Technical interviews.
Eleanor provided sponsorship.
Adrian supplied a technical statement that was embarrassingly complimentary.
Isaac made him rewrite it.
“Why?”
“Because I sound like I walk on water.”
“You kind of saved a satellite.”
“Rewrite it.”
Adrian sighed.
“You’re impossible.”
“Be specific.”
The revised version focused on analytical competence, systems reasoning, documentation quality, and validated technical contribution.
Isaac approved that one.
The certification arrived in a plain white envelope.
No ceremony.
He opened it beside the same coffee machine he had owned before Eleanor arrived.
Professional engineer status restored through the applicable review path.
Supporting documents enclosed.
Isaac set the envelope on the workbench.
Then put his coffee mug on top of it so the ceiling fan would not blow it away.
It remained there for three days.
On the fourth, he placed it inside his father’s old filing cabinet between vehicle registrations and property tax receipts.
Eleanor called that evening.
“There’s a job.”
Isaac was tightening a valve cover on a delivery truck.
“No.”
“You didn’t hear it.”
“I know what a job is.”
“Isaac.”
He sighed.
“Go ahead.”
“Direct staff. Propulsion Systems Analysis Group.”
“Houston?”
“Yes.”
“Management?”
“Technical lead.”
“No direct reports?”
“Some project authority. Minimal administrative management.”
“Meaning?”
“You get to tell engineers what to do without spending your entire week approving vacation requests.”
“That sounds suspiciously tailored.”
“It is.”
Isaac leaned against the truck.
“What program?”
“Next-generation drive architecture for lunar surface access.”
He went quiet.
Eleanor waited.
“It’s real,” she said.
“I assumed.”
“Not compensation.”
“I know.”
“Not public relations.”
“I know.”
“Not because anyone thinks giving you a title fixes 2017.”
Isaac rubbed his forehead.
“That one I appreciate.”
“You would have authority to challenge design assumptions before they become hardware.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“For everyone around you.”
He smiled.
Eleanor heard it.
“I need to go back to Harlow.”
“You are in Harlow.”
“I mean stay there a while.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“There are things to finish?”
“Yes.”
“Raymond’s truck?”
“That was done weeks ago.”
“I know.”
He looked around the garage.
The walls.
His father’s tools.
The old fan.
The workbench.
“What happens to the garage?” Eleanor asked.
He did not answer.
“Do you close it?”
Silence.
“Hire someone?”
Silence.
“Turn me down?”
Longer silence.
Finally Isaac said, “I’ll let you know.”
Eleanor smiled on the other end.
“What?”
“You didn’t say no.”
“I also didn’t say yes.”
“I work in uncertainty professionally.”
“That explains a lot.”
“I’ll see you in Houston.”