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  I climb down to secure the legs in their traveling position. It takes two trips to carry the brushes, buckets, and hoses up the stairs to the platform and onto the sled. By that time, Jared has secured the legs on the far side and is back by the control console putting the crescent wrench back in its place under the seat.

  I go over and sit down. It has taken us nearly an hour to complete the setup. “Is it lunch time yet?” I ask half joking. Then I begin to buckle in.

  “You really don’t need that,” Jared snickers about the seatbelt. “We won’t be going very fast.”

  Dropping the buckle, I relax and sit back. “How does all this work?” I ask. “I thought everything had to be controlled up in the control room?”

  “That’s true for a launch. This controller gets its power by induction from the coils. There’s a feedback function in the track that tells the electronics what’s going on whether it’s this controller, which is a scaled down version of what’s in the control room, or the controller in the control room. Right now, there’s a sign in the control room that’s flashing ‘Remote’ in red. We could be shutdown manually if anybody was in there.” He pushes the joystick forward. The numeric readout begins to count. “We’re limited to six knots, which is just under seven miles per hour, an easy jogging speed.”

  “It sure beats walking at any rate.”

  We move slowly towards the opening of the tunnel. On the walls of both sides are large groupings of pipes. Over the one on the left, the lettering spells out ‘Fueling – O2’; on the right side ‘Fueling - H’, and ‘Explosive’ in large, faded red letters.

  On the wall to the right, immediately inside the tunnel, is a faded picture of New Mexico’s state bird, the road runner, with ‘beep, beep,’ captioned by his beak. He is shown chasing after a splane speeding down the tunnel.

  About ten feet in, the ceiling of the tunnel rises up higher than the roof in the main staging area. “What’s that for?” I ask. The movement of the sled is so quiet that we don’t have to talk very loud.

  “That’s where the space planes are lowered back into this prep building after a flight. They’re put directly onto the sled and either secured for another launch, or taken off by the big hoist and set to either side, like they are now.”

  “I didn’t notice any hoist.”

  “Unless you look up, you wouldn’t. It crawls along a frame on the ceiling and blends in with the roof rafters pretty well.”

  I am intrigued by the mechanics of our ride. It is completely smooth as we literally float on the magnetic field produced by the track. I had ridden some maglev as a kid at theme parks when we had been on vacation, but this is the closest I’ve ever been to the actual hardware that does the work.

  “So what did you and Jen find out yesterday?” Jared asks.

  “Huh?” I respond. “Oh. Actually it was really cool. The grey bits stack themselves and when power is applied, their ability to displace gravity grows exponentially.”

  “Really? I never would have expected that.”

  The way he said it, made me wonder if he thought I was trying to get him back for the sled ride prank. “No! Really! I’ve got it recorded on the computer. I’ll give you a DVD if you want to see it.”

  “Yeah, that would be great.”

  He still has a hint of suspicion in his voice, but the offer to back up my statement with a video ends the conversation.

  The ride down the tunnel lasts another three minutes, revealing nothing more than endless walls and ceiling of faded paint and cobwebs. I can see plenty of dust on the floor as it’s gently kicked up by the passage of the scaffold. The speed readout indicates ‘5.9’. We are at top speed but I still can’t hear any more than a low hum and the gentle creaking of the structure.

  When we get near the end of the tunnel, Jared brings the joystick back slowly, easing us to a stop right in front of the big doors that seal the tunnel from the outside. He flips the last switch on the console, which apparently sends a signal back to the control room, which returns a command to trigger the door opening sequence.

  I watch as large, black flexible weatherproofing panels release their grip around the rail in front of us. The three sections on each door retract quietly into the door’s framing, allowing small puffs of dust to enter the tunnel. Free of the rail, the doors softly moan as huge, hidden gears begin to swing them out over the exit threshold. I feel a gentle push of air head out the door as the crack to the outside grows larger, pulling the dust out.

  I remember from previous visits to the outside of the tunnel that the concrete support for the rails is replaced by steel I-beams and concrete piers outside the doors. When the opening is wide enough that the seals clear the rail, Jared hits the switch again to stop the doors.

  “We should start feeling a little breeze soon. The fans back in the staging area draw air in and push it down and out the tunnel to vent any fueling or launch fumes from the building. It will help keep us cool while we work.”

  I nod as we get out of our seats to walk to the edge of the sled and take a look through the crack between the doors. Walking under the cross-braces which join the two sections of the gantry framing, it seems like a big bird in flight with its gently arched wings extending out equally to the right and left. I briefly remember the first time I had seen seagulls.

  Outside the sun is bright and already high in the sky. I’ve lost track of time, but guess it’s about 10:30. Even with the breeze at our backs, the heat radiates off the dark colored track and back through the opening. We can see the threshold is still about thirty percent in the sun, too.

  “I guess it’s time,” Jared says bluntly. He slides one of the stiff brooms over the edge on the right and picks up a coil of hose. “You’ll find a spigot somewhere along the inner wall of the rail support. We’ll start with the door and then head up top. Drop and lock the ladder down too, okay?” He heads down the right side without waiting for an answer. He’s getting into work mode now; efficient and busy.

  I grab the other coil of hose, walk out the scaffold on the other side, toss the hose down, lower myself down, secure the ladder, attach the hose, and turn the handle. The hose tenses up with the water being held back by the nozzle at the other end.

  When I get around front, Jared is wetting down the corner so I do the same on my side. When we come together in the middle, we pick up the push brooms and began scratching at the surface of the door. We get a third of the way up, then throw the brooms up on the sled, climb up to do the middle section, then climb up on the scaffold to do the top third. All the while we drag the hoses along behind us. Finally, at the top, we spray the entire area we had brushed. Though it is hard to see while brushing, the brown tint of the rinse water confirms we are getting quite a bit of dirt off the surface.

  “Why are we doing this?” I ask as we turn our attention to the outer walls.

  “A crew is coming in a couple of weeks to paint the tunnel and the staging area. It’s cheaper for Dad to have us do this part of the prep work than to pay the painters to do it.”

  “Why doesn’t he have us paint, too, then?”

  “The paint they use on these walls is a toxic industrial coating. It’s real nasty and requires some special equipment and training to handle.”

  I nod as we turn our hoses on the ceiling and tunnel walls. We quickly learn that we don’t get as wet if we both stand off to one side and hose the ceiling together before doing the walls. We brush and hose again. Then we have to move the sled back about ten feet after securing the scaffold legs in their ‘running position’. That is the most annoying part of moving the sled, but it is good to have the legs to steady the structure.

  After we finish the third section of wall, we hose and brush the dirty water that has collected on the concrete floor out the door. Jared says there are drains halfway between the faucets to carry it out after that.

  As we get ready to begin another section, a voice, sounding distant and weak, calls out to us. “Lunch is here.” I look t
owards the light at the end of the tunnel and see a silhouette standing between the huge doors. I know it is Kylie by the body shape.

  The subject of her words makes me realize how hungry I am. Jared and I drop our tools as we head towards the door to join her. “Dad thought it would save you guys some time if I brought lunch out to you,” she says, as we approach. “Geez! You’re a mess!” she adds with a laugh when we get close enough for her to get a good look in the reflected sunlight. Jared walks past Kylie, receiving an insulated lunch bag.

  “Dad sure thinks of everything,” he says with a sarcastic tone. We had both been silently looking forward to a longer lunch break, including the nine or so minute ride back to the staging area. As I walk past Kylie, I thank her, and catch the fragrance of soap picked up by the tunnel draft. It reminds me of our drives to school.

  The threshold is completely in the shade now, but the heat of the day, captured by the ravine in front of us, feels good after the cold water we’ve been blasting at the walls. The spray has soaked our shorts and t-shirts, and the breeze through the tunnel has kept us cool. Now that we aren’t working, I feel chilled and more aware of the draft coming out of the tunnel, further cooled by the evaporating water inside.

  Had the doors been completely open, they would have overhung the edge of the thick concrete threshold. Taking a seat on the edge, our dangling legs do not touch the ground which slopes away gently into the ravine. On the other side, it rises to support the rail as it goes vertical; the finger pointing into the sky.

  “C’mon and join us,” Jared says to Kylie, slapping at a puddle of water beside him after he passes a sandwich and soda over to me sitting on his right. Kylie had come up beside him but quickly jumps back to avoid any splash.

  “No way!” she curtly replies. I look up, chuckling through a bite of sandwich. She is wearing clean cutoffs and a white, midriff-baring top, with puffy short sleeves. Her auburn hair is pulled back under a bright red patterned bandana. The concrete is drying slowly, colored by the dirt that we had brushed off the walls and flushed out the door. I can see her point. “I’m leaving,” she huffs after a few seconds.

  “See ya,” Jared encourages her.

  “Bye,” I add. “Thanks for bringing lunch.”

  She turns and disappears up the steps that climb along the outside of the tunnel wall. “Now we can eat in peace,” he comments, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

  He seems a little annoyed about something. I don’t say anything, enjoying the sandwich which I know Kylie has made. One thing I’ve learned about Jared is that if something is bothering him, he’ll eventually talk about it if he wants to. Sometimes, when we’d come out here or sit over at The Hill with a fire going at night, he’d talk about his mom; about the little things that she would do for him, or times they’d go out as a family somewhere. He told me how it all changed after she had died. His dad got quieter and more distant, and the family trips ended for a while. And how he misses her. How they all miss her. As a family they had gone to counseling for a while. He told me it helped, but there was still a void inside that would probably never go away.

  “She’s teasing you,” he finally says, breaking my chain of thought.

  “Huh?”

  “Kylie! She’s being a tease,” he explains, “and it’s really annoying.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “This morning, when she got dressed, she wore her baggy old T-shirt and her hair was a mess. Now she comes out here all dressed up, like she’s going to school… She’s teasing you.”

  “Well, what do you expect?” I reply, raising my arms out to the side. “It’s me we’re talking about here!” Of course, being damp with water and sweat, a film of grime on me, and noticing the odor of work developing under my raised up arms, which I quickly lower, I am just trying to make a joke. But it’s lost on him. “Do you think she’d go out with me, you know, sometime?” I egg him on.

  “Dad says she can’t date until she’s sixteen,” he replies tersely.

  “So you think I have a chance then?” I continue.

  But he doesn’t reply. He just seems to get more sullen as he finishes his lunch. After a few more minutes rest he suggests we get back to work. It hasn’t been a very pleasant lunch, except that Kylie had brought it to us. And that makes me smile again. Then it occurs to me that maybe he is annoyed that Kylie is trying to be my friend just as much as he is, only in a different sort of way. It makes a little sense, but then it doesn’t. Why can’t we all be friends?

  We work without much talk the rest of the day and get a lot done. On the ride back, I can still see we have a long way to go. We had moved the sled about sixteen times during the day. It doesn’t seem like much, and I feel what Jared had said about this job going to take a long time. I’m achy and wet, and the breeze riding the sled back to the staging area chills my tired muscles once again by the time the sled is brought to a stop.

  “At least we don’t have to set the scaffolding up tomorrow,” Jared comments after all the power has been turned off and we walk, laboriously, up the exit stairs.

  “How far to you think we got today?” I mumble between steps.

  “I don’t even want to think about it,” he replies.

  Once outside, I get on the hy-ped to start for home. Heading down the driveway to the main road, I see Kylie sitting on the porch talking with her dad. They both wave back as I drive by. As I return the gesture, I note the grins on their faces; Jared and I must look pretty nasty. It’s almost embarrassing.

  I feel better as the heat from the pavement dries me out and warms me up. When I get home, Gramps grins as I park my bike saying “Rough day?” I just grunt in response and head into the house for a shower.

  Later that evening, after dinner, I sit and do some calculations. At today’s rate of progress, it will take more than four weeks to finish the tunnel. I’m almost sorry I did the estimate, and fall asleep quickly, glad to leave it until tomorrow.

  History and Memories

  I am late when I get to work on Monday. Tomorrow is going to be July 4th already, and after two weeks of cleaning in the tunnel, I really feel like I need a day off. I spot Jared impatiently waiting by the big doors of building ‘F’ as I ride up on the hy-ped.

  “I don’t feel much like doing the tunnel today,” I inform him after I park the bike. We round the corner to start our descent to the Maglev Staging Area on the now familiar steps.

  “You’re in luck then,” he says with a smile. “No tunnel today. We get to clean and organize the storage areas down there. Shouldn’t take too long, and we can call it a day when we finish.”

  “That is good news.”

  “Not entirely,” he cautions. “We have to clean the bathroom in the First Aid room, too, and it hasn’t been cleaned in years. It might be ugly.”

  Anything sounds better than doing the tunnel at this point and I am glad to have something different to do, even an ugly bathroom. “Don’t we need some other brushes or cleanser or something?”

  “Kylie will bring it down later. I guess she used up all the cleanser on Saturday cleaning the house and Dad didn’t find out until this morning, so he’s going to get more when he’s in town later.” He pauses a moment when we reach the bottom of the stairs. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “If Kylie comes down later? I mean, you’ll still be able to work won’t you?”

  It’s early, but I recognize his humor and am glad he is in a good mood. “I… I don’t know,” I stammer in reply. “Every time I see her, I… I just forget what I’m doing.” As he turns to continue down the corridor, I punch his arm.

  “Hey!” he growls, reaching up to rub the pain.

  “You earned that,” I say. He grins while we continue down to the electrical room where he turns the lights on.

  The staging area echoes our footsteps as we walk over to the scaffolding to retrieve the brooms that we’ll need. I drag my broom in mockery of the toil before us as we
head over to the far corner of the building.

  Under the label ‘First Aid’, the first door has stick figures of a man and woman, separated by a line indicating a unisex toilet inside. “This one has the toilet in it,” Jared confirms, stating the obvious as he unlocks the door using another shiny brass key from the big key ring. I push it open while he goes over to unlock the other room identified as ‘Storage’. As I reach in to find the light switch, I get a whiff of stale air but nothing worse. I take that as a good sign and walk in where the LED lights have cut the darkness.

  There’s a large table made out of stainless steel in the center of the room. It has a hard black plastic cushion on top which immediately reminds me of a doctor’s office. Against the back wall to the left is a gurney. To the right of that, a list of emergency numbers written in red, hangs by a black phone on the wall. Right of that is another doorway through which I can see a sink. I assume the toilet is behind the wall to the left of that door.

  I hear Jared enter the room behind me. I turn around. “What’s all this for?” I quietly ask, indicating the exam table. He’s pushing one of those green plastic trash barrels on wheels.

  With a completely straight face he mysteriously says one word, “Experiments.” Two seconds later, he bursts out laughing at his own joke. I don’t respond to this particular attempt at humor, so he settles down quickly. “This was just in case somebody got hurt, or had a heart attack before or after a flight, or any other medical problem,” he says somewhat seriously. “There’s a defibrillator over there,” he continues, pointing to a cabinet door with an image of a heart with a lightening bolt running through it, “and there used to be eye wash and bandages of all sorts down here somewhere. Dad wants us to make a list and throw any old, unusable stuff away. I guess it has to be restocked and made ready before the potential investors come for a final tour.”

  “Seems like a lot to do just for a tour,” I comment absently.