the smell of the smoky bar before coming to bed, but she was clearly too tired. She fell asleep almost immediately, ending any conversation they might have been building to. It didn't matter much anyway. It felt odd fooling around with her mother on the other side of the bedroom wall.
He kissed her on the cheek, checked the alarm clock, then turned out the light and tried to sleep. He had another twenty minutes or so before the melatonin would kick in.
He stood in one of the longest interview lines he had ever seen, discouragingly long. When he saw it that morning, as he was being dropped off, he almost gave up right then and asked to go back home. But, they were already there. He might as well take the chance, slim as it was.
He listened to the chatter from those ahead of him.
Just when this niche industry was recovering from its political problems, the Tonga factory had gotten into trouble for pollution. Chunks from finishing the products, the dust and debris if you will, had made it to the island of trash that accumulated in the Pacific. A million tons of plastic bags, bottles, and coolers were suddenly insignificant, now that a few pounds of floating rocks had drifted into the mix.
The rocks weren't even pollution, to his mind, but that wasn't the point of the trouble. Unlike the millions of tons of other trash, the floating rocks could be traced back to a single source. A source with deep pockets.
It was hard for Jason to not be cynical. He had seen this very thing shut down the behemoth before. Nobody really cared about the pollution, they cared about re-election, campaign funds, and 'appearing' to stand for something. The fear was that Tonga was going to buck the western political system of throwing money at the problem and try to stand on moral grounds. Politicians were a lot like sharks, they could smell money in the water from miles away, and they swarmed in packs like piranhas until the source of money was gone. If they couldn't tax Tonga, they'd tax the behemoth, and that meant layoffs across the industry, not hires.
This could all be made very temporary.
After six hours of waiting, he left with little more than a promise that they 'might' call.
[Chapter 12]
He had wanted the super prestigious position of island construction. That was the job he had applied for. But he didn't turn down the offer that came instead.
The behemoth had been modified in his absence, and it now cranked out a continuous stream of small craft and tidal generators, in addition to the carrier-sized slabs. The corners and edges of each needed to be ground and cleaned, and the square holes intended for the pistons had to be bored as well. In addition to dozens of other mounting holes.
Jackhammers were heavy and loud, but lucrative, and he was well used to working with them. As well as changing grinder heads on the power equipment that was everywhere around the docks. Ten hours a day, five days a week, rain or shine they worked. It was boring and dull, but it paid better than any job he had had thus far, and he had, sooner than any had thought, saved up enough for a car.
In this case, a four-year-old Yaris.
He pulled up in the parkinglot, popped the trunk, then got out his lunchbox and waved as his new car pulled away.
Gina's mom needed it to run some errands today.
It felt odd to have bought a new car, make all the payments on it, insure it, pay taxes on it, yet not be the one to drive it all the time. It felt very odd, and more than a little wrong. But it was exactly how Gina had felt all these years.
It wasn't like it was going to do anything but sit in the parkinglot for ten hours today. Someone might as well get some use out of it. He adjusted his lunchbox, put on his badge, then walked through the security gate.
The cutting blades used carbide teeth and were a first-thing-in-the-morning job that he dreaded, but did most of the time. This morning was no exception. The blades were heavy and needed to be precisely placed
He kissed her on the cheek, checked the alarm clock, then turned out the light and tried to sleep. He had another twenty minutes or so before the melatonin would kick in.
He stood in one of the longest interview lines he had ever seen, discouragingly long. When he saw it that morning, as he was being dropped off, he almost gave up right then and asked to go back home. But, they were already there. He might as well take the chance, slim as it was.
He listened to the chatter from those ahead of him.
Just when this niche industry was recovering from its political problems, the Tonga factory had gotten into trouble for pollution. Chunks from finishing the products, the dust and debris if you will, had made it to the island of trash that accumulated in the Pacific. A million tons of plastic bags, bottles, and coolers were suddenly insignificant, now that a few pounds of floating rocks had drifted into the mix.
The rocks weren't even pollution, to his mind, but that wasn't the point of the trouble. Unlike the millions of tons of other trash, the floating rocks could be traced back to a single source. A source with deep pockets.
It was hard for Jason to not be cynical. He had seen this very thing shut down the behemoth before. Nobody really cared about the pollution, they cared about re-election, campaign funds, and 'appearing' to stand for something. The fear was that Tonga was going to buck the western political system of throwing money at the problem and try to stand on moral grounds. Politicians were a lot like sharks, they could smell money in the water from miles away, and they swarmed in packs like piranhas until the source of money was gone. If they couldn't tax Tonga, they'd tax the behemoth, and that meant layoffs across the industry, not hires.
This could all be made very temporary.
After six hours of waiting, he left with little more than a promise that they 'might' call.
[Chapter 12]
He had wanted the super prestigious position of island construction. That was the job he had applied for. But he didn't turn down the offer that came instead.
The behemoth had been modified in his absence, and it now cranked out a continuous stream of small craft and tidal generators, in addition to the carrier-sized slabs. The corners and edges of each needed to be ground and cleaned, and the square holes intended for the pistons had to be bored as well. In addition to dozens of other mounting holes.
Jackhammers were heavy and loud, but lucrative, and he was well used to working with them. As well as changing grinder heads on the power equipment that was everywhere around the docks. Ten hours a day, five days a week, rain or shine they worked. It was boring and dull, but it paid better than any job he had had thus far, and he had, sooner than any had thought, saved up enough for a car.
In this case, a four-year-old Yaris.
He pulled up in the parkinglot, popped the trunk, then got out his lunchbox and waved as his new car pulled away.
Gina's mom needed it to run some errands today.
It felt odd to have bought a new car, make all the payments on it, insure it, pay taxes on it, yet not be the one to drive it all the time. It felt very odd, and more than a little wrong. But it was exactly how Gina had felt all these years.
It wasn't like it was going to do anything but sit in the parkinglot for ten hours today. Someone might as well get some use out of it. He adjusted his lunchbox, put on his badge, then walked through the security gate.
The cutting blades used carbide teeth and were a first-thing-in-the-morning job that he dreaded, but did most of the time. This morning was no exception. The blades were heavy and needed to be precisely placed
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