Hunza

‎VANESSA FORD HAS HAD BIOMEDICAL SENSORS ALL OVER HER BODY FOR hours. They have been sending her vitals down to the flight surgeon, who monitors every breath she takes. But even well before the elec-trodes were placed on her body, Vanessa has been aware that someone on the ground is always watching.
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‎Mission Control knows everything that happens on the shuttle-every temperature, every coordinate, the status of every switch. Every-where Vanessa turns, there is Houston, hearing and sensing everything around her.
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‎This does not seem to bother anyone else on the crew as much as it bothers her. But knowing that everyone can see her heart rate-that they can see how her body reacts every time Houston speaks up-makes her feel like she has nowhere to hide.
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‎”Nice to hear your voice, too, Griff,” Joan says. “Good start to the day here.”
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‎She can hear Joan smiling. She can hear it in the lilt of her voice.
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‎Vanessa reaches out and puts her gloved hands on the airlock hatch to the payload bay. She feels a vibration in her chest. With the payload bay doors already open, this is all that stands between her and space.
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‎There’s no data on the airlock hatch. It is one of the few things on the shuttle that doesn’t send its own signal. Which means one of them has to notify Houston that they are about to open it.
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‎Vanessa looks at Griff. She’s glad she’s doing this alongside him. She’s always liked him. Not just because they are both from New England, although it helps.
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‎”Houston, we are opening the airlock,” Griff says.
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‎Vanessa begins to open the hatch. She tries to keep her heart rate steady. She’s been working toward this moment for five years, dream-ing of it most of her life.
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‎Space.
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‎She and Griff both inhale when they can see through the hatch.
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‎They’ve looked through the window, but nothing quite prepares them for the sight of it now.
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‎Vanessa’s mind goes blank. There are bright lights from the ship, but beyond that everything is black. There is no horizon, only the edge of Navigator and then nothingness with the brilliant colors of Earth in the distance.
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‎”Wow,” Vanessa says. She looks to Griff. He’s lost in the vision of it himself.
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‎She lets go of the ship and moves through the hatch, to take her first step into space. Her legs feel steady as she wades into the dark-ness. Her eyes widen at the intensity of it, a void unlike anything she’s ever seen.
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‎She looks up, past the payload bay doors, to see Earth in the dis-tance. Clouds streak across the deserts of North Africa. For a mo-ment, Vanessa stops and looks at the Indian Ocean.
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‎For so long, she has loved to be above the clouds. But to be this far above them knocks her breath from her chest.
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‎”My God,” Griff says.
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‎Vanessa turns toward him. They are both tethered to the ship, and Griff pushes away.
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‎She follows, headed straight for the payload. The view is spec-tacular, but the real reason she’s here is because she wants nothing more than to tinker with a machine two hundred and eighteen miles above Earth’s atmosphere.
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‎They get to the payload, and each takes their position. There are four latches, two on each side of the satellite.
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‎”Take it slow, Ford,” Griff says. “I’m going to be very upset if we set the record for the shortest spacewalk.”
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‎”There’s not really much time we can milk out of this,” she says. “It’s just releasing a few clamps. But all right.”
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‎Using a socket wrench, Vanessa cranks open one of the latches on her side, then moves to the other. Once her second latch is open, she waits a brief moment for Griff to get his second one released, too.
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‎When he’s done, he sighs. “Houston, the clamps have been re-
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‎leased, in no small part thanks to the brilliantly efficient Vanessa
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‎Ford.”
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‎ Good job,” Joan says. And then, after a moment: “Navigator, we’ve got hours left on these suits, so better to keep you in the airlock as we deploy, in case we need you again.”
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‎”Awww,” Griff says. “Now you’re just being nice.”
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‎”Well,” Joan says, “we’ve got a soft spot for you down here.”
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‎”Back at ya, Houston,” he says. “Roger that. Ford and I will stay in the airlock.”
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‎They float back. Griff lets Vanessa in first and then joins her. He goes to shut the hatch. But then he stops and looks at Vanessa. He lifts his eyebrows.
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‎Protocol is to close that hatch. But if they leave it open, they will be able to watch the satellite deploy.
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‎Vanessa does not want to lie to Houston. Still, a smile escapes from her.
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‎Griff smiles back and takes his hand off the hatch. He does not close it.
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‎”Houston, we are in the airlock,” he says.
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‎They both turn their attention to the open hatch. They watch as the tilt table is raised into position to release the satellite.
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‎”Houston, we are happy with the degree of the sat,” Vanessa can hear Steve say.
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‎She thinks about their last night before the mission, when they were quarantined at Cape Canaveral. Steve had spent an hour on the phone with Helene. Hank was annoyed because he’d been waiting to call Donna. But Steve had just stood there, leaning against the kitchen counter, making jokes with his wife, his bright blue eyes crin-
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‎kling as he laughed. Vanessa had listened more than she probably should have. It seemed so easy for Steve to be both sides of himself at the same time the man he is on the ground and the commander he has to be up here. For her, those two roles have always been in conflict. “Are we cleared to deploy?”
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‎”Affirmative, Navigator,” Joan says. “You are cleared to deploy.”
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‎Lydia is on the remote manipulator system, the RMS. She will release the satellite.
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‎”Roger that, Houston,” Lydia says. “Preparing to deploy.”
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‎There are two explosive cords holding the Arch-6 in the payload bay. Vanessa and Griff watch as one is detonated according to plan.
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‎But then, swiftly, the second cord explodes in a flash unlike any-thing Vanessa has ever seen before. It looks nothing like their simula-tions. The explosions tear the metal bands around the satellite into pieces. Debris goes flying in every direction.
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‎Vanessa cannot tell what has happened. All she can see is the flash of metal, and then a grunt comes out of Griff, like the air has been knocked out of his lungs.
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‎She turns to see a gash below the waist ring in his suit. Within seconds, the exposure will kill him. He puts his hand on his suit to cover the hole.
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‎”I’m okay,” he says to her. They both know that his hand on his suit is enough to save him for now. But his voice is a rocky, thin whis-per, as if he has spent all of his breath.
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‎Then an alarm begins to sound, one that Vanessa recognizes but cannot place. And it is only once Steve, Hank, and Lydia all begin to shout that she understands there has been a second hit.
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‎AS THE ALARM RINGS, JOAN BREATHES DEEPLY, TRYING TO THINK clearly. When Greg stands up, her stomach falls.
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‎”Flight, this is EECOM. We are seeing a negative dP/dT. Pres-sure is dropping rapidly.”
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‎Jack: “What are we at?”
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‎Before Greg can answer, Hank’s voice comes through the loop, level but sharp: “Houston, this is Navigator. We have a cabin leak. We can feel the rapid depress.”
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‎Joan says. She keeps her voice calm, but this is a choice she has to make. She looks to Jack.
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‎Jack turns to her, eyes focused. “Tell them they have a hole. Judging from the depressure rate, it could be as big as half an inch. It’s punc-tured the skin somewhere on that aft wall, most likely-mid-deck or flight deck. Do they have a visual?”
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‎Joan relays.
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‎”Negative, Houston,” Hank says. “We see no hole.”
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‎Jack: “Tell them to pull everything off the walls, lockers, close-out panels, anything they can get off to expose the skin-pull it all off!”
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‎”Roger that,” Joan says.
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‎Jack continues: “Keep Ford and Griff in the airlock but start pres-surizing as quick as possible. Tell Navigator they need to flow in oxy-gen and open up nitrogen systems 1 and 2 to the cabin to feed the leak until we find that hole!”
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‎Joan updates the crew. Clear, concise, calm. This is NASA. We have a plan for this.
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‎”Roger that,” Hank says as the crew gets to work. “Already on it.” Greg: “Flight, EECOM-we aren’t seeing a positive change in the leak rate. Pressure is still dropping.”
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‎Joan knows that Hank is the one most likely feeding the oxygen and nitrogen while Steve and Lydia are pulling everything off the walls the layers of wires, the sleeping bags-as fast as they can. There is so much lining the limited space of the orbiter, and they are tearing it all away, looking for that hole. Each second that goes by stuns her.
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‎She looks at Jack. But Jack is looking at Greg.
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‎”It’s not in the aft of the flight deck!” Steve says.
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‎”I’m pulling the lockers off the mid-deck!” Lydia calls.
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‎Greg looks up at Jack and shakes his head.
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‎Jack slams his hand onto the top of the console and looks at Sean Gutterson, who is in charge of the mechanical systems. “RMU, what do you have? What are they not seeing? I need something! We have seconds!”
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‎Everyone is up out of their seats. Joan can barely hear herself think.
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‎She has been through simulations like this, with the pressure dropping rapidly and no way to stabilize it.
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‎They have ended only when the leak is found.
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‎Or the crew dies.
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‎This is NASA. We have a plan for this.
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‎VANESSA HAS CLOSED THE HATCH, AND THE AIRLOCK IS PRESSURIZING.
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‎But as Vanessa watches Griff, she can see that he is losing con-sciousness. She slips her hand under his, presses it against the hole in his suit, and applies pressure to his lower stomach.
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‎”Griff, Griff,” she says. No response. “John Griffin, do you hear me?”
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‎When he blinks, she cannot tell if it is purposeful. “I’ve got it,” she says to him. “I’ve got you.”
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‎She cannot pinpoint the exact moment he passes out. Only that soon, his hand falls away and now her hand is the only thing keeping him alive until the cabin pressure in the airlock returns. She checks for any indication of blood under his suit. She sees none.
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‎She can hear the commotion and the voices of her crewmates as they try to coordinate. Steve’s voice calms her, but Lydia’s is starting to rise in pitch.
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‎She realizes she has not heard Hank speak in at least thirty sec-onds.
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‎That moment grows longer and longer. And Vanessa gets a sink-ing feeling.
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‎When she was six years old, her mother told her that her father died. Vanessa does not remember what her mother said. She only remembers that before her mother said anything, her mother looked at her but could not speak. It was a brief moment, no more than a second. But Vanessa knew something bad had happened. And it was not by what her mother had said, but the silence that had preceded it.
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‎Vanessa thinks of that silence now.
‎STANDS UP. “FLIGHT, THIS IS SURGEON. JOHN GRIFFIN’S HEART RATE is dropping.”
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‎Joan has been working to slow down her breathing.
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‎”Hank has lost consciousness,” Lydia says through the loop. And then: “I think Steve has, too.”
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‎Jack goes pale. He looks to Joan. “Stay on Danes.”
‎ Joan says on the loop, each word feeling heavy in her mouth. “We read you.”
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‎Jack: “Keep Danes on the leak. But she also has to make sure the N, is all the way up. Keep Ford on Griff in the airlock.”
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‎”Roger,” Joan says, and then she gets back on the loop. “Naviga-tor, Houston. Danes, we need you to find that leak as soon as possi-ble. We are reading that the N, is funneling in, but we are not seeing an increase in cabin pressure.”
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‎”I think I-” Lydia’s voice cuts out.
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‎”Navigator? Navigator, this is Houston, do you read?” Joan says. Nothing.
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‎”Lydia Danes, do you read me?”
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‎There is no answer. This feels inevitable to Joan now, even though just one second ago she would have said it was nearly impossible.
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‎Losing all three in the cabin was something to pretend was a real fear, but it would never actually happen.
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‎Joan leans forward. “Navigator, this is Houston, come in.”
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‎Ray: “Flight, this is Surgeon. Given the rate the pressure has been dropping, Hagen, Redmond, and Danes are certainly uncon-scious, suffering from the bends. But, given the length of exposure, I believe they may be dead.”
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‎Joan can feel the mass of this moment as it takes hold in her brain stem, making her neck stiff, her head heavy.
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‎Greg: “Flight, EECOM-the cabin pressure is rising.”
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‎Jack: “Rising? Confirm you said rising.’
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‎”Rising, sir. PSIA returning to normal levels.”
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‎”Danes found the hole,” Jack mutters.
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‎Joan gets back on the loop. “Navigator, this is Houston. Can you confirm you have found the hole and patched it?”
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‎Ray: “She’s not going to be able to answer.”
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‎”Lydia, come in,” Joan says again.
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‎Nothing.
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‎Nothing.
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‎Nothing.
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‎And then Vanessa’s voice.
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‎”Houston,” she says. “I think I am the only one left.”
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