“That would be correct. When I arrived, I had a twenty four foot truck with just about everything I owned. The encyclopedia, boxes of books, video tapes, CDs, DVDs and many other things that were very saleable.”
“And the pizza.”
“Ah yes,” Jim said with a smile, “the pizza, one of my more lucrative assets. But, it was also fortunate that Mr. Benner hadn’t eaten his lunch when he was captured by the alien device. He had other products that were lost in time.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“He had a bologna sandwich and something called a twinkie. Neither of these products survived the Exodus from Old Earth.”
“How are the other two arrivals, Mr. Carlisle and the Native American?”
Jim turned his head as the door to the 3V room opened. A sandy hared man in his mid-forties entered.
“Just about to talk about you Sam,” Jim said, pointing at the 3V image of himself which continued to speak.
“The transition is a lot harder on them than it was on us. For Mr. Carlisle from the mid 1870s and the Native American, who had never seen a white man before, it’s quite confusing.”
“Y’all can say that agin,” Sam said, taking a seat.
Jim’s image continued to speak oblivious to the private conversation taking place. “In fact, we still don’t know the Indian’s language. I think he believes himself to be dead and spends most of his time singing to himself.”
“Well, let us hope that you do not have the same problems with Mr. Benner.”
Sam leaned toward the image of the newsman. “Be a dern sight easier if’n y’all didn’t talk so funny,” he drawled in his 19th century Georgia country accent.
“Mr. Benner should do just fine. He has the advantage of having Karla and I who lived near his time period. I’m sure he won’t have that much trouble.”
“That’s good to hear.” The newsman turned to face the viewers. “This is Devon Stanley returning you to the Compton network.”
The scene faded and was replaced by another newsman sitting behind a desk. “In the Commonwealth council today councilman Horst Schroeder of the Bund confederation officially presented his government claims to the planet Rennes. The sparsely populated planet was recently abandoned by the new government of the French Union after the successful overthrow of the De Poulet family, the former traditional leaders of that confederation...”
“Sound off,” Jim commanded. The newsman’s lips continued to move without audible sound. “Sam, how’s it going? I haven’t seen you all morning.”
Sam sat back and scratched his head. “Not that good Jim, ah keeps havin’ arguments with them there talkin’ machines. Ah asks them fer what ah wants and the dern thaings don’t understand me. That technician fellah says it’ll take time ta do that ah... what’s that called they do ta them thaings so they’ll knows better.”
“Reprogramming,” Jim said with a smile.
“Yep, that’s it, that there reprogrammin’ thaing,” Sam said as he thumped a knee with his fist.
“Well, your way of talking isn’t on record. They have to construct an entirely new dictionary. My Midwest rural accent is already on record. It’s the way they talk on the planet Regis.”
“No one talks like me no more?”
“It appears that none of the accents below the Mason Dixon line survived the Exodus.”
“So, what happens when they do this dictionary thaing?”
“You can just carry a small attachment and plug it into whatever machine you want to use.”
Sam smiled to himself and thought for a moment. “A thousand books on somethin’ the size of a .45 round. Every time ah turns ‘round somethin’ new. Don’t thaink ah can handles all this here new stuff. Should jest head fer the woods like Karla.”
Jim flashed Sam an understanding smile. “Give this place a chance. Karla wants to live in the woods because she does understand a lot about this time and doesn’t like it. Your new house will be available soon. You can arrange it just the way you want.”
“That’s the problem; ah don’t know what’s here so ah don’t know what ah wants. Them contractor fellahs keep a askin’ me if ah wants this thaing here or that thaing there and ah ain’t got no idea what them thaings do nohow. Ah don’t wants ta jump in bed one night and git maself cooked by one of them ovens that use sound ta cook with.”
“Little chance of that Sam. Come on, it’s about time for lunch.” Jim stood and walked toward the door of the 3V room. “It’ll take a little time that’s all.”
As Jim opened the door he commanded over his shoulder, “3V off.” The room dutifully obeyed.
Jim’s newly employed human chef prepared lunch. He preferred the human touch to the mechanized food dispenser commonly used by the general public. A chef was an expensive luxury, but Jim could well afford it.
The two men continued their discussion of modern times over the noon meal. Sam never ate with a fork, just a knife, spoon and, where possible, his fingers. The way he held the spoon amused Jim. He held it palm down with his thumb on top and closest to the working end.
“The one thaing ah cain’t do is that there space travelin’.” Sam said, waving his spoon. “Ah wants ta keep ma both feet on the ground. Ah don’t even like ta fly in the air in one of them strato thaings.”
“It’s nothing to be nervous about. Just like riding in a stage coach only you can’t get out to pee behind a cactus,” Jim said trying to conceal his amusement. The difficulty he found in explaining things to Sam was a lack of commonality between the times. He, himself, could understand the 3V as he was used to TV. The new contraptions were only an extension of what he already knew. Using the image of a steam train to explain space travel was a little too much of a jump of the imagination.
“Ya won’t catch me a goin’ in that there space yacht thaing they’s a buildin’ fer ya.”
Sam’s statement reminded Jim of his latest acquisition, a luxury space yacht now being refitted to his specifications at a docking yard in orbit. While discussing the layout he jokingly suggested a hot tub on the main recreation deck. He was flabbergasted to find that not only was it possible, but it was common on pleasure vessels of that type. He had renamed the craft the Lydia after a sailing ship in a novel about a British Navy Captain of the early 1800s.
“Well,” Karla said, standing at the door to the dining room, “still talking about that vulgar display of capitalist degeneracy.”
Jim flashed her a grin. “Us capitalist degenerates have to have something to keep ourselves amused. By the way, that billionaire on Stanos called again. He has upped the offer for your van to eight million G. That’s about forty million bucks. The original art work on the sides makes it quite a collector’s item.”
Karla took a seat. “My soul brother Randy painted the peace and love mural. He painted for art itself, not materialism. I can’t sell it at any price.”
Jim shrugged. “Then I guess it’s bound for a museum, just like my car. They won’t let you drive it on the throughways. I’ve already tried. No one was amused.”
“Dr. Redmond told me ‘bout that,” Sam said, placing his spoon on his empty plate and leaning back. “Ah still cain’t understand why them fellahs was a trying ta kill ya. Slippin’ ya that poison that made ya do crazy thaings an all.”
“It’s history Sam, a very powerful weapon. I personally knew something about their organization’s past that was very damaging. They had to kill me to stop me from talking. But that’s all over with now, no further danger.”
Sam thought for a moment. “Ah only hopes there ain’t somethin’ ah knows and someone wants ta shut me up with one of them there light pistols.”
“That’s the reason why doc keeps at you for information. Get it in the open.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said. “He’s doin’ that with Chock too.”
“They also have to document Chock’s language. He’s the only person in existence that speaks Hopi.”
“Ah told them the five wo
rds ah knowed in Comanche. It’s the only Injun ah can speak.”
“Injun?” Karla said.
“Ah knows, ah knows, Native American,” Sam said. “And them negras is black people.”
“And no waving that racist flag,” Karla said.
“Karla, in Sam’s time it wasn’t considered racist. That came later.”
“What flaig?” Sam said.
“After your time, some people used the Confederate flag as a symbol to harass black people.”
“What? The Stars n Bars?”
“No, the battle flag,” Jim said.
“That flaig had nothin’ ta do with black people. If they used it fer that, they dishonored the flaig.”
“Well you fought to keep slavery,” Karla said.
“Nothin’ of the kind,” Sam said. “Ah joins the Confederate Army ta fight fer Georgia, ma home. In ma regiment none of us had slaves and none of us wanted slaves. We all thought we should a freed the darkies first, then succeeded. That way them Yankees would a had nothin’ ta complain ‘bout.”
Jim leaned back and raised his voice slightly. “Computer, notify Chef Watkins that we’ve finished.”
Karla jumped to her feet, collected the empty plates and headed for the kitchen. “You lazy capitalists,” she said with a smile.
“Ok pinko,” Jim said jokingly, “give my highly paid downtrodden worker a hand.”
“Peace brother,” she said over her shoulder as she raised two parted fingers.
Jim returned his attention to Sam. “She’s just miserable that there’s no war to protest.”
“That’s not what the man on that there wall thaing in ma room said this mornin’. He goes and wakes me up when ah wants ta sleep.” Sam frowned and shook his head as he remembered the morning’s events. “That dern talkin’ thaing asks me last night what time ah wants ta wake up, so ah says ‘Ah’m tired so shoot the rooster’. Then the talkin’ thaing says that there weren’t no rooster in the house, so ah says ya dern fool, ferget it. Only wake me up if’n there’s a flood, a hurr’cane or a war. So’s in the middle of the night that there wall thaing wakes me up ag’in, and the man on it tells me that there were a hurr’cane at this here place called Hebram. So ah gets up and looks out the winder. The weather looks jest fine so ah asks the talkin’ thaing how fer off is this here Hebram. Ah wants ta know if’n we should shut the storm winders. It says Hebram weren’t here, it were eighty five years off, whatever that means. So ah says ya dern fool, how many miles is that? Then the talkin’ thaing says...”
“Sam,” Jim interrupted, “what did the wall thaing... ah... thing say about a war?”
“Well, he said them German fellahs from them Bund planets was a havin’ a argument with the Japanese fellahs over some territory what the French fellahs gave up when their federation fell apart. He said that war could break out at any time. Ah thainks that’s what that news fellah was a talkin’ ‘bout when we left that movin’ people room jest now.”
“Someone’s always arguing about something. I don’t think there’ll be war. The Commonwealth government is over both and it’ll keep the two apart.”
“Well, you and Karla do a powerful lot a arguin’ too,” Sam said, chuckling to himself.
“It’s all in fun. She’s intelligent enough to realize that the times and circumstances have changed. I only hope our new arrival, Earl, is as smart.”
“Well, ya can leave me out a teachin’ him,” Sam said sounding downright miserable. “When ma brother got married he moved ta Savannah. When you git married next month y’all are a goin’ ta fly around stars. That confuses ma head real bad.”
Jim stood and slapped Sam lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll make a spacey out of you in no time at all.”
“Y’all have about as much chance of that as General Picket had at Gettysburg.”
Jim stood for a moment looking at Sam. He still struggled with the concept of the man before him having watched the murderous charge that ended the lives of thousands of Confederate soldiers. Both men were veterans, Jim from Afghanistan and Sam from the War Between the States. Sam was over a hundred years older than Jim, but their physical age was less than a decade apart having been captured and held by the Time Stone in different centuries.
“V phone call in the conference room for Mr. Young,” announced the house computer. “Caller, Amy Harrington”
“There in a minute,” Jim said.
* * *
Jim sat in the comfortable armchair of the conference 3V room. He was now used to the local method of communication. Sitting in a room with a holographic image of the person you are talking too seemed friendlier than a disembodied voice on the telephone. One had the advantage of observing facial expressions and other body language. It made communications slightly more efficient.
“Open channel,” he announced.
Within seconds, two more occupied chairs appeared in front of him, the persons being in two different locations. One was Jim’s business manager Amy Harrington. The other, his new legal advisor, John Crump. Amy was a financial wizard who was in the process of making Jim an extremely wealthy man from the twenty first century possessions he brought with him. Many products, lost in the panic of vacating the dying Earth, were reintroduced. She was making the most of the opportunity. Even items that Jim considered insignificant were turned into one new business after another.
“So, what do you have for me today?” Jim asked.
It was Amy that replied. “First I want to know if you are still adamant about refusing the merger between the Huber Beverage Company and your Young Coca Cola Company.”
“I am, so long as Mr. Huber goes with the deal. I’m still mad at him for calling me a primitive barbarian.”
“Jim,” Amy said, pausing with a mild expression of frustration, “you must not let personal feelings get in the way of business. He will occupy a subordinate position with you as chairman of the board. Al Webb, as your representative, is quite able to keep him in his place.”
“No,” Jim said with conviction, “either he goes or no merger.”
“If that’s what you want,” Amy said, looking down at the data pad on her lap. “But a merger would increase our supply of the essences needed to keep up with demand. We still need an extra ten thousand wings a week just to...”
“Wings?” Jim interrupted.
“Ah...” Amy said, smiling to herself. “It’s a slang term used by shippers. A wing is two hundred liters. No one knows how the expression came about, but it’s been used for hundreds of years.”
“Ok,” Jim said. “Forget about the merger for now; what else is there?”
Amy looked down again. “The figures are being sent to you now on the literary company. So far we have eighty seven of your collection of paperback books reprinted on the info net.”
Jim picked up his own pad from the side of the chair, tapped the controls at its base and read the appearing text. Every title that appeared had the words ‘Best Seller’ printed next to them, plus monetary figures that added up to millions.
“Next,” Amy continued, “the art company. Reproductions of the paintings in those art books… ah…. What did you call them?”
“Coffee table books.” Jim replied.
“Oh yes. They’re into their fourth printing….” Amy paused as she saw Jim chuckling to himself. “Is there a joke?”
“I couldn’t stand those books. I almost threw them out.”
“Lucky you didn’t. Tomorrow I’ll have the figures on your thirty two other companies.”
Jim looked up from his pad with a sour expression. “This financial stuff confuses me. Can’t you just handle things and give me a bottom line figure?”
Amy leaned back in her seat and rested an arm on the data pad in her lap. “I’m trying to do that but there are decisions that only you can make.”
“That’s why I’m online today,” John said, raising a finger. John was a short dark man in his late forties. Jim had been particularly devoted t
o his previous legal representative, Jason Cobb. He still felt guilt over his death ten months ago. The agent of an organization of religious fanatics had assassinated him in a vain attempt to get at Jim. The feeling of responsibility over the death deeply bothered him. His new rep. was just as capable but in a different style.
“We have a legal challenge over one of the songs in your music collection. It survived the Exodus from Old Earth and is now under copyright from a company on Batchoff. The words have changed in the last two thousand years so I do believe we have a chance of getting it recognized as a different song.”
Jim shook his head. “Let them have it. It’s not worth chasing.”
“Each one in your collection of recordings is worth a considerable amount.”
Jim again shook his head. “There are dozens more that still haven’t gone on the market. I won’t miss one. I now own a house with eleven bathrooms and twelve commodes, but I only own one ass. I don’t need the money that bad.”
Amy broke into one of her rare smiles. “I see. We’ll let that one go then. I believe that’s all the news I have for you today so I’ll let you get back to enjoying yourself.”
The conference ended. Jim returned to his living room. Instead of enjoying himself, he felt close to borderline miserable. After eighteen years of working for a living the lifestyle of the carefree wealthy was driving him crazy. Most mornings he awoke before the sun, a habit from over fifteen years military service. He never thought that he’d miss the cold air and muscle aches associated with the army’s physical training program. For the past few weeks he had wandered his palatial home trying to determine a function for himself. The luxury space yacht he’d purchased was one attempt at finding something to do.
Marriage was something he did look forward to. He had met Carol eight months ago on a space liner while he was hiding from a gang of murderers. She kept him sane during those difficult weeks. He had last seen his former wife a month before leaving Earth. Chronologically, she’d been dead for two thousand years. He was in the process of divorce at that time, but he still missed her. It took time for him to come to accept the fact that he was a widower.
To Wake the Living (The Time Stone Trilogy Book 2) Page 2