“Well, Sanchez needs the propellant calculations by tomorrow so he can adjust the payload parameters.” I massaged my temples, trying to ease some of the strain from staring at numbers all day. “Becky was working on it, but then someone told Director Clemons that she was pregnant and … She was just barely showing. It’s not like we do anything but sit at a desk.”
“And run back and forth to the labs. And sit in on tests when we’re firing experimental engines. And propellant tests, and—”
“You are just as bad.” I straightened and glared at him.
He was leaning against the kitchenette’s counter with his coat off and his tie half-undone. “Oh no … no, I would have let her keep working, but maybe kept her out of the test sites. But I understand why the director made the call he did.”
“Because, and I quote, ‘Pregnancy has a direct effect on women’s brains’?”
He snorted. “Politician. Not a scientist. If something happened to a pregnant woman working at the IAC, it would set back public relations.”
I opened my mouth to retort and snapped it shut. He was right, darn it. People were already trying to shift funding from the space program because they couldn’t grasp the scale of the disaster that was coming. Turning back to the table, I picked up an envelope. “I’m going to go through the mail.”
“You can pay the bills tomorrow.”
“I won’t be any less tired.” Part of our marriage agreement was that I handled the bills and balanced the checkbook. We were both good at math, conceptually, but I could do it in my head, and Nathaniel needed to write things down, which meant I was faster.
Behind me a cabinet opened, followed by the rattle of crockery. “Baked potatoes and … we have a little bit of ground beef. Chili sound good?”
Yes. Yes, I have a husband who cooks. He does not have a wide array of dishes, but the ones he does know how to prepare work well with our ration books. The chili would be mostly beans, but tasty. “That would be welcome.”
There was a letter from Hershel, which I put aside to answer over the weekend. If I tried now, he’d get nothing but a string of numbers and symbols. Electric bill. Phone bill. Those went in another stack to pay tonight.
A heavy white envelope, which fairly screamed invitation, caught my eye. We got a lot of those from different people wanting to have The Doctor York at their soiree. He was front and center at every press conference explaining trajectories and mission parameters in ways that anyone could understand. Doing the same thing at a dinner party was just tiring.
But … but this invitation had Senator Wargin’s return address. I knew his wife: Nicole Wargin had been a pilot with the WASPs during the war. And Senator Wargin was a vocal supporter of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I was hoping that the combination of his progressive politics and his wife’s interests would make him sympathetic to my own hobbyhorse.
I opened the envelope, sliding out the heavy white card.
S ENATOR AND M RS. K ENNETH T. W ARGIN
R EQUEST THE PLEASURE OF
D R. AND M RS. Y ORK’S COMPANY
A T A DINNER PARTY AT HALF PAST SIX O’CLOCK
O N THE SEVENTH OF A UGUST.
“Nathaniel?” I turned in my chair.
He had his shirtsleeves rolled up and was rubbing a potato with oil. “Hm?”
“Senator Wargin and his wife have invited us to a dinner on the seventh. Shall I say yes?”
He shook his head, setting the potato on the counter. “That’s only a week before the next launch. I’ll be exhausted.”
I stood and leaned against the counter next to him. “That’s your natural state.”
“Yours too.” He grabbed the other potato and rubbed oil over its surface. The muscles in his forearms rippled with the motion. Oil had splashed just above his left wrist and glistened with each movement.
“True…” I set my finger in the streak of oil and drew it farther up the inside of his arm. “This way, someone else will cook dinner for us.”
“And I’ll have to make witty conversation.”
“Oh no. No one expects witty from you.”
He laughed, and leaned down to kiss me. “Why this one?”
“I used to fly with Nicole Wargin.” I slipped around to stand behind Nathaniel. Running my hands around his ribcage, I leaned into him. “And … and I’m hoping that the senator might have thoughts about the need for women in the colony.”
“Ah-ha.” He turned in my arms, still holding the potato. Keeping his oily hands away from my clothes, he kissed me on the cheek, then at the base of my jaw, then nibbled a trail down my neck.
Between gasps, I managed to squeak out, “And you could use the same time to argue for the need to get off planet.”
“Well … I’m still going to be exhausted.”
“I could make it worth your while?”
“These potatoes still need to go into the oven.”
Laughing, I released my hold on his waist and stepped back. “Fine. Far be it from me to distract you.”
He bent down to open the oven door, giving me a look at his well-tailored trousers. Have I mentioned recently how fortunate I am to be married to Nathaniel? The warm air from the oven stirred a strand of his hair, and the light caught on that glinting oil again as he set both potatoes directly on the wire rack. He stood and kicked the oven door closed with his heel.
The heat from the oven seemed to warm the entire apartment. Nathaniel lifted a hand still glossy with oil. “I figure…” He traced a line down my throat. “It’ll take about an hour before those are ready.”
“Is that so?” My breathing was fast and heated. “Do I have time to make my argument for going to the dinner party?”
His finger continued its path, gliding along the collar of my shirt until he reached the top button. “As long as I get to make an argument for staying in.”
“Counterargument, confirmed.”
THIRTEEN
SPACE RECORD SET BY LEBOURGEOIS
Colonies in Space Would Aid Humanity
By HENRY TANNER
Special to The National Times.
KANSAS CITY, KS, Saturday, April 13, 1956—Lieutenant Colonel Jean-Paul Lebourgeois has given the International Aerospace Coalition another space record by staying in orbit more than four days. With this advancement, the IAC has demonstrated that working and sleeping in space is possible, a necessary step for the space program.
Nicole Wargin perched on the arm of the sofa in her living room, her glass filled with pre-Meteor champagne. The diamonds around her throat glittered above a glorious peacock green dress. Around us, the living room was filled with the cream of society in tuxedos and rich jewel-toned evening gowns, enjoying the kind of food that a ration book wouldn’t get you. If you couldn’t hear what Nicole was saying, she might have been any society maven.
Thank God she was more interesting than that.
“So the mechanic had sworn that the Hellcat was flightworthy, but I was at six thousand feet and my fuel gauge suddenly bottomed out.”
“Over the ocean?” Mrs. Hieber clasped a hand over her bosom in dismay. Earlier she had regaled us with stories of how she’d saved her prize roses from the Meteor winter through heroic use of glass and steam. Too bad she wasn’t interested in growing vegetables. I’d saved us by prompting Nicole to tell war stories. That I had another agenda was beside the point. At the moment, we weren’t hearing about aphid invasions.
I’d heard Nicole’s story before, so I just sipped my cocktail and enjoyed the show as Nicole pointed a manicured nail at her. “Yes. Over the ocean. Well, I hadn’t any other choice, had I, but to circle back to the aircraft carrier and tell them I was coming in.”
“No! Without an engine?”
“It was that or land in the ocean. When I landed, it turned out that the mechanic had missed a damaged fuel line. You should have heard the chief tear him up and down.” Unpowered landings were part of training, but landing on an aircraft carrier was a whole other ball of wax. She
caught my eye and gave a wink. “Tell them about the Messerschmitts, Elma.”
I had been perfectly content to sit among the other women and listen to Nicole tell stories, but when your hostess invites you to take the floor … “Oh. Well. We weren’t supposed to be flying combat missions, because it was too ‘dangerous’ for women.”
Nicole snorted and shook her head. “Not that the Germans could tell who was flying a plane.”
“Exactly. So, I was delivering a Mustang to the Amb érieu-en-Bugey Air Base and a trio of Messerschmitts comes up out of nowhere.” The crowd around us had gained a few men, which I’d been hoping the topic would draw, but still … there were suddenly a lot of people listening to me. I took a sip of my champagne. “Bear in mind that I was flying a fighter plane, but it didn’t have any ammunition.”
“Oh no.” That came from Senator Wargin, who had joined his wife. He was a stout man who carried the weight well, beneath a full head of hair that was just beginning to gray.
“Oh yes. I had just enough time to radio for help, and then they started firing. All I could do was evade, and hope to outmaneuver them. And of course the day was utterly cloudless. But there’s this river valley that runs toward the base, and I thought that maybe I could find some cover there.”
Nicole leaned forward. “Which comes with its own set of problems, because you’re flying low, and there’s no room for mistakes.”
“But it was better than being shot at. So I’m tearing down the valley, with this da—dratted—German on my tail, and another one flying cover for him.” I tried to demonstrate where the other planes were in relation to me without spilling my drink. “I have no idea where the third is. All I’m trying to do is use the river bends to make sure they can never get a straight shot at me, and praying that our boys are going to find me in time.”
“And clearly they did.” Ah … the sound of smug masculinity.
I turned in my chair. “Actually, Colonel Parker, they didn’t.”
Of course he’d been invited to the dinner. Senator Wargin was excited about the space program, so naturally, he would want the first man in space there as another trophy guest, like Nathaniel.
Nicole laughed at the look of shock on Parker’s face. “She got one of them to shoot the other, flew the second into a cliff, and … what happened to the third?”
“I never saw him again. I’m assuming that when our boys did arrive, they chased him off.”
“Wait—” Parker held up his hand. “You’re telling me you downed two Messerschmitts without ammunition?”
The nice thing about anger is that it overrides my anxiety about being the center of attention. “I had the advantage of knowing the terrain. I’d been ferrying planes in for months and knew where the river forked. They clearly didn’t.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Are you calling my wife a liar?” Nathaniel does this thing with his voice when he’s angry that always reminds me of my father. It gets very low, and very controlled. Right now it was so tense, you could have stabilized a rocket with it. He stood just behind me, only a few feet from Parker.
“No, no … Of course not, Dr. York. I just wondered if it was really a Messerschmitt.” He smiled, charmingly, and winked at Senator Wargin. “You know how excited ladies can get—one plane becomes three. A biplane becomes a Messerschmitt. Maybe the sun was in her eyes on this ‘utterly cloudless day’? I’m sure she’s not lying, but maybe a little confused. That’s all.”
I set my glass down on the nearest table so I didn’t crack the stem in my fist. “Oh, Colonel Parker, you’re so clever! Why, that must be just what happened.” Laying my hand on my bosom, I turned to Nicole. “Don’t you think?”
She joined me, like the world’s best wingman. “I’m sure you’re right. And to think, all these years, we’ve been confused by the wreckage. Why, that prisoner must have lied about what kind of plane he was flying to make himself look good.”
“I declare! I think you’re right.” Turning back to Colonel Parker, I beamed up at him. “Thank you ever so much for straightening that out for me. I feel like such a fool.”
Perhaps that was a tactical error. His face had red blotches at the cheeks, and it wasn’t from embarrassment. He inclined his head. “Still. The danger you were placed in demonstrates why letting women near a combat zone was a mistake.”
“I’m curious, Colonel Parker. How would you have handled being unarmed? As a man?” Tactical mistake or no, this got right to the heart of the astronaut issue.
He held up his hands. “Look. You were clearly very fortunate. I’m just saying that you should never have been put in that position.”
“I agree. My plane should have been armed. As a woman, I’m smaller and lighter. That means that my plane needs less fuel and I handle G-forces better than a man.” That last was skirting the truth, because I was tall for a woman, and the ability to handle G-forces was more related to height and blood pressure. “In fact, I would argue that women should already be in the astronaut corps, for exactly those reasons. To say nothing of the fact that we’re trying to establish a colony.”
“And men are better suited to do that work.” He glanced around the room and parroted what Clemons had said during the press conference. “Christopher Columbus didn’t take any women on his voyage, did he?”
“That was about conquest.” Sweat beaded under my brassiere. “The pilgrims, on the other hand, did bring women. If you want to establish a colony, we need women in space.”
“I see no compelling reason for that.”
“Here’s a reason.” Nicole laughed, lifting her glass over her head. “Babies!”
Laughter bubbled around us, breaking the tension. Senator Wargin stepped forward and guided Parker away, chatting amiably about golf. Small kindnesses, sometimes, are the best ones. Nicole left her perch and came to join Nathaniel and me.
Standing, I picked up my glass and saluted her with it. “Sorry about that.”
“Please. I remember Grabby Parker from the war.” She took a sip of her champagne. “Have you met his wife?”
I shook my head. “We don’t socialize.”
“You’ll notice that she’s not here tonight. Not that I’m saying anything by that … I’m just noting that Mrs. Parker was invited.”
“Speaking of invitations…” I glanced at Nathaniel, who seemed content to stay with me rather than mingle. “I’m putting together an air show featuring women pilots. I don’t suppose—”
“Yes. If you’re about to ask me to fly, yes.” She held up her hand, diamond bracelet glittering. “Wait. Darn it. I need to check with Kenneth to be certain it’s okay. Politics and all. But I can usually talk him round. So, if there’s no conflict, then yes. ‘Might be confused,’ my aunt Fanny.”
“Swell!” That would delight Betty’s journalistic soul. Having a senator’s wife on our roster would make pitching an article about the air show to her editor at the National Times that much easier. And, as an added bonus, it meant I wouldn’t have to be front and center.
* * *
I spent a surprising amount of time in concrete bunkers. The smell of kerosene filled the air of the testing range, even in the control bunker; having the test range three miles away from 203,400 gallons of kerosene still seemed uncomfortably close. I rolled a pencil between my fingers, waiting for the static firing test of the new Atlas rocket.
This one was an easy assignment. All I had to do was calculate the amount of thrust and see if it would be enough to get a rocket into orbit. Any of the computers could have done it, but I was here because it was Leroy Pluckett’s project. Damn good engineer. Couldn’t keep his hands off the computers, but as his boss’s wife, I had very few problems with him.
Relatively few. He leaned over my chair, one hand sliding across my shoulders to rest on the chair back. “How’s it going, Elma?”
I sat forward so he wasn’t touching me. “Can’t do much until it fires.”
Across the room, one of the
other engineers lifted his head. “Dr. Pluckett, we’re adding the liquid oxygen now.”
“Great.” He smiled down at me, and by “me” I mean my bosom. “Just let me know if you need anything.”
“Absolutely.” I tapped my pencil on the table, trying to draw his eyes away. “I should probably finish getting ready.”
“Can I help with—”
An explosion rocked the room.
Sound and heat roared through the bunker, carrying the stench of burning carbons. It wasn’t the first time we’d lost a rocket, by any stretch, but that didn’t make it any quieter.
Engineers flinched, throwing their hands up to plug their ears. I twitched away and nearly fell out of my chair as the thunder died, leaving just the distant crackle of a fire. Sirens joined the cacophony. Pluckett reached for me, as if he were trying to help, only his meaty hand “somehow” landed on my chest.
Standing, I straightened my skirt and stepped back from him. My pulse shook through my hands, as much from anger at Pluckett as from the explosion. “You’d best attend to your rocket. Or do you need me to calculate the size of the misfire?”
* * *
The weight of the bowling ball pressed against my palm as I stared down the lane. Letting out a breath, I advanced, swinging back, forward, and releasing the ball. It left my hand in a momentarily perfect line, then curved to the side to hit just off-center.
A split. Darn it. Again.
“You can do it, Elma!” Behind me, Myrtle clapped her hands. “You can do it.”
I spun back, skirt flaring around me, while I waited for the pinboy to clear the ones I had knocked down. “You’d think that a physicist would be better at this.”
With an arm around his wife, Eugene shook his head. “Theory and practice. Two different things. It’s like saying being a physicist should allow you to fly.”
“I can fly, thank you very much.” My bowling ball thunked against the end of the return trough and I stooped to pick it up, waving a little thank you to the pinboy who’d rolled it back. We had to remember to tip them well.
“Speaking of flying…” Eugene said.
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