The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(62)

Someday we’d have two missions in space at the same time, so they’d built two duplicates of Mission Control. One of them was in use training the next flight crew, but one was, in theory, empty. Or, at least, not in official use.

Helen and I peeled off from the main throng and headed to the stairs that led up to the other control center.

“Hey! Wait up.” Behind us, Eugene and Myrtle Lindholm slipped through the door and into the echoing cement block stairwell.

“Eugene!” I grinned down at them. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“The way Myrtle has been going on about this? If I missed the first fly-by, we’d have nothing to talk about.”

“I must learn her bargaining techniques.”

Eugene overtook Helen and me on the stairs with no problem. “She doesn’t so much bargain as deliver ultimatums.”

“Don’t listen to him.”

“See!” With a laugh, Eugene turned to look at me as we proceeded up the stairs. “What do you think we’ll see? Myrtle thinks it will only be gray.”

“She’s probably right. The pictures are only getting scanned at a resolution of one thousand horizontal lines, and because we’re so far, the transmission is at a slow-scan television rate…” I trailed off. “I just started talking jargon, didn’t I?”

“Mm-hm. But it’s close enough to what we’ve been doing over in comm, so I’ve got a decent idea. It’ll be fuzzy?”

“Yep. But we should get better images as the probe swings back toward Earth.”

We reached the top of the stairs and Eugene opened the door. “Speaking of … how’s Nathaniel?”

Raising an eyebrow, I nodded at Eugene to thank him as I walked through the door. “He’s going to love being called a probe.”

Eugene laughed. “You know what I mean. Is he still as cranky about the IBMs?”

“According to him, they are an abomination, and he won’t consider any manned lunar mission that doesn’t include human computers.” Which was fine by me, as it increased my chances that they’d have to include a woman. Not that men couldn’t do math; it’s just that most of them went into engineering instead of computing. The world of numbers on paper didn’t seem to have the same appeal as the hardware and explosives of rocketry. Their loss.

There were people in this hall, too, but not as many. Most of them were from the Green Team. There were a few astronauts, though. Derek Benkoski and Halim “Hotdog” Malouf were leaning over a console, chatting with Parker. Mrs. Rogers was with another knot of people standing near the large display that would show the images from the probe as they came in.

“Where do you think we should watch?” Helen stood on her toes, trying to see over the crowd.

I scanned the room and spotted some empty chairs near what would normally have been the flight surgeon’s desk. Steering our group over there, it was hard to keep my eyes off the big dark screen. This would get us one step closer to the moon. After this, they’d pick a landing site, and then … then someone would go to the moon. “Helen, I’m suddenly delighted that you brought ‘refreshments. ’”

“That sounds promising.” Eugene grinned down at her. “Running into you all was definitely the right choice.”

Helen patted her bag. “Better than watching baseball.”

At the surgeon’s station, she pulled out some paper cups and a mason jar filled with her homemade blackberry wine. It was an unctuous beverage, but there were days when sweet and strong were exactly what you needed. Then Helen pulled out some soda water. “Found cocktail recipe.”

“Good lord.” Eugene leaned forward to peer into her bag. “Do you have an entire bar in there?”

“No ice.” She frowned at the two liquids. “Not cold, though.”

“Don’t need it cold.” Myrtle picked up two cups and held them so Helen could pour. “Just need it strong.”

I laughed and took the cup. The bubbles lifted a scent that held the memory of summer warmth. When Helen had hers filled, I lifted mine. “To the moon.”

“To the moon—and beyond.” Eugene tapped his cup with ours.

The sparkling water cut back some of the cloying sweetness and brightened the dark fruit. “Say. This isn’t bad.”

“Bad before?” Helen narrowed her eyes and gave me one of her patented tsks.

Drawn by the promise of alcohol, a couple of engineers drifted over, including Reynard Carmouche. I was a little afraid that he was going to bring Parker with him, but fortunately he was more interested in staying with the other astronauts.

Someone had brought gin, and of course that meant we had to experiment with other cocktail variations. For science. Chemistry is a very important part of rocketry.

Holding a gin and blackberry “bramble,” Helen leaned in to bump me with her shoulder. “Betty asked about you.”

“That’s nice.” Which is Southern for “fuck that.” “Did I tell you we’re going to California for my nephew’s bar mitzvah?”

“She meant well. And she’s sorry.”

All of the “she meant well” in the world would not make up for that betrayal. “I think I’ve even talked Nathaniel into taking a vacation. Can you imagine? He’ll probably sit on the beach with a report on orbital insertion.”