have to lay off those desserts.”
“What does bring you?” asked Valena, now shamelessly pursuing his confidence.
Lansing pondered a moment, taking her question seriously. “You’re a scientist, so I’ll assume you always knew what you wanted to do. But me? No. Some of us find our way by trial and error. I was an above-average student, but I didn’t see the advantages of going to college. I was bored with all the hoops you have to jump through. So I decided on a hitch in the military, figuring I’d make a difference by doing my bit for my country, and then pursue my little corner of the American dream.”
“That’s you,” said the other man. “Our beautiful dreamer.”
Lansing rolled his eyes eloquently before continuing. “I left for basic training three weeks after graduating high school, then went on for advanced training. I spent six years in. When my hitch was up, I got a job as a computer salesman. It was a good job, and I made quite a bit of money selling. But to be honest, my life was a hollow shell.” He shrugged. “Then one day I realized that the only time I felt right—you know, fulfilled—was when I was around my buddies in the Guard.”
The other man said, “Gosh, honey, I didn’t know you cared.”
Lansing picked up a pencil and cheerfully threw it at him. It clattered across his desk and into his lap.
“Hey!” the man said. “Enough with the government property!”
“So you reenlisted,” said Valena.
Lansing said, “I was a reservist at that point, but when the opportunity came for me to get a full-time job in the Guard, I jumped at the chance.” He chuckled to himself. “I took a ten-thousand-dollar pay cut, but my self-esteem rose, my self-confidence returned, and once again I’m part of something and making a difference. And I’ve returned to school, heading toward retirement with a degree in hand.” He smiled into space a moment, then brought his attention back to Valena. “But you’ve got something on your mind, and it’s not my life story. What can I do for you?”
She blushed with the realization that he had seen through her craftiness. She decided to lay it out straight. “I’m working with Dr. Emmett Vanderzee, and I understand that someone from here flew him out to a high camp day before yesterday. I’d like to talk to the pilot. Might that be you, by chance?”
Lansing laughed. “No, ma’am, I’m just a ground-pounding, nonaviating, enlisted puke.” He sat down at his desk and tapped a few keys on his computer and read from his screen. “You want Major Bentley,” he said. “He’s not here just now. Anything else?”
“Well… I’m told that your Airlift Wing flew the missions that dropped the medical supplies in his camp last year, and also that you brought the group out after the storm abated.”
Lansing nodded, a slight movement in a body held upright and straight. The other man glanced back and forth between them, alert but silent. “Again, Major Bentley’s your man.”
The clock was ticking. Thoughts and associations cascaded through Valena’s mind. Did these men trust her? Could she ever hope to have a life as comfortably structured as theirs, with its built-in sense of belonging? She hadn’t always known what she wanted to do with her life, and in fact wondered if she was all that sure even now. She looked Master Sergeant Lansing up and down, taking in every inch of his uniform. She had considered joining the military—melting into something larger than herself, the ultimate extendedfamily of choice—but had opted instead for scientific pursuits. She said, “Cool. Well, I’ve got to find the radio station.”
“Mac Ops is down that way. Come back anytime, we love the company.”
O NE MORE KINK DOWN THE HALLWAY, VALENA FOUND the transmitter station: a room filled desktop to ceiling with radio equipment.
The array of switches, microphones, telephone handsets, computer monitors, and lighted dials wrapped around two sides of
“What does bring you?” asked Valena, now shamelessly pursuing his confidence.
Lansing pondered a moment, taking her question seriously. “You’re a scientist, so I’ll assume you always knew what you wanted to do. But me? No. Some of us find our way by trial and error. I was an above-average student, but I didn’t see the advantages of going to college. I was bored with all the hoops you have to jump through. So I decided on a hitch in the military, figuring I’d make a difference by doing my bit for my country, and then pursue my little corner of the American dream.”
“That’s you,” said the other man. “Our beautiful dreamer.”
Lansing rolled his eyes eloquently before continuing. “I left for basic training three weeks after graduating high school, then went on for advanced training. I spent six years in. When my hitch was up, I got a job as a computer salesman. It was a good job, and I made quite a bit of money selling. But to be honest, my life was a hollow shell.” He shrugged. “Then one day I realized that the only time I felt right—you know, fulfilled—was when I was around my buddies in the Guard.”
The other man said, “Gosh, honey, I didn’t know you cared.”
Lansing picked up a pencil and cheerfully threw it at him. It clattered across his desk and into his lap.
“Hey!” the man said. “Enough with the government property!”
“So you reenlisted,” said Valena.
Lansing said, “I was a reservist at that point, but when the opportunity came for me to get a full-time job in the Guard, I jumped at the chance.” He chuckled to himself. “I took a ten-thousand-dollar pay cut, but my self-esteem rose, my self-confidence returned, and once again I’m part of something and making a difference. And I’ve returned to school, heading toward retirement with a degree in hand.” He smiled into space a moment, then brought his attention back to Valena. “But you’ve got something on your mind, and it’s not my life story. What can I do for you?”
She blushed with the realization that he had seen through her craftiness. She decided to lay it out straight. “I’m working with Dr. Emmett Vanderzee, and I understand that someone from here flew him out to a high camp day before yesterday. I’d like to talk to the pilot. Might that be you, by chance?”
Lansing laughed. “No, ma’am, I’m just a ground-pounding, nonaviating, enlisted puke.” He sat down at his desk and tapped a few keys on his computer and read from his screen. “You want Major Bentley,” he said. “He’s not here just now. Anything else?”
“Well… I’m told that your Airlift Wing flew the missions that dropped the medical supplies in his camp last year, and also that you brought the group out after the storm abated.”
Lansing nodded, a slight movement in a body held upright and straight. The other man glanced back and forth between them, alert but silent. “Again, Major Bentley’s your man.”
The clock was ticking. Thoughts and associations cascaded through Valena’s mind. Did these men trust her? Could she ever hope to have a life as comfortably structured as theirs, with its built-in sense of belonging? She hadn’t always known what she wanted to do with her life, and in fact wondered if she was all that sure even now. She looked Master Sergeant Lansing up and down, taking in every inch of his uniform. She had considered joining the military—melting into something larger than herself, the ultimate extendedfamily of choice—but had opted instead for scientific pursuits. She said, “Cool. Well, I’ve got to find the radio station.”
“Mac Ops is down that way. Come back anytime, we love the company.”
O NE MORE KINK DOWN THE HALLWAY, VALENA FOUND the transmitter station: a room filled desktop to ceiling with radio equipment.
The array of switches, microphones, telephone handsets, computer monitors, and lighted dials wrapped around two sides of
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