He sighed and bent forward at the waist, pulling his hand free of my grip to wrap his arms around his head. “Senator Mason is going to use this to tank the space program. People are already agitating about the resources that are going into it instead of relief here on Earth. It’s dead simple for him to use the deaths to sway public opinion.”
“So let me explain about the new safety procedures. Let me recommend moving the launch site to the equator.” We’d wanted to do that years ago, but couldn’t get budget approval, since the Sunflower facility had already existed. “Let me explain what’s going to happen to our planet, and why space is so important.”
“This is going to be offensive, and yet…” He sat up. There was enough light from the street that I could just see his eyes, pinched with concern. “Why would he listen to you?”
“Because I’m the Lady Astronaut.”
The morning I was to address the congressional hearing, I wasn’t afraid of speaking. I was afraid that the medication wouldn’t work. I sat there next to Nathaniel as I always did, a litany of “Am I calm?” running through my head.
I wasn’t. I was terrified, but the reaction wasn’t as … bright? Does that make sense? I was still afraid, but it was like a cloud had come between the fear and me. Yes, it made the whole room a little dimmer, but it also meant that the fear itself didn’t cast such dark shadows. The actual test would come when—
Nathaniel rested a hand on my knee. “Ready?”
I managed a nod. I think I smiled. Swallowing was not possible, as my throat had gone completely dry. Nathaniel kept his hand on my knee, out of sight of the committee, as Clemons stood.
1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34 …
“Gentlemen…” Clemons paced around to the front of the table so all I could see was his back and his hands clasped behind him. “During our deliberations, it has occurred to me that we have neglected to give you an adequate foundation in understanding the root of the accident.”
… 55, 89, 144, 233, 377 …
“The ‘transcription’ error.” Senator Mason drawled as he leaned back in his chair.
“Correct. I would like to return to that error, and have one of our computers explain, in detail, the effects of that error and the steps that will be taken to ensure that such an error never occurs again.” He turned to the side and gestured at me. “May I present Dr. Elma York. She’s the physicist responsible for recognizing the effects of the Meteor on our climate, and is the pride of our computer department, although you may know her better as ‘the Lady Astronaut’ from Mr. Wizard.”
The Fibonacci sequence dropped out of my mind. This? From Director “Control Your Wife” Clemons? Whatever his intention, the shock was enough to jar me out of my pattern of fear. Was I calm? No. But I didn’t think I was going to throw up, either.
Taking a deep breath, and amazed that I could, I pushed my chair back and stood. “Thank you, Director Clemons. Distinguished gentlemen of the committee.” I focused on Senator Wargin, who did not smile, exactly, but his eyes were kind. “If you will turn your attention to the blackboard, I’ll walk you through the equation that governed the rocket…”
Senator Mason jabbed his finger at me. “We’ve been over that, ma’am. Yes, we have.”
“Oh.” I paused to smile. This man, for all his power, was a child in mathematics. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were still asking questions because we hadn’t explained adequately. I must’ve misunderstood, of course, so to help me … would you explain the part of the equation that you had questions about?”
His mouth worked, pursing and grimacing, before he nodded. “Maybe you had best proceed. To make certain my colleagues are on level ground.”
At his side, Senator Wargin had covered his mouth. His eyes were decidedly crinkled with smile lines. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Dr. York. Please start from the beginning.”
“Very well. To calculate an ascent track, we have the following equation for the acceleration in the direction of the flight path: V = ΔV/dt = [(F 1 + A e,1 * (P e,1–P a) … Now, the F 1 is, of course, referring to the thrust of the first booster. That was calculated at, as you can see farther down in the equation, 12.8 times ten to the ninth G’s of thrust…” I glanced at the bench. Senator Mason’s eyes had begun to cross. “Am I going too fast?”
“No … no, not at all. Carry on.”
And I did. By the time I finished, they either understood or pretended they did, which was actually more useful for Nathaniel’s purposes. I didn’t throw up. Not even once.
And the cherry on the cake? Senator Mason asked for my autograph for his granddaughter.
It would have been nice if that had ended the inquiries, but my testimony at least allowed them to move from “who to blame” to “budget.”
Three weeks later, I stood outside Director Clemons’s door. Even from the hall, the stink of his cigars announced that he was in. Taking a deep breath, I stared at the ceiling. The Miltown was not a miracle pill, or my heart wouldn’t be racing, but it helped. I could do this. I had an appointment. This was only one man, and not a congressional committee.
Letting out my breath, I rounded the corner and smiled at Mrs. Kare. His secretary looked up from her typewriter. “Oh! You can go right on in, Dr. York.”
“Thank you.” When had she started using my title, and why?
In his office, Director Clemons bent over a stapled report, one of his cigars clamped between his teeth. Behind him, Parker scowled. “Oh, please … like that’ll work.”
I stopped in the door. “I’m sorry. Am I early?”
“No, no … come on in.” Clemons waved me into the room and I realized that there was another man here. Tall, and blond, he looked somewhat familiar, but in my shock, I couldn’t place him. “You know Lieutenant Parker. Have you met Wernher von Braun?”
Oh God—that was Wernher von Braun, rocket genius and Nazi scientist, sitting in a chair by the window. Nathaniel had worked with him years ago, but I knew him only by reputation.
They’d brought me into a room with a literal Nazi. Had that been Parker’s idea? Probably.
“How do you do?” Saved or damned by social niceties, I was able to make it through his response, which I barely heard, and even shake his hand. Yes, I’d heard the stories about how he wasn’t “really” a Nazi—about how he had been “forced” to use Jewish prisoners or risk losing his own life. But he’d made that choice. 1, 3, 6, 10, 15, 21, 28 …
“Colonel Parker suggested that we might need some assistance in understanding your report.” Clemons waved at the chair in front of him. “Have a seat.”
Did Clemons even know I was Jewish? I sat and smoothed my skirt as if I could rub the taint of von Braun’s touch off my hands. If I walked out of the room, my chances of convincing Clemons were over. “I take it that you were concerned about Nathaniel’s impartiality?”
“Exactly so.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now, explain it to me very slowly, like I’m a congressman.”
Wetting my lips, I nodded. “I hope you’ll bear with me if I start with a history lesson, which is not in the report. It will give some context.”
Clemons waved his cigar, smoke trailing it like a plane going down. “Go ahead.”
“When sewing machines were first introduced, people were frightened because they were new and moved with an unprecedented speed. There was concern that you could go blind from watching the machine. So the manufacturers made them beautifuclass="underline" they added gilding and floral motifs.”