. She bears down as hard as she can, pushing against the door with every muscle in her body. She can feel it through her limbs and into her back and abdomen. She tenses her jaw so hard she thinks she might crack a tooth.

It’s not budging.

“Navigator,we believe four latches on the centerline could go unlatched and we would be okay.”

That’s not enough—she’s got eight to go, plus the warped door. She has to get this group of four. Or none of them will survive.

Vanessa tries to leverage the tool in again.Nothing.

She tries again. The same thing.

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