An hour later, I watched her onscreen as she worked inside Capsule A. Our command centre partially encircled The Hole in a rough U-shape, inside which were the oxygen tanks for the complex, fuel and extra cutting blades for the tunnel boring machines, construction materials, and in the centre, the capsule itself. It was held in place above the chasm of The Hole by the electromagnetic capture system, but for safety, a series of bolts prevented accidental release.

Rachel was inside, suited up, spraying the capsule with insulator before its debut drop the next day. She barely fitted; just shy of two metres wide, the capsule had been designed for cargo, not human passengers.

I watched her work, confident, at ease in a spacesuit, skilled at her task. I had been unfair. André was a talented spacer, a third-generation astronaut whose grandfather had been on the Mir. He was stable, trustworthy, a great commander. As a child he had lost his own father in a training accident when he was young; he knew the risks of space.

My reaction had more to do with guilt about my own failed marriage than about him, but I still couldn't see past it. A life in space and a family just didn't fit together. Even so, I owed her an apology. I reached for the comm. The video feed dropped to static, and I felt a deep vibration in the floor.

The moment froze, like a shuttle when the last booster drops away and the battering five-g ascent becomes instantly silent and perfectly still. I ran to the windows, my body sluggish, underwater. My eyes met André's across the room, and we both knew. An explosion. Disaster.

We looked out and saw the impossible: a fire on the Moon. The capsule platform was engulfed in flames. (It was months before we found out what had happened – lunar dust had fouled a valve, causing pressure to build up. The resulting explosion doused the platform with burning fuel and at the same time pierced an oxygen tank, providing the fire with a steady supply of fresh oxygen to keep it alight. At the time, all we knew was that Rachel was in trouble.)

Crew members packed the airlock, frantically suiting up for a rescue attempt, but I could see they would be too late. I rushed back to the comm.

"Rachel? Are you there?"

"Roger that, Control," came her calm voice, just as she'd been trained to react in a crisis. "The temperature is rising fast in here. Can I get out the hatch?"

"Negative. Egress is completely blocked."

"Can they put it out?"

The two men who had reached the fire with extinguishers backed away, unable to get any closer.

"Not in time."

My mind raced, trying to keep the horror out so I could think clearly. It wasn't my daughter; it was a problem to be solved. And then the solution was obvious.

"Drop her!"

André turned from the window to stare at me.

"Come on, help me. Release the bolts and drop the capsule."

André shook his head. "Big Betsy hasn't cleared the tunnel yet. She'll die."

"She's dying right now; that fire's going to cook her before anyone can stop it. It's her only chance. Do it!"

We kicked chairs out of the way and grabbed our consoles. It didn't take long. The bolts retracted and the capsule, released, plummeted into the Hole.

André grabbed the comm, thumbed the global override, and bellowed into
it. "I need every hand back to Control right now. The capsule is in the Hole.

Repeat, everyone back to the control room at once."
He turned back to me. "Big Betsy has 20 minutes to get out of the way."