Confrontation

by William Hayashi

  The fact that they were living out where humans had never gone before was a constant reminder of just how far America and everyone else on earth was behind in science and technology. The more paranoid members of the world’s governments feared any direct confrontation, assuming that the separatists’ weapons technologies were equally as advanced as the rest of their equipment. There wasn’t a military in the world that wasn’t lusting after the wonders they imagined in possession of the separatists.

  The separatists control of gravity was at the top of the list of technologies earth was most anxious to get their hands on. The cost of lifting a pound of anything out of earth’s gravity well was the most limiting factor in further expansion into space. Thousands of top-level scientists and physicists world wide were shifted to gravitational studies to try to duplicate the observed characteristics of the Separatists’ spacecrafts.

  But none of this was of any interest to John. Not only did he know where Sydney Atkins was headed the night they parted, he was responsible for stalling the FBI search for her, giving her the needed time to make her escape.

  The sad irony in the whole ordeal was that he and Sydney could never be together because he was white.

  Chapter 2

  GOOD VIBRATIONS

  The takeoff from Los Angeles International Airport was as smooth as it was familiar. Patrick Jensen had been back and forth between LA and Houston more times than he could count. On most flights he spent the time working on his laptop. He had an extremely heavy workload as head propulsion engineer for the combined Global Space Technologies/NASA outer solar system spacecraft.

  This trip he had to forego the work on the laptop because he had a seatmate in first class who could have seen his screen, so he contented himself with catching up on some reading.

  “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but notice you’re reading that technical journal. Are you some kind of scientist?” asked the very pretty, blond woman seated next to Patrick.

  “Not really. I’m more of an engineer. Are you interested in science?” he asked, more than a little flattered at the attention.

  “Not me. But my brothers were always building models of airplanes and rockets when they were growing up. One of them works for Boeing doing something in design,” she said. “By the way, I’m Melody, Melody Parker.”

  Putting down his magazine, he stuck out his hand and said, “Patrick Jensen. Nice to meet you. You fly often?”

  Melody laughed. “No, I was visiting a sick friend in LA, now I’m going back home. I live in Houston. Is that where you’re from? You don’t really have the accent.”

  “No, I live in California, but I’m relocating to Houston. My job’s requiring it.”

  “Really! Are you going to be looking for a place? Maybe I can help!” Melody said excitedly.

  “You think so? How’s that?”

  “I’m a broker with Carson Real Estate. Do you have someone looking for a place for you yet?” she asked hopefully.

  “Not so far. They only told me they wanted me there full time a few days ago. Maybe that would work out,” said Patrick, weighing the prospect of getting to spend more time with her.

  Melody looked him over, evaluating what kind of home or condo she would pitch to her new prospect. He wasn’t bad looking, kind of thin, early to mid-forties, maybe six feet tall. The glasses made him look somewhat nerdy, no, more like studious. His clothes were neat, not overly expensive, but flying wasn’t exactly a tuxedo affair. She decided that she could do worse, maybe a dinner or two to see what this Patrick Jensen was all about.

  They ended up talking for the remainder of the flight, exchanging mobile phone numbers in the process. Melody promised to give Patrick a call in the next two days, saying she’d have a few prospects for him after learning he was looking for stand-alone home.

  When the jet landed, the two chatted until the rest of the passengers deplaned, then walked together to the baggage claim area. When they parted, each felt they had made some kind of connection, leaving both anticipating their next meeting.

  In the limousine taking him to the Johnson Space Center, Patrick caught his reflection in the driver’s rear view mirror and saw he was grinning like a fool. He pulled his sunglasses from his breast pocket and put them on, trying to turn his thoughts to the work ahead.

  He pulled his phone from his pocket, turned it back on and waited for it to connect to the network. He was happy to note that he had no voice messages, but cringed when he noticed fifty-three email messages waiting for his attention. With a sigh, he started paging through the messages, figuring the more he got done en route, the less on his plate for the fully booked afternoon of meetings.

  Patrick was startled when someone tapped on the window next to him. Once he rolled it down a security guard said, “Your identification, sir.”

  Looking past the guard he saw the Johnson Space Center sign.

  “Sorry, got distracted,” he said as he fumbled for his NASA ID.

  “Thank you, sir. One moment please.”

  The guard went to the booth and called in Patrick’s ID. He returned in a couple of minutes and said, “Welcome back, Mr. Jensen. You know the drill, have the driver take you over to reception and someone will pick you up and take you to engineering from there.”

  Patrick thanked him and sat back in his seat, seeing that the driver apparently knew where he was going. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw someone sitting in a golf cart at the entrance. The driver stopped in front of the welcome center, got out, opened the door for Patrick, then retrieved the bags from the trunk.

  The young man sitting in the golf cart approached Patrick with his hand out. “I’m Lucas, I’m an intern here and I’ll be taking you over to the engineering complex,” he said, as he watched the limo driver transfer the bags from the trunk to the back of the cart.

  “Shall we go, Mr. Jensen?”

  “Sure. You new here? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “About eight months. I’m here from Stanford on an internship that winds up in four months. I’m here working on inter-solar navigation.”

  “Sounds interesting. You like it?”

  “It’s all right. But your stuff, the design and construction of the GST probe, that’s epic!”

  “We’re supposed to say NASA/GST probe,” Patrick said, winking.

  “I know, but everyone knows that without the billions in cash and technology from GST, it wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

  The two rode the rest of the way in silence to the building where Patrick had spent a large portion of the previous seven years, designing and supervising the construction of the ship in orbit’s propulsion systems. When they arrived, he thanked Lucas for the ride and grabbed his bags off the cart.

  Inside the lobby the receptionist had a cart waiting for Patrick’s luggage and, once everything was settled, swiped his ID badge, checking him into the building.

  “I’ll have your bags brought to your office, Mr. Jensen. Dr. Milton asked that if you have a few minutes, could you stop by his office,” she informed him.

  “No problem. I’ll head upstairs and see what’s up. Thanks.”

  Patrick was somewhat in awe of Dr. Paul Milton, who had served on the special presidential commission a decade past when the separatists were discovered living on the back side of the moon. He worked with the notables on that commission, like Norma Lancaster, the discoverer of the inbound ice asteroid that had crashed on the surface on the moon. An asteroid, largely consisting of frozen water, that the moon colonists apparently used to provide water for their habitat. Some hotshot astrophysicist, Dr. Martin Harris, who was acknowledged as the world’s expert on gravitational research; unfortunately he hadn’t been able to duplicate the gravitational technologies of the separatists. Milton had even managed to work directly with the president of the
United States at the time, a relationship that survived even today.

  That commission was the precursor to the project that had completely taken over his life for the previous seven years. Project Jove was the most ambitious manned space effort by NASA to date. And yet it was so woefully short of the technological achievements of the African Americans who built a city below the lunar surface. NASA’s efforts, even with the massive infusion of cash and resources of GST, were like fielding a Boy Scout’s Soapbox Derby car against a Formula-One racer.

  Patrick had spent countless hours and a stack of GST’s money to perfect an ion powered propulsion engine capable of getting the massive Jove spacecraft out to the asteroid belt and back to earth quicker and more cost effectively than any previously used rocket technology.

  When he arrived at Dr. Milton’s office, Patrick knocked twice on the open door.

  “Come in, come in,” Milton said, when he saw who it was. He rose and came around his desk to shake hands with Patrick. “How was the flight in? Everything go smoothly?”

  “No complaints. I had a delightful conversation with a woman who sells real estate here in town.”

  “That’s great, and timely too. I can’t tell you how much more productive the project is going to be with you here full-time. As soon as Jove is powered up and has life support working, maybe I can talk you into taking a trip up to see what you and your team have created.”

  Patrick laughed. “At least it’s not being built by the lowest bidder. And thanks, but no thanks, I’m just fine down here.”

  “We’ll see. What I wanted to talk to you about was that I can have relocation services help you out finding a place. I’m sorry no one thought to put you in touch before now.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Milton. But I want to see how things work out with this woman I met on the plane.”

  “Cute, was she?”

  Patrick blushed, nodding in response.

  “Okay. We booked you into the same hotel where you usually stay. Keep me posted on this prospect, er, real estate agent. I’m going to grab something to eat, you want to join me?”

  “Can’t. Gotta get some things squared away before we meet with the rest of the team. I’ll catch you later.”

  They both left the office, going down the hall in the opposite directions.

  * * *

  “Melody! You’re back. How’s your friend?” asked Ginger, her cube mate at New Century Real Estate.

  “She’s much better,” answered Melody, hanging her sweater on a hanger dangling from a hook on the cubicle wall. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

  “No, but Brad gave me a stack of files for you to go through. Kind of helping you learn the ropes around here.”

  “It was very understanding of Brad to let me keep my job. I was here what, two days and I had to leave?” Melody said, shaking her head.

  “True, but I think he likes you,” Ginger said, smiling slyly.

  “Maybe so. Anyway, I think I may have struck gold on the flight back.”

  “Really?”

  “He was kind of cute in a shy sort of way. Anyway he’s looking for a house to move into. He’s from California. Can you help me find three or four properties?” Melody asked.

  “No problem. Any idea of his budget?”

  “No, but let’s start around $500,000 and maybe go up to a mil,” she suggested. “He’s some kind of engineer. He dressed nice and he was flying first class. Although I guess he could be using his miles.”

  “Hope for the best, Melody. Getting a sale right off the bat would be great; Brad would really love that!” Ginger gushed.

  “Fine. Give me a hand picking out some houses. I’ll bet this Mr. Jensen will be pretty impressed if I have something for him by tonight,” Melody said as she fished Patrick’s business card out of her purse.

  “No problem. Here, I’ll show you how to log onto the system and search for properties. Our system’s home grown, but it’s the best in Houston. It’s never more than a few hours behind the market. We have interns entering new properties and filtering out those that are sold every day.”

  Melody rolled her chair over next to Ginger’s and the two began the computerized search for a few likely homes on the market. After an hour’s worth of work, Melody grabbed a stack of printouts from the office printer and stuck them in a folder.

  Giving Ginger a quick hug, Melody said, “Thanks, hon, these are great. I owe you one!”

  “No big huhu. It was a pleasure. Besides, you picked up the system in no time. I’ve got a couple of things I want to catch up on, so I’m staying a little late. You go ahead. If you see your man tonight, I want details tomorrow. You hear?”

  “Deal. See you in the morning,” Melody said as she pulled on her sweater and bolted, the folder of pictures and printouts under her arm.

  * * *

  “Ms. Parker, I had no idea you’d be getting back to me so quickly,” Patrick said, fielding her call in his NASA office.

  “I wouldn’t be a very good agent if I just let things lay around instead of trying to meet the needs of my clientele as quickly as possible, now would I?”

  Patrick laughed despite himself. “Good point. I’m glad you called in any case. I’ve had wall-to-wall meetings until now. I’m ready for a bite to eat.”

  “Is that an invitation, Mr. Jensen?”

  “Patrick, please. I don’t want to sound forward or anything, but I imagine you eat, right?”

  “I could do with something myself. I barely had time for lunch getting back into the swing of things at the office. I did have time to pull five homes for you to take a look at. Could we make it a working dinner?” she asked.

  “That would be fine. Where do you suggest? I spend most of my time at the Center or eat in my hotel when I’m here. I still don’t know Houston well at all. I have access to a car and my phone can guide me anywhere.”

  “I could go for a steak. How’s that sound to you?” asked Melody.

  “That would be fine.”

  “Then can you find your way to Russell’s Steak House?”

  “No problem. How about 8 P.M.?” Patrick asked, checking the time.

  “Perfect, just enough time for me to get out of my traveling clothes and into something fresh. I’ll see you there.”

  Patrick logged off his workstation, stood up and stretched. He called down to reception and asked for the fleet automobile assigned to him be brought around front and that his bags be put into the trunk. Downstairs the security guard tossed Patrick the keys to the car parked out front and waved him off, letting him know that he’d already been checked out of the building.

  When Patrick finally exited the main gate, he checked to see if he had time to go to the hotel and change. Looking up the location of the restaurant on his phone, he saw there was just enough time.

  When he arrived at the hotel, letting the valet know that he would only be a few minutes, he realized that he wouldn’t miss staying there at all. As a matter of fact, he was quite looking forward to having his own place. Although a house was more than he had ever had to himself, it symbolized putting down roots and committing to not only the mission, but to the NASA community as well.

  Now, if I can only get someone to make up my bed every morning at the house, he thought. At least he was realistic enough not to go off on any flights of fancy about his new real estate agent.

  “Did you have any trouble finding this place?” Melody asked when Patrick arrived and found her already seated.

  “Not at all,” he replied, giving her the once-over.

  She had changed into jeans and a nice blouse, showing off a modest amount of cleavage. Patrick was quite smitten by her appearance, but his normal caution and shyness kept him from remarking on her looks.

  “Great, I’m starving. I also brought you a few selections to look at once I get some food in me. I
can be a real bear when my blood sugar gets low,” she warned, smiling.

  “Uh, sure. What do you recommend?” he said, picking up the menu, beginning to scan through the offerings.

  “I like their rib eye, with sauteed mushrooms and the garlic mashed.”

  “That sounds great. Maybe with a salad,” he said.

  “Get whatever you want, it’s on the company dime since you’re a hot prospect!”

  “I can’t accept that, I invited you,” said Patrick, holding up his hand and shaking his head.

  “Don’t be silly! It really is part of the job. And I did bring you some houses to look at. If it makes you feel any better, I won’t require you to sleep with me later in return,” she said, watching Patrick blush a deep red.

  Seeing that she may have pushed a little too hard, her face turned serious and she added, “I’m sorry. I hope I haven’t come off badly. It’s just playful banter. After all, we did have a great conversation on the plane, and I thought you had a good sense of humor. Maybe I went too far?”

  Patrick laughed nervously. “It’s not that. It’s more along the lines of not having someone who looks like you chasing after a guy like me. I know it’s all in good fun, I’m not a prude or a child. Please, continue. Honestly, it’s flattering.”

  “Well good! I am serious about finding you a home, though,” she said picking up the folder from the seat next to her and putting it on the table.

  Fortunately, the waiter arrived to take their orders, giving Patrick a moment to regain his composure. By the time the waiter collected the menus and left to get their drinks, Patrick was anxious to move the conversation into safer waters.

  “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, what kind of houses did you think I might like?” he asked.

  “You didn’t tell me your price range, so I have five prospects here in the city from about five hundred thousand up to a really tony house sitting on a three-acre lot for one point one mil.”

  Melody opened the folder, separated five pictures from their descriptions, and handed them across to Patrick.