Atmosphere(100)

“There is one person who can land this thing and potentially save any of the lives on board. And that’s me. So I will be deciding. And what I am choosing to do is to attempt to save the life of Lydia Danes. This decision has already been made. I will not consider any other arguments.”

Joan is crying now. Vanessa can hear her gasp. “Navigator—”

“Joan,” Vanessa says, her voice soft. “We do not know what is going to happen, okay? We don’t know what the next few hours hold. We do not know the aerodynamic effects of the warp in the payload doors. We do not know, for certain, what will happen on reentry. The shuttle has withstood plenty of things we didn’t believe it could. That’s my gamble right now. Because I will not tinker away back here when Lydia needs me to get her home. I won’t do that. So do not ask me again. We have less than a rev to get her home. If you take any more of my time, you threaten both of our lives even further.”

She waits.

“Roger that,” Joan says, finally.

Vanessa knows that it is not Joan making that call. She knows that in Mission Control, Jack looked at Joan, and nodded.

Still, Vanessa knows it killed Joan to say the words.

And that Joan did it for her.


Joan is sitting at her console in Mission Control and she cannot breathe. Her body has stopped taking in air as an involuntary process. Instead, every few seconds, she gasps and abruptly exhales. And then holds her breath again.

It’s been happening for the past half hour, as everyone in Mission Control has tried to figure out how to address the unprecedented insubordination of the only conscious astronaut aboard a damaged shuttle.

Jack and the rest of the team have resigned themselves to what Joan knew well before Vanessa said it.

“We have no choice but to support the premature deorbit,” Jack announced when Vanessa got into the airlock against orders. “And do what we can to ensure that Navigator survives reentry under the current conditions.”

Right now, there are teams of engineers trying to calculate to what percentage the shuttle can withstand reentry with the vague specs Vanessa has reported.

And Joan is sitting at her console, trying to catch her breath.

She has never experienced this in her body before.

But she’s also never sat in a chair and pretended she was only worried about losing a colleague when, really, her entire life was at stake.

They have to start the deorbit burn in the next few minutes. All of the final preparations are being made. Joan looks around the room as she gasps again.

Antonio has come onto the floor. He is standing to the right, with both hands behind his back, looking up at the telemetry.

He looks at her and nods, his eyes glassy. From his frown, she can tell he is worried about her.

She feels so much anger. At him. At the shuttle. There is a tiny spark of fury building to a bonfire within her.

But more than that, she has never felt sustained terror like this before, as if she is falling with no end. Her pulse beating against the confines of her neck.

But no one needs her anger and terror and panic right now. They need her composure.

They need her to be CAPCOM.

When Vanessa gets home, Joan is going to scream at her with such venom she might go hoarse. Then she will fall into her and sob.

But for now, she will be the CAPCOM Vanessa Ford needs.

She can do that for her. She has to do that for her.

It is the only real way to love her.


Vanessa is looking out the window at a star that Joan would know the name of. But her vision grows blurry. In microgravity, her tears don’t fall; they cling to her eyes, pooling under her eyelashes.

She raises her arm and rubs the sleeve of her launch reentry suit across her face, to clear her sight.

She turns to see Lydia, unconscious, in the seat next to her. Vanessa takes her hand for a moment and squeezes.

“Here we go,” she says to Lydia.

“Navigator, this is Houston,” Joan says. “We need to start the deorbit burn right now.”

There’s that voice.

That calm, serene voice.

It is possible that Vanessa has asked too much of the world, pushed it too far beyond its limits.

But if Joan’s voice is the one with her now, she must have done something right.


“Houston, this is Navigator. I am ready to start the deorbit burn.”

Joan reminds herself that the burn is the easy part. They might as well be preparing for Vanessa to start the car. It is what happens after that, as the shuttle approaches the atmosphere, that Joan doesn’t want to consider yet.

“Let’s go,” Jack says. He points into the air, signaling he’s ready. “Ground Control, are we go for the deorbit burn?”

“We are go.”

“Guidance?”

“Go.”

“FIDO?”

“Go.”

“PROP?”

“Go.”

“GNC?”

“Go.”

“RMU?”

“Go.”

“EECOM?”

“Go.”

“FAO?”

“Go.”

“DPS?”

“Go.”

“INCO?”

“We’re go.”

“Booster?”

“We are go.”