The phone pulled my head down to my chest with the gravity of her words. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Helen packed so much into those two words. I know you regret it. I know you don’t want me to blame you. I know that nothing will change. “I’ll wait. It’s not fair, but at least it’s a familiar strategy.”
And that … that just made me feel grosser.
* * *
As soon as I’d said “yes” again, it was as if the publicity department at the IAC went into overdrive. Maybe they had already planned these things, or maybe it was the magazine. Magazines. Because it wasn’t as if the Time piece had been the only negative article. The resistance to the space program hadn’t been that clear from the moon, where we didn’t exactly get regular newspaper delivery.
Whatever the reason, two weeks later I found myself in Los Angeles standing backstage at The Tonight Show with Stetson Parker.
I had taken a Miltown in my hotel room. Now I faced the wall, running a Fibonacci sequence to try to calm down. At least I didn’t throw up anymore. Usually.
1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144 …
Behind me, Parker paced in tiny circles, shaking his hands as if he were trying to get blood back into them. An assistant with a clipboard waited by us, one ear covered with a giant earphone, as if he were at Mission Control.
… 233, 377, 610, 987, 1597, 2584, 4181, 6765 …
The man with the clipboard leaned next to me and whispered, “You’re on.”
Onstage, Jack Paar said, “Please welcome my next guests, Colonel Stetson Parker and Dr. Elma York.”
I turned away from the wall in time to see Parker snap his genial smile into place. He gestured for me to lead the way. “Ladies first.”
My smile felt brittle and plastered on. Crinoline shushing against my legs, I strode out into the lights and the wall of applause. Beyond the banks of lights and cameras, real people sat in the auditorium. Beyond them, millions of people sat on the other side of television sets.
… 10946, 17711, 28657 …
Mr. Paar shook my hand and then Parker’s, and we went through the requisite smiling and waving to the audience before we were seated on matching leather chairs next to his. A silver microphone stood on the floor between Parker and me, and I had to cross my legs carefully to keep from hitting it with my pumps.
With a tug on one of his signature ties, Jack Paar leaned over to us as if we were the only people in the room. “Thank you both so much for joining us. I tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over being five years old. I know it’s obvious, but I just need to say it … You’ve both been to the moon?”
Parker laughed. He really does have a good laugh. “I can’t believe it either. There are days when I have to pinch myself.”
“And, Dr. York … You live on the moon, is that right?”
“Yes, I live in the lunar colony about six months out of the year.”
“That must be fascinating.” Jack Paar leaned closer, smiling with all the fidgety interest of a child. “What’s it like?”
“More like Earth than you might think. I pilot one of the transport ships, ferrying geologists and miners out to various sites. I have a regular route, so it’s not much different from being a bus driver, really.”
Beside me, Parker chuckled. “Don’t let Dr. York sell herself short. Piloting one of these ships requires a lot of skill because of mascons.”
Jack Paar raised his eyebrows almost to his hairline. “Mass cons? Is that a convicted mascot?”
Bless him for making me laugh, even if it was a poor joke, or I would have gaped at Parker’s compliment. “Mascon is short for mass concentration. There are local heavy spots on the moon where the rocks have more density, so it causes the ship to dip unexpectedly.”
“Wait—there are really spots where there’s more gravity on the moon?”
I nodded. “Here on Earth, too, but it’s so slight that you wouldn’t notice it. It’s one of the reasons we can’t automate a ship around the moon, because the math is too complicated for a mechanical computer that’s small enough to fit on the spacecraft.” Not that anyone wanted to hear about math. My job was to extoll the virtues of the Mars program. “But the lunar colony does give a taste of what our Mars colony will be like. It’s much the way living on the frontier must have felt for early Americans.”
“Is it true that there’s an art museum on the lunar colony?”
“It is.” I smiled even more brightly, until it felt like my skin was going to crack. “Although it’s only about one and a half meters of closet, all told. We have a tiny rotating exhibit created by the colonists with sculpture, textiles, and drawings.”
Parker gave his own shit-eating grin. “It’s true. I enjoy stopping in every time I head to the moon. It helps me realize that humanity will thrive among the stars. Our drive to create art is one of the most defining features of mankind.”
“I can’t wait to see how Mars will inspire artists.” Was it possible to be any perkier? But this is what they had asked me to do. My stomach twisted with each smile I gave, and for once in my life, it wasn’t just anxiety. It was the way I was being used at the expense of others.
“Now, I want to ask a more serious question, if I may. Dr. York, on your return to Earth, your ship was hijacked by a group of terrorists. What was that like?”
“They weren’t really terrorists—just a bunch of men out hunting who…” Who held me at gunpoint. “Who were worried about being left behind on Earth.”
Parker jumped in, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers pressed together like a rabbi in thought. “That’s something I love so much about our job at the IAC. We go out into space to prepare the way for others. Back in frontier days, you wouldn’t have dreamed of taking Grandma across the country in a covered wagon, but now? She can go anywhere. It’s the same for space.”
“Right. We’re making space safe for grandmas.” When I’m spouting drivel like this, it’s hard to tell that I have a PhD in physics and mathematics. But maybe this was a chance to talk directly to the people like Roy who were afraid they would get left behind. “It’s such a team effort. We have people from all over the world working in the space program. For instance, Helen Carmouche is a NavComp—navigator-computer—who was originally from Taiwan. She’s the one who came up with the idea that got everyone safely off the Cygnus 14.”
“And you’re the one who executed that idea.” Parker’s grin was blinding. “That’s why we’re so lucky to have you going to Mars with us.”
Asshole.
“Oh, I’m just part of a larger team. We’ve got Kamilah Shamoun from Algeria and Estevan Terrazas from Spain and Rafael Avelino from Brazil … just to name a few.” I wanted to turn to the cameras and appeal directly to Roy, who was probably in a prison somewhere, and just say flat out: Look. It’s not just white people. We’re all working together. Instead I said, “It’s like a flying World’s Fair up there.”
That got a laugh from the audience. Yay. Bully for me and rah rah. Parker laughed with them and leaned over to Jack Paar. “And of course, everyone going has more than one expertise.”
Jack Paar raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And what’s yours?’
“Mission commander. But I’m also a pilot and linguist.” Parker jerked a thumb over at me. “Dr. York is a physicist, computer, and pilot. She’s a triple threat. If only she played chess, she’d be a complete package.”
I kept a smile on my face and laughed right along with them. Because, of course, Helen played chess. I didn’t.
* * *
After we finished with The Tonight Show, I should really have gone back to the hotel and studied, but how could I be so close to my brother and not visit? When the car service dropped Parker and me off at our hotel, Hershel was already waiting with Tommy on one of the plush velvet sofas gracing the lobby. My brother hadn’t changed much since I’d seen him at Rosh Hashanah, but Tommy seemed to have grown a foot. I guess that’s the difference betwe
en sixteen and seventeen. His face still had the baby softness of boyhood, but his jaw was firming into the same lines as my dad’s.
My nephew jumped up, all puppy-eager smiles. He had already crossed the room to hug me while Hershel was still wrangling his crutches.
“Aunt Elma!” Tommy rocked me back a step with his enthusiasm. Please, God, never let this child of my heart lose his joy.
Child of my heart. For a moment, the reminder that I would have no child of my body nearly blinded me, and I clung to Tommy with an unnecessary fervor.
“Hey, Tiger.” I released him and turned to Parker, who had stopped when I did. “May I introduce—”
“Gee! You’re Stetson Parker!”
Parker gave that aw-shucks grin of his. “Yes, I am.” He offered Tommy his hand, and they shook man-to-man. “You must be Tommy.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. To the best of my knowledge, I had never discussed my nephew with—No, I had. The death sim. All of the astronauts had workshopped what to do in case we died on the moon missions. We’d gone into great detail about who to contact and in what order, so Parker knew about Tommy the same way I knew his twin boys were Elmer and Watson.
“Yes sir, I am.” Tommy was still shaking Parker’s hand, but his chest was three sizes larger, thinking that I’d talked about him.
Hershel swung up to us with the slight click of his leg braces. “Tommy, I’m sure Colonel Parker has things he needs to do.”
“Alas, I do.” Parker retrieved his hand and very convincingly faked a rueful smile. “And I’m sure you want to spend time with your aunt.”
There are things I notice, having a brother who survived polio. Parker didn’t look at Hershel’s crutches or glance down at his leg braces. Most people do, then make some pained expression. Parker, for all his flaws, gave my brother the gift of normal.
With a wink at Tommy, Parker strode away from us like the Great American Hero. Over his shoulder, he called back. “Don’t keep her up too late—she has homework and it’s a school night.”
Jerk. True, but so unnecessary. I turned back to Tommy and Hershel. “Want to step into the restaurant? I’m famished.” And I could use a drink. Thank goodness the restaurant kept Hollywood hours.
“Sounds great.” Hershel swung along next to me toward the hostess stand at the side of the lobby. “Aunt Esther sends her love. Doris, too.”
“Mom couldn’t come because Rachel is grounded.” Tommy shook his head, trying for the seriousness of an adult. “She was smoking.”
“What?!” My thirteen-year old niece had been smoking?
“Tommy.” Hershel frowned over the rim of his spectacles at his son. “That’s not your story to tell.”
“It’s just Aunt Elma.”
Hershel cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that your sister would agree.”
The process of getting seated in the restaurant forestalled the laundry list of questions that I had. I just couldn’t picture my niece with a cigarette. She was thirteen! No, fourteen. But still. Goodness … She’d be fifteen when we left for Mars and eighteen when I came home. Tommy would be in college.
“Elma—” Hershel put a hand on my wrist. “What’s wrong?”
“Hm?” I blinked back to awareness, my eyes stinging. “Just a long day.”
He glanced at my nephew. I’m not sure if I was relieved that Tommy was there, because Hershel couldn’t ask probing questions, or disappointed that I couldn’t tell my big brother everything. But, really, what was there to tell? Nathaniel and I weren’t going to have children, and I don’t think that decision would be a surprise to anyone. Least of all my brother.
Hershel fished in his pocket. “Looks like they have a jukebox. Tommy … why don’t you pick out some music for us?”
Like a rabbit, my nephew had snatched up the dimes and was out of the booth. Hershel immediately turned back to me. “So?”
I sighed and shook my head. “You know me too well.”
“And I know that you’re stalling. He’ll be back soon.”
“I just realized how old they’ll get while I’m gone.” I shrugged and spun my water glass on the table. “I hadn’t done the math.”
“That is the first time I’ve ever heard you say you hadn’t done math.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. I’m a grown-up. Clearly. “I have enough trouble with how fast they’re growing up without missing three years. And what’s going on with Rachel?”
He glanced over his shoulder at Tommy, who was apparently reading the details of every song in the jukebox. “He doesn’t know all of it. She was smoking pot.”
“And you hadn’t told me?”
“It was yesterday.” He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There’s a boy, who I did not kill.”
“I can.”
He chuckled. “You’d have to beat Doris to him. Anyway, he’s a senior, and apparently very handsome, and he has a car. Offered her a ride home from band practice.”
I went cold. “She didn’t—I mean.”
“No. That’s why he’s alive.” The music started and Hershel glanced over his shoulder. “Time’s up. Just bear in mind that Rachel will probably be grounded the entire time you’re gone.”
I nodded, swallowing my sickness as Tommy came bounding back over in time with the music. He’d picked “Sixty-Minute Man.” I hate that song.
SEVEN
SPACE SPENDING CALLED AUSTERE
Clemons Opens Fight for Budget; Reductions Suggested Priority for Tax Cut
By JOHN W. FINNEY
Special to The National Times
KANSAS CITY, KS, Dec. 4, 1961—The International Aerospace Coalition opened its fight to a skeptical Congress today asking for a $5.7 billion contribution to the United Nations space budget, warning that any substantial cuts would jeopardize the planned manned expedition to Mars.
There are widespread misgivings, bordering on resistance, about giving the agency another budget increase, with members of Congress saying that the United States has borne a disproportionate share of the costs of the space program. Behind this skepticism are a combination of factors ranging from such earthly concerns as tax cuts to concern about national objectives in space.
It would have, apparently, been too much to ask for me to be able to concentrate on training. Instead, for the past three months, I had to cram on a diet of IAC binders while flying between training and publicity opportunities.
I was in one of the classrooms with the rest of the team to learn about geology. A case of rocks sat in front of me, with numbers painted on them. It wasn’t going to be enough to tell Mission Control that we’d found something red and crumbly on Mars. We needed to be able to say that it was hypidiomorphic granular, porphyritic, with medium-grained red phenocrysts.
Leonard was in his element. He picked over the case of minerals that the instructor had given him, grinning. He leaned over to me with a lump of red rock in his hand. “Doing okay?”
“Trying to be.” I grimaced at the evaluation sheet I was supposed to be filling out. There was so much to memorize along every axis of the trip.
“Okay…” He pointed to a line of deeper red in the rock I was staring at. “This is pyroxene, which we think we might see—”
A quick knock at the door interrupted him, and Betty stuck her head in. “Hi! Sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow Elma real quick.”
“Well, I’m glad someone can use her,” Florence muttered, glaring at her notebook.
I sighed and clenched the rock I was holding like it was a security blanket. “Can’t it wait?”
“Sorry—it’s just that the BBC wants you … It won’t take long. I promise.” She leaned farther into the room and caught Parker’s eye with a wink. “You can catch her up, right?”
He shrugged in response. I wasn’t sure if that meant yes or that he didn’t care.
“Wouldn’t they like someone else?” Why did it always have to be me? “Leonard … you already know t
his stuff.”
“They want photos of you with Nathaniel.” Betty winced apologetically. “Sorry. But we’re working the whole husband-and-wife angle.”
Florence leaned over to Leonard. I don’t think she meant to speak loud enough for me to hear, but I did. “At least she can’t use us as shields this time…”
I set the rock down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She pursed her lips and turned to stare at me with hazel eyes over a long patrician nose. She kept her dark hair straightened, and the neat bob framed her disapproval. “You really want to have this conversation now?”
“Now or in space. Better now.” 2, 3, 5, 7, 11 …
“All right … ‘A World’s Fair in space’? Please. There are six colored astronauts in the entire program.”
“Yes. And I’m trying to celebrate you. The IAC was discriminatory in its early days, and I worked hard to—”
“You worked hard.” She snorted and glanced at Leonard. “And I didn’t? Leonard and Ida and Imogene and Eugene and Myrtle didn’t? Helen didn’t work hard?”
“Of course you did!” … 13, 17, 23 … I took a slow breath and tried to ignore the fact that everyone in the room was staring at us. “That’s why I’m talking about how you’re here, so that y’all don’t get shoved into the background. I’m trying to help.”
“Hm. You know what would help? If you’d learn to do your damn job.” She turned back to the rocks on her desk. “Better run now. Don’t want to keep the photographers waiting.”
There were a half dozen things I could have said, but I just bit my tongue hard and pushed back my chair.
Here’s the interesting thing: you don’t have to like someone to work well with them. In fact, in some ways, it’s more efficient when you aren’t paired with someone whose company you enjoy, because both of you have a vested interest in finishing tasks as quickly as possible in order to minimize contact. When you’re with a friend, there’s likely to be joking or goofing around.
By this measure, I could be efficiently paired with half of the Mars team. Okay … that’s an exaggeration, but it did feel like everyone was angry at me. And, honestly, I couldn’t blame them. It was bad enough that I was a late addition and had to do a ton of catching up, but the way that I was being trotted around like a dog and pony show … that wasn’t something an astronaut assigned to a mission was supposed to be doing. It meant that everyone else had to cover for me. Cover for me more.
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