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The Many lives of Joyce Summers

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Summary: A series of short stories and vignettes that reveal glimpses of lives in which Joyce Summers was not a gallery owner. Inspired by Challenge 7316

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Multiple Crossings > Joyce-Centered
Television > Colombo
(Current Donor)vidiconFR131240,934716119,30829 Jan 1321 Aug 13No

Spark Plug

Author’s Note:

Thanks very much to my Beta, Letomo.

The following ways of notation may be found in this story. This is excluding whatever I need to represent chatting, texting and stuff like that.

Speech: “Who’s on first.”

Thought: *What’s on second.*

Vision: #I-don’t-know’s on third.#

Thanks to Kedrann and PATM for recommending these one shots

Spark Plug

She supposed it had to do with the dreams. She could remember the dreams from her earliest days, and she still had them on occasion. They were fractured, jagged, images and smells, scents and faces. She blamed the dreams when things didn’t make sense. In her dreams everything made sense, everything was connected.

She had never really understood why things didn't work the way she thought they ought to, like they did in her dreams. In her mind’s eye, science, chemistry, physics, biology, were all one seamless whole. 

Which was why she was so disappointed when she went to school and it was taught in so many different subjects, and thought about in so many ways. And when she tried to explain the things she saw and tried to show them, to diverge from the path that had been set out for her and her classmates, her teachers very firmly told her to follow the rules and descriptions set out in the textbooks.

Science was science, biology was biology, and chemistry was chemistry and mathematics, mathematics. They only met in the most rarefied of circumstances, far, far above her level of understanding.

All through her schooldays she had been forced to follow the formulae and notions she knew were wrong. The few times she had been able to experiment had, admittedly, ended badly.

But she knew she was right. Everything was connected. It ought to work, so she had set out to prove it did.

Apparently building liquid fuel rockets in wood shop was not approved of, nor on the curriculum. And when she'd built an engine coolant system using liquid nitrogen she had managed to freeze the car she was experimenting on to the street. It didn't help it turned out it the ‘vehicle in question’ as the elderly police sergeant who’d driven her home and talked to her parents kept referring to it, belonged to the Principal's wife. That had been quite problematic. Happily a few minor repairs had allowed the car to function again.

Finally there was the lab fire, and the explosion in her parent's garage. Her father took her aside after that, and told her that she might have a vision but she might first want to study the theory a bit more before she blew stuff up. Or froze it. Or tried to launch it into low earth orbit.

Oh, and that fixing the lab and the garage was coming out of her allowance.

So she'd sulked (and paid what she owed in damages, bit by bit, she still was doing so now), and studied. She knew that somewhere there was the interconnectedness, the truth, the reality that she saw when she looked at the universe. That someone else saw it too. That it existed.

So instead of buckling under the pressure and never darkening the doorway of a science or Maths class again, she came back and studied what they wanted her to study.

To her it was stale and dry, not at all the living thing she saw. Dead words and figures in dead books. But she learned them, and mastered them, and amazed her teachers.

And then she went to college and found that in the depths of the curriculum lay buried the germ of what she knew was true.

So she took up theoretical physics, and evolutionary biology, and theoretical mathematics. And she admitted it was pretty good, but they still wanted her to write what they thought, not the other way around.

And then she met Hank Summers, and got engaged, married, pregnant. (Not necessarily in that order, and without the first step in that, which was ‘drunk’ she had to admit, which explained a lot.) And had a baby girl.

And Hank disliked a wife who was good at science, who was smarter than him so she did what mothers did until Buffy went to school, except just a little differently.

So Buffy could read and write and quite a lot of maths and science before she had a single day of Kindergarten. So in her little bookcase, painted with stars and with the fluorescent Care Bears curtains, besides her books of fairy tales and on My Little Pony (and Care Bears) Buffy had a shelf of Young person’s guides to science and chemistry.

But Hank never paid attention to that, he just bought his daughter little pink ice-skates and dresses and called her Princess. And Joyce cleaned the house and taught Buffy and did a bit of research in between. But there was a deep seated need within her to show, not just theorize, to build, not just postulate.

And there was a rundown old garage on the property, that Hank kept saying they ought to knock down to put up something better. Joyce pointed out they had a garage attached to the house, and it could wait while they redid the kitchen and bathroom. Hank agreed and so Joyce had a place to work that wasn’t in the house and didn’t    but it had water and electricity. And a scrap yard nearby for cheap materials.

So when Hank was away and while Buffy played in a pen in the corner and later in her mother's workshop proper, or was watched by a babysitter, Joyce built and experimented.

And when she had something that worked, or that she thought ought to work, even if she couldn't get it to with her limited materials, she'd send an application to the patent office. But mostly she just worked and wrote and tinkered.

And then, the day she took her daughter to Kindergarten, she went to the University and enrolled in a few classes. She handed in a few of the papers that she had written at home, in between keeping Buffy from eating earthworms and teaching her to read and write and differential calculus, and wondered if they were any good.   

Three weeks later she did her first test. When she came to get the result, she didn't see her grade on the list, just a note to see the Dean.

Expecting to be told that she wasn't science material she shouldered her bag, took her daughter's hand and went to see the Dean.

What she had not expected was to be asked if she wanted to take the accelerated course to an M. Sc. And maybe she would like to go for a Ph.D. after?

So she took Buffy's hand again and went home to think. And the next day, when Buffy was in Kindergarten, beating up boys, she returned to the University to talk to a number of professors and scientists.

Some were helpful, some were less so. One gave her the creeps, a youngish man, an untenured assistant professor called Seidel, who looked at her hungrily and at her work even more so. So that was the reason she found herself drinking a cup of coffee in a campus café and  very carefully considered what she ought to do.

*I could go back to school and tell hank that I'm working on a BA in education so I can teach,* she sneered a little, *Perhaps Kindergarten, that ought to be sufficiently feminine to be non-threatening to his fragile male ego.*

She looked at a couple of students at a nearby table discussing, in overly loud tones the moral values of Nietzsche and Sartre and thought she'd seldom heard anything more pretentious. She smiled a little. Except when she herself had been in college and done similar things with her friends.

There was a cough by her side and she looked up to see a rather diffident looking man, with wavy, brown-blond hair and a floppy sweater.

“Ummm, Joyce Summers?” he asked, eying her speculatively.

“Yes?” Joyce nodded. *Another physicist with a hard on? Come on!*

“J.M. Summers? Did you file a patent for a Nitrogen coolant system?” the man continued.

Joyce eyed him warily. “If you managed to freeze a car to the road, I'm not liable, there’s a clear warning against it in appendix three, paragraph seven, subparagraph nine.”

Without waiting for an invitation the man sat down. “I’m Larry. Dr. Larry Fleinhardt of CalSci. I have friends and colleagues who work at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Ummm...  We want to use it.”

Joyce blinked. “Oh. Why would you need to freeze Space Shuttle to the tower?”

Larry blinked in reply. “Errr, no. You see, with the materials available to us within the Jet Propulsion Program, we can achieve conductivity and insulation far beyond even what you posit in your patent,” he waved expansively. 

“It was designed to work with a Liquid fuel engine. You’d have to revise the plans pretty extensively before they could work on the Solid Rocket Boosters,” Joyce remarked, sipping her coffee.

Larry smiled. “Ah, but you see what we need is controlled and yet flexible cooling, and your design gives us that.”

“You’d still need accurate measurements of temperature changes and such,” Joyce objected mildly.

“Not if we actually have the control. And if you came and had a look at the materials we use, you can adapt your plans easily So, err, even using your basic premise and calculations, we can build a safer, more efficient and powerful cooling unit for the boosters, but with you there it would go much faster, I think,” he looked at her hopefully. “So would you care to come and consult?”

Joyce sipped her coffee. “I don't even have a M.Sc. yet.”

Larry snorted. “The papers you submitted to UCLA would get you that.”

“I don’t have the course credits,” Joyce objected.

Larry shook his head. “Okay, there are a few technicalities. But I’m sure nobody will care once they see your work.”

Joyce took another sip and shook her head. “I lack the expertise. I’ve only done the cooling system. Well, that and my rocket, but it never took off, they dismantled it.”

Larry leaned forward eagerly. “You built a rocket?”

“In wood shop. The Principal wasn’t amused,” Joyce shrugged. “And I suppose that trying to create a more stable and energy efficient fuel counts, but I wasn’t allowed to continue after I blew up the High School lab and my parent’s garage.”

 Larry coughed. “Well, would you come in and take a look at things? And maybe get you could get tested to see if you might qualify for an advanced Bachelor’s and Masters?”

Joyce shrugged. “I suppose so. I need to pick up Buffy from Kindergarten soon,” she finished her coffee and gathered her things, counting out carefully what she felt she owed for the coffee and the service.

Larry reached into a pocket. “Let me. And please, you need to come to Pasadena. We have to discuss your royalties.”

Joyce stopped dead. “Royalties?”

“Sure. And I understand that there’s interest from DARPA to use them in rockets too,” Larry sniffed unhappily.

“H-how much might those royalties come to?” Joyce asked rather diffidently.

“Oh, it depends. If you license DARPA and maybe some plane manufacturer, you could get tens of thousands if not hundred of thousands of dollars a year. You might want to do a bit of work on the insulation problem though. Your patent only gives approximations of what you would need. With access to better materials you ought to be able to improve on the design.”

Larry seemed to be quite able to grab some paper napkins and start her on sketches here and now, Joyce thought amused. But if she did get money for her ideas… Maybe she could find a better place for her and her daughter to stay.

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Sunnydale California, a year later (1985)

“As you can see, Ms. Summers, this house answers completely to your desires. Well within your budget, large garden, a room that can be converted to a downstairs study, a dedicated library, seven bedrooms, four and a half bath,” the estate agent was schmoozing his way through the house, pointing out all the great little details he felt Joyce ought to know about.

He threw open the French doors onto the terrace that overlooked the overgrown garden. “Admittedly it needs a little love and care. But it has a detached workshop, with a reinforced basement that was once a nuclear shelter. And a three car garage, with a wine cellar beneath it!” he crowed.

“I don’t drink; I leave that to my ex-husband.” Joyce replied absently as she took notes. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get an idea of the property on my own,” she walked away, ignoring the fulsome phrases that an estate agent wanting to make a sale tended to spout and headed towards the workshop.

“GIVE IT BACK!” a young voice cried. “JESSE! XANDER! Give her BACK!”

Joyce sighed. She was quite aware of such interactions. She heard the running of feet and stepped out. Two boys were running, panting, one of them carrying a Barbie doll. A good distance behind them ran a small redhead in a pair of overalls, her hair in pigtails and tears running down her face.

“What is going on here?” she demanded to know in her best ‘mom voice’ as she stepped out from behind the workshop.

The boys spun to a halt, arms waving in an effort not to fall over. As they stopped Joyce reached over and deftly took the Barbie from the boy holding it. When the redhead came into reach, she handed it over to her.

“What were the two of you planning to do? Hold her hostage?” Joyce demanded as the little girl hugged her Barbie and moved to stand beside Joyce. 

The boys looked down at their feet. “No! We was gonna give her back, only…” the darker haired boy hesitated.

“Only?” Joyce prompted.

“We needed an astronaut for our rocket,” the other boy sulkily replied.

“I see. Well, I suggest you use one of your own toys to do that, not this young lady’s,” Joyce put a hand on the shoulder of the still sniffling girl. “What’s your name dear? And can you get home alone? Or are your parents near?”

“W-Willow Rosenberg, Ma’am,” the girl supplied.

“And you two abductors?” Joyce asked sternly.

The dark haired boy gulped nervously. “Xander Harris.”

“Jesse McNally,” the other answered, equally nervously.

“Very well. Do you need to get home?”

“Naah, we live just down the block,” Xander waved. “Willow’s a bit further on. We’ll take her home.”

“I see. Well, let me warn you not to steal other people’s things. And before you launch a rocket, come see me,” she added. “My name is Ms. Summers. I think I’ll be moving in here soon. With my daughter.”

“Why?” Xander asked angrily. “So’s as you can stop us?”

“Well, if it’s too dangerous, yes. But I’ve done some work for NASA. I know rockets,” Joyce smiled as she saw the eager looks on the boy’s faces and the thoughtful one on Willow’s.

The children left, though Willow hung back a bit. “You’re a lady scientist?”

“Yes, I am,” Joyce confirmed.

“C-can I come talk to you sometime? Only, I want to ask some questions about science that the teachers can’t answer,” Willow asked shyly.

“Of course dear. And if I don’t know the answer, I might know someone who does,” Joyce smiled. 

Willow s smile lit up the wild garden. “Thank you!” Then the smile dimmed. “Ummm, when you live here I don’t suppose we’ll be allowed to play in your garden anymore?”

“Well, I think we might reach an agreement on that. Buffy, my own daughter, is your age and I’m sure she’d like a couple of friends to play with.”

Willow looked a bit uncertain at that, but smiled again nonetheless. “Thank you! You’re much nicer than the Godelsons and the Smiths and the Harriers who lived here before you.”

“Ah, yes. Did they all move?”

“Oh yes, with some really nice long black cars and these long wooden chests with shiny handles,” Willow said quite cheerfully, obviously, despite her precociousness having not quite understood the significance of what she’d seen.

Joyce coughed. “I see. Well, your friends are waiting. Take good care of your Barbie now!”

Willow nodded and ran to her friends. Joyce squared her shoulders and walked inside. “Mr Hansen? Perhaps you can clarify for me, what did the previous owners die of? And the ones preceding them? And the ones preceding them?”

Hansen winced.

Joyce smiled inwardly. *And that should about halve the price.*

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SunnydaleCalifornia, Summers House, 25 Wilkins Boulevard, July 1986

The back yard was full of childish voices and Joyce smiled as she looked out of the low, reinforced window of her workshop onto the lawn where her daughter and her three new friends were playing.

At first Willow had been jealous of Buffy stealing her friends, but it soon turned out that having a female friend too was fun. And she could play with Barbie’s and talk math, too!

Joyce had quickly realized that Willow was even smarter than her daughter. And that none of the three, except Jesse, had anything even approaching a normal home life. So she welcomed all of them into her home and made sure they all got dinner and lunch.

Joyce scowled at the metal ring she’d set up, with several crystals carefully embedded and placed along the inner and outer edges, with electrical wiring leading to each. She had been trying to create a force field but failed abysmally, and had therefore decided to see if she could build a set of intersecting lasers for Halloween. And then Buffy and Willow had knocked and come in and asked for lemonade and Joyce had thrown over the pitcher and hit the experiment. And all it did now was fizzle. With a sigh she got on her back and rolled under the table. She pulled at a few wires and suddenly realized she’d not turned of the electricity.

The huge flash of light brought the kids running. And crying, though to Joyce it sounded like the crying of a much younger child, a baby even. Joyce rolled out from under the table again, expecting to see at least one of them in tears. Instead they were gaping at the table, wide eyed. Joyce rose and joined the kids in their expression of amazement.

There was a baby lying on the table. She was in a metal and glass basinet, the lower three quarters copper or bronze, the upper part, like a sort of viewing window, allowed the child to look out and others to look in. The whole was covered with strange valves and meters.

Carefully moulded stylized trilobites were visible on several parts of the odd machinery. All of it gleamed and was in pristine condition

The projected Laser Generator was a heap of molten slag.

“M-Mom? What’s that? What’s making that noise? Buffy asked rather worriedly.

“Ummm, it looks like a baby honey. You can’t see her, you’re not tall enough yet,” Joyce gestured at the children, Jesse and Xander now having joined them. “Go stand over there, okay? I’ll call you when I think it’s safe.”

Feeling remarkably like Jonathan and Martha Kent, Joyce moved towards the basinet and looked at the encapsulated baby, who was wailing loudly.

The baby was young, Joyce thought, not yet six weeks, and strapped in very carefully with a rubber and leather harness and covered in a little green blanket embroidered with the same trilobites that covered the outer shell. Its eyes were squeezed shut and the little mouth was open in a wail against all creation. For some reason Joyce was sure it was a little girl.

Joyce opened the lid, noting that the parts of the container were apparently all hand made, though of incredible craftsmanship. The baby’s cries lessened. Joyce reached in and undid the harness. At her touch the child opened its eyes. They were large and bright green.

Joyce picked her up gently and the baby allowed herself to be soothed. 

“Now where did you come from? How am I going to explain this? And what am I going to do with you?”

“Mom? I-Is that a baby?” Buffy asked incredulously. “Didya make a baby?”

Joyce looked at the workshop. She pursed her lips. Maybe her portal had worked, after all. “Not make, I think, dear. Maybe allowed entry.”

“You’re gonna keep her, aren’t you Aunt Joyce?” Willow begged. “She’s so cutte and tiny and sad and alone!”

Joyce sighed. “Well, we’ll see. It’s not a decision I can make alone.”

“But I wanna little sister!” Buffy objected, pouting. “I’ve wanted one for ages an’ ages!”

Joyce smiled. “I know dear. I know.”

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Sunnydale, Children’s and Family court, six weeks later

“As no others have come forward to claim this child, and she’s been proven not to be a number of missing children, we hereby declare that the baby referred to as Dawn Agatha will be fostered with Dr. Joyce Summers. Monthly evaluations are ordered.”

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Sunnydale, Children’s and Family court, two months later

“And you admit that you and your husband were absent for the entire summer holiday, leaving Willow alone in the house except for the maid, Maria Gonsalves, who does not speak English and made her breakfast and did the washing?” the judge asked in incredulous tones.

“Willow is very mature and responsible and speaks excellent Spanish,” Sheila Rosenberg spoke as if that explained everything. 

“She’s also six years old,” the judge answered repressively. Then he turned to the small, frail and frightened looking redhead sitting next to the social worker. “Willow? I’m afraid you can’t stay with your mother and father any more. They just don’t take good care of you. Is there anyone you’d like to stay with? An aunt, uncle, grandparent?”

Willow bit back her tears. “N-no, sir. D-does it have to be family?”

The judge shook his head. “Of course not. Who do you have in mind?”

“Aunt Joy- Ms. Summers, my friend Buffy’s mom. She lets me play in the garden and eat dinner with them and sleep over and talks to me and tells me about stars and science and-”

The judge nodded and interrupted her flow of babble. “Well, we can certainly ask her,” he looked at the social worker, who was suppressing a grin and the Rosenbergs, who looked ready to strangle their daughter. “I shall ask Ms. Summers if she’s willing to take you in, shall I?”

Willow nodded hopefully. “C-can you ask if she’ll take Xander too? His parents are mean to him, and his dad hurt his arm last week!”

The judge looked at the social service worker, who nodded, showing she was aware of the situation.

“We shall see what we can do, Willow,” the girl smiled at him widely and not for the first time he wondered how the hell the Rosenbergs could have left the sweet little thing alone for so long.

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Sunnydale California, Summers House, 25 Wilkins Boulevard, two months later

Joyce was sipping a cup of tea, facing Adrienne Calloway, the social worker assigned to certain members of her family.

“Are you sure you can manage three children of that age and a baby, Joyce?” Adrienne asked worriedly.

“Maria has agreed to stay on, and I can afford a lot of help. And I work mostly from home,” Joyce reminded her. Then she sighed theatrically. “Though it may crimp my dating style a little.”   

Adrienne laughed. “Well, four kids? That would send most men running.”

Joyce shrugged. “So I need a good man, who’s unlike most,” a slight noise from a baby monitor caused her to rise. “Xander’s having a nightmare. Do excuse me!”

Adrienne smiled at the row of monitors, got out her notebook and listened unashamedly as Joyce comforted her foster son and got him back to sleep.

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LyndonB.JohnsonSpaceCenter, Houston, Texas, 1987

Joyce M. Summers, Ph.D. (though it was new enough that the ink was still wet), was on a visit to Houston to discus the use of her engine coolant system in combination with her improved fuel injection system and was rather annoyed. She’d explained it all quite carefully and had made copious notes for them, and still they wanted her here, and not come to Pasadena. *At least it’s on a consulting basis. The money will be nice. Four kids are lot more expensive than one. And experiments don’t come cheap either,* she admitted to herself wryly.

She drove her rented car through the park like grounds and towards Building Ten, the so-called Engineering fabrication facility and machine shop. Possibly she’d have to go to sixteen and sixteen A too, to see if they could really integrate the system into the Space Shuttle as well as the rocketboosters. She looked in the rear view mirror and smiled. The guards at the gate hadn’t blinked at the size of her car, but they had reacted to the four sleeping children in the back, and the baby seat holding Dawn. She really couldn’t leave Jesse when all his friends were going to look at rockets! The guards had been hesitant but since they were all on the list of approved visitors, they were allowed in.

She drew up in front of the building and saw Larry waiting there, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

“Larry,” Joyce greeted him. “Come help me with the kids.”

Larry sighed and hurried to help. A group of engineers gathered and looked at the children as if they were alien beings. Children at the visitor’s center was one thing, but here? No.

Buffy yawned and stretched and looked around. She waved at the engineers. Then she bounced towards the building. “C’mon Will! Maybe they’ve got the full thermodynamic flow calculations uncle Larry promised to show us here!”

One of the engineers made a gargling noise. Larry sniggered as he caught Buffy. “Yup, two of them. And both far, far worse than young Mr. Eppes.”

“Hey! Charlie’s nice! He’ll talk to us about rockets!” Xander objected. Then he scowled at the engineers. “Are you the guys who gave mom a hard time about that rubber ring thing? Everybody knows rubber gets weird when it’s cold or hot! Ain’t you ever had a slingshot?”

The chief engineer grinned. “Nope, that was the management types. We’d been telling them for ages. But it took your Mom yelling at them for three solid hours, calling Dr. Feynman and threatening to go public, too, to make them change it. Your mom having designed a coolant system really helped there,” then he leaned forward and took out a pea shooter. “And I got one, see. Use it to keep the guys awake during long meetings.”

Xander giggled. “Awesome!” he looked around. “So, where’s the space ships and the rockets?”

“At the visiting center, Alexander,” Joyce reproved. “What had we agreed upon?”

Xander looked at his feet. “That I would be polite and patient. Sorry about that, sir,” he told the chief engineer.

“Quite alright young man. I was wondering why there was a visitor’s guide hanging about,” the chief engineer waved an arm and a young man came over. “Take whoever wants and give them the full tour, would you Jim?”

“Sure thing, sir. Umm, maybe the young ladies would like to see the exhibition first and then move to the lab?” Jim suggested.

Willow looked torn and Buffy bit her lip. “Can we get real up close?”

Jim smiled. “I think something might be arranged, but you’re not allowed to touch anything that oughtn’t being touched, okay?”

“Okay. What do we call you, sir?” Xander asked.

“You can call me Jim,” the guide smiled. “I’ve got transportation waiting for you and I’ll feed them lunch and have them back here at three, how’s about that?” he asked Joyce.

“If you can keep them entertained that long, fine by me,” Joyce smiled.

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“IS TOO!”

“IS NOT!”

“IS IS TOO!”

Jim Scofield was looking rather bemused at the three girls who were shouting at each other. Two were the blonde and redheaded daughters of Dr. Summers, one was a few years older, a thin intense and rather wary looking girl with brown eyes and hair and glasses. He’d been explaining some things to Xander and Jesse and had not paid much attention to the well-behaved young girls for a bit, except for the occasional glance in their direction.

“Is something wrong here?” he asked.

“They-they say that their mom works here and that is why they can get so close! E-everybody should stay behind the line!” the brown haired girl complained in a rich Texas accent.

Jim nodded. “Normally that would be true, but Dr. Summers is here as a consultant and as long as I’m here with them, they’re allowed.”

The girl looked ready to cry. “B-but I’m not! It’s not fair!”

A friendly looking middle aged couple approached. “Now, Fred. Don’t whine. There are other things you can do.”

Willow looked sheepish. “It’s kinda mean you know. Umm, Mr. Jim?”

Jim smiled. Not all his coaxing had gotten Willow to just call him Jim.“Yeah?”

“Ummm, can Fred join us? I mean, I saw she was making thrust and vector calculations, and I’m sure mom wouldn’t mind and probably would want to meet her and-”

“Woah!” Jim held up a hand. “Just let me make a call,” he hesitaed and then addressed Fred’s parents. “‘Scuse me, but how old is Fred?”

“Winifred is seven,” her mother clarified.

Jim smiled. “A bit young to make calculations like that. I think Dr. Summers will want to know,” he walked away and took out a phone, clearly marked NASA, making a call. Then he showed all the children the Saturn V, real close up.

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Dawn was bouncing in her baby seat as three engineers crafted a mobile from materials available in the lab. 

Xander and Jesse were still in the Visitors’ center with Jim, and Larry Fleinhardt was desperately trying to keep up with the questions of three very bright young ladies.

Joyce was talking to Trish and Roger Burkle. “She’s a very intelligent girl, as you no doubt know. Has the school she goes to got a gifted children program? Or do they in adapt her classes?”

Trish and Roger exchanged rather helpless looks. “No to both. We’ve tried, but well…”

“I see… I can put you into contact with a few people who might be able to help you. Larry over there is currently the mentor of a math genius,” Joyce got out a pen and scribbled some names. “Here, Margaret and Allan Eppes, his parents.”

“And what about you? How do you deal with it? The teachers who won’t listen?”

Joyce smiled. “I threaten to freeze their cars to the street.”

End Note:

A very minor cross wit Girl Genius for Jediknight and a slightly bigger one with Numb3rs, for TroyGuffy, set in the way distant past.

 

 
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