'Get your country ass off that couch!"
Madam rolled over on her back, showing me a pink yawn and little regard for anything else. I had named her 'Madam' because she never acted like she'd stand for less.
"Bad cat!"
I was juggling an arm full of packages and trying to close the door with my foot. As it shut I realized the keys were still in the lock so I let everything fall in the entryway.
I had packing to do and I didn't need this extra aggravation right now.
I went to the couch and scooped 'Her Pussiance' up, held her green eyes level with mine and kissed her cold nose.
"You don't sleep here! This is leather!"
"Neeeoow?" It was a question.
"That's right. And someday I'll make a pair of slippers out of you."
I let her down and she headed for the food dish, unconcerned.
She'd heard it all before.
I pulled my old back pack out of the bedroom closet and began to dig through the department store bags of new T shirts and travel size toiletries.
There would be no place to shop where we were going and little space for luggage so I confined everything to my old school bag.
Packing for me is a real simple thing.
Im a 'jeans and t-shirt' kind of girl and picking out clothes closely resembles how 'Bullet ' shopped for grocerys. Just pick up the first few garments on top of the drawer and throw them in the suitcase.
Too arcane a reference for you? Rent the movie. Among other great things it was the granddaddy of all 'car chases'.
Worth the money. And Steve McQueen , after all.
Me?
My name is Tess Navarro. Im twenty-two years old and up until a few weeks ago nothing had ever happened to me.
See, I'm one of those people you never notice.
You know the ones.
The kids in the 'geek' crowd at school.
The skinny little mousy girls with the' too plain' face and the inability to talk without stuttering.
The ones who are smart in a world where 'pretty' is the gold standard.
Yeah , that's me.
If being socially inept isn't enough, I was advanced several grades in school.
They do this, the parents and school officials because its their idea of a reward.
It's the kiss of death.
I spent my childhood in a world where everyone else was older, more developed and far more sophisticated than me.
People called me things like 'baby' and 'little-bit' and most annoying of all. . . 'kid'.
Why , you say? When most women would be happy to reach twenty three and still be able to 'pass' ?
And I reply; It wasn't what they said, it was how they said it.
'Get that kid out of here!' or 'what's that kid doing here'?
There is a difference.
All this crap afflicted me with a shy disposition and the only place I was really comfortable was with my books, cloistered away , watching the world go by and living my dreams through other peoples lives.
College was like coming home.
It was all research and long study hours. An easy place to get lost and stay beneath the radar. Many people think of college as social conquests and 'keggers'. I found it to be a sanctuary, with the library as my shrine.
Don't get me wrong. I've got a great, wry sense of humor and a few good friends of like-mindedness.
I just have a few. . . issues.
But I digress.
There are a lot of we strangelings out there.
Case in point: J. Robert Stone.
Now Stoney is hard to miss . And his geek factor? Check this out.
He's 6'3" with long, unkempt black hair and pop bottle lens glasses. He looks like Tommy Chong. I know about Cheech and Chong because my brother, Sonny, is a big fan. Stoney even sounds like Tommy Chong. Lots of 'mans' and pregnant pauses in his speech. Disjointed thought processes that would persuade the casual observer to believe he was either stoned or simple-minded.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
He is single-minded and takes a long time between decisions. But once made they are almost always the right ones. And he has made enough uncannily right decisions over the years to have garnered the respect of all the right people at ASL. So much so he's sometimes called Dr Evil. (Put your little finger in the side of your mouth when you say this) Lovingly of course because there is no evil there at all.
He loves sports, especially OU college football (Oklahoma University was his alma-mater) and he sucks down diet Coke by the quart. He's totally opposed to war and all things military. He doesn't drink , doesn't date as far as anyone can tell and he never leaves his work station without locking everything down with a gigantic Schlage padlock.
Did I mention he's slightly paranoid?
He has the ceramic 'gremlin' hanging over the edge of his main CRT, a malignant little gargoyle that ostensibly wards off evil spirits, and the little sign that reads 'Cecilia'.
That's the name of the vast community of mainframes and computer-related paraphernalia that make up his work-space. A tangle of wires and gadgets and boot-leg parts. A maze only he knows how to navigate .
It's a fire-hazard, possibly a bio-hazard and the love of Stonys' life.
And my favorite place to be.
ASL is where we work. Sometimes better known as Amer-Tech, it's a scientific facility concerned with research and developement of the lastest technology, industrial and civilian.
It's main offices are in Washington D.C. and Nasa is it's second cousin.
All manner of strange requests come through ASL and some of the best goodies get sent
down to J. R. (Stoney to his friends) Stone and consequently to me. I'm his research assistant.
As you have probably guessed , J. Robert is too far off the scale for the front office so ASL keeps him way out of site like the box of Arm and Hammer in the back of the refrigerator. His work space is in the sub-basement of ASL , a gesture anyone else would have seen as an insult , but Stoney is more than happy in his mushroom hole.
No one comes down there but me and his second in command, a character I like to call 'the Mole'.
There are no words to describe the Mole. But he makes Stoney look like Brad Pitt.
Stoney has two outfits and one is never sure how long they've gone between washes. Not that he is unwashed, but he's always rumpled and unencumbered by the dictates of fashion. He is partial to the survival gear look with the camouflage pants and the black T shirts.
He's twenty-nine years old and looks forty .
He does wonderful things with a computer.
And he is my best friend.
Which is why when he came thump-slapping down the halls of ASL in his broken-down huaraches with this beatific grin on his face, I had to ask,
"What?"
"Man, (he calls everybody 'Man') I've got the deal of the century."
And he pulls me aside , hissing in his best 'CIA is listening' voice,
"Ya wanna go to Isla Thomasina?"
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Because I've got two tickets to paradise, and this one..." he pulled a wrinkled (already) airline folder out of his pocket, "belongs to you."
"On whose nickle?"
"ASL , babe. They want me down there complete with assistant and all the amenities."
"Why?"
"Because they think they've perfected the formula for time-travel."
I sniffed his breath.
"J.R. ! Are you high?"
High or not you don't turn Stoney down when he throws an offer like that at you.
Stoney always has the best projects and the most fun with them of anyone in the business.
And if someone had cooked up a program for time-travel in his garage , well I wanted to see it as much as the next person.
So thats how that afternoon found me packing in haste and cussing my cat, who would need a baby-sitter while I was gone.
I tossed in a pair of Reeboks. I'd wear my desert boots on board. I placed my portable CD player in one of the side zipper pockets and a couple of Jimmy Buffets and one good ole Brother Zevon, whose music will get you through anything.
At the last minute I threw in a mini-recorder in case there was a call for notes.
I put my cell phone in the other zip pocket along with two packs of batteries.
I had sprung for a leg waxing and a manicure at my mothers' spa that afternoon.
Mother is fast losing hope that I'll turn into a 'glamour girl'(her words, not mine) but she never completely stops trying.
"Honey, not for nothing, but if you'd just pull your hair out of your eyes and stand up straight and buy some 'girl' clothes. . . "
So this time, in the interest of peace, I went the distance and got a 'grown-up' hair style and a few high-lites in the mousey brown, which thrilled my stylist, Rico, into a minor death-spiral.
He had been beging me for two years to let him do a make-over.
"Nothing too fancy-schmancy" I told him, "just blow and go....and don't cut it all off!"
Having my hair down in my eyes is , of course , one way I hide from the world.
He went to work with enthusiasm while dispensing the latest gossip about his many friends and associates, none of whom I knew. But far be it from me to complain. I loved hearing all the dirt and no one dishes it better than Rico. The bleach and the scissors and the naughty little tales flew and two hours later, viola, he spun my chair around and said dramatically,
"My Gawd, it's a girl!"
Looking in the mirror I had to agree, it did look a lot like a girl.
I don't know why I let Rico work his magic that day.
Maybe somewhere out there in the ether-world there are wishes being granted, lives being plotted and guided by unseen hands, intersecting macrocosms crashing together and destinies being decided by the gods.
Or maybe the whole thing turns on one little girl having a last minute change of heart (and hair-style).
A decision that puts peculiar forces into motion , causes fundamental tumblers to fall into place and throws the cosmic dice with just six little words;
What the hell? We live once.
In the elevator on our way to the top of the Pan-Global building, which sits squarely in the middle of downtown Houston, J.R. and I did a last minute check. I was happy to see he'd put on a regular mans' shirt over his customary black Metallica T shirt and had the forethought to stuff a tie in the pocket.
Of course the shirt wasn't tucked in and had never seen an iron but for Stoney , that was dressed up.
He spent a frantic minute looking for the sun-glasses that were on the top of his head and pulled various and sundry items out of his American Tourister, explaining each one as he presented it.
"This is a first-aid kit," he said as he thrust the 7" by 12" vinyl zipper bag into my hand, "You carry it, I'm out of room."
It weighed about two pounds. It was well-stocked with all the usual things plus snap-pak needles and syringes.
"What do we need with a first-aid kit J.R.?"
"We don't , but I've got some dynamite stuff in there I want Dr, Wentworth to see. I made a few modifications to this", he said as he unzipped the bag and held up two vials of green liquid for me to see, "and I think a jungle setting would be the ideal place to test it."
"What is that?"
"It's a hybrid cousin to cardio-toxin" he replied, "It'll cure what ails you in case of envenomation by anything with a stinger. All you have to do is snap the end off and screw on a needle and 'bingo', instant relief !"
"And we need this , why?"
"Oh, we don't. But people like these guys on Thomasina have to live in that jungle environment day in and day out. It'll come in handy. The ratio of scorpion stings and snake bite on these little tropical installations is very high."
"And... " he added , "there could be a paper in it."
Ah, the Paper!!
Every scientists' and every doctors' holy grail.
Even J.R. wasn't immune to the lure of the fame and validation that came with the publishing of a Paper. I understood his desire to be published at this early juncture of his career. It would keep him in the fore-front of development, in the loop and on the fast track.
"Okay. Gimme." and I stuffed it into my pack.
The door to the elevator opened and we stepped out onto the top of the world.
I guess now would be a good time to mention I'm a little phobic.
Eh. I'm a lot phobic.
I hate heights and I hate public tranportation. . . well the list goes on and on. It's not quite crippling in scope but unreasonable fear happens to be a big factor in my life.
Stoney knows and he watches me closely at times like this. He doesn't judge and he doesn't push. He keeps it light and he has just the right touch and timing to know when to rag me about it, and when to lay off and let me do things in my own time.
He's a good friend.
Part Two
"Beef or Chicken?"
Our pilot was a characture.
He had the loud Hawaiian shirt, the Ray-bans and the twenty-four carat smile that said all things were the same to him. He wore khaki shorts, sandals and a Parrot-head ball cap. If he liked Jimmy Buffett, I reasoned, he couldn't be all that bad
His only job, since seeing service in Desert Storm was transporting the likes of Stoney and me to various undisclosed spots in the Carribean and you'd have to say it agreed with him.
He didn't look too professional, but he knew who we were, he knew where we were going and he didn't ask any questions, save one.
"Beef or Chicken?" he repeated as we belted ourselves in to the tiny helicopter.
I looked at Stoney for confirmation and he looked back at me, puzzled.
"What's beef or chicken?" I asked, as he fired up the engine and the rotors began to whirl.
I didn't think there was a food service on this flight.
"Ah", he said over the roar,"newbies!"
I gave him the universal shoulder-shrug of 'you got me' and he went on,
" 'Chicken' is an easy take-off, straight up and out , no frills no thrills, the blue-hair special.
'Beef' is a full-tilt, hold-onto-your-ass power take-off, not for the weak of heart!"
Interesting choices.
Just this once. I thought , Just this once lets have the whole experience and not be paralyzed by fear'.
Maybe it was the haircut. No? Maybe it was the new surroundings and the possibilty of adventure. Yes . I think that was it.
"Beef !" I answered for the both of us .
As soon as I said it our pilot let out an ear-splitting 'Yeeeehaww'! The 'copter shuddered and roared and we were off at a mind-numbing forty-five degree angle, nose down, the earth hanging all atilt before us, our hearts in our throats and our stomachs still on the ground.
As we righted I looked over at Stoney.
Both his hands were over his head and his shirt was flapping in the breeze.
I patted him on the leg and yelled over the clamor,
"Be all that you can be Stoney!" It was the first time in memory I'd ever heard him use the 'f' word.
When my stomach came back to me I pounded the pilot on the back and he turned to me with an 'aint this great' grin on his face , pumping his arm up and down yelling ,
"Beef!"
I gave him a green-faced smile and a weak wave , pointing at Stoney who seemed to be looking for an exit. The pilot nodded and gave me a circle-fingered acknowledgement.
I would have been happier and prouder of my daring had not Stoney been so obviously terrified.
Music soothes so I put on my earphones and sat back to enjoy the ride.
Stoney stared out the window, white-knuckled and silent. I kept one eye on him.
I was a little shook-up but jazzed. I thought the trip had been just grand so far, but you can't thrust hobbits like Stoney into the real world like that without making a few adjustments.
After an hour in the air our pilot turned to tell us we would be stopping in Key West to re-fuel, and that we could get out and stretch our legs if we'd like. I think Stoney found this to be the high-light of the trip . I got the feeling he couldn't wait to get back on the ground.
When we landed I went inside the terminal for snacks and cokes. Stoney gingerly stepped out, leaned against an abutment and slid to the ground. When I came back he was still sitting there. I leaned down to his eye level and asked,
"Stone! Are you still with me? You look like you just swallowed a bug!"
"I think I did" he said miserably.
"Can you hang for the rest of the trip?"
He nodded in the affirmative and I helped him off the ground and back into the 'copter'. Our pilot gave him a cursory glance and remarked,
"Air-sick, huh?"
"Maybe just a little ." I said.
"No prob. Here, take this." He produced a package of dramamine from his pocket.
"Keep it." he said . "Everybody gets sick the first time."
I gave Stoney two tabs to swallow with a coke and he settled back into his seat, a look of relief on his face.
"I'm sorry about that Stone. . .forgive?"
"No man, it was great right up to the end there, where are my sunglasses , man?"
I pulled them off the top of his head again and handed them to him.
The pilot was smiling at us , nodding his head.
"Ya'll done good for first-timers. Be cool, Ill take it easy from here on in. Here kid , I'll give you a hand." and he held his paw out to me for an assist.
I didn't even bother to protest. I adjusted my sunglasses and accepted his help. I guess with my hair pulled back under my turned-backwards cap , earphones around my neck, I must have looked like a kid, so I let it slide.
After twenty minutes in Key West we took to the air once more and sailed without incident along the chain that ran up the Florida straights , over the multi-colored flats , keeping the islands on our left. Just before the mainland of Florida we banked hard-right into blue water.
The scopoline had kicked in. Stoney was asleep beside me and Jimmy Buffett was extolling the vritues of a cheese burger in paradise in my ears.
An hour later our pilot turned to get my attention, pointing ahead of us, shouting over the engines,
" Thomasina!! "
'We're gypsies in the palace
They've left us here alone
The order of the sleepless knights
Will now assume the throne.
We ain't got no money
We ain't got no rights
But we're gypsies in the palace
And a'runnin' wild tonight.'
Jimmy Buffett
Part Three
Thomasina.
It was a small dot. A speck surrounded by deep blue water in the middle of the ocean. The landscape below gave up nothing in the way of identifiable landmarks.
It was all-over dark green with tropical vegetation. No sign of habitation save a tiny mote that turned out to be a landing pad with a red bulls-eye in the middle of it.
We circled once and came down dead-center on the pad.
A nice gentle touch-down that Stoney would have appreciated had he not been asleep.
I shook him and peered into his face. He would be my barometer here and I wanted his reaction. He was a little green around the gills but he was grinning from ear to ear through sleepy eyes.
Our pilot handed down our bags. And with a smile and a wave , threw us a peace sign (good Lord) and once again went air-bourne. The wind from the blades blew dirt and foliage and us every which way.
I glanced up to watch. When I looked back down again , a door to our right had slid open silently and two people were coming our way.
Soldiers.
On the right was a man. He was over six feet tall. He had brush-cut blond hair, cold blue eyes and the camouflage uniform complete with shiny black combat boots. He was Corp head to toe, all spit and polish.
As striking as he was , he had nothing on his counterpart.
She was an African-American woman with café-au-lait skin, short-cropped black hair and cat-like green eyes .She had the appearance and attitude of a woman who knows where she's going. And she towered over her partner.
They both had side-arms. That gave me an uneasy feeling.
As they approached I turned to Stoney,
"Jesus, J.R, are we under arrest?"
"Wow, a lady Marine."
I had to look up at both of them but the lady and J.R. were eye-to eye.
Ms.Navarro, Doctor Stone? This way please"
-2-
The place was huge.
The whole set-up was above ground, and that was fine with me. I guess it goes without saying I was also afraid of closed in places.
I'd had visions of miles of stainless steel walkways and elevators going down into the bowels of the earth.
the coral bed-rock, we were told, was impossible to dig intoso everything was on the surface. It did have miles of walkways but it was bright and welcoming .
We turned left past the cafeteria which seated maybe sixty people. The tables were covered with red table-cloths. Very homey.
The tall lady soldier asked us if we had eaten.
I suppressed the urge to tell her we'd had 'beef' on the flight over.
We saw no one as we were shown to our rooms which were spartan but comfortable.
"Some one will be with you in a moment" the amazon said, looking Stoney straight in the eye. And then they took their leave.
I turned to see Stoney watching the woman walk away.
She didn't look back as she disappeared down the long corridor, finally making a hard right at the end.
It made me smile to see him watching her all the way to the last minute. I'd never seen him undone before. But Miz. Marine had his full attention.
They both had mine.
"Thats it? What's with the artillery?" I snapped my fingers in front of Stoneys' eyes. "I thought this was a privately funded facility."
"She's something , huh?"
"Robert, she'd eat you up and spit out the bones"
"That'd be fine" he said absently, still focused on where she had disappeared.
"The guns, Stoney, what about the guns?"
"Uh. . . I dunno." And bringing his attention back to me , he added, "These places are usually heavily guarded. Lots of people want to know whats going on here.
"Clearly," I said , " but it still makes me a little nervous."
"Yeah , me too. Lets just keep low and see whats going on. No questions , 'kay? Oh, by the way ,you still got that thing I gave you?"
I pulled the first aid kit out of my pack, showing him it was still intact.
"Good. Hang onto it, alright?"
It seemed as if Stoney's customary paranoia was on hold and mine was on red alert.
Stoney and I have a long-standing argument we launch into from time to time.
His argument is that we , all of us , are being watched on a day to day basis, via telephone conversations, possible wire-taps and of course the dreaded 'cookies ' on our computers.
He is especially cautious about computer security.
He has downloaded so many firewalls and spyware applications on my system I can barely navigate it.
So as soon as I'm alone I go in and delete the stuff as fast as he puts it up. And the next thing I know its all back up there and I have the whole thing to do over again.
It's a game we play.
My position , on the other hand, posits that given the state of the world and the daily screw-ups I see all around me , it's more plausible that absolutely nobody is watching.
Nobody is paying attention to anything and security is in so dismal a state that anybody can get away with anything, completely undetected. I've hacked into too many 'secure systems' to think otherwise.
It's a never-ending argument and neither of us will give an inch one way or the other. We've never come to blows over it but we've certainly gotten to the shouting stage.
It passes the time.
Stoney is one of those friends you can yell at and not have to apologize to later.
In fact we spend a lot of time after one of these blow-ups laughing at each others inability to keep their individual cool. 'Losing it' calls down all manner of derisive snickering and 'friendly fire' name calling.
Like I said , he's my best friend.
"I need a nap." he said abruptly , coming back to the here and now.
"That's the 'scope'. "
"Oh yeah." he said, absently looking around.
"Go lay down, Stoner . . no that way . . .atta boy." I pushed him gently toward his doorway.
Then I shut the door to my own cubicle , flopped down on my tiny single bed and before I knew it, I was the one who was asleep.