Blue Hope: (Book 2) (Red Hope) Page 9
“Sorry about that. So who’s watching the kids?” Chris asked.
“A good family friend named Libby is watching them. My Mom is going to take me to the hospital and basically take care of me for a week.”
“Well, best of luck. I know Adam wanted you to have that surgery for a long time. And, I’ll make you a deal. I promise if I hear anything about Adam or the crew, I’ll give you a call immediately. Okay?”
“Thank you, Chris. Bye bye.”
“Wait, Connie, I do have some news. NASA has decided to build a temporary base right there in Fort Worth. It will be the replacement for the NASA Johnson Space Center in Houston. They are going to call it the NASA Jennings Manned Spacecraft Center.”
“Nice,” Connie laughed. “Doesn’t that seem like a poor choice for a name?”
“It serves as a memorial and a warning. But honestly I think it’s more of a warning. Don’t screw things up like ex-President Jennings or something like that,” Chris said.
Connie was growing to like the updates. Chris was the only tangible connection she had right now with NASA and her missing husband. Whenever she called him for the news, it was partially for the update, but mostly it was to have an adult to talk to. He was a caring man whom she knew she could trust with her worries.
Monday morning came fast. Connie and her mom walked into the hospital in downtown Fort Worth at 7:00am. To prepare for surgery, Connie hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before. That morning, her electricity had gone out again, but she’d long since switched to an old mechanical alarm clock. Close call avoided.
Connie waited nervously in the lobby. Every channel on the TV news reported about the rebuilding of Houston as well as DC and countless other foreign cities.
“Are you sure Libby can watch the kids today?” Connie asked.
Her mom patted her arm.
“Look, she’s watched them many times. She’s a very trustworthy neighbor.”
“It’s just that, well, I’m their only parent left… and,” Connie trailed off.
Her mom kissed her on the forehead.
“You’re going to be just fine. Trust me,” she assured her daughter. “Adam will return. I promise. Now remember the time when you got ear tubes? You were so scared then and it turned out great.”
“I was three years old, Mom. I don’t remember.”
“Well, I do!” her mom laughed.
Connie’s leg was fidgeting up and down looking for a place of calmness.
The office door opened and a nurse walked into the lobby.
“Mrs. Alston?”
Connie raised her hand and limped over to the nurse. Connie looked back one more time at her mom, who waved back at her and said, “Go on, you’ll be fine.”
Connie put on the cold paper gown and laid down on the table. The nurses took blood samples, urine samples, and a pregnancy test. Connie gave the nurse a funny look at the pregnancy test.
“We must be completely certain,” the nurse explained.
The room was quiet except for an annoying beep every few seconds. After a few minutes, a boisterous man dressed in surgical gown came into the room. He picked up Connie’s hand to comfort her.
“Hi, Dr. Sanders,” Connie said sheepishly.
“Relax, Connie! This is going to be great. You’ll throw away those crutches in a matter of weeks.”
The doctor picked up the clipboard at the end of the bed and read through her medical stats.
“Uh huh, yep, yep. Looks good. I should probably sign your back with a Sharpie so I know which one to remove, right? Hahaha,” the surgeon laughed heartily at his own joke. Then he walked out the door.
The room got very quiet again.
At 9:05am, another nurse walked in and put an IV into the back of Connie’s hand. Once the IV was taped up, the nurse injected a syringe into IV tube.
“That’s just to relax you,” the nurse said. She smiled.
Connie felt suddenly relaxed. And sleepy.
“Hahaaaaa, nice,” Connie said, melting into happiness.
The nurse put her hand on Connie’s shoulder and said, “I thought you’d appreciate that.”
Several orderlies came in and wheeled the bed out the door and down the hallway. They went into an operating room where everybody was dressed in full surgical gowns and masks. The surgeon’s forearms were pointing up to keep them from touching anything.
“Connie, the anesthesiologist is going to put a mask on you right now and,” the surgeon paused.
Another person in a surgical gown pressed a clear plastic mask onto Connie’s face.
“Okay, I want you to count backwards from ten right now, okay?”
Connie’s eyes slowly panned over toward the surgeon.
“Sure thing, Doc. Here we go. Ten, nine —”
Silence.
CHAPTER 17
Las Cruces, New Mexico
All year long the wind tumbles warm and dry through the town of Las Cruces – slowly blowing the topsoil east toward Texas. Nightly walks through the desert scrub reveal the lives squeezing out an existence in this desolate area. The gray blurs are jackrabbits with their freakishly large ears —skittering through the cacti and kicking up clouds of red dust. It’s the type of environment that makes you crave ice cream back in town.
“What can I get for you?” the cashier asked. He tapped his foot impatiently, standing behind the register at the Wendy’s restaurant.
“Just a Frosty,” the old man said, never breaking his stare at the menu.
“Large?”
“What? No, just a small.”
“Chocolate or vanilla?”
The man crinkled his brow, looking confused.
“Since when did you make vanilla Frosty’s?”
“Probably since before I was born, sir,” the cashier replied coldly.
“It’s been a while since I was here. Let’s go with choco…”
WOOMP.
The man’s dairy desert order was interrupted by a loud sound. It was more of a feeling than a sound. The building shook as if it were hit by a giant rubber ball. The hubbub of conversation in the dining room halted and the customers looked outward at bright flashes — like lightning, but non-stop. One by one, the diners headed for the windows. The cashier hopped over the counter and opened the door to the outside.
A long spark-filled streak filled the sky – complete with glowing branches breaking off from the main trunk. It was high up and quiet at first, except for a few resounding woomps. Suddenly a grinding roar came from every direction, rattling the skulls of everybody watching. Hands jumped up to cover ears. The sound echoed off of every wall, cliff and canyon. Car alarms shouted in a rising crescendo.
The residents of Las Cruces were witnessing the rarest light show in human history. The disabled International Space Station had slowly but steadily slid out of orbit for months. As it inched closer to Earth, the miniscule amount of atmosphere that it rubbed against slowed it down a little bit more every day. Just as a slow irritation causes a pearl to form over time, the ISS continued to slow down and eventually fell toward Earth.
Hitting the bulk of the atmosphere now at seventeen thousand miles per hour created enormous friction. As the largest manmade object in space, it provided an equally huge light show for the residents of New Mexico and western Texas this evening.
The old man stepped into the parking lot, wishing he had that Frosty to enjoy with the light show. He stared up with the wonderment of a child. Colorful lights reflected off his trifocals.
Now isn’t that a doozy, he thought. I gotta get back to Arizona.
For humanity, it meant the end of a three-decade project and many billions of dollars of investment — now just a long streak of smoke in the sky. The loss of the ISS marked the end of any near-term chances for a return mission to Mars.
For the jackrabbits running around the desert that night, the strange lightshow was just a brief distraction from another night of not being killed.
CHAPTER 18
NASA Jennings Manned Spacecraft Center
Fort Worth, Texas
The new NASA Jennings Manned Spacecraft Center was officially opened in mid-January. The expedited timeframe was helped due to the fact that it was built on an existing Air Force base and airplane factory. The loss of the International Space Station provided an extra bit of impetus. It also helped that Fort Worth hadn’t been bombed.
The facility was temporarily the new manned spacecraft center, replacing NASA Johnson until Houston got cleaned up — a process expected to take many more years. As is often the case, however, there is nothing more permanent than a temporary solution.
Chris drove along the road leading to the new center. He had the roof down on his old black Ford convertible and eventually pulled up to the security gate.
“Hello, Mr. Tankovitch,” said the armed guard reaching for Chris’s identification badge.
“Is the power on today?” Chris asked.
“Yes, sir. It’s been on for 16 hours. So far so good.”
“Excellent,” Chris laughed. “That’s a new record.”
“I hope it stays on for good this time. Go on through.”
The guard pushed a button and the stanchion posts sank down into the ground. Chris drove over them. He continued on for a quarter mile and turned left into an enormous parking lot – mostly empty. He maneuvered his heavy car into his personal parking spot, located in the middle of the vast sea of emptiness. Chris stepped out of the car and slammed the door closed – so far from the nearest car that the pained creakiness of his door generated no echo.
He manhandled the convertible top up and over the cabin, carefully attaching the front two clips to the windshield. He grabbed his briefcase and began the long trek across the acres of blacktop toward the guard shack.
Chris reached the air conditioned lobby a few minutes later and showed his badge to the guard sitting behind a stamped metal desk. The guard waved him through with a polite “Good morning, sir” and a head nod.
Chris continued down the long hallway.
And walked.
And walked.
And walked.
He passed by some whirring machinery. Finally, he turned into a small room that was outlined with several offices. A workman was standing at Chris’s new office, squeegeeing some new words onto the glass in the door:
CHRISTOPHER TANKOVITCH
DIRECTOR OF…
The workman’s shoulder blocked the rest.
He moved.
…VENDING & FOOD SERVICES
Not quite the same ring as NASA Administrator, Chris thought to himself. But it sure beats nothing. And it has full medical and retirement benefits.
Go me, Chris thought with blank defeat. He walked up to the workman.
“Thanks for the new sign. Please excuse me,” Chris said as he opened the door and walked through.
“What happened to Mr. Gregg?” the workman asked. “He used to be in charge of all the vending machines.”
“Well, he’s on medical leave,” Chris said with realistic compassion. “Mr. Gregg was in Houston during the bombs and he’s developed lung cancer. I’m his temporary fill-in while he recovers.”
“Okay. Mr. Gregg was a nice man,” the workman said. He collected his tools and walked away.
Chris sat down and logged into his computer. He checked his email. Fourteen trouble tickets about broken vending machines in Building 4 alone. These were emails that came in from engineers complaining that the machine ate their 75 cents without dispensing any crackers or coffee. From the wording of the emails, the loss of their money was the worst thing in the world. As several emails stated, there would be hell to pay.
Several months earlier, Chris was running the show on the first manned mission to Mars – a thirty billion dollar endeavor. Now he was chasing down six bits of fraud.
I’m only one week into this job. Crap. Time for coffee, he thought.
Chris stood up and walked out of his office to the vending room just outside the office cluster. A group of engineers were standing there having a lively discussion. As Chris approached, they all shut up.
Thanks infamy, he thought to himself.
“Hey fellas. How’s it going?” Chris asked. He dropped some coins into the coffee vending machine. A cup dropped out and a brownish goo filled it.
The engineers averted their eyes, not wanting to speak to the pariah known as Chris Tankovitch.
One young man decided to fix the awkward silence.
“We’re doing fine, Director Tankovitch.”
Chris laughed.
“Thanks, but I’m no longer the head of NASA.”
Chris tasted his coffee and grimaced.
The young engineer, egged on by his friends, added, “That was a shame. You were very good at what you did.”
“Well, that’s how it goes. A new president gets elected and his appointed underlings all get axed,” Chris said.
Silence.
“So….. Chris,” said the young man.
“Hey, I’m still Mister Tankovitch to you young pups,” Chris corrected him.
“I thought you had a PhD?”
“Yeah, okay, call me Dr. Tankovitch then. The ‘doctor’ just scares people away, so I usually say ‘mister’.”
The young engineer smiled. He was bursting to ask a question. “Do you think we’ll ever see the Mars crew alive again?”
Chris thought for a moment.
“I’d like to say yes…” Chris trailed off.
He sensed a very morbid turn to the conversation and attempted to resurrect it.
“…but we didn’t send them with any potatoes.”
CHAPTER 19
Manfred Insurance Building
Fort Worth, Texas
Post-surgery recovery went quickly for Connie. Daily rehabilitation at a downtown facility generated huge improvements in her leg control and ultimately her ability to walk. These medical visits also generated huge bills and, as wonderful as her positive improvements were, her bank account shrank violently. After medical bills and income taxes, her million dollar bonus from the Murch Motor Corporation had dwindled to $51,000.
Connie had always heard anecdotal stories about how medical bills were the number one cause of personal bankruptcy in America. She was on a trajectory to prove the myth true.
It had been many months since NASA had last heard from the Mars crew and it was time to pursue declaring her husband, Adam, legally dead. She didn’t want to do it, but she was facing a financial disaster.
Connie called Adam’s life insurance broker and arranged a meeting — a terribly somber meeting.
Without crutches, Connie walked confidently up the stairs to the second floor of the Manfred Insurance Building. Her mother, a short woman of 79 years of age, followed behind her. Connie stopped on the stairs and helped her mom climb the last few steps. They emerged into the lobby of the Life Insurance division.
Connie signed the appointment sheet on the desk and then sat down next to her mom.
“Mom, thanks for coming here with me.”
“Sweetheart, you know I didn’t want you to do this alone. I’m glad Libby could watch the kids.”
“Again, right?” Connie joked. “I may have to start paying her babysitting fees.”
“Hah, well I think she understands. Nobody wants their kids to see this stuff.” She looked around as if searching for the evil insurance demon. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this stuff.”
The door opened and a smartly dressed secretary walked out with a clipboard.
“Mrs. Alston? Can you please follow me?”
Connie and her mom stood up and followed the secretary down a long hallway.
“Are you related to Captain Adam Alston?” the secretary asked.
“Um, yes, he’s my… was my husband.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s a national tragedy.”
The secretary opened a wood-paneled door and led both women into an office. The secret
ary began her introductions.
“Hi, Richard. I have Mrs. Alston here to see you.”
A thirty-something bald man sat behind a desk with his back facing them. He spun around and smiled.
“Hi, Mrs. Ashton. Thank you for coming down here today.”
“It’s… Alston, actually.”
“Yes, I’m so sorry.”
He stood up and shook both of their hands. The secretary pulled the door closed until it made a quiet click sound.
Connie saw the man was confused at the presence of somebody else. She said, “Oh, this is my Mom, Roberta.”
“Nice to meet you Roberta,” the man said without caring, looking at his desk. “Um, I think we have everything to get started.”
They sat down and the man pulled out a folder and opened it wide on his desk. He leaned on the desk, studying it for an uncomfortable thirty seconds. Then he clasped his hands and looked at them.
“Well, the paperwork is all complete. Are you familiar with how this works?”
Connie looked at her Mom and they shook their heads implying they had no idea.
“Well, okay, it normally takes a lot longer to declare somebody dead,” he caught himself, “deceased.”
He paused to look down and study his notes some more, then looked up.
“However, that process has been sped up quite a bit since your husband has experienced what we call ‘imminent peril’.”
Connie’s brow furrowed, confused.
“That just means he was in a situation where survival was assumed to be impossible. It’s the same for violent airplane crashes, nuclear explosions, you know, that kind of thing,” he explained nonchalantly.
Connie nodded her head up and down with a tear falling down her cheek. The man wanted to be compassionate, but he had a busy day ahead of him. He pulled out two sheets of paper and slid them toward Connie.
“Here is the distribution paperwork. If you could sign here and here,” he said as he pointed to the document in front of Connie. She signed each location.
The man took the paperwork and dropped it on his desk a few times to square it up. He reached into his middle drawer and pulled out a check.