by Julie Cannon
“It’s open seating,” she said before turning around and stepping forward as the line moved.
Ouch, thought Kenner. She hadn’t been rejected like that in…well…ever. “I knew I wasn’t going to like this gig,” she mumbled. She found an empty table and set her tray on the sturdy, institutional top. The chair squeaked on the floor but nobody seemed to notice, or maybe it was such an everyday occurrence no one bothered to look up from their food. Said chair was hard and uncomfortable, and Kenner knew she wouldn’t linger any longer than she had to.
A middle-aged man, with more belly than shirt and shorter legs than his inseam, walked in front of her. He glanced at her, and for a moment Kenner thought he might sit at her table. Lucky for him he kept moving. While she ate, Kenner observed the people in the large room. The area itself was nothing exciting to talk about. Big, square, and full of tables of varying shapes, some large enough to accommodate a dozen, others as few as two. It reminded her of the lunchroom at any number of government buildings she’d been in. Large, industrial, and devoid of any personality or aesthetics to encourage relaxation or conversation. That would have entailed an interior designer willing to tackle such a project, with the government procurement-system hoops to jump through to get there.
The cafeteria was filled with an eclectic group of people ranging in age from the teenage airman sitting with his buddies at a table not far from hers to an elderly man in the checkout line, who, Kenner estimated, was no less than seventy. Hair styles for the men ran the gamut of air-force recruit to dreadlocks. The style of clothing was just as diverse. Everything from shorts and flip-flops to silk ties. Military uniforms of all four branches were also displayed around the room.
She was inquisitive by nature and people her favorite subjects. They never ceased to surprise her—everything from talking with their mouth full to picking their nose while stopped at a red light. Like the windows of the two-thousand-pound vehicle they were driving had one-way glass and the driver could see out but no one could see in.
Kenner didn’t see anyone she recognized from the introductions earlier that morning. Maybe they had their own lunchroom behind one of the many closed doors that lined the perimeter of the control room. Maybe Director Finley didn’t let them eat. Kenner would bet her next paycheck that she didn’t let them eat or drink anything at their workstation. Twenty minutes later she was asking directions to the control room.
The guard at the entrance door was different from the one earlier, and she looked at her badge, then at Kenner, then back at her badge again. The picture was one you’d expect on a standard, unflattering, company security badge. Blue background, camera lens too close, flash too bright, making her natural olive skin look washed out. The guard flipped a few papers on her clipboard, checked her badge again, then Kenner’s face before saying, “Thank you,” and stepped aside. Kenner didn’t even try to make conversation with this lesbian, her don’t-fuck-with-me vibe coming through loud and clear. If the woman ever used her handcuffs, it would not involve fun and games.
Kenner stepped through the door into a huge area dominated by an IMAX-sized screen in the front. Along each side of the main screen hung smaller ones, each displaying a different image of what Kenner surmised was the interior of the shuttle, but that was as specific as she could be. It took a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting. Five rows of workstations spanned the entire width of the room in a horseshoe arrangement, each on a raised floor, allowing an unblocked view of the screens in front of them. “Wow.”
Three or four monitors with digital readouts, trajectory lines, and other monitoring information made up each workstation. A large black plaque with white letters identifying the function rose from the center of each area. Everyone had a headset on or a Bluetooth stuck in their ear, and the chatter of conversations was loud. How did these people think with all this noise and distraction? Her ADD kicked in full throttle. Every man she could see wore a long-sleeve white shirt and tie, and she noticed more than a few bare legs peeking out from under skirts. Red lights flashed above a few of the consoles, green on several more. She forced herself to concentrate on one thing at a time.
The middle screen obviously showed an interior shot of the flight deck of the shuttle, and it looked like cameras must have been placed on the surface of the moon, their lenses facing the shuttle. On the right were a series of digital readouts, but she had no idea what they were telling the dozens of people in the room.
Her visual tour of the room stopped at Andrea. Her station was located in the back of the room, raised on its own separate platform. She sat completely straight in her chair, her hands over a keyboard in perfect ergonomic form. When Kenner was at the keyboard she usually slouched down so low she could barely see over the desk. Kenner watched as Andrea’s fingers flew, occasionally pausing as she referenced something on the screen in front of her. She looked like a queen on her throne.
If she thought Andrea was captivating in the meeting this morning, she found Andrea in her element mesmerizing. For lack of a better phrase, her sheer presence exuded confidence and self-assurance. Kenner was enthralled. When Andrea looked her way and saw her, her fingers instantly stopped moving, as if someone had pulled a plug.
A jolt shot through Kenner as if something had been plugged into her. Warmth spread down her back, toyed with the idea of settling in the pit of her stomach, but landed in that favorite spot between her legs. Kenner had slept with all types of women, of many nationalities and intellectual levels, but something about Andrea Finley set her apart from any woman that had come before her. Kenner was stunned by her reaction to Andrea, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling.
Trying to shake it off, she walked toward Andrea’s console, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. She felt giddy, like she was walking across an empty dance floor to ask a girl to dance for the first time. Good God, she thought. What in the hell was going on? Andrea was just a woman, albeit a stunningly beautiful, smart woman, yet a woman nonetheless. And this was work. Even though the lights were low and a hum of tension was definitely in the air, this wasn’t a nightclub.
Andrea was surprised to see Kenner standing in her control room watching her. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“I didn’t think you knew where I was or how to get here.” And that will be the last time I underestimate you, she added to herself. Kenner smiled and Andrea’s heart skipped. WTF?
“I asked for directions. Everyone is so helpful. Except for the guard at the door. She’s a bit of a grump,” Kenner added in a tone that said if you know what I mean.
“She’s just doing her job,” Andrea said and then was angry at herself for defending the guard. She didn’t need to explain or justify anyone or anything to Kenner.
“And she does it quite well. She looked at me so thoroughly I thought she could see right down to my skivvies.”
Andrea had chosen that moment to take another sip of her cold coffee, and it was all she could do to keep it from spewing out her nose at Kenner’s description. As it was, she choked on it and started coughing.
“Are you okay?” Kenner asked, patting her firmly on the back.
Andrea wasn’t able to say anything but nodded instead as she tried desperately to take a breath. Jesus, how embarrassing, she thought and was finally able to inhale a full breath. She hoped her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, clearing her throat. “Must have gone down the wrong pipe,” she added. And almost killed me.
“I hate it when that happens.” Kenner patted her on the back until Andrea realized she was still doing it. “Sorry. You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thanks. So how was lunch?” How was lunch? Jesus, Andrea, could you have come up with a more stupid question? First you berate her for going to lunch, and then you ask how it was. Like this is some normal, everyday work conversation. Pull it together.
&nb
sp; “Good, thanks,” Kenner replied and pointed to the main screen. “What are they doing?”
Andrea was relieved that the focus had shifted from her making a fool of herself to the mission. Here she was on solid ground. “That’s Commander Hight and mission specialist Molly Tremain. We’ve asked them to limit their movements to conserve the oxygen and food they have left onboard.”
“How long have they been up there?”
Did she detect a little bit of awe in Kenner’s question? “Nine days, six hours, twenty-four minutes,” she said after glancing on the readout above the screen.
“Is everything so exact?” Kenner asked seriously.
“Absolutely. We have very little margin for error.” Andrea hoped her voice didn’t sound as forceful as it felt. There was no margin for error in space flight. One second too long, one transposed number, one hiccup in a program could spell disaster or worse.
“Did you learn all this at MIT?”
“I beg your pardon?” Andrea had to ask. Kenner had switched the topic so quickly she didn’t follow.
“I asked if you learned all this at MIT. I read in your bio that you’re a fellow alum.”
“Yes, I mean no.” Andrea corrected herself, then corrected that response. “No, I didn’t learn this at MIT, and yes, I am an alum.”
“What did you think of the place?” Kenner asked.
“What place? MIT?”
Kenner nodded.
“It was fine.” That was a lame statement, Andrea thought, for describing one of the most prestigious and difficult-to-get-into graduate schools in the world.
“Fine? Did you go to the same school I went to?”
“Okay,” Andrea said. “It was tough, challenging, and one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.” Andrea was surprised that she’d divulged something so personal to a complete stranger.
“Bet you got straight As.”
Andrea didn’t know if Kenner was complimenting her or mocking her. She was proud of her accomplishments, not only at MIT but in all of her education. It had been a bitch, her entire focus on studying, and she had, in fact, earned all As. She had faced a lot of shit being a woman in courses taught by an all-male faculty and attended by ninety-nine percent men. She had stayed between the lines, and her exacting nature had kept her there.
“I did all right.” Andrea answered even though it wasn’t a question.
“You must have had Professor Tyrell. She was older than dirt when I was there, but God, she was brilliant. And I swear she had eyes in the back of her head. She saw everything. We didn’t get away with anything in her class.”
Even though Andrea had had the professor in question for not one but three classes, and she agreed with Kenner’s description of the octogenarian, she didn’t comment. Instead she said, “This isn’t homecoming. We don’t have time to reminisce about football games, bonfires, and our college days.”
Kenner’s eyes narrowed, and she looked at her like she had just stepped on something.
“What?”
“I’m just making conversation about something we have in common. No need to rip my head off, for God’s sake.”
“We just—”
“I know. Don’t have time,” Kenner said, shaking her head. “What do you need me to do?”
*
The digital readout on the screen in front of her read eight fifty-three when Andrea looked up. Jesus, where had the time gone? She looked around the control room and saw that the evening crew was hard at work. The team worked twelve-hour shifts, ensuring continuity in monitoring and status updates. Once the day shift had briefed their relief, Andrea had gathered the outgoing shift together and, along with Kenner, received a complete briefing of their activities.
She looked around the room for Kenner. She was sitting at one of the consoles, pointing to the screen, writing something down and talking to the three men clustered around her. Andrea watched for a few minutes and saw that the men were riveted to what she was saying, each one quickly jotting notes down on paper in front of him.
Kenner was left-handed, and for some stupid reason Andrea thought left-handed women were just plain sexy. She hadn’t thought about that in a long time because she was so focused on the mission, the left- or right-handedness of her staff not important. But Kenner wasn’t on her staff, and Andrea felt the stirrings of something uncomfortable. She didn’t have the time or the interest for this.
Her knee popped as she stood, reminding Andrea she’d been sitting in one position too long. While a midfielder on her lacrosse team in high school, she’d torn her ACL and broken her femur in a nasty collision with a girl half her size. Eighteen agonizing months later she’d given up on the sport and settled down as a freshman at MIT. She flexed her knee several times before putting weight on it and walking toward Kenner.
“So the angle of the pattern of the arc in the data suggests that the trajectory is off only zero point zero, zero two, and that causes the hesitation you see here,” Kenner said, her finger tracing a green line on the screen.
Andrea looked over Kenner’s shoulder at the screen and quickly scanned the data. It was a bit more complex than she was used to, but it was obvious by the men’s reaction that they had learned something new.
One of the men noticed her. “Andrea, Kenner found something we hadn’t seen before. We’re going to run it through some modeling and simulation to see where it goes,” he said with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered the cure for the common cold. Andrea was impressed, and a glimmer of hope twinkled far in the distance. The other two men turned her way with equal gleeful looks, while Kenner’s expression remained neutral.
“Excellent,” she said, tired but enthusiastic. “Keep at it, and have Stephanie call me the minute it pans out. I’m headed home.” Andrea hated leaving, but she couldn’t stay here twenty-four hours a day every day until the crisis was resolved. She wasn’t expected to. She had a team of the brightest minds working on this and she had to remain sharp, but to do so she needed to get some sleep. Something she hadn’t had much of for the past week.
“I’ll think I’ll head out too, guys,” Kenner said. “You know what to do from here. Keep on that track. You have my cell-phone number. Call me if you run into any trouble. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.”
Kenner stood, placed her hands in the small of her back, and arched backward. Her breasts pushed against her tight shirt, her head fell back, and she let out a low moan. “God, that feels good,” she said. Andrea’s mouth went dry and her jaw became slack.
“Do you know where I’m staying?” Kenner asked as she started walking away from the workstation. Andrea had to hustle to catch up, her legs refusing to move for a few seconds.
“I think they put you at the Marriott. The details are in my office. It’s this way,” she said, exiting the control room and turning right. Andrea was suddenly very tired. It was as if the command center was a pressure cooker, the pressure released as soon as she stepped out of the room. But she had to focus for a few more minutes. Kenner followed her to her office.
“I knew it,” Kenner said excitedly.
“Excuse me?” Andrea asked, walking over to her desk.
“I read an article about you on the flight and saw a picture of you in an office. I bet myself that it was yours, and bingo, I’m right.” Kenner actually pumped her fist in the air.
“What are you talking about?”
“The article about you in Time magazine. This is the desk in the picture. And this is the table with these exact models that were to your right.” Kenner sounded like a little girl who’d just discovered there really was a Santa.
Andrea hated the article and had wanted nothing to do with the interview until Barry had told her to cooperate. Grudgingly she’d complied, and her sister Beth had bragged that their parents had bought out every issue in their small town of Elk City, Oklahoma.
“You’re very observant,” Andrea replied, not wanting to have this conversation.
“Why do you say that? Keen observation is very important in what you do.” At least she thought so.
“Well, mine can be a bit daunting to some people.”
“How so?” Andrea asked, surprisingly interested in Kenner’s answer.
“I remember everything, and sometimes it’s just a pain in the ass.” Kenner frowned.
“Remember everything, like a photographic memory?”
“You know that technically such a trait doesn’t exist.”
“Yes, I know. But I do believe that some people have the ability to remember things in much more minute detail than others. Almost like a mental snapshot.”
“Good, because that’s me. I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of freak,” Kenner said quickly.
Andrea detected something she couldn’t put her finger on in Kenner’s comment. She had lost her cutting edge, and her flippant attitude wasn’t as strong as usual. Too tired to figure out the cause she said, “Let’s go. I’ll drop you off at your hotel.”
Chapter Eleven
T-minus 09:01:12:17
“What do you mean they don’t have your reservation?” Kenner was standing beside her car door. Andrea was still parked in the circle drive of the hotel checking her email when she happened to glance up and see Kenner just about where she’d left her. She motioned her over.
“You heard me, they don’t have my reservation.”
“Why don’t they give you another room? We can figure out the billing tomorrow.”
“They don’t have any empty rooms, and the desk clerk said there’s not one within thirty miles. Because of the mission and the Comic Con convention and the Harley Davidson annual showcase in town, everything’s booked.”
“I don’t care if the circus is in town. You need a room” Andrea was furious, which was completely out of character for her. But the strain of the past few weeks and the arrival of Kenner Hutchings had thrown her off kilter. And now there wasn’t a single hotel room in the area? “Don’t hotels have empty rooms they give out in situations like this?”