They certainly didn’t see the memory of the year that I tried to hang myself.
TWENTY-FOUR
SPEED IS KEY TO SUCCESS OF SPACE PROGRAM
By DR. NATHANIEL YORK Lead Engineer, International Aerospace Coalition, Feb. 4, 1957
TIME is the scarcest resource, and the most essential to humanity’s space efforts. Since there is no way to increase the supply of this resource, the only sane choice is to make the best use of the small and rapidly dwindling quantity available.
The contrast between the ballroom for Tommy’s bar mitzvah, which had been all baby blue plaster and gilding, and the congressional hearing rooms of the New Capitol could not have been stronger. The New Capitol stood as a testament to the austere and modern aesthetic of post-Meteor fashion, stainless steel framing squares of granite. I was there to support Nathaniel during the inquiry into the Orion 27 crash. When I got back from California, he’d requisitioned me from the computer department to help him prepare the data for the hearing. Other computers could have done the work, but I knew his shorthand.
In the two months since the crash, we had prepared exhaustive reports with a host of charts and indices, but if the congressmen asked for a number Nathaniel didn’t have, then I could supply it. At least, that was the plan.
On the second day of the hearings, Senator Mason from North Carolina scowled down from his bench. I almost expected him to have one of those ridiculous wigs judges wore in England. “Now, wait a minute, sir. Wait a minute. Am I to understand that the entire rocket program is so fragile—so fragile, sir, that a single symbol can undermine it?”
Director Clemons shuffled his papers. “No, sir. Although in this instance, it is true that we are looking at a transcription error.”
“I find that … yes, sir, I find that hard to believe, sir. I find that hard to believe.” If Mark Twain had been an idiot, this man might have been his embodiment. “I find that very hard to believe.”
One might think he found it hard to believe.
Senator Wargin, who was one of the few bright spots on the committee, cleared his throat. “Perhaps if we let them explain the equation in question.”
My heart seized in my chest as if someone had hooked a live wire to my spine, sending current through my body. That was my cue. This was why I was here. I tried to draw a breath, but it was too shallow. I tried for another. God. Panting wasn’t going to help.
As I wiped my hands on my skirt, Nathaniel stood. “Let me try to walk you through it.”
My gaze had been fixed on the polished wood of our table. I dragged it up to follow Nathaniel. He walked away from the table, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room off of me. He didn’t—he didn’t have to do that. I could have explained it. That’s why I was there. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and watched him inch through the explanation.
Explaining that a single superscript had been dropped by the man responsible for transcribing our handwritten formulas onto punch cards was simple. Explaining what that superscript did? You had to understand the entire formula.
I should be the one explaining it. Nathaniel was doing it because he’d taken one look at my sweaty, shaky self and seen me as a liability. Pressing my hands against my skirt, I bowed my head and waited.
When he sat down, I leaned over. “You should bring Helen tomorrow. She wrote most of the program.”
“Helen is Chinese.” He sorted his papers as Director Clemons answered a question about the range safety officer’s duties.
“Taiwanese.”
“The point is, Mason wouldn’t get past her accent.” He rested his hand on my knee. “I need to—” But then he turned away in answer to something Mason asked from the stand. “Yes, sir. All of the rockets are equipped with a self-destruct device in case of malfunction.”
“So! This is something, sir, that happens often enough that you plan for it.”
“We would be irresponsible if we did not have contingency plans, even for theoretical occurrences.” Clemons’s voice sounded like he’d been sucking on lemons and still trying to smile. “Sir.”
For the rest of the session, my role stayed that of a spectator.
The only silver lining to the whole ordeal was that, since Senator Wargin was on the committee, Nicole came in to watch at some point. As we stood to recess for lunch, her lemon yellow dress was a welcome spot of color amid the stainless steel and granite of the hearing room.
“You look peaked.” She swirled over to Nathaniel, skirt billowing out. “Both of you. No offense, but you need to get out of this tomb. Join me for lunch?”
Nathaniel stood, stretching. “Thanks, Mrs. Wargin, but I have some things to go over with Director Clemons before the next session.”
“Sandwiches for us.” Clemons rose from his chair. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
“Well, may I at least steal Elma?”
I shook my head. “I should stay.”
Nathaniel took me by the shoulders and turned me away from him. “Go on. You can bring me back a piece of pie.”
Nicole linked her arm through mine. “Pie? Perfect. I know just where we’re going.” She half-dragged me out of the hearing room and into the bustling, hushed halls of the New Capitol. Congressional aides hurried down the thick blue carpet that lined the halls. It was the only spot of softness amid the crisp right angles and stone.
“We can’t go too far, though.” I kept having to blink to get my eyes to focus. “I need to be back when the session starts.”
“Well, I happen to know that one of the senators—who shall remain nameless—always takes a two-hour lunch. We’ve got plenty of time. Besides, you and I? We need to talk.”
The restaurant that Nicole took me to was pre-Meteor splendor, with tall ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and mirrors everywhere. It had gilding like something out of a Regency romance novel, and I felt hopelessly out of place. For the hearings, I had confined my wardrobe to dark pencil skirts. Today’s was navy, with a plain white blouse, to blend as much as possible with the sea of men and their suits.
The floral scarf Nicole had tied about her neck framed her face with a softness more appropriate to our luncheon setting. She broke that illusion when the waiter came to take our order. “Two martinis. Doubles. Deviled eggs to start us, and then filet mignon for both. Rare and bloody.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t—”
“Two-hour lunch. Plenty of time to absorb and recover.” She folded her menu. “Besides, you look brittle enough to crack. And I want to soften you up before I make my suggestion.”
“You mean, ordering for me doesn’t count as ‘suggestion’?”
She waved her hand, diamond bracelet sparkling. “Please. You would have ordered a salad and eaten a third of it. At least when you just pick at the steak, you’ll get a little nutrition.”
“That bad?”
“You and Nathaniel both.” She shook her head and placed a hand on mine. “Elma. Dear. I’ve seen more than my fair share of inquiries, and you are both textbook cases. Your clothes are loose, so … Not eating. Foundation is heavier under your eyes, so … Not sleeping. Probably barely talking outside the chamber.”
She wasn’t wrong. I was saved by the arrival of the martinis. “What’s your suggestion?”
Nicole pushed mine firmly toward me. “Drink.”
“Oh? That bad?”
“Drink.” She lifted her own glass in a salute and waited until I touched mine to hers, and then to my lips. She took a healthy swallow, closing her eyes with relish, then set the glass down. “Why isn’t Nathaniel using you?”