Homebrew - Snippet of Day 1 of NaNoWriMo

Okay. Day one's snippet is ready. I've got 2,034 words according to the 'unofficial' word counter at the NaNo site. Enjoy.

Prologue

The exploration and use of outer space, including the moon and other celestial bodies, shall be carried out for the benefit and in the interests of all countries, irrespective of their degree of economic or scientific development, and shall be the province of all mankind.
Article 1, First Paragraph, the 1967 U.N. "Outer Space Treaty"

"... with thirty-one Nays, one-hundred and fifty Ayes and eleven abstentions, the resolution is approved."

"There you have it. On this historic date of December 11th, 2008, the eleventh anniversary of the signing of the Kyoto Accord, the United Nations has approved the plan to build solar power stations in Low Earth Orbit." The CNN news announcer turned slightly, "We go now to our Science and Technology reporter, Paul Howard. Paul, what do you make of this?" The monitor screen split to show a second reporter standing in front of U.N. headquarters, the collar of his coat dancing in the wind, brilliant flakes of white clinging briefly to the somber gray of the cloth, sparkling in the glare of the lights which gave a washed-out look to his face against the darkened skies reflecting in the building's windows behind him.

"Wolf, it's clear the member nations of the United Nations have chosen to face the growing crisis of Global Warming head on." His expression serious, Howard continued to expound, using simple terms which his target audience could grasp. "What's surprising is the United States agreeing to support this project. Still, without US support, the Orbital Space Power (OSP) project could not succeed. No other nation has the resources to launch the sheer volume of men and material to build the system."

The display switched to an aerial view of the Kennedy Space Center, zooming in on a view of the massive Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB). As the scene panned out to include a shot of the Discovery STS moving towards the launch pad, the reporter continued, "Even so, our space facilities are beginning to show their age and it may be necessary to build newer launch sites to handle the traffic. Several NASA white papers have proposed constructing new installations in either western Texas or southeastern New Mexico. The advantages are that these regions are sparsely populated and are closer to the locations where current launch vehicles are constructed. Las Cruces, New Mexico, is next to White Sands National Monument and the White Sands Missile Range. It is also less than 25 miles from El Paso, Texas." The display switched to show a panorama of desert sand, sky and dusky mountains shimmering in the heat.

Dermot growled as he mashed the "Off" button on his TV remote. "Great," he muttered, "yet another massive bureaucracy trying to engineer a mouse. We'll be lucky if they don't manage to 'plan' us back into the stone age!" He pushed himself out of the naugahyde couch and stalked to the kitchen. "Did you hear that?" he asked Mary Campbell, his housemate, currently sitting at the cramped table shoved against the wall furthest from the window.

"What?" she said, "Oh, you mean the yammering you were watching? Dermot, you know I can't stand all that nonsense about spaceships and aliens and other nonsense. I can't see why any grown man gets involved in such stuff." Her mouth formed a moue in disgusted resignation. Dermot turned away and busied himself with preparing breakfast. Better to ignore her words when she was spoiling for a fight. Shortly, she rose and carried her dishes to the sink and left the room. He heard her gathering her things for the day and then the apartment door opening and closing. Once again she left without saying goodbye; that had become the norm. He'd avoided trying to find out why, hoping the problem would solve itself without effort on his part; the 'silent treatment' and snide comments had only gotten worse. Dermot resolved to confront her and discuss the issue when he got home, or not.

* * *

May 28, 2009

“… Congratulations and farewell, Class of 2009!”

With those words from the Dean, Dora’s classmates sprang to their feet, letting loose with cheers, catcalls and, yes, she heard correctly, even a few Rebel War Yells. She felt… she didn’t know how she felt, but excessive exuberance or joy weren’t it. Yes, she’d graduated from college, the first in her family to do so; her mother and father were a dozen or so rows back, waiting to congratulate her. Why wasn’t she happy, Dora pondered?
A sharp jab in her side shocked her back to the pandemonium surrounding her. “Hey dummy! There’ll be enough time to sit and mope after the celebration. Drag your sorry tail out of that chair and cheer with the rest of us” Monique Rogers watched as Dora stood. “Okay, that’s a good start. Now toss your cap into the air and scream like this.” She snatched off Dora’s graduation cap, tossing it high above, bellowing, “Yeeeeee Haaaaaaaa!”
“Oh, all right! Woo-hoo. There. I’ve cheered.” Dora said, “I’ve fulfilled my graduation duties and so have you. Can we go now? I’m sure Dad wants nothing better than to get us snapshotted, packed and on the road back to San Antonio.” She paused, “He’s missed two entire days from the store for this.”
“Girlfriend, you are plumb stubborn when it comes to holding onto your snits, aren’t you?” Catching the look in Dora’s face, Monique sighed, “All right. Let’s find our caps and get out of here.” With that she pressed down the line of fellow graduates; Dora tagged close behind, thinking, for the dozenth time, Monique’s height made her an excellent Moses, capable of parting any sea of humanity.
After retrieving their caps, Dora and Moniqe pushed through the crowd of students and parents, meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez. Mr. Rodriguez glanced at his watch, not noticing the frown that passed across his wife's face.
"Girls," he said, looking up and smiling, "How does it feel to be graduates? Does all that knowledge weigh down upon you? Are you eager to be about the business of work?"
"Dom," his wife said, "Cut the girls some slack. This is a big day for both of them. And after eight years of elementary, four years of high school and four more years of college, I'm sure all they really want this moment is to enjoy life a bit. Right, girls?"
"Sure thing Mrs. R.," Monique grinned. "I'm looking forward to days of lazing around your pool, sipping cool Margueritas and admiring the young men who'll no doubt come a-courtin'" She fanned her face with dainty waves of her hand. "Lawsey, lawsey. I do believe the young gentlemen might have a genuine fondness for such sweet young belles as ourselves." Dora tried, and failed, to smother a snort of disbelief. Monique was her best friend, had become her friend during the first week when they were shoved together into a shockingly small dorm room by an impersonal college; no doubt remained in Dora's mind that her friend would do just what she said, notwithstanding her complete lesbian orientation. Poor young gentlemen.
Her mother knew the score as well. "Don't give me that guff! I've seen you in action, young lady. You'll be dancing 'til dawn and working all day long at whatever job you get. How you girls can pack so much into one short day, I'll never understand."
"Dear, I'm sure Dora and Monique want to get going. It will be a long drive back home and I'd like to get some pictures of them before they change out of their gowns."
"Dad! You shot something like two dozen photos before the ceremony. And I'm sure you snapped at least a hundred of us when we paraded across the stage."
"You're wrong, daughter mine," her mother interrupted, "I snapped about a hundred pictures. Your father was busy videoing both of you."
"And you keep telling me your mom and dad don't handle technology well. What do you always say... That's it, they're old dogs trying to learn new tricks."
"Monique!"
"That's all right, dear," her father said, his voice oozing avuncular indulgence, "Your mother and I have known for some time you feel we're rather old-fashioned. Still, I should think you'd guess I could learn how to master a digital camera -- I've been a photography nut for more years than you've been alive. Now how about those pictures?"

* * *

The drive home had been long and hot. even with the air-conditioning running full bore. Her mother's Pacifica, her father had been a fan of Chrysler products for years, ever since the time he worked in the company's Auburn Hills complex, was showing it's years, more than a few dings and dents marked it's outside and the leather had gained the sheen of long wear, buffed from hundreds of times she and her family had slid into them. The only reason they weren't riding in the new Chrysler 300M was because they were hauling away the stuffed animals, books, clothes and other items she and Monique had collected over their four years -- at least those items they hadn't given away to friends or sold back to the campus bookstore.
They were just left Las Cruces for the short dash down to El Paso, Texas, where US Route 10 would once again turn east towards San Antonio. They would have made better time from Phoenix, but getting all the boxes packed had eaten up much of the previous morning. Last night she'd broken out her XM portable radio from the box in which it had been stored, and she was listening to a classics station, currently playing Green Day's "American Idiot". Monique had her iPod running as she sat on the opposite side. Both of them were staring at the passing scenery when Mr. Rodriguez stuck his right hand back and waved to gather their attention.
"Look," he said, pointing at a truck heading northwest, back to Las Cruces, "We're bidding on a contract to supply uniforms for their people." The truck had a massive "globe and spaceship" logo with the letters "U", "N" and "O", "P", "S" wrapped around it. "They're building the new heavy-lifter lauch site out at the old White Sands Missile Range. If all goes well, we should be supplying them with about 5,000 uniforms over the next year."
"Mr. R, I thought you didn't like the space program?" Monique asked.
"I don't. But I don't like losing business to my competitors even more. Someone will provide needed services, products and supplies for the project," Dora's father replied. "I have people who depend upon me to find the customers who'll keep them employed. I don't think any of this 'orbital power system' will work; at least not in my lifetime. But until it fails, my company, my employees and their families will have a decent living from providing the uniforms."
Dora's mother broke in. "You girls want to hear the strangest part of the deal? Your father, Dora, is also bidding on the spacesuit contract. Hmph! What does he know from spacesuits?"
"Is that true, Dad? Do you have a design for a spacesuit?"
"I thought spacesuits were all made out of layers of kevlar, plastic, aluminum and some sort of tubing they run coolant through, Mr. R? How are you going to do that? Most of your stuff is that Gore-whatchamacallit or Spandex."
"And you'd be right. However, this is a new generation suit just for station work. The basic suit is a bodystocking; it's designed solely to keep the wearer's skin from expanding too much. The helmet, tanks and controls all fit on top of the collar of the bodysuit. I don't really understand much of how the thing works, but it does work."
"What about heat, cold and meteorites? Isn't that why those other spacesuits Monique mentioned were made out of the other material?"
"Sure, but this design incorporates a separate shell of woven kevlar for extended exposure. It slips right over the basic suit and snaps onto the back-and-breast collar. Both of you should drop by the offices and I'll show the design to you."