“Oh, sure,” David said with sarcasm. “What are you going to do with this information?”
“I’m waiting for confirmation from fellow colleagues, and then I’ll present it to the proper institutes and authorities. Maybe...” He shrugged.
“Maybe? Just Maybe?” David asked.
“Maybe,” Martin stated. “There are several factors involved in my decision to keep it secret or not. Mainly, nothing can be done. If the knowledge becomes public it would create chaos. If I present the information and am wrong, then I could also be viewed as a loon, and lose my reputation.”
“You’re worried about your reputation?”
“Yes, I am. Like many. And if it does happen, I have my plan.”
Another exhale and David stood, folder in hand. “I’m going to tear into this tonight.”
“Will you share it with NASA?”
David shook his head. “It’s yours. I can’t make that call. And besides, it’s not my specialty. I can theorize, but it’s your call.”
“Let me know your thoughts.”
“You know I will.” David shook hands with Martin and walked to the office door.
“David, congrats on the success of your lottery idea.”
“Was a good one, wasn’t it?” He smiled. “Tomorrow’s the day. They estimated over six hundred million people around the world played this lottery and four lucky people will be chosen.”
Martin chuckled. “Well, if the timing plays out, they just might be luckier than they originally thought.”
With a shake of his head and another smile to his friend, David left.
CHAPTER TWO
June 1st
Lottery Day had finally arrived. Across the world, the word ‘please’ was probably being uttered by more people than any other word.
In the living room of his home, Ken Kelly carried two beers, presenting one to Reese Gray who sat on the couch.
“Thanks.” Reese took it. “This isn’t a party, you know.”
“Many people around the world are treating it as such. How long do you think before we’ll hear who the winners are?”
Reese shrugged and took a drink of his beer. “Haven’t a clue.”
“Hon, come on!” Ken called out. “It’ll be starting soon.”
“I’m hurrying,” Her higher pitched voice carried into the living room, followed by the sound of her shuffling feet.
Mindy Kelly, wearing giant fluffy slippers, rushed in and sat down next to her husband, balancing herself on the arm of his chair. “I had to get my tickets,” she said as she put her stack on the table.
“Oh my God,” Reese nearly choked. “How many do you have?”
“Five hundred.” Mindy shrugged. “It’s really nothing compared to what some people have bought. Mr. Adams down the street has ten thousand tickets.”
“What!” Reese laughed. “Does he have them logged?”
“Probably not. There was a special news show on how to organize your tickets. Keep them in numerical order and tab them.” She showed the stack to Reese. “See. I did what they said. When they call the numbers, I just have to look between the tabs. Reese, Mr. Adams is like eighty. What if he wins?”
“Then he goes,” Reese said. “We discussed that at one of our meetings. They all have to sign some sort of disclaimer that NASA is not responsible for anything that may or may not happen to them. I think that’s the way they are covering themselves.”
Mindy shook her head. “It’s such a gamble. Anyhow, how long will they have to train before they do this?”
“Check this out,” Ken interjected. “They go to a special training facility at Kennedy Space Center for like ten days of training. That’s it.”
Reese fluttered his lips. “Pretty much they learn weightlessness and to just hang tight. We’re going to be like tour guides for them on this trip.”
“Not looking forward to it?” Mindy asked.
“Are you kidding me?” Reese said. “Any time, for any reason, I get to go to space, I am there! I love it. I’ll even be a tour guide.”
“And they’ll be in space how long?”
Ken held up fingers. “Four days in space.”
“Like the song,” Mindy said in a peppy voice and when they both looked at her, she giggled and said, “Eve of Destruction.” Then she sang, “Four days in space when you return . . .”
Reese finished it for her. “It’s the same old place.” They all laughed. “Yep, for these people, life as they know it will change when their names get announced. And check this out,” he nodded to the TV. “It’s about to happen.”
<><><><>
Jon Grant had the honor of announcing the numbers. That was all he got to do, that and a quick ‘good luck’ and then news networks took over. They talked about where in the country the tickets were probably sold; they talked about the odds of winning. They talked on and on. But probably few were listening; most were busy checking ticket numbers.
Everyone who held a ticket muttered that word ‘please’ at least a dozen times, more than that in all likelihood.
Plans for claiming the winning tickets were carefully developed, since fear for the winners was a major concern. Winners had to follow two simple steps. First, phone one of the numbers provided by NASA and enter the barcode from the back of their ticket. If the barcode matched one of the winning tickets, they would automatically be transferred to a secure line and instructed to provide their name and address. NASA would send an agent to visit them the next day to verify the ticket.
It was as simple as that. But they had only two weeks to do it.
Gene Bryk was a retired police officer who had spent many years protecting the citizens of his town. He, like many, always dreamed of flying. He’d even applied for the space program but was rejected six times before he finally gave up.
He sat on his sofa, his fifteen hundred tickets before him. His reading glasses were perched on his nose as he went through the sections of tickets that could contain the winning number.
It took him about two hours.
He exhaled as he lifted the ticket and looked again at the third number that had been drawn. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered.
“Dad?” his daughter came into the room with a cup of coffee. “What did you say?”
“I said . . .” He showed her the ticket. “I said I’ll be damned. I’m going on the shuttle.”
Lucy had her tickets sectioned in ten thousands. She had pulled the groupings that could contain the winners.
It was three o’clock in the morning. Doug was sleeping in his chair. She insisted she wanted to be the one to search. And she did, all the while praying, “Please, please, please.”
She screamed so loud, Doug fell out of his chair. She stood and danced with the winning ticket in her hand.
Lucy couldn’t speak in fact she could barely breathe. Doug was just as shocked. He wanted his wife to win so badly, but what were the odds? Obviously they were in her favor.
<><><><>
Thaddeus was too scared, really too scared to even begin to search his database. He waited hours for his best friend from grade school to fly in and search. Thaddeus believed Gary was his lucky charm.
Having bitten off all his nails, Thaddeus worked on the cuticles as he stood behind Gary, chanting softly, “Please. Please. Please.”
“First number . . .” Gary said. “No match.”
“Fuck.”
“Second number,” Gary said as he typed it in. “Searching . . . shit. No match.”
“Fuck.”
“Third number,” Gary said as he slowly typed it in. “Thaddeus, seven million tickets and . . . no.”
“Oh, my God,” Thaddeus said and closed his eyes.
“Fourth number….”
“Please, please, please.”
Gary shrieked. “You have it! Thad, you have it!”
Thaddeus screamed. It was long, loud and shrill. Then as he planned he would do, to the tune of Queen’s, We are the Champions, Thad
deus ran up and down the halls of his mansion singing, “I am a winner. I am a winner.”
And the fourth winner, what was his story?
Well, nineteen year old Kip, real name Jarrod, was just too stoned to even realize that lottery numbers had been drawn.
“Dude,” his friend said, holding the ticket. “You won. You’re going on the shuttle, dude.”
Eyes barely open, tipped container of Ben & Jerry’s on his chest amidst a large stain on his shirt, Kip lifted his head and wiped his long bangs from his eyes. “What?”
“You won the shuttle lottery, dude, you’re going to space.”
With a stoned smile Kip said, “Cool.” Then he tipped the ice cream container to his mouth to drink the melted stuff and conked back out on the couch.
CHAPTER THREE
The network news reporter faced the camera broadcasting a report that would echo throughout the world.
“Galaxy is set to launch on August 12th. Training for the winners of the four day trip on the shuttle will begin in three weeks as the special training facility at the Kennedy Space Center plays host to tourists for the first time. At that time, the identities of the four lottery winners will be revealed.
NASA has granted Ona exclusive rights to interview the winners. That interview will be televised live the day the winners arrive at the training center.
NASA has done a good job so far in keeping a tight lid on the identities of the four winners. But the lid is loosening. A strict gag order is under effect for the winners, with the consequences being loss of their lottery winnings, which means of course, their seat on the shuttle, if they speak out publicly.
But, as we all know, Thaddeus Hall was revealed as one of the winners by an anonymous staff member. No big surprise there, given the number of tickets he was reported to have purchased.”
“Fox news has just identified another of the winners, known to many as simply the Walmart Girl.”
A news clip played in the background showing Lucy as she emerged from her house wearing her Walmart vest, escorted by her husband who had his hand over her mouth.
The newswoman smiled at the camera. “Guess he is enforcing that gag order.”
<><><><>
“Sir?”
Thaddeus was staring intently at the news report. “This is funny. He’s holding her mouth.”
“Sir?” Frustrated, and perhaps a bit annoyed, Dale, Thaddeus’ assistant, called out again.
“They say she is from Cleveland or around there. It should be easy to find her. I mean, how many Walmart stores are there in Cleveland?” Thaddeus mused.
“Many.”
“You think?” Thaddeus tapped his finger on his chin.
“Sir?”
“It just seems ridiculous that we can’t contact each other before we meet to start the training. Don’t you think so?”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“Please turn off the television, Thaddeus. We have to finish this and get it to the attorneys.”
“Sorry.” Thaddeus shut off the TV and returned to the comfortable meeting setting in the living room. “Go on.”
“Why would you want to contact them anyway? I’m curious.” Dale shook his head. “I mean, what would be the point?”
“To find out why they want to go. Did they have the passion their entire life? Has it been their dream, too? How many tickets did they buy?”
“I can assure you that no one purchased as many tickets as you did, but I would guess it was in the thousands.”
“She works at Walmart. How many could she afford?”
“Enough to win a trip on the shuttle,” Dale said with a laugh.
“True. I wonder what her name is.”
“Order a copy of the broadcast and freeze-frame it. Maybe her name is on her vest or a badge.”
“Good point.”
“That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”
“Do I?”
“Sir.”
“Sorry, just in a great mood. Go on,” Thaddeus said.
“OK, Changes to your will.”
“Ah, yes, I have to do that just in case something happens. I mean, the shuttle could explode, and I do want to be remembered.”
“You won a trip on the shuttle, so I’m sure you will.”
With a hem haw expression, Thaddeus shook his head. “I don’t know about that. Ever notice no one ever knows the names of those who die in space tragedies. I want to be remembered.”
“So you said.” Dale shuffled the papers. “You want a high school named after you.”
“Yeah, I do, even if we have to build one. We’ll name it The Thaddeus Hall School of Learning. Or maybe a college would be better.”
“And,” Dale continued, “a memorial to honor all those on the shuttle who died with you?”
“Yes.” Thaddeus turned his head and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“I just . . .” he said as he grabbed the remote, “I want to check CNN.”
Grunting, Dale gave up, put down the paper work and, early in the day or not, he opted for a drink.
<><><><>
Doug had to drive Lucy to work, taking back streets to avoid the paparazzi.
“I feel like a celebrity,” Lucy said,
“You are. You’re going on the shuttle.”
Lucy checked out the back window. “I think you lost them.”
“Well, you’re only free of them until you get to work. At least the security guys are doing their job and trying to keep the press away.” Doug shrugged his shoulders. “Luce, I’m sorry if it was the guys I work with that let this out.”
“No, I don’t think it was them, I think it was Amy in receiving. She has a big mouth.”
“Just . . . just be careful who you talk to.”
“Yeah, I almost slipped yesterday when that sneaky news lady asked me about bras. But when she said, ‘do you think you’ll have to wear a special bra on the shuttle so your boobs don’t float,’ I caught on real quick.”
“You’re smart like that. I wasn’t so lucky.”
“Yeah, but you can talk.”
Doug pulled into the Walmart parking lot and slowed down. “Oh boy,” he said as he saw the parking lot was full of reporters.
“Can you take me to the receiving area?”
“Absolutely.” Doug tried to be cunning, making a quick turn, but the press had lookouts and they swarmed behind them.
There was no escape.
<><><><>
It was annoying, not to mention exhausting for David. He got the call from Martin and went over to his lab. He climbed the six flights of stairs only to find a note from David to meet him at the time capsule.
He muttered, “Christ.” And then went back down the six flights and kept descending. Martin’s time capsule was located in a sub-basement. “Another set of stairs to climb back up,” David said to no one in particular.
“Ah, there you are,” Martin said. “I was wondering when you would get here.”
He was packing a box. Some people have hobbies that are crafty. Some have relaxing hobbies. Martin’s hobby was his time capsule. Well, not in a sense that most people would think, since his had turned into something more.
A time capsule is supposed to be designed to preserve a historical cache of items and information so that future generations can get a glimpse of the past.
Martin’s time capsule was housed in a bomb shelter. In it he had not only preserved cultural artifacts but also stored supplies and equipment he believed were necessary to ensure man could survive in the event of a global catastrophe. It was designed for survival in the event of a nuclear war, but more specifically for a natural occurrence, such as a meteor strike—the reason for its underground location.
Seeds, more water and fungus for medications were among his latest additions. Martin had been working on his time capsule for years and continuously added to his list new items he determined were essential to survival.
“Hard at wo
rk, I see,” David said. “What’s up?”
“Just needed you to know I did pass that info on to NASA and other intelligence agencies.”
“And?”
“And they thanked me. They haven’t gotten back.”
“Well, you tried.”
“I did.”
David gave an up motion of his head. “What are you doing today?”
“Batteries. Car batteries and computer battery packs. I want to ensure communications, or at least that my video diary, will function, should it happen.”
“You think it will.”
Martin shook his head. “I’ve not seen any more activity to support it. So I may have made a premature fool out of myself.”
“Better safe than sorry, as they say.”
“Hence, all this,” Martin said as he held out his hand to the room.
“How long will the batteries last?”
“Well, I have enough. And there is also the small generator, but that won’t last long. The batteries, if used properly, will last a while, although some of these are already years old.” Martin shrugged.
David looked around the storage room; it was one of four rooms Martin had designed. In fact, he had been perfecting his design, upgrading it since the eighties. David remembered Martin telling him about the AC/DC records, not CD disks, he had. When David asked him if was going to upgrade to a more modern music system, Martin had said no. No power, then no means to play music on those tiny contraptions. A wind up phonograph would work best.
True. It was probably also his reason for having a radio system and Morse code.
“Did you get it?” Martin asked.
David huffed. “Yes. And . . . you didn’t get this from me. After we return, I want this list back.” He handed the folded sheet to Martin which was titled, ‘Immediate Emergency Contacts for Crew and Guest Astronauts.’
“Thank you. Ah, I see I’m your emergency contact.”
“How about that.”
“David, giving me this isn’t a bad thing. If it happens while you are up there, I’ll have a day and a half, maybe two, to get these folks here. At least if your life is preserved up there, I can try to keep some of the crews’ families safe until you all return.”
The Last Mile Trilogy Page 34