Warp speed

Station. 'Hey, did you guys ever really call it Alpha?'

'I think the first Russians did,' she explained. 'But it just wouldn't stick. Not sure if it was political or just not as catchy as 'ISS.'' She laughed. Then with a slightly more commanding tone she began, 'You know I never got to talk to you since -Goddard.'

'How about that,' I said. 'You cut the legs out from under a lot of people there. When BPP started, it was seriously peanuts—not even a million bucks a year. Not really even worth the effort, but this is going to set the human race back to stone tools.' I like being dramatic. If I thought it would've helped, I would've pissed on a spark plug.

'Anson, I said it then and I'm saying it now. And I won't say it again! This decision came from far above me. The White House I think. I've actually been trying to determine where the directives came from and have gotten nowhere.'

'Sounds like a conspiracy to me. Elvis and JFK probably did it from Roswell or the Bermuda Triangle!' I said sarcastically and then proudly tugged on my bottle.

'Look I'm bearing an olive branch here. If you are going to be a smartass, just forget it.' I think she was genuinely hurt, or at least pissed.

'Okay. Sorry. I believe you. So what did you want to tell me?' I tried to smooth it out but I was firing a little early on cylinder number two and cylinder seven was about to seize up. I'm not sure I even had spark plugs in the rest of them. Maybe somebody'd pissed on them.

'That's just it. There really is nothing I can do other than apologize. Maybe if you had some real results we could go to the Space Science Subcommittee—'

'But we do have results! Didn't Rebecca tell you!'

'Tell me what?' She looked over at me just as the patio torch behind her ran out of oil and sputtered out.

I was distracted for about four seconds by the spectacular colors the thing produced in its dying upheaval. 'We finally have developed a Casimir power source! It would have to be many . . . uh, many, tens of meters on a side, but it would produce a Global Annual Energy Expenditure per second—constantly!' She dropped her bottle.

'She said nothing about it.'

'That's typical of those two. Hell, Jim and 'Becca did most of the work. You have to come see it! An absolute marvel! Oh yeah, I guess you have seen a few of those haven't you?' It's real easy to forget that you're talking to an astronaut, since they seem just like normal people when you meet them outside their day jobs.

We talked about the future of my research and how we might continue to finagle funding here and there. Neither of us had any bright ideas. I realized she really did believe in the BPP research and she had nothing to do with budget cuts. The last thing I remember talking about is my crazy lucid dreams and how I knew that we were close to something. I could taste it, I told her. I think she thought I was a little nuts.

The next thing I knew I was waking up with the sun in my face and Friday licking my left middle finger. Somehow, I had been covered with an afghan from the screened porch sofa.

I passed out on her again! Damn it. I got up and crawled to the bed and passed out again.

Later in the day I finally got up and stirred around the house. I managed to wake Jim up as I shut the microwave for about the third time. Leftover cheeseburgers are great hangover medicine once heated up in the microwave. I looked around and noticed that someone had sort of cleaned up. My money was on 'Becca.

'Lazarus has arisen!' I said as Jim came through the breakfast nook.

'Arisen, hell!' He was not firing on all cylinders yet either or he would've had a snappier come back—he's usually pretty witty. 'What time is it?' he asked.

'Not sure, uh, about twelve-thirty,' I replied.

'We've gotta be at the studio at one!'

'Dang! I've been forgetting a lot of stuff lately. I think these painkillers are bad on my short-term memory. I'm gonna quit taking them, if I can stand it. We better get our stuff and go.'

We had upper belt tests today at the karate studio. Jim and I, as black belts, had volunteered to help with the testing. The thing I regretted was that I wouldn't get to fight because of my ribs. I had entertained the idea of wearing the rib protector and fighting, but I just hadn't healed enough yet. Besides, it'd only been one week. The doctor said six, but what does that quack know?

We got there and bowed in just in time. Our school is one of the more fighting oriented and not very traditional. Oh sure, we do the traditional stuff like katas, traditional stances, and an occasional bow, but we don't do all of the 'Yes Sensei, No Sensei' junk you see in the movies. In fact, the head instructor Bob is actually a year younger than me and much less disciplined (if that is possible). Bob cuts up worse than most of his students. His wife Alisa keeps him in check, sometimes. But, I have never seen anybody do pushups because they neglected to say, 'yes sir' or 'no sir' or because they forgot to bow.

I got my score sheet and began watching and scoring the students. Alisa came over to me.

'How are you? The ribs?' she whispered and pointed at my side.

'I'm okay; there's still a lot of pain, but nothing serious. I'll be out for a couple more weeks. I'm gonna try to do pushups by the end of the week. I figure it'll be another couple of weeks before I can do crunches. Might be able to do some katas next week.' I was probably lying about any or all of that.

'I'm sorry.' She smiled and went about her business.

Rebecca finally made it. She bowed and frantically tied her belt. 'Why didn't she just stay and come in with us?' I nudged Jim.

'She didn't have her gi or her pads with her,' he replied.

''Becca you are late! Stretch real quick and get in line!'

Bob seemed a little perturbed. I'm surprised she didn't have to do pushups, but test days are a little rushed and