Throwback Thursday: ‘Space Tears Can Hurt’ by Greg Walklin

Ruth is floating. Through the observational porthole of the International Orbiting Space Station, she watches the Shackleton — a ship almost as big as the station itself — draw silently closer. On the window a thin caul of condensation has developed. She wipes it away to get a better look. Docking is a sort of breathless process, fraught with the potential for a myriad things to go wrong. In this case it is all the more difficult as ships like the Shackleton are, technically, never supposed to dock at the IOSS. Ruth’s pulse quickens.
 
“All the new designs are ugly,” Giovanni, the station’s commander, says from behind her. 

“Not as ugly as the IOSS,” Ruth replies.

The brand-new Shackleton, built specifically for its Mars mission, is sleek and black and shaped like a boomerang. Together, she and Giovanni watch it spin silently to orient itself for docking. Around them, the rest of the IOSS crew are now watching from other portholes. The Shackleton’s approach has been irregular and shaky, the mark of a pilot not accustomed to docking. According to its log, its heat shield was damaged leaving Deimos, and without it the ship can’t re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere.

“Why isn’t another ship coming to pick them up?” she asks. As the mission commander, Giovanni is always in contact with Ground Control. He is not particularly good about relaying information.

“You know how Control is.  It would cost too much.”

“So we’re the only ones who can help?”

“We’re certainly the cheapest,” he replies.

“At least we’ll finally be useful.”