Randy 5 part 2

A replicated paperback book lays on the deck of the ship as I lie on the red sofa dressed in boxer shorts and a white tee shirt.   I hold my personal pad above my eyes with one hand.  I had thought the paperback would provide a closer tie with the author, real print on paper, the way this book had originally been distributed.  Instead it made my shoulder hurt and I had trouble keeping it turned to the page I wanted.  I’m thinking of having the holo emitter scroll the words in the air above me so I don’t have to hold the pad but when I do that I always fall asleep.  Mac is lying on a red sofa just like mine.  He produced another holo sofa five feet in front of mine facing toward me.  If I look straight in front of me I see his feet with his clunky leather like sandals.  He could at least take his sandals off if he’s going to lie on a sofa that looks just like the one I have at home on Earth.  At first Mac had a holo paperback, now he is holding a holo personal pad.  For some reason Mac has decided to copy every thing I do.  I haven’t asked him why he’s copying me, I don’t want to know.  I tap the screen on my pad to turn the page and look out of the corner of my eye to see what Mac does.  Mac taps his screen and looks at me out of the corner of his eye.  I bend my knees pulling my feet off the arm of the sofa and let my head slide off the other arm of the sofa so I can be level.  Mac does the same.

“Cut that out!” I sit up and set my pad on the sofa.

“You cut that out!”  Mac says and sits up on his sofa.

“You’re going to drive me crazy.”

“Don’t have to drive you anywhere you’re already there.  You know what you need Randy?   You need a nice run on a beach, that’s what you need.”  As Mac speaks my sofa disappears and I fall to what should be the deck of the ship but turns into nice soft white sand just before I land.  Both sofas have been replaced by warm sand and the edge of an ocean wave laps a few feet away.  The air smells fishy and carries a definite saltiness.  Mac has changed his plaid shorts to a pink and purple Hawaiian design which goes perfect with his orange tee shirt.  I start to complain as I get up from being dumped on the sand but the breeze feels good and I haven’t been exercising near enough.  I start a jog just above where the water hits.  For just a second I worry about my pad and paperback book getting wet.

“Great program,” I say to Mac who has fallen in beside me.  

“Buildings?” he asks.

“A few, maybe a pier?”  A few beach type shops appear where the sand ends.  A concrete pier extends out into the ocean.  “A wooden pier, not as wide or as long.”  The pier changes.

“People?”

“Yes please.”

People fill the sand.  People on blankets.  People tossing balls and flying disks.  People surfing the waves.

“Less people Mac.”

A few people sunning, lying on towels remain.

“This is nice Mac.  Thanks.”  Mac just grins and keeps jogging beside me.  Mac will never get tired.  He will never sweat unless I remind him too.

A True Story

“Sometimes you just need to get out there and get started. Sometimes all you see is the next step and no farther,” I think it was just his way of pushing me away. His way of getting me out of the door and out of his life but it worked. I took that first step and then another.

Almost in a dream I was on a long, soft, warm, sandy pathway, the ocean on my right hand. I came upon a creek bed, dry now but covered with rock instead of sand. The rocks hurt my bare feet but I made it across the creek bed and back to the soft sand on the other side. I walked on the path in the sand until I came to the end of the beach, a line of red tinged black rocks stretching out into the ocean and up into the foothills. I turned around and walked with the waves to my left. I came to the creek bed and viewed the rocks, most were round but some had ruff edges. I walked across the creek bed being careful to avoid the sharp edges but failing from time to time. My feet hurt but I made it to the sand on the other side. The soft, warm, sand felt good between the toes of my feet. I stood for a moment at the waters edge. The gentle breeze off the ocean, the sun a few feet above the horizon, I paused there for just a moment. I walked along the path until I came to the opposite end of the cove. A wall of rock towered fifty feet above my head, the sand path tried to follow between red tinged black rocks but failed after just a few feet. I turned. I walked drinking in the joy of a sand path and salted air. I came to the creek bed. The rocks slipped under my steps and hurt my feet but I made it to the other side.

You Know The Drill, part eight.

“It’s unnerving to travel this fast,” he searched once more for something to hold onto but found nothing. The manufacturers had realized that the inertial dampers would never allow the movements of the ship to be felt by its passengers and had provided no handholds.

“You are, in all probability, traveling slower than you ever have in your entire life,” I rested my hands on the edge of the control panel and waited for him to express his lack of knowledge.

“The earth is moving toward Leo at 390 kilometers per second. And we are traveling away from Leo,” he said, spoiling my fun. “And we are traveling right at 400 kilometers per second,” he added, looking at the dash display. “So, in relation to Leo we are almost standing still.”

“Yes,” I replied, trying not to show my disappointment in his lack of ignorance.

“Still seems fast,” he said.

Set the drilling bucket on the ground. Start the drilling table turning. Nudge the wench up a little to lower the bucket an inch. Nudge it again and again. Watch the bucket fill. Push down on the wench lever until the bucket clears the top of the drilling table. One person pulls on top of the drilling bucket and climbs onto the drilling table in one movement. One person pushes the bucket as he hooks the hole in the bucket’s side and prepares to pull. One pulls, one pushes until the person on the drilling table is almost parallel with the ground pushing on the side of the drilling table with his toes. The person pushing releases the trap door at the bottom of the bucket and the dirt dumps. The person with the rope sets the empty bucket next to the drilling table. The wench lever is pulled gently and the bucket sits on the drilling table closing the trap door, which is the bottom of the drilling bucket. Reach up and latch the hinged bottom into place. Raise the bucket, center it in the drilling table, and lower it into the hole. Start the bucket turning. Repeat, over and over and over until the thirty-three inch hole is about ten to fourteen feet deep. Now, when the empty bucket is lowered into the hole stop the top of the bucket just below the drilling table and slide the reamer blade into its slot and drop the hitch pin into place. Lower the bucket until the reamer blade rests lightly on the earth around the thirty-three inch hole and start it turning.   The dirt will fill the bucket quickly as a five-foot across hole is created but some dirt will fall through into the already drilled thirty-three inch hole. Repeat the total process, including adding and taking off the reamer blade, until the center hole is filled. When the center hole is filled stop putting on the reamer blade and drill out the center thirty-three inch hole ten feet or so to provide room for the dirt that falls outside the bucket while reaming. Do this over and over and over until the five foot part of the hole is fourteen feet deep. Throw the reamer blade into a tool box so no one has to look at it any more, we are done with it. Drill your little heart out. When the thirty-three inch wide hole is about twenty feet from the top of the drilling table the eight by eight inch plate at the top of the six by six shaft will rest on the top of the yoke and allow the five-inch by five-inch shaft to telescope out of the bottom of the six-inch by six-inch shaft. We are drilling for sand. Sand in this area is usually about twenty-five or thirty feet down and it would be nice, for drainage, to end up at least eight feet into good coarse sand.   Set up as we are we can drill down to about thirty-seven feet. When we finish drilling the thirty-three inch wide hole will be filled with rocks, the five foot wide hole will receive ten feet of perforated three foot wide concrete pipe with a concrete lid and more rocks will be added filling the outside gap between the pipe and our hole, leaving the inside of the concrete pipe empty. One drywell is finished.

Sand

Sand. It can be hot. It can grind and abrase. For sand to enter the world of praise it needs to be washed, at least once a day, with cold salty water. Treated this way sand turns to a soft, forgiving friend that pushes between your toes, gives graciously when you fall upon your knees, and conforms to contours when laid upon. Some care is still required; sand, by nature, is clingy, it wants to adhere, a joiner. This must be kept in check. Never allow sand “in”, it should treated as a friend of a friend.   And as a friend of a friend sand should never be invited home. If sand is taken from the edge of the cold salty water it instantly becomes a guest over staying their welcome, very hard to get rid of and always a nuisance.