it in here for the construction workers. This door is unusually close to the corridor break, because the only spaces left were on each side and they thought two doors would be confusing. See how it's offset against spin a little though? The structural members run up the exact middle and you can't fit a door."
Art nodded and held his pad up in camera mode for a shot of the corridor break.
"Would you like to come to dinner tonight?" she offered. "My dad could tell you lots more and if we can get my granddad to come by, he actually helped build most of M3. It's really not any bother, we're like a little town here. People even stop my dad in the corridor and tell him things they should e-mail to maintenance, he just goes ahead and relays it."
"Thanks, but I already promised dinner to someone I met." But he didn't say who, she noticed. Needlessly secretive people irritated her. "But I thank you and it was good meeting you," he said, leaning back and terminating the conversation by his manner. He didn't act like it was nice. It seemed to have made him cross with her. She had the subtle feeling this whole encounter had gone badly and wasn't sure why. He stood eager to leave now and tucked his pad back under his jacket, on his belt. April stood also, feeling slighted, because his demeanor was dismissive. He was practically rude after she had been friendly.
When he flapped his jacket back, to put his pad away, the cloying scent fanned to her recalled a vivid memory. The unexpected shock must have shown on her face, because he hesitated, looking back at her when he had started to turn away. He looked like he wanted to say something more and looked at her again like he hadn't really inspected her before and was correcting the mistake. His eyes scanned her brazenly, the creepy way men and boys had only recently started looking at her and hesitated, looking right at the lump of banana and scanner in her pocket.
She had the paranoid thought he knew she had something illicit, so strongly she hooked her thumb in the pocket and let her fingers slide in over the shape hiding it. She felt her face go hard at his lack of manners. She hated it when she lost control of it like that. The thought was crazy; there was no way he could know about her scanner. Yet if anything he froze for an instant seeming to skip a breath. Then he visibly came to a decision to drop it and walked away.
April stood there, too shocked to decide what to do, until she sorted out what her nose was telling her, finding no alternative to the memories it evoked.
* * *
About a year ago she woke up one night and went out to get a drink. When she came out of her room the light was on in the kitchenette and her dad was sitting at their small table. The same odor had permeated the room, as she had just whiffed from Art. There was a hard case on the table and an assortment of metal parts spread on a soft cloth. Most of them were meaningless to her, but the diamond textured grips of a pistol frame and the trigger guard on the front of it were obvious.
She'd just looked a question at her father.
"OK, I didn't mean for you to see this," he said. "But since you have, I need to make sure you will leave it alone after I put it away and not go looking to mess with it."
"I could just promise, but if you're going to trust me for that much, can't you tell me the whole story and have confidence in me to leave it alone because it's the right thing to do?"
"OK," he agreed, "sit down and watch." He started assembling the weapon, explaining as he worked. He held the complete unit sideways to her on both hands, in presentation. "This is what you call a Colt .45. The number is the caliber, or nominal inch size of the bore and the projectile which comes out of it. This basic design version dates from 1911," he smiled in satisfaction at her raised eyebrows at the date. "It's a Browning design actually. Colt was long dead back in the 1800's although his company was still doing fine, but I
Art nodded and held his pad up in camera mode for a shot of the corridor break.
"Would you like to come to dinner tonight?" she offered. "My dad could tell you lots more and if we can get my granddad to come by, he actually helped build most of M3. It's really not any bother, we're like a little town here. People even stop my dad in the corridor and tell him things they should e-mail to maintenance, he just goes ahead and relays it."
"Thanks, but I already promised dinner to someone I met." But he didn't say who, she noticed. Needlessly secretive people irritated her. "But I thank you and it was good meeting you," he said, leaning back and terminating the conversation by his manner. He didn't act like it was nice. It seemed to have made him cross with her. She had the subtle feeling this whole encounter had gone badly and wasn't sure why. He stood eager to leave now and tucked his pad back under his jacket, on his belt. April stood also, feeling slighted, because his demeanor was dismissive. He was practically rude after she had been friendly.
When he flapped his jacket back, to put his pad away, the cloying scent fanned to her recalled a vivid memory. The unexpected shock must have shown on her face, because he hesitated, looking back at her when he had started to turn away. He looked like he wanted to say something more and looked at her again like he hadn't really inspected her before and was correcting the mistake. His eyes scanned her brazenly, the creepy way men and boys had only recently started looking at her and hesitated, looking right at the lump of banana and scanner in her pocket.
She had the paranoid thought he knew she had something illicit, so strongly she hooked her thumb in the pocket and let her fingers slide in over the shape hiding it. She felt her face go hard at his lack of manners. She hated it when she lost control of it like that. The thought was crazy; there was no way he could know about her scanner. Yet if anything he froze for an instant seeming to skip a breath. Then he visibly came to a decision to drop it and walked away.
April stood there, too shocked to decide what to do, until she sorted out what her nose was telling her, finding no alternative to the memories it evoked.
* * *
About a year ago she woke up one night and went out to get a drink. When she came out of her room the light was on in the kitchenette and her dad was sitting at their small table. The same odor had permeated the room, as she had just whiffed from Art. There was a hard case on the table and an assortment of metal parts spread on a soft cloth. Most of them were meaningless to her, but the diamond textured grips of a pistol frame and the trigger guard on the front of it were obvious.
She'd just looked a question at her father.
"OK, I didn't mean for you to see this," he said. "But since you have, I need to make sure you will leave it alone after I put it away and not go looking to mess with it."
"I could just promise, but if you're going to trust me for that much, can't you tell me the whole story and have confidence in me to leave it alone because it's the right thing to do?"
"OK," he agreed, "sit down and watch." He started assembling the weapon, explaining as he worked. He held the complete unit sideways to her on both hands, in presentation. "This is what you call a Colt .45. The number is the caliber, or nominal inch size of the bore and the projectile which comes out of it. This basic design version dates from 1911," he smiled in satisfaction at her raised eyebrows at the date. "It's a Browning design actually. Colt was long dead back in the 1800's although his company was still doing fine, but I
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