The group of young strangers sudden fell silent, and tossed awkward looks at one and other.
“You mean Thor and Hercules,” Jacob spoke up matter-of-factly, and certainly off cue. “My best two drones.”
Ruthanne jabbed the boy with her elbow, and Zen turned a hushing glare on him.
“Oops . . . sorry,” Jacob replied with a cringe of embarrassment and a shrug of the shoulders. “He asked?”
Zen sighed. “Yes. Well, I was afraid you might remember that little incident, and I’m sure you have other questions. Please allow us to explain.”
“Zen,” interrupted Eli, his face drawn with concern. “Are you sure about this? We don’t even know who he is. We can’t just presume—”
“But of course we know, Eli,” Ruthanne stepped up, her form strong and sure as always. “We know everything we need to about Mr. Toone. Don’t we Tom.” She moved to the boy’s side. “We know about your past, and that you have no family. We know that you are a good person, and that you have lived an unthinkably difficult life.”
Tom listened in awe as this fascinating woman chronicled his past with such accuracy that he could scarcely comprehend it. It was as if some power had given her foresight, enabling her to peer—as though through a window—into his very soul, watching each event play-out and unfold as though she had been an unseen witness, tethered to all which he had endured.
Ruthanne had, in fact—and at the much debated consensus of the rest of the Five—perused Tom’s mind as easily as one flipping through a picture book, in those first hours after his arrival at the underground while he laid unconscious. She had sorted, picked and screened everything she needed to know about this strange teenager. The session, among other things, had revealed Tom’s most detailed and intrinsic characteristics, and had giving Ruthanne crucial insight into who he really was. She had felt not only the goodness in him, but the abysmal loneliness that menaced his past. But the most overwhelming aspect of all the emotions which she had perceived, was a strong affirmation that this young man, Tom Toone, would inevitably choose to stay with them, and become one of their own.
Tom’s glistening eyes remained riveted on her, bathing her with astonishment as she continued. “ . . . and we know about the orphanage, the foster families, and why you wanted to run away. And why you eventually did run when you got the chance,” she paused briefly. “And we know about the robbery, and your unwilling involvement.”
Tom’s heart began to pound. How could she possibly know all this! “It wasn’t my—!”
“We know that you are innocent, Tom.” And then she smiled. Not just any smile, but one born of genuine concern and love.
Tom felt something foreign building up deep inside his soul. It was a strange sensation . . . as though he had been wrapped in warm blanket, and then coddled by countless, embracing arms. And then he knew. Tom Toone knew that this woman . . . this fantastically kind woman, had perceived him, absolutely. He tried to fight back the overwhelming release of emotion. But he could not. He broke into quiet sobs. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me,” he uttered. “No one has ever cared.”
Ruthanne leaned in and hugged him. “We care. You see, we are also misunderstood, and on the run, you might say.” She smiled back at the rest of the group, who’s mouths had finally closed. “I have a gift,” she revealed. “That is how I came to know these facts about you. I would like to tell you about it. Then, I would like to introduce the rest of my friends, who also have,”—she hesitated—“gifts.” Ruthanne turned toward the others and tipped her head in an approving nod. “And if you think Hercules and Thor were something, you are going to love the rest of our toys.” She laughed, then slipped in one more quick hug.
The rest of the team moved in to join her in welcoming this new young stranger.
And that’s how Tom Toone become one of the group. A new, unimaginable world was suddenly offered to him, and he gulped its cool, life-giving essence as if a renewing elixir.
--
The Five were cautious at first, sharing only those things which Tom quizzed them on. Their most powerful, clandestine technologies came in fragments, as the young recruit was able to understand them. Like starting a great puzzle, the outside edges had to be matched and placed first.
Tom’s aptitude for science was extreme, and he soon found that he had not only come home to a new family, but to a university of knowledge—and what a school it turned out to be.
Jacob became both friend and mentor, spending time, every day, with Tom until he had recovered enough to begin moving freely about the underground complex. After that, the two were nearly inseparable. Jacob took the boy under his wing and the two of them worked closely together on several of the young geniuses’ ongoing projects.
Tom soon learned how to command and program the nominal construction drones—which he quickly mastered—demonstrating his talents in engineering, and his ability to control the mechanic monoliths. But even more importantly, Tom, like Zen and Gracie, was not sunlight intolerant. And with phase-two coming online—Gracie’s Sandcastle Estate—he could help in ways which the rest of the group could not.
There were many varied duties, but one in particular became an immediate favorite: Tom’s connection with little Jimmy. As he spent more time with Zen and Gracie, the child became endeared to the teen, seeing Tom as an older sibling. Tom didn’t mind, in fact he could be seen hauling Jimmy around like a sack of potatoes nearly everywhere he went. “Up and over, little bro!” he’d shout, tossing Jimmy up onto his shoulders. It was a wonderful interaction which Gracie not only embraced wholeheartedly, but welcomed. It allowed her more crucial time to work with Zen in the underground.
Throughout this fledging time, this regimen of adjustment and learning, Tom clearly understood that he was always to be treated as an equal, never a hostage, and could leave the secret facility at any time. He, like the rest of the group, had taken an oath; an oath of confidentiality and of loyalty; and no matter where his future might lead him, Tom knew he would die having kept his vows.
As time passed, and the foundation of trust and loyalty became cemented, there was little Tom was not privy to. Even HOPE had dropped her surreptitious veil. Tom’s understanding of the vital project became paramount, and he soon embraced it unequivocally, and like the Five, was committed heart and soul. Sandcastle, when complete, would be his home as well—the beginning of a new chapter in his life . . . he having affirmed to all that his previous life and all experiences, were forever forgotten. Yet, amid all that was fresh, new and wonderful for Tom, he—nor any of the Five—could have foreseen then, that a portion of his past would come as a great tsunami, sending a torrent of change that would one day alter the destiny of the Five, and ultimately, HOPE.
Chapter 16:
The time for Sandcastle to bloom above her salty roots had finally come. After so many years of silence, the forgotten parcel of fenced sand—the sandbox as the locals called it—suddenly came to life. Under the mask of a moonless summer night, a massive convoy of trucks, tractors, flatbeds, backhoes— an entire gamut of construction equipment—moved in on the site, and soon afterwards, the work commenced. Within weeks, the frame of a spectacular structure took shape. Behind the protection of a high manufactured wall, the outlining form towered above on the flat terrain, scratching the horizon’s pale blue backdrop.
The construction site—because of its magnitude and unusual location—soon become a conspicuous beacon; and while the construction commenced, the owners of the unique plot found themselves repeatedly accosted by not only the local curious, but even news reporters and magazine publishers as well, all anxious for insight into this strange, prodigious structure in a withered landscape.
The reason for this intrusive onslaught was obvious—and unfortunately, expected. After all, little was known about the family Reitman. It was assumed that they were extravagant, wealthy and reclusive—two out of three assumptions were spot on. The Reitman’s were wealthy and they were reclusive. B
ut extravagant? Not in any sense of the word, as the world would soon learn.
The incredible estate took form and was completed in unprecedented time—just over three months. And by August, when her premier exterior lighting switched on for the first time, the opulent mansion was the star of nightfall—a desert debut unparalleled. She could be seen for miles, like a lighthouse on a darkened sea. And soon, like all beacons with their light ever aglow, as if to invite and guide, so too did Sandcastle awake the inquisitive monster. For soon, seemingly overnight in fact, the newly completed Reitman estate became an iconic, Utah landmark . . . one with much mystic.
In that first year, curiosity abounded and assumptions filled in where gossip left off. The cryptic estate was tied to an overabundance of stories, tales and conspiracy theories . . . enough to power a media blitz for months. In fact, the mansion had been given a well-earned nickname: The Sandcastle—rumored to be the name given it by its owners—and whose mere mention triggered an avalanche of chatter from all local convergences. The manor had become the rarified jewel sprung mysteriously from Utah’s desert wasteland. Yet, with the estate’s tall perimeter wall shielding her inward secrets—her glass-domed solariums; lush manicured gardens; sapphire-blue fishponds; cloistered pillars and statue-centered fountains—she would remain the tip of an elusive iceberg on a quiescent sea of sand.
Attempts at interviews, excursions and appointments continued, as did the denials, and for a time, it seemed there wasn’t a local tabloid in the valley that didn’t publish something about the mysterious manner. In the end, however, only a handful of selected individuals—mostly those relating to personal issues such as legal and financial matters—made their way in and out of the home with nothing more to report than an elegantly designed mansion with equally elegant hosts.
Slowly then—and at the great relief of Zen, Gracie and the others—Sandcastle began to shed her cloak of mystery. The Reitman’s—although determined to keep their desert paradise as concealed as possible—were eventually accepted. They were seen as odd and reclusive, yes, but affable—an acceptable combination as far as the couple were concerned.
In some areas, where the arm of the tabloid stretched long and determined—Sandcastle continued to battle the last vestiges of the conspiracy theory plague; some of which were far more imaginative than any of the local stories: outrageous claims such as a secret U.S. germ warfare research facility; a hideaway for wealthy drug cartels; a safe-house for unnamed foreign defectors . . . the list went on. And with each new headline, the Reitman’s hooted up a storm. Especially Gracie, who began to place bets on when the alien factor would read into the scandal. It eventually did, of course.
But amid all the unwanted publicity, Gracie just wanted to nestle down into her desert oasis, proving to everyone that the magnificent Sandcastle Estate was there to stay, and that she was as much at home in the desiccated landscape as the cactus and sage which surrounded her. And justly so. For behind the castle’s outer frock—her parapet topped wings, thick colonnades, winding promenades, spiraling towers, arches and eves—was the family she concealed and protected: the Reitmans, a young household whose financial success and eccentric digs seemed just bizarre enough to land them on the list of Utah’s most enigmatic families.
But a good mystery lives long and is not easily put to rest. And unfortunately, the family and their mansion were about to burst beyond their home state’s borders into the realm of internet and world-wide attention.
--
Sometime after the completion of the estate, an article was published in the Salt Lake Tribune which shed some insight into the Reitmans incredible rise to wealth. It chronicled—with surprising accuracy—the acquisition of the Falling Rock Mine back in the 50’s, including the family’s struggle in purchasing the property, as well as the mineral estate rights. The Bureau of Land Management had been difficult to work with, and at the time, had scoffed at the investment and deemed it ludicrous. The clip revealed how the restored mine had proven to be a serendipitous boon for the Reitmans; its derelict shafts divulging two of the richest veins of gold ever recorded in the state of Utah. The BLM had since choked on their words . . . at a tune of hundreds of millions of dollars.
It was this article that inevitably catapulted the Reitmans into the world-wide circle of the affluent and famous. And although they tried to stay under the tabloid radar, the name Sandcastle was soon propelled to celebrated status. It was unsettling for the family to be sure, but they would not be disrupted in their focus and tasks. Undaunted by this unwanted fame, the Reitmans refused the magnate spotlight, and scoffed at all adulation. Instead, they simply continued in their reclusive manner . . . and in their uncanny generosity.
Millions of dollars were donated to Utah’s area counties. Everything from university buildings, public recreational facilities, hospital wings, schools, environmental and social projects. It was as if the family felt some strange obligation . . . a recompense unknown, to these their fellow Utahans.
Initially, the Reitman’s tried to keep their charitable efforts veiled through anonymous channels. But they soon found that in the business of philanthropy, anonymity was a near impossible status to maintain, especially when vast amounts of wealth were involved.
Indeed, as all eyes fell upon these strange new desert humanitarians, the Reitmans simply tightened their blinds and bunkered in, continuing to deflect all requests into their personal and private dealings. But like a diamond set among stones, the public eye remained fixed to the ornate desert flower; this Sandcastle, which above all else simply longed to be left to her own.
--
Years passed, and like an old legacy, Sandcastle eventually faded into the background of progress. It seemed she had finally got her wish. The unique mansion became nothing more than an eccentric landmark on Utah’s west desert plate—a visual piece of art left to the sands.
But below the quiet foundation, where prying eyes and probing interest never delved nor penetrated, life had been far from ordinary. The underground had morphed from a cavernous waste to a sub-terrain industrial phenomenon—a salt labyrinth of unprecedented means. There were massive production facilities, laboratories, development and engineering stations, testing and staging areas—all manned with robotic worker drones. And these, all carefully supervised by more intelligent, autonomous systems.
Controlling this futuristic machine from the top hierarchy down, were the Five. And there was more.
Industry was not the only change to spawn in the underground veins of salt. Adjacent to this hive of extraordinary technology was an area so astounding that it bordered on the realm of fantasy, especially in its aesthetic beauty. Avalon, the recreational area and living quarters set aside for the four sunlight intolerant of the group, was a masterpiece of innovation and architecture. The vast sections had been named after the mythical city where King Arthur’s sword, Excalibur was forged, and a fabled place of inconceivable beauty. The massive tri-vaulted salt domes at the northeast end had been EMR-transformed into a picturesque acreage. Avalon emulated all that the Five had dreamed of during those dark, horrific days of their past; and which even in their freedom, had been denied because of their intolerance to sunlight. Was it any wonder, then, that this Avalon would be conceived of pure, and unrestrained imagination? And it truly was.
There were gardens of all varieties. Some genetically enhanced, but all were endemic to the underground city. There were favorites of course—Gracie often spent more time in Avalon than she did above ground at Sandcastle, and this, she claimed, was because of the flowers. Her favorite type—an anniversary gift from Zen—was a strain of carnations which Ellen had labored on for months. The result was a genetically altered, unique category of Dianthus Caryophyllus—a spectacular wonder. The flower bloomed in a myriad of colors, its blossoms large and full. But the most fascinating aspect of the plant was the incorporation of bioluminescent chemicals, which gave each flower its own radiant glow. Gracie had cried with joy when she first saw
them. Now they, along with so many other incredible flora, gave Avalon its accent from heaven.
The marbled pathways connected each of the housing units through spectacular themes of manicured grounds. The apartments nestled themselves against rising slopes, tiered into red-rocked ledges that rose to the very top of the domes, nearly sixty-meters above. Wild flowers, ornamental grasses and clusters of Aspen and Juniper covered the manmade acclivities. From their rounded peaks above, cascading waterfalls spilled downward, tumbling softly into misty sapphire pools, adding a sense of tranquility which imbued throughout the Avalon sanctuary.
The reality of such a paradise cocoon was only made possible due to another of Jacob’s most impressive creations: his sub-suns, as coined by the boy prodigy. Attached high above each dome were three brilliantly bright magnetic casings, each placed at separate vertices in an isosceles formation. The casings contained a miniscule hydrogen-helium nuclear engine, duplicating to near exactness the sun’s natural luminosity. The radiation output of the controlled fusion reactors, however, was infinitely less than that of the sun, and could be polarized to filter out the deadly range of radiation toxic to those of the group who were intolerant to natural sunlight. Finally, it seemed, they could have their days in the sun, making Jacob’s sub-suns one of his most popular and celebrated achievements.
Of Salt and Sand Page 22