Of all the people who saw her face that night, Beria is the only one still breathing. He does not know her name—he never thought to ask. There is no reason for Beria to visit Korolev, at least for now. That was, more or less, the extent of my daughter’s argument. It is flawed in so many ways. Beria prowls the same streets she walks on every day. It is only a matter of time before he runs into my daughter again. And yet we stayed. We broke the rules.
I could not bring myself to rob my daughter of what she loves. I put her happiness ahead of our survival and I should be ashamed but all I feel now is anger. I watch the sun set and I think of Beria telling his chauffeur he wants to go for a ride. I dream of the girls he lured to his home and I wake up screaming. Mia let her girlfriend live because she needed her faith in humanity restored. Now it is my turn to search for solace. I do not believe in a moral universe, but even I need to feel some semblance of justice. I need to restore some cosmic order.
44
Hound Dog
—No, Nina. Tikhonravov’s packet design is better.
Korolev is stubborn as a mule. I should be flattered; it was my design. Two rockets with giant tanks strapped around a third, all of them sharing fuel. Drop the side rockets when they’re empty. Like the milk churns on that bicycle I rode downhill in the Bavarian Alps.
—Sergei! You’re not listening.
It was a good design, but I had the government commission a study to figure out exactly how much we could extend the range by dropping parts of the rocket during flight. One of the researchers there really ran with it and came up with a smarter version of what I had. I like it. It’s robust, elegant.
—You are right. I am not listening.
—It’s still the same! Only simpler. Remember how much trouble we’re having with the R-3? Simpler is better, Sergei. Pumping fuel between rockets will be a mess, you know that. This way, we’ll have four boosters, each with its own fuel. We jettison them when we’re done. It’s the same thing! Except it’s lighter, easier to build, and it won’t break every twenty minutes.
—You said “we” again.
—I guess I did.
—If the rockets are carrying their own fuel, why not put the second stage on top of the first, like the Americans are doing?
Oh, that thing. The US stuck a smaller rocket on top of a German V-2. It failed a bunch of times, but it went pretty high when it worked.
—You mean Bumper?
—No! The ferry rocket!
Ha! So that’s what it is. This is funny. There was a symposium on space travel in New York City, and Collier’s magazine covered it. “Man Will Conquer Space Soon.” Twenty-eight color pages full of the craziest ideas. Von Braun must have turned on the charm, because most of them are his. There’s a circular space station, and this insane three-stage rocket straight out of a pulp magazine. It was meant to make the average Joe excited about space, but I see it turned into a dick-measuring contest for a certain Soviet chief designer.
—That was a magazine, Sergei. It’s not real. If we put our boosters around the main engine instead, we can ignite them at the same time, on the ground. You know, where there’s air? That way we won’t have to worry about lighting a fire way up there in near vacuum.
—I still think—
—Four bullet-shaped boosters, Sergei. Four! It’ll be so badass. Like some souped-up space hot rod with four. hundred. tons. of thrust.
—…
Aaaaaand I win. That’s the upside of working with a five-year-old. I’ll admit, I kind of feel like a kid myself. This whole project, it’s… It fits. All of it fits together perfectly.
—We’re going to need a bunch of tiny rockets for steering that hot rod. Did you ask Glushko?
—His answer was a resounding no. “It would be impossible to control a rocket by such thrusters.”
—Someone else will make the tiny rockets, then. Your Glushko impression was spot-on, by the way.
—Thank you, Nina. You only have to make the most mundane thing sound like a presidential address. Try it.
—It would be impossible—Hahaha. I can’t.
—We make a good team. Don’t we?
—I think so.
I know so. I’m good at math, physics. He’s good at the real world. People. Getting things done, knowing what everyone can and can’t do. He’s a dreamer, and a realist. It’s a rare thing to have both. I can draw a combustion chamber—I see it in my head, clear as day—but I don’t see the men bending sheet metal to get the nozzle just right. He does. He sees them tired on a Friday, with a sick kid or marriage problems. These rockets, what we’re building, they’re part science, lots of math, but they’re also giant, clunky metal machines. They’re made of steel, sweat and tears, late hours at the shop because you don’t want to face whatever’s waiting for you at home. Korolev gets that and I admire him for it.
—I know how much that rocket means to you, Nina, but it will not come cheap. I truly hope we can get the project approved.
—Now you’re the one who said “we.” Just tell them it will drop a five-ton thermonuclear warhead in the middle of Chicago. They’ll be all smiles.
—Like you are now?
I am smiling. That rocket will put a man in space. I know it. Why is he staring again?
—Stop looking at me that way!
—You are going to break that chain if you keep twisting it.
My necklace. I didn’t even notice I was playing with it. His fault. I get nervous when people stare. He knows, too. That’s why he does it.
—Then stop looking at me like I have something in my teeth.
—Maybe you do. Did your mother give you that necklace? It looks old.
—It’s been in the family for a while.
—Is it worth anything?
—I don’t think so. I thought it was a garnet.
—I can have someone look at it if you want. Oh, before I forget, I am having drinks with Mishin and his wife tonight. Would you like to join us?
—Thank you but I can’t. Not tonight.
I wish I could, but I told Billie we’d meet after work. I want to see her, but I love these get-togethers. Turning colleagues into friends. I see these people’s math every day, their brains put to paper, but I know almost nothing about them. I suppose what I like most is that it makes me feel like a normal person for a few hours.
45
All Night Long
I’m waiting for it. I don’t know what it is, but she’ll ask me something in the next minute or so. Billie asks for things right after we have sex, and now she has that look.
—It’s the third time you’ve spent the night this week. Anything you want to tell me?
It must be something big if she’s tiptoeing around it.
—Not really. Mother works late every night these days. I hate being alone in that house.
—So that’s why you’re here. I feel so special.
—You should! You’re amazing, and special, and smart. And special, did I mention special?
—You could spend the night at your man’s.
Shit. So this is what we’re doing. Why now? She’s known about Korolev for a while, but she never made it an issue. I know she sees other people. What does she want?