Jimmy Jack and the Smartman

by Brian S. Wheeler

  Chapter 3 - Secrets of Employment

  I can't count the weeks, can hardly count the years, since I first shook myself out of bed before the sunrise to hurry once a week into the line gathering to see the smartman. I've learned all kinds of tricks since my first visit to help me get closer to the front of that line - going to bed with my shoes tightly tied to my feet, driving my hovermudder along alternate routes to the dome to avoid the carbon toll stations, making sure I get plenty of rest during the week so that I can get up earlier and earlier each morning when the smartman invites us all before his bubble. The problem is that just about everyone else knows the exact tricks that I know. No matter how hard I try, I never arrive early enough at those wooden railings to get anywhere near the front of the line.

  It's been a week since Yogi provided me with that unlucky string of numbers, a week since Yogi delivered those quinoa plants to my front door. It's early morning, but already the sun is frying the shelter's corrugated roofing, promising a superheated day while we shuffle forward in the line. It doesn't take long for thirst to grip my throat, and I'm regretting I chose to go without purchasing pricy bottles of purified water to carry along to the line.

  I'm very surprised when Jason John steps out of his cool antechamber and strolls through the line until he finds me. My stomach drops. I've never missed a meeting with the smartman, but I'm afraid I might when Jason John grips my elbow and pulls me out of the line.

  "You better have a good reason for dragging me out of the line after I've waited all morning, Jason John."

  Jason John smirks. "You're going to be pleasantly surprised, Jimmy Jack. The smartman wants to see you as soon as I can find you. Says he's got some real important business to share with you."

  I'm starting to think I should've tossed those quinoa seeds Yogi delivered to my door into the trash. I haven't made the first move to plant them in my garden after the numbers the smartman gave me for the lottery. I hate to think the smartman plans to waste my time talking about quinoa seeds. All of us in the community have learned there's no way to anticipate what kind of business Yogi would think was important. My neighbors stare daggers at me as Jason John escorts me to the front of that line. It's not going to be easy to get my neighbors to forgive me.

  Yogi appears happy when he greets me inside of his plastic bubble after I finish moving through the cold antechamber. His skin has gained some color. Much of the bags have vanished from beneath his eyes.

  "I'm real sorry, Yogi." I decide the best course of action is to be honest regarding my failures, "but I promise to get those quinoa seeds planted real soon. I've been busy. Sorry to say I don't have a better excuse."

  Yogi keeps his smile while he shakes his head, and I take that as a good sign. "It's fine, Jimmy Jack. I've called you here for more important business that quinoa."

  "That's great, Yogi. What gives?"

  Yogi's eyes squint as they scan the chamber. He waves me to get up real close to his plastic bubble. The smartman's usually real careful that everyone stand behind the line of silver tape pasted on the floor, another precaution to keep him safe from germs. I oblige Yogi, nearly pressing my face into the bubble. I'm so close that it's uncomfortable, but Yogi looks pleased. That's how it is with a smartman. Every time you think you have a smartman figured out, he does something that doesn't seem to make any sense.

  "I've got something really big to share with you, Jimmy Jack."

  I frown. "Are you sure you want to share big news with me?"

  Yogi nods. "Without a doubt. I need someone I can trust from the start. I know I can count on you, Jimmy Jack."

  "I feel real bad about not getting those seeds planted."

  Yogi paces around his leather seat within that bubble. "Forget about those seeds. My news is far more important than quinoa. All of us smartmen scattered across the country have heard something incredible. We've found something magical."

  "I didn't know all you smartmen talked to one another."

  "Of course we talk to one another," Yogi laughs. "We have the entire computer network at our disposal. I'm not caged in this bubble to the extent you evidently believe, Jimmy Jack. The bubble only protects me from the plague. You're sorely mistaken if you think this bubble makes me some kind of prisoner."

  "Of course I don't think that."

  Yet Yogi's suspicions are true, and I'm not the only soul who considers that plastic bubble a cage. So many people consider that plastic bubble very fitting punishment for the smartmen who thought they could make themselves so wise while keeping the rest of us so dumb. I'm not going to tell that to Yogi, though. I don't want to jeopardize my weekly meeting with a smartman.

  "Real sorry, Yogi, I just forget sometimes that there are other smartmen out there."

  "Forgive me if I sounded on edge," Yogi winks. "I know it's hard for you to understand there's a much larger world out there, Jimmy Jack, but I need to know I can trust you."

  "You can trust me completely. What have you found?"

  "A voice." Yogi's voice is barely audible over the thrumming fans and air filters of his bubble. "We've found them. It's taken so long, but we've found them."

  I have no doubt that Yogi easily reads the confusion on my face.

  "Aliens. We've heard aliens, Jimmy Jack."

  "Like lizard men? Or like little gray guys with big, black eyes?"

  "Well, maybe. We don't know." Yogi's so excited that he can't help but spit a little onto the plastic bubble when he talks. "We don't have any idea what they look like. At least not yet. But think of the possibilities. Think of what they can teach us. How to reverse the climate's degradation. How to replant the forests. How to travel between the stars. Don't you see how wonderful it is?"

  I don't think Yogi expects me to answer, so I just keep quiet so the smartman can continue without interruption.

  ''Us smartmen have all kinds of hobbies. One of our favorites is sweeping the heavens with our telescopes. We have all kinds of telescopes. Most of the time, we use simple optical telescopes. But we also have radar, ultraviolet, infrared and radio telescopes too. You know how none of us smartmen can leave our bubbles. We get to feeling claustrophobic. So we point our telescopes at those stars and dream about what we might find out there in all the black if only we had a spaceship fast enough to show us. Don't tell me you've never stared up at all those stars and just dreamed about what might be waiting up there."

  I dream about a lot of things. I dream about Suzie Sarah working the counter at the discount store. I dream about her a lot. I dream about putting a little more power into my hovermudder. I dream about winning the world championship hovermudder trophy. I dream of looking just like those wrestlers glowing on television on Thursday and Saturday nights. But those are just dreams. I can't say I've ever wasted much time squinting up at the stars.

  So I keep quiet. Yogi has his engine purring just fine, and it's not my place to interrupt him.

  "We were sweeping a section of those stars with our radio telescopes when we heard a murmur, Jimmy Jack." Yogi's speech quickens. "I know what you're probably going to say. You're probably going to remind me that discrepancy is likely nothing more than radiation interference, that any reading is far more likely the signature of the sun's plasma discharge. We thought the same thing at first, Jimmy Jack. Only, we didn't have anything else to do with our time, so we stayed with that signal. And guess, Jimmy Jack, just guess, what we found."

  "I really haven't got a clue."

  Yogi grins. "We found a pattern in the signal. A pattern, Jimmy Jack. Can you believe it?"

  I do my best to shrug like I'm one real cool cucumber, but I'm starting to feel my armpits sweat. I'm starting to worry I'm not going to have the time to get the answer my week's question deserves to receive from the smartman. I've got a feeling that Yogi's only starting with his story, and I know all those neighbors waiting outside in line are going to be all the angrier if my time in the bubble chamber compromises their weekly visit.

  "Jimmy Jack, fe
w things in the natural word create a pattern like the one we picked up with our antennas, and we ruled all those possibilities out. This was a mark, a signature, a voice. The pattern was a giant arrow pointing to an intelligence, an extra terrestrial intelligence. We've suspected for so long, but there was always so much to explore. We could never tell if we would ever know. But we know now, Jimmy Jack. It's wonderful. I ramble. Of course you know."

  I nod, but I have no idea.

  "We're not alone, Jimmy Jack."

  Yogi hops out of his chair and paces to his glowing computer monitor, whistling at the strands of numbers winking in that glass. I peek through the plastic and over his shoulder at the screen, but I cannot make any sense of those numbers. Now I'm really worried about my session. Everybody knows how obsessed smartmen are with numbers.

  "You mentioned you had something really important to discuss with me, Yogi?"

  Yogi's fingers dance about his keyboard.

  "We want you to help us build a giant radio, Jimmy Jack."

  Something has gone wrong. Yogi appears to have forgotten what our weekly visits to his bubble chamber are all about. We pay taxes to support the care and maintenance of his bubble. We're the ones who pay his electric bills so that his air filters can screen him from the plague that has killed so many of those, who like Yogi, believed that through chromosomes they could buy themselves a better future at our expense. All we ask for in exchange is one day out of the week when we may present our questions to the smartman's engineered intelligence. On one day of the week, we ask the smartman to reimburse our support with his sage advice. Yogi talks like he's got it all backwards.

  "I know you can help us, Jimmy Jack. There's no reason to look afraid. We've been working on the design all week. We've made the plans so simple so that you can help us achieve its construction. There's a lot of fine circuitry involved, but that's the kind of work we can tend to within our bubbles."

  "I don't know, Yogi."

  "All we need you to do is help us organize a construction crew." Yogi's talking a mile a minute. "I already have a list of names of people who possess the skills our radio needs. Think of your immediate friends. Kurt Larry is a competent enough welder. Ray Ray is great with concrete. Joe Bob is a fine electrician."

  I feel like I'm about to vomit. My neighbors likely already hate me plenty for being pulled to the front of the line and taking so much of Yogi's time. They're going to downright despise me when I ask them to go to work for the smartmen.

  "I'm not sure, Yogi."

  "We'll pay all of you. We'll pay all of you plenty."

  "How much is plenty?"

  "More than enough for you to get that new hovermudder you've been talking about for months. More than enough to help Kurt Larry purchase a new swimming pool. Ray Ray would have the money for that new camper or wedding ring he's always asking about. And for Joe Bob, well, let me say he'll be able to party for a long time with the amount of money we're ready to offer him. We wouldn't dare ask your crew to work for free. But, Jimmy Jack, you have to promise to keep what we're building a secret."

  I've been dreaming about a new hovermudder for the past three years, since the night my first hovermudder exploded on the last leg of the county hovermudder races. A new hovermudder would get me one step closer to that county trophy, and that county trophy can unlock a lot of doors, open up a lot of mud tracks. I wouldn't mind a little work for it. I wouldn't mind keeping a little secret.

  "Remember, Jimmy Jack, you can't tell anyone that we've heard a voice in the stars. You can't tell anyone that we're building a giant radio."

  "Simple enough, Yogi. No one would understand if I told them."

  "That's what we're afraid of, Jimmy Jack," and then Yogi smiles again. "I knew I could count on you."

  Yogi promises me he will not hurry through anyone else's session, the least he can do to help my neighbors forgive me. As a show of good faith, Yogi gives me a blank check for the purchase of my new hovermudder, tells me to take my time to pick out just the right one. I have that new hovermudder purchased before nightfall, seeing how I've been lusting after it for the last several years. I suppose the smartmen were foolish for ever thinking money by itself would give them the edge to rule the rest of us, but I think I can forgive Yogi and his ancestors for their arrogance. I think Yogi has a good heart.

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