A Moment in Time
Sometimes
things seem to flow with definite direction and purpose, as if orchestrated or
arranged, each detail coinciding almost effortlessly like fallen leaves making their
way easily down a stream and coming together in an eddy, spinning and dancing in a circle and
then moving along, each particle with almost a will.
So
it was on this brisk spring day. Mark was up on the roof of the observation
building taking in the view, studying the weather and, as usual, wondering
where everyone was going and why. A few years managing a complex like Exit 51
and you developed a sense of what Mark called "road consciousness".
Mark's
hands rested on the concrete parapet. He looked out toward where the red clay of Mt. Scott met the blue
of the April sky and noticed a few low clouds whisk along in the cool breeze.
He watched the exit ramps and the grey and black and colored cars and trucks
flash their signals and put on their brakes as they circled down and around and
taxied off the high-speed thruway. "Good visibility today. Mondays are
lucky" he thought as Lauren came up
behind him, two cups of hot coffee, one in each hand. "Monday luck"
she announced. He turned and smiled, smelled the coffee and returned her smile.
"You're reading my mind. I was thinking just that". He looked at
Lauren, her smile and laughing eyes, her soft brown hair blowing across her
cheek. The air was cool and the sky was blue. She had turned to survey the
traffic. The early morning light had somehow matched the turn of her pretty
face. The air was sweet. He had never seen anything so fine. He reached out and
touched her cheek with the back of his hand. She was so pretty. .
He drank the morning in with the coffee. Lauren jumped back and looked up.
"What's going on?" she wanted to know. "I don't know" Mark said, almost
apologetically. "You just looked so pretty".
What
he didn't tell her was the news about a possible strategic by-pass of the exit.
Mohammad and Amir, the Saudis, had been quietly planning to siphon off a major
flow of traffic directly south of the main interchange and through Exit 50. It
wasn't yet clear why they had bought up so much land a few miles north of their
inflows. It could have been a major tourist attraction or a shopping area. Who
knows? It was a serious threat. Mark would have to counter attack to protect
their position.
The
moment passed. It was special. In a way, a few seconds seemed to answer
hundreds of years of unstated affection. It was new, as new as Exit 51.
Schechter's Study
Back in Schechter's study the three astronomers stood staring at the last
run of photographs arranged upright against
translucent white glass panes. Michael
strained to regain his professional
equilibrium, but the previous two nights had disoriented him. "Here
we are Michael", Schechter pointed out a star cluster. "Here's where
we measured the expected gradient in frequency. This confirmed a null result.
Sorry about that." Schechter sounded disappointed but objective. "I'm
sorry too Sol. I can't get my head clear this morning." Michael and Laura had been in Santiago for
three days now and each night they both had experienced similar dreams of
increasing intensity. Laura had told Michael, "I know these people like I
know you. I understand my job there. I can smell the room. I know my way around
the countryside. It's unreal the detail." Michael had listened and
compared what she said to what he remembered. The same thing had been happening
to him. It was more than uncomfortable or puzzling. It threatened his
rationality. "What had they bumped into? Was it some sort of hypnotic
suggestion brought on by the fatigue of travel and the stress of the research?
This was his original hypothesis, but it fell short in too many areas. It felt
as though they were being purposely directed toward a future point in time, not
only the two of them, but most of who they knew as well as a large number of
the new people they'd met here in Chile. It was if his entire world were being
repositioned into the future somehow." Michael was thinking how strange
this all was as Laura came in with a pot of coffee. "Perfect", he
said, "exactly what we all need."
It was over this pot of
coffee that Michael just laid the whole thing right out on the table.
Schechter would have none of
it. "You're totally out of your mind Michael. Excuse me but the whole idea
is ridiculous. Even if it were true it would be ridiculous." This made
them smile. Laura laughed. "Do yourself a favor and take a day off. Rest
here in the courtyard, on the chaise over there in the shade. Sleep out here
for a while. You'll get over it. Try it!" He insisted.
He was right. Two hours
later, Michael woke refreshed. His head was clear. Not only that, he knew
exactly what was going on.
Clean Up
Some things never change. There
might be a very good reason that the ritual of clean up has been immortalized
as it's been and carried on almost intact in its rhythms and style for so many
thousands of years. Some men specialize in discovering hidden meanings in
relics and theorizing about such things. In fact, the "checker board"
that Manuel and Juan were studying, as they readied themselves waiting for the
start of evening maintenance, did not
seem so different from those used by the ancient Romans for much the same
purpose. Brooms and mops resting on one shoulder, They planned out their
evening program of setting the stage for the next shift while they idled and
gossiped away their free time. "How's your brother in law doing over at the
power station?" Juan asked. Manuel
was a part time employee at maintenance. During the day he ran the "Red
Hill Cafe", home of the best fried fish this side of south Texas. "It's
a good job - no problems" , Manuel
replied. Charles, his brother in law had moved down from St, Louis to Oklahoma
in order to work at the Exit. He met Manuel's sister at a party in Oklahoma
City. He was a civil engineer with a master's degree in traffic line power
requirements. His whole family were
engineers and technicians. Manuel and most of his relatives were local,
descended from the Apache as the story went. "Charles has the comfort of
his office and the hum of the generators. I have my cold beer and fried fish
and my music", Manuel smiled at the thought.
They heard approaching footsteps
and jumped up. "It's got to be the chief. He's early tonight", Manuel
muttered. They both started moving their mops like they'd been at it for hours.
"Evening gentlemen. How's it going?" Mark asked. "Nearly done,
it was clean this morning!" Manuel answered. It was true. Static
electrically charge brooms pulled anything not nailed down out by the roots and
left very clean surfaces. They could be employed automatically, of course, and
often were. Even though, Mark preferred
on-site monitoring. Mark did a walk through at the beginning of each shift. The
weather looked clear for tonight, but it was too close to budget-time to take
any chances.
