Homebrew - a NaNoWriMo Novel - Day 4

Yep. We're into completely new territory. Chapter Two has hit the blog!

Arrivals
Only those who attempt the absurd will achieve the impossible. I think it’s in my basement… let me go upstairs and check.
-M. C. Escher


May 17, 2011

Dermot Hardin just wanted to get home. Mark Turner had gone past criticizing Dermot’s work and swept into a verbal thrashing of Dermot’s personality, dress and even his taste in friends. And only THEN had he announced Dermot was being terminated. Having to be escorted to the door by two hulking security guards while a third brought up the rear with all his cubicle possessions in a box had almost completed the humiliating process. The coup de grace was when Turner had demanded the company parking pass and snatched the photo ID from Dermot’s neck, only to cut them into tiny pieces in front of the gaggle of his friends and co-workers who’d trailed along behind. At least Mary would be there by the time he got home.

* * *

Struggling to maintain his grip on the box, Dermot grabbed the doorknob and twisted. To his surprise, the knob wouldn’t turn. He couldn’t very well knock with the box in his hands, so he punched the doorbell with his elbow. Waiting a minute, he thought back. He remembered seeing Mary's car in it’s stall. No answer. He pushed the buzzer again. As he was shifting the box so he could pull out his keys, the door flew open. Mary was standing there. Dermot pushed inside and dropped the box by the hallway wall. Turning, he was about to ask her what took so long when she spoke.
"It’s about time! I’ve been waiting for you to drag your sorry ass back here!" Mary's expression told Dermot she was once again disgusted with some failing on his part. ‘It never rains…’ he thought.
"Honey, I tried getting home earlier, but it just wasn’t possible. And, no matter what’s happened, I’ve already had a bad day," Dermot said. He was about to go on when a flicker of motion caught his attention. He looked in it’s direction, noticing that Mary glanced that way as well. For a moment, she looked almost worried. Then his brain made sense of the image his eyes were viewing. A man stood in the kitchen doorway, a man whom Dermot had never before seen.
"Mare, Is everything OK," the man asked. ‘Mare,’ Dermot wondered, ‘Since when had Mary allowed someone to call her Mare?’ Dermot rounded on the stranger.
"Just who are you," he asked, "And what are you doing here?"
"Dermot," Mary said, grabbing his arm and twisting him back to face her, "This is Carl. Come into the living room. We need to talk."
She led him into the room, Carl trailing a short distance behind. Once again Dermot was surprised. Tucked neatly against the wall, just inside the entry, were their suitcases. Confused, he let himself be led to his recliner and he sat down. Mary dropped onto the sofa, facing him, and Carl perched on it’s arm, next to Mary. Both watched Dermot carefully.
"Dermot, I need to tell you this and I’m not sure I can do so if you interrupt. So just sit there and listen," she said, "Dermot, I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy for quite some time. And the only solution I can think of is for you to leave. I’ve packed your bags. Carl and I have moved the rest of your stuff into a storage unit." She passed an envelope to Carl, who handed it to Dermot. "Here’s the keys and gate code for the storage unit." Dermot stared at the envelope and then looked up at Mary. His stomach shrank and his skin chilled. His hand started shaking and he felt the envelope slip to the floor. He swallowed twice, trying desperately to clear the painful dryness in his throat.
"But this is so sudden." he replied. "Why couldn't you have told me sooner? Why didn't you let me know you were unhappy?"
"Why?" she interrupted, reaching to the side table next to her, snatching up an envelope from the pile of mail and throwing it at him. "Why? You want to know why? That's why! I've put up with all your nonsense about 'space this' and 'space that'. I tried to make it clear I had no interest being as obsessed over 'space' as you are. Not only that, I put up with all your 'balcony' gardening; all that weeding, watering, cutting and fertilizing! You're a programmer for God's sake! Why do you constantly waste your time with plants?" By this time he could see Mare's chest heaving with tension and anger.
"And then you applied for work at that crummy UN power project. There! That's why! You've been accepted for further testing and training!"
Shocked by her outburst, Dermot looked down at the letter in his hands. At first, he couldn't make out the words, his mind reeling from her accusations. But as he kept staring, the blurriness left his vision, the message became apparent. "I was accepted?" he asked, almost inaudible.
"Yes, you were 'accepted'. That was the last straw! I've even thrown away your precious 'garden'! So you have no excuse for staying here. Now get out!"

* * *
May 19, 2011

"... And in national news, Congress has decided to shut down the International Space Station for the duration," droned the anchorperson on the local news. "Senator Kevin Baucus was quoted as saying, 'Hell! Until and unless we can get a safe version of the Space Shuttle built, there's no way to justify taking the risk of sending more Astronauts up when we cannot reasonably deliver supplies, experiments or further expansion modules. Best thing we can do is send it into higher orbit until such time as we get a real space program back under way.' Senator Baucus' Committee has also proposed slashing NASA's current budget by almost 80%, or about as much as the cost of a single,.new B-4A stealth bomber."



"… Given the current state of unrest in Cuba over the occupation by US anti-terrorism forces, it behooves us to tighten our belts and cut out any Federal program that continues to waste taxpayers’ money with no measurable return in value. And, since it is a well known fact that terrorists do not live in space, continuing to fund an unnecessary and unproductive space program keeps us from fully supporting our troops with the equipment and benefits they deserve," said Representative Justin Delay ( R ), son of ex-Senator Tom Delay, speaking during a meeting of the House Select Committee on Technology. "With just half the budget sucked up by NASA during one year, we could fund faith-based schools in every district in the country! What we need to do is de-fund NASA and empower good, Christian families with more school vouchers as well as relieve the tax burden by which the NASA programs have, for so long, punished honest American taxpayers!"



"In local news, OPS announced plans to construct an additional launch vehicle and three more orbital vehicles. The additional capacity should allow OPS to decrease passenger and payload costs by as much as 30%."



Sighing, Dermot turned off the radio. It had become a total waste to listen any more. He'd felt the need to have some form of 'company' for the last few hours as he drove through the night, cruising down US 25 from Albuquerque to Las Cruces. It was nearly dawn now and the road didn't seem so lonely, the fences, plants and occasional buildings started to lose their ghostly appearance, taking on color, depth and solidity. Lookin out his passenger side window he caught sight of the gibbous Moon setting to the Southwest, just as he passed the sign for the first turnoff into Las Cruces.
Ever since Dermot could remember, he’d wanted to go into space. He’d been just old enough for his parents to let him stay up to watch more of the first moon walk. After that, he forgot all his other dream jobs. No longer did firefighter, policeman or cowboy appeal. And what had he been doing? Holding down a boring job, running quality control for a bunch of other bored-stiff programmers, developing yet another version of an accounting application which had been ancient when he first started.
And he'd settled for that because it kept him from having to take a chance, to risk anything which might set Mary off. Look where that had gotten him, three - make that four - years stuck in a relationship withering as badly as his garden had that summer of the big heat wave.
Perhaps Mary was right. He'd gotten into a rut and had given up on his dreams. But he'd done so to create stability for them. Well, it was just him, now. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, seeing his bag of gardening tools on the back seat. And on the front passenger seat, on top of his notebook computer, lay his planner, open to his To-Do list of the tasks he'd need to accomplish once he arrived at the OPS site at White Sands Launch Complex.
Up ahead, traffic began to build; no doubt workers starting their day. He slowed a bit so he could safely drive and look for the sign indicating the exit which would take him to White Sands and his dream.

* * *
May 23, 2011

Given time, Ellen might have noticed the lights just peeking over the hills in front of her. Given time, she might even have commented on the beauty of the green, blue, red and amber lights that shone, blinked and moved in front of her as she drove towards the White Sands Launch Complex. But it was late in the day, evening darkness had closed in around and she was tired from the drive... BOOM! Ellen's drooping eyelids snapped wide open; heart stuttered and then raced; her hands spun the steering wheel even as her foot mashed on the brake pedal in a panic stop! As the sky around her lit up with a wierd orange-yellow light, she managed to pull off to the shoulder, her hands shaking. Even before she had rolled to a stop, a pillar of fire streaked heavenward, rising above the low ridge to her left. At the same time, a wave of crackling and rumbling smote her, striking against her head and chest through the open window. For the first seconds she only felt the pressure, then she began to notice a slight whistling change of tone as the rocket, for that was what it had to be, raced up and away from her. A minute passed. Then another. Finally, she realized she couldn't see the glowing dot of it's engines, that her car was parked on the edge of the road, that other drivers were looking at her as they passed by.
She began driving again and within two miles found herself at the front gate of the complex. When she pulled forward towards the booth, her way was blocked by a dropped barrier pole. A guard came out of the booth and leaned down to her window.
"Excuse me, miss," he said, "but you need to have a valid sticker to enter the grounds."
"I do?" she replied. "I didn't know that. It didn't mention that in the letter. All it said was I needed to go to Building C, Orientation?"
"Ah. Okay, then you must pull over to that building right there," he pointed to a slightly larger shack just off to the right, "and they'll give you your 30-day temporary sticker. You'll also get a photo ID card which you should show whenever you come back onto the site. If you get hired, you'll come back there to get a permanent sticker for your car."
"What about the ID? Do I get another ID card there if I get hired?"
"No Miss. Each division issues it's own ID cards for their employees." He waved a signal to someone she couldn't see and the barrier rose. As she pulled away, she heard him say, "Good luck."

* * *

Getting her vehicle pass, photo ID card, finding the Orientation building and then finding her assigned dorm room had taken most of the evening. She had been grateful to simply collapse on her mattress, sans sheets - they were sitting in a pile on her tiny desk - without even bothering to change into her PJs. The three hours of sleep and hot shower had helped blow some of the cobwebs out, but she seriously needed coffee to jump-start her mental engine for the day ahead.
As she wended her way through the lines in the cafeteria, she scanned the room, trying to see where she might sit; she didn't want to bury herself in a back corner, nor did she wish to cram into one of the few seats at the crowded tables in the center of the room. Clearly she didn't know any of the people and she'd not be able to hold her end of any conversation. Along the northern windows were several tables with just a few people. Perfect, she thought, as she paid the cashier. And she'd be able to see more of the complex from there while she, well not 'enjoyed', consumed (that was a better word) her breakfast. However the coffee smelled divine.
She slid into a chair across from a man about her age; she couldn't tell how tall he was, but the rest of him was... dreamy, that was the word. Dark brown hair, cut just long enough to run fingers through, eyes catching the blue of the sky outside in their silvery grayness, clear, yet holding a hint of... somberness, experience? She wasn't quite sure. Still, he hadn't let himself run to fat, nor was he so slender as to be too bony; he had just enough muscle to define his outline beneath the pale blue shirt without showing the hard lines of a serious muscle-builder.
"Hi," she said, capturing his attention from whatever thoughts he'd been having. "I'm Ellen Connoly. I just got here."
"I'm Dermot Hardin." he replied. "And I must tell you that I got here only a few days ago as well."
"Oh. Then I guess you've already been through orientation?"
"No, they like to do everything in classes, all well-organized and group-think. I'm waiting for my orientation classes to begin. However, I start today with group MA-15."
"That's my group!" she burst out. "We'll be doing this together!"
His eyes brightened.