The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(107)
TWO-HOUR “WALK” IN SPACE PLANNED
Artemis 4 Astronaut to Float 75 Feet From Capsule
KANSAS CITY, KS, November 3, 1957—(United Press International)—Capt. Cristiano Zambrano of Mexico will try to set a world “space walk” record of perhaps two hours during the forthcoming orbital flight of Artemis 4, the International Aerospace Coalition said today.
Sitting in the simulator after hours, my thick binder of checklists rested heavy on my lap. I massaged the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut trying to press the correct sequence into my brain by sheer force. The interior of the simulator was a replica of the actual Artemis capsule and as snug as the cockpit of a fighter, but where there should be a canopy, I instead had a wall and ceiling of switches with arcane acronyms. I’d been hoping that if I studied in the simulator, I might have better recall during an actual sim. No such luck, thus far.
“You ever coming out of there?” Nathaniel’s voice came from below the capsule.
I let my head thunk back against the padded seat. “B-Mag.”
With a laugh, Nathaniel climbed the ladder to stand on the small platform outside the capsule. “Pardon?”
“The Flight Director Attitude Indicator is called ‘the F, D, A, I.’ But the Body Mounted Attitude Gyro is abbreviated B, M, A, G, which is pronounced ‘B-Mag.’ I mean … really?” The orbital mechanics and the flight training weren’t giving me any trouble. The acronyms, on the other hand, were killing me. “And why is that pronounced like a word when the commander is C, D, R? It takes longer to say.”
“‘B-mag’ is faster than ‘B, M, A, G.’”
“You know what I mean.” I glared down at the manuals in my lap as if they were Parker. “We have whole conversations without any actual nouns. ‘We were doing an LOI burn, and Sim Sup dropped the FDAI along with the MTVC. Then the LMP saw BMAG fail, and we had an O2 off scale low … Ugh.”
“No one’s ever done a manual Lunar Orbit Insertion burn.”
“You. Are not helping.” I shifted my glare to where Nathaniel stood framed by the open hatch of the capsule. I was staring straight up at him. He’d nicked a spot under his chin when shaving. “And then there’s the POGO. The Partial Gravity Simulator, which isn’t even an acronym. If any of the women named something that, we’d be laughed out of the astronaut corps, which we are already. Oh. My. God. Did I tell you about the photo shoot last week in the T-33?”
“Yes. But feel free to tell me again if it will help.” Nathaniel leaned an elbow on the edge of the narrow hatch.
“No. Thanks.” It still burned, though. I thought they were finally going to let us go up in the T-33s, but all we did was sit in the cockpit and powder our noses. Literally powder our noses. At least when I sat in the capsule, we were doing simulations and learning something. I reached up and took Nathaniel’s hand, turning it so I could kiss his palm. “Sorry I’m being such a grump.”
“Tell you what … if you come out of there and help me go over some numbers in a report, I’ll drill you on acronyms.”
I shut my manual so fast the slap of its pages echoed off the tiny capsule interior. “Yes. Please. Please, let me do math.”
He leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “Great.” Reaching down, he beckoned for me to give him the manual. “I’ve been missing you.”
“Aw … you say the sweetest things.” Standing, I wriggled out of the capsule. How some of the men could fit in there with a spacesuit stretched my understanding of physics.
Nathaniel leaned against the rail of the tiny platform. Past him, lines of cables and support struts wrapped the capsule in a network of chaotic artistry, designed to simulate missions as closely as possible for the people inside. I stretched until my back popped. The clock on the wall said that it was past eight o’clock. Apparently we were having dinner in the cafeteria again. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing complicated. Helen has already done the calculations, but I need to make sure the data reduction is okay before I send it up to the House Appropriations Committee.” He clambered down the ladder with the manual tucked under one arm. “We’re looking at what a proposed move to Brazil would do for the engineering department.”
“I thought that was already approved.” I slid down the ladder and hopped the last bit to the floor.
Nathaniel sighed. “It was. And then Senator Mason raised questions of national security over whether the United States should cede its power to another country.”
I stopped at the foot of the ladder. “Is he unclear on what’s happening? This is a global effort. There’s not going to be a United States of anything if we don’t get off this planet.”
“He doesn’t believe it.” Nathaniel walked across the simulator room, shoes clicking on the concrete floor.
I followed, more quietly. Since joining the astronaut corps, I tended to wear sneakers and trousers to work. “The weather has been warming up. Has he not noticed that?”
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.”