A Slight Miscalculation
Ben Bova
Nathan French was a pure mathematician. He worked for a research laboratory perched on a California hill that overlooked the Pacific surf, but his office had no windows. When his laboratory earned its income by doing research on nuclear bombs, Nathan doodled out equations for placing men on the Moon with a minimum expenditure of rocket fuel. When his lab landed a fat contract for developing a lunar flight profile, Nathan began worrying about air pollution.
Nathan didn’t look much like a mathematician. He was tall and gangly, liked to play handball, spoke with a slight lisp when he got excited and had a face that definitely reminded you of a horse. Which helped him to remain pure in things other than mathematics. The only possible clue to the nature of his work was that lately he had started to squint a lot. But he didn’t look the slightest bit nervous or high strung, and he still often smiled his great big toothy, horsy smile.
When the lab landed its first contract (from the State of California) to study air pollution, Nathan’s pure thoughts turned—naturally—elsewhere.
. . .
