by S V Hurn
CHAPTER 2
Dorathy stood in front of the full-length mirror, critical of her figure, turning to grimace at her backside. With an annoyed sigh, she muttered her dissatisfaction under her breath. Athena turned the corner of the hall coming from her bedroom in the home they shared. “God, Mom, why are you always putting yourself down? You look awesome for fifty-one.”
Dorathy snapped back, “I’m forty-nine I’m going backwards!”
Athena just rolled her eyes and said, “I love you, Mom, no matter how old you are today. Just make sure to be home from work early so we can celebrate with Kevin and his parents. I made reservations at your favorite Mexican restaurant.”
Dorathy raised her eyebrows and with a half-cocked smile said, “Oh, they have my favorite tequila.”
Athena added, “Okay, Mom, but do try and behave. You almost gave Kevin’s dad a coronary last time and his mom is really trying . . .”
Dorathy snapped back, “Trying what . . . to like me? That woman has a stick shoved up her ass and I’m just trying to remove it for her.”
“Jeez, Mom. Really?” Athena loved her mom, but she could be so overbearing at times. She shook her head and said, “I have to go now if I’m going to make my class on time. Just don’t have too many shots ̶ although I know Kevin would love another opportunity to drive your car home.”
Athena smiled while giving her a kiss on the cheek, “Happy Birthday, Mom.” With that she was out the door on her way to UCLA. With only one more year until graduation she would have her MBA and the plan was to get married and start her career running her grandfather’s foundation. It appeared to be a good enough plan and Kevin was a good guy. It was very apparent he loved and respected her, although Dorathy couldn’t help but think there should be more to life, something a bit more exciting.
With that thought, Dorathy stepped into her black stilettos, straightened her black pencil skirt and pink blouse, and was out the door. She loved driving the winding side roads to the Jet Propulsion Laboratory, where she had been working for the last few years.
Dorathy was not the type of woman who would be caught dead driving a slug of a car. No common automobile would suffice; for her it meant a finely tuned robust V-12 Aston Martin. Her black car matched the color of her long wavy hair and the curves of her figure, and the pure power of it was only matched by her spirit. Dorathy would turn the music up loud and place her sunglasses on her strikingly beautiful face, her tan complexion and sultry eyes inherited through her Mediterranean ancestry.
Slowly pulling out of the garage, she put the car in gear and raced down the street just to hear the roar of the engine. Speeding through the hills of Pasadena had become her daily adrenaline rush.
Today was to be no different from any other workday, but sometimes things don’t always go as expected. Parking the car in her usual space, she entered the main building. Although JPL was always on the cutting edge of design engineering and was respected around the world, her building lacked that certain futuristic look one might expect to see. Instead it was a throwback to the earlier years of space exploration—but to change its esthetics simply to impress would be as nonsensical as straightening the leaning tower of Pisa.
After swinging open the heavy glass door, Dorathy walked across the large brightly lit vaulted atrium. The sound of her stilettos clicked against the marble floors as she strode across to the massive reception desk. The receptionist, Lisa, heard Dorathy’s approach, peered over the top, and said in a whispered tone, “There’s a big surprise for you in your office.”
Lisa couldn’t keep a secret if she tried. She was grinning from ear to ear, as if it were her own birthday surprise. She spoke softly. She thought no one else must know her secret, as she told Dorathy that a huge bouquet of red roses had been delivered labeled only, ‘From a secret admirer.’
Dorathy curled the corner of her upper lip and furrowed her arched brows, whispering back, “How unimaginative.” She pushed open the door to the inner offices, leaving Lisa wearing a sad frown. Lisa could only wish someone would secretly admire her and shower her with roses.
Striding down the hall with her head held high, Dorathy walked with purpose towards her office, passing the opened doors of offices of upper management and design engineering staff, most of which were empty. Only then did she realize why most everyone was loitering around. A small group stood in her way gushing birthday greetings.
Dorathy was well-liked. A hard worker, she always took the time to help in any way she could. She donated her time and money to good causes, whether work related or personal. As she drew near, smiling and gracious, she was directed to the break room. A coworker was lighting a single huge candle in the center of a scrumptious looking chocolate cake, since no one would dare ask her age. In unison, the group started to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. As the song reached its end, one baritone chimed in with his Texas drawl. Today was her day and she enjoyed her coworkers and absolutely loved her job, especially since the commercialization of space and space travel had been so successful in the past few years.
She had previously worked during the past two decades both with The Elon Musk Trust’s Space Exploration Technologies Corp., or SpaceX, and before that with the immensely popular Virgin Galactic and Launcher One programs that had commenced fifty years earlier. Richard Branson’s concepts, partnered with the ingenuity of Burt Rutan, had fueled space travel for those mere mortals with the appropriate bank accounts. They believed that space travel should no longer only be aspired to by the chosen few, but that it should become a free enterprise allowing everyone with a sense of adventure to venture far enough to break the bonds of our earthy pull; to experience moments of weightlessness and to catch a glimpse of our small home from space.
After she had accomplished what she could with space commercialization, Dorathy went on to work on federally funded projects for NASA. She felt comfortable in her position there and worked on the Human Mars Landing until it failed in its goal to send ordinary humans into space. At that point the determination was made to do the next best thing—to send synthetically enhanced humans. That part of the mission was a bit of a secret to the common folk.
Since space travel involves a set of constants that cannot be changed, the method of how to journey through it needed to be changed. By introducing synthetic DNA to human biology, the body’s structure was altered, which would allow people to travel into deep space without suffering adverse effects. This new technology facilitated travel to the stars. However, the body of knowledge that would make it possible to construct a craft powerful enough to travel at the speeds required to complete a trip of the grandest of scale was lacking. This was yet another constant that could not be changed. Perhaps one day the knowledge to overcome that barrier would be acquired.
The Mars project, with many of the technologies her father had helped to develop, was a success and came at a time when Athena was young, and she needed to work on a project far less taxing. The day came though when NASA, hurting for federal funds, was forced to start the ‘Private Sector.’ It was only logical that she try her hand at private projects that worked hand in hand with NASA and JPL. New companies were being formed to address all aspects of space travel and the commercialization of space. JPL was hired to design whatever cargo was required, and the means to deliver it into orbit.
One of Dorathy’s first projects with JPL for this new frontier was to design a Space Hotel for the Bigelow Corporation. Bigelow designed it, JPL built it and then leased a ride into space inside the belly of the new, as she liked to call it, shuttle carrier service. The New Shuttle Program had literally turned into a makeshift FedEx truck, but equally reliable and with a sturdy design that made it as safe as a trip to the supermarket.
There was so much wealth to be made by companies offering space- related services that the industry was growing exponentially. Advances in space travel made it as common as booking a trip on any airline. It had grown in leaps and bounds since the old pioneering days at Virgin Gala
ctic and SpaceX. So many companies were commencing space flights that it became quite a competitive business, making the price affordable to just about anyone who wanted to go to the outer limits. Dorathy had always thought it was just a matter of time before we would leave our planet in search of answers to the questions that had always eluded mankind from the beginning of time.
After she enjoyed a piece of cake and thanked everyone for their kindness, the group disbanded and went off to their daily routine. After grabbing a drink out of the fridge to wash down her cake, Dorathy walked across the hall to her office. Prominently displayed on her desk was the biggest bouquet of roses she had ever seen. Tucked among the blossoms was a card that read “Happy Birthday from: your secret admirer.” She stood over them wondering who in God’s name did this and pondering what the hell she was going to do with them. They were lovely and very fragrant, but she couldn’t help that a part of her wanted to throw them in the trash. On the other hand, it wasn’t the roses’ fault that some poor misguided fool was trying to impress her or seduce her, or both. So, she simply ignored them for the time being and dove into her piles of work.
Just then Hugo the director of JPL stuck his head around the corner of her open door, knocked on the wall and said in his loud, good-natured voice, “Looks like your human popsicle project is a go!”
God, how she cringed when she heard her attempts at being funny coming back to haunt her. She had coined the phrase in the early stages of the project and it unfortunately stuck. Although impolitic, it was an essentially accurate description. She had remained confident that her pet project would pass approval for company funding, and now the only thing left for her to do was to meet with the owner of Lifecor out in Scottsdale, Arizona.
For years Lifecor had been in the forefront of Cryogenic Freezing. They called it long term Critical Care. Terminally ill patients, death imminent due to cancer or other types of disease or defect, as death approached, would pay up front, sign over life insurance policies, or pay over time through annual membership fees, in order to be cryogenically frozen just before the moment of legally being declared dead. The expectation was that they would be revived when technology had produced a cure for their condition and had the answers to obtaining everlasting life.
Since this had become a popular way to handle the end of one’s life, Lifecor had developed a plan to offer clients the option of a space send-off. Clients choosing this option did not necessarily expect to be revived, but to be preserved for a journey into the vastness of space. Most clients wanted to purchase, in a sense, immortality, to be revived no matter how long it would take, while others simply wanted the ultimate final farewell into the great unknown. Sending specially designed capsules into space seem to be a great solution for those who wanted a sense of one last adventure. Since the bodies frozen inside were kept at negative three-hundred and twenty degrees Fahrenheit and most of space was colder yet, it seemed like an easy transition to design a cryotube capsule to keep the bodies inside preserved for all eternity.
In the past, cryogenics had been used to transport harvested organs from the newly deceased, then brought back to life when defrosted for surgery. Logic dictated that if the procedures were to be performed on a newly clinically dead person, it would work the same, if what had killed the person in the first place was to be reversed. Therein lay the problem. Given the popularity of cryogenics and the dearth of the medical advancements to successfully bring back the individual and repair the fatal event, the cryogenically frozen patients were starting to stack up. Offering a new concept for cryogenic space flights seemed to be the next best step in offering clients a choice.
Dorathy contemplated the future of this technology and could foresee the popularity of space funerals. If there was a buck to be made, someone would think of it, label it, and sell it.
However, as medical technology caught up, only a handful of patients would ever be revived. And there were side effects . . .
Having put in a full day at her desk, Dorathy was ready to call it quits. She had a nice evening planned, dinner with her daughter and her soon-to-be in-laws, and then a weekend free to do a little relaxing by the pool with a good book. She glanced at her watch, finished up a few loose ends, grabbed her bag, and was walking down the hall when she remembered her leftover cake in the fridge. She would want to enjoy that later with some good red wine. Dorathy turned back to the break room. She opened the fridge door and, given her statuesque figure and the heels of her stilettos, found that she needed to bend way down to reach the lower shelf where her cake had been placed. Just then, she sensed someone coming in behind her. She straightened up quickly, cake in one hand while closing the fridge door with the other.
It was the engineer they had hired from Italy. He approached and gently pried the cake from her, sliding it on the top of the fridge. In doing so, he pressed himself very close to her and put his left hand around her hips, pulling her to him. Dorathy remained calm, as he whispered in her ear something seductive, using his smooth native Italian.
Shaking her head, Dorathy rolled her eyes and gently took his hand while she spoke calmly “Look . . . Guido?”
He softly spoke. “Carlo, my name is Carlo.”
“Okay, Carlo.” Fuming at this point, she almost spat his name. She suddenly twisted his wrist with precision and force, contorting it in such a way that it brought him to his knees. She could have easily broken it, but she just wanted to put a shot across his bow. She now spoke slowly and clearly, for him to understand. “Listen up, my young Italian friend. You might be able to get away with that with other women but NOT with me! Capisce?”
Carlo was stuttering something in Italian that may have resembled, “Uncle.” Dorathy released him, looked down at him and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Subject closed.” She turned slightly, pulled the cake box from the top of the fridge and, as she walked out the door without turning, she tossed over her shoulder, “Thanks for the roses.”
Carlo remained on his knees and rubbed his wrist. “Ciao Bella.” Now he thought he was officially in love with Dorathy. He stood up to his height of nearly two meters and thought to himself how badly he felt for what he had done under duress. Even though he felt a piercing sense of guilt, he knew that his mission was of great importance.
Dorathy pulled into the driveway of her modest home, not the custom-built mansion one might assume. She was quite content with her older, remodeled home with its small yard and pool, tucked away in a quiet neighborhood in the Pasadena hills. For her, home was a comfortable space in which she stored her things and cooked amazing meals for friends, a place where she felt loved and safe.
Dorathy removed her shoes and stepped into the large kitchen, redolent with the scent of herbs and spices. Her special place, this is where she had spared no expense. After opening the massive door of her refrigerator, she grabbed a wedge of cheddar from the drawer and pushed the cake box onto one of the shelves. She looked at the clock and thought that Athena would be home shortly. There was just enough time for a quick dip in the pool and a drink before getting ready for dinner. She needed a cocktail if she were going to have to endure an evening with Kevin’s parents. They were nice enough people, but a bit too uptight for her laid back, live and let live attitude.
After enjoying a couple hours of down time, she pulled her hair up into a messy, knotted bun and dressed for comfort in a pair of cropped dress pants and a blouse tied at the waist. The restaurant was, after all, a family-owned little hole in the wall, just a quiet little place. While she was putting on a dab of make-up Athena breezed in, calling towards her mother’s bedroom, “I’m home. Going to freshen up, then we can go. Okay, Mom?”
Dorathy answered back, “Yup, almost ready.”
A few moments later, they were seated in the Aston and off they went. Athena asked how her mom’s day had gone, and Dorathy suddenly began to laugh so hard she snorted. She proceeded to tell Athena how everyone gathered for a little party and about the roses; that’s when Dorathy w
as laughing so hard she could barely catch enough breath to tell her the story about Carlo.
“Oh God, Mom, you didn’t.” Athena was now laughing as Dorathy described Carlo’s face when she brought him to his knees while almost breaking his wrist in the process.
Athena, half laughing and part serious, started in by saying, “Why the aggression, Mom?”
Dorathy shrugged her shoulders. “He’s about your age and needed a little disciplining. Hopefully, he has learned his lesson with those Rico Suave moves. God, you know how I hate that. Men like that have no clue about women, so I took it upon myself to give him his first lesson on how NOT to approach a woman.”
Athena giggled and said, “Mom, you’re such a cougar.” With that they were pulling into the parking lot and saw Kevin, Betty, and Ron getting out of Kevin’s car.
The only obvious resemblance between Kevin and his mother, Betty, was the shape of their eyes. She didn’t color her hair that was heavily streaked with grey and was wearing a flowery skirted dress that did nothing to flatter her figure. Kevin’s father looked as if he had been attractive in his younger years, but lack of exercise and bad diet had taken their toll. He was happy to be in comfortable pants with his shirt all tucked in, making his belly more pronounced. Both were in their mid-fifties but acted and looked much older.
Kevin was a good-looking guy, tall, with a great tan and toned from years of beach volleyball. His brown hair was streaked from the sun, and he had piercing blue eyes. He and Athena made a great looking couple, as Athena had inherited her mother’s Mediterranean exotic good looks paired with her grandfather’s big green eyes.
Dorathy got out of the car and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Hearing her, Athena turned to her mom with a warning look that conveyed, Be Good. Dorathy muttered under her breath, “Yeah, yeah.” They both waved and strode across the parking lot all smiles. There were hugs and kisses and Happy Birthday pleasantries as they entered the restaurant.
