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.”

“Surgeon?”

“Go.”

Jack nods at Joan. “They have a go for the deorbit burn.”

“Navigator, this is Houston,” Joan says. “You are a go for the deorbit burn.”

“Copy that,” Vanessa says. “Go for the deorbit burn.”