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 not The 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 making it.

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 as counterforce 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.

Again.

And again.

And again.

“Goddammit!” She stops pressing against the door and loses her footing. She has to pull herself back into position. Fuck.

“Ford, we believe you should move on. Confirm, please.”

Vanessa can’t speak. She will scream.

“Navigator, please confirm you will move on.”