Atmosphere(35)

Joan knew this was true for all of them, herself included. Who she was, what she did in her spare time, how she chose to conduct herself . . . it all mattered. It would be weighed in terms of passing training and would be a factor in what roles she was assigned. It would no doubt be considered when—or if—they put her on a mission.

“Look, Joan, you want to get up there as much as I do. So do Donna and Vanessa. And you know damn well they aren’t going to put two of us on a mission together at first. They are going to assign one woman at a time, because we’re novelties to them still. We’re not the same as a male astronaut until one of us or two of us or even three of us have gone up there and proven that we are. So if I want to get assigned, it means I have to wait out all of the women in Group 8, most likely. And then I have to make sure Antonio chooses me over you or Donna or Vanessa. So go ahead and blow off steam and take your eye off the ball—I don’t care. Because the first crew assignment for our class, you can bet your ass I’m going to be on it. If it means I need to curry favor with Hank so he wants me to be on his crew, I will. Especially because I know he’s more likely to push for Donna, since they’re sleeping together.”

There was nothing Lydia was saying that Joan didn’t already know. “Lydia, you have to do what you have to do,” Joan said. “Just leave me alone tonight, please.”

“I really don’t get you, Joan,” Lydia said.

“What’s not to get?”

“I see you working harder than almost anybody else out there except me,” Lydia said. “You’re up in the T-38s all the time, you’re puking in microgravity and going right back up the moment they give you a chance, you’re studying like hell for these classes, asking more questions than anybody. When the astronauts are running the simulations, you’re always there in Mission Control, always watching, keeping notes, just like I am. You look like you’re just as desperate to get into that seat as I am. The only other thing you have to focus on is politics, and you’re not doing it.”

Lydia was right about the simulations. They weren’t letting any of the ASCANs on them yet, but whenever Joan heard that any of the astronaut crews were doing one, she made sure to be there. She watched as the simulation supervisors threw every possible problem at them. It was one of her favorite parts of the job, being on that floor, watching it all unfold.

One of the jets starts leaking and you don’t understand how to close the manifold while properly accounting for the other lost jets? The crew dies.

One, two, three buses go down and you can’t figure out if you’ve lost critical redundancies in time to act? The crew dies.

A radiator inside the payload bay doors has a blockage at the same time the flash evaporator is low on water, which means the heat of the spacecraft is not dispersing, and you can’t fix it? The orbiter burns up and the crew dies.

Any one of the ASCANs who was chosen would be putting their lives in the hands of their fellow crew members and everyone down in Mission Control. Hank, she knew, would do anything to save her life. Donna, she was confident, would, too. Griff would. Vanessa surely would.

Would Lydia?

It suddenly seemed too full of risk to ignore Lydia. Or Jimmy. Or Marty, or any of the ASCANs she didn’t get along with. Success would be found together or not at all.

“Hear me out, Lydia,” Joan said. She grabbed an unopened beer from the cooler next to them and handed it to Lydia. “You’re not just an astronaut—do you get that?”

“Well, not yet,” Lydia said.

“No, I mean . . . this isn’t all that you are.”

Lydia looked at Joan as if she were the stupidest person she’d ever met.

“Come on,” Joan said. “You have hobbies.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You have friends.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“You have your family.”

“My parents like my brother’s wife more than me. They all go on skiing trips together and don’t invite me. My dad still hangs out with my ex-husband.”

“I bet it’s because you’re too . . .” Joan hiccuped and covered her mouth. “Busy.”

Lydia frowned and gave up. “Sure.”

Joan took the beer back out of Lydia’s hand and opened it.

“What are you doing, Goodwin?”

“The clock is going to strike midnight soon. I’m not going to kiss anybody—are you?”

Lydia glared at her. “Do you see any man knocking down my door?”

“Right, okay. So have a beer with me. We can ring in the new year together. You need to take a load off for a moment.”

Lydia inhaled sharply and then took the beer. “Just until midnight.”

“Great: for fourteen minutes, try to calm down, and then you can go right back to shoving coal up your butt and pulling out diamonds.”

Joan was drunk. Even she knew it now. But it was fun! She should do this more often. Why had she spent so much time with her nose in a book up until now? She liked going to parties!

Lydia stared at her. “That wasn’t funny.”


Spring 1981


Joan was standing on top of the launch control center at Kennedy Space Center with her aviator sunglasses on and her bomber jacket unzipped, revealing her blue polo shirt and khakis. It was Sunday, April 12, and while it would grow warmer during the day, it was not yet seven in the morning and there was still a chill in the air.