by Rik Thompson
Booked looked down, and read what Jose had just said.
“Hello, I am Jose. It is a pleasure to meet you my friend.”
Book took his outstretched hand, and replied, “The pleasure is all mine, Gringo.”
Jose looked at the screen, and they both smiled.
· * * *
Bathed, and a change of clothes, courtesy of Pepe Gonzalez, Book walked the streets of East L.A. He ducked into a café off Olympic Boulevard, and noticed an apparatus which looked like an old jukebox. Instead, as he examined it, he found it to be a communication directory. He scanned the business section and found:
ELECTRO-TECH
EIGHTEEN
Shirley McAllister drops a copy of the L.A. Blaze onto a table, at Denny’s and sits down. She spreads the paper out on the table, takes a sip of coffee, allows her mind to wander a bit, and turns a page.
She stops at page five C, and examines a story in the middle of the page. The story concerns a young man and a robot who has escaped the Moon, and is now at large, and believed to be headed for the area.
I had a son, one time, long ago now, it seems. I wonder what has happened to that child?
The obtrusive ring of her communicator broke her thought. She took the third ring even so she just wanted to drift back to the child.
“How’s your memory, Shirl?”
She could picture her boss, Wick Chancellor, sitting in his plush office, in Century City. A grey nicely tailored suit, a turquoise tie, complete with a pair of Florsheim wingtips, and black silk socks completing the look.
“Or, maybe your history, in this case, might work?”
“What do you mean, Chief?”
“Roughly fifty years ago, around this time of the calendar, the homeless situation here, in L.A., well, I hate like hell to be the purveyor of a bad situation, but it seems that Population Control has been seriously slipping as of late, and the homeless are back.
“I want you to get over to Baldwin Park. There, try to get to the bottom line on this episode; there has to be some kind of underground explanation for the up rise of the homeless.”
· * * *
Shirley motored into Baldwin Park, took a left on Maine, travelled north to Arrow Highway, hung a left there and close to the Santé Fe Damn area, she drew up to a brick blockhouse. She parked the car, got out and wondered how she would get through the eight-foot chain link fence. She stood outside the fence at a large gate and contemplated giving a holler.
“Hello, is anybody there?”
She called out again and soon after that a lanky, blond haired young man came to call.
“Hello, I was wondering if anybody was around, I didn’t see any vehicles.”
“Well, I am here. How can I help you? Are you looking for anyone in particular?”
Shirley smiled.
“Let me explain. I am a reporter from The Blaze newspaper, and was sent here to investigate the recent uptick in homeless. As I have researched the situation it led me here.
Is there anyone here I can discuss this with?”
“Are you Police?”
“A reporter and I am not a cop.”
“Let me get someone.”
“Thank you. Oh and, by the way, my name is Shirley. And you are?”
“Book, just call me, Book.”
Shirley followed Book into the compound.
“How long has this been opened?”
“About a year now,” Book said, “We haven’t grown in population. But then again, I have just arrived.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Out there somewhere. It does not matter that much where I came from as where I am going.”
Scattered around the grounds of the compound were spacious tents, and Shirley figured they must be filled with the inhabitants of the facility.
Book led her to a door on the outside left of the building. The door led inside to an office. There sat a wiry older man behind a massive oak desk. Covering up the man’s long face was a brown beard with flecks of grey, much like his close-cropped hair. He had deep set grey-blue eyes, which scanned her exclusively as she walked through the door.
She smiled, “Hello, my name is Shirley McAllister, from The Los Angeles Blaze newspaper, and I wanted . . .”
“What do you want? Are you from the police?”
“No, I was . . .”
“Yes, I know you, I know you are spying on our little project here so you can go back to the police and report. I know your kind.”
“She isn’t,” Book answered. “I mean she does not act like anything that you say she is. She’s a fine person I can tell.”
“Look at me, son. I know you just arrived here the other day, and don’t know a thing about the area, but I do. And I am telling you.”
“I hear what you say, Sir. But I think you ought to give the lady a chance at least to hear her out and see. Maybe she can help you in the end.”
Thomas Jepson calmed. Finally, he asked Shirley to a chair and they began to talk.
“Oh yes, and Book, have a seat. You might find this interesting as well,” Thomas said.
Shirley began, “We were curious, at the paper why these folks were here. I did not come to uncover your organization and blurt it out to the world, I came here to discover why these people had to come here, and as far as my part in this is concerned, I just wanted to know why. Can you understand that, Mr. Jepson?”
“I do, and the short answer to that question is that these people are outcasts. Yes, they were scanned as babies, and sent off to their respective tutor ledges. But the fact is, none of them fit into that system. They wanted something more out of their lives, and not to fall into step with what the government had in store for them. They rebelled, and their rebellion landed them here.”
“So, it wasn’t about drugs at all?”
“Heavens no. It was about their individuality. They wanted life and fashion their lives like they wanted it to be. A lot of them would have liked to marry and raise a family, on their term. And this is not just happening here in this country, it is started to happen all over the world. More and more of them are lending their selves to independent thinking.”
Book sat quietly though the conversation. He listened intently and found himself agreeing with the principals Thomas Jepson laid out.
Shirley thanked Thomas for his candor. She understood the concept, and embellished it in her own way.
“I understand this concept, Mr. Jepson. Years ago, I had a son, out of wedlock. He was taken from me, and I did time in prison for that mistake. It has been a rough road of heartache ever since that time. I don’t know where he is, what he is doing, and I still miss him terribly.”
Book watched as tears welled up in the woman’s eyes, and inside he felt a deep emotion for the lady from The Blaze Newspaper.
Thomas reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, and handed it to her.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Miss McAllister, and I know that someday, some way you will find your son. What about the Father? Is he seeking your son too?”
Shirley wiped her eyes, “I don’t talk to him and have not seen him in years. He’s a big shot in the government and was never prosecuted.”
· * * *
Shirley McAllister yawned, and stretched as she sat at her desk and stared down a blank Word document. It was a long day, and now saddled with the task of writing a story on what she learned, it made her all the more tired. Baldwin Park, folks living outside of society and being outcasts. It troubled her, she would, and could not imagine.
“There has to be an opening here somewhere; something to place in the forefront, to get this story started.”
She could not lend her thoughts, could not let them drift into a bias – she must not take sides in the matter – no opinion, just the facts, just the story.
Her communicator came to life, and her thoughts ran to answering the call. It was The Chief.
“What’s your Twenty,” he asked.
&
nbsp; “Twenty? Right. I’m home and trying to get this story off the ground. But I will tell you, Chief; the trip to Baldwin Park, all the reasons and the philosophies of those people, it tends to wear me down.
“And look at you. Are you still hamming it up?”
“Why certainly. It has always fascinated me that you could randomly speak to the world using this little box and microphone, especially working from a newspaper point of view. For instance, did you know that the story you are working right now originated in the Baltic States?”
“Wow, and who would have thought people were still using this outdated tech. I mean, can you still get parts?”
“Absolutely. Think of it as, The Tandy Leather Company, still in business. Still serving convicts making wallets in the joint.”
“Okay, I get your point, Chief. Though, not quite in your perspective.”
“Onto the matter at hand, Shirl. What have you learned about these people?”
“Lemme see,” she began. She did not want it this way, here goes, “These people are outcasts.”
“Oh, outcasts? Is that what these exiles are calling themselves?”
The conversation pivoted back and forth. She tried her best to, not only add the reasoning for the title, but the philosophies behind the reasoning.
“Chief, I don’t want to broadcast the location of these folks. They made it very clear to me that bringing heat to their little community would not be a good thing to do. Instead, take it through an editorial. That way you could argue the premise that this world today is not one size fits all.”
· * * *
She was assigned the story. At first, she would just be a reporter. She would send it to the City Desk, then one of the more accomplished writers would interpret it into a story.
The Chief assigned it to her. He was convinced by their conversation, believed that she would have the best angle on the story.
After disconnecting from The Chief, she swiveled her chair back to the blank word document. It was right then that her thoughts traveled back to the young, lanky, blond boy, known as Book.
Donnie Book, as he referred to himself now, and whose name appeared on the fake degrees he had manufactured stated, walked through the door of Electro-Tech, and acknowledged the woman sitting behind the counter, “Hello, I am Donnie Book and I would like to apply for a job here at your firm.”
The woman at the desk sized the young boy up and was immediately taken aback at his apparent age.
She smiled, “So, have you finished high school yet? Are you seeking summer help?”
Book glanced at the woman briefly, thought her stupid, in a sense and dropped his valise upon the counter and brought out a manila folder, “No, I am looking for permanent employment; a career, if you will.
“You will find my degrees that qualify me for a position, right in here.”
If was like the woman’s eyes would pop right out and begin rolling along the counter. In his mind the boy could see that happening.
“Mister Watkis,” the woman started, “I think you may be interested in this,” she said dumping the papers full of degrees onto his desk.
“Hm, this is quite impressive, quite impressive, indeed. Send the man in, Mrs. Walker.”
“But Sir, that’s the whole point, this is only a child, err, a boy.”
Watkis knew of Savants, “Don’t care if it is a Kangaroo, Walker, just send the ma – boy in.”
“Welcome, Book. Please sit. I have been going through your degrees, and I see a man similar to another young man that walked through that door a number of years ago by the name of Wade, Timothy Wade. That was a good bloodline, and it seems like it has arrived once more.”
It’s something special when you are lost
Then you’re found
Suddenly all the pain is gone and you are whole again
The road was rough – the journey long
In the end that journey was worth it all as you are home again
NINETEEN
George Watkis believed; he knew those degrees were fake, they had to be. Yet, he still indulged the young man; he coddled him, also though, at the same time he would investigate the boy. He would also test the boy on his knowledge that he felt would fail him miserably.
Yes, the documents were fake, only the tests weren’t. The boy was exceptional, an accomplished master on any question, or theory posed to him.
Book returned to Electro-Tech a week later, and met with Watkis once more.
“You have the job, my boy,” Watkis said. “When would you like to start?”
“As soon as possible. If that is all right with you. Sir?”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Book smiled. “That would be great, Mr. Watkis.”
“Oh, and by the way, Son, just call me, George. You’re family to us now at ET. Report to the research and development team, at eight AM. Missus Walker will show you where that building is. Good luck to you. I am sure you will turn out to be quite an invaluable asset to the team.”
· * * *
He smiled as he gingerly walked the parking lot. He had the job and it was clear now that all his work, since wondering if he would ever find out who he truly was, unto the day, this day, when all his contemplation was beginning to bear fruit. Yes, soon, real soon all his questions will be answered.
· * * *
Shirley brushed back her dark auburn hair, now with a few strands of grey, as she went through her arsenal of items that she would always take to interviews, and anywhere she would have to write a story about:
Micro recorder, pens, communicator, paper. . .
Three hours later she was parked outside the compound, in Baldwin Park.
A couple that recognized the car and Shirley opened the gate for her. Hearing that Thomas was away on business, she decided to stick around and visit with the residents of the compound. She was invited into the couple’s tent for tea, and that is where the conversations started.
“Why does the government want to control every aspect of our lives?” Katey Stewart asked.
“Why do they feel that it is so important to know who we love, and if we want to have a child, if we are married, why all this control?”
“It was the irresponsible folks years ago. They brought murder, unbelievable crime, they brought children into the world that, in the end, some of them did not care for, or want in the first place. They were exercises in horror, and numerous; thus, many suffered, and some sort of accountability had to be established to change the atmosphere.”
“Really?” the boyfriend, Chad Davis, also from Oklahoma asked, moving his head from side to side as if he did not believe a word of it.
She passed from tent to tent. She went in where invited, and did her best to explain the reasons the government had to have a piece of everyone’s life. For the most part, no one believed a word uttered from Shirley’s mouth.
A couple hours later an old white Jeep pulled into a parking space with a sign that read: Thomas Jepson.
Shirley explained that their respite was still a secret, and that as long as she was on the paper, it would stay that way. Then she asked about the boy, Book.
“Gone, where? I have no idea, didn’t tell me. He did say he was going to find a job and try to settle down.”
“You mean, he was not- “
“No, nothing like these others here. When he finally told me about himself; at first, I just shook my head in disbelief. Then, I started to believe him. All in all, it was an incredible story.”
“What was the story about?”
“His escape from the Moon,” Thomas answered, matter-in-factly.
· * * *
LOS ANGELES POPULATION CONTROL BOARD
“We lost him in Arizona,” Administrative Assistant to Sylvie Robers said.
“All signs point to him heading this way, Denny Phillips added.
Shame that robot’s memory module was hi-jacked,” Robers said, “probably by the boy.
“We need to find
the son-of-a-bitch, and now, right now!”
“Don’t you worry none, Sylvie, we will bring him right to you in a short while.”
Robers smirked.
“There’s a reason he is coming this way, and I bet that it is because he knows a bit more than we give him credence for.”
Denny walked over to Robers and placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t you be concerned.”
“You’ve been saying that very same thing ever since we were chasing him back in Louisiana. What has changed since then?”
· * * *
Donnie walked into the offices of the Blaze Newspaper. He glanced around, located the Information Desk and proceeded over to it.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, please, I’m looking for Shirley McAllister.”
“Let me buzz the City Desk for her. Just a moment please.”
The pretty blond information desk lady buzzed the City Desk.
“I’m sorry Sir, Miss McAllister is out of the office right now on assignment, but should be back anytime. If you would like to wait – “
“No, that’s fine. Can I borrow a piece of paper and a pen to leave her a note?”
He left the newspaper. He needed to have a conversation with a friend; some goodly advice. He would visit the plant late that night.