two n.a.s.a. techs, flip and skip, looking very haggard, furiously typing numbers into the circulator. the phone rings, flip answers.
clark how we doin', freedom, over?
skip twenty seconds till we lose radio contact, director.
skip radio contact terminated.
silence. tension. technicians stare at their consoles.
continued static on the radio. everyone sits nervously waiting. suddenly the shuttles' computerised system monitors begin to click back on.
clark gives golden a thumbs up.
we hear a cacophony of voices and banging rocks against independence's fuselage.
flash cuts independence's system monitors flash off pressurization goes to zero; cabin oxygen goes to zero; individual life support monitors go to zero.
golden looks at grace. she looks back. a tear slides off her cheek to the console. harry's daughter doesn't say a word, or break down. she just quietly rises and walks to the back of the room. grace rubs her bare ring finger. a beat.
intercut - freedom.  mission control
skip she's gettin' hotter! gotta mean gas - methane, helium, probably water vapor.
golden addresses the room.
skip turns to golden excitedly.
golden looks at the clock running down - ten thirty-three.  ten thirty-two.  ten thirty-one.
skip the thrusters are down! 32 seconds.
golden paces. technicians stare pessimistically at consoles.
grace is quietly weeping.
n.a.s.a.tehnicians sit at consoles, exhausted. there are coke cans, coffee mugs, cigarettes overflowing ashtrays. jimbo, theo and pearl, wearing v.i.p. visitors buttons, stand at the back.