“Is that what they call it? Extra? I’m curious, what do the rumors say about our income?” She narrowed her deep dark eyes at him.
He coughed a little, cornered by his own line of questioning. She’s crafty, he thought. “Nothing much. I don’t think I’ve ever heard numbers before. Just that you guys were comfortable is all.” He admitted.
She could tell he was lying. She was always good at telling when people were lying. She let the silence drift between them for a few seconds. It was her way of letting him know that she only told what she wanted to tell and only to who she wanted to tell it to. Finally, she put her hands in the pockets of her light dinner jacket. “It’s 400 billion,” She said in a low voice.
Mel stopped, stunned by what he thought he had just heard. “What was that?”
She stopped and looked up at him. “400 billion.”
“Dollars?” Mel was trying to process the amount.
She cocked her head in feigned frustration. “No, pesos. Of course, it’s dollars.”
He shook his head at her and started walking again, smiling and chuckling. “Well, I can see why the Company has it out for you guys.”
She grew suddenly interested in his comment. “The Company? You know about them?” Her voice was just a little cracked and tinged with anger.
“Yeah. I work for the Company. So does Rick. Pete used to, but he’s retired now.” Mel tried to sound nonchalant.
“Do they know we’re here? Tabert and Ball I mean.” Her voice was a little more emphatic.
“I don’t know. Why would you care?” Mel was unsure where she was going with her concern.
“Do me a favor.” She pleaded. “Don’t mention the Company to Sam. If you need his help, don’t say anything about the Company or Tabert and Ball.”
He looked at her face, gauging the importance of what she was asking with the sheer force of her expression. “Okay, but I think he might know already.” He finally said. “Besides, we’re kinda out of graces with this little venture anyways. You might say we’re freelancing it right now, not exactly on the company Christmas list if you catch my meaning.”
She sighed heavily. “Just don’t mention the names.”
Mel nodded, and they walked on in silence. By this time, Tormodis had gained ground and caught up with them. He looked sneeringly over at Mel as he passed by them. “Don’t waste your time with him, Margaret. Come on.” He motioned for her to join with him as he moved on ahead. She returned his statement with a penetrating glare set, not for stun but kill.
Mel’s face grew slightly red. “You really know how to keep things light don’t you?” He said to him.
Tormodis shrugged his shoulders and muttered a “whatever” before moving out ahead of them toward the lone figure of Roger, who was some forty yards ahead by now. He held the strap of the M1 carbine that was over his shoulder with his right hand, steadying it as he forced his way through the snow. They were descending into a small valley with a little stream at the bottom. The trickling water was partially covered by the snow and ice. Roger’s figure could be seen on the opposite side of the valley on the crest of a hill that overlooked their position.
Margaret took brief notice of her husband’s rudeness. If only they could see the side of him that I get to see, she thought. Her mind returned to more immediate concerns, however. “You didn’t answer my question.” She reminded Mel.
He glanced at her in surprise. “What question?”
“Why we’re here. You never told me.’ She answered.
Mel smiled. “I guess I didn’t.” They were walking slower now, aware that they were essentially alone and that the freedom to talk was more ensured. “It’s got to do with the reality streams. Have you ever seen a reality tear?” He asked.
“No.” She looked puzzled. “But, we’ve heard it mentioned before, from Tabert and Ball.”
“Well, be glad you haven’t. It’s one sorry sight to witness. A reality stream just starts to unravel, and it rips apart whole sections of reality in terrible kinds of ways. That’s why the Company is here, why it exists. That’s what we do. Fix these breaks. But, sometimes one comes along that really sets everyone back on their heels. A bad one. So bad, in fact, that it takes special kinds of intervention to fix it.” He explained.
“And that’s why we’re here? Doing special intervention?’ She asked.
“Yes. We are. That’s why we’re here, looking for the Tracker.” Mel told her.
“This Tracker guy. I take it he’s important and all. But, how does he help?” She plowed ahead with her inquiry, never afraid to search for answers.
Mel could understand her eagerness to find out. She was as deep into this as her husband. “He can find the source of the break. He knows how to find things that other people don’t. Once we find the break we can figure out how to fix it.”
“And then things will be okay again?” She added.
“Well, I don’t know about okay. Things are never really okay. But, I do know that we can save the lives of a whole lot of people if we act fast.” He replied with a grave tone.
Margaret watched her footsteps for a while as she contemplated the information. It crossed her mind that maybe the Company wasn’t so bad after all. It sounded like they did good things, or, at least, prevented bad things. How bad could an organization like that be? She looked up at Mel. “So who is this Tracker anyway…?” She started to ask but was cut short by her husband’s firmly planted body in their way on the trail. He was standing still, looking up at the top of the hill where Roger was still standing. They both came close to knocking him over.
“What’s wrong?” Mel asked irritated at the halt.
Tormodis didn’t take his eyes off of Roger. “What is he doing?” He asked almost mesmerized by Mel’s twin brother.
Mel glanced up at the small round hilltop covered in white. He could see the dark figure of his brother standing there. He wasn’t standing still, but gyrating in all sorts of bizarre ways. He flapped his arms like a bird; he squatted down then popped back up, and he stood on one leg and hopped around in a small circle. All of this display was followed by a short pause before he began doing it again. Mel smiled. Nothing Roger did surprised his brother anymore.
“What’s wrong with him?” Margaret blurted out.
“He’s crazy.” Mel simply responded.
“He looks it all right,” Tormodis added.
“No, I mean really. He’s really crazy. Certifiable. In fact, until just recently, he was the only guest of an asylum built just for him before we broke him out.” Mel took great delight in introducing his brother this way. What was the point of having a twin brother who was firing on one brain cell and not being able to surprise people with it?
“How recent?” Margaret asked.
“Yesterday,” Mel replied happily.
“Greaaattt,” Tormodis exclaimed. “I love this little adventure. Can he find this dude or not?”
Mel looked around, looking between the trees and the other rolling hills that were nearby. “Yeah, he can. But, I don’t think I’d call the man dude if I were you. He might take offense.”
“I don’t even know who he is and at this point, I really don’t…” Tormodis was interrupted by the sound of a loud crack that echoed across the hills and down into the valleys like a clap of thunder. All three of them refocused on Roger, who by now was running at a fairly fast clip back down the hill toward their direction, despite the deep snow. He bore a rather peculiar look of sudden angst on his face that might have been a mix of terror and surprise. Following close behind him, appearing just as they made the crest of the hill from the other side, was a small group of three Indians. They were dressed in winter buckskin with no ornaments, but powder horns and knives tucked in thick beaded belts. In their hands were flintlock rifles, primed and ready to shoot. They kept tightly together and when they made the ridge of the hill they stopped and looked down in surprise at the group in the valley by the small trickling stream. The look of surpri
se was returned by Mel’s startled group. The meeting was obviously unplanned, unforeseen and ill-timed.
Tormodis looked at Mel in disgust. “Is this the Tracker dude?” Suddenly another shot was fired and echoed down into the valley. It struck Tormodis just below the right nipple and twisted him around in an almost comical way before throwing him off his feet into the snow. Margaret was aghast. Mel just watched him perform his marionette contortion before face planting into the snow and tried not to laugh.
Margaret rushed to her husband’s side fearing the worst. She reached out to turn him over, but he was already flipping himself over, his face covered in snow and a wild expression of sudden surprise and fiery rage. She looked down at his chest expecting a gaping hole and blood. But, there wasn’t any. His nice dress shirt was as pristine as it had been before, minus the dirty snow that marred it now. Tormodis was feeling his chest frantically, his face now turning red. Mel watched all of this with his typical amused fascination.
“Well, I guess that answers that question,” He said.
“What question?” Roger huffed as he finally made the group, his breathing labored and deep.
Mel looked at his brother’s return with gladness. “Tormodis just got shot,” He said.
“You were wondering if he could get shot?” Roger was puzzled.
“No, I was wondering about the Prime Sphere, though. I guess I don’t need to wonder anymore.” Mel smiled widely.
“Oh, that reminds me.” Roger said between gasps of air. “There’s some Indians over there.” He pointed back toward the hill.
Mel patted him on the shoulder. “Nice going, Rog. You got that one right the first time.”
Roger didn’t understand what he meant.
Margaret helped her husband get to his feet again. Unfortunately, it didn’t improve his mood any more than lying in the snow. His eyes were almost bloodshot with rage. “You knew about this?!” He spit at Mel.
“Sure. You didn’t?” Mel poured on the contemptuous disdain.
Margaret, relieved that husband wasn’t dead, glanced quickly back up to the hilltop. She was wondering why the Indians hadn’t fired again yet. But, they seemed to have lost interest in them for the moment. Something on the other side of the hill had caught their attention, and they were occupied with trying to determine the new threat. “What are they waiting for?” She asked.
Tormodis raged on, oblivious to Indians or his wife’s question. “You knew this could happen?”
Mel looked irritated. “I know what the Prime Sphere can do. Haven’t you ever been shot before?’ He asked almost casually.
“No!” Tormodis shouted back. “That’s not something we try to do a lot. How many times have you been shot?”
Mel thought for a moment. “Several dozen times I’m sure. It’s hard to remember.”
Margaret was fully engrossed in the distracted Indians now, and Roger had joined her. “What are they doing?”
Roger was leaning forward squinting his eyes. “Waiting.”
“For what?” She asked.
“You know you could have warned us about it!” Tormodis continued spitting his rage in Mel’s direction.
“What did you want me to say? Please, get shot so we can see if you’re covered by the Prime Sphere? Which, by the way, brings up another question: how are you guys covered? I mean you’re not employees, and you don’t operate with Pete’s frequencies. So how do you go about getting your shield?” Mel fired back.
“Do I look like I know? I don’t know what this thing is.” Tormodis gritted his teeth as he brushed off the snow that hadn’t melted from his pants and shirt.
“Hey, everyone. Somethings wrong with the Indians.” Margaret tried to point out to the bickering men beside her. The small group on the hill top were edging off to the left now, making cautiously for a small stand of trees there. Suddenly another crack sounded, the report of another musket, unseen, sent the Warriors into a panic, and they fled quickly toward the trees, disappearing stealthily into their midst like ghosts.
“That’s weird,” Roger muttered.
“They left?” Margret asked, surprised.
“No, they didn’t say goodbye.” Roger seemed disappointed.
Tormodis repositioned the M1 carbine on his back again and stamped his feet. “Well, if it was any worse than their hello, good riddance.”
“Hey, who’s that?” Margret pointed back up at the hilltop.
Mel turned to see three new figures on the hilltop, almost in the same positions the Indians had just been in. They were tall, stone like men with similar buckskin and accouterments and muskets cradled in their arms. They were looking down on the little group in the valley just like the fleeing warriors had done. “I don’t know. Hope they’re friendly, though.”
Roger put his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare of the white snow. He smiled broadly. “That’s the Tracker.”
Tormodis’s attention snapped toward the three newcomers, and Mel glanced at his brother with an admiring smile. “Good job, Roger.”
The three men walked slowly toward them, apprehensive and vigilant. Mel could see from the short distance that two of them were clearly older, maybe mid to late 40s around his age. And the two looked a lot alike. They had dark hair pulled back from their scalps underneath their black hats. But, one looked more weather-beaten than the other two. The third was much younger, in his early 20s. They arrived at Mel’s little group with blank but concerned expressions. The man on the left spoke first, “Greetings.” His voice was clear and sharp and gave no hint of fascination or curiosity at the bizarre nature of finding four such odd and out of place creatures underneath the cold winter sky.
Mel proudly adjusted himself, stood more upright and threw his charm talent into overdrive. “Hello. We’re looking for the Tracker.” He smiled broadly and enthusiastically.
“Are you now?” The same man replied. “By the looks of you, you need more than a tracker. Tell me, who are you and how be you here in the wilds with these strange clothes?”
“Well,” Mel chuckled, aware that he had to make impressions count and count quickly. “That’s a long story, friend. My name is Mel, this is Roger, and these two are Margaret and Tormodis. We’re very glad to make you acquaintance.” He extended his hand.
At the mention of Tormodis’s name, the man in the middle perked up. He glanced at Tor and looked him up and down. “You’re Tormodis?” He asked, his voice was softer than the first man as if he weren’t used to speaking all that much.
Tormodis stepped up, still holding his M1 cautiously as if expecting another sudden attack. “Yes,” He said, waiting for some additional word. “I am.”
The man stared at Tormodis with some doubt and apprehension of his own. His blue eyes looked as if he were looking right through him.
The first man put out his hand offering it to Mel who quickly took it and shook vigorously. “Well met, friend. I am Ned, Ned Boone. This here’s my older brother Daniel and that’s his son Israel.”
Mel continued to shake his hand, his charming smile fixed in place by a sudden shock, as if he had just been slapped. “I’m sorry what?”
“I said,” Ned tried once more, “I am Ned Boone; this is my brother Daniel and his son Israel.”
Mel dropped his hand sharply. He looked over at Daniel. “You’re Daniel Boone? THE Daniel Boone?”
“Yes,” he replied, just as softly. “Have we met?”
All Mel could manage was, “O my…”
Roger leaned into Mel to whisper in his left ear, “I told you. But, he doesn’t look anything like Fess Parker.” Mel made no response to this. His eyes were still wide and his mouth slightly open. In all his travels, his many adventures stumbling about reality, he had met many people, famous people, and had seen some amazing things. Few had impressed him as much as this.
Even Tormodis and Margaret were stunned. “You’re the Tracker?” He asked.
“I have been known to track and hunt. But, you’re not the Tor
modis I know.” He responded with a soft but firm voice, his eyes still running over the young man in front of him uncertainly.
Tormodis grunted a little. The awkward moment he feared had come at last. “Well…”
“It’s okay, Mr. Boone.” Mel stepped in. “It’s just a little mix-up in…timing.” He smiled.
Daniel looked at him steadily, no appearance of confusion or dismay crossing his face. “I know a Tormodis. But, he’s an older man. Older than me. Much older than you. He goes by another name around here. We call him Ole Sam. He’s the Old one the Indians are so afraid of. The one who travels through the land and comes and goes without being seen.”
“Well, guess what?” Mel spoke up heartily, smiling again and extending his charm gauge into realms it had seldom gone. “He may not look like the one you know, but he is at the same time…the same one…that you, um, might know…” He stumbled badly but projected his voice firmly and with authority. He followed this absurd statement with a slight frown when he realized how ridiculous it sounded. “I think I better explain…”
Mel made two clumsy attempts at explaining Tormodis’s awkward younger presence before realizing that it wasn’t gaining him any new ground. And Daniel was growing tired of trying to follow the broken explanations, so he announced, in his very simple, practical-mindedness, that they needed to get in out of the cold first, and that stories could wait until they were warm. He led them back up the trail for about two miles where they came upon a steep hill not far from a little creek. The trace went through the valley between the hills, beside the stream, following its course onward. On top of this hill was an arrangement of several hastily built log cabins. Two looked fully built while two more were half built, logs strewn about in the snow. The place had obviously seen a lot of activity. The ground was all trampled and muddy in some places from the horses that were hobbled nearby. There were several tripods made from small tree limbs that were over top circles of blackened charcoal where outside cooking had taken place. Daniel told them it was called Boone’s Station. The families had only been there since the start of winter. The winter, he said, was the coldest he could remember.
Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) Page 21