He stopped by the bank of light switches. “Yeah, but right now we’re in the sweet spot where temperatures feel normal, if a little out of season.”
We’d be there for another five or more years before things started really running away. That was long enough for people to forget about the Meteor. “Well … as long as he keeps the funding going to support the space program at home, I suppose that’s something.”
“Right. Better if we’re in Brazil, though.” Nathaniel snapped the lights off and held the door to the sim lab for me. “Oh—how’s the Brazilian astronaut holding up?”
“Jacira? She’s amazing. The other day, the Sim Sup gave us a GPC that was at odds with the MIS—”
Nathaniel started laughing as the door shut behind him. “Do you hear yourself?”
“Fair.” I glanced down the hall to be sure we were alone, then kissed him. “I’m still holding you to drilling me on these, though.”
I settled into my chair at the Monday-morning meeting with a cup of coffee and a donut. There weren’t really assigned seats, but habit and routine led us to sit in the same places every time. Malouf’s and Benkoski’s seats were empty because they were up on a mission, but none of the new astronauts would dare sit there.
Jacira, Sabiha, Nicole, and I sat together at the right-hand table, farthest from the door. For the most part, women tended to clump together in the crowd of men, although Lebourgeois and Violette naturally sat together near the back of the room. Betty sat near Parker, up at the front of the room next to Clemons, surrounded by his usual cloud of cigar smoke.
An all-important table at the back of the room held the donuts and coffee. I had not realized how much of the man’s world was fueled by donuts and coffee.
Clemons flipped open the duty roster, which I had come to dread. “All right … Cleary and Lebourgeois, you’re going to head over to ILC to do trials on the newest generation of space suit. They think they’ve solved the binding in the shoulder area, but don’t trust them until you’ve spent the day in it.”
Unpleasant, but a fair point. According to all the astronauts, the amount of effort it took to move in a space suit became incredibly fatiguing by the end of an EVA, so something that was mildly annoying when you first put it on could become intolerable by the end.
“Zambrano and Terrazas, you’re still doing simulations with Wells, Tayler, and Sanderson, as per the original schedule. See if you can avoid breaking the IBM this time?”
Even I laughed at that. The mechanical computer that was supposed to manage the simulations had an abort rate that would have wiped out most of the astronaut corps if the simulations were real.
“Violette, Betty, Grenades, and Gladstone, you’re in the barrel this week.” He slid a couple of stapled pages across the table. I passed them back, glad I’d dodged that bullet. Being “in the barrel” meant being on the publicity tour. “Highlights include doing a public school appearance tomorrow and then cutting the ribbon on the reopening of I-70 on Wednesday.”
“Gökçen, Wargin, Paz-Viveiros, Collins, Aldrin, and Armstrong, you’re heading over to Chicago for a date with Adler Planetarium. Time to learn to use the sextant.” Then he turned to me and smiled. That never ended well for me. “York. You and Parker are testing the new T-38 trainer.”
I nearly dropped my coffee. The T-38? They hadn’t even let me fly the T-33 yet, and I had somehow landed a test flight in the brand new and incredibly sexy T-38. I managed to exchange my urge to say “Really?” for a more measured “Yes, sir.”
Nicole gave me a shove. “Aw, man. You get to have all the fun.”
“Hey … boss’s orders.” But it didn’t seem possible that keeping my head down and just doing the work had actually changed either man’s mind. This was not a gift horse that bore examining, though. I’d been longing to fly the T-38 for—well, basically since it was invented.
“Trust me. She won’t enjoy this.” Parker pushed back from the table. “Let’s get to work, people. We’ve got a moon to catch.”
When I finished changing into my flight suit and parachute, I grabbed my helmet out of its wooden cubby and headed out to the tarmac. My mother would have perished if she could have seen me. Not only was I wearing trousers, but the chute straps ran so tightly through my legs that in some cultures I would be considered married to them.
Parker was already at the plane, his helmet propped on the edge of the cockpit. He was chatting with the crew chief, but nodded when he saw me, and swung right into pedantic mode. “The preflight check begins as you approach the aircraft.”
Which was true of every plane ever flown. I nodded, hoping we could skip that part. “Right. Check for oil spills, obstructions, and anything out of the ordinary with the plane.”
The beautiful, beautiful plane. The jet. From its needle nose back to the exhaust for the jet engine, the T-38 was a thing of streamlined beauty. The IAC planes were made of polished chrome with the blue-and-white logo of the IAC emblazoned across the tail.
He crossed his arms. Even with his aviator sunglasses in place, I could feel the glare. “I know you think you’re a pilot, but a jet is different from a prop plane.”
“Yes, sir.” Smile and nod, Elma, just smiiiiiile and nod. I mean, he wasn’t wrong. They were different. “I’m just eager to put that desk training and simulator time into practice.”
“All right, then.” He jerked his thumb to the plane. “What’s the first thing you do after checking the area?”
“Check the logs. Then the canopy and seat safety pins.”
“Do it.” He leaned against the wing of the aircraft and made a shooing motion.
I checked the tie-down straps for the oxygen hose and the bolts, then hesitated, because I really didn’t know this plane. “What am I missing?”
“Make sure you check for obstructions.” He headed for the nearest intake with a slight limp.
“You okay?”
“You usually have to crouch to get a good line of sight through it, like this. Wait—” He lifted his head and beckoned me down. “While you’re down here, check this out. Look along the wing—see how you can see through the body of the plane?”
“Um…” Brilliant. I did as he told me, peering along the wing at the plane, which was a solid mass in front of me.
“Your angle has to be just right. The wings are actually a single piece that goes all the way through the plane.”
“Seriously? That is—oh!” I saw the glint of light and then a narrow view of the hangar on the far side of the plane. “Oh, wow.”
“All right. This intake’s clear, so take a look, then check the other side to see if it matches.” He stepped back, favoring his left leg. “Copy?”
“Roger.” I wanted to push it, because a pilot who was injured could directly affect me, but right now Parker was being nice. Or, at least, Parker levels of nice. Actually—wait. I have to be fair: when Parker was in pedantic mode, he was a patient and often generous teacher. It was just all the in-between stuff where we clashed.
Both sides were clear, and he walked me through checking the intakes for the engines with patience. But when I climbed into the rear cockpit, I had to resist dancing in my seat. It was such a pretty plane.
The act of going through every step of the preflight checklist helped focus me. Especially knowing that Parker was looking for any mistake at all.
That’s right. I was less worried about a mistake killing me than I was about looking bad in front of Parker. My priorities were, perhaps, not what they should be.