case, I got to go several times before God came to collect His fee.”
Conn sighed. “I wish you would think about going to the moon,” she said.
“And I wish thinking about it didn’t make you so glum,” Peo said.
# # #
Conn now worked full time for Dyna-Tech—but school wasn’t over. Peo had Conn take classes toward a certification as a paralegal. “I need someone who can do routine legal things without charging me nine hundred dollars an hour,” Peo said. Conn privately didn’t want to bother with paralegal training, but grudgingly found she had an aptitude for it.
School wasn’t over in another sense: Conn remained at Peo’s right hand in Chicago. The Illinois Tech MMAE Department turned a blind eye to the arrangement. They’d known they were getting somebody who ran an aerospace company when they hired Peo, and had promised her the freedom to keep doing it.
November, 2032 arrived, the tenth anniversary of Peo’s mission to the moon. Conn handled requests for interviews with Peo. When Peo was on her game, like now, she was a master at ingratiating herself with an interviewer, making her points and avoiding questions she didn’t want to answer. Conn wished she could teach people how to do it because she’d get rich if she could.
Conn always found herself enjoying public and media relations work. It couldn’t be a priority for her, but she felt comfortable doing it, and she always had success at it. It was one more way, along with the paralegal training, that she was branching out, contributing.
As attention turned to Peo and her company for the anniversary of her moonshot, Peo authorized interviews with the Saturn astronauts, but not the moon astronauts, on the grounds that the latter were training more intensely. Really, it was Conn’s suggestion to get the Saturn mission more airplay. None of the three Saturn astronauts were terribly charismatic, but their excitement and deep belief in their mission came through as though in large print.
On November 15, ten years after the liftoff of Peo’s trip to the moon, Callie Leporis spacewalked to the Saturn spacecraft at Gasoline Alley and mimed breaking a bottle of champagne on its hull, christening it the Bebop . Peo held her tongue at the name, which was inspired by an anime series the three astronauts had all loved as tweens, teens, and even adults.
“Go watch whatever they’re talking about,” Peo told Conn. “Make me not hate the name, somehow.”
“I’ve seen it already,” Conn said. “ Cowboy Bebop . A bunch of coolly disinterested characters mope around the solar system. I don’t get the big deal.” Peo just sighed. The crew was entitled to name their spacecraft, and Peo wouldn’t veto it just for being stupid.
In December, the sixtieth anniversary of the last steps on the moon—which was also Peo’s sixtieth birthday—gave the media another excuse to come calling, this time almost exclusively about the moon mission. Conn screened interview requests, wrote press releases, and did her best to keep the coverage on message: a historic three-craft trip to the moon, one of them privately funded. Without her guidance, the favored spin was that Dyna-Tech was stealing NASA’s thunder. And they were, to some extent. But all NASA had to do was send up a female astronaut of their own and they would have gotten exponentially more coverage, if that’s what they were after.
NINE
First Woman
December, 2032
Conn and Peo celebrated Peo’s sixtieth birthday with dinner at Franco’s. Conn had fettuccine Alfredo. Peo, on a no-wheat diet, had London broil, with garlic mashed potatoes. The food was rich and delicious, lending a sense of indulgence to the occasion.
“I didn’t know what to get you, so I didn’t get you anything,” Conn said, as she had on Peo’s last two birthdays. In reality, Conn had learned over the years that Peo didn’t like or want birthday gifts.
Peo just looked at Conn. Glasses clinked at another table.
Conn sighed. “I wish you would think about going to the moon,” she said.
“And I wish thinking about it didn’t make you so glum,” Peo said.
# # #
Conn now worked full time for Dyna-Tech—but school wasn’t over. Peo had Conn take classes toward a certification as a paralegal. “I need someone who can do routine legal things without charging me nine hundred dollars an hour,” Peo said. Conn privately didn’t want to bother with paralegal training, but grudgingly found she had an aptitude for it.
School wasn’t over in another sense: Conn remained at Peo’s right hand in Chicago. The Illinois Tech MMAE Department turned a blind eye to the arrangement. They’d known they were getting somebody who ran an aerospace company when they hired Peo, and had promised her the freedom to keep doing it.
November, 2032 arrived, the tenth anniversary of Peo’s mission to the moon. Conn handled requests for interviews with Peo. When Peo was on her game, like now, she was a master at ingratiating herself with an interviewer, making her points and avoiding questions she didn’t want to answer. Conn wished she could teach people how to do it because she’d get rich if she could.
Conn always found herself enjoying public and media relations work. It couldn’t be a priority for her, but she felt comfortable doing it, and she always had success at it. It was one more way, along with the paralegal training, that she was branching out, contributing.
As attention turned to Peo and her company for the anniversary of her moonshot, Peo authorized interviews with the Saturn astronauts, but not the moon astronauts, on the grounds that the latter were training more intensely. Really, it was Conn’s suggestion to get the Saturn mission more airplay. None of the three Saturn astronauts were terribly charismatic, but their excitement and deep belief in their mission came through as though in large print.
On November 15, ten years after the liftoff of Peo’s trip to the moon, Callie Leporis spacewalked to the Saturn spacecraft at Gasoline Alley and mimed breaking a bottle of champagne on its hull, christening it the Bebop . Peo held her tongue at the name, which was inspired by an anime series the three astronauts had all loved as tweens, teens, and even adults.
“Go watch whatever they’re talking about,” Peo told Conn. “Make me not hate the name, somehow.”
“I’ve seen it already,” Conn said. “ Cowboy Bebop . A bunch of coolly disinterested characters mope around the solar system. I don’t get the big deal.” Peo just sighed. The crew was entitled to name their spacecraft, and Peo wouldn’t veto it just for being stupid.
In December, the sixtieth anniversary of the last steps on the moon—which was also Peo’s sixtieth birthday—gave the media another excuse to come calling, this time almost exclusively about the moon mission. Conn screened interview requests, wrote press releases, and did her best to keep the coverage on message: a historic three-craft trip to the moon, one of them privately funded. Without her guidance, the favored spin was that Dyna-Tech was stealing NASA’s thunder. And they were, to some extent. But all NASA had to do was send up a female astronaut of their own and they would have gotten exponentially more coverage, if that’s what they were after.
NINE
First Woman
December, 2032
Conn and Peo celebrated Peo’s sixtieth birthday with dinner at Franco’s. Conn had fettuccine Alfredo. Peo, on a no-wheat diet, had London broil, with garlic mashed potatoes. The food was rich and delicious, lending a sense of indulgence to the occasion.
“I didn’t know what to get you, so I didn’t get you anything,” Conn said, as she had on Peo’s last two birthdays. In reality, Conn had learned over the years that Peo didn’t like or want birthday gifts.
Peo just looked at Conn. Glasses clinked at another table.
Similar Books
