From a safe vantage point, Jason observed the rare flooding of the arroyo. The Channel Tao people would be arriving later in the day to televise the flow, so he wanted to enjoy the scene before the vans and satellite dish arrived and disturbed the landscape. Behind him, the yak herd grazed idly. His friends kidded him about the Golden Fleece, but they were impressed that yak wool actually sold for $70 a pound. He didn’t tell them about the dragon’s teeth he’d been planting.
Before moving to this high dry parcel in northern New Mexico, Jason had been on the holographic team of the misbegotten and ill-fated Land of Oz themepark project in eastern Kansas. He was involved in the cool part of the project—creating holographic and other technologically enhanced environments for tourists and funlovers to immerse themselves in. His drawing board overflowed with emerald cities, talking trees, flying monkeys, and of course yellow brick roads. It was to be a larger than life virtual reality. It was never quite clear why the park’s creator decided to build it in Kansas, aside from the Oz connection. Everyone knew that theme parks need to operate year round and be a “destination.” Kansas was a good place to live, but who would want to visit? Between the blast furnace summers and meat locker winters there were a few weeks of moderate temperatures, which usually coincided with battering winds spring and fall. To top it off, the proposed site was a decomissioned munitions reservation, home to acres and acres of hazardous waste. Way over the rainbow this place was.
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