"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 frantic. Bob is really just an old softy.
Finally, after about three physically grueling hours they got to fight. The main goal of our tests is to get you to a point where you feel there's nothing left to do but give up. Then we ask even more of you. This would be the case if someone or some group of people were mugging, raping, or trying to kill you. You never quit. Never!
Each student had burned at least eleven hundred calories. That is how grueling the test is. Now we were asking them to fight ninety-second rounds. One one-on-one round for each belt earned every three months (up to brown, that's five rounds, then) and one two-on-one fight for each brown belt stripe (three stripes required for a black belt with a test each six months). To test for a black belt there is a three-on-one also. But this was brown belt tests; black belts test separately.
Now you might think that ninety-second rounds aren't that long. Try running twenty-meter sprints while forgetting to breathe and while people are hitting and kicking the living hell out of you for a minute and a half and then talk to me about it. No, wait a second. First do one hour of aerobics, thirty minutes or so of isometric-type exercises, then do another hour and half of aerobics. Then do six or seven minute and a half rounds as I just described with just one minute in between each. Then we will talk about it! Why do it you ask? Simple, it is fun as the dickens! (Not sure I no what "the dickens" are but to hear my grandma tell it they must have been real fun).
Jim geared up and got in the mix. I wanted to get in and play so bad it hurt. But had I gotten in the mix, I'm sure it would have hurt. It was like when you were a kid and your mom wouldn't let you go in swimming for thirty minutes after you ate lunch. All the other kids were out there having a ball and you had to set there twiddling your thumbs. That is how it felt. So, I ref'ed and ran the clock. Bob wanted to fight, too.
"Bow to your partners, touch gloves, fight." This wasn't the sport karate point stuff. This was a continuous fight for ninety seconds. The only rules are no hitting below the belt and no grabbing. If somebody grabs you, you can throw them. While you are on the ground you are liable to be kicked in the head and if you don't get up you fail the test and have to wait six more months to be promoted to a higher belt.
Rebecca got set up against Jim and Alisa for her first one. She did pretty good. At one point she did a spinning backfist that caught Jim on side of the head. His mouthpiece flew halfway across the ring. We all laughed appropriately. Alisa didn't let her get away with it though. Although it looks good in the movies, spinning isn't really a good idea when you are fighting two people. It gave Alisa time to slip to her back side and bully up on her.