Jacob brought the Sandray into a silent hover just outside the camp. The window blinds were drawn, but the soft yellow glow from within radiated outward in a hollow sense of warmth and reception. “And now to become visible again,” he said, touching a button on the panel.
The craft instantly appeared from out of the darkness, its surface now catching the reflection of the surrounding illumination. There was a subtle swoosh sound, and then a slight bump; the Sandray had let out her legs and nestled in.
“Okay. We’re here,” stated Jacob with something similar to a sigh of relief. “Let’s see if Tom is at home.”
Three-Of-Ten blinked his bright eyes and nodded. “Tom at home,” he pronounced in a slow intonation.
The door opened. Jacob jumped out first with both feet hitting the ground in a dusty thud. Three-Of-Ten, who always struggled just a bit in exiting the Sandray, took a little longer. His tall, wide frame was not conducive to the cramped cockpit.
“Watch your—”
Bang!
“head,” Jacob finished, too late.
The loud clank echoed off the cliff walls, reverberating in the silence long after Three-Of-Ten’s, “Ouch” had preceded it.
Jacob let out a long, aggravated grunt, and opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come.
The doorway to the trailer had flown open. “Who’s out there!” came an aggressive voice.
In the frame of the door, the silhouette of an adult man shadowed out across the cul-de-sac in a giant profile which fell across the water and rose high on the cliff’s face like a monstrous creature.
Jacob knew the figure well. It was Tom. But now the boy’s attention fell on the long, metal object protruding from the man’s hands. The shotgun instantly raised and leveled directly at him.
“I said who’s out there!” Tom growled again.
Jacob’s heart jumped. This was a hostile move directed at him, and he knew what corollary action would follow. He instinctively whirled toward Three-Of-Ten, hand out in a futile effort to intervene. “Desist—!” he shouted, but the paramount word came too late to stop the droid’s protective response. Three-Of-Ten’s calming eyes had already changed their color. Now they glared in a threatening deep red, signaling that the impassive, submissive companion was in full defense mode, and capable, if pushed, of laying waste to an entire modern defense unit and its hi-tech weaponry. Yet, the failsafe protocols which had long since been programmed into the droid’s circuitry, were also online. In addition, Tom had an advantage: Three-Of-Ten knew him, or in other words knew his DNA sequence. The fact was, in less than a second, Three-Of-Ten knew more about the man standing in the doorway than anyone else on the planet. Having instantly scanned his life-energy patterns, his DNA sequence, his vitals, and brainwave functions. The metal android had recorded and calculated all this data, and more, in milliseconds. Three-Of-Ten now knew and comprehended information regarding Tom’s physical condition, mental state, and probability comparisons for every possible reactionary scenario. Fortunately, in those infinitesimal moments, the man had been deemed low threat. Yet a threat none-the-less. After all, he was armed. Three-Of-Ten had already processed the type of action to be taken. It had been downloaded and sent to the proper defense hardware housed within his frame. With speed well beyond that of a striking snake, the metal protector raised an arm and released a shimmering pulse of energy directly toward the threat.
The response was instantaneous as a mist of vapor exploded against the figure. Tom winced, and fell back a step, then recoiled. It had been a disarming defensive move only; substantially benign. All metal within the radius of the blast had been atomically changed to H2O, or liquid water.
Tom’s hair was blown back in an odd funnel and frayed outward around his red face. His shirt, once loose and hanging about his thin torso, now stuck tight to his body, wet and plastered against his chest. His belt-buckle, zipper and buttons—all metal—were gone. Now his wet pants hung at his ankles. Tom stood there in the silhouette of the doorway in nothing but his wet underwear and shirt. His hair dripped and his bare legs quivered all the way down to his boots.
A silent moment passed as Jacob blinked dumbly and tried to find his voice.
The half-naked hermit finally let out a long sigh. He bent, casually, and reached for his pants. He shook the water from his thick, salt and pepper hair like a dog just out of a lake. From a shirt pocket, he took out an equally drenched handkerchief, rung it and wiped his wet face. He cocked his head to one side and pounded on it in an attempt to drain the water from his ear. “That was my favorite bird gun,” he finally grunted. He stepped down the stairs, one hand holding up his pants. “And that belt was a gift from old chief Woodworm on the reservation.” Then he broke into a laugh and shouted: “you’d think I’d learn!”
Jacob glared at Three-Of-Ten. “That’s the second gun of Tom’s you’ve atomized! What’s wrong with you! I’m going to remove your EMR device if you can’t be more discerning!”
“Oops,” replied Three-Of-Ten.
“Don’t blame him, Jake,” shouted back Tom. “He’s just doing his job. It’s my fault. I wasn’t expecting you tonight. If I had, I certainly wouldn’t be brandishing anything but a handshake.” Tom chuckled and hurried over to the pair. “How are you Three-Of-Ten? You’ve got to teach me that quick draw,” he teased.
“I must apologize, Tom. I’ll have the gun replaced,” Jacob assured.
Tom raised a hand and shrugged the statement off. “Don’t you worry about it.”
“I don’t understand him,” Jacob continued. “I’ve entered your DNA sequence into his database, several times. He knows you are not a threat,” the boy explained, still glaring at the now blue-eyed android.
“A shotgun in hand is always a threat, Jake. Good-ole Three-Of-Ten knows that, don’t ya my metal man.”
Tom patted Three-Of-Ten on the back then threw an arm around Jacob in a firm, but friendly hug. “Come inside, Jake. It’s so good to see you again, old friend.”
“It’s good to see you too, Tom.”
Three-Of-Ten began to follow the two toward the trailer. Jacob turned and halted the metal companion with an intimidating finger. “You stay here and keep your eyes open,” he ordered. “I’m still upset with you!”
Three-Of-Ten blinked his illumined eyes in an innocent submission, then stepped back toward the Sandray and prepared to engage his surveillance hardware. “Eyes open,” he parroted, and blinked again.
Jacob tossed a final nod then turned and followed Tom into the mobile dwelling.
“Help yourself to some sage tea,” offered Tom, pointing to the refrigerator. “I’m going to hurry and change out of these wet clothes . . . or what’s left of them.”
“Thank you. But I’m not really thirsty,” replied Jacob, remembering how bitter Tom’s brew tasted—something like boiled straw. The boy looked around at the ramshackle interior which the man called home. The inside was fairly well kept but reeked of age and disrepair. Every surface was stacked with desert rocks, fossils, cactus plants, maps, books—a surfeit of junk. Jacob smiled, noting that nothing much had changed since the last time he visited. He cleared some old magazines and brushed off a seat at the table.
Old Tom appeared again, looking almost clean after his unexpected bath. His hair was combed over, his clothes fresh and dry. “Now don’t be too hard on Three-Of-Ten, Jake,” Tom repeated sincerely. “I’m completely to blame.” He grinned a pleasant toothy smile and sat down with a thud, opposite the boy. He reached for his glasses which were sitting in an old metal cup at the table’s edge. Tom shuffled more junk out of the way and poured himself some leather-colored tea. “This stuff isn’t bad if you get all the pieces picked out of it,” he said, poking a finger into his cup. He took a few sips, let out a relaxing exhale and lifted his large, ponderous boots up comfortably onto a bucket full of rocks sitting under the table. “It’s hell to get old, Jake,” he said wearily, “and I’m getting up in age.” He sipped again then si
ghed. “I don’t suppose I’ll get much sympathy out of you though. You’re my senior by more years than I want to think about.”
Jacob smiled wryly back at the man and shrugged innocently, “who’s counting?”
“I am. You don’t look a day older than the first time I saw you,” Tom declared, eyeing the kid with a taunting grin.
“It does seem like just yesterday, Tom,” Jacob replied, reminiscently. “You were just a young kid when we found you, half dead, in old Falling Rock.”
Tom nodded. He let his head drop back and his eyes wonder. “I would have died that day if it wasn’t for the Five,” he said with a nostalgic sigh.
Jacob snorted humorously. “Shoot. I doubt it. You were tough as nails back then.”
Tom grinned and let loose a debating grunt. “You could have left me there in that old mine to die, but instead you risked everything, and brought me to your Avalon home in the underground complex.” He shook his head and stared down at the table, musing on the memories, and pondering events long since passed.
They prattled on and reminisced for some time, occasionally rattling the old trailer with such boisterous laughter and loud animation that the otherwise quiescent canyon boomed and echoed as if hosting its own great gala somewhere deep within in its rocky-branched, labyrinth.
All the while, Three-Of-Ten stood outside, detached. As a programmed sentinel, his sensors aggressively scanned, watched, listed and monitored the area for any unnatural inconsistencies. The droid would carry out his last order and stay at his post indefinitely if necessary. With his nuclear pack fueled to last a thousand-years, the energy would supply the droids needs long after his alloy casing and internal circuitry had oxidized away.
Tom’s eyes had turned red from laughter. He finally reached for his handkerchief and blew his nose. He made a few more pleasant grunts and humorous gestures, then exhaled and regained himself.
Jacob had reluctantly given in to propriety, and was sipping a cup of sage tea. Sipping was the only way to get the liquid down.
“ . . . yes. I didn’t find a casino that day, but I found a family, and a magical castle in the sand. I knew when I first laid eyes on that magnificent complex—your little city tucked away underground in those giant salt vaults—that my life would never be the same. And it certainly has not been.” He put down his cracked, stained mug, leaving a layer of dried-leafy material stuck in the bottom, and scratched at a mosquito bite on his arm. “I admit I miss the place,” he said, pausing. “In fact, I miss the team, the work and being part of something so immense, so . . . well, noble, is the word I’m looking for.”
“Well-spoken my friend,” Jacob consented. “And I’m glad you feel that way because I’m here to ask you to come back. We need you at Sandcastle. Gracie needs you. She sent me to bring you home, Tom. She worries about you out here in the middle of nowhere.”
Tom’s head slouched and he shifted awkwardly in his chair. He didn’t answer right away, and Jacob could see the emotional struggle in his expression. “Oh, I’ve got my own quiet kingdom right here,” he finally indicated with a glancing gesture. “And I sure don’t have any wants or needs. Thanks to you and yours, I have a nice place in the city, and enough money to last a dozen lifetimes. But here in my quite canyon . . . well, this is where I’m truly at home.
Jacob deflated visibly. “But—”
“No Jake. Not right now. But thanks to y’all for checking in on me anyhow. Just give Gracie my love and tell her I’ll give her a call.”
“A call isn’t the same as you in person, Tom.”
Tom mumbled and averted his gaze momentarily. “I know. And don’t get me wrong, I’d love to see Gracie again. I know she’s getting on.”
“Yes. She is.”
“Has she improved? I mean since—”
“Yes, actually,” Jacob replied. “After Zen’s death, she struggled terribly as you know, but she has come back with a vitality that none of us could have foreseen.” The boy’s face filled with a sudden ambition. But then dwindled, and his eyes drew downward. He paused and fumbled with the spoon. “But she has never regained the use of her legs.”
“I was going to ask you about that,” said Tom
“There is no medical explanation for her inability to walk, or so Ellen says,” continued Jacob. “We just attribute it to shock.” He paused and swallowed down the lump in his throat. “That day, when she heard the news of Zen, and collapsed . . . well, that was the last time she walked.”
Tom poured another cup and Jacob unconsciously reached and picked up a polished stone from a pile near the table. He wove and rubbed the small rock in and around his thumb and forefinger.
“Those are Indian Blessing Stones,” Tom said. “You rub them until they are warm, and they’ll bring you good fortune.”
Jacob smiled. “Maybe I should take one home for Gracie.”
“Yes. You do that. Take that one home to her and she’ll be alright, Jake. You’ll see. Some wounds—the deep and ugly ones—simply take longer to heal.”
Jacob nodded a blank response, but a hint of emotion had already skulked in, putting a quiver to his lips. “How is it, Tom? We can manipulate matter,” he reached to the narrow window ledge and picked up a much larger stone, a cut geode—one of several which Tom had polished and set out as part of his unique interior, decor. “We can turn this stone into any elements of equal mass—gold, silver, iron, lead, whatever we want.” He returned the stone to its place. “We can repulse gravity; send ultrahigh current over photon radiation; we can control and manage unprecedented amounts of energy, and fuse and fission on the atomic scale like a child plays with clay.” The boy exhaled and moved a hand to the window blind and lifted it slightly. He smiled as he spied Three-Of-Ten, resolute in his assigned task. “And we can create artificial intelligence and arm it with unique weaponry a hundred years ahead of its time.” He lowered the blind and stared back at his old friend.
Tom noted a single tear as it ran down the boy’s cheek, and for the first time the old hermit saw the adolescent in his true, sagacious frame.
“But we could not save Zen,” Jacob muttered. “And we cannot make Gracie walk again.” He sniffled back his emotion and wiped his face with his hand.
Tom reached out and ruffled a large, wrinkled hand through the boy’s thick black hair. “There are things, Jake,” he comforted, “that even Sandcastle cannot fix. Remember that God is the ultimate master of all things. Infinite knowledge, wisdom and power still belong to Him.”
Jacob nodded quietly. “Indeed, dear friend.”
“And the rest of the group? How are they doing?” Tom asked, intentionally directing the conversation to a more pleasant topic.
Jacob’s countenance warmed. “They are well,” the boy responded, hesitantly. “I mean, Zen’s death changed us all, of course, and Ruthanne suffered so deeply. But with the advent of Gracie’s sudden revival; her new energy as Ellen put it. Well, it seems to have been gratefully contagious. I suppose you could say it was like manna from heaven.” Jacob smiled, and Tom warmed seeing his friend’s spirits brighten again. “Yes. They are good, we are good,” he replied, cheerfully. “Ruthanne and Eli are continually reprogramming the droid engineers in order to keep up with the project’s needs—they’ve replicated a small army of them now. They follow Ruthanne around like lost puppies,” he tittered. “But they are extremely proficient, and run things around the underground complex incredibly well. Ruthanne does a fantastic job, but she sometimes broods over them like a mother hen,” he joked. “It is so comical to watch her. She makes us laugh, and Eli teases her relentlessly.”
Tom grinned perpetually as he watched Jacob’s humorous recount. It made him even more nostalgic for his friends at Sandcastle.
“I actually caught her the other day, on the surveillance system, trying to teach several of the sentinel droids to whistle a tune!” continued Jacob, through bits of welcomed laughter. “I didn’t tell her about it, of course, she would have deleted the entire
video stream,” he snorted. “I kept hearing this awful, whiny dissonant sound. And then just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, Gracie joined her and the two of them whooped it up hysterically. It was the first time they have laughed like that since . . . well like they used to, clear from their toes. It was a wonderful moment.”
Tom threw his head back and rolled out a great thunderous blast. He could just picture it! It was so typically Ruthanne!
“I copied the entire sequence and locked it away in the protected archives,” Jacob added. “I consider it priceless. It is a piece of who we are, and I want it in the vaults with the rest of our records.”
“It is priceless.” Tom looked happily at the boy and nodded his admiration and understanding.
“And then Jimmy showed up in his serious, self-absorbed manner and ruined the fun,” Jacob added, irritatingly. “He didn’t think it was funny at all. He has a way of doing that—putting a damper on anything which deviates from the task at hand; if you know what I mean.”
At the mention of Jimmy’s name, the delightful tone in the conversation soured. Tom’s expression instantly defused.
“He’s been up-in-arms since that scout mishap out by Bonneville Speedway.”
“I read about that,” said Tom. “You mean that was a generated storm? From one of our,”—he caught himself—“I mean your stations?”
“I’m afraid so. It was one of the remote stations, Substation 7D. Its energy-grid extends underneath that area.”
“Yes, I remember. But how could that have happened, Jake?”
“We still don’t know.” Jacob admitted, shamefully. “But this one nearly got us. It’s the second malfunction we’ve had in six months,” the boy conceded. “7D’s energy-grid has been offline for years. He shook his head then continued. “It’s as though someone reprogrammed it, and increased the output intensity—we had nothing on our end to tell us 7D had been reactivated until it was too late.”
“Is that possible?”
Of Salt and Sand Page 26