The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(118)

Mine too. The worst part was not knowing what the problem was. Now all we could do was wait while they dealt with it.

Nathaniel leaned over the CAPCOM desk and asked Cleary, a little too casually, “Any word on how Colonel Parker is doing?”

“Very well. Although he has to wear the most amusing collar around his neck.” He grinned. “He does not find it amusing, of course. I think he called it the fu—ah … the fun collar.”

“The ‘fun’ collar.” I looked at him. “Really.”

I don’t know if he blushed, but he suddenly became very interested in his circles again. Nathaniel exchanged a glance with me, and mouthed, “Fun collar,” with an accompanying masturbatory hand gesture.

Clearing my throat was probably not the most subtle way of masking a laugh. “Any idea when he’ll be able to, ah, launch again? I’m sure that’s high on his mind.”

“Yes.” Nathaniel nodded, suppressing a smirk. “Launches are very important.”

Thank God Cleary missed all of that. “I believe it will be another year for the bones to fuse together. Though he will be back at work much sooner.”

Too bad. A year free of Parker would have been a joy.

“Kansas, we cannot get the washer out. The gloves are too bulky to grab it. Malouf wants to try to use a screwdriver to pry it out. Will this compromise the seal? Please advise.”

My husband faded away, and Dr. Nathaniel York snapped into focus. “How much oxygen do they have left?”

Cleary frowned at him. “They are asking about the—” He shook his head. “What are your oxygen levels in the suits?”

“Forty-five minutes, plus or minus five.” Benkoski’s voice had that disconcerting pilot calm, as if he weren’t discussing possible death.

Nathaniel rubbed his mouth. “Here’s the call we have to make. If they rip the seal, they can’t pressurize.”

“If they can’t shut the door, they also can’t pressurize.”

Nathaniel turned to the computers. “Basira—what’s the current state vector of the Lunetta platform?”

She grabbed a sheet of paper and rattled off all seven parts of the vector: three for position, three for velocity, and one for time. It was in a higher orbit than the spacecraft, which, thanks to orbital mechanics, meant it was going slower. They might be able to catch it.

Clemons nodded, seeing where Nathaniel was going with that question. “Can they get to the space station before their air runs out?”

“In theory. Maybe.” He called across the room again to the computers. “Basira, I need a trajectory and burn rates for a station rendezvous. Get the station’s MC on the line. They may need to transfer to a lower orbit to meet them.”

My legs itched with the urge to go to Basira and Myrtle’s table, look at the numbers, and just do the math. But there were competent people there, and my job was here. To shadow. To sit, and learn, and do nothing unless asked.

Clemons said, “Here’s my thinking … Can we have Benkoski pilot toward the station while Malouf continues to work on the hatch? If he gets it, well and good. If not, they’re closer to the station.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “If they fire the rockets with the hatch open, there’s a high probability the kick will torque the hinge out of true. I think they’ll either have to lash it open while Malouf works or just go for digging it out.” He glanced at Cleary. “Check me on any practical considerations, since you’ve spent time in the capsule.”

Cleary squinted, moving his hands as if he were trying things out. “Lashing it in those gloves … that’s going to take some time.”

Time. It would take them ten minutes to dock, at best, which only gave them half an hour to do the rendezvous. “They have to do the burn now.”

Everyone stared at me as if a potted plant had spoken. Except Nathaniel. His vivid blue eyes locked on mine like a tracking laser. Without turning from me, he raised his voice. “Basira, I need the state vectors on both craft. Now.”

She didn’t blink, just grabbed the right page on the first go. Across from her, Myrtle circled numbers from the Teletype and handed them to her.

She was a good mathematician, and methodical, but I was faster. I’m not sure where the pencil came from, but as Basira called out numbers, I jotted them down for reference across the page of Cleary’s circles.

While we worked, Nathaniel turned to Cleary. “Tell the crew to dig the washer out.”

“What about the seal?”

“Even if the capsule is leaking, that’s going to give them a better shot at docking than having it wide open. At this point, we’re assuming no reentry.”

Clemons nodded. “Tell them that we’re sending up a burn attitude and targets, and they should maneuver as soon as they get them, and load the targets.”

There are times when numbers paint pictures in my head. They intersected with my pilot’s brain and I could see the arc of the ship and the controls in my hand. I double-checked my numbers anyway. Malouf and Benkoski had one chance.

“Kansas, we have the washer out. The seal did tear. Two centimeters. Should we attempt to repressurize?”

Back at his desk, Nathaniel said, “Negative. We may need to redirect oxygen to their suits.”