
I wanted McAndrew to check the configuration that we would hold in flight, to see if he agreed that the stresses were decently balanced among the different Sections. We never run near the limit on any of them, but there’s a certain pride of workmanship in getting them all approximately equal, and the stresses as low as possible.
He was standing on the ten-meter shield that surrounded the Section Seven kernel, peering through a long boresight pointed in towards the center. He was aware of my presence but did not move or speak until the observation was complete. Finally he nodded in satisfaction, closed the boresight cap, and turned to me.
“Just checking the optical scalars,” he said. “Spun up nicely, this one. So, what can I do for you, Jeanie?”
I led him outside the second shield before I handed him the trim calculations. I know a kernel shield has never failed, but I’m still not comfortable when I get too close to one. I once asked McAndrew how he felt about working within ten meters of Hell, where you could actually feel the gravity gradient and the inertial dragging. He looked at me with his little, introspective smile, and made a sort of throat-clearing noise — the only trace of his ancestry that I could ever find in him.
