At the bottom of the ladder, another worker holds out an iPad. Bron ticks a configuration approval with his index finger. As he walks off, the hum behind him returns to something like normal.
Whoosh!
Bron passes through the airlock that separates the construction bay from the main office complex. He unzips his disposable outfit and sits on a stainless-steel bench bolted to a spotless tile floor—so white it’s practically blinding.
His mind is humming pleasantly with the tasks ahead of him this afternoon—a meeting with Atlas V engineers, conference calls with bidders for antenna components, and an update with the Space Surveillance Network—to make sure that BRON-14 won’t accidentally bump into any of the four thousand other satellites already circling the globe.
Even if he wanted to think about her, he doesn’t have time. He’s made sure of it.
As he tugs off one of his cotton booties, his loafer comes with it. Along with the tiniest trickle of desert sand.
Damn it!
He throws the shoe against the wall, where it makes the only black mark in a very, very clean room.
Chapter 41
EVERYTHING MUST go.
The back of the cargo plane looks like a giant open mouth. Daisy’s minions are rolling mainframes and consoles out of the hangar and up the ramp. The plane crew is fastening everything tight with thick yellow straps. Lots of sweating. Not much talking.
I’m sitting outside on top of the beer cooler. Karl promised to ship it to my home address, and I want to be sure it doesn’t get lost in the shuffle. I need to salvage at least one good thing out of this disaster.
Daisy is supervising the load-out. She’s standing with her hands on her hips like General Patton. She knows the location and destination of every cable. I bet the entire inventory is in her head.
She walks over and tucks her Ray-Bans into her hair like a headband.
“Squeeze over,” she says, and sits down next to me. She sits there quietly for a while, watching the operation proceed. Then she says, “It’s not your fault.”
Like hell.
“Sure it is. I’m the writer. I create the world. I control the characters. And I couldn’t make it work. Endings are always the hardest part—but I never even got a chance to figure it out.”
Daisy is staring out across the runway—actually just a long stretch of sand that happens to be flatter than the rest of the sand around it.
“You worked hard,” she says, “and you made him better. You made him a better character than he ever was. Trust me. I know.”
A row of minions walks by with monitors and flat screens. Daisy gets up to supervise the loading. She turns back to me.
“You gave him what he needed,” she says. “Let him write his own ending.”
I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I’m really going to miss Daisy DeForest. She can definitely be a pain in the ass—but as it turns out, she’s not a half bad muse.
Chapter 42
GONZALO, YOU do the honors.”
In the middle of the classroom, Mr. Vern steadies his star pupil by the belt as he reaches for the very top of the rocket. With his fingers stretched, Gonzalo places a hollow balsa wood nose cone right on the tip.
The rocket is fantastic: slender and smooth, painted in red and gray school colors, with four thick black rubber fins at the bottom. Long connecting wires extend from the base to a crude junction box—and from there to the back of the ancient Dell computer, which sits precariously on a nearby desk.
It may be the first suborbital vehicle in history constructed from a muffler pipe and mud flaps—but it’s got a functioning altimeter and radio control. And to the kids in the room, it’s just about the coolest thing they’ve ever seen.
As everybody cheers, Gonzalo looks hopefully toward the door. Where is Tyler Bron? Why isn’t he here? It’s been a whole week. He just… disappeared.
After the first day Bron didn’t show up, Gonzalo got his abuelo to open the door to his room at the motel. Everything was still there, including the shorts and T-shirts Gonzalo found for him. He’d be back. Right? Nobody just walks off in the middle of a project. Not a project this important.
Vern follows Gonzalo’s gaze and tries to distract him with a little cheerleading, raising his voice so the whole room can hear.
“Hey. You guys all did a terrific job. This is first-class. Really impressive.”
“The telemetry still isn’t right,” Gonzalo says, climbing down from the chair. He taps a few keys on the computer and brings up a sample pattern. To Vern, it looks like his latest EKG. At this point, the kids know more than he does. And no wonder. They were taught by a master.
“We’ve got only two days,” says Gonzalo. “We need to get this done.”
The other kids are right with him. As the younger ones run their fingers over the rocket’s smooth fuselage, Gonzalo’s classmates and some of the older kids huddle around the computer and break out their calculators and notepads. A mini mission control.
Failure is not an option.
The truth is, Vern and every other teacher in the room has given up on this terrific project’s making one whit of difference. They’ve all got their résumés ready, just marking time until the final bell of the final day.
But Gonzalo hasn’t given up. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 43
Two nights later
Showtime.
The whole town is gathered on the plateau—the exact spot where Bron gave his astronomy lecture. But tonight, there’s a cloud cover. The sky looks like black velvet.
Vern fires up the generator. The computer comes to life. A mild cheer from the crowd. So far, so good.
A red Mazda Miata rolls slowly across the sandy pathway to the launch site. Luke and Timo high-five everybody from the car windows as they inch toward the front row for the best possible view.
As Vern and a couple of the other teachers secure the launch platform, Gonzalo scans the dark desert.
At first, nothing. Then… two yellowish dots in the distance.
Headlights! It could be him!
Gonzalo runs to the edge of the plateau and watches the vehicle on its climb up the winding dirt road.
The car reaches the top and stops at the far end of the crowd. A gray sedan.
It’s not Bron. It’s the Department of Education.
The driver’s side door opens. Ellie Cabot steps out. Business casual wardrobe tonight. After a few seconds, the passenger side door opens. It’s Baynes, her boss. Still wearing a damn suit. At least he left his tie in the car.
Ellie waves. Gonzalo waves back. His invitation worked. But now what? The angels of doom have arrived to witness his science project and pass judgment on the whole school. And his mentor is MIA.
No pressure.
As Vern holds up his hands to quiet the crowd, Gonzalo and his crew review their calculations and procedure one last time. They hardly hear what their teacher is saying in the background…
“Thank you all for coming tonight. We are here to see something truly amazing. A self-propelled rocket designed and built by your children.” Beat. “Without much help from me!” Laughs and polite applause.
“Now, I’d like to ask Gonzalo Alvarez and his team to unveil their project.”
Gonzalo steps to the launch platform and takes one corner of the drop cloth covering the rocket. He nods to three other kids. They each take hold of one length of the plastic, just like they practiced. On Gonzalo’s signal, they yank the cover down to reveal their handiwork—dramatically lit by the headlights on Grandpa’s pickup.
There’s a huge roar from the crowd. So loud it almost covers the sound coming from the sky—thunka, thunka, thunka—getting louder and louder…
A piercing spotlight beam lights up the scene from above. Sand swirls as a sleek helicopter circles and lands on the far edge of the plateau. As the rotors wind down, the lone passenger steps out.
The kids all turn and run toward the chopper like a pack of pup
pies. But Gonzalo gets there first.
He buries his face in Tyler Bron’s chest.
Chapter 44
FLIGHT CONTROL, begin the countdown!” Bron stands in the middle of the crowd of kids as all eyes shift to the launch pad.
Gonzalo shouts out as his finger hovers over the designated launch key: V for “Vern.”
“Ten… Nine… Eight… “and so on… “Three… Two… One! Ignition!
Gonzalo presses the button. Nothing.
A huge groan rises from the crowd. Baynes gives Ellie a sideways “I told you so” glance. Kids bite their lips and put their hands over their faces.
Bron steps forward and wiggles the connections. He taps at a few more keys.
“Hold it!” A woman’s voice comes from the crowd.
The front line of spectators parts for Willow. Short skirt. Bare feet. She walks right up to the back of the computer table. She does a quick mental measurement of the computer case… and then whacks it on the left side with her flat hand. Really hard.
The digits on the monitor screen blink twice, then hold steady.
Willow looks at Bron. “Sometimes you just need to hit it over the head.”
Bron folds his hands together and gives her a half bow. “Namaste.” Wrong use of the word, but she gets the idea. Bron turns back to the kids.
“Flight Control, repeat the countdown.”
Gonzalo starts again, his heart pounding. “Ten… Nine…”
At eight, the crowd picks up the cadence and counts along.
At four, Gonzalo looks up at Bron.
Bron says, “Wait. Hold the countdown.”
Gonzalo looks up, puzzled. What now? Bron leans over and whispers, “I just need a minute.”
Bron pulls a Sharpie marker from his pocket and walks to the launch platform. He leans over and christens the rocket with a name, writing on the fuselage in clear block letters:
SUNNY-1
He turns to Gonzalo and calls out. “Flight Control… proceed!”
Gonzalo yells, “Three… Two… One! He presses the V key. “Ignition!”
Instantly, a stream of red-yellow flame shoots out of the base of the rocket, along with a belch of gray smoke. The slender cylinder seems to tremble on the platform and then, it doesn’t just lift off… it BLASTS off!
In one second it’s a hundred feet in the air, then two hundred. A stream of smoke marks the path into the sky until it disappears. The computer screen lights up with a tracking arc—a quick upward curve, then a smooth taper downward.
At exactly one minute and thirty seconds into the flight, the screen blinks the words: “Parachute Deployed.” A cheer goes up from the kids around the computer. From somewhere in the crowd, a rooster crows with gusto.
Two miles away in the dark desert, a red-and-gray rocket floats gently to the ground. In the morning, it will be retrieved by a bunch of deliriously happy kids. But for now, mission accomplished!
It actually happened! The flight team is thrilled. Bouncing. Hugging. Laughing. It all worked! The fuel. The flight. The tracking. Everything!
Gonzalo looks at Ellie, standing at the edge of the crowd. Ellie looks at Baynes, who stands next to her with his arms folded. Baynes looks over at Delgado—and nods.
Delgado knows what that nod means. It means a reprieve. Not forever. Not for long. But maybe, at least, for another year. Baynes is smart enough to know you don’t coldly close down a school this cool. Bad PR.
Gonzalo runs to Ellie, but her body language warns him that a hug is not appropriate. She’s doing her best to maintain her businesslike composure. After all, her boss is right there.
“Well done, young man,” says Baynes, extending his hand to Gonzalo. Gonzalo shakes it.
Ellie reaches out to shake Gonzalo’s hand, too. Instead, Gonzalo tugs her down by the arm until her face is almost level with his—then kisses her cheek with a loud smack. Ellie covers her face with her hand, hiding a very broad smile.
Alphonse Delgado, school principal and former astrophysics major, wipes something from his eye. Probably just a speck of sand.
Chapter 45
BRON PRESSES the OFF switch on the computer while Vern powers down the generator. When the thrum of the machine stops, all Bron can hear is the high-pitched hum of happy kids, along with rousing laughter and excited conversation from the grown-ups in three languages—English, Spanish, and Spanglish. And then, in the distance…
… the fly-like buzz of a different engine.
Below in the flats, a single headlight weaves through scrub brush and cactus, then disappears from sight, the engine sound muffled, as it climbs the road to the plateau.
Suddenly, a motorbike bounds into view at the edge of the crowd, fishtailing to a stop about ten feet from Bron.
The helmet is black. The rider pulls it off and hangs it on the handlebar.
Her hair is straighter now—like in the black-and-white photos. But the freckles are back.
Bron feels like the breath has been sucked right out of him. The night is cool, but he’s suddenly sweating. His mouth is dry and there’s a burn in the back of his throat.
Sunny walks toward him, then stops. The whole crowd is watching, but it’s like they’re not even there.
“I came to congratulate Gonzalo. I didn’t think you’d be here.”
“That makes two of us,” says Bron.
They stare at each other for a few very long seconds.
“I’m sorry,” says Sunny. “I’m sorry for everything. I was part of something that wasn’t real—and when it turned real for me, I ran.”
She takes a few steps closer. She’s now within arm’s reach.
“If you want me to leave for good, I will. I’ll get back on that bike and ride right out of here. It’s up to you.”
Bron is really bad at this stuff. He reaches for her, but only manages to place his hands stiffly on her shoulders, like some kind of dancing robot.
Sunny gives out one soft burst of that beautiful laugh. She pulls his hands down around her waist, where they belong. She steps right up close, wraps her arms around his neck, and kisses him. Soft. Deep. Real.
A few of the eighth-grade boys whistle. The whole town applauds.
Luke and Timo clap the loudest. Even though the Mazda is good to go, they’re not going anywhere. The town has kind of grown on them. Especially the bar. Which they just bought. Turns out, this acting stuff can pay pretty well.
Chapter 46
Six months later
It’s not CNN Breaking News. It’s just filler—a little human-interest story with a science twist. Correspondent Lisa Ling drew the short straw. It took her a day and a half just to get to the location. Now she’s standing in the middle of a dusty desert street, trying not to sweat through her pancake makeup. She holds the mic firmly under her chin and does a walk-and-talk toward the camera:
It’s a town so small, it doesn’t even have a name. Population, seven hundred.
And until this week, it was pretty much stuck in the Stone Age. It’s so remote, there was no cell reception, no cable service, and only a few primitive landlines. And, if you can believe it—just a single computer. But today, that’s all changed… thanks to a special dedicated communications satellite, designed, built, and donated by Bron Aerospace.
The report cuts to a pan of the Bron Aerospace logo, then dissolves to stock footage of an Atlas rocket launch, then back to Ling in a tight close-up.
That means big changes for businesses and for families here in the middle of nowhere… and especially for the schoolchildren…
The shot widens to show Ling surrounded by a crowd of kids, all holding up laptops and iPads.
… maybe our next generation of aerospace engineers. I’m Lisa Ling, for CNN.
Her eyes hold the camera, waiting for the clear sign. Behind her, a very happy ten-year-old boy jumps up into frame for an epic photo bomb—holding up an ornery rooster.
Chapter 47
BRON NEVER thought about buying a hou
se. He was just fine with the two-bedroom luxury condo. And he certainly never thought about buying a place out here in the middle of the desert. But it turns out he really likes the quiet. And the open sky.
He and Sunny are resting on matching recliners in front of the glowing embers of their fire pit. They’ve turned off every light in the house and around the helicopter pad so they can get the best possible view of the heavens.
“Where is it?” she says. “Show me.”
Bron leans over toward her and extends his arm. You see Andromeda there, right above Polaris?
“I do.” She is now an absolute master of the sky chart—so good she could almost teach Bron’s astronomy lecture on her own.
Bron checks his watch. “At this time of night, this time of year, it’s probably passing by right between those two points about… now.”
Of course, he’s exactly right. Twenty-two thousand miles up, a gleaming communications satellite rotates slowly to reorient its solar panels. The bright light of tomorrow’s morning exposes the name stenciled in huge block letters on the side panel:
SUNNY-2
Chapter 48
Near Wilmington, Mass.
“… SUNNY-2”
I type the final words and pull the page from my Selectric. I place the page on top of the manuscript pile.
Pretty good ending, if I do say so myself. Even if it wasn’t entirely my idea. I think I write better back here in the civilized world—if you can call my house civilized. At least I can get a meatball grinder and the Celtics scores whenever I want.
And in my world, finishing a book calls for a beer.
Before I can even complete the thought, a frosty Corona appears in front of me.
“See? I told you he’d figure his life out for himself,” says Daisy. “All you had to do was write it down.”
Of course, she’s right. She’s been right on just about everything all along. It just took me a while to realize it.