The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(27)
President Brannan raised his hand again. He was staring at me. No. At the board. I stepped to the side so he could see it better. “Dr. York. What does the upturn on that chart represent?”
“That … that is when the oceans begin to boil.”
It was as if a jet engine had sucked the air out of the room. Someone said, “You can’t be serious. That’s—”
President Brannan slapped his hand on the table. “I hope you’ll grant that I know something about the planet and how it behaves. We’re having this meeting because I’ve already looked over Dr. York’s figures and consider the problem serious. We’re not here, gentlemen, to debate the matter. We’re here to decide what to do about it.”
Thank God. Brannan was only the acting president, until Congress could confirm him, which required a Congress, which required elections. But still … all the powers of the president were currently invested in him.
He surveyed the room and then gestured to M. Scherzinger. “Will you take the floor?”
“Certainly.” He stood and came to stand by Nathaniel. “Gentlemen. Mrs. York. There is a saying in Switzerland, ‘ Ne pas mettre tous ses ? ufs dans le m ê me panier,’ which you will know in English as, ‘Do not put all your eggs in one basket.’ The United Nations feels that, in addition to reducing the damage here on Earth, we must also look beyond our planet. It is time, gentlemen, to colonize outer space.”
PART II
TEN
UN URGED TO AID THE UKRAINE
Special to The National Times.
ROME, Feb. 20, 1956—The United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization today urged all member governments to consider immediately what assistance they could give to the Ukraine, part of the former Soviet Union, which is threatened with famine after the failure of its crops during the Meteor winters. The UN instructed its director general to continue to give, upon request of the Ukrainian Government, all appropriate assistance, technical or other, that lies within his authority and competence.
Do you remember where you were when we put a man into space? I was one of two computer girls sitting in the International Aerospace Coalition’s “dark room” at Sunflower Mission Control in Kansas, with graph paper and my mechanical pencils. We used to launch from Florida, but that was before the Meteor, and before the NACA became part of the IAC. Sunflower already had a rocket facility from the war, so it made sense to relocate inland, away from the wrecked coast. Three miles away, the fruit of our labor sat on the launchpad: a Jupiter rocket with Stetson Parker strapped into a tiny pod atop 113 metric tons of propellant.
Charming when he wanted to be, even I had to admit that he was a damn fine pilot. Unless we had really screwed up, he was going to be the first human into space. And if we screwed up, he’d be dead. Of the Artemis Seven astronauts, he was my least favorite, but I wanted him to survive this.
The banks of instrument panels gave a soft glow to the room, and the sound-dampening panels they’d added to the walls kept voices low. Or as low as possible, given a room filled with 123 technicians. The air crackled with electricity. Men paced at the edges of the room. As lead engineer, poor Nathaniel was stuck in the New White House, waiting with President Brannan to talk to the press. They had two speeches written. Just in case.
Across the small light-table from me, Huilang “Helen” Liu played chess with Reynard Carmouche, one of the French engineers, while we waited. Helen, the other computer girl, had joined the International Aerospace Coalition as part of the Taiwanese contingent. Apparently, she’d been a chess champion back home, which Mr. Carmouche hadn’t quite grasped yet.
After liftoff, she’d be in charge of extracting the numbers from the Teletype and feeding them to me while I did the calculations to confirm that orbit had been attained. We’d been awake for sixteen hours, but I couldn’t have slept if you paid me. I really did need something to do with my hands. Myrtle had been trying to teach me to knit, but it hadn’t taken.
From the small raised platform at the end of the room, the launch director said, “All positions are Go for launch commit.”
I breathed out. The launch sequence was familiar and terrifying by this point. But no matter how many things we’d launched, this was the first one carrying a human life. You couldn’t help but think about the rockets that had ex ploded on the pad, or the ones that had made it into space carrying a monkey only to return a dead creature to the ground. I didn’t like Parker, but by God, he was brave.
And I was deeply, intensely jealous of him.
The mission director replied, “Roger, launch team. We are Go for launch.”
Helen turned from the chess game and slid her chair closer to the Teletype. I straightened the graph paper in front of me.
“Stand by for terminal countdown. We are T-minus ten … nine … eight … seven … six … five … four … ignition.”
Parker’s voice crackled over the speaker with the roar of the rocket surrounding him. “Confirm ignition.”
“… two … one … and LIFTOFF! We have liftoff.”
Moments later, the thundering roar of the rocket ignition hit the room in a wave. It pulsed through my chest, even three miles away. Even in a concrete bunker. Even with sound dampening on the walls.