Kate Day - In the Quick

I caught up to them. The temperature had dropped again and my boots crunched through ice-covered snow. Aren’t you supposed to be in physics? I asked Carla.

She shrugged and didn’t look me in the eye. Netty and Brianne walked ahead.

We’re going to watch the test launches, Carla said.

The other girls reached a wire fence and climbed over it. Carla hurried after them, and when she got to the fence she started to climb it too.

Can I come? I called after her.

The girls were already several paces away on the other side.

Can you get over the fence? Carla looked doubtful.

I wasn’t sure either. But I got over it easily. I hopped down.

We walked for a long time across a field deep with uneven drifts of snow. Our feet punched through to knee height in some places and hit the ground hard in others. The sun came out from behind the clouds for a minute and I blinked. Netty and Brianne were laughing about a boy I didn’t know, and Carla laughed too.

The sound of the rockets got louder as we walked and soon the air seemed to vibrate with noise. It wasn’t one sound now but a group of different sounds crashing against one another all at once.

We reached another fence. On the other side was more snowy field, but beyond that I could see a group of gray structures. I knew them well—one of them was my uncle’s old building. But the other girls stopped once we were over the fence. Netty pulled a blanket from her backpack and spread it on the snow. The sound was tremendous, as if the air itself were being cracked open, over and over. We sat down and looked up, our fingers in our ears. The rockets were so close it felt as if they might fall out of the sky and onto our heads. It was impossible to talk; we screamed a few things at one another and then gave up and just watched.

Then all at once, the sky emptied. A single rocket burned through the sky, its crackling roar fading like a lone firecracker. It was five o’clock, when the launches stopped for an hour. I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

We’re late for Materials, I said to Carla.

Netty and Brianne got up from the blanket and started wandering toward the buildings in the distance.

Lion will be wondering where we are, I said. And Nico.

Carla got up from the blanket slowly. She watched the other girls move farther away. All right, let’s go, she said.

We walked back. The sky was big and blank above us. The crunch of our boots in the snow was loud.

I asked Carla about physics and about Candidate Group. Didn’t she want to move up anymore?

She walked stiffly, hugging her arms to her chest, and told me she’d failed her last physics test. I’m not going to be a Candidate, she said. I don’t think I want to be.

But the hand, I said. We could still win—

We won’t.

I wanted to say something to make her feel better, but I couldn’t think what. They’re going to change their minds about the Inquiry rescue mission, I said after a minute. When they find proof the crew are still alive.

You don’t understand. Her voice was sharp but her eyes were wet. I’m glad the mission was called off.

Why?

Because I don’t want Amelia to die June.

Ahead of us ice-coated snow reflected the blue-gray sky. Beyond that was the dark outline of our school buildings.

I’m not going to be a Candidate either, I said.

Maybe not this year. Only because you’re younger than everyone else. But you will next year.

We reached the dormitory and went inside. We took off our coats and gloves, rubbed our hands together.

I don’t want to be a Candidate if you aren’t, I said.

That’s stupid.

It’s how I feel.

Carla lay down on her bed and put her headphones on. It’s a stupid way to feel.

That night I went to the faculty building, my pockets full of tools, and in the silent and dark hallway I picked the lock of James and Theresa’s office door and retrieved my hand prototype. The next night I went to the Materials lab and made more durable metal beads with one of the 3D printers.

I sorted through the parts bins for hours until I found some scraps of a thin Kevlar fabric, and the night after that I painstakingly sewed them in the same manner as the silicone glove. Now my hand could survive in space. I had the right materials; I had the ability to expand the volume of my hand with the pump and the metal beads. But the pneumatic hand couldn’t make a fist. It couldn’t turn its wrist.

I tried different things but none of them worked. I thought and drew and spent half of every night alone in the chilly Materials lab. Until it was the night before our team was going to be judged. I stood in front of the empty table, its metal surface cool against my palms, and asked myself what my uncle would say as the wind gusted against the room’s walls.

My prototype was too soft. A hand is soft, and hard.

I got number five out of the locker and set it on the table.

Number five was too hard.

I put my prototype next to it. I knew what I needed to do, but was it right?

I thought of Lion’s slower gait around the track since his accident at the dive pool. Nico goofing off in Materials lab instead of working. Carla’s wet eyes as we walked back from the airfields. I took a breath and began to dismantle number five, not the way I’d seen Carla and Nico do it, but all the way. I had to break the wrist where three pieces had been soldered together; I cut open the newly reshaped thumb. When I was done all that was left were the thin metal rods that powered the hand, and the silicone and wire joints that connected the rods. Then I set to work, combining my prototype with the stripped-down number five. I had already combined them in my mind, and it went fast. Then I put a ball into the hand’s palm to see if I was right.

When I arrived at Materials lab the next morning, Carla, Lion, and Nico were all standing around the table. They had the hand—my hand—in front of them.

Where is number five? Carla asked.

That is number five.

Nico shook his head. Oh man.

What did you do? Lion asked.

Rain fell outside and it tapped against the windows.

I fixed it, I said. I didn’t think it was going to work, but then it did.

Carla picked up the pump and put it back down. Work how?

I’ll show you.

I plugged it in and as the hand grasped the ball Carla’s face changed. Her brow smoothed.

Why didn’t you tell us? Lion asked. We could have helped you.

I tried. But I couldn’t explain it even to myself. I just had to do it.

She didn’t need our help, Carla said evenly. She was better off on her own.

Now we can all be Candidates, I said. I looked at each of them and waited for them to smile.

My sister’s like that, Carla said. She says other people’s ideas crowd her own.

Did you hear what I said Carla? Now we can all move up—

A teacher approached our table. Theresa’s substitute.

What’s this? He was surprised. You’ve made a big change.

The rain grew louder outside. No one said anything.

He asked Carla to demonstrate the hand.

Carla hesitated, but Lion nodded, and she did.

The teacher asked several questions, about the material inside the glove and about the pump.

Whose idea was it to use the beads?

June’s, Carla said.

Really? The teacher looked at me for the first time. It’s very inventive. He asked us to show him the glove, and Carla did.

Who designed this? the teacher asked.

June, Carla said.

Who sewed all these compartments into the inside?

June, Lion said.

What did the rest of you do?

It’s got the internal structure and wiring of one of our prototypes, Lion said. Number five.