The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(31)

The late-evening sun cut across the parking lot, but did little to stave off the chill air. Pulling my coat a little tighter around me, I went out and walked with Nathaniel toward the bus stop. Beyond the fence that surrounded the IAC campus, kids waited with autograph books, hoping for a glimpse of one of the astronauts. They spotted Nathaniel, and once again settled for the lead engineer of the space program.

I let go of his hand and stepped to the side as the kids swarmed around him. Thank heavens they had no interest in the engineer’s wife. It was like watching a feeding frenzy, with autograph books in lieu of teeth. He ran the gauntlet nearly every day, and I suspected that it was one of the reasons he often worked so late.

Well … that and my husband’s inherent nature. The kids weren’t the only rocket enthusiasts.

After he worked his way clear of them, Nathaniel waited until we had walked down the block toward the bus stop to get back to his news.

“Well…” He glanced behind us. “This is not technically classified, since the final list of the astronauts will make it clear, but…”

“I won’t mention anything until the final list is published.” Not even the first cut. I hadn’t expected to make the final team—not really—but with my logged flight time, I thought I’d at least get past the first cut.

“Director Clemons did not select any women. At all.”

Stopping dead in my tracks, I stared at him. The head of the IAC, Director Norman Clemons—a man I had worked with for years, and someone I had respected—had not se lected any women. Breath steamed in front of me as my mouth hung open. “How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Well … because you know it wasn’t you. Right?”

“But there wasn’t anything in the requirements about being male.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Clemons said he thought it would have been self-evident. Because of the dangers.”

“Oh my God. I accepted that piece of patriarchal stupidity for test flights. But now? We’re trying to establish a colony. How exactly does he expect to do that without any women?”

“I think…” He hesitated and looked down the street, his eyes squinted against the breeze. There were times when Nathaniel really couldn’t tell me things, because they were classified, and when he hit one of those walls, he always looked vaguely constipated. Right now, it looked as if he were holding something huge.

“What?”

He licked his lips and shifted his weight. “There was some … concern about the stresses of space.”

“Stresses. Women handle G-forces better than men. The WASPs established that during the war and—” I broke off at the sudden compression of his lips, as if he were biting back words. “You are kidding me. They think we’ll get hysterical in space?”

Nathaniel shook his head and gestured toward the bus stop. “I thought we might go dancing tonight.”

Grinding my teeth, I jammed my hands into my coat pockets. “Why not a show, while we’re at it.” If I had to lay money on who had objected to the fitness of women for the space program, I’d pick one man: Stetson Parker.

*

I will grant that Nathaniel was right, in that I wasn’t sad anymore, but anger was, perhaps, not what he had intended to inspire. By the time we reached the weekend, I was still angry. If I had tried my best and failed, it would have been different. I could have dusted myself off and tried harder next time.

This? This was maddening, because there was nothing I could do to change it. If you haven’t gathered by now, I don’t do well with “helpless.” So I headed out to the private airfield where our local branch of the 99s Flight Club met. The first rule of flight club was—well, actually, the first rule was “safety,” but after that it was, “Ground is for griping. Planes are for planning.” In-air conversations did not return to the ground.

Which is why I started this particular conversation on the ground. I wanted at least some gossip to arise from it. I looked around at the circle of women. When the original 99s formed, they took their name because there were only ninety-nine women pilots in the United States. Now there were thousands of us in different clubs across the nation, and I was betting that all of us had the same ambitions. “Who else applied for the astronaut corps?”

Everyone’s hands went up, except Pearl, who was still plump from having triplets, and Helen, who didn’t have her license yet. (I’d gotten her hooked on flying at the Fourth of July party last year. Her father still hadn’t forgiven me.)

It was Betty’s turn for preflight refreshments and she had brought lemon-beet cookies. I’d been dubious when they first made an appearance, but these could be made despite the sugar shortages, and they were tart, sweet, and delicious. She set the plate down on the rough wooden picnic table set up in the corner of the hangar. Her movie-star red lips twisted into a pout. “I didn’t make the cut.”

I snatched a bright pink cookie from the plate. “None of us did.”

The other women turned on me with expressions ranging from surprise to suspicion. Pearl wrinkled her pert little nose. “How do you know that?”

“Because.” I broke the cookie in half. “They didn’t take any women.”

“Why? On what grounds?”

Betty snorted and grabbed her bosom, which was magnificent. “Obviously, these get in the way of the controls.”