The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(54)
Sitting at my shared desk with Basira, I tried to ignore the constant bouncing that the engineer next to us was doing.
I’d offered him a chair when he came in, but he was too eager.
Resting my head on my left hand, I tried to surreptitiously rub my temple while studying the figures that Clarence “Bubbles” Bobienski had brought from the latest engine test.
I’d been on the radio this morning before work, and getting up two hours earlier had left me with a headache that ran from my left eye, over my scalp, and down to the base of my neck.
I was fairly certain it wasn’t fatigue that was the problem, though.
“Bubbles, this doesn’t make sense.”
“I know!”
He jabbed a finger, raw with chewed cuticles, at the paper.
“That’s why I want you to go over the calculations.”
I shook my head, running the tip of my pencil over the machine-generated numbers.
“It’s not an error in calculation.”
“Please.
That machine adds wrong if the temperature is over sixty-five.”
The cuffs of his shirt were smudged gray with pencil lead.
“I need a computress.”
As a group, we hated that nickname.
Lifting my gaze, I fixed him with a dead stare that I’d learned from Mrs. Rogers.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Helen had done the same.
“You need a
computer.”
He waved my correction away.
“Can you help me?”
“I
am.
I’m telling you that there are no errors in the calculations, so it’s either an error in the initial data set, or you’ve found a spectacularly effective engine arrangement.”
It
was possible that going to a star pattern in the middle of the solid propellant could lead to a more efficient burn
ratio.
In fact … “This structure reminds me of a theory that Harold James Pool had.”
“Yes!”
He bounced on his toes, and behind him, Myrtle covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
There was a reason he had the nickname Bubbles among the computers.
“See!
That’s why I need you doing this, because you understand.
That contraption doesn’t.
I mean, great Scott!
—you’ve got a PhD.”
That
was the first time my degree had come up at work since I was hired.
Mrs. Rogers knew my credentials, of course, but after our interview, I’m not sure I ever mentioned it, even when trying to make a point.
I guess he watched
Mr. Wizard or listened to
ABC Headline Edition.
It wasn’t as if it made me a better computer, and trotting it out always sounded like posturing.
I mean, anyone with a background in physics would have been just as capable of the type of work we did.
And several of the women in the computer department didn’t have college degrees at all.
“My degree is irrelevant here.”
I flipped back through the pages that Bubbles had brought me.
“Do you have the raw data?”
“Of course!”
He shrugged as if I’d asked a stupid question.
I waited, smiling at him, until he snapped and pointed both fingers at me.
“Oh!
You need it.
Right.
Got it.
It’s over in the lab.
I should go get that.
I’ll go get that.”
“Thank you.”
I stacked the pages on my desk as he bounded out of the room, tie flapping with each step.
The moment he was out of the room, giggles escaped from almost every desk.
We loved Bubbles, but oh, he could be
such an engineer sometimes.
We had a saying:
Engineers caused problems.
Computers solved them.
Bubbles?
Perfect example of the type.
Basira pushed back her chair and jumped up, bouncing from one foot to the other.
With an exaggerated American
accent, she kept bouncing like Bubbles.
“Ah need a computress!
Lord help me, ah need a computress!”
“Bless his heart.”
I laughed and rested against the back of my chair.
“He means well.”
“Oof.