—I knew you’d catch me.
—Billie, don’t you ever pull a prank l—
—It’s okay, Nina.
—No it’s not. You—
—Shhhh. You’re hurting my wrist now.
She’s climbing back over. Her wrist’s all red. I squeezed it with all I had.
—You’re insane, you know that?
—Maybe. But I knew you’d catch me. And when you fall, I’ll be there to catch you. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, Nina. Give me your hand and I’ll catch you.
—Billie, I—
—I’ll catch you. I swear. All you have to do is give me your hand. Now say you believe me.
I’m not going to cry.
—I want to.
I want to believe her. I want it so bad I feel my heart will explode, but I won’t cry. It’s bad enough I’m barefoot on a bridge at 4:00 A.M., I won’t cry on top o—
—Stop crying, Nina. We look like a couple of fools already.
—I hate you.
—I know. Now let’s go home and get some sleep before you leave.
—I’ll be back in a month. If you change your mind, I’ll—
—I won’t change my mind. Now you go to this place, this Kapustin Yar, and you find yourself.
—There’s nothing there to find.
—Then we’ll keep looking together. Either way I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, Nina. I’m here now and I’ll be here when you get back.
35
Pink Champagne
The smell of rocket fuel’s so strong it scratches at your throat. Somehow I feel better out here than I did at home. It might be the booze. Maybe I just really like things bleak and lifeless. Kapustin Yar is three hundred and sixty degrees of nothing, an endless sea of dead grass and dirt roads. Our little island is made of steel and concrete. There’s nothing fragile here. We can’t hurt anyone but ourselves.
—Hands on your desk, Sergei.
—One kiss. Then I swear I will get back to work.
Korolev is a child. He’s a charming, intelligent child, but he has all the maturity of a five-year-old.
—No! You have a rocket to launch, Mr. Chief Designer. Remember? Also, you look like a goldfish when you do that.
—It will work! We reinforced the nose cone so it does not overheat. You gave us the idea to fix the guidance system. How do you know about accelerometers, anyway?
I usually make sure my ideas come through other people, but there aren’t any right now. Also, that takes time and we don’t have much of that either. I just need a vague excuse for not being a complete idiot.
—I told you, my father liked to tinker. I spent hours watching him. And we didn’t fix anything, we just reduced the vibrations so the thing could work. It might not. The accelerometer could be bad to begin with.
—It did just fine in the horizontal test. It will work! Trust me! There is no point in worrying about it now.
I don’t trust him. Well, I do. I just don’t trust the other eleven million people involved in building that rocket. He’s right about one thing, though. There isn’t much more we can do from here.
—I hope it works. I don’t think you can afford many more of these failed launches.
—Have dinner with me tonight.
—I’m serious, Sergei! You need to be more careful.
—Careful how? My wife is not going to divorce me twice.
—Not about me, you nitwit. You speak of space rockets in front of everyone, orbiting satellites—
—I thought that is what we were doing. You said yourself—
—I know what I said, but Stalin wants missiles. You need to give him that first or you’ll get a visit from Beria and the secret police.
—They will get their missiles. The R-2 will work. Then we will build the R-3.
—The R-2 is too small, and even if you built the R-3, it still won’t cross the Atlantic. You know that’s the only thing Stalin is interested in.
—I will be fine.
—You keep saying that, but you know how Beria thinks. If you’re not adding to the might of the Soviet empire, then you must be trying to sabotage it. You of all people should know what they’re capable of.
He thinks he might lose his job, but Beria’s a madman. Korolev won’t survive another stint in the gulag. He definitely won’t survive a firing squad.
—You are worried about me.
—I’m worried about the program.
—… Nah! You are worried about me.
Fine. I like him. I keep telling myself it’s the work, but there’s something endearing about Korolev. He’s like a puppy. He also builds rockets for a living. Life around him—I don’t know—I don’t hate myself as much when I’m with him.
—You keep telling yourself that.
—I will. So? Dinner?
—Just dinner.
—Cross my heart. We will talk shop. I will tell you about that paper from Tikhonravov. He has some fascinating ideas.
Oh, good. He’s read it. “On the Possibility of Achieving First Cosmic Velocity and Creating an Artificial Satellite with the Aid of a Multi-Stage Missile Using the Current Level of Technology.” Mouthful. Mother said I had to publish, and Tikhonravov is my voice in all this while I play Nina the interpreter. He works in another bureau, NII-4. I thought it best to keep some distance. I’m paying him, of course, but he is brilliant. His next paper is called “Flight to the Moon.” I don’t think anyone here will pay attention, but the Americans will think that’s what the Soviets are working on. Hopefully.
—Okay. Dinner. But on one condition.
—There I was hoping my mere presence might be enough.
—Send the German scientists back home. You’re not using their ideas anyway. You’re paying them to play cards all day.
—End of the year. I will send them all home. I promise. Seven o’clock in the office?
—Seven thirty. And I’m not sleeping with you.
—I said cross my heart! Why not, by the way?
—You are still a married man, Mr. Korolev. And I’m a woman of virtue, not some able Grable you can just—
—Forget I asked. I will see you tonight. I want to check on the dogs before I leave.
—Poor dogs. I still hate you for that, by the way.
—I know.
—Good. Just making sure.
36
How High the Moon
—I can’t believe Korolev proposed. What’s wrong with men? Did he really think I’d say yes? Ooooh, we fixed the guidance system. Yes, Glavny Konstruktor. I’d love to marry you!
Here, Tsygan. Let’s get you out of that cage.
Mother, I have something to show you!
—…
Three successful launches in a row. I’ll admit, it was exciting. Saber-some-champagne exciting, not propose-out-of-the-blue. What kind of person does that?
—Next thing you know he’ll want me to cook his meals, wash his clothes. Fat chance, dog killer. Right, Tsygan? It’s okay. The bad man is gone now. You can look around. This is your new home.
Mother, I’m back! Where are you?
—…
It’s good to be home. I’m glad I went, though. Mother was right. I must be as crazy as Korolev, but being in the middle of nowhere shooting dogs into the sky is as close to normal as I’ve felt since I came back from Germany.
—Mo—
—Mia?
—Yes! I’m in the kitchen.
—Who are you talking to? I can hear you blab—Is that a dog?
—Very perceptive, Mother. This is Tsygan. Tsygan, meet Sarah, your… grandmother.
—I think not.
—Mother, you won’t believe what Korolev did in—