“So I am not allowed to speak to a fellow countryman? Is this what you are telling me?”
“If that countryman is a reporter, yes.”
DeBeer looked as if he wanted to spit on the floor. “I am going to object to the IAC.”
“The order comes from Clemons.” Parker shrugged. “So you can do that if you want to, but it’s not going to go well for you.”
“He will take the easy route, when his focus should be the charges brought up in the article.” DeBeer flicked his fingers toward Leonard, who sat in the back of the room with his head down and his hands knotted together in his lap.
Terrazas and Heidi entered the room, both with the same “What the—” expression on their faces.
Whatever was going on, it had nothing to do with Nathaniel. Or me. Hopefully. “What charges?”
DeBeer spun toward me, with a sardonic smile. “The IAC is trying to cover up the involvement of a ni—Negro astronaut in the crash of the Cygnus 14 rocket.”
“They can’t ‘cover up’ something that didn’t happen.” I crossed my arms over my chest to match him. “We were both there, so you should know it didn’t.”
His smile faltered, as if he suddenly remembered who he was talking to. “Yes. Yes, we were. But you were at the front of the rocket, so you may not also remember that Dr. Flannery spent much time in whispered conversation with the terrorists.”
“No one remembers that, because it didn’t happen.” Although he was right: if Leonard had been talking with any of the protesters while I was at the door of the plane acting as their go-between, I wouldn’t know. But I was confident that Leonard had not been involved. I turned my back on DeBeer. “Are there still donuts?”
Rafael leaned against the built-in plastic counter and gestured to the vacuum-packed pastries. “Straight off the last supply ship. They almost taste fresh.”
Joining in the effort to change the subject, Terrazas gave a short laugh. “You’ve been up here too long if you think that’s fresh.”
Parker sat down, tapping his pages like he was Clemons. “Let’s get down to business, people. We’re a month out from launch and we need to be on task.”
One month. And we had only a seven-day window for departure, or we’d have to put the mission off for another year and a half while the planets came back into alignment. DeBeer would have to be an idiot to keep trying to get Leonard kicked off the flight. I prayed that he wasn’t an idiot.
I grabbed a packaged donut and a cup of coffee. One of the early problems with being in space was that the congestion and sip-packs meant you couldn’t really smell the coffee, which took half of the joy out of it. It was just bitter water. Bitter water with caffeine, but still. The centrifugal ring made all the difference. If you think this isn’t important, then you have no understanding of how much of the space industry is fueled by coffee. I inhaled the redolent steam as I headed to an empty seat between Rafael and Kamilah.
The Niña crew tended to sit together on the left side of the table, while the Pinta sat on the right. It wasn’t really planned, but we also tended to sit more or less opposite our counterpart, so I nodded to Heidi Voegeli as I settled in my chair.
She nodded back and jerked her head toward DeBeer at the front of the table. In the sigh that followed, I read a certain amount of commiseration.
At the front of the table, Parker gave everyone time to settle as he sipped his own coffee. Setting the cup down, he gave a brisk nod. “This week we’re focused on inventorying supplies and making sure they are secured. The Lunetta crews have been ferrying them over and loading the ships for us, but we want to make sure it’s all really there.”
“Can’t run out to the store for a gallon of milk on the way to Mars.” Benkoski winked.
Parker ignored him and carried on. “The Niña team will be Terrazas, Avelino, and Flannery. Meanwhile, I want Shamoun to check the medical supplies. Grey and York, you’re on the kitchen.”
I was so terribly surprised that he had the women doing inventory on the kitchen. What could possibly have caused him to assign us there?
“Pinta team will be DeBeer, Schnöhaus, and Stewman. Donaldson is checking the medical bay and supplies. Kitchen duty is Sabados and Voegeli.”
Donaldson, Voegeli, and Sabados were sitting next to each other on the Pinta side, as if they might get their girl cooties on the men of the mission. Voegeli leaned over and whispered something to Sabados, who pursed her lips to hide a smile.
“Benkoski. You and I will be on BusyBee duty to ferry people across to the ships, then to do a full checklist inspection of the Bees.” Parker looked up from his papers. “Mission Control thinks this will take us six hours, and they want us back on Lunetta in time for a press conference this evening.”
Down the table, Rafael snorted. I knew what he meant. If everything were under gravity, then, sure, six hours might be adequate. But it would take a half hour on each end just to go from Lunetta to the ships in the BusyBees. To say nothing of suiting up. And a press conference after a full day doing inventory? Ugh.
I bit into the donut, and it was made of Styrofoam. The sugar on the outside had a slight plastic character from the packaging. They had better have snacks at the press conference.
Parker let us grumble for a moment before giving a lopsided smile. “I told them that was unreasonable, so we’ve got two days, but the press conference is still this evening.”
Ruby Donaldson, the Pinta’s medic, lifted her coffee. “Bless you, Father.”
Parker shook his head. “Just a reminder that no one is to speak to any of the reporters without an IAC representative present. Talk to Betty if you need assistance.”
DeBeer muttered something in Afrikaans and drew a harsh line across a page in his binder.
Parker leaned forward. “Heard and understood. Why don’t you say that in English for the rest of the group?”
DeBeer turned red and ground his teeth together, then he shrugged. “If we need Betty, will we find her in your bunk?”
The room went quiet, uncovering the constant hush of fans that was our backdrop on Lunetta. We all knew about the affair. We all knew that Betty and Parker had continued it on the station. But they were discreet. None of us said anything about it because, frankly, Parker was nicer when he was getting laid.
Parker kept his gaze set on DeBeer. “Thank you for sharing with the class. I’ll note, for the record, that the Afrikaans word ‘hoer’ means just what it sounds like. ‘Whore’ is a harsh thing to call any journalist, no matter how annoying the press conferences are. These folks have jobs to do, same as we do, and cooperating with them gets it done faster.”
“Is cooperating what they’re—” Florence stopped and cleared her throat. “Is cooperating what the journalists are doing when they ask questions about the colored crew members?”
“That topic is closed.” Parker pulled his attention back to his papers, ignoring Florence’s scoffing huff. “As a heads up for next week, this is a reminder that Mission Control is sending a team up for last looks before departure. Slight change in staffing there, as they’ve added our lead engineer to that team.”
Nathaniel.
The room went hot. Everyone turned to look at me and I wanted to melt under the table. No one else would get to see their family before we left. He shouldn’t have made that change, and yet I was so very, very glad he did.
“York. You’ll meet that rocket with Betty. Be aware that the press corps will be there, so I recommend talking with her ahead of time for any tactical advice.” Parker grinned like a shark. “As a note, the BusyBees are soundproof.”
I hate him so much. I grabbed the Fibonacci sequence and clung to it so I didn’t lunge across the table and slap him. 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 …
Across the table, Heidi glared at me with naked anger. Oh, Nathaniel … I had just gotten people to accept me as part of the team and not some interloper here for publicity reasons. Why had Clemons said yes? They had to know what this would do to morale.
While my face flamed out, DeBeer leaned toward Benkoski. “See. I told you they were the publicity ship.”
Benkoski, who had known me for years, had a sour smile on his face, like he was trying not to scowl at me. He laughed. “Yeah. Well. York’s always been good at publicity.”
“We all have our jobs to do.” Parker’s shark smile was still fixed, showing all his perfect teeth. “York. You’ll have the morning off to make sure you can look real pretty to greet the old man. The press will love that.”
* * *
I floated next to the airlock in one of the weightless sections of Lunetta as the latest rocket from Earth arrived. In training, on the station, I had fallen into the rhythms of my crewmates. When Parker had told me that Nathaniel was coming, the date hadn’t occurred to me.
Nathaniel would be here for Rosh Hashanah.
Everyone was setting up for a dry run of the departure over on the ships. Well, everyone except for me, Betty, and the entire press corps. They all floated at my back, comfortable with zero-g after repeated trips up to the space station taking away seats from real astronauts.
One of the station crew kicked off with his toes and flew to the hatch, where he double-checked the pressure, then peered through the porthole for a visual confirmation. Just because the delta-pressure gauge was at 4.9 didn’t mean that there was necessarily something on the other side of this door—it could be a short. After a moment, he pumped the rachet handle and hauled the airlock door back.
Inside, the hatch for the shuttle swung open and released a brief whiff of Earth. I’m sure this is my imagination, because my sense of smell is terrible in space, but it seems as if the air coming off of a flight from Earth smells different than the clinical recycled air we get up here. Passengers filed out and the crew greeted the ones they knew. Most of them were en route to the moon or coming up for rotation on Lunetta.
Once the astronauts were out, the team from Mission Control floated through the airlock. Bubbles, Michael Boundy, Ken Harrison, and Howard Teng. All white men, except for Teng.
And at the back, the very last person off the rocket, grinning like he was about to burst into tears, was my husband.
With the photographers at my back, I plastered my regulation smile on over every bit of joy and grief in my soul. “Welcome to Lunetta, gentlemen. The crew will stow your personal luggage while I zip you over to the Niña and Pinta in one of the BusyBees.”
Behind me, the plummy British voice of the reporter from the Times called out, “Dr. York! How does it feel to see your wife?”
“Swell.” Nathaniel kicked closer to the front of the group, moving awkwardly. He’d been in space before, but it had been a couple of years. It took him two tries to get his foot hooked under one of the guide rails.
Bubbles managed to bounce even while holding on to a rail. “Aw, go on and kiss her. You’ll be useless until you do.”
This was, I think, the only time in my life I have ever been reluctant to kiss my husband. The moment I did, all of the cameras would click and clatter and snap at once. I knew the system well enough by this point to know that every major paper on Earth would carry a photo of us kissing. But, as Parker so kindly pointed out, we all had a job to do, and mine was to make space and Mars look inviting to the women of Earth.
My paperwork might say computer, but I was a poster girl for the stars.
Still smiling, I pushed off with my toes and translated to the guide rail by my husband. Nathaniel’s warmth radiated off of him. I inhaled, but the scent of him lay hidden behind the congestion of zero gravity. Shy as a new bride, I smiled up at my husband of twelve years. “Hello, Dr. York.”
“Dr. York. It’s very fine to see you.” Nathaniel took my hand in his, and I found the callous on his index finger. He leaned in to whisper. “L’shanah tovah tikatevi v’taihatemi.”
We wouldn’t have a formal dinner or hear shofar blasts or even have candles to light, but we could at least greet each other for the New Year. I whispered back, “L’shanah tovah tikatev v’taihatem.”
He smiled, and then nodded at the crowd behind us. “May I?”
I bit my lower lip and nodded. 3.141 …
He bent, eclipsing the hangar and the reporters and the engineers and Betty and Earth and everything. My husband tasted of fresh mint and his own inscrutable self. His cheeks were baby-soft, except for that tiny patch of bristle right under his lip that he always missed.
Pulling back, my cheeks burned as the engineers broke into applause and cheers. Lights snapped and flashed around us. I clung to Nathaniel’s hand for a moment longer, trying to draw in an even breath.
3.141592 …
As my therapist had taught me lo those many years ago, I forced a breath out until my lungs were empty and the inhalation followed almost naturally. Nathaniel rested his free hand on my lower back and cleared his throat. “Right. I think the IAC allotted 4.5 minutes for greetings, and we have a timetable to keep.”
That got a laugh from the gallery, including some members of the Lunetta crew who were hanging around to see Nathaniel. I released my husband’s hand and slipped back. “If you’ll follow me, the BusyBee is right this way. The Mars Expedition teams are looking forward to seeing all of you.”
I shouldn’t be working during Rosh Hashanah, but at least I wasn’t alone.
* * *
Nathaniel split his team between the ships. I don’t know who made the decision, but Nathaniel inspected the Pinta, rather than my ship, along with Bubbles, sending the rest to look at the Niña. Again, I don’t know who made the decision, but I did notice that Teng was assigned to our “separate but equal” ship.
The day was long, and as boring as you could hope for from an inspection. I think the most exciting moment was when Teng found Rafael’s chocolate stash and threatened to “inspect” it. Our team was solid, at least as far as the work was concerned.
I didn’t get Nathaniel to myself until after the inspections, and a group dinner, and yet another press conference. When I did, I pulled him into the BusyBee. The tiny ship was little more than a shielded tube with an engine and seats. To be sure, it had life support, but it was designed for carrying people in airless space, and would never survive reentry.
I activated the fans that circulated air with the main station and shut the hatch, sealing us in. Nathaniel floated behind me and pulled me back into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face against my neck. My whole body ached from missing him.
His breath warmed my cheek and stirred the fine hairs at the nape of my neck. “How bad is the DeBeer situation?”
I turned in his arms, which set us both to rotating slowly in the aisle of the BusyBee. “That’s why you’re here?”
Nathaniel gave a familiar smirk and found the zipper of my flight suit. “Well … there are other reasons, too.”
I rolled my eyes at him, even while my engine was priming. “And here I thought you were up for Rosh Hashanah.”
“That was a happy coincidence of timing.” He ran his thumb along the edge of my collarbone. “As you know, I’m a terrible Jew.”
“How are you going to survive three years?”
“Don’t know.” He sighed, then his foot caught one of the chairs, stopping his rotation. “Tell me about DeBeer.”
Mine kept going for a moment, spinning me past him. With one hand, I gripped his upper arm and anchored myself. “I don’t think he’ll be a problem once we leave. I mean, he can still be an asshole, but there won’t be the opportunities for mischief that he has currently.”
“Yeah … I wish South Africa had sent us someone else.” Nathaniel tugged at the zipper of my suit, letting in some welcome cool. “At least he’s just the copilot of the Pinta.”
“Benkoski will keep him in check.” I hoped. Sliding my free hand across Nathaniel’s shoulder, I sought the buttons of his shirt. “I told you that I was fine.”
“And then the South African newspaper article came out, and everything surround
ing the Black astronauts started up again. Clemons—”
“Tell me you didn’t talk to him about this.”
Nathaniel leaned in and nuzzled the bare skin below my collar bone. “How do you think I got rotated back onto the inspection team?”
“If I’d wanted you to—wait. What do you mean, ‘back’ on?”
He pushed the flight suit aside to bare my shoulder. Slipping a finger under my bra strap, he grimaced a little. “Ah. When you got assigned to the Mars mission, there was a general consensus that our relationship might cause me to have confused priorities relating to the mission.”
“Clearly they don’t know you.”
“No, they do know me. I would sacrifice everyone on both ships to keep you safe.” He pushed the bra strap to the side, followed it down to the cup, and then dipped inside it to cradle my breast.
“I need you to not make exceptions for me.”
“I try not to, but it’s not actually possible. It’s why we pulled Carmouche from a lot of the work when Helen was tapped for the mission.”
“Please.” Pulling myself closer to Nathaniel, I kissed his neck. Here, with my face pressed against my husband, I could finally get a faint whiff of his familiar scent. “It makes things harder with the team if there’s favoritism.”
Nathaniel tugged the other sleeve of my flight suit down with no grace or finesse. We spun away from the seats, drifting down the center aisle of the BusyBee. “I was only allowed up because Clemons knows that, after you, there is nothing more important to me than seeing the crew to Mars and safely back.”
I pulled my hands free of my sleeves, shivering a little in the cool air. Or maybe shivering because my husband was running his hands down my back, around my sides, up past my breasts, and then repeating the orbit. How can a person be cold and overheated at the same time?
“We have a conflict, then, because for me, seeing the crew to Mars and safely back is more important than just me.”
The Fated Sky Page 13