Homebrew - Chapter Two

Chapter Two
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. "I guess we're a team."
They finished their meal talking about where they came from; while walking to the meeting room, they wondered just what orientation required and speculated the nature of the further test mentioned in the invitation letters they'd received.

* * *

May 12, 2011

"Dora. Clarissa. PRISCILLA. MELINDA. BARBARA. CELINDA. ANNE. Rodriguez! Get in here, RIGHT NOW!" Mark Rodriguez's voice thundered from the intercom speaker to echo ominously throughout the outlet store. All the customers stopped shopping to glance fearfully towards the counter. As Dora glumly turned from the register to comply, her father roared, "I'm WAITING!"
"Go!" Her mother urged, "I'll watch the register. You know how he is at bill time…"
Dora dashed from the store, through the factory floor and up to the office, wondering 'What is it this time. I've been pushing all the sales items and have actually managed to sell the last of the junky shorts that Dad ordered two years ago…'
As she entered the office she composed herself to appear calm. "Yes, Father?"
"Close. The. Door." 'Uh-oh. This is going to be bad!' She thought as she closed the door gently. Her father continued, "Sit. Down." Taking the chair opposite him she complied.an eternal two minutes her father stared at her. Then, he turned his gaze to the papers on his desk. The clutter of desk lamp, phone, computer terminal and other supplies conspired to hide the exact nature of these papers from her.
Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she said, "Father, if I might…" only to skid to a halt as he raised a finger to silence her.
"I believe that you have completed public school, have you not," he asked?
"Yes, Father. If I could…" she said, only to be stopped once again by his raised finger.
"No. Yes. Or even Yes, Father, are all I need to hear right now," he instructed. "We'll save excuses and comments for later, if ever."
"Yes… Father."
"And you have even completed a Bachelor's Degree in Electrical Engineering, with a minor in Business," he continued.
"Yes, Father," she replied thinking, 'Oh. My. This is going to be bad…'
"Did you not also complete a Master's in Business Administration?"
"Yes," she said, 'Real Bad!'
"And since then, you have had the tuition of my and your mother's wisdom gained through long experience running this business," he questioned, "Along with all the other advice we have learned at trade shows and seminars or which you might have read about in the various business journals?"
"Yes, Father," she mumbled, 'I am dead. I am *so* dead! Whatever it is, I cannot even begin to hope for a positive resolution. He might even toss me out of the business!'
"Good," her father purred, "So, perhaps you can explain this problem to me more fully… Make it clear to me so that I might better understand how this came to be." He stood and walked over to the window overlooking the strip mall's side parking lot. He paused there for a while and then turned back to her, his face a picture of confusion and question, his hands raised as if expecting to receive a package at any moment.
Glancing over his shoulder at the dusty parking lot to gain some time, she gathered her wits. "Father," she said, "If I could see what is troubling you, I might better know how to answer?" She glanced towards the mostly obscured paperwork sitting on his desk.her gaze, he turned back to his desk.
Reaching down he grabbed the papers and thrust them to her, his face once again purpling in rage. "This! Dora! Explain this," he shouted! "Tell me how you could possibly think to do this! Where did you get the idea that you had the right to do this! What possible madness possessed you…?"
Dora quickly scanned the invoice. 'Yes! My order.' she thought. She almost smiled but remembered where she was. Composing herself, she looked up and replied, "I thought that we had agreed to try new fashions. These 'skinsuits' are all the rage right now. Yes, I bought three full skinsuits from manufacturing, but only for display purposes. And I had to do so in order to keep our bookkeeping records straight. The rest of the outfits are strictly for fashion wear and don't come with the equipment necessary to complete the suit, Father."
"Still, we're not running a spacesuit supply store. The store isn't supposed to be a source of supplies for space travel," her father growled. "You know how I feel about all this space travel nonsense. I don't want to encourage people to abandon Earth."
"But, DAD... We live in San Antonio. Our company supplies these skinsuits directly to the staff and construction workers working on the UN-OPS project. This is a hot, new style. Also, we have a great margin on these outfits; we don't have to pay shipping or flooring fees because our storefront is part of our manufacturing plant. We'd be crazy to not sell them!" she pleaded. "Furthermore, it was your idea to bid to manufacture and supply the skinsuits in the first place, three years ago!"
"Don't remind me! I don't care! You know how I feel. I will not cater to anyone who thinks to run away from their problems by leaving Earth. Besides, as Reverend Schulter says, 'If God had wanted us in space, he wouldn't have given us the Earth upon which we live.' I regret ever having done so." her father quoted. He paused and looked over the invoice again. "Well, you've already purchased them, so, we'll go ahead and sell them off to make back our money. But you are not to use the complete outfits to make a display. You will use just the skinsuit portions so that people only see a new fashion. I won't be giving ideas to children and wastrels."
"No. I won't agree to this. You said the store would be my venture, my responsibility. You promised I would have complete control over what is sold and how I run it, so long as I can show a profit. You promised this!" she shouted.
"Not when it involves egging people to go to space! And if you can't obey, then you prove my point!" He paused. "I'm changing my mind; you will not sell any of the skinsuit line. It's either that or you no longer run the store."
Dora blanched. She'd had disagreements with her father before and some had been, heated. Still, she had found a way to compromise, to be flexible, to bide her time and marshall her arguments, working to convince him to accept her ideas. But this... this time, no matter how much she feared his anger, she couldn't give in. This time she knew the root cause of his anger; it was sitting at home, informing her that her dream was within her reach.
"No, Dad. I won't put up with the pressure. I've tried to compromise. I've tried to reason and explain. I've shown you facts, figures and hard work, not just from me, but from the others in the store," she said, a coolness and dispassion leeching all emotion from her voice. "You want to hold the store - and your approval - over my head as a bludgeon. And this time I'm not going to let you. You want me to cave on this? I won't. In fact, I'm choosing the other option. I quit."
She heard a stifled gasp behind her and whirled around to see Evangelina, her mother, standing in the doorway, pale, eyes wide with shock.
"No! Dora, you can't mean that!" her mother cried. "Dom, tell her no. Tell her you're wrong, that she wins. Don't let her go!"
"'Lina. I can't. She's got to let this obsession go." he said from behind Dora. "Either she does this or she's no longer part of this family." The words grated through Dora, shaking her, making her bones ache. Her mother paled even further, shrinking, almost aging before her eyes. Almost she turned... almost. But she drew strength from the letter sitting on the desk in her home office.
Without looking behind her, she said, "Fine. So be it. I'll draw up my letter of resignation and clean out my office." Then, head held rigid, she walked from the office.

* * *

Dora strode to her car with her last bag, the special one for carrying a skinsuit and helmet/breather pack. As she neared, her mother darted from the shadows along the side of her house - no, not her house, not any longer. Evangelina intercepted her at the car door.
"Don't go," her mother pleaded. "Not like this. Make peace with him. You're young; you'll always have other opportunities. But you won't always have your father around."
"I know that, Mom. But if I dont' go, I'll never go. I'll never have the courage to break free, to try it on my own. And you know as well as I do that the younger you are, the better you adapt to new situations. It is time and past time I moved out and made it on my own."
"And this, going into space has been a dream of mine for years, since they first came out with the Sally Ride Barbie doll. Mom, I'll never as good an opportunity as this so I'm going to take it. Maybe, some day, Dad can accept that, can be proud of me for who I am and what I have and will accomplish. But right now there's nothing I can do that will help. So I'm going to remove myself from the picture."
"But what if something goes wrong? You can't promise you won't get hurt..." Dora could see the fear in her mother's eyes.
"Mom, I could get killed just driving to work on the freeway. I could get jumped some night coming out of the theater and raped. Hell, I could catch the damned Bird Flu, if it ever really happens. You know that. And you know there's really nothing you or Dad could do to prevent it. I'll take precautions. I'll follow all the rules; you know me, I'm good at following rules." That pulled a slight smile from her mother, matching the one that peeked out of Dora's face. "I promise I'll do my best to be careful and to make you both proud of me. Plus, I'll write you every week, and call when I can afford it." She got into her car and lowered the window, looking out and up into her mother's face.
"Take care, baby. I love you - and so does your father, even if he's too stubborn too admit it."
"I love you both, too. Tell Dad I said so." With that, she pulled out of the driveway, starting for Las Cruces.

* * *

"Yes, I understand that my group doesn't start until June 1st. But I'm here now. Is there any way to get into an earlier orientation group?" she asked the check-in co-ordinator.
"If it were a matter of just two or three days, there wouldn't be any problem. We'd just stick you in your assigned dorm room and have you wait. However, the wait is too long. Also, we don't have a spare room for you. Everyone who's going through with this group is here and there have been no washouts or drop outs. I'm very sorry, but you're just going to have to wait off-grounds." He turned away, then back. "Look, it's only a week. If I might make a suggestion..."
"Anything would be appreciated."
"Then go back into Las Cruces and check into one of the executive motels. Several of them have kitchenettes which rent for a reasonable amount. Here's one that's very reasonable," he said, writing a name and directions on a notepad. He handed it to her and continued, "Unless you have a serious medical problem, they'll probably keep you on, we've a strong demand for engineers right now. And this will give you time to decide what to store and what to sell."
"Sell?" That caught her attention. "Why would I want to sell anything? I've already weeded out everything I didn't want to keep."
"Really? Then I take it you took the bus here?"
"No, I drove. You know that; you just had to sign the paperwork authorizing an extended pass for my car."
"Listen, it's none of my business, but let me give you a bit of advice. If you pass the rest of your examinations and training, you're going to be spending a lot of time in orbit, months at a stretch, with few and short breaks between. Once you get past orientation and training, you won't need a car and you'll be spending a great deal of money storing it. Unless you have someone who can come and pick it up, I'd recommend you sell it."
"Since you put it that way... But I won't sell my car. I'll assign title of it to my friend. She needs a newer one. Thanks for the advice." Then she asked, "Do I have to do this right now, or can I do this later during training?"
"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep it around for the three months you'll be groundside. And if you need a notary for any of your paperwork, I can handle it."

* * *
May 24, 2011

J'Shawn managed to squeak into the lecture hall one minute before the meeting started. Looking around, he saw exactly two seats open. The closest one was in the very back row, too far away to see or hear anything. So he took the second seat, squeezing down the row past the others already there. He wasn't a particularly small person - he prided himself on his muscular physique - the seat arms fit snug against his ribs.
"Damn," he muttered, "I hope these chairs aren't a sign of things to come."
"I don't think so," replied the woman beside him. "I think they got these from a school supply firm run by one of my father's friends. By the way, I'm Dora, Dora Rodriguez."
"I'm J'Shawn Williams, but all my friends call me J'Shawn," he said with a smile.
"Glad to meet you. The two on your right," she said, pointing them out, "are Ellen Connoly and Dermot Hardin. Did I get the names right?" she directed at the other two.
"Yes. But my friends call me 'Elle'" she said, sticking her hand out to J'Shawn.
"And most of my friends call me Patrick. That's my middle name," Dermot added, reaching his hand past Ellen.
At that point, a door opened along the right wall, near the front, and a woman entered, closing the door softly behind her. She strode to the desk centered along the wall and perched upon the front edge.
"Class." she spoke, a microphone broadcasting her voice through the hall. "My name is Roseanne Sittler. My task is to guide you through the basic orientation process. For the most part, I will be providing informational lectures and scheduling your examinations and training sessions. I will also be available for questions and to help counsel you on which path inside the UN Orbital Power Station project is best suited for our needs, and yours."
"Today will be spent reviewing the types of work assignments available as well as the testing and training schedules of each. Also, we will be reviewing all forms that must be completed in order to generate your employee profile. I ask that you save your questions, of which I am sure there will be many, until after the we complete the first hour."