The starseekers, p.1
The Starseekers, page 1
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Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780063293632
Dedication
For my sisters.
No matter what, we got each other.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Note to Readers
Dedication
The Rhodes Family in 1964
NASA Breaks Ground with New Magic-Focused Facility
Riposte Magazine
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Interlude
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Interlude
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Interlude
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Interlude
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Praise
Also by Nicole Glover
Copyright
About the Publisher
The Rhodes Family in 1964
Family tree art by Jennifer Chung
NASA Breaks Ground with New Magic-Focused Facility
From the Eventide Observer
March 12, 1961
The Ainsworth Research Center will soon break ground in Cheswell, Maryland, just 30 miles outside of Washington, D.C., with an opening date currently set for later this year. This is the second of the research-focused facilities that NASA has recently built, following the Goddard Flight Center. Ainsworth will focus primarily on the arcane aspects of space flight and planetary studies, for the support of the “moonshot” as well as studies to better life here on Earth.
Riposte Magazine
National News Service
Week of April 30, 1964
Opinion Divided on World Fair Stall-In
National leaders of NAACP, SLCL, and more have condemned the proposed protest of the 1964 World Fair, citing it “as a distraction from matters of greater concern” and that the stalling out of autos on the roadways leading to the fair will negatively impact emergency services. Leadership with WONDR argues that a protest is needed due to the exploitation of non-white magical practitioners who were underpaid to set up the fair’s facilities.
NASA Calls Up First Negro Astronaut
Dwight Lawrence, 33, will be taking to the stars. NASA has officially put the Air Force pilot on notice for a future mission with the Circe program. This will make him the first of the Race to venture into space. Lawrence was in the news recently, due to a mechanical failure in the capsule he was testing. The emergency landing was guided by the quick calculations of Miss Cynthia Rhodes, an engineer at the Ainsworth Research Center.
Archaeologist Arrested for Doing His Job
University professor Theodore Danner was arrested at the site of a recent excavation dig in the Florida Keys. Authorities refused to acknowledge his work permit and falsely claimed he was a thief attempting to steal items from the sunken ships in the region. The 31-year-old maritime archaeologist spent a night in jail and the vessel he had been investigating was compromised and washed away.
Magical Negro Colleges Now Number Seventeen
The establishment of Vinson School of Arcane (Savannah, GA) brings the number of magic-focused collegiate level study to 17. A list that includes Brewster University (Cheswell, MD), Hayden University (Alexandria, VA), Knightdale College (Charleston, SC), and Bridgewater University (New Orleans, LA).
“We [What’s My Spell? (1963–present)] were the first television show to teach magic to children, and we remained the top-rated show for more than forty years and outlasted all others who followed. We managed that mostly for two reasons: Rhodes and Danner.”
While neither intended to have media careers, Cynthia Rhodes and Theodore Danner were originally brought on as consultants for What’s My Spell?, eventually hosting the material themselves. With a remarkable expertise, a deep knowledge of magic, and a wicked sense of fun when it came to conveying tricky topics, their easy chemistry was the secret ingredient to the show’s enduring legacy. While often fanciable, many of the show’s most memorable features—an air balloon traveling to exotic places, an all-knowing cat, a portable laboratory, and the characters themselves being a rocket scientist and a treasure hunter—were drawn from the pair’s rather extraordinary lives. Although where exaggeration begins and truth ends is still an enduring mystery. . . .
from Spelling Tests: How Children Learned Magic from Television
1
Cheswell, Maryland
August 1964
As usual, Cynthia spent the afternoon precariously balanced atop a ladder as she jotted down equations on the chalkboard before her. She had a perfectly good desk on the other side of the building she could use, but when she needed to let the numbers in her head roam, a chalkboard was the only place she could work. Although Cynthia found that even then there still wasn’t enough space.
Pushing up her glasses, Cynthia etched out the star sigil connecting the lines and vertices to form the river constellation, Eridanus. With a few taps of her chalk against the drawing and the slight pressure of her will, the chalk dust turned into starlight that flowed before her like a true river.
Letting go of the ladder, Cynthia stepped along the floating path to finish off the equation. According to her numbers, the potion proposed for usage as a coating on the rocket’s heat shield wouldn’t withstand reentry. But it was close! With one little adjustment . . .
The numbers she was looking for rose out the nebulous mist just as the door swung open.
“They said you would be in here, Miss Cynthia!” a voice squeaked from below.
Brought out of her thoughts, Cynthia glanced down to see the new hire, a fresh-faced Howard University graduate that Cynthia was 68 percent sure was named Sheryl. Or was it Sharon? She couldn’t remember exactly, but Cynthia did recall that two weeks ago Mrs. Ling had asked if Cynthia was interested in mentoring the girl. Since then, Cynthia had made herself very hard to find.
Alas, Ainsworth was not big enough to play hide-and-seek forever.
“You can just call me Cynthia. You’re new, aren’t you?”
“I’m Gracie,” the girl said, and rattled off excessive introductory details. Inwardly, Cynthia sighed. She had been way off regarding the name. This was why she never bothered using people’s names unless she was one hundred percent certain.
“. . . because of that, Cynthia, I have a few questions related to the Hummingbird Capsule.”
At that name, numbers vanished around Cynthia, leaving only the nervous Gracie before her. With a wave of her hand, Cynthia manipulated the river of starlight to slope downward, allowing her to become eye level with the girl.
The Hummingbird was the latest prototype currently doing time in the testing labs. In fact, it was scheduled to be tested today. Cynthia had been attached to the project since the beginning, conducting the required calculations as needed. At this stage of the project, it was highly unusual that a report regarding the Hummingbird didn’t land on Cynthia’s desk, even if she was hiding in one of the meeting rooms. In fact, it shouldn’t have gone to anyone else—not if she had a steady pulse.
“I know there’s an error here,” Gracie spoke up, sounding as young as Cynthia’s sisters. “I checked it twice, but I can’t isolate it. Could you try?”
Cynthia flicked through the pages as she scanned the numbers. Before she had even finished, Cynthia saw trouble lurking in the forest. This report should not have arrived in Gracie’s hands, not because Gracie was no match to the task (she was passably decent), but because the delay was a catalyst to catastrophe.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Gracie asked.
“Not as terrible as it could be.” Cynthia jumped off the river of starlight and headed for the door. “I’m going to find out how much, though!”
A glance at her wristwatch told her she was in luck—the weekly meeting for Project Featherweight was still going on. As she slipped inside, Cynthia spotted Irma Greengrass, unfortunately tapped to take notes once again. Across from Irma was Farid Zaki and Daniel Gorman, both of whom were also in the research group with Cynthia and Irma. Not far from them sat the lanky alchemist, Nelson Marlowe. He gripped a pencil, looking as if his stomach was a trampoline stuck in a wind tunnel. The arcane-infused fuel that was in the center of the project was the fruit of his la
Radio transmissions from the payload testing lab were a gentle hum in the background, just barely audible over the vigorous conversation, which was just as well because it gave Cynthia the element of surprise.
With her head held high to make as much as she could of her short stature, Cynthia walked right up to the thickest knot of people and disrupted the conversation with a loud cough. Heads craned downward toward her and Cynthia announced:
“I just finished checking the numbers from engineering and the projections are wrong. The formula for the new fuel wasn’t designed for the Hummingbird Capsule. If the engine is engaged, it will combust due to the materials around the magical components increasing in temperature until it breaks off, triggering a series of reactions that cannot be stopped with even the quickest of spells.”
Cynthia’s words were met with a long silence until someone asked: “Did you get that?”
There was a nervous titter, some awkward smiles, even some laughter—and then Noam Rosenbaum rapped his cane against the table, like a judge perplexed at his unruly court.
“Cynthia, what is the short version?” Noam asked. His soft voice had the majesty of an ancient tree despite him being squarely middle-aged without even a trace of gray in his sandy brown hair. As he directed his gaze around the room, laughter quelled, providing space for Cynthia to take center stage.
“The machine will explode after it makes a third rotation.” Cynthia spoke only to the project director to avoid the suddenly attentive eyes around her. “If it doesn’t on the first trip around.”
There were a few quiet swears, but Noam withdrew his wand. Muttering an incantation, the phone flew across the table to his hand and he dialed away at once.
“This is Dr. Noam Rosenbaum. Stop the test. Yes, the one about to go now. I don’t care what you do, but make sure that capsule doesn’t move. It’ll be trouble. Listen, I have more authority than— Well, I don’t care! It’ll look bad if it sets a building on fire!”
“Actually, its projected path won’t come near the buildings, just the marsh,” Cynthia said. Because the last was important enough to bear repeating, she added, “If it doesn’t explode first.”
If he heard her, he didn’t give any indication, because whatever was happening on the phone wasn’t getting resolved easily. Noam’s voice grew louder, spots of red appearing under his pale skin—whoever was on the other end had their ears closed against common sense.
Not good.
Not good at all.
Without giving it a second thought, Cynthia walked out of the room and went to the nearest window in the hall. Yanking it open, she leaned out and whistled a few notes into the breeze. The moment her broomstick soared into view, she climbed out onto the window’s edge and jumped.
As she fell, Cynthia grabbed her broomstick’s handle and swung herself astride. Pausing only to orient herself, she darted across the campus to the payload testing lab at top speed.
Laid out like a half circle, Ainsworth’s campus allowed for ample space between buildings, anticipating future growth. Cynthia worked out of the squat Applied Arcane Sciences building at the bottom of the half circle while her destination was the tubular building in the middle. She didn’t have to go far, but she had to avoid quite a few buildings on the west side of campus. The rest of Ainsworth passed by in a blur as she locked her eyes on the lab, hoping she wasn’t too late as predictions of disaster taunted her. When Cynthia reached the lab’s perimeter, the broom twitched under her hands, warning of the anti-flight barrier activating.
Veering to the left, Cynthia rolled into a series of tight spirals that skimmed along the edges of the barrier, avoiding collision at the last moment. Landing at a safe distance, she didn’t even pause as she dismounted and headed into the building with her broom in hand.
A security guard hurried out to stop her, but Cynthia held out her badge and walked right past the man. Her sensible saddle shoes clicked against the floor as she hurried along the corridor, her fast walk turning into a run as the gentle hum of a machine became chatter that echoed in the building. Reaching the innermost chamber, Cynthia rapped her knuckles against the door until someone wrenched it open.
“The capsule will explode if the test is run. You need to stop the launch!” She had more to say, but upon realizing who was on the other side, Cynthia knew in a single moment she had wasted both her words and her time dashing here. All she was about to do was charge into a very stubborn wall.
“Rosenbaum sent you,” Richard McKinnon sneered. “Or did you come here because you insist on seeing trouble where there is none?”
“I came here because the test will be a disaster if it goes through,” Cynthia retorted.
Like a petty villain from a B-movie, Richard just laughed. “That is your opinion, not mine. We’re going forth with the test. Science doesn’t happen if we don’t take risks!”
Cynthia opened her mouth to protest but Richard slammed the door before she could get a word out.
She slapped her palm against it, but she knew it wouldn’t open this time.
Cynthia did not go around making enemies on purpose, but she’d made one of Richard simply by applying for the same spot in Spacecraft Operations when she transferred to Ainsworth. Although he got the job in the end, he still saw her as a threat to his career prospects. They were the only two Black arcane engineers at Ainsworth, and he apparently felt further reductions were still needed. Cynthia would very much like to ignore Richard, as she did with many other troublesome people, but she couldn’t anytime soon. Not when his mistakes could cost lives.
Still fuming, Cynthia walked down to the observer’s portion of the lab, where a large glass window gave her a full view of the slender Hummingbird Capsule. Although the weight was several tons, it looked especially fragile as it began to rotate in simulated flight.
The capsule spun once around, twice around, and then on the third . . .
The hair lifted on Cynthia’s neck as the lights on the equipment blinked so quickly it became a steady light. The capsule shuddered and it was the last thing Cynthia saw before the window shattered.
She threw up her hands and cast the first star sigil that came to mind to form a protective shield. Glass and debris collided against the star-speckled swan and its spread wings, kicking up a dust storm that prevented Cynthia from seeing beyond her own hands. Rumbling and yelling echoed around her, painting a good picture of what she would have seen as people gagged over the stench of rotten eggs. If she squinted, Cynthia could almost see the outline of a dust-covered Richard staggering out the chamber.
“Cynthia!”
Noam dashed down the hall as fast as his bad leg would allow. Coming to a halt next to her, he stared at the dust clouds beyond her shield as if unsure what good his magic could do. Gasping, Noam asked, “Richard didn’t listen to you, did he?”
Cynthia shook her head.
Noam ran a hand through his hair, stopping short of pulling it from the roots. “This will set us back and we can’t afford to lose time.”
“We won’t. It’s an easy fix—the failure just didn’t properly account for gravitational forces,” Cynthia said helpfully.
“Oh how I wish it was only the capsule we need to worry about,” Noam said. “The first big test of the Circe Project is coming up soon. I’m afraid more incidents like this will occur as the pressure to prove we belong here increases.”
“I’m used to that,” Cynthia quipped.
Noam chuckled, catching the grim humor of her words. “So am I.” He headed for the door but stopped and swung around toward her, his wearied face silhouetted by the dust. “No matter what happened, your warning was timely. Let’s hope we won’t need it a next time.”
2
Such an accident meant the rest of Cynthia’s week was immediately taken over with filling out three different documents in which she explained in three slightly different ways the work she did, the events leading up to the accident, and what she witnessed.
