The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(68)

“What happened?”

He sat back, finally dropping his hand. His eyes were bloodshot, and tear tracks stained his cheeks. “They’re still sorting that out. But it looks like the booster separated too soon, knocked it off course.”

“Oh God.”

“Rocket fell on a farm.” He pressed his hands against his face again. “Goddamn it.”

What do you say to that? “Was anyone … there?”

“Whole place is in flames. Gah.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and pushed away from the table to stand. “I need to get back.”

“Of course.” Though what either of us could do, I didn’t know. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m the lead engineer.” Nathaniel turned away from me and stood with his hands on his hips, head bent. The seconds passed between us in ragged breaths.

I shouldn’t have asked him to come. “I’m sorry.”

All the tension drained out of his shoulders and he slumped. “No. Elma, no.” When he turned his face was drawn and haunted. “Don’t take this on yourself. You’re right. It was a routine launch, and my being there wouldn’t have changed anything.”

I wish he believed that.

*

Flying back from Chicago, four hours after the rocket went down, we could still see the column of smoke rising from the farm. Flames licked the bottom of the column with hungry orange tongues. It had been a rocket, not a meteorite. That gave no real comfort, not when death had still dropped from the sky.

In the seat beside me, Nathaniel moaned. His fists were clenched into tight balls on each knee, and his shoulders hunched inward. “Can you fly over it?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” My husband had been near silent since the phone call. Packing our bags had fallen mostly to me, because when we got back to the hotel, he had been distracted by the radio, which had live coverage from the disaster. There had been children on the farm.

“Near it, then?”

“Nathaniel—”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.” We were flying with visual flight rules, so I didn’t have to check with a tower to alter our flight plan. I steered us toward the farm. Most of the fire had been concentrated on the fields, but it had spread to the house and barn. And the outbuildings. The drone of our engine and the hiss of the wind over the wings matched the lapping of flames.

I kept looking at the sky, my hands tense on the yoke. There was a part of me that saw that fire and thought that a meteorite had just hit. Even after I realized that I was looking for ejecta that wasn’t going to be there, I still kept scanning the sky. It was better than watching the ground.

“It shouldn’t have gone south.” Nathaniel had leaned forward to press his face against the window, trying to look down. “Something must have been wrong with the gyroscopes.”

“They’ll have telemetry back at Mission Control.”

“I know that,” he snapped.

“Okay. Okay…”

He stared out the window, fists still knotted. Smoke roiled in front of us, and I banked the plane away from the farm.

“What are you doing?”

“Avoiding updrafts.” I leveled out and pointed our course toward the IAC, which was alarmingly close. It had a runway for the astronauts to use with their T-33s. “Call the tower for me? Get permission to land at the IAC instead of out at New Century AirCenter.”

The window held his attention for another few seconds, and then he nodded and reached for the mic.

*

When we landed, Nathaniel went straight to Mission Control. I had to taxi the plane to the hangar and tuck it in next to the T-33s. Sleek and gorgeous, they were designated for the astronauts to use so they could go to different training locations.

My little Cessna looked like a child’s toy next to them. I could have pushed it into the hangar by myself. I’m ashamed that even amid this tragedy, I had a moment of coveting those planes. When I climbed out of the Cessna, the stench of burning kerosene and wood and flesh filled the air. I swallowed a gag.

Before I could cross the tarmac, another T-33 taxied up to the hangar. I stopped where I was to give the pilot clearance. They were great in the air, but their visibility on the ground was pretty limited.

The engine shut down and the cockpit popped open. Stetson Parker climbed out from the front, with Derek Benkoski in the trainer seat. That had to have irked Benkoski. Parker hopped down so fast that I wondered if he’d had time to run through the complete shutdown checklist. More likely he made Benkoski do it.

Parker saw me and changed course. “How bad is it?”

I shook my head. Behind him, Benkoski was climbing out of the cockpit, focused on us like a long-range scanner, seeking any glimmer of information. I had none. “We just got here. You fly over?”

He nodded, face grim, and turned back to the building. “I wonder how long they’ll ground us.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about? People are probably dead, and you’re worried about the next flight?”

Stopping, he drew himself up straight and cracked his neck. Then he turned. “Yes. That is what I’m worried about. I ride these things and I ask the men on my team to ride them, so yes. I’m wondering how long it will take them to figure it out, because this was an unmanned flight. But that rocket could have been carrying me, or Benkoski, or Lebourgeois, whose daughter you so charmed, Lady Astronaut.”