Once-Other

by Lawrence M. Nysschens

A rear wheel turns idly. Gasoline trickles out the fuel tank. One long sigh says loss is more than expected. As I brace up for the long walk into town the roar of an engine rips the silence apart. I drop to sand, hold still and follow the distant dust cloud’s approach.

  A dark blue fairing with white lightning slashes becomes visible. No one I know owns such a SandRider. It slides to a halt, sand-dust settles.

  A large and dangerous looking rider wearing a black full-face helmet, dressed in camo-jeans and a knee-length khaki tent-top dismounts and pauses almost invisible against the desertscape. He draws a handgun and turns a circle scanning it along his line of sight.

  I squeeze down lower and watch as he holsters the weapon and steps to the edge of the capture-ditch. He stares down at my broken SandRider, glances around, shrugs and with his back to me starts taking his helmet off.

  He suddenly freezes, spins on his heel his attention directed at me. “Once-Other! Once-Other—you okay an’ all?”

  “Ah Madsen,” I reply. “Wearing so baggy a shirt hides a rotund outline...fooled me. Nevertheless, a complimentary silhouette it undoubtedly provides.”

  His immediate response I did not record.

  On one hand, I am relieved but at the same time I’m hoping to avoid the subject of Peter Wernt...for now at least. I stand up and walk towards him clapping my hands to distract him. “You are a welcome sight at such a trying time. How did you manage to find me so quickly?”

  He ignores me looking down at Hellbent and his face shades a little pale. “What happened round-n-about?” he asks.

  “You have a new SandRider?” I counter.

  “New paint job an’ all. Speak up. What?”

  “An oddity here there is, Madsen.”

  “Would you explain,” he growls and rubs his ample stomach, which responds with a grumbling request for an immediate refill.

  I examine the events from last night and this morning. Add together what fits and enlighten him about the palm and nose prints, the footprints and the broken lights but hide my failure to get Wernt’s thoughts.

  He pats both his chins as he listens and they bobble as he mutters in a garbled whisper. Done, I wait as I’ve always done from the earliest days of our youth.

  He sighs and says, “Who an’ all could this be? You lost Peter Wernt so it ain’t retaliation for whatever happened between you two. We’ll get to all an’ more later. I’m round-n-about unhappy over losing him so early in a tour. What’s with you?”

  I shrug hoping he will move on.

  He glares at me and waits.

  I consider matters again. “Does not appear to be anything strange or odd except for that SandMaster I keep seeing and hearing.”

  “SandMaster?” Madsen gasps glancing to the horizon.

  “Yes,” I confirm, speaking as calmly as I can.

  “I think Once-Other better tell me about what an’ all is inside this Peter Wernt.”

  After a few seconds of desperate effort to settle an unruly stomach I give up, lick my parched lips and say, “I couldn’t get his thoughts...at all.” He double takes his eyes bulging. “I...I tried every protocol I could think...nothing but fragments, meaningless.”

  And as happens when he’s mad and upset he comes close to incomprehensible. “We will talk...you-n-all hiding...round-n-about. You’re facing a Court Martial for negligence, Failure to Report, withholding vital information an’ anything I can think on.”

  “I was going to report as soon as we met today...anyway,” I counter.

  He examines me as though seeking honesty from an irretrievably corrupted good-for-nothing, turns away and ideas cascade through his mind.

  What would a Desert Driver an’ all be doing down here? Who would be hiring one? Who can pay that much an’ all? Did a tourist hire one? How would a tourist know about Desert Drivers an’ round-n-about where to hire one? How can an EB tourist keep his thoughts an’ all from us? Is Once-Other...?

  On the last, he blocks me...nevertheless, I know.

  He’s thinking of me and treason co-joined in unholy matrimony. And all for the imagined love of personal wealth—EB dollars in payment for betrayal.

  CHAPTER 24

  Of Vehicle Maintenance, Regulations And Happiness

  I unhook the tow-cable from Madsen’s SandRider. He hands me his emergency oxygen system, lets it go too soon forcing me to catch before it hits sand. I hold to silence and peace—for now.

  The walk down the steep side of the capture-ditch does not reflect Karrell’s evening strolls. My breathing resonates loud inside the helmet, driven by intake fans the oxygen tank slaps against my back and the tow-cable drags along sand.

  The rear wheel no longer turns. Gasoline no longer leaks.

  I hook up and step away. A groan of broken metal, a whip-snap of steel rope and she’s back on her wheels but will never be the same again. I pat her a fond and sad farewell.

  “Would you an’ all switch that cable Once-Other,” Madsen shouts. I bite my tongue.

  Back at his SandRider, I stow the emergency oxygen equipment and unhook the cable. He winches it in and says, “Better your SandRider than you an’ all.”

  “Yes,” I reply. “Let’s get her hooked up and head on into town.” Instead of moving, he stands silent staring at my SandRider his thoughts hidden. I move to hook her up. He grabs my arms and says, “Not round-n-about auspicious timing Once-Other.”

  “I didn’t plan it, Madsen. Something’s wrong here....”

  “Yes. Something’s wrong an’ it’s you—far as I see. How can you be so negligent? Don’t you know breaking down can be fatal? I just happen to be out-n-about this way.”

  “So...you’re saying it’s happenstance...you being round-n-about here...are you?” I snap at him.

  “You have a troubling mind,” he snarls.

  Hackles at full stretch I yet hold back about my suspected heart problems. Half an hour later I am still biting my tongue as we merge with the work-bound traffic on the Eastern Freeway.

  This morning the Freeway lies hundreds of sand-paces further west than last night, thanks to the wind and shifting sand. Around us, riders swarm down the dunes, ramp onto the freeway, accelerate hard and race for downtown.

  Many take to sharing their observations and opinions.

  “Wow! Once-Other wiped out.”

  “Mister Ever-so-careful had an engine break on him. Oh dear, oh dear.”

  “For sale. Slightly used SandRider. Get a free arm as a bonus.”

  “Were you guys romancing or something—at high speed?”

  “You miss a turn?”

  “You swerved for a Crier?”

  “You mistake a capture-ditch for an off-ramp?”

  To escape Madsen and I switch into do not disturb mode. The traffic thins and suddenly a SandRider cuts in too damn close for comfort. The fairing brushes by my left knee, clips our front wheel, lurches and keeps going. We reach out to the other rider and Maggie’s chirpy laugh responds.

  “Are you still doing your makeup in traffic?” I ask her.

  She laughs harder and kicks down a gear. With front wheels pawing the sky she vanishes inside a dust cloud.

  “That Maggie is little too wild an’ all,” Madsen complains.

  I chuckle as that too is what makes Maggie, Maggie.

  “Where we taking her...your SandRider?” Madsen asks.

  “It’s worth less than sand now but I’m curious. Soonsaan’s?”

  “Okay. He’s not round-n-about too far.”

  As Sand Lake Flats comes into view a Poip pair step out from hiding behind a small dune. Their eyes flash blue Poip lights as they wave us off the road. These two are earlier models to yesterday’s ones and are programmed oddly compared to the newer versions.

  They ignore us and head for my SandRider chatting to each other in electronic language. The A-one kneels and inspects the engine then sniffs at the fuel tank, the chassis and wheels.

  Suddenly the saddle I’m sitting on feels hotter and roughened
by sand. I wiggle some, which elicits a scowl from Madsen. I shrug it off and we step down.

  The Poip consult, their voices buzzing loudly, almost frenzied. Done, they turn to us. “You have suffered an accident of what nature, Once-Other?” A-one asks a trace of human warmth spread like butter across its voice.

  “There’s some dust on your arm,” I reply and we watch.

  The B-one extracts a brush from a slot in its midriff and dusts A-one off.

  “Round-n-about same-old-same-old program,” Madsen chortles.

  “Yes. Good thing verbal communication is required with them.” We smile at each other—a rare occurrence these days.

  “What is the nature of the mishap?” A-one asks me.

  “You assume the worst an’ all...because?” Madsen shoots back at them.

  The A-one wrings its hands and says, “Current status of fuel tank, evidence of a piston top driven through the engine casing. There’s bent handlebars and steering column, sand particles in various and unusual locations and traces of CO2 and methane on everything. Please answer the question.”

  “Not accidental,” I say.

  “Accidents endanger happiness. Happiness is assured. You must provide correct information. Fines and possible prison time are given those providing false data.”

  They shuffle closer to one another as though seeking mutual comfort. Madsen and I ponder how anyone on EB had envisioned programming Poip with childish human traits would make them more acceptable to us.

  Madsen steps forward indicates the horizon and says, “In an’ round-n-about all these vast reaches of desert...happiness is evident.” He steps back.

  Electronic language whips back-n-forth and the A-one says, “We are not able to conceptualize those words.”

  “I’m saying happiness ain’t worth much without willingness an’ all,” Madsen clarifies.

  A longer silence ensues. “Are you pleased your SandRider crashed?” A-one eventually asks me.

  “Crashing willingly can be a happy thing,” I reply.

  Lights turn on in the black slots supposed to be their eyes. A-one steps closer hands clasped. “We thank you Once-Other for your dedicated, honest and continued testing of vehicles at your own expense per our Vehicle Maintenance and Safety Codes. We appreciate dedication and in particular compliance with all the new Standards and Requirements.”

  Madsen glances at me, we do a mental shrug. They jiggle ecstatically. A-one takes another step forward swings both arms to fully embrace Here-Born and bellows, “Behold!”

  We do. Alas. All of everything remains desert, sky and a blazing sun.

  A-one gazes at us with its head tilted sideways; abruptly rights it and says, “A commendation has been entered into your record with the Department for the Assurance of Happiness. This serves against future misdemeanors, gross errors, crimes but not high crimes. Have a lovely day, Citizens.”

  Their attention back on the traffic, Madsen and I share a smile and are about to mount and continue into town when they spin around and square off on us.

  “One moment,” A-one says and not a single note of warmth tickles our ears.

  “Fresh as morning baked bread from the ovens of Here-Born. Yes! A message direct from the desk of our exalted Director, Mister Warrent McPeters.”

  A flutter of ghostly hands flits through me. I tighten my gut trapping them. Yet they flutter on.

  A-one continues in a warm voice. “In the interest of harmony, happiness and the joys of the Earth slash Here-Born Accord we invite you to take but a tiny measure of your time and listen to our esteemed Director’s new and enlightening speech. And while listening please dwell upon its subject matter with riveted attention.

  “Once comprehended and for the benefit of the All, you may deem to provide vital information in return and bring forth happiness for one-n-all.”

  Being cautious we agree to a measure of enlightenment.

  “Thank you for your kind attention,” A-one says. “May your days and nights from this time on reign both glorious and fruitful. A moment as my valued friend downloads the bulletins. As you are well aware our version provides only audio.” A-one lowers its head in recognition of its awful shortcomings.

  We nod sympathetic understanding.

  “We are regretful of this fellow citizens. It is widely known that the visual impact of our Grand Director, Mister Warrent McPeters, has attained a cult status never before realize in all the eons of Man’s life…

  “…both on Earth and amongst the stars!

  “Today, images of Him are cherished by many in actual wood frames as well as in pure hearts. Lifelike pictures are available from Megatrone Images of Nova Vista, California, Earth. Purchase three or more and get a discount.”

  A-one points heavenwards, holds still then carves an arc from the horizon up into the sky and to the opposite horizon. “But for now...enjoy the sunshine and early morning air as the bulletin downloads.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Of Real-Time Legislation

  “Check time, select morning, afternoon or evening and continue. Check time, select morning, afternoon or evening and continue. Check time, select morning, afternoon or evening and....”

  Obviously, A-one is having a bad day. B-one presses a reset button on the back of A-one’s head. A-one powers down and boots back up.

  I grimace. Why is it that Earth-Born’s finest technology resulted in Poip and Toip? Government dreams beating out personal ones I suppose. How do they manage over on EB?

  I cringe as A-one, now operational, squeals in its purely electronic voice, “Good morning damn fine citizens of Here-Born. Thank you for your time and all of Earth wishes for you both to have a nice day and not just round-n-about but altogether.”

  We sigh at colloquialism at its worst screeched by an electronic soprano. Gradually electronic language buzzes louder and the warm voice returns.

  “Madsen Somalo, Once-Other. On Here-Born many things are true while many are not. Alas. A quandary my friends. What then...is or isn’t true?” Recorded applause plays and fades.

  “To the point citizens. We’ve received news, disturbing news altogether. What could the subject matter be? Damn fine question citizens Once-Other and Madsen Somalo.”

  A-one waves at the desert, nods and says, “Allow us to provide the details for your enlightenment and edification.” It pauses, wrings its hands in angst and continues.

  “Growing from seed in our garden of compassion is a bush of grave concern. Yes, Citizens! We are concerned about your current happiness and your continuing happiness.”

  They stare down at sand. Glance up as one and A-one points to its companion, they nod agreeably to one another, bow low, indicate desert, sun, sky and end with their arms held wide in invitation. “Due to our deep, deep concern we are reaching out to you citizens.”

  Trumpets blare. Both drop to a knee, cup a hand behind an ear and clasp the others free hand. Faces turn to the sky as though God is about to speak. Instead, they bellow in unison and two-part harmony, “And now! For your enlightenment! Mister Warrent McPeters!”

  Trumpets blare louder and end abruptly mid note.

  McPeters’ voice is dry and electronic. “My dedicated citizens, Beloved brethren, fellow travelers along life’s trail now coordinated by the Earth slash Here-Born Accord. This is Warrent McPeters appealing to you in full sincerity. For we who live by the rule of Earth law and who love all moments of pleasure brought our way by exercising our inalienable Right to Obey the Law—hear me now!”

  A-one and B-one drop to their knees and gaze into the sky as if God had actually appeared.

  “Brothers!” McPeters cries. “We’ve received news of the nature your campaign. How kind of you to clarify it for us. But! What is this stain that has birthed so foully? Too painful is the pain of seeing happiness squandered in so callous a manner. “Oh Brothers! How can this be? How sad. How tragic!”

  Both Poip nod sagely.

  “But wait!” McPeters bellows. “What is it in
reality? Well. Nothing significant. You see fellow citizens we know this is merely a homegrown, garden-variety, everyday GMT. That is Grassroots Terrorist Movement brothers. Moreover, and topping all...one bent upon ruining your present and future Right to Happiness. Pathetic? You bet.”

  A-one and B-one shake their heads as though the worst catastrophe of all time had occurred.

  “But wait!” McPeters cries in anguish. “We suspect—this is not grassroots but instead just another convenient ATM. Yes! AstroTurf Movement brothers. One without any life of its own and no matter how much one feeds or waters AstroTurf—it will not grow. Dear Citizens! It won’t grow! Now...to the motto of the day. You need our help. We hope for yours.”

  A-one and B-one stand up and take a step towards us with arms held wide like mothers do as a child rushes in.

  Madsen and I fight an urge to burst out laughing for though we laugh mind-to-mind the physical side remains evident. We manage to nod and appear solemn.

  McPeters continues his offer.

  “You will, in return, be rewarded as follows.

  “Any Here-Born citizen who provides information about the campaign will receive ten thousand dollars in credit, tax-free, paid directly into his or her account. You could also be exempt from Earth taxation for three years at our own financial requirements discretion.

  “You’ll receive as well, ten two-way, Inter-Constellation Lines First Class tickets with no expiration dates to destinations of your choice. Please help us, help you help your fellows.”

  We are aghast. Madsen struggles like a worm wiggling free of sinking sand. He takes a deep breath and turns hard eyes briefly in my direction. “Heard talk of the where-about an’ all of this campaign an’ all,” he says to A-one.

  I’m about to reach out and implore him but A-one speaks.

  “Well done Madsen Somalo. Enlighten us one-two-three, altogether.”

  Madsen nods momentarily contemplative. “Round-n-about an’ all—it ain’t located where an’ ever you’d expect!” he says and once again sends me a threatening glare.

  “Mostly it’s up around Iron Rock Falls...a campaign of something bad. It’s been going on for more years than I can recall. A secret born of years-n-years of dedicated silence. I do not know how long an’ all but...been up and running longer than I care for. Straight up criminal. In need of correction for some time...spreading like a cancer to all sectors of Here-Born.”