Mount Dragon

Guy Carson, stuck at yet another traffic light, glanced at the clock on his dashboard. He was already late for work, second time this week. Ahead, U.S. Route 1 ran like a bad dream through Edison, New Jersey. The light turned green, but by the time he had edged up it was red again. "Son of abitch" he muttered, slamming the dashboard with the fat part of his palm. He watched as the rain splattered across the windshield, listened to the slap and whine of the wipers. The serried ranks of brake lights rippled back toward him as the traffic slowed yet again. He knew he'd never get used to this congestion any more than he'd get used to all the damn rain. Creeping painfully over a rise, Carson could see, a mere half mile down the highway, the crisp white facade of the GeneDyne Edison complex, a postmodern masterpiece rising above green lawns and artificial ponds. Somewhere inside, Fred Peck lay in wait. Carson turned on the radio, and the throbbing sound of the Gangsta Muthas filled the air. As he fiddled with the dial, Michael Jackson's shrill voice separated itself from the static. Carson punched it off in disgust. Some things were even worse than the thought of Peck. Why couldn't they have a decent country station in this hole? * * * The lab was bustling when he arrived, Peck nowhere in sight. Carson drew the lab coat over his lanky frame and sat down at his terminal, knowing his log-on time would automatically go into his personnel file. If by some miracle Peck was out sick, he'd be sure to notice when he came in. Unless he had died, of course. Now, that was something to think about. The man did look like a walking heart attack. "Ah, Mr. Carson," came the mocking voice behind him. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence this morning." Carson closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then turned around. The soft form of his supervisor was haloed by the fluorescent light. Peck's brown tie still bore testament to that morning's scrambled eggs, and his generous jowls were mottled with razor burn. Carson exhaled through his nose, fighting a losing battle with the heavy aroma of Old Spice. It had been a shock on Carson's first day at GeneDyne, one of the world's premier biotechnology companies, to find a man like Fred Peck there waiting for him. In the eighteen months since, Peck had gone out of his way to keep Carson busy with menial lab work. Carson guessed it had something to do with Peck's lowly M.S. from Syracuse University and his own Ph.D. from MIT. Or maybe Peck just didn't like Southwestern hicks. "Sorry I'm late," he said with what he hoped would pass for sincerity. "Got caught in traffic." "Traffic," said Peck, as if the word was new to him. "Yes," said Carson, "they've been rerouting" "Reroutin'," Peck repeated, imitating Carson's Western twang. "detouring, I mean, the traffic from the Jersey Turn-pike" "Ah, theTurnpike," Peck said. Carson fell silent. Peck cleared his throat. "traffic in New Jersey at rush hour. What an unexpected shock it must have been for you, Carson." He crossed his arms. "You almost missed your meeting." "Meeting?" Carson said. "What meeting? I didn't know" "Of course you didn't know. I just heard about it myself. That's one of the many reasons you have to be here on time, Carson." "Yes, Mr. Peck," Carson said, getting up and following Peck past a maze ofPreston, Douglas is the author of 'Mount Dragon', published 2005 under ISBN 9780765354938 and ISBN 0765354934.