Carbide Tipped Pens Part 24

Rick was cornered by some recent graduates of the NASA Academy who were fis.h.i.+ng for job leads. He handed out his business card and made the obligatory polite encouragement to send him their resumes. Two of the alums made a show of scrutinizing his card, while the others politely thanked him and left.

That's when he saw her.

She wore a stunning blue silk dress cut in that pseudo-Chinese qpo style that was popular of late, the kind with the long split up the side of the leg. Her curly brown hair flowed down to her shoulders, framing a cherubic face with dimpled cheeks. And she wore gla.s.ses. Rick loved women who wore gla.s.ses. The round wire frames perfectly accentuated her soft hazel eyes.

"h.e.l.lo there!" she called out.

"h.e.l.lo," Rick replied. Momentarily lost for words, he reacted with imbecilic instinct-he handed her one of his business cards.

She read the card. "Rick Park, systems engineer, Devcon Systems."

"That's me. And you are?"

"Mariel Beckenbauer."

"Mariel," Rick said. "Like Hemingway?"

"Like Cuba."

"Oh."

The NASA Academy grads introduced themselves and proceeded to ask her about job prospects. Rick took his eyes off Mariel and spotted some engineers he knew from the Applied Physics Laboratory. He excused himself. As he walked away, he heard Mariel explain she was also a summer intern.

Rick joined the APL group, who were discussing a reaction wheel problem on one of their s.p.a.cecraft at Earth-Sun L1. It didn't take long for him to notice Mariel, again on the outside of the crowd. As before, she joined the group and introduced herself.

Rick said he needed a drink and excused himself, eventually joining another group. When she reappeared a third time, he finally figured it out.

"Cheers."

Rick and Mariel clinked their winegla.s.ses.

"So, you're an intern?" Rick asked.

"Yes. I'm here for the summer."

"What are you working on?"

"I'm supposed to be doing thermal a.n.a.lyses for some Earth science missions over in Building 32, but so far I've only been doing Photoshop stuff for Public Affairs."

"That sucks."

"I'm a foreign national," Mariel explained. "Thanks to ITAR, they won't let me do any real engineering work. My TAA's in limbo at the State Department."

"Where are you from?"

"Vancouver," Mariel replied. "But I'm living in Germantown for the summer."

By now, the wine bottles were empty, and the hors d'oeuvres trays had more toothpicks and used napkins than food. The reception was winding down.

"Can you give me a ride to the Metro?" Mariel asked.

"Sure."

It was a short ten-minute drive to the Greenbelt station. In contrast to her manner at the reception, Mariel was strangely quiet during the ride. Rick tried to engage her in conversation, asking what she did in Vancouver, where else she had traveled in the world, what were her favorite movies. She didn't respond to any of his questions, and simply stared silently out the pa.s.senger-side window.

They arrived at Greenbelt Metro, and Rick pulled the car up to the Kiss & Ride drop-off.

"Well, that was a lovely evening with good company," Rick said.

Mariel nodded, and finally spoke. "You know, I haven't had a chance to see much of DC. If you have some time..."

"I'd love to."

The LIDARSAT preliminary design review meeting was a tedious affair that ended far past the scheduled time. When the presentations concluded, Rick made his way to where Mariel sat. He saw Davidson put a hand on her shoulder and say something. Mariel nodded, and Davidson left.

Rick was standing right in front of the seated Mariel. She was staring at her laptop, making no acknowledgment of his presence.

"Hi, Mariel," Rick said. There was no way she couldn't have heard.

Another person approached. Mariel look up.

"Oh, h.e.l.lo, Sanjay," she said. "I should have the new model runs for you tomorrow."

"No problem," Sanjay said. "See you later."

Rick watched the other man leave, then turned back to Mariel. She was on her computer again. He wanted to scream, to grab her by the shoulders and make her acknowledge him.

At last, Mariel closed her laptop and abruptly walked away without a word.

In a stupor, Rick followed her like an obedient puppy. She said h.e.l.lo to people she pa.s.sed. Rick followed her upstairs and found himself outside her cubicle.

"Mariel, what have I done to upset you?"

The Was.h.i.+ngton Area Frisbee Club held an introductory clinic for novice players the first Sat.u.r.day of each month at the Sligo Middle School. From the sideline, Rick and Chris watched a trio work the disc down the field in a weave drill.

"Put down that pivot foot, Kathy," Chris called out. "That's traveling."

"I finally had a chance to talk to Mariel," Rick said. He told him what happened.

"You asked her what you had done to upset her? Man, that's way more polite than I would've been."

"I suppose."

"And what was her explanation for all this? Wait, let me guess. Never really liked you? Met someone else? Thinks ultimate is for dogs?"

"No, none of that. But I wish it was, because it'd be a whole lot easier to understand."

"Then what the h.e.l.l did she say?"

"She said ... she said it's because she's gluten intolerant."

Chris turned to Rick. "She said that?"

"Uh-huh."

"O-kay ... Those free doctors in Canada told her this?"

"She said she found out herself. She thinks she's been like that since she was born."

"Self-diagnosis. Gotta love the Internet. Actually, gluten intolerant people can become depressed, but you said she's only like that to you and normal to everyone else?"

"Yeah."

"I'd say she sounds bipolar, but who am I to argue with Google?" Chris shook his head. "Has she always been like this?"

"Where are we?" Mariel asked.

"Gravelly Point," Rick said. "Come on."

They got out of the car. He led her along a paved bike path that took them near the edge of the Potomac River. They found a spot between two cl.u.s.ters of trees. Rick produced a blanket from his knapsack and laid it on the ground.

"This is nice," Mariel said. "How do you know about this place?"

"My ultimate team plays here sometimes, on those fields behind us."

"Catching Frisbees? Isn't that a game for dogs?"

"Yeah, except I don't use my mouth."

It was a clear night, and they had a perfect view across the Potomac. A Metrorail train was crossing the Long Bridge from DC to Virginia, a string of lights gliding over the river. Beyond the bridge were the illuminated Jefferson Memorial and Was.h.i.+ngton Monument. Far to the right was the dome of the Capitol Building, partially obscured by the darkened trees on the eastern bank of the Potomac.

It was the Fourth of July in the nation's capital.

Fireworks rocketed into the night sky to the left of the Was.h.i.+ngton Monument, exploding into showers of flame and color and sparkle. Concussive booms echoed across the Potomac, and on the surface of the water, diffused reflections of the fireworks s.h.i.+mmered and danced in concert with the bursts above. In the background, the muted but audible strains of the 1812 Overture could be heard from the radios of other spectators in the park and those on their boats in the river.

A plane roared overhead, taking off from Reagan National Airport. They looked up.

"That could be a ufo," Mariel said. She p.r.o.nounced it like a word, "you-pho."

"Well, there are some lucky people on that UFO with an amazing view."

They turned away from the sky, and toward each other.

Rick put his hand on her shoulder, ran it down her back. She didn't turn away. He pulled her closer. She put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his head slowly toward hers. He moved with the touch, leaned in close. Their lips met.

The fireworks continued.

Chris and Rick were, once again, the only post-game patrons at Fad Irish Pub.

"This is unacceptable." Chris pounded the varnished wooden table, jarring the pitcher and mugs. "Drinks are an essential part of ultimate. This is why we're losing."

Rick took a sip of beer. "Can you get me in for the treatment?"

"What treatment?"

"The treatment you and Dr. Ho have going up at Hopkins, the one where you fix the brains of people who think they're ugly."

"You think you're ugly?"

"I know I'm ugly," Rick replied. "My mother said so once."

"Your mother-uh, never mind. Rick, that treatment is for people with body dysmorphic disorder. What's this got to..." Chris's expression changed. "This better not be about that girl."

"I'm sure I could get over Mariel if only ... I didn't find her so d.a.m.n attractive."

"What are you saying?"

"The treatment. You adjust the part of the brain that perceives attractiveness-"

"The fusiform face area, yes."

"-so that these people no longer see themselves as being somehow disfigured."

"Right."

"So..." Rick continued, "it must be possible to turn it around. Let's say, you adjusted my brain so that ... I won't find Mariel attractive anymore."

Chris didn't answer for a moment. "That's insane."

"Why?"

Chris grabbed Rick's mug, topping it up. "This is all the treatment you need."

"I'm serious!"

"The procedure is experimental, and we've never done what you're suggesting."

"I know it's experimental," Rick said. "I'm willing to be a guinea pig. h.e.l.l, I'm sure you and Ho could get a good paper out of this."

"Man, you are really screwed up." Rick opened his mouth, but Chris held up his hand. "Sorry, I'm not trying to diminish your feelings. But this is way overkill for a broken heart, and there are significant potential risks here."