The Calculating Stars

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  The snow grabbed at the wheel, slowing us further. As long as I could, I kept the nose tipped up. When the wing wheels finally touched, one of them snagged on the uneven rows beneath the snow. The plane jolted. I clutched the yoke to keep the wings level and worked the rudder pedals, trying to turn in the direction of the wind.

  Our turn continued until we were facing the direction that we’d come. The plane stopped. Around us, the world was silent and still.

  All the air in my lungs hissed out at once. I sagged against the seat.

  A jet engine roared overhead and the radio crackled. Major Lindholm’s voice filled the cabin. “One Six Baker, nicely done! Are you two okay?”

  Nathaniel sat up and reached for the mic. His hand was shaking. “We aren’t dead. So, yes.”

  * * *

  The congealed mass of kidney beans and utterly questionable meatloaf may have been the best things I had ever tasted. The beans had a sweet tang to them, and puckered the inside of my mouth with too much salt, but I closed my eyes and relaxed against the hard bench in the Air Force canteen. It was weirdly empty, since much of the base had been deployed to deal with relief efforts. Some crockery rattled against the table and brought with it the glorious scent of chocolate.

  When I opened my eyes, Major Lindholm settled onto the bench across from us. The picture I’d built of him in my head had no bearing on reality. I’d expected an older man, Nordic blond and stocky.

  The real Major Lindholm was black, and younger than I’d expected from his voice. He was a hale man in his late thirties, with dark hair still mashed down from his helmet. The red line of his face mask traced a triangle around his chin and nose. And he brought hot chocolate.

  Nathaniel lowered his fork and eyed the three steaming mugs on the table. He swallowed. “Is that hot cocoa?”

  “Yeah, but don’t thank me. It’s a bribe, so I can ask you questions about rockets.” Lindholm pushed two of the mugs across the table. “From the stash my wife sends to work with me, not the Air Force stuff.”

  “If you weren’t already married…” My hand had closed around the warm mug before I realized what I’d said. I hoped he wasn’t offended.

  He laughed, thank God. “I’ve got a brother…”

  My heart clenched hard. I’d managed to put my family out of my mind in order to keep going, but my brother lived in California. Hershel must think I was dead. My breath shuddered as I inhaled, but I managed to find a smile somewhere and looked up. “Is there a phone I can use? Long distance?”

  Nathaniel rested his palm against my back. “Her family was in D.C.”

  “Oh, geez, ma’am. I’m so sorry.”

  “But my brother—he’s in California.”

  “You come with me, ma’am.” He glanced at Nathaniel. “Is there anyone you need to call, sir?”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “Not urgently.”

  I followed Major Lindholm, with Nathaniel at my back, through corridors that barely registered. What an inconsiderate brat I’d been. I’d taken comfort that Hershel and his family lived in California, but hadn’t once thought about the fact that to him, I was as good as dead. He had no reason to think that I wasn’t in D.C. when the meteorite struck.

  The office Major Lindholm showed me to was small and military tidy. The only thing that marred the right angles was a framed photo of twin boys and a crayon-drawn map of the U.S. pinned to the wall. Nathaniel shut the door and stood outside with Lindholm.

  A utilitarian black phone sat on the desk, but at least it had a rotary dial, so I wouldn’t have to speak with an operator. The receiver was warm and heavy. I dialed Hershel’s home, listening to the rattle of the rotary as it swept through the numbers. Each signal sent a pulse through the lines and gave me time to retreat into a mechanical calm.

  All I got was the high, frantic hum of a busy circuit. It was hardly surprising that all the circuits would be busy, but I hung up and tried again immediately. My urgency beat in time with the busy signal.

  I had barely hung up again when Nathaniel opened the door. “Company. You okay?”

  “Circuit’s busy.” I wiped at my face, probably just smearing the dirt more. I would ask to send a telegram, but the military signalers would be tied up. “I’ll try later.”

  There was a lot to be said for being alive and upright. I was a greasy, smoky, bleeding mess, but I was alive. My husband was alive. My brother and his family were alive. And if I needed a reminder that this was a blessing, all I had to do was remember how many people had died today.

  Still, when an Air Force colonel strode into the room, I caught myself trying to brush my hair into place as I stood, as if it would make a difference. Then, I saw past the insignia to the man. Stetson Parker. Thank heavens I had enough dirt on my face that I didn’t have to worry about guarding my expression.

  The jerk had been promoted. This was not remotely surprising, since he was a charmer to anyone who outranked him, or who he needed … as he proceeded to demonstrate now, with an outstretched hand toward Nathaniel. “Dr. York. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to know you’re safe.”

  Even with Lindholm’s earlier enthusiasm about rockets, it was easy to forget that Nathaniel had become a celebrity because of the satellite launch. We’d managed to beat the Russians to getting a satellite into orbit not once, but with three different launches. My husband, being unreasonably attractive and charming—a fact about which I am not biased—had become the face of the NACA space program.

  “Well, Major Lindholm has been taking good care of us. We appreciate the welcome, Colonel…?” The man had a name tag on, but still … an introduction was appropriate.

  “Where are my manners? I’m just so awestruck to have you here.” Parker gave a shit-eating grin. “Colonel Stetson Parker, Base Commander. Although … with affairs being what they are, I appear to be in charge of more than just this base.”

  Of course he would get that in, to make it clear how important he was. I stepped forward and stuck out my hand. “Good to see you again, Colonel Parker.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you have the better of me.”

  “Oh, when you knew me, I was still Elma Wexler. One of the WASP pilots.”

  His face stiffened a little. “Ah. The general’s daughter. Yes, I remember you.”

  “Congratulations on your promotion.” I smiled the best “bless your heart” smile I could. “You must have worked very hard for it.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He grinned again, clapping Nathaniel on the shoulder. “And I guess the little lady got a promotion, eh, becoming Mrs. York?”

  My teeth hurt from grinding, but I kept smiling. “You mentioned not knowing who your superior is. What can you tell us about the current situation?”

  “Ah…” He sobered, and the mood change might even have been real. He gestured to the seats on the other side of the desk. “Sit down, please.”

  Parker took the chair behind the desk, and only now did I notice his nameplate set front and center. I was surprised he had twins. I wonder who’d married him. He steepled his fingers together and sighed again. “An explosion—”

  “A meteorite.”

  “That’s what the news reported. But given that Washington was wiped out? I place my money on the Russians.”

  Nathaniel cocked his head. “Is there radioactivity?”

  “We haven’t gotten anyone close enough to the blast area to check.”

  Idiot. I spelled things out for him. “There’s ejecta falling all around, which, first of all, you could just test for radioactivity. Second, that’s not something that happens with an A-bomb. It occurs when a meteorite punches a hole in the atmosphere and the blast material is sucked into space, then falls back to Earth.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then know this. The United States Congress was in session, both the House and the Senate. Our federal government was nearly entirely wiped out. The Pentagon, Langley … So even if this was an act of God, do you honestly think
the Russians won’t try to take advantage of it?”

  That … that was a terrifyingly good point. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest to ward off the sudden chill in the air.

  Nathaniel filled in the gap. “So, the military is planning a defense?”

  He didn’t quite emphasize “military,” but did make it clear enough that whatever happened, a colonel was not going to be running the show.

  “It’s the prudent thing to do. Dr. York…” He paused, but the hesitation was so blatantly calculated that you could almost see him counting the seconds. “You worked on the Manhattan Project, am I correct?”

  Nathaniel stiffened next to me. The Manhattan Project had been exciting from a scientific standpoint, but horrific in every other respect. “I did, but I’m focused on space exploration these days.”

  Parker waved that away. “I hate to do this to you after your arduous morning, but may I pull you into a meeting?”

  “I’m not sure that I really have anything to offer.”

  “You’re the top scientist in rocketry right now.”

  Neither of us needed a reminder of how many people at the NACA were likely dead. I rested my hand on Nathaniel’s knee, to steady him as he had steadied me. The NACA, however, was not the only rocketry program. “Not to undervalue my husband’s work, but Wernher von Braun is at the Sunflower Project in Kansas.”

  Parker snorted and gave me a pained smile. He’d hated being polite to me during the war, when he had to because of my father; and now he hated being polite to Dr. York’s wife. “Ma’am, it’s nice that you want to help, but I hope you understand that I can’t involve a former Nazi like von Braun in questions of national security.” And then he was looking at Nathaniel again, ignoring me completely. “What do you say, Dr. York? We just want to understand what our options are for keeping America safe.”

  Nathaniel sighed and picked at a loose thread on his trousers. “All right. But I’m not promising to be bright today.”

  As he stood, I straightened my legs to join him. Parker held his hand up and shook his head. “No need, ma’am. You can just rest here in my office, while Major Lindholm arranges quarters for you.”

  The major said, “We have some empty rooms at our place—if you want to avoid the TLFs?”

  I was flattered—not that he’d offered a place to stay, but that he used the acronym for temporary living facilities instead of translating for a civilian. “That’s very kind. If your wife doesn’t mind, Major.”

  “I’m sure she won’t, ma’am.”

  Parker’s smile was unexpectedly warm. “You’re in good hands. His wife makes darn fine pie.”

  I’ll admit that I was surprised to see what appeared to be genuine camaraderie between the two men. My own experiences with Parker had been less than ideal. I hoped that didn’t mean that Major Lindholm would turn out to be charming but unpleasant too. “Thank you. Now that that’s sorted, we can go on to the meeting.” Not that I had any desire to go to a meeting, but I would give a lot to feel like I could be of some use.

  “Ah … I’m sorry, ma’am.” Parker tugged at his tie. “What I should have said was that Dr. York already has the necessary clearance levels from the Manhattan Project. You understand.”

  Clearance, my ass. From what he was saying, there was no hierarchy at all, much less clearance. But if I voiced any of that, nothing useful would follow, so I settled back in my chair. “Well, bless your heart. Of course I understand. I’ll just sit here and wait.”

  Nathaniel raised his brows at that. He knew me well enough to know I was good and angry, if not exactly why. I shook my head at him, reassuring him that I was fine. I smiled, folded my hands demurely in my lap, and settled back. Like a good little girl, I would sit and wait, let my husband do the work, and pray to God that this mishegas wasn’t going to start a nuclear war.

  FOUR

  90 DIE IN IRAN EARTHQUAKE

  TEHERAN, Iran, March 3, 1952—(Reuters)—Ninety persons were killed and 180 injured in earthquakes in LaRistan and Bastak in southern Iran. Teheran Radio announced today that the earthquakes are believed to have been triggered by the Meteor impact in North America.

  The sun had set in a vivid vermilion, with copper and streaks of dark gold. We might well have been transported to Mars based on the red sky arching over us. The ruddy light stained everything, so that even the white picket fence of Major Lindholm’s house looked as if it had been dipped in blood.

  Normally, I’d hate to impose on anyone, but Parker had irked me. And, truly, I was too tired to think, and grateful to have someone tell me where to go. Besides, they’d be needing the TLFs for refugee housing.

  Nathaniel was still tied up with his meeting. He’d come out long enough to encourage me to go, and I really didn’t have any excuse for staying on base—aside from the absolute certainty that if I left, I would never see him again. These are not things that one voices aloud. Not on a day like today.

  As I got out of the jeep, the stains on my clothes seemed to deepen. I could almost hear my mother saying, “Elma! What will people think?”

  I clutched the door of the jeep and bit down on the grief. At least I’d washed my face. Straightening, I followed Major Lindholm through the fence and up the tidy walk to the front porch. The door opened as we were climbing the steps, and a plump woman in a powder-blue dress stepped out.

  Her skin was no darker than Nathaniel gets in the summer, and her features were soft and rounded. I realized, with a little bit of a shock, that I’d never been to the home of a black person before. Mrs. Lindholm’s curls had been teased into a bouffant hairdo that framed the curve of her light brown cheeks. Behind her glasses, her eyes were rimmed red and tight with worry.

  She pulled the door open wider, and pressed a hand to her bosom. “Oh my poor dear. You come right in.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” The floor inside was a pristine faux brick linoleum. My shoes were so dirty that the original color was gone. “Just let me take my boots off.”

  “Don’t you worry about that.”

  I sat on the steps to pull them off. Mama would have been ashamed of me if I had carried this much grime into anyone’s home. “My husband will track in enough dirt for both us when he arrives.”

  She laughed. “Aren’t husbands just all alike?”

  “I’m right here.” Major Lindholm paused on the steps next to me. “But you let us know if you need anything. Anything at all. And I’ll make sure Dr. York gets back here safe and sound.”

  “Thank you.” If I had to see another look of kindness, I would come completely apart. I concentrated on the other boot. Even my stockings were filthy, and my feet weren’t much better.

  Mrs. Lindholm took a few steps out onto the porch. “I raised three sons. Believe me, a little dirt is not a problem.”

  No tears. Not yet. A shallow breath kept the worst of it from flooding out. I swallowed the salt. Grabbing the railing, I pulled myself up to my bare feet. “I really can’t thank you enough.”

  “Oh, I haven’t done anything yet.” She put her hand near my back, not quite touching me, and guided me into her home. “Now … I suspect that the first thing you’ll want is a nice hot bath.”

  “I would take a cold shower at this point.”

  The front door had opened directly into her living room. All the furniture sat at neat right angles, and even the tchotchkes had been squared with the edges of their shelves and tables. The air smelled of lemon furniture cleaner and cinnamon.

  “For a cold shower, you could have stayed in the barracks.” Mrs. Lindholm bustled down the hall off the living room and opened the first door on the right. Most of the floor in the bathroom was given over to a claw-foot tub. “I have bubble bath. Lavender and rose.”

  “I should probably shower first.”

  She adjusted her glasses, taking in the dirt that caked my clothing and visible skin. “Hm … all right. But after that, you soak, you hear me? Else you’ll be all over aches and pains
tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She wasn’t wrong. Given everything, I’d be surprised if I could even get out of bed tomorrow.

  “Now. Here are your towels, and a set of my oldest son’s pj’s.” She put her hand on a set of red flannel pajamas. “My nightgowns would just fall off you. Just set your clothes on the counter, and I’ll get them washed.”

  As she bustled out of the room I nodded, hoping she would take it as thanks.

  She had to wash my clothes, because otherwise I would have nothing to wear. Not in the despairing debutante way, but a literal fact. We were refugees. Our home. Our jobs. Our bank. Our friends. Everything had been destroyed when the meteorite hit.

  And if Nathaniel had not been a rocket scientist—if Parker hadn’t needed him—where would we be? I had thought about people like Mr. Goldman, but not about the people who lived. What were all the other hundreds and thousands of people who were on the edges of the destruction to do?

  * * *

  A cloud of steam preceded me out of the bathroom. I crept down the hall in my borrowed flannel pajamas. The trousers were fine, since I have long legs, but the sleeves hung down to my fingers. I rolled them up as I walked, and the myriad nicks on my fingers snagged against the soft fabric. My mind seemed empty of thought.

  I think I was still in shock, which was to be expected, I suppose, but at least it wasn’t manifesting with tremors anymore. It just seemed as if everything had been swathed in cotton.

  In the living room, the television was on but turned down low. Mrs. Lindholm had pulled her chair close to the screen. She hunched forward, staring at the news, with her hands balled in fists around a handkerchief.

  Rendered in flickering black and white, Edward R. Murrow sat at his news desk with his cigarette, and spoke about the events of the day.

  “… The latest total of known dead in the wake of the Meteor that struck today was seventy thousand, although that estimate is expected to rise. Five hundred thousand persons have been reported homeless in the states of Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Virginia, and into Canada, and as far down the Eastern Seaboard as Florida. These images were taken by airplane some five hours after the disaster. What you are looking at, ladies and gentlemen, was formerly the site of our nation’s capital.”