Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

James C. Roth has finally broken fifty years of silence to share with you glimpses into the future and the past. Like the warm southern breezes on the Gulf Coast, all you have to do is open your mind and breathe it all in.

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DUST TO DUST

The Secret of Divine InterventionBy James C. Roth

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2009 James C. Roth
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4401-9026-1

Chapter One

The year was 2093. I was driving along on my way to my mother's house when my pager went off sending it in a vibrating spasm across my dash just out of my reach. I was listening to my favorite talk show host on the radio when the subject of the space center recovering a meteorite from a recent asteroid shower came up. The meteorite had fallen from the sky, creating a sonic boom that was heard for hundreds of miles in every direction. The news media had been swarming all over the story when the space center showed interest in recovering the fiery meteorite that had landed dangerously close to an old farmer's home. Just as I pulled into my mother's driveway not a mile later, my pager went off again sliding off of the dash and falling into a pile of rubble in the floorboard. Beneath the rubble a voice from the space center anxiously repeated the need for me to call in as soon as possible. The excitement in her supervisor's voice indicated that his incompetence was once again going to be tested. Someone had to bail him out again, but why was it always me? I sat there quietly in my parked car looking around in every direction before venturing out into the open. I could feel their presence even though I could not see them. This wasn't the first time; I had been ambushed many times before.

I gathered my things together, clutching them to my chest as I made a hasty exit from my car. Halfway to the house's door, it happened. A barrage of water balloons rained down all around me. One balloon hit me on my right leg and burst, filling my shoe with water. I was hiding beneath the small overhang just out of target range; my back pressed hard against the door. As the door opened I stumbled inside nearly knocking my mother to the floor.

Those doggone kids lived next door to my mother. Their sole purpose in their life was to terrorize the neighborhood. I was nothing more than just another moving target for their amusement. Entering my mother's house, I muttered, "Damn those kids. I hate kids; I really do hate kids!" I hugged my mother around her neck and kissed her on the cheek while asking if I could use the phone to call the space center. Mother hadn't seen me in over a week. She clung to me for several minutes as she had always done when I was a child. The fast pace of my life had me wondering if something was wrong even though I loved to feel her loving arms around me.

The phone call was short and sweet. It was unlike the space center to call me out on my day off. There must be something very important happening because the space center wanted me to be there at four this afternoon to discuss my latest research with them. I had several hours to stay and visit with Mom while my shoes dried beside the fireplace. Trying to console me, she said, "Danielle Christine Jensen, don't you act like that! Those children don't mean you any harm. If they did they would be throwing rocks at you instead of water balloons."

Mother had the television on, as usual. Her life revolved around her favorite shows. The program she was watching today was about how far science had come in the past few years concerning the safety and commonality of multiple births of up to eight children at a time. Science had made these occurrences as typical as having one child at a time used to be. I told mother, "What in the world would any woman want with eight kids? Everybody is doing it these days. The world is overpopulated as it is. Someone needs to make them stop!"

My mother took my arm and turned me to face her. She said, "There comes a time in a woman's life when she feels ready to be a mother. There have also been times when I wished I had five more beautiful daughters just like you. Mark my words, young lady-at twenty four years old you haven't a clue about what is important. Something in your life will change your way of thinking, and you, too, will want to be a mom and have my grandchildren."

I turned to head into my old bedroom, but I paused and looked back to her on the way. "No way," I said. "Besides, I'm too fat now. Nobody would want me."

The moment I walked down the hall past the kitchen, that all-too-familiar smell of home fully enveloped my senses. I had often wondered what composed that indescribable fragrance. Mother was always cooking for me whenever she suspected I was coming by, so I thought it must be a combination of the smell of her cooking and the metallic scent of her old pots and pans being heated as she placed them back in service time after time.

I disappeared into my old room. It was cluttered with so many books that it seemed hard to envision a young girl had ever lived there. Instead of teddy bears and dollhouses or jewelry boxes full of girlish trinkets, there were pictures of space shuttle launches and models of satellites and rockets that complemented the main piece: a spectacular picture of the earth from several hundred miles in space.

I smiled as my attention turned to my telescope. It was my most prized possession, given to me by my father. When I was six years old, I felt as if I could see far into my future through that telescope. It had focused my attention toward becoming what I was today. Seeing it again brought back memories. I remembered what my daddy had said to me when he gave me that telescope. He told me that I would always be able to find him up there among the stars whenever he was away. I'd always felt so small when I was in his arms. I felt that the tenderness of his touch when he held me close could never be matched by any other man. Losing him during one of his missions in space a few days before my sixth birthday made it hard to ever think of celebrating, even today. For years after his death, I'd spent countless hours searching the stars and constellations for him. But I never did find him out there. I think his telling me that I could always do so was the only time that he hadn't kept his word to me.

As I turned to leave the room, I stopped momentarily and opened my dresser drawer. A warm feeling came over me when I saw an old, white cotton sweat suit from the space center that I had worn as pajamas when I was a teenager. I held the soft fabric tight against my chest and thought to myself that if I could lose about twenty pounds, I could still fit into them. The space center emblems were somewhat tattered from hundreds of machine washes, but they were still legible.

Folding the clothes carefully and tucking them back safely away, I turned my attention to the small bottle of cologne sitting on the dresser. It was the scent my daddy had always worn. I opened the cap, and the fragrance overwhelmed me, filling my eyes with tears as I once again remembered losing him. I shook my head and headed back to the living room, where my mother was waiting for me.

As I came in, Mother said she had heard from William the previous week. I gave her a bewildered look, which prompted her to respond, "Commander William Hoskins, your daddy's best friend. You remember him, don't you?"

Of course I remembered him. I could never forget him. My dad had called him Wild Bill. After my father's death, he'd gathered together a group of my father's old friends at the space center, who then made me their pet project. They designed my education to guarantee me a position there upon my graduation. Wild Bill had retired long ago, but he still called now and then to check up on both me and my mother.

My visit home was nice as...