Atmosphere(24)

Then Vanessa takes Griff in her arms and carries him to the flight deck, putting him in the seat next to Lydia. And in a moment that she does not know is happening until it is over, she leans forward and kisses him on the temple.

“Navigator, this is Houston.” Joan. Finally, Joan is back.

“Copy.”

“Prepare for a contingency deorbit. We can land at Edwards in three revs. They have full trauma center capabilities. We are going to begin the deorbit checklist.”

All on her own, Vanessa will need to stow away all the equipment—including everything that was torn off the walls—and shut the payload doors. Then she will have to get in the pilot’s seat and begin the process of reentry.

She has been through enough in her life to know that there is no value in long-term thinking right now. In a crisis of this magnitude, you are best served by evaluating second by second.

So Vanessa does not imagine herself back on Earth. She does not imagine landing this shuttle. She does not imagine preparing for reentry.

Instead, she imagines strapping the lockers back onto the walls.

That, she can do.



Almost anyone who is cleared to be in the flight control room is there. The director’s suite is filled with men in jackets and ties. The simulation supervisors’ room is packed.

Joan can tell, just based on the hum within the room, that the theater behind her is filling up.

She cannot turn around, and she cannot consider just how many people are listening in on the main loop right now. It is accessible to almost three thousand people, across the Johnson Space Center and the wider Houston area, including the astronauts’ homes and news organizations.

On a normal day, most of them would not be listening. Now they almost certainly all are. This accident has, most likely, already been reported all over the world.

Which means that Donna and Helene know. Even if they weren’t listening earlier, they know by now.

In fact, because of the way some of the men keep glancing behind themselves, Joan suspects that either Donna or Helene is in the theater now. Most likely Helene. Donna is the sort of person who needs to be alone in a situation like this. She has most likely handed Thea over to someone and locked herself in her bedroom or bathroom, refusing to respond to anyone. Helene, on the other hand, is the sort of person who needs to see what is happening for herself. It is almost certainly Helene.

Joan keeps her gaze forward.

The commotion around her is distracting, but the din of murmurs and whispers within Mission Control forms a calming reminder that NASA is not merely a collection of individuals. NASA is a team. Joan had never before in her life felt the sense of belonging that she has with the people here at NASA.

If they get the shuttle home with Vanessa, Lydia, and Griff still alive, the entire campus will share in the relief. And if tragedy strikes further today, Joan knows this team will carry that burden together.

Still, there is a burden that Joan will carry alone.

Joan watches Jack. His shoulders are hunched, his fists tight. Joan opens and closes her own hands, trying to make space in the bones.

Since the end of November, Joan has been having dreams in which her life is less complicated than it really is. When she wakes in the morning, she always has to take a moment to understand that the dream wasn’t real.

But today, she keeps forgetting that this is real.

Steve and Hank are dead. Griff and Lydia might not make it.

At least Vanessa is safe right now.

“Houston, the galley has been deactivated.”

Jack: “Let’s prep her to close the payload doors.”

Joan on the loop: “Copy, Houston. We want you to begin to close the payload doors.”

“Roger that,” Vanessa says.

“Let’s go to the deorbit checklist, page two-dash-fifteen. You will be running a deorbit burn soon.”

“Copy that,” Vanessa says. And then, more quietly: “Okay. I can do this.”

Joan knows that tone in Vanessa’s voice. The tiny waver.

“Ford,” she says. There is so much she wants to say to Vanessa that she can’t. “Everyone here believes that you have the ability to land Navigator safely today on your own.”

Joan believes this. Even though no one in the history of NASA has ever had to do it before.

Vanessa does not respond for a moment. Then: “Thank you, Houston. After a certain point, the shuttle can land itself. We just need to get to that point as quick as we can. I’m going to get started.”

What if Joan got on the loop and said what she was really thinking? What if she told Vanessa everything she needed her to know?

Watching the telemetry monitors, Joan can see that Vanessa has thrown the first switch to close the payload bay doors. The left one has closed. As Vanessa begins to close the right, Sean Gutterson stands up.

Sean: “Flight, this is RMU. The latches on the right forward bulkhead aren’t closing. We think the PLBDs were hit in the explosion.”

Jack stares ahead and blinks.

“Houston,” Vanessa says. “I’m getting a malfunction signal on the right forward bulkhead gang.”

“Roger that,” Joan says and looks to Jack.

Jack holds his pen, clicking it over and over, grasping it so tight his fist is red and his knuckles turn white. He closes his eyes and inhales, shaking his head. “Ford’s going to have to do it manually.” He opens his eyes. “If she’s going back into the payload bay, that means she has to get into the suit on her own. She can do that, right, EVA?”