The fall semester crashed back into Caltech like a rogue comet, bright, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. Darren rolled into Pasadena with a duffel slung over one shoulder and Linda's hand in his, the two of them laughing about the sunburn she had gotten at the beach over break.
Campus smelled like eucalyptus and hot concrete, the palm fronds rattling in the dry wind. Move-in day was a blur of cardboard boxes, over-caffeinated parents, and freshmen tripping over their own excitement.
Darren's dorm room looked the same (Raj's half already a tangle of cables and 3-D-printed robot arms), but everything felt different. The asteroid discovery from spring still glowed on his resume,waiting for the right moment to explode his world.
That moment came three days later.
Professor Ramirez cornered the Sentinel Scan team outside the astrophysics building, her boots clicking on the sidewalk like a countdown. She wore sunglasses even though the sky was overcast, and her smile cut straight through the morning fog.
"Pack light, kids," she said, waving a thick envelope. "NASA Ames wants you. Private tour. Tomorrow. Wheels up at 0600."
Darren's jaw actually dropped. Raj let out a whoop loud enough to scatter pigeons. Mia blinked twice, like she was checking if this was a simulation. Linda just squeezed his hand so hard he felt it in his bones.
"Sentinel Scan caught their eye," Ramirez continued. "They want to see the freshmen who bagged a new rock. Bring questions. And decent shoes, no flip-flops on the pad."
The charter van picked them up before sunrise, the five of them bleary-eyed but vibrating. Ramirez rode shotgun, scrolling through emails on her tablet. Darren sat in the back with Linda, forehead pressed to the cool window as the freeway unspooled north. The drive to Moffett Field took two hours, long enough for Raj to fall asleep on Mia's shoulder and for Darren to rehearse a hundred versions of "thank you for this opportunity" in his head.
Ames hit them like stepping onto another planet. The massive hangar doors yawned open, revealing the skeleton of a retired DC-8 turned flying observatory. Beyond it, the iconic Hangar One loomed, its curved roof scarred by decades of California sun. A NASA escort in a blue polo met them at the gate, badge swinging.
"Welcome to the candy store," he said. "Try not to drool on the hardware."
They started in the mission control mock-up, a dim room lit by glowing screens. Real-time telemetry scrolled across walls: Mars rovers, Earth-observing satellites, the ISS drifting 250 miles up. Darren's pulse synced to the refresh rate. An engineer let them sit in the console chairs, worn smooth by generations of flight directors.
"Feel that?" the engineer asked. "That's history. Every rover landing, every shuttle launch, someone sat right here and held their breath."
Darren ran his fingers over the armrest. He pictured Dad in coveralls, grease under his nails, telling him engines were just math with fire. Same principle here, bigger scale.
Next stop: the arc jet complex. They suited up in white bunny suits, hairnets, the works. Inside the chamber, a technician fired a plasma torch that turned air into a roaring blue-white sun. The heat blasted through the observation window even with the shields down.
"That's what keeps satellites alive in orbit," the tech shouted over the noise. "Same tech we'll use for your deflection missions someday."
Darren's reflection stared back at him in the glass, eyes wide behind the face shield. *Someday* felt suddenly close.
They walked the length of the Vertical Motion Simulator, a monster hydraulic rig that could mimic any spacecraft from Apollo to Starship. The cockpit pod hung twenty feet in the air, cables thick as pythons. A test pilot waved from inside.
"Want a ride?" he called.
Raj volunteered first. The pod lurched, spun, dropped, Raj's yelp echoing through the hangar. When he climbed out, legs wobbly, he looked like he had seen God.
"Ten out of ten," he gasped. "Would puke again."
Linda went next, cool as ever, emerging with a grin that said she had just aced a final. Darren saved his turn, soaking in every second.
Lunch was in the cafeteria with actual NASA scientists, people whose names were on papers he had cited. One of them, Dr. Patel, leaned over Darren's tray.
"Your orbit on 202X-DA1 was textbook," she said. "We're folding it into the planetary defense catalog. Ever think about summer at JPL?"
Darren nearly choked on his sandwich. "I, yes, ma'am. Already applied."
"Good. We like to be hungry."
The afternoon belonged to the rockets.
They bused to the outdoor display yard first: a Saturn V first stage lying on its side like a fallen redwood, paint chipped but still majestic. Darren traced the weld seams, imagining the roar that once shook Florida beaches. A docent let them climb the scaffold for a closer look at the F-1 engines, five bell nozzles big enough to swallow a car.
"Each one put out one and a half million pounds of thrust," the docent said. "That's thirty-two million horsepower. Your dad ever work on anything that wild?"
Darren swallowed. "He rebuilt a '69 Camaro once. Said the carb was a beast."
The docent laughed. "Close enough."
Inside the propulsion lab, they watched a 3-D printer lay down layers for a rocket nozzle. The machine hissed and glowed, building the future one micron at a time. Linda nudged Darren.
"Look, they're printing the part I designed in senior project."
He whistled. "We're officially obsolete."
Last stop: the clean room for the upcoming NEO Surveyor mission. Through the glass, technicians in full bunny suits assembled the infrared telescope that would hunt planet-killers from space. The payload gleamed under surgical lights.
Professor Ramirez gathered them in the observation corridor.
"This is why we do what we do," she said quietly. "Not for the grades. Not even for the papers. For the day we spot the rock with our name on it and shove it aside before it ruins someone's Tuesday."
Darren's throat tightened. He thought of the nightmare asteroid from years ago, the one that flattened cities in his sleep. Thought of Dad's voice on the porch swing: *Fight for your place.* The clean room lights reflected in his eyes like twin launch flares.
On the van ride back, the team was quiet at first, processing. Then Raj broke the silence.
"I'm building a drone that can land on that Saturn stage. Mark my words."
Mia snorted. "I'm just trying not to cry in front of Dr. Patel."
Linda leaned her head on Darren's shoulder. "You okay? You've been staring out the window like it owes you money."
He took a breath that tasted like jet fuel and possibility. "I'm making it here. NASA. Not someday. Starting now."
She smiled, sleepy. "Knew that the second you touched the F-1."
Back at Caltech that night, Darren couldn't sleep. He slipped out to the rooftop observatory, the one students could book for personal time. The dome whirred open, revealing a slice of sky crowded with light pollution but still alive. He pointed the little 8-inch scope at Jupiter, watched the moons dance in their ancient orbits.
He pulled out his phone, opened the NASA internship portal, and hit *accept* before he could overthink it. Then he texted Mom and Emily a single photo: him in the bunny suit, thumbs up, Saturn V engines behind him.
**Darren:** Start saving for graduation tickets. I'm bringing you to a launch.
Mom replied instantly: **Proud doesn't cover it. Dad's yelling loud enough to rattle the stars.**
Emily replied, "Can I touch the rocket??".
He laughed, the sound echoing off the dome. Below, Pasadena glittered like a circuit board. Somewhere out there, Alex was soldering circuits in Munich, Lisa dissecting cadavers in Seoul, and Linda was probably sketching nozzle designs in her sleep.
Darren adjusted the focus. Jupiter sharpened, bands of clouds swirling like thoughts he hadn't voiced yet. He spoke to the night, voice steady.
"I'm coming, NASA. Full burn. No deflection needed."
The telescope hummed in agreement.
The next morning, he marched into Professor Ramirez's office hours with a printed proposal: a senior thesis on kinetic impactors tailored to the exact composition of 202X-DA1. She read it in silence, then slid it back with a single red note scrawled across the top:
**Approved. Let's break something, in simulation only.**
Darren grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. The vow from the tour wasn't just words anymore. It was trajectory. It was thrust. It was ignition.
And somewhere, in the quiet between heartbeats, he felt the rumble of engines that hadn't been built yet, carrying him forward on a column of fire and math and memory.