Jimmy, Super Kid (part thirty-nine)

My uncle climbs into the pilot’s seat and digs into a black bag on the floor, “here, put these on.” He hands both of us head sets and puts a set over his ears as well. “Plug them in here,” he points to a place on the dash in front of me. “And here,” he shows Ricky where to plug his head set in the back, Ricky’s only about four inches away, even as small as we are we take up all the room.

“Ready?” my uncle asks and we hear him through the headsets. Both of us nod. Both of us look a bit uneasy.   A commercial plane with a bathroom and dinner trays is one thing – this is very different. I feel a little gurgle in my stomach. “There’s some bags in the pouch on the door,” My uncle says, like he can read my mind and then he starts up the engine.   Without the headsets we would not be able to hear anything but we hear my uncle speaking to the tower telling them who he is and requesting instructions. The little plane starts to move slowly across the blacktop. My uncle gets it lined up where the tower told him to and then the noise from the engine increases dramatically, the plane almost immediately leaves the ground, and points almost straight into the sky. I can hear Ricky giggling in my head set and it sets me off too. My uncle has to turn off our microphones in order to have another conversation with the tower when he turns them back on we are still giggling. The plane levels off far above our town and my uncle does a long sweeping turn around the whole town, including the houses, and ends the turn with the plane pointing west. In no time at all we see the ocean and the long strip of sandy beach. The little tiny beach towns take almost no space at all.   My uncle keeps heading west, we pass the boundary between land and water and he continues west until all we see is water in every direction. I reach for the bag in the door and then decide I’m okay without it.

“Neat huh?” I hear my uncles voice in the head set, take my eyes off the ocean and look over at him, he’s grinning, all excited watching our expressions.

“Amazing,” Ricky and I say together, it sounds weird in the headsets.

“My favorite place in the whole world,” my uncle says as he turns the plane in a long wide turn and ends pointing back to the east. We talk a little, my uncle points out a few things but most of the time we just float through the air high above the world.

Jimmy, Super Kid (part twenty-five)

“So,” I want to ask Ricky several questions but I’m not sure if he will appreciate them right now, “what does your father do for a living?”

Ricky looks up from the sand and gives me a puzzled look.

“I’m just trying to understand why someone would kidnap him,” I answer quietly.

“He does research,” Ricky goes silent and goes back to staring at the sand his eyes a little shining a little more than usual. He blinks a few times to keep anything from running down his cheeks.

“What does he research?” I know I’m pushing it but I want to have something to go on.

“I ask him, he says he’s a researcher. He puts on a suit and tie every weekday morning and he’s gone for about nine hours. That’s all I know.” Ricky answers without ever looking up from watching his toes dig into the cold sand.

“Maybe your mom will know,” I say, just thinking out loud.

“I doubt it. His own son doesn’t even know what he does!” Ricky says like he’s mad at himself for not knowing more.

“Hey it’s not your fault!” It bothers me that my best friend is blaming himself for what has happened. “Maybe it’s all top secret and he can’t tell you.”

Ricky looks up, rubs the water out of his eyes, “you think he was captured to get some information out of him?” Now Ricky looks more worried than sad.

“I’m sure he’s okay, but we need to figure out what’s going on,” Ricky really looks messed up I’m afraid my questions haven’t helped much. “Lets just wait till my dad gets here, maybe the police have already found him. How hard could it be to spot a car hauler with a picture of a race car on the back?”

Ricky just nods and goes back to looking at his toes.   I’ve got a lot to think about anyway, like why did they even bother with taking the car? How did they know he would be at the car show? How long would it take to put together a plan like this, with a car hauler and all? With all those people around why didn’t any one notice? Did Ricky’s dad just walk into the truck? The more I think about it the less sense it makes.

Jimmy,Super Kid (part two)

And this is a summer’s day. I walk at a brisk pace a short stick in hand, poking at the ground, not for balance but to promote the image of a person hiking. My olive green shorts have extra pockets, not just for image but also for things that are found. Movement up ahead. I drop into stealth mode, silent steps, slow careful movements – movement attracts. A small figure kneels beside the water’s edge dipping into the water with a small cup and emptying the cup into a gallon can. The figure is a boy, dressed much like I am and only slightly smaller. Next to the boy a white dog stands. The dog is almost the size of the boy. The dog lifts his nose and sniffs. The dog turns and looks straight at me. My scent has revealed my presence, but only to the dog, the boy continues his scooping of water. The dog barks and wags his tail as I leave the protection of a tall bush and walk up to my best friend Ricky.

“How goes the hunt?” I ask while looking into the gallon can.

“Got eight,” Ricky answers without taking his eyes off the water, holding the cup an inch above the water.

“How many you need?” I ask counting the eight black commas swimming in the can.

“Ten,” he answers shortly. “Quiet!” he instructs in a stage whisper. I follow his advice and move back from the water’s edge. Sally, the dog, a Samoyed white wolf, follows me; she’s had enough of the tadpole hunt.

Ricky makes a quick scoop, “nine,” he announces. Sally looks to see if this means anything to her, decides it does not and attacks me. She could easily eat me alive but Ricky keeps her well fed. Sally tries to take my stick. I hold on with both hands. She grips the stick between my hands and starts to drag me toward the water, she growls, I scream.

“Quiet!” Ricky looks at me and then at Sally, “Sit!” Sally lets go of the stick immediately, dropping me into the mud and sits beside Ricky like it was what she always wanted to do. Ricky makes a last dip into the water and proclaims, “Ten!”

 

My Life (part 61)

As it turned out the convertible model of one of the smallest gravity drive tractors made cost more than the fully enclosed air condition cab model but I wanted to feel the wind on my face so I paid the extra.  Some of our closest friends showed interest in a small family farm.  Thanks to laws put into place by the government Sally had helped to form it was easy to sell off several two hundred to four hundred acre farms and before we were completely moved in several of our friends were building homes within sight of ours.  Our farming community settled in at less than a thousand people total but on Jasper’s World that was almost a town;  we even put in a small park with a building to gather in in it’s center.  

Things went so smoothly that time passed quickly.  Henry Jasper’s death caught us by surprise.  It shouldn’t have, he had been an old man when I first met him and no matter how I thought about him he wasn’t really a god.  All activity on the planet shut down for his funeral.  The funeral itself was short and simple but the stories that were told about all the things he had done kept most of the crowd together for days.  From the day he died on Sally and I owned half the planet outright but thanks to the proper management techniques established by Henry the place ran itself. Sally and I almost forgot we had become a couple of the richest people in the galaxy.  Our days were spent with early morning chores,  quiet evenings with friends or with just the two of us sitting in comfortable chairs sipping drinks.  Harvest times were intense.  With almost no help at all my hundred and sixty acres could keep us both pretty busy when crops needed to be gathered.  When it was time to round up Sally’s sixty to a hundred head (depending on sales and time of year) of Black Aberdeen Angus we both got a pretty good workout.  

We still took part in the major wheat harvests.  Even with all the gravity drive tractors that followed laser beams and computer programs there was still plenty of work for everyone.  As The Earth improved the quality of its air and land a small percentage of Jasper’s World’s population went back to what they considered their true home and the population of Jasper’s actually declined a bit but the young people were having lots of babies to fill the voids.

About babies;  Sally and I had never discussed it.  For a long time it went without saying that Jasper’s World was our offspring.  When we did finally talk about it we were both on the same page.  It was always fun to visit the neighbors and play with their children but we never felt the need to own some of our own.

I was up early.  There was still a chill in the air and dew on the ground.  Gravity drive tractors make no sound at all so I could hear the disks turning behind me.  The sound was so familiar that I knew my depth and speed without looking at a single gauge.  I pulled to the end of the field and made a wide square cornered oval and started back the way I had come.  I drove into the sun that was just a half dome seated on the mountains to the east, made another wide square corner and felt the warmth of the sun on my back.  I was off to a good start at disking the forty acres I planned to plant with barley when Sally walked to the edge of the field and waved me in.

“Let’s eat!” she hollered to me as soon I I drew close enough for her to be heard.  Neither of us every really learned to cook but replicators had come a long way and we had purchased some of the best programs on the market.  My Americano program had been written by a sixteen year old computer genius on Earth.  The light brown creama on top turned out perfect every time.  So far replicators still couldn’t create a decent egg but the new stoves could do a pretty good job taking one of our fresh eggs and turning it into a scrambled, fried, or poached egg with our just pushing a few buttons.  We lived in the ancient past and in the cutting edge future at the same time.  It was a good mix.

Sorters (part 3)

I pad along on the wide downtown concrete sidewalk.  I stop to sniff this and that as I go by;  not just because it’s what a dog would do but because it gives me a better understanding of the area around me.  After a block of wagging my tail and smiling up at the passing humans I come to what appears to be a cabin.  All the other building have been concrete and stucco with glass store fronts and aluminum framed glass doors.  This building looks like a house someone might build in the mountains among tall evergreen trees.  The structure is small compared to the structures around it.  It is only one story tall, sided with wood planks and it has a wide front porch with tables and chairs for customers.  The sign on the side of the wall says: Burgers and Pie, letters under the burgers and pie, almost as large, say:  No Credit Cards.  

An older man with gray hair dressed in baggy blue jeans and a plaid shirt, sitting, eating at one of the smaller tables sees me walking by, “hey pooch.  You hungry pooch?”

I stop and look at him letting a little of my excess water ballast drip at the corners of my black mouth.

“Good doggy, come here,” he pats his thigh and gives me a soft whistle.

I bound up the three steps to the wooden deck and let him rub my head.

“What’s a good doggy like you doing all alone downtown?  You need to be careful here you know.  Lots of cars.  You be careful good boy.  You hungry?”  He start to tear off a bite of his hamburger. 

“Please, save that for yourself.  I really not very hungry,” I’m not hungry at all because I don’t eat but I try not to get too far into my story before the human I’m talking to gets over the initial shock of a non-human form talking.  On the other hand I find it takes a lot less explaining if the first words out of my mouth come from a non-human form.  The human I’m talking to understands much quicker and with a lot less questions that he is talking to an outer space alien if  the first words he or she hears out of me comes from a dog or a bird or a cat.

The old man looks a little stunned.  He just stares and says nothing at all.  I’ve had this happen before.  A picture is worth a thousand words so I change into a chicken and perch on the chair back of the chair that sits across from him.  “I’m not a dog or a bird I’m a creature form outer space and I mean you no harm.  I just want to talk.”

“And your doing a fine job for having a beak instead of lips.  You changed from a dog to a chicken can you change into a human?  It would help with the conversation I think.”

“Do you have a preference as to the type of human you would like to speak to?”  The old guy is pretty quick to be able to assume I can change into human form with the limited information he has been given.  He appears to be handling my being a space creature fairly well. He even understands what I mean by having a preference.

“How about a well dressed young man, say eighteen or nineteen years old.”

“Race?”

“Not important.”

I decide to be highly pigmented, thin and tall and stand beside the chair.  “How’s this?”

“Much better, take a seat.”

I sit but I’m mostly air right now and I kind of bounce once and have to hold myself down by holding onto the edges of the chair until I settle in.

“May I drink your water?” I ask eyeing a full tall glass sitting by his burger basket.

“Sure,” he pushes the drink toward me, “for ballast right?”

This old guy may be one of the quickest humans I have ever met.  I gulp down the water and feel a little less like a balloon.   I could use a few more glasses of water.  Before I ask the old man gets up, goes to the door of the restaurant, opens the door  and shouts, “hey Toby, two tall waters out here.  No ice.”

My Life (part 15)

 I stretch full length very happy to be out of my box.  I feel a drop of moisture on my face.  A single thought fills my mind completely, rain!  Without any plan I run to the dirt road and almost run into a column of four military vehicles converted into tractors.  Parts of the tractors are still cameo green, other parts are bright orange.  All four tractors bump to a  halt.  I run to the second in line and climb the steps to the cab, pull on the cab door and make myself at home inside.  Three humans all stare at the kid who just invaded their territory.

“It’s raining,” as I say the words I realize the rain does not burn.  I look at my arms and see no red whelps developing.  The three farmers still stare at me as I sit in the back seat of the tractor’s cab.  “It started to rain. I thought it would burn,” I look at my arms once more and wipe my face with my hand, “it doesn’t.”  I give the three of them my best grin.

The woman driving the tractor turns in her seat and talks to the man next to me on the bench type back seat, “sounds like an Earth boy to me.”  The man beside me nods his agreement as the lady starts the tractor and the four tractors resume their course down the wet and turning slightly muddy hard packed dirt road.

The man beside me turns to look me over as the passengers in the front seat face forward.  “Where you from boy?”

I consider my options before I say, “I came in on the cargo barge.”

“And how did you come to be in the cornfield?”  he doesn’t sound mean or anything.  He just sounds interested.

“I didn’t have a ticket or anything.  I stowed away in a fuel cell container.”  Something about the way I said it or what I said made all four people laugh.

“That’s thinking,” the man beside the woman driving said.  “Would you have ever thought of that Ricky?”

“Six plus days in a small box?  How’d you do that?” Ricky asked.  I start to answer when a yellow, plastic, cooler falls off the back of the tractor in front of us and our tractor comes to an abrupt stop.  

“I’ll get it!” I shout as I push open the door beside me.

“Careful, it’s raining harder now,” the lady warns me.

“But it doesn’t burn at all!” I shout back.  Clean cold water coats my face and turns my clothes a darker shade of blue.  Being careful not to slip I place the cooler back on the lead tractor and jump back up the stairs to my place beside Ricky.  “That’s wonderful,”  I say as I wipe some of the moisture from around my eyes.  This, also, brings laughter to the cab of the second of four tractors.  Sally, my driver, Mike, the man sitting next to her, and Ricky all have questions to ask.  I answer honestly, I really have no other option at this point.  The rain gets harder and harder as we continue down the dirt road but it’s nothing the surplus military equipment can’t handle.  Sally guides the joy stick control with the tips of her fingers and spends half her time turned around talking to me.  After I’ve explained every detail of my trip the questions turn to how the Earth is doing.  The mood becomes more serious as they ask about specific places on Earth.  All I know anything about is Bakersfield, California and in my thirteen, almost fourteen years  I have seen very little of Bakersfield.  It takes a good forty minutes to reach the maintenance barn.  By the time we turn into the huge open doors of the barn I’m all talked out.  The rain stops hitting the metal top of the tractor cab and the silence hits like a slap in the face.  As soon at the engines quit everyone piles out and starts storing gear.  I watch for a second and start mimicking their actions. I do my fair share of the work.  First impressions are everything, I hear.

My life (part 3)

The shuttle back to my home is packed.  Seems like half the people in the mall decided to take this shuttle at this time.  I stand in the center of the aisle and practice balancing on my toes as the shuttle dips and curves through some unexplainable flight plan it’s been programed with.  Everyone on the shuttle is staring straight ahead with a blank stare, the only talking is a mother telling her kid to sit still, she looks at me like I’m a bad example ‘cause I’m standing on my toes and not holding onto the handrail.  Hey, I’m not taking up a seat and I haven’t gone flying off into someone, even when the shuttle takes a quick, unnecessary turn; which it does just as I’m thinking about it. I dip to regain my balance.  The lady actually smiles at me like I did a good job.  Maybe she’s not so bad after all.  The shuttle curves into a complex and makes its first stop.  Maybe ten people get off and we’re back in the air.  My stop is about the last one so I get back on the balls of my feet, close my eyes and pretend I’m skiing down a mountain or something like that.  Every time the shuttle stops a few more people get off.  There are plenty of empty seats now but I stay in the aisle, no one seems to care, they’re all just looking ahead to getting home.  Most of them look pretty tired.  The shuttle stops and the lady with the little girl that had to sit still stands up and helps her child out of the special child seat.  As the lady walks by she gives me a quick smile and a pat on the shoulder.  Maybe I misjudged her.  There are only five people left in the shuttle when they get to my stop, I’m the only one who gets off.  I pull my respirator on over my mouth and nose, wait for the air lock to signal green, and step out into the gray fog that settles over this part of the Earth every night.  The fog is about half moisture and half dirt. I can feel a stickiness settle onto the exposed skin on my face.  Don’t ever rub that stuff, it’ll take forever to get off.  It’s only half a block to my building but I should have put my goggles on, my eyes are all itchy by the time I get to the building’s air lock and pull my respirator off.  I take one good breath of good scrubbed air and put the respirator back on.  Army surplus scrubbers only work about half the time and right now is not that half.  I hope they get them going before bedtime, I hate to sleep with a respirator on.

“Mom!” I shout as the door behind me seals with a hiss.

“Quiet, your sister is writing a paper for school and needs to concentrate.  Where have you been?”

I give her a quick hug instead of an answer.

“Oh, my, you stink.  Get in there and take a shower while I warm up your dinner.  Did you have homework?”

“Did it on the way to the mall.  What’s for dinner?”

“Number fourteen.  I should let you eat it cold but you’re my only son,”  she gives me another hug and comes away holding her nose, “wash.”  She points me toward the bathroom.

There are twenty-two meals we can choose from.  All twenty-two are outdated government rations.  Number fourteen is good.  We call it number fourteen because that is the number on the box and because we have no idea as to what kind of food it is supposed to be.  The rations come to us in portions for a family of three.  The recommendation on the box says to warm up the entire contents at one time in order to save energy but if it gets cold the contents of the box tastes a lot like the box itself.  I hurry to the shower.

Sitting at the kitchen table my mom asks about my day and then listens to every word I say like I was interesting or something.  The only thing I’m going to miss about this planet is my mom.  I might miss my sister a little but not much.

“How many laps did you do?” she asks when I run out of things to say.

“Twelve, four miles.  I was pushing a little harder than usual, closer to running than jogging.  I was the only one up there most of the time.”

“Kind of like running out of doors.  I used to love to run in the park.  Everything was so green and the air so clean back then.”

“You used to run?”   My mom is a bit chunky and doesn’t look at all like a runner.

“Of course I ran, everyone runs at sometime or another.  I was pretty fast in high school I could show you a few medals I won if they were not all stored away someplace.”  She looks sad, thinking about how things used to be.  Sometimes I forget my mom had a life before I came along.  For her the time before the war wasn’t that long ago.  For me my whole life came after the war.  Things are actually better now than they have ever been from my perspective.  The air is cleaner.  Food’s getting more plentiful.  There are a lot more services, like the shuttle to the mall.  People say the Earth is getting back to normal but my mother knows different.  I can’t imagine running out of doors.

The Event

Walking fast, music blasting from tinny speakers mounted to wooden utility poles, in a crowd of people crowding together in small groups all walking in the same direction. I look for openings between groups. My eyes dart back and forth, scanning. I turn sidewise to slide between two people. I pick up my gait when an empty twenty feet of hard packed dirt opens up. It takes just seconds to catch up to the next jumble of people. I hear French, Spanish and Swedish coming from groups I pass. Half of Sweden must be here or there are several languages that sound like Swedish to me. The second is most likely. The crowding thickens as I near the actual event. Booths selling crafts, foods or philosophies appear as the dirt under my feet turns to asphalt. My walk is slowed. Bodies bump mine. After each bump I check to see if my wallet is still in my back pocket, a bad habit. Checking for your wallet tells the pick-pocket where you keep your wallet, I have been told, probably by a pick-pocket. I try to keep my hand away but after each bump I check. I have a plan. If I find my wallet gone I plan to turn and shout, “Hey at least give me my driver’s license back!”
I nudge my way through a solid wall of people. Some of the mass of people are just standing now, they have reached their destination. Other members of the mass circle around looking for the reason this is their destination. I continue to walk, this is not my goal. The crowd thins in much the same way it thickened. I move from nudging through a solid mass to moving from gap to gap but walking against traffic now. The mass of people is behind me. The music fades until it is almost something a person could listen too. A few stragglers ask for directions in Swedish, or something that sounds like Swedish to me, I point toward the crowd behind me, I hope that answers their question. Another five minutes and I reach the sand. I take off my shoes and socks, push the socks into the shoes and just stand for a few second letting the sand warm my toes. The beach in front of me is almost empty. I walk to the water’s edge, which is not as easy as it sounds because it is constantly changing. I walk north always aware of where the water has been and where it will be next. I determine that each time the water comes in it comes in not quite as far. As the minutes go by the beach becomes larger, I’m sure the ocean compensates somehow.

Randy 5 part 3

I’ve turned out every light but one.  A small red light next to the door is just barely seeable even in the almost complete darkness.  I don’t know what the small red light is for but it doesn’t seem to signify a problem.  I’m in my bedroom on my new ship.   It’s considered quite a step up to have a sleeping room on a ship; it’s just the first step but it’s a step.  I’m lying in a real bed, not holo at all.  If the computer should fail completely I would still be lying in a bed.  I listen for a sound.  I can here myself breathing and the sound my toes make in contact with the sheets.  Traveling in a gravimetric ship is very quiet.  The grav disks in the hull move but cannot be heard.  There is no engine anywhere.  Our energy comes from light and our movement comes from gravity.  Everything I use is re-used.  Every molecule of air I breath and every drop of water I drink will be gathered up and used in some way.  I imagine I am floating through space in my self contained world but I’m hurtling at a speed light could never think of achieving.  

A ding disturbs my wondering mind.

“Come in Mac.”

The door swishes open but Mac continues to stand outside looking in; unsure if he should be disturbing me.

“You have a communications packet from your sister Sally, Randolph,” Mac is being very formal until he finds out if bringing me this information was the right thing to do.

“Thank you Mac.”

I sit up on the edge of the bed and let my bare feet touch the carpet.  I reach for my white tee shirt and pull it on over my head.  In boxers and tee shirt I head for the bridge.  The red sofa is in place waiting for me.  As I sit Mac starts the communications packet from Sally.

My sister Sally sits at her desk on the deck of my ship.  Behind her and on each side of her the holo emitters project her office on Earth.

“I wish I had more news; I know you’re bored to death by now.  As far at the business goes not much at all has changed.”  She fills me in on everything including the smallest details.   On Earth sitting in her office I would have gone out to Jolly Cone for a burger after the first three minutes but here on the ship in the middle of nowhere I lap in up like a hungry dog with a dish of chicken gravy.  I listen to every word and take note of questions I will ask in my return communications packet.   

With business taken care of Sally moves to family.  I lean forward eager for news of my two nephews.  Five year old Tommy and Randy, who is almost eight run into my ship as the office becomes the park near their home.  They have planned their entrance to slide across the damp grass and stop right in front of Sally’s camera. Tommy stops first and Randy doesn’t stop until he is on top of Tommy.  Randy slaps at Tommy until he gets off of him and then they both say together, “Hi uncle Randy!”   They both start talking at once telling me about every second of their lives since the last communications packet; pushing each other out of the way when it is determined that a brother has had enough talking time.  The packet ends with a demonstration of all they have learned in kick boxing class.

The walls of the ship become ship walls and the ship returns to quiet.  I sit on the sofa and stare at the spot where the two boys stood.  Mac is sitting beside me on the sofa I do not know if he just appeared of if he’s been there the whole time.

“Play it again Mac.”

My sister Sally sits at her desk.

The Village part 3

There is nothing else to do.  I toss down one end of my knotted rope and prepare to make my way down to the ground.   I hear the fingers of a hundred and thirty hands tapping on thighs welcoming me to join them.  When my feet touch the ground I’m surrounded by the group and we move as a unit to the place nearby the oven where the villagers have many of their meals. I’m seated on what I am sure is the rock of honor.  As villagers take seats around me I’m handed a plate sized green leaf filled with samples of everything I have watched being cooked on the coals.  Everyone sits and waits, watching me in anticipation; they are as silent as the forest around us.  A young girl sitting beside me taps my hand, points to my food and then to my mouth.  I choose a bite of some kind of roasted plant and bring it to my mouth.  Every eye is on me.  I chew,  it’s good, I smile, fingers tap thighs and everyone starts to talk among themselves and to eat their meal.  I am asked many questions but their language is like none I have ever heard before.  Between bites of a wonderful meal I let them hear a few sentences in English.  I get giggles and puzzled looks and many more questions I cannot understand.  As the food is eaten new branches are laid on the coals and a low flame lights the area.  People relax and lean against rocks and hut walls.  One at a time they tell stories.  Old people and very young children tell animated stories accompanied by so many gestures and such expression that sometimes I almost feel I know what they are talking about.  By the time the fire is allowed to die back down to coals I feel completely accepted.  The villagers start to move toward their huts.  Two or three at a time they walk past me, say a few words, touch my hand or just smile.  I glance at the rope that leads to my perch in the tree. Seeing my glance the old man, who seems to be a leader, takes me by the hand and leads me to a rock hut.  In total darkness he guides my hand to a mat of woven grasses that has been prepared for me.  He leaves me alone.  My eyes adjust enough that the light coming in from the fire pit allows me to see that I’m all alone.  Several natives must have been relocated to make this space for me.  I hear someone softly singing in another hut, perhaps a mother encouraging her child to sleep.  She sings me to sleep as well.