The distance to Socorro turned out to be more like 80 miles than 50 -- a
long and expensive taxi ride. But what the heck, thought Stacy. At least
I can afford it. For the most part they drove in silence, Stacy staring
out at the bleak desert landscape. At times she would be sure that the
scenery around her was hauntingly familiar, but more often than not the
very next moment would find her equally certain that she had never been
any place like this before in her life. It was maddening. As night fell, hiding the world around her in the kind of deep darkness you could never get in New York City, she spoke to the driver. "I'd like to go out and visit the VLA. Do you know if it's open to the public?" "Oh, sure," he replied. "They've got a visitors' center there and everthing. Open until sunset, I think. I've been out there a couple of times." He gave her directions, which were simple enough: it was west from Socorro on Highway 60. After what seemed an eternity, they arrived in Socorro. Stacy was... unimpressed. As far as she could see, it was little more than a highway stop of a town. And it sparked no memories in her whatsoever. The driver dropped her off at a Super 8 Motel on a frontage road just inside the northern boundary of the town. Stacy checked into the motel, went to her room, and sat on the bed, thinking. What now? She looked at her watch. It was 8:30. And of course, there'd be no point in going out to the VLA until tomorrow morning.
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12/22/1999 7:18:49 PM
Extending Enabled
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