For now he worked on his online classes and spent enough time at the local school with Jenny and her classmates that they didn’t have a clue about his college-level curriculum. In the off-hours he worked in the museum and tried to pretend that it would make a difference. He couldn’t explain why he wanted to study history, or why he was enrolled in courses such as archaeology, library science, and cataloging, so it was easier just to not talk about it. That was one reason why he didn’t socialize much, but Jenny knew what he was doing even if she didn’t understand it herself. She liked him anyway, so he figured he’d better show up at the diner later. For Jenny; yeah, he supposed that was a good enough reason.
A couple of hours later he stood up and took off the hooded parka. The cold and concentration left his muscles stiff, so he did a few exercises to loosen and warm up. Once he felt ready, he hung the parka and left for the diner.
The look in Jenny’s eyes as she saw him enter caused that same shiver, even though the diner was sweltering compared to the workshop.
* * *
—
“Hey, babe, I found that book you wanted,” Jenny said as she entered their apartment. “A friend beamed it down from Lovell Station. I think he wanted a date, but I turned him down.” That was fairly typical, Winn thought, every red-blooded guy and even a few girls wanted to date Jenny. Winn was constantly amazed that she seemed to reserve all of her attention for him, the geeky, bookish guy who worked in a machine shop and disappeared every evening. Jenny had been a friend, a rival, and a near-constant companion since they were seven and eight years of age, playing in the halls and corridors of Armstrong. She was the one person who could pull him away from the museum, as well as the one who was closest to him now that he was all alone.
He had been working late that night. Jenny had come to tell him about the horrible transport crash, and sat by his side as Winn frantically checked the news channels and his parents’ personal comms. Jenny had been the one to hold him through the night after his worst fears were confirmed, and Jenny had been the one to stand at his side and hold his hand throughout the memorial service.
The loss of his parents was devastating, but Winn had come face-to-face with just how he felt about Jenny, not to mention the realization of how she felt about him. She had encouraged him to speak to the owner of the machine shop where his father had worked, and been thrilled with him when he was hired as journeyman machinist—even though he’d only just turned eighteen years of age.
Jenny also continued to encourage him in his less frequent work at the museum. Her contacts had led him to an actual rover, and not just a model or holographic simulation. It wasn’t necessarily period accurate, but it would go in the collection with the camera timer, golf ball, feather, sun-bleached photograph, and geologist’s hammer he’d obtained over the past few years. He’d spent hours tenderly restoring the rover, including printing maps and fabricating clamps for the makeshift fender replacement. Jenny had been right at his side the whole time. She’d studied more chemistry than he had; that was definitely a benefit in figuring out the rover’s antique silver-zinc batteries. However, even that knowledge wouldn’t restore the photo-oxidized family portrait that originally graced the photograph.
With his work and her college classes, working in the museum was the best way for them to spend time together. Jenny found a better solution to that problem when she informed Winn that even with his job, he couldn’t afford to heat and power his parents’ residence when he only returned home to sleep. Even though it hurt to put an end to that part of his life, Winn bowed to Jenny’s practical wisdom. They now shared a small apartment midway between college and the machine shop, not too far from the museum.
“So, why are you interested in An Informal History of Liquid Rocket Propellants?” Her question brought Winn out of his reverie with a start. Jenny recognized the shake of his head and smiled. “Are you planning on ‘Going to the Moon,’ Winnie?” she laughed. But her eyes twinkled and Winn knew she was only teasing.
“Actually, my friend in Eugene found an old Apollo engine pump, and I figured I needed to understand the principles better before I started on the restoration.” He took the book reader, then laid it carefully on his workbench and folded Jenny in his arms. “So, how was class?”
“Ugh, well, the botany labs are fine, but my lab mates simply will not do their own work.” She grimaced, but then brightened up. “Oh! I have an interview with Melliere!”
“Um, is that a who, a where, or a what?” Winn pulled back slightly to look at Jenny—one eyebrow raised, and the side of his mouth crooked up in a grin.
“Melliere Corp is both a what and a where.” Jenny returned the grin. “The company does agricultural genetics and they have a research station just north of Descartes. I’m interviewing for a lab internship two days a week and weekends. If I get the job, I can commute.”
Winn’s grin faded. Jenny recognized the look and the memory and emotion behind it. She hurried to add, “By tube, not hopper. It’s cheaper, anyway.” The worried look in Winn’s eyes was one familiar to Jenny, so she reached out and held his chin. “It’s only an hour commute, four days a week. Don’t be a worrywart. If they like my work, we can talk about setting up a test plot here after I graduate. Then I won’t have to commute.”
Winn forced a smile, but then the last thing Jenny said sank in. “Really? Wow. That would be nice.” His smile was genuine and he hugged her tightly. “It would be nice to stay right here.”
“Don’t count those chickens yet, Pooh Bear. I still have to graduate, not to mention getting the job. It’s at least a year.” But Jenny hugged back and started thinking of a few plans of her own.
* * *
—
Winn sat at the workbench, just staring at the components on the table. He’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t even donned his parka despite the cold. He really had no idea how long he’d sat there, ignoring the deep chill, not even shivering, before he grimaced and swept the video camera components off the table. They floated gently to the floor, depriving him of the visceral jolt of clatter and breakage.
He supposed it didn’t matter; the video tube was fried, anyway.
Instead, he pounded the table with his fists. The cold had made them numb, and he stopped only when he noticed the smear of blood from the bruised and cracked skin.
He laid his head down on the table, and for only the second time in his life, he cried.
His first indication that anyone was present was the parka settling over his shoulders. The lining was warm; Jenny had taken her own coat off and wrapped it around him, then gone to retrieve his parka from the peg by the pressure hatch. She gathered up the scattered camera parts and placed them in a covered plastic box, filled it with a shot of nitrogen to displace the air, then sealed the cover and placed it on a shelf.
Winn sat motionless while his not-fiancée cleaned up the mess he’d made. Even when she came back and sat at his side, he neither spoke nor moved.
“He’s an idiot. You already knew that,” she said at last.
Winn mumbled something unintelligible.
“He’s a politician. First lawyer out of Armstrong in decades, and he has designs on being mayor and then governor.” Jenny reached out and lifted Winn’s chin so that she could look him in the eye. “I told him that his petty prejudices were so twenty-first century and Mom agreed. In this day and age, he’d have a bigger scandal if his wife and daughter denounced him than if his daughter married a ‘no-good tinkerer.’” She wiped his tears and kissed him. “Then I told him that we’d just go to his archrival who actually is mayor right now and have her perform a civil ceremony!”
Winn essayed a small smile and kissed her back. After a while he pulled back and spoke. “He hates me, though. I really don’t want that hanging over our heads.”
“He doesn’t. Not really. That was just the politician speaking.” She kissed h
im again, and they held each other for a while before she continued. “He’s actually pretty proud of the work you did with the central water supply. Armstrong would be in a world of hurt if you hadn’t machined the parts for the pumps. Mom reminded him of that and offered to let him sleep in the airlock tonight to rethink his words.”
“Did you mean it? Do you really want to go to the mayor’s office?”
“Sure, we’ll go see Mayor Kubric tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Winn squeaked.
“Yes, tomorrow. You’ve already asked my father, even if it wasn’t the answer you wanted, and even though I told you it wasn’t necessary. Tomorrow. Noon.” She took his hand and guided him to his feet. “Now, let’s go and see if your suit fits.”
* * *
—
It was almost nine years before Jenny was able to end the commute across the Sinus Honorus to her job in the Descartes Highlands. First came a few extra years to finish a doctorate in plant genetics. Then there was the part-time teaching job while she worked her way up through the research hierarchy at Melliere Corp. It also took time to select a location, build the greenhouse dome, and set up the experimental plot.
Winn was in the workshop at the museum when Jenny came in, slightly dusty from her first official workday in the “Garden of Eatin’.” “Hey, I thought you were supposed to wash all of that off at the dome to recycle the soil?” he called out as she stopped at a utility sink and wiped her hands with one of the ubiquitous shop towels before coming over to inspect the rake and scoop he’d set aside for restoration.
“I did,” she muttered. “You of all people should know how that dust gets into everything. I have got to get some more organics in there, especially around the edge plots. They’re the driest.”
“Sure, I know. The dust gets everywhere.” He gestured at the cases around the room, each containing an artifact that he had painstakingly cleaned and restored. It was no longer a secret that Winn and Jenny both worked there. Winn set up an account to pay the utility bills, so what was once trespassing and a waste of time for teenagers was an eccentric, but acceptable, hobby for the supervising master machinist at Armstrong Tool and Die.
“By the way, I saw the doctor today.” Jenny picked up a discarded shop towel and returned it to the sink as Winn packed up his tools and returned the latest items to their display case.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you had an appointment.” Winn sealed the case and filled it with nitrogen. “I hope you mentioned that stomach bug you’ve picked up. It sounded pretty bad this morning.” Winn’s attention was not on his wife, so he didn’t see the sly look on Jenny’s face. “I hope you’ll be over it in time for that dinner your parents are planning.”
“Uh, Winn. Pooh Bear. Sit down and look at me.” Winn leaned back onto his work stool and looked up in confusion. “I won’t be ‘over it’ for about seven more months. But I’m going to be just fine . . .”
* * *
—
Grace was being fussy. The two-year-old had sinus congestion and was unhappy that she couldn’t breathe properly. Colds were rare in Armstrong, but very uncomfortable since sinuses didn’t drain properly. On the plus side, reduced sinus drainage meant fewer sore throats for the young ones.
Winn and Jenny’s daughter wanted to be held and rocked, but Jenny had a meeting in Descartes in the morning, so Winn had drawn sick child duty. He stood in the middle of the nursery and held the squirming toddler, rocking back and forth and murmuring softly. Jenny was the singer of the two, and knew every nursery rhyme and song imaginable, even a few from languages other than English, thanks to her mixed-nationality colleagues. Winn didn’t sing, but he did love to read aloud. Grace would snuggle up close and lay her head on his chest as he spoke.
Tonight she wanted—no, needed—to keep rocking; it would help clear her head. Thus, it was difficult for Winn to read. Instead, he spoke softly, his voice rumbling quietly as he told her of his dreams.
“It’s old, sweetie. Older than you or me or Mommy, or even Grampa and Grandma. They were brave men and women who made it possible, and even braver ones who made the trip. We have to tell people about it. We can’t forget, and we can’t let anyone else forget. People need to be reminded not to give up on their dreams. It’s important, Gracie. We must believe and remember for them.”
* * *
—
“Mayor Harriman, please. It’s an important piece of our history.” Winn sat on the edge of his seat in the plain but relaxing office. Armstrong’s mayors had never gone in for luxurious appointments and displays of excess, but the office was appropriately furnished for both the current elected occupant and guests. The chairs were comfortable, but the comfort was lost on Winn at the moment. “All we need is the heat and light allotment; I’ll take care of the rest. I can afford it.”
“Son, I appreciate all you’ve done. Goodness knows Wright Fabrication has brought jobs back to Armstrong, and Jenny’s reputation has certainly caught on. If Melliere makes her a full partner, they’ll probably move half of their research staff here.” Harriman’s tone was neither condescending nor dismissive, but it was clear he still had concerns. “It’s just that we had tourists and they stopped coming. I don’t see it happening again.”
It was not the first time Winn had heard, or made, these arguments. In fact, he heard them every year. He had a standing appointment for July 20 every year.
“Don’t think we don’t appreciate everything you’ve done,” the mayor continued. “Your family is the single biggest driver in our economy, thanks to the companies that have relocated here for access to you and Jenny. Think of it, son, you’ve given us hope and growth again!”
“But hope is not enough, sir! We need to know our own history—we need to share that history as well.” Winn had made this argument each year, but today he added a new tactic. “Don’t you want your granddaughters to grow up knowing the importance of this town?”
“That’s a low blow, son, especially knowing as I do that you’ll teach them anyway. Am I right?” Harriman tried to glare at his son-in-law, but couldn’t help but laugh at Winn’s triumphant look. “Besides, a museum needs a curator.” He held his hand up to forestall the protest. “A professional. I know you can handle the displays, but a proper museum requires professional management.”
Winn looked down for a moment, and to all intents looked as if he were resigned to the same ending of the old argument. After a moment, however, he reached into the old-fashioned document case and pulled out several sheets of plastic-wrapped parchment and laid them on the desk in front of his father-in-law. The mayor’s shocked expression was almost worth it.
“Dr. Edwin Aldrin Wright?” Harriman carefully lifted the documents one at a time. “One . . . two . . . three degrees? PhD in archaeology? Master’s in forensic restoration and library science?” He looked up in shock. “But I . . . Jenny never said . . . I never knew.”
“No one did. Well, except Jenny, but she’s very good at helping me keep secrets.”
“But . . . how?” Harriman still held the topmost document gingerly, as if afraid to touch it but more afraid to let it go. “This is dated ten years ago. How . . . how did you manage to do this in Armstrong?”
Winn was relieved. Astonishment was easier to deal with than disbelief. “I finished the high school curriculum early, and my father set up the distance-learning college courses to keep me busy. I did everything online that I could, and the museum provided all of my field projects. The worst part was that the archaeology professors had to inspect my documents and projects. Not to mention that the restoration defense required a gallery showing. Remember those ‘tourists’ from Tycho who expressed such an interest in the machine shop when it was just getting started? That was my adviser and the external examiner. They are both clients, actually, and helped me set up a holographic gallery show in the Canaveral Museum in Florida. The ‘honeymoon’ over in Tycho be
fore Grace was born was my defense. It still had to be done by virtual conference because we couldn’t afford the recovery time it would take if I went Earthside.”
Harriman sat stunned for several minutes while Winn waited patiently. “I had no idea,” he finally said as a new expression began to take over his face. “So. Why here? Why aren’t you working at the Smithsonian or the Louvre? Instead of working at a machine shop?”
Winn reached out and placed his hand over that of his father-in-law. “Dad.” Harriman looked up. “I own a chain of machine shops. I am married to a wonderful woman—your daughter—who is about to become Luna’s top agricultural expert. Our children, and our family, are here.”
Harriman finally put the sheets down and passed them back. It was clear that he believed the documents. That was never really the issue. The same was true for money, these days. Winn could tell that at this point, only one question remained. “Why now? What’s so different that you brought out all of . . .” He waved his hand at the documents. “All of this? Why today?”
Winn placed the documents back in the case, closed it, and looked up. “In five years it will be the bicentennial. Two hundred years since the moon landing. It will take that long to get the museum ready, certified, and registered as an official event.” He paused and then continued. “Besides, we need this. Grace and Mary need this; all of the kids do. It’s for us . . . and it’s for our children.”
“Huh. Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it?” Harriman thought for a moment and then continued. “Very well. I will take it up with the council. As for this . . .” He pointed at the document case. “You need to show this to your mother-in-law. She’s going to be angry you didn’t tell her. Dinner. Sunday. Bring it all, she’s going to want pictures!”
Fantastic Hope Page 23