Blackie would have adopted the following corollary, 'one size fits all. There is just something remarkably comforting about that phrase. It seems to ooze the notion that everything is going to work out just fine; everything. He recommended Wayne adopt 'One size fits all' as his own personal proverb and see how things worked out.
Mark would have suggested embracing the idea that in spite of what you’ve been told all your life about knowledge, being clueless might be a good thing in certain circumstances. And in those instances (you’ll know them when they happen) it might lead to …tranquility; or at least not disturb it if you already have it. Consider this he might say, I’m not worrying about something impossible being likely – are you? See how peaceful that is? Eventually, he’ll tell Wayne; he could use a little extra inner peace.
They watched as the sun continued its descent, like it was reluctant to surrender the sky. The purple moons clawed their way above the horizon and hung there like tapestries displayed on ropes in a Middle Eastern bazaar. Everyone at the table was transfixed by the opposing skylines – the western with its palette of colors raging in the fading light, and the eastern with its darker sky and enormous purple orbs.
The light was waning, but even so, its last rays caught windows high in the hotel causing them to gleam like fire, and occasionally shimmered off little bits of quartz in the road making them sparkle like diamonds. Out in the flats outside town the sun’s rays were almost spent. They glinted off a small lake’s surface and off a thin veneer of what looked like ice and snow that ran from the shallows into a deep, still pool about 50 meters from shore.
Just before dark a ray of light sparkled off something lying in the sand just before someone’s shadow cut off the light. The shadow shifted sideways and the waning light again caught the small object causing it to gleam brightly. A hand reached down and scooped up a small silver ring out of the sand. “What’s this doing here?” thought the hand’s owner.
The ring wasn’t pitted or abraded and the inside threads were clean; it was obvious it hadn’t been there very long. “I’ll bet someone is not happy about you going missing; not happy at all,” he thought as he inspected the ring. “This is fine metal. Don’t recall seeing those kinds of threads before,” and with that thought the hand’s owner shoved the ring deep into his pocket and continued his journey eastward.
Oblivious to what was happening in the flats outside of town, or anywhere else, the six intrepid friends sat around their dinner table discussing the events of the last two days. They theorized who might have jimmied the brakes on the Nomad. The obvious choice of course was the Shumbrans who had attacked them at the museum on Gafcon-49 where Joules worked part-time. But Wayne pointed out the transport following them up the mountain to the lake wasn’t being driven by Shumbrans.
“I would have noticed that and been suspicious immediately,” he said in an angry tone that implied he would like to have another go at the Shumbrans; they had made it onto the list of things he abhorred. It wasn’t an extremely large list, but it was diverse – you know – beets, fizzy medicines that blind you with excruciatingly bad taste, and an assortment of other reviled things including the AMC Pacer.
Blackie confirmed Wayne’s assertion that the passengers of the car that followed them weren’t Shumbrans, but he couldn’t describe them; they had blasted around the Nomad so fast as Wayne was pulling off onto the park road that he didn’t get a good look. At the time it just seemed like someone impatient to get up the mountain. When Blackie saw the car later in the parking lot he thought it humorous that their impatience had caused them to miss their turn onto the park road.
But now they all realized whoever was in that transport passed them on purpose, circled back to the parking lot at the lake and opened the bleeder valves on the Nomad’s brakes. Whoever had been in that transport expected everyone in the Nomad to be killed on their way back down that narrow, winding mountain road. They didn’t know who they were, but they were keen on finding out.
When the cobbler dessert arrived at the table (real cobbler with multiple layers of crust and fruit; not that drivel with one crust on top) they had just begun a discussion of the Desredeedese Shade that had flown next to the Nomad as it plunged down the mountain road and off the cliff on Gafcon-49. Was he alone? Were there more of them at the lake? Were they there coincidentally, or did Mr. Livingston ask them to keep an eye on Joules after the Shumbrans tried to assassinate her? Would they communicate to Mr. Livingston and his friend Carter what had happened?
The questions were endless, but answers, real, concrete, 'you can hang your hat on it' answers, were absent. There was no doubt in their minds the Shumbrans were behind the attempt on their lives, but they were clueless as to who they had contracted to do the dirty work. Their discussions of the Shades went on for another half hour, and they decided it was no coincidence that Desredeedese Shades were at the mountain lake park.
But whether someone could figure out what had happened to them on that road and why was another discussion altogether. Would the Shades somehow report what had happened? Blackie was toying with the idea of going back to the Lindonika City museum to see if they had information on Desredeedese Shades.
They were so engrossed in conversation no one had started their cobbler, so they ordered coffee to go with the dessert and continued the discussion. Glancing across the table Amelia looked at Blackie and asked, “Do you think someone on Gafcon-49 can trace us?”
“That’s a good question, but I think the answer is complicated,” replied Blackie. “The fact is we didn’t Jump Start off the mountain so there won’t be a traceable particle stream residue there. Remember, we left Gafcon-49 when the mixing zone separated, that’s how we got to Volcanon. It was there that we used the Jump Starter during our descent into that massive gorge to jump here. I don’t have any idea what universe, galaxy, or solar system Volcanon is located in, but that’s where our last particle stream could be found if someone went looking for it. The question is, how would anyone know to look there?”
“Is it possible that Paxim may have seen us in the mixing zone on the mountain? “Sure, but we don’t know if Gafcon-49 is in Paxim’s solar system or if he can see mixing zones there. Certainly, the Jump Starter particle stream could be tracked, Zypho did that, but our last stream originated on Volcanon inside that gorge. Who is going to look there?”
Blackie continued his answer, speaking out loud but to no one in particular, like he was casting possibilities at a storyboard hoping one of them would stick. “I don’t think anyone could track our Jump Starter particle stream remotely, and I can all but assure you no one was on Volcanon to witness it.”
He hesitated for a moment, knowing they could all agree to that; they had personally witnessed the in-hospitability of Volcanon and the consequences of being there for a mere 40 seconds. He began again, “Could Paxim see our particle stream when we jumped from Volcanon to Lindone? That depends. Where are we and where is Paxim? If the planet Lindone is in, or close to, the Epsicron Solar System he may have seen us jump; if he happened to be looking up at the sky at that very moment.”
“The odds of that are pretty remote – about like getting rich by investing in penny stocks. I think if we are going to get off Lindone without answering sticky questions about how we got here in the first place — without travel visas and entry permits — we are going to have to figure out a way to do it ourselves.”
There was a light breeze on the patio and it was very quiet except for a soft chirping noise coming from a nearby tree. Blackie assumed it was a bird of some sort. That would have been the best guess on Earth. Their waiter approached the table, then turned and left and quickly, reappearing at the adjacent table accompanied by several maintenance men. “This will only take a moment,” he said to Blackie in an assuring way, “you should be fine right where you are.”
Before Blackie could ask what he meant by “you should be fine” one of the maintenance men pulled out a large bazooka-like gun and fired it
into the adjacent tree. The ensuing wailing and screeching was beyond terrible. It sounded like something was being tortured with needles and electric jolts. Neither of which was the case. The gun had fired a capture net that hit its target, which, based on the amount of bellowing going on was now fairly upset to say the least.
Two of the maintenance men positioned themselves under the wailing animal with another net to catch the beast when it fell from the tree. Amelia, Joules and Nita all had their hands over their ears. The shooter gave a gentle tug on the thin line connected to the capture net and down came the victim.
Blackie stood and approached the men who caught the entangled animal. Looking back at the table he said, “You guys might want to see this.”
They all joined Blackie standing next to the captured animal; the girls still had their hands over their ears — the noise was mind-numbing. Mark started to cover his, but noticed Wayne with his hands at his side bucking-up to the noise like it didn’t bother him at all, and he decided not to cover his ears for fear of the ribbing he would get later. Besides, it was only a little louder than his Strat plugged into a Fender Deluxe Reverb amp whose volume was set on six…in a small room! Blackie covered his ears.
There in the net was the source of all the wailing and bellowing. All four feet of it was beyond ugly and it didn’t seem to be settling down at all. “Sorry we disturbed your evening,” said one of the maintenance men. “It takes a while for them to calm down; they don’t venture into town and they rarely climb into trees. We’ll just take it outside town to the flats and let it go.” And with that they shuffled out into the parking lot to a maintenance van and deposited their prisoner in the back. Blackie noticed all of them donned noise-cancelling headphones before they climbed into the van and drove away.
Mark watched as the van drove out of sight. “I wonder who the lucky chap will be that gets to untangle the little blighter and set him free?”
“Was that what I think it was?” asked Nita.
“Merculoid diminua,” said Wayne. “Did you see its eye? That was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen. It looked at one of the maintenance men over there,” he said pointing to the other side of the table, “and was looking at me over here at the same time. No wonder people freeze in their tracks when they see one. Can you imagine having a 60-foot long Merculoid Disembola bellowing at you?”
“Actually, I’d rather not imagine that,” replied Nita. She was visibly shaken from seeing the creature – the same kind that devoured her biology professor’s father and uncle.
“Enough of that,” said Mark, realizing Nita was upset. “What do you say we take a short walk?” The sun was down but the moons of Lindone were well above the horizon, bathing everything in soft light; it was a perfect night for a walk.
“I think we need to work on the retainer ring tomorrow,” said Amelia as they walked around the landscaped areas surrounding the hotel.
“What do you suggest?” asked Wayne, “I don’t think it’s in our luggage, or the Nomad. For all we know it was blown out of the car on Volcanon. Honestly, the truth is we don’t have a clue where it might be.”
None of them had considered that the ring might be on Volcanon until Wayne verbalized it. The effect of that statement was utterly stifling; all conversation abruptly stopped as they all had thoughts about what Wayne had just said. There was no way to return to Volcanon without the retainer ring. No one in their right mind would return there anyway, and even if they could, they wouldn’t survive the trip; the planet was blanketed with noxious fumes and appeared to be on the verge of becoming a massive fire ball. They hadn’t forgotten their fall into that seemingly endless crevasse, and the sight of a massive volcano heaving fire and ash and chunks of debris the size of large houses while it poured molten hot lava from its fissures.
“What about contacting Tugurro for help?” suggested Mark.
“I thought about that,” said Amelia, “but we risk making Tugurro an accessory to a crime if we use the Jump Starter and inadvertently violate a law requiring entry or exit permits and visas. I think we should assume the retainer ring is lost,” said Amelia. “We need a plan of action and I think we should start by seeing if there is a Jump Starter representative here on Lindone.”
“We could do that,” offered Wayne. “We could also rummage around a few hardware stores. Maybe we could find something that would substitute for the retainer ring.”
“I think that’s a plan,” said Blackie, “but right now, I’m going to bed.”
They were all sleepy; the long day coupled with an extravagant dinner prevailed against their desire to continue their walk and visit. The plan: meet for breakfast early in the morning and start their search for a new Jump Starter retainer ring. “Maybe not really, really early,” offered Mark. “I’m thinking about having a bit of a lie-in, at least until the breakfast pastries are ready.”
“Of course you are,” said Wayne who looked at Nita with an 'I told you so' look on his face.
Mark saw 'the look', and popped Wayne on the back of the head. Wayne returned fire with a halfhearted left jab that Mark blocked with little effort.
“You’ve got to bring more than that,” he said to Wayne as he stepped backward.
“How about this?” Wayne said as he stepped forward with a grin on his face. Mark retreated quickly but lost his balance and fell into the swimming pool.
“Nicely played, Wayne,” said Blackie as he stepped up next to Wayne and placed his hand on Wayne’s back. “You should join him; there’s safety in numbers you know.” And with that Blackie pushed Wayne in the pool.
Joules slipped up behind Blackie and pushed him in the pool and the three girls escaped to the poolside lounge chairs to watch the guys swim and try ridiculous stunts off the diving board. Wayne showed he had some skill by doing a pretty nice double flip with a twist. Mark wasn’t surprised, after all he’s a bass player. The waiter who served them at the restaurant appeared poolside with three towels, six glasses, a large carafe of Blue Glacier Water, and a plate of assorted cheeses.
“Compliments of the house,” said the waiter who nodded toward Blackie then retreated to the hotel.
“I like this place,” said Mark as he climbed out of the pool, toweled off, took a piece of cheese from the plate and poured a glass of water.
Amelia commented on Wayne’s diving prowess as he joined the table. “Nice double with a twist, Wayne.”
“That sounds like a stiff whiskey with lemon,” piped up Mark before Wayne could respond.
Ignoring Mark’s comment and Mark, Wayne replied, “I took some lessons when I was a kid, but I lost interest when I started getting into music.”
“Good decision,” remarked Mark, “I saw some of your other dives; you’re a much better bass player.”
While no one was watching, Blackie climbed onto the diving board and did a perfect triple somersault with an entry into the water so clean there wasn’t so much as a small splash.
They sat at the table enjoying an assortment of cheeses and crystal-clear water. The moons of Lindone were now almost perfectly overhead. Joules leaned back in her chair staring up into the sky transfixed by the enormous purple moons hanging there like gigantic fruit in an invisible tree. “I suppose if I have to be lost, I can’t think of a nicer group to be with, or a more beautiful place to be.”
“It is unbelievably beautiful here,” replied Nita gazing up into the sky.
With that statement they all sat quietly for a while, then slowly sauntered off to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
FINDING THE UNEXPECTED
It was late at night when a lone transport worked its way across town toward a nondescript building located deep in the business district. At three in the morning there was no traffic. The absence of other transports with their constant lane changes and traffic violations allowed his mind to wander; the quiet road couldn’t hold his attention and his mind uncharacteristically strayed from driving to much more pressing personal matters.
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br /> “What happened?” he asked himself for the hundredth time. “What could have happened?” This question cycled through his thoughts like a boomerang being thrown and caught and thrown and caught, over and over again.
The question never cycled back with an answer but he kept throwing it out there hoping some answer would present itself. It was mind-numbing and frustrating. This had never happened before. He could always formulate a hypothesis; a beginning point from which potential answers had always presented themselves. But this time all he had was the question, “What could have happened?”
He needed help. He needed someone familiar with the situation but someone not as close to the situation as he was. His familiarity with facts and issues was usually an advantage, but this time familiarity was paralyzing and he knew it. “What could have happened?” he thought again, and still his mind couldn’t find a plausible starting point for a situation analysis.
It was like the very question itself was taunting him, harassing him with its insistence to avoid an answer. You think you’re so clever. You think your previous successes guarantee more. You think your experiences make you consistent, logical, and almost unassailable. You think time and circumstance may be the arbiters of other people’s lives but not yours. You are no exception. In the absence of external forces that bend and shape the lives of other beings for their own devices, all things revert to the mean; you are no exception. Then again, maybe you are. Maybe you’re the outlier that balances the hordes of mundane imbeciles – many of whom are so brilliant that they are living, breathing antonyms, doing nothing with their lives in spite of their abilities. Complacent losers'
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