The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(17)

I knocked on his door, which stood open. He sat at his desk, head bent over a memo. I swear his lips moved as he read. He’d developed a bald spot at the back of his head about the size of a half-dollar. Wonder if he knew about it yet.

He looked up, but didn’t stand. “Mrs. York?”

“I saw on the news that the Air Force was mobilizing to deal with refugees.” I came in and sat down without being asked. I mean, I didn’t want to make him look bad about leaving a lady standing.

“That’s right. But don’t worry, your husband won’t be sent out.”

“Since he’s not active service and was never Air Force, this does not surprise me.” I breathed out, trying to let my irritation go with it. “But I was wondering if I might help. With so many of our men still in Korea, I thought having an extra pilot might be useful.”

“Well, now. … that’s very kind of you, but this really isn’t the place for a lady.”

“There are plenty of women among the refugees. And since I have firsthand experience—”

He held up his hand to stop me. “I appreciate your zeal, but it isn’t necessary. General Eisenhower is recalling our troops, and there’s an influx of UN aide.”

“What about Korea?”

“Cease-fire.” He shuffled the papers on his desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Still, until they are home, you’ll have a shortage of pilots.”

“Are you proposing to join the Air Force? Because, if not, I can’t let you fly one of our planes.” He made a mockery of regret. “And since your plane was damaged … I’m afraid there’s really nothing for you to do here.”

“Well.” I stood. He did not. “Thank you for your time.”

“Of course.” He looked back down at the memo. “You might try nursing. I understand that’s a good occupation for women.”

“Aren’t you just so clever. Thank you ever so much, Colonel Parker.” What truly aggravated me was that he was right. I wanted to help, but the skills I had were largely useless. Without a plane, what was I supposed to do? Math the problem to death?

*

My timing, when I arrived at the base hospital, couldn’t have been worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it. A plane of refugees had just landed and swamped the hospital. Tents had been set up as a waiting area, filled with people who had been outside for the last two days. Burns, dehydration, lacerations, broken bones, and simple shock.

I was handed a tray of paper cups filled with electrolytes and told to distribute them. It wasn’t much, but it was something useful.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The blond woman took a paper cup and looked down the rows of chairs to the doctors. “Do you know what’s going to happen to us next?”

The elderly man next to her shifted in his seat. His blackened eye was swollen nearly shut, and the blood crusted around his nose made it clear that he’d had a doozy of a nose bleed at some point. “Send us to camps, I reckon. I would’ve been better off staying where I was than sitting here.”

Camps had a grisly connotation, and that sort of talk was not going to help anyone. I held my tray of paper cups out to the old man. “Drink, sir? It will help restore some strength.” God. That was my mother’s doctor voice. Kind and brisk.

He snorted and crossed his arms, but he winced when he did. “You’re not a nurse. Not in that getup.”

He had a point. Still, I smiled at him. “You’re right. I’m just helping out.”

He snorted, and blood bubbled in one nostril. Then a gusher started. “Oh, hell.”

“Tilt your head back.” I looked around for something to use to stop the blood. The young woman took the tray of water. “Pinch the bridge of you—”

“I know. Ain’t my first one.” But he still did as I said.

A pasty man across the aisle, in tattered business attire, pulled his tie off and handed it to me. The lens of his glasses was cracked, and his eyes were more than a little glazed.

“Thank you.” I pressed the silk against the old man’s nose. “This is the finest bandage I’ve ever had the pleasure of using.”

The old man took it from me and glared at the ceiling. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“That I am.” I leaned forward to examine his eyes. “What would you like to talk about?”

He pursed his lips. “You been here … so you must know things. How bad is it?”

“I think…” I looked around at the battered people surrounding us. “I think that this is perhaps not the best time for that discussion. I’ll just say that you are in a better position than many. Another topic?”

“All right.” He grinned a little, and I got the sense that he was enjoying his cantankerous role. “What do you think of Charles F. Brannan?”

“Who?”

“Secretary of agriculture.” He turned the tie to a clean spot. “Way I hear it, he was in Kansas on a farm tour when the Meteor hit. Unless they find someone else in the line of succession, looks like he’s the new president.”

The businessman who’d given us the tie said, “Acting president.”

“Well, now that’s a subject for debate, isn’t it.” The old man was still glaring at the ceiling. “Constitutional scholars spend a whole heckuva lot of time talking about what exactly that means.”