In Joan’s estimation, we are not ill-suited at all. We are exactly who should be out there. We are the only intelligent life-form that we know of in our galaxy who has become aware of the universe and worked to understand it.

We are so determined to learn what lies beyond our grasp that we have figured out how to ride a rocket out of the atmosphere. A thrilling ability that seems ripe to attract cowboys, but is best done by people like her. Nerds.

Everything about space exploration is about preparedness over impulsivity, calmness over boldness. For such an adventurous job, it can be achingly routine. All risks are carefully managed; no corners are cut. There are no cowboys here.

This is how NASA keeps everyone safe. Predictable models, prepared for every scenario.

When the airlock completes depressurization, Jack gives Joan the go-ahead and Joan punches in on the shuttle loop.

And now Joan is aware of her own breath, her own heart rate. Not because she is afraid of what this mission entails—there is no logical reason to be afraid yet—but because she gets nervous every time she talks to Vanessa Ford.

“Navigator, this is Houston,” Joan says.

“Houston, we read you,” Steve Hagen says.

Hank Redmond chimes in with his gruff Texan accent: “Good mornin’, Goodwin.”

“Exciting day today,” Lydia Danes says.

“Indeed it is,” Joan responds. “With a lot on the agenda, which is why I am happy to tell you, Griff and Ford, that you are cleared for the spacewalk.”

“Roger that,” Ford says.

“Yes, roger that, Goodwin,” Griff says. “Nice to hear your voice.”

These are the last forty-five minutes before.

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 electrodes were placed on her body, Vanessa has been aware that someone on the ground is always watching.

Mission Control knows everything that happens on the shuttle—every temperature, every coordinate, the status of every switch. Everywhere Vanessa turns, there is Houston, hearing and sensing everything around her.

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.

“Nice to hear your voice, too, Griff,” Joan says. “Good start to the day here.”

She can hear Joan smiling. She can hear it in the lilt of her voice.

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.