Chapter 71
[Rose's POV]
"High school?" Nathan said, unable to keep skepticism from his voice. He was younger than Grayson, mid-twenties maybe, with the territorial wariness of someone defending his position in the academic hierarchy.
"Dr. Thompson doesn't waste time on mediocre talent," Ashley said simply. "Now, are you going to explain the problem, or should I find someone else who wants fresh eyes on their failing calculations?"
Grayson's expression shifted from doubt to something like desperation. "We're thirty-six hours from catastrophe," he said, gesturing at the whiteboard. "Maybe a miracle worker is exactly what we need."
He moved to a workstation and pulled up a simulation. "We're calculating the trajectory of asteroid 2024-QX7. NASA needs precise impact predictions to execute an interception—they're sending a spacecraft to collide with it, change its orbit enough to miss Earth." His fingers moved across the keyboard, bringing up streams of data. "Our computer models show a ninety percent collision probability in thirty-six hours. But the observational data doesn't match our calculations. The discrepancy is significant enough that we can't submit to NASA."
The numbers on the screen swam before my eyes, suddenly transforming into something familiar.
"What's the error margin?" I heard myself ask.
"Point-zero-three astronomical units," Elijah said. He was the most open of the three, already pulling up additional data without waiting to see if I could actually contribute anything useful. "In practical terms, that's about four and a half million kilometers. Might as well be trying to hit a target blindfolded."
Nathan crossed his arms. "No offense, but we've had six PhD candidates look at this. What makes you think—"
"She asked a good question," Grayson interrupted, exhaustion making him blunt. "Let's see what she can do with it. At this point, we've got nothing to lose." He turned to me. "I can walk you through our modeling framework from the beginning. Fair warning—it'll take about twenty minutes."
I nodded, stepping closer to the whiteboard. My heart was racing, but not with anxiety. With anticipation. "Go ahead."
Grayson launched into the explanation. He spoke quickly but precisely, the way someone did when they'd lived inside a problem for too long.
I didn't take notes. I didn't need to.
Twenty minutes later, when Grayson finally concluded with their most recent attempt, I picked up a whiteboard marker and moved to a clean section of board.
"May I?" I asked.
"Be my guest."
I began writing. Not slowly, working out each step—the equations simply flowed from memory onto the board. Basic orbital mechanics first, then the gravitational influence calculations Grayson had described. Within minutes, I'd reproduced their entire modeling framework, every coefficient and constant exactly as he'd presented them.
Behind me, I heard someone's chair scrape back.
"What the—" Nathan's voice had lost its skepticism, replaced by something close to awe. "She's reproducing everything. Exactly."
"Human computer," Elijah murmured.
I barely registered their reactions. My attention had narrowed to the mathematics before me, to the patterns emerging from the numbers. When I reached the computer simulation results Grayson had showed us, I didn't stop. My marker kept moving, diverging from their calculations.
"Wait," Grayson said. "That's not—you're introducing a new variable."
The marker moved faster. I was barely thinking now, just letting the mathematics speak through me. This was what I'd missed—this pure immersion in problem-solving, where nothing existed except the elegant dance of numbers seeking their natural resolution.
"Rose." Ashley's voice seemed to come from very far away. "It's past noon."
I blinked, suddenly aware of my surroundings again. Three whiteboards were covered in my calculations. The researchers stood in a semi-circle behind me, Nathan with his phone out comparing my work to their computer models, Elijah already pulling up new observational data on his workstation.
"Oh," I said. My hand was cramping from holding the marker. "Sorry, I—"
"Don't apologize," Grayson said softly. He looked at the boards with something like reverence. "This is... Rose, we never considered this factor. It's been right there in the data the whole time, and we never saw it."
"You were too focused on the primary perturbations," I said. "It's easy to miss second-order effects when you're looking at the bigger picture."
"Six hours," Nathan said, checking his watch. "You've been standing there for six hours straight."
Had I? Time had dissolved completely while I worked. A familiar sensation—I remembered losing entire afternoons at Los Alamos, emerging from calculation sessions to find evening had fallen without my notice.
Ashley rolled her wheelchair closer, holding out a sandwich and a coffee cup. "Eat," she said, her tone gentle but absolutely firm. "Or I'm taking you out of here right now."
I accepted both, suddenly aware of how hungry I was. The sandwich disappeared in what felt like five mechanical bites—fuel for a body that was merely a vehicle for my brain. The coffee followed just as quickly.
"There's more data I need to verify," I said, already turning back toward the boards.