Bill
“How did it feel,being put in front of the world—or at least in front of America—as a potential member of the crew that will go to the moon?”
Bill blows out a long breath and leans back in his chair, tilting his head so that he’s looking at the ceiling tiles in Dr. Sheinbaum’s office. “It felt… vindicating.”
“Hmm.” Dr. Sheinbaum is sitting behind her desk today rather than in the chair that faces the one Bill is in. She’s wearing a thin turtleneck sweater and giant gold hoop earrings with her hair pulled back in a loose knot. Her glasses are large and gold-framed, and she’s writing notes on a yellow legal pad. “Vindicated is an interesting word choice. Can you expand on that?”
Bill takes a pause before answering. “There have been a lot of moments in the past few years when I thought maybe I wasn’t cut out for this. Actually, let me rephrase that: I believe myself to be cut out for space travel and for this job, but things have happened that called into question whether NASA felt I was fit for the job, and certainly whether my coworkers were going to be able to support me if I got chosen for the mission.”
“And—just to be clear—you haven’t officially been chosen yet, have you? That is, if I’m allowed to ask that.”
“You can ask,” Bill says. “I just don’t have an answer. I know that I’m still in the running and that there are plenty of people who’d like to see me on that mission, but I would also imagine there are several people who would be in favor of me not being on it.”
“So, again,” Dr. Sheinbaum says, lacing her hands together and leaning her elbows on her huge desk. “Let me ask: why did you say you felt vindicated?”
“I guess because the explosion really called into question some of my choices, and the inquiries that followed put me on edge. There were times when I thought I might be fired or demoted.”
“But you weren’t.”
“I wasn’t. And more than that, I got put on stage in a room full of reporters and introduced as a member of the team. As someone who might go to the moon.” He puts his hands in his hair, which doesn’t mess it up at all, as he still keeps it as short and groomed as he did when he was in the Air Force, and blows out a long, loud breath. “I couldactuallybe on that mission, Dr. Sheinbaum.”
She gives him a small smile. “Do you have any reasons at this point why you think you won’t?”
Bill drops his hands to his knees with a loud slap as he considers this. “I guess they could decide that me not speaking up sooner the day of the explosion was an egregious error that warrants my exclusion from all further missions—or even just that one. But other than that, I really do feel like I’m the right man for the job. I do.”
“Having faith in yourself is important.” Dr. Sheinbaum is staring right at him. “It’s an important step toward success in any endeavor.” She stops and waits for a moment, and when Bill says nothing, she goes on. “Now, what evidence do you have in your favor for why you’re a shoo-in?”
“Okay, ashoo-inis a bridge too far, I think.” Bill laughs in a way that he hopes is self-deprecating. He’d like to believe that heisa contender just based on his own merits, but of course the doubts creep in as he lies awake at night. They just do. “Something happened the night of the fight—New Year’s Eve—that made me think that I was already seriously being considered.”
“Oh?”
Bill watches Dr. Sheinbaum’s face, but it remains placid. “Ted Mackey—the guy I punched?—“
“Yes, I recall.”
“He said something to me about how he wanted me to commit to supporting his bid for a seat in the Senate once I was an astronaut who’d been to the moon.”
“That could have just been conjecture. Or wishful thinking. Big talk.” Dr. Sheinbaum is holding a sharpened pencil with a perfect, unused pink eraser. She taps the eraser on her desk blotter as she thinks. “Maybe he was pumping you up to get your support—you know, glad-handing the way politicians do.”
“Maybe. But it felt like he had insider information. And if he did or does, then I want to know how. Who is he to have a say about which astronauts NASA selects for the moon? He’s just some prick from Connecticut—pardon my language.”
Dr. Sheinbaum holds up a hand to let him know he doesn’t need to apologize. “Be that as it may, having powerful allies in your corner isn’t a bad thing, is it?”
“It’s not unless they’re just using you as a pawn in their own game.” Bill stretches his neck from side to side as he tries to roll out the tension. “If he has any way to prove that he ‘helped’ me to get chosen for the mission, then he’ll have something to hold over me. In essence, I’ll be owned by him.”
“Surely you can choose who you pay back for favors you didn’t ask for?”
“I think sometimes in life you can’t.”
“Have you ever been in a situation like that?”
Bill thinks. “Yes,” he says definitively. “I have. In high school I made captain of the basketball team. I didn’t have the best record on the team, I wasn’t the best player, and there was no good reason I should have been the captain. In fact, Charlie McAvoy was a far better player, and even went on to play college ball.”
“Okay.” Dr. Sheinbaum toys with the pencil in her hands.
“Anyhow, without explanation, the coach announced that I’d be captaining the team and starting every game. I was as stunned as everyone else. So the first game comes and there I am, standing on the court with a bunch of guys who are taller, faster, stronger, and just all-aroundbetterthan me. I held my own though,” he says, smiling at the memory. “I ran up and down that court. I scored twenty points, and when it was over, I was actually congratulating myself.”
“I’m sure. That’s quite a feat.”