You are Flight Commander Jack Shaw

You won't give up easily. You can feel the minions of mission control reluctantly getting on board with every one of your new plans to get her safely home. You are getting severely pissed off. The only man here pulling his weight, doing his job, is Cap-Com. If he wasn't you would have had a skull to crack. But he is, and that's how you know that everything will be okay. Because when she comes home, you know that she will have her heart set on a deserving man, and when he sees her again he will finally let her know that she isn't alone. This you know because he isn't hiding under that rock anymore. All of his emotions are on his sleeve for the rest of the world to see, and you can't afford to show doubt now. If he sees it he'll crack and you need him together on this if you want a chance to save her.

You are Fred Benson

God works is mysterious and marvelous ways. You've been told this your whole life but only this minute do you believe it as you practically bounce in place. You always loved technology not just because you were a loser and had no better way to spend your time, but because of this. You went to college and got a doctorate in the subject not just because you were young and still afraid to branch into other fields, but for this. You won that place on the space mission not just because you worked hard to get, but because it was the door that led you to this job. Even though the entire mission control room is buzzing with scientists running around, trying to think of what to do, even as she frantically follows their orders and argues her own ideas, you are bouncing in place, waving your arms like a maniac.

You have realized a way to save her.

"Sam!" You cry and she stops mid sentence, freezes as she reaches to flip a switch someone told her to flip. The whole room looks at you. You look only at her on the screen. You lean forward over your console and tell her your idea. She is hesitant to do it at first, the chances of it working are too slim, but you convince her. You have to walk her through the steps, only two or three of the other tech guys can even understand what angle you're getting at as you tell her to shut down certain systems, but leave others alone. "Now you have enough to burn your thrusters." You tell her.

"But the moon is too far away!" She says.

"Your not headed for the moon, you're headed for Earth."

"It's even further away—are you kidding?" She asks. You spread your palms flat on the top of your console. "It should get you near the space station's orbit." You say.

"Near isn't good enough, Benson." Jack barks at you, but you ignore him. "The Russians have their SPEAR on board, sir." You tell him.

Solar Powered Electric Astro Rocket. It is basically a George Jetson car, a tiny little single person space vehicle used to make repairs on the outer part of the station. It is capable of going several hundred feet from the station and back when fully charged. They always have it fully charged. The whole room catches on to your idea, finally. You are still only looking at the screen. "They can zip out and catch your with their robotic arm, but if you don't go now, and I mean, now, by the time you get there, the Space Station will have already passed your position in orbit and it'll be a whole day before they come back around. You're oxygen won't last that long. It'll--" Your voice cracks as you relate that horrible possibility.

There is a horrendously long one- second pause before Jack makes your idea a direct order. You know the possibilities are slim—too slim for NASA's comfort, but in the single moment you had the idea, the universe and all of its complexities had seemed to align, and life made sense, if even for a moment. That is enough to convince you that she will not die today. She can not die. It will all work out. It has to work out.

You Are Sam Puckett

His genius was always what you loved about him, and if that wasn't true, it would definitely be what you loved about him from now on. You do as he tells you, you pray to God, and then you ignite your thrusters. It is a long burn and you keep your eyes locked on planet earth through the entire thing. The way it is growing bigger in your windshield is both comforting and frightening; what if you don't make it?

You beat those thoughts away just as his voice in your ear begins counting down to when you should run out of fuel. You're engines quit the moment he is supposed to say one, but he doesn't—kind of like in the old days for the web show—but you only briefly think of that, and then it is back to the same eerie silence that comes from floating in a dead space ship in outer space.

You hear him sigh in your ear and you can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, "Good job, Sam, now look out your port side window. Is the space Station there?"

You are smiling, too, as you spin around to look out the appropriate window. Your smile drops and your heart acts like there is gravity in your capsule.

"It's not there."

You Are Fred Benson

"What do you mean it's not there?" Jack asks. She gets the camera and points it out the window herself. The screen fills up with the blue and white curve of the earth's surface, and the inky blackness of space. Empty space.

"Where is it, Freddie?" She asks. You are staring in horror. Your previous certainty, your previous hopes, are suddenly as dead as her ship. You did the math wrong. She has missed the station. She is still outside of Earth gravity. She is running out of oxygen. By the time the space station comes back around, she will be dead. You were wrong. She missed it. No oxygen.

"Houston, I repeat, where is my space station?" Her voice is high pitched and her breathing is catchy. She knows what you know.

Mission control is silent. Jack's head is bowed, his eyes are closed. Several people have their hands clasps over their mouths or appear to be praying. No one is looking at you or her.

"HOUSTON WHERE IS MY THE GODDAMN STATION?" She shouts.

Jack clears his throat. "Every one take off your head sets." He says. He speaks softly, but the room is so silent, everyone hears him. Your eyes sting and suddenly brim with tears. Is this goodbye?

No one moves a muscle. Jack lifts his head and looks around. "HEADSETS OFF—NOW!"

Everyone obeys. Expect you, but then, he wasn't talking to you. Everyone obeys and while the sounds of a hundred headsets being taken off fills the silence, your friend turns to you with puffy eyes. "You have the airwaves all to yourself, Freddie." He says. His voice is strained. "Say what you need to say."

You can't breathe. This is goodbye.

You Are Going To Be The First American to Die in Outer Space

The silence that follows your question is heavy, meaning only one thing. You're dead. You can't even look and see what everyone in mission control is doing, because you had to cut the power from that monitor for the thrust. All you have is your radio and nothing else. No lights. No heat. Less and Less oxygen every minute, only enough left for an hour at the most.

"Sam." His voice is a crack. If you weren't floating, you would sink right now. Tears fill your eyes. You turn to look at the earth—the closest thing you have to his face, which, in all of it's radiant beauty, is no where near as good. Your fingers are shaking as you dash a tear out of your vision. It never falls, it just floats away. You remember that he can still see you, and you turn and look at the lens of the camera.

"You tried." You tell it. "It was a really good idea—" You voice catches. You swallow it and put on the face you wore at your mother's funeral. "It was the only chance, and—and I thank you for the hope it gave me, even if it didn't last—"

"Sam, I have to tell you something." His tone of voice says it all.

"No!" You interrupt.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say." He replies, almost angry, but not quite.

"I don't want it to be like this." You say. You never knew the sky was a solid thing, until now, when it is what separates you from him.

"It's our only chance." He croaks. You close your eyes against more tears and shake your head. Maybe, maybe through sheer will power you can survive long enough to get home and tell him face-to-face how you feel. You can't breathe. You find yourself wishing the meteor had been bigger, had whipped you out before you had time to think about it.

"Freddie, I'm scared." You whisper.

His sob fills the airwaves. "Don't be." He says with a sniff. He clears his throat and his voice is stronger. "Please don't be, baby. It's okay. I'm with you."

You Are A Man Who's Heart is Slowly Ripping Itself to Shreds

You are standing where Flight Control normally stands, in the middle of the room, with a dead center view of the screen. You see her crying. You hear her sniffing across too many miles. You would trade anything—everything, to be up there dying with her, rather than down here living without her. She is now sobbing.

"Sam." You say. "Tell me what you see—describe the stars to me, Sam." There is a long pause and she dashes away a few tears and looks passed the camera, out the window behind it. "The stars are beautiful, Freddie." She says. "They're bright and everywhere, and—and—" Her voice hitches and she pauses, her breath catches.

"What?" You ask---you think wildly of the oxygen--has it been an hour already?--but then, and this is the amazing part, she suddenly smiles. It is a beautiful, glowing smile.

"Freddie!" She gasps and she covers her mouth.

"What?" You practically shout. She is sobbing now. "What?"

She grabs the camera. The world on the screen shakes and whirls and then becomes still. "We were just early!" She shouts.

Mission control—who had been sitting quietly, pretending they didn't exist--jumps to its feet as one entity and screams in surprise and joy. The space station—Sam's ride to safety and to you, is zooming around the curvature of the earth, miles further out in orbit that you thought, which accounts to why it was late; a bigger orbit takes longer. You—and the rest of NASA, including the people on the station, apparently, thought they were on a much smaller orbit.

"Houston, I'M COMING HOME!" She screams. You fall to your knees.