“I see.” Pulling my foot back, I slid it down his chest to nestle into the place where his thighs met. “And what is your candidate criteria? Besides an ability to handle being placed in a centrifuge chair, of course.”
Nathaniel’s hips flexed to match my pressure, and, for a moment, his eyes flickered closed. A lazy smile ghosted across his face as he leaned forward. “Well … Clearly the centrifuge indicates an ability to work with compromised blood flow, which is … ah … necessary for a pilot.”
“Is that why women are able to handle higher G-forces than men?” I traced a line up the inside of his thigh. “What other qualifications does your candidate possess?”
The bed creaked beneath me as Nathaniel shifted to his knees. “It’s critical that suitable candidates have experience with rocketry.”
“What type of experience? Should I demonstrate my experience ensuring that the rocket is topped up and ready for launch?” Beneath my hands, his body seemed super-charged with heat. His shirt bunched under my touch as I found my way to his belt.
Nathaniel leaned down, his breath hot against my cheek. “That would be acceptable.”
“Acceptable!” I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him down against me. “I plan on being excellent.”
THIRTY-ONE
DR. KING TO LEAD ANTI-BIAS TREK
15,000 Southern Negroes Going to Capital to Observe 4th Year of School Decree
MONTGOMERY, AL, May 18, 1957—Next week, a young Negro minister will lead a pilgrimage to the Meteor Memorial in Kansas City to mark the fourth anniversary of the Supreme Court’s school desegregation order.
Saturday morning we all went to synagogue together. Several times during the service, I had to press my handkerchief to my eyes because I would look at Aunt Esther beside me and half-expect to see Grandma on her other side, or Mama and Daddy behind me. I was so very glad to have her back, but she brought ghosts with her.
Nathaniel hadn’t been able to join us because it was a launch day. Ever since the Orion 27 disaster, he wouldn’t miss a launch. Rockets still blew up occasionally when they were being tested, but those were just data points.
That evening, we all went over to Mission Control to watch the launch. It was a manned craft, heading for the orbital platform. I say “platform,” but it was more donut-shaped than flat, rotating to create a limp artificial gravity.
The night was warm and banks of clouds bounced the lights of the launch tower back down to the Earth in a sodium-orange haze. Baffles gave some shelter to the rooftop, but wind snuck past it and cooled the sweat from the back of my neck. I still hadn’t gotten used to being warm outside again.
The loudspeakers punctuated our conversation with the countdown.
The public affairs officer on duty kept up a running commentary for the spectators both at the IAC and listening via the radio. “Four minutes, fifteen seconds. The Test Supervisor now has informed the Launch Vehicle Test Conductor that they are Go for launch.”
Perhaps with the weather warming, folks would start coming to the roof earlier for launches. We tended to wait until T-minus four minutes because it was too cold, even in the summer.
“Three minutes, forty-five seconds and counting. In the final abort checks between several key members of the crew here in the control center and the astronauts. Launch Operations Manager wished the crew, ‘Good luck and Godspeed. ’”
Aunt Esther had produced a painted fan from somewhere and created a miniature breeze of her own.
I smiled at her. “What a lovely fan.”
Aunt Esther preened, waving it in a lopsided circle. “Rose gave it to me. I hadn’t thought to grab my own when we left home, but she always had one in her bag.”
“Three minutes, twenty-five seconds and counting; we’re still Go at this time. We’ll be coming up on the automatic sequence about ten or fifteen seconds from now. All still Go at this time.”
“Really?” Memories of sitting on the front porch with lemonade, and Grandma stirring the air with her fan, tickled the back of my mind. “It’s beautiful.”
“She got it in Spain!”
“T-minus two minutes, forty-five seconds and counting. The members of the launch team here in the control center are monitoring a number of what we call red-line values.”
Hershel had gone ahead with Tommy and leaned against the railing at the far side of the roof. Downstairs, my nephew had met Benkoski’s son, Max, with whom I’d made tinfoil rockets. They were becoming fast friends.
I smiled at my aunt, unsure if this was a true story or her spotty memory. “Grandma … Grandma went to Spain?”
“She and your grandfather went for their honeymoon.”
It had never occurred to me that they must have had a honeymoon. Granddaddy died before I was born, and Grandma had seemed eternal. “I had no idea. Did you ever—”
“T-minus one minute twenty-five seconds and counting. Our status board indicates the third stage is completely pressurized.”
Things would start moving quickly now, and I didn’t want her to miss a thing. Night launches were spectacular.
“There are some seats over here.” I beckoned Aunt Esther to the folding chairs set up on the roof.
“T-minus sixty seconds and counting. Randy Cleary just reported back: ‘It’s been a very smooth countdown.’ We’ve passed the fifty-second mark. Power transfer is complete—we’re on internal power with the launch vehicle at this time. Forty seconds away from liftoff. All the second-stage tanks are now pressurized. Thirty-five seconds and counting. We are still Go with thirty seconds and counting. Astronauts report, ‘It feels good.’ T-minus twenty-five seconds.”
Aunt Esther’s cheeks blossomed with roses, and she settled into her chair like an eager child. Truly, she wasn’t much bigger than one. She had been a small women my entire life, but I swear she was a good four inches shorter than before the Meteor.
“Twenty seconds and counting. T-minus fifteen seconds, guidance is internal. Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, ignition sequence starts…”
“… eight, seven, six…” We joined in the countdown with everyone else on the roof and my stomach knit itself into a tight ball.
“… five, four, three…”
Every time we launched, I worried that this one would fail. That we would watch three astronauts lost in a massive explosion.
“… two, one, zero, all engines running.”
In the distance, the base of the rocket sprouted the vivid yellow-white fire of a successful ignition. In silence, it rose on this cushion of flame. The night around us lit up like day.
“Liftoff. We have liftoff.”
Beside me, Aunt Esther rose to her feet, hands clasped in front of her chest. The light of the rocket reflected off her bright eyes as if the fire of her soul were coming out to push the rocket into the sky.
Then the sound hit us, a heavy rumble that you felt more than heard. The force of the waves beat against my chest. What must it be like to ride that sound and fury? I held my breath, praying for the rocket to keep going. The blaze of fire pushed it faster and higher into the air until it disappeared into the cloud cover and left us with just a traveling glow that faded back into the night.
Aunt Esther turned to me and grasped both of my hands. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“I never thought I would see such a thing. I didn’t know why you’d want to be an astronaut, or even really what one was, but now…” She looked up to the clouds, where all trace of the rocket had vanished. “You must.”