Earth Bound (7 page)

Dr. Eason took up the soldering iron again. “Maybe three hours?”

Too long. Too goddamn long. His neck burned and his collar began to strangle him. He needed these numbers or else he would have to contemplate yet another delay. This mission could not be scrapped and it could not fail. Didn’t anyone else understand? “I want this machine working now.”

She turned then, the hot iron held tight in her hand. “Really? Would you like to help with the soldering, then? Please, be my guest.”

Perhaps that was what cut at him the most—not that he was deeply, deeply attracted to her, or that she was smart as hell, or that she was the most competent member of the computing department.

It was that she mocked him. And she seemed to think he was so humorless he didn’t know what she was doing.

Well, he did.

“Get this machine on line.” He swung his clipboard up to jab at Hal. “You should be helping her with the soldering. You and anyone else who won’t foul it up. I want all hands on this.”

Dr. Eason turned back to her work, and he had the distinct sensation she was dismissing him rather than the other way around.

Parsons made his way back to his office, engineers again scrambling out of his way when they caught sight of his face.

He was going through yet another pre-flight checklist when she appeared in his doorway, exactly one hundred and seventeen minutes later.
 

She looked as composed and lovely as always. He would never have guessed she’d spent the past few hours hunched over a workbench, doing tediously delicate work. She held up a sheaf of papers. “I have the numbers, from both the electronic computer and the women computers. Also, the machine is running again.”

He took the papers from her and rifled through them. Everything looked to be in order. The mission wouldn’t have to be aborted. If the chimp came back safely, America would finally catch up to the Soviets.

This was the point where he was supposed to say
thank you
. Or
well done
. But he didn’t want to be polite. He wanted to be surly and sullen and savage her if she came too close.

“Without these numbers,” he said, “we would have had to delay the mission. Again.”

“I know.”

Of course she knew—it was why she’d worked so hard to get the machine running again. He knew. She knew. There was no point in saying it. She didn’t need her ego fluffed.

She turned to leave, because she also knew he wouldn’t say thank you.

“Wait.” He tossed the papers she’d given him to the desk. Missing this deadline had not been her fault, and he wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again. He didn’t like how he felt when she disappointed him. “What would you need to have backup circuits on hand for the computer?”

Her eyes widened. She hadn’t thought of such a thing. That was the problem with scientists—they very often forgot the practical details. “Materials. Time.”

“Do it then. Tell Hal to get you whatever you need. And if he balks, come to me.” Parsons didn’t technically outrank Hal, but he was willing to pull strings on this one. “I don’t want this to happen again.”

“None of us do.” Perhaps there was a rebuke there. He couldn’t quite tell.

She was gone before he could decide for certain.

September 1961

Charlie sat in the control room of the cavernous ASD training facility and watched a training capsule dangle at the end of a long centrifuge. This was the sort of task Hal relished, as it gave him the chance to rub elbows with the astronauts. But they’d been having trouble with the cockpit displays, so he’d sent her. She hadn’t been around when they’d designed or built the things. She hated inferior technology, and hated even more having to deal with the mistakes of others. While everyone else had spent the Labor Day holiday barbequeing, Charlie had been here, trying to clean up those mistakes. And she still hadn’t gotten them all.

Though if those others—including her predecessor—hadn’t been substandard, she wouldn’t have had the chance to be here.

She was aggravated and thrilled in equal measures.

Over the radio, she could hear the astronaut Carruthers, who was sitting in the capsule, running through his reentry checklist. Suddenly, he cursed. “The damn board just went dark. Again.”

Stupid, stupid thing
—though she kept that thought to herself.

“Lower the capsule,” she instructed the operator.

She pulled on a lab coat. Analog computers were so touchy when it came to dust. She walked out to meet the descending capsule, her heels clicking on the floor.

When the capsule at last came to rest on the pad, she and a technician climbed the scaffold stairs. The tech opened the hatch, and she stuck her head inside.

Carruthers was ranting. “Idiot pen pushers who can’t even deliver the things they promise. What is the point when the devices don’t work?”

Because pilots, in contrast to engineers, always performed perfectly. Charlie rolled her eyes. “Get out of the harness.”

Carruthers gave her an aggravated look. If
Life
magazine was to be believed, he was the pretty one, with his curly hair so black it was almost blue, a chiseled jaw, and his devil-may-care attitude. He was a decent physical specimen, she supposed, but in the time she’d spent at ASD, she’d seen him be reckless, selfish, and infuriating. Those might be necessary qualities in someone who was going to strap himself to a rocket with a spotty safety record, but she’d been thoroughly disabused of the astronaut hero myths America found so appealing. Astronauts were technicians who could fly things. Annoyingly arrogant technicians.

“Get your harness off,” she repeated, enunciating each word carefully. Only when he began unsnapping it did she continue: “I suspect some of the components in the panel came loose during the last test. Get out so I can check the connections.”

He muttered and complained the whole time, but he finally managed to haul himself out of the capsule. She climbed in—wishing she’d worn flats and slacks—and began to take the screws out of the side of the display computer.

When the metal panel popped off, she wedged herself sideways as best she could to look inside. Shoot. As she’d anticipated, several tubes had been jarred loose by the capsule’s descent. It didn’t speak well of the technology’s ability to withstand mission conditions. She was going to have to talk to Hal and Parsons about it.

But for the moment, they had to get through this series of tests. So she began to snap the tubes back into place, until her finger caught on something sharp. She pushed herself further into the space next to the computer to see better.

“Damn,” she whispered. One triode had broken, and small bits of glass were scattered inside the computer.

She sucked on her finger for a moment, then hauled herself up to face the tech peering inside the capsule. “Call the computing department. Tell Hal to send some new CRTs via courier.”

“What?” The tech looked nervous. He was with crew systems, not computing, and his eyes were wide at her request.

“I need a new CRT,” she repeated.

That didn’t seem to help matters. The tech bit his lip.

Jeez, were they going to get a man to the moon in a few years or not? “You know, don’t worry about it. Hal will know what I mean. Triode cathode ray tubes: Get them here. I also need a small brush and a pan.”

While she waited for the replacement tube, she cleaned up the panel. They were going to have to reconstruct the glass to make sure they’d gotten it all. Luckily most of the mess had been contained, but one small shard was lodged in the groove the side panel sat in. Charlie whisked a bobby pin out of her chignon and used it to pry the piece free. Then she carefully cleaned the plated wire memory and, confident things were as tidy as she could get them, she stuck her head out of the capsule.

Carruthers leaned against the rickety stairs leading up to the pad, watching her. His feet were crossed at the ankles, and his hands were knotted together behind his head. His expression was hooded and… predatory. But something about his aspect was also bored. He’d stopped for a moment and a woman was in front of him, so he might as well play the lecher. Charlie suspected this was the astronaut’s default mode.

She couldn’t wait for her mother to ask about
him
. Carruthers was most definitely a type.

Ignoring everything in his face—which she was half-convinced he didn’t mean—she asked, “Is the courier here yet?”

“No. But the bit with the pin was very well done. Good crouching.”

She canted further out of the capsule and watched the door. Assuming they’d called over to computing, her tubes should be here by now. “Takes someone small to fit in here—which of course you know.”

She gave him a look. His brows and his lips twitched. She’d say this for him: He looked less bored. “Contortionism is still an admirable trait in an… Are you an engineer?”

“Oh no, I don’t even work here. I got lost on the tour.”

He laughed, and it was the first genuine thing she’d seen him do.

From the expression on his face, she suspected she could see him do a lot of things if she had the inclination.

Charlie had spent college as chaste as a nun, working around the clock, indifferent to her looks and body. That had stopped in graduate school, probably because she’d been deprived of the notion she could work away men’s reactions to her.

If they weren’t going to fight fairly, she wasn’t either. And their weaknesses were her weapons. She’d had fun, too, once she discovered her body wasn’t merely a liability.

But she had standards, and astronauts didn’t meet them, even if they were cute when they laughed.

Carruthers was still laughing, in fact, when the tech returned with her CRTs. The poor boy was clutching a box and trailing behind Parsons, who was predictably fuming.

Parsons dashed up the stairs. “What happened?”

“My best guess is that three of the tubes came loose during the last test descent. One broke. Luckily it didn’t shatter completely. I’ve cleaned up as best I can, but I can’t guarantee the display will function.”

“Damn that piece of shit to hell.”

Her thoughts exactly.

“Give me the new tube,” she said. “Once it’s in place, we can turn it back on and assess the damage. But even if we can get through this battery of tests, I have some concerns about the flight hardware based on this incident.”

Parsons was ripping the box open and complaining, loudly and colorfully. “I told Hal this machine was inadequate for our needs, but did that prick listen to me? No. And now we’re all stuck holding this steaming cow turd.”

Carruthers wiped a hand over his mouth. “There’s a lady present.”

Parsons scowled. “There’s a scientist present.”

“I took a good look, and I guarantee she has the requisite parts.”

Parsons’s face darkened. “My language and not your discussion of her ‘parts’ is offensive? I don’t need lessons on—”

This was getting absurd. “Gentlemen, stop it. My delicate constitution can handle you both. Now give me the damn part so I can fix this computer.”

She couldn’t decide who looked more surprised. Carruthers, probably. Most ladies wouldn’t swear in front of him—though his greasy charm might make them want to. Parsons wasn’t smiling, but there was an admiring gleam in his eye.

He gave her the tube, and she wedged herself down in order to push the pins into the board. Then she reattached the side panel.

“Tell the operator to turn it on,” she instructed. She had no idea if this was going to function or not.

Parsons waved at the booth and a minute later, the computer sputtered to life.

She flipped several switches. “It’s working,” she called. “For how long, though, I don’t know.”

She boosted herself onto the hatch and, of all people, Parsons offered her a hand. She looked at it for a moment, amused. This was what he picked to be chivalrous about?

She looked down into his face. Perched halfway out of the capsule, she had a good half-foot on him. His jaw was set, his brows pulled together. His expression was wary and hard, and she wasn’t certain if it was entirely about the training capsule computer. She wasn’t pleased about it either, but something or other was always breaking around here.

“Are you going to get out?” Carruthers asked her. “Or are you going to take the thing into orbit?”

Right. Charlie set her hand in Parsons’s. His palm was smooth, his fingers callused, and all of him was warm. She stifled a gasp as she swung her legs out. He was standing close to the capsule, so her lab coat brushed against his clothing as she slid down to the platform.

The moment had happened as smooth and slow as honey dripping from a spoon. She inhaled sharply, and wrenched her hand from his. “I’ll go watch the levels from the booth.”

As she walked down the stairs—walked, not dashed—she could hear Carruthers say, “I need to get to know more engineers.”

“Just get in the capsule and finish the test,” Parsons snapped.

Luckily, the computer functioned for the rest of the afternoon. Carruthers was able to complete the scheduled exercises, and they obtained the data they needed about the instruments.