New Years Gift

For those that wonder, what the hell am I up to, well here is a taste of what is being now rewritten to be released most likely in the early part of January.  This is just a snippet of a second draft, but I think it will give you a little feel for what is coming.  Don't mind the names, they are still up for debate, as are some other details, but the story is fully developed, has been for many years, it was just waiting for today to get out from the notebook into cyberspace.

My News Years Gift to all of you, enjoy.

Sleeping Dogs

“Well it is about time we got to work, don’t you think?” John said to the crew of men who were working on the (Greek word for dog).  If they were not already working such long hours now, they would be, and he knew they were capable of much more.

As a chorus rose in practiced harmony, “Dogs don’t work this hard on Mars” they all sang.

John knew the refrain to that old song; he knew it from every point of view.  He had been where they are, back in the days of exploration, when the shuttles still rode rockets into near earth orbit.   He remembered the stories of the old men who walked upon the surface of Luna minor.  He remembered the songs of the old worlds, separate and divided.  He also remembered the call of frontier, and how he labored in his studies just to be given the opportunity to work on a Russian shuttle craft.

All that work, all that time spent learning languages, and other sciences, just so he could turn bolts, seemed now a waste in the face of the new private industry that just built tugs to haul rocks.  It was not all for naught, no, he wasn’t turning bolts any more, he was turning lose screws into Luna Base crews.

John Stendowsky (something like that), born of Bosnian immigrant parents in Wisconsin, U.S.A. as it was then known.  He was a bright boy, mostly, full of wonder and too much mischief, but most of them were.  He also had the same desire and dreams many young men of the times had.  John wanted to fly planes or better yet rockets.  It was his father that really set him on his course, his father was a nuclear engineer, and encourage his son to follow the path of science and engineering, as his father had fostered him.  Third generation engineer, was what John was destined for, until he got his first taste of weightlessness.

It was a summer we all would remember so well.  Just out of 8^th grade, and full of fantasies of budding breast and romantic beliefs in machines that could take us to distant galaxies.  When Mr. Stendowsky asked if we wanted to go to watch the last shuttle launch from the Kennedy Space Center, we forgot about Julie Munson, and Betty Natchez, and all the others.

John, Mr. Stendowsky, myself, and Christopher Petticowski all piled into the car early in the morning, and although it took two days to get there, no one but Chris complained in the least.

Chris was 18, and just recently passed his driver’s test, so he wanted to drive, but Mr. Stendowsky would not allow it.  The Cadillac was his ship to pilot, and the subject was not a topic of discussion.  Chris was not one to let such “spyashchuyu sobaku” as John’s father often would say.  It was a long time before I knew what he was saying.