Page 16 of Atmosphere

There had been a lot of thrilling firsts lately. The first time on the campus, the first night the entire group of ASCANs went to the Outpost Tavern together, the first time seeing the SaturnV rocket and the space suits used during the Apollo program.

But walking into Mission Control created a pull she felt deep down in the layers of her skin. It was the same feeling she’d had when she’d first seen the belts of Jupiter through her telescope. The same one as when she’d convinced her parents to take her to Death Valley the summer before her senior year and—with the clearest view of the sky she’d ever yet seen—she’d spotted the Andromeda Galaxy, two and a half million light-years away.

Astronomy was history. Because space was time. And that was the thing she loved most about the universe itself. When you look at the red star Antares in the southern sky, you are looking over thirty-three hundred trillion miles away. But you are also looking more than five hundred and fifty yearsinto the past.Antares is so far away that its light takes five hundred and fifty years to reach your eye on Earth. Five hundred and fifty light-years away. So when you look out at the sky, the farther you can see, the further back you are looking in time. The space between you and the staris time.

And yet, most of the stars have been there for so long, burning so bright, that every human generation could have looked up and seen them. When you gaze up at the sky and you see Antares, with itsreddish hue, in the middle of the constellation Scorpius, you are looking at the same star the Babylonians cataloged as early as 1100B.C.E.

To look up at the nighttime sky is to become a part of a long line of people throughout human history who looked above at that same set of stars. It is to witness time unfolding.

That was the stuff that made her knees buckle.

Standing there in the theater of Mission Control, Joan felt exceptionally aware that she was not just embarking on a grand adventure. She was also joining the succession of those dedicating their life to working to understand this Earth, and the galaxy around it, for the betterment of all of humanity. She was part of something that had started well before recorded history and continued through the times of Aristotle and Aryabhata and al-Sufi and Shoujing and Copernicus, through Galileo and Kepler and Rømer and Newton, the Herschels and Leavitt and Rubin and Einstein and Hubble and beyond.

She knew her name would never be on that list. She had no desire to add her name to a list like that, in part because the idea that astronomy advances because of any one great mind struck her as simplistic. It was a collective pursuit, groups and cultures building upon and learning from what came before them.

But standing there at Mission Control, looking at the same computers they had used to put astronauts on the moon, Joan knew that even if she had erred here and there on her journey through life, she was on the right path now. Because she was now contributing, in such a thrillingly direct way, to the larger goal.

To learn what lies out there and, in so doing, perhaps how we got here.

As everyone took their seats, Griff sat down next to her.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning.”

“I overslept. Can you tell?”

The back of his tie hung lower than the front, he’d missed a belt loop, and the roots of his hair were damp with sweat.

“The truth?” Joan asked.

“That bad, huh?” Griff said.

Joan waved him off. “You’re handsome enough,” she said. “They forgive handsome men anything.”

Griff laughed. “I had no idea you were such a charmer,” he said.

Joan laughed, too. “Honestly, neither did I.”

Donna came into the room. Joan waved, but Donna didn’t see her. Joan watched as Donna began to take a seat next to Hank. As Donna sat down, Hank smiled at her. Donna smiled back and then looked around. Then, suddenly, Donna stood up and took a seat three seats away, by herself. Vanessa ended up taking the seat next to Hank.

Joan turned toward the front and bit her lip. She’d known Donna for only a few weeks but knew her well enough. Joan shook her head.Already!

Being completely immune to romantic rituals herself, Joan could spot them better than almost anyone. It was true, she had never had a real boyfriend. Had been on only a few dates. She had been kissed, a few times, by Adam Hawkins. And she had not cared for it. She was not offended or grossed out. But it felt, to her, like people were making a very big deal out of what was, essentially, no different from eating a cracker.

Of course, she did not discuss this with anyone anymore. Because every time she’d come close, it became clear no one would understand.

Not her mother, not her father, not Barbara (certainly not Barbara). Her girlfriends from undergrad kept assuming the issue was that she was shy or afraid. When the reality was much simpler: she was not like them. Why was it so hard for them to imagine that she had more interesting ways to spend her time? They mystified her just as she mystified them.

But there was one giant silver lining of being on the outside of it all. From afar, Joan could spot what everyone else could not see up close. Like how botanists know more about leaves than trees do.

Case in point: it was clear to her that Donna and Hank were sleeping together.

Joan tried to hold back a sly smile. Not being interested in romance herself didn’t make it any less intriguing.Donna and Hank. Huh.She wouldn’t have predicted that one.

Lydia ducked in at the last moment and snagged the seat behind Joan. She leaned in toward Joan’s ear.

“Did I miss anything?”

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