Bubble Tech

by Thomas Babak

  “These will work. I’ll take them,” Sandy said putting them back down on the counter.

  “Yeah,” was all the greasy man said, reaching down and coming up with a box from the cabinet beneath the display shelf. He opened the box and started pulling out packing material and a case for the binoculars. As he was doing so, Sandy said “Just going to look around. See if there is anything else.” The greasy man just nodded and concentrated on packing the binoculars back into their box.

  There was some black and grey camouflage clothes hanging on mismatched hangers on the clothes racks. He checked the sizes and found a shirt/jacket and pants in his size and grabbed those. He brought them and placed them on the counter. The greasy man had the binoculars in their box and was watching him. When Sandy brought the clothes to the counter the greasy man chuckled again in a sickening, almost disgusting, sort of way and said “Yeah. You’ll need those.”

  Sandy was standing at the display that held revolver and semi-automatic pistols. “How much for that” he said pointing at a 9mm.

  The greasy man chuckled again, unlocked the case, and brought out the black 9mm, quickly dropping the magazine and pushing the slide back to make sure it wasn’t loaded. He held it out to Sandy grip first. Sandy reached out and took it. He had never held a gun before. It felt heavy.

  “How much?” he asked.

  The greasy man told him and Sandy said “I’ll take it.”

  The greasy man smiled even more and held out his hand for the pistol. Sandy handed it over.

  The greasy man, as before with the binoculars, reached down below and unlocked the cabinet and quickly brought up a plastic pistol case. He opened it and laid the pistol in the foam slotted for it. “Going to need to see some ID kid for the gun,” he said walking over to an old computer terminal. “Background check is pretty quick.” He waited for a few seconds and then looked up. Sandy was still over by where the pistols were displayed. He walked back but didn’t say anything, just looked at Sandy.

  “I changed my mind, mister. I don’t need a gun,” Sandy said finally.

  The greasy man sighed loudly, stared appraisingly at Sandy for a second or two more and then opened the pistol case. He took the pistol out and slid the magazine back into it and put it back in the display case, locking it after arranging it neatly on the shelf. He did the same for the pistol case.

  “So just this then?” he asked in a bored tone as he reached out and slid the binocular box and clothes down the display counter to the register.

  “Yes, sir,” Sandy said lamely.

  He rang it up and Sandy dug his wallet out and started counting out twenties from the thick wad he had in it. He came to the right number and held them out to the greasy man. He was still looking down at Sandy’s wallet and the thick wad of cash it held. He slowly looked up at Sandy and said “Hey kid? You really want a pistol?”

  Sandy just nodded.

  The greasy man reached out and took the twenties in Sandy’s hand and rang up the register, putting the cash into the drawer. By Sandy’s count, he was owed about six dollars and change. The man closed the drawer without giving him any.

  “Wait a sec. I’ll be right back,” he said and headed to the back.

  Sandy reached out and took the shirt/jacket and folded it, laying it back down on the counter. He did the same for the pants and laid both of them on the binocular box. By the time he’d done this the greasy man had returned holding an orange shoe box.

  “Sure you want a pistol, kid?” he asked again.

  Sandy nodded his head again but didn’t say anything.

  “Gonna cost you,” he said as if it was a question.

  “How much?” Sandy asked.

  “Five hundred bucks,” the greasy man said speculatively.

  “Let me see it first,” Sandy said.

  The greasy man came the rest of the way to the counter, putting the box down and lifting off the lid. All Sandy saw was some black leather. The greasy man pulled everything out and slid the pistol out of its holster. There were all sorts of leather straps attached to the holster. The greasy man dropped the holster and straps unceremoniously back into the shoebox. He slid it top of the pistol back and something Sandy couldn’t see locked it into place. He held it out to Sandy.

  Sandy took it and looked at it from every angle as if he knew what he was doing. He handed it back and said matter-of-factly, “I’ll give you $400 for it.” Sandy had no idea what the gun was worth. It was almost guaranteed to be illegal, so the price would be higher in any event.

  “Five hundred and I’ll throw in the holster, extra magazines and ammo,” the greasy man said judiciously.

  “Deal,” Sandy said. They didn’t shake on it.

  The greasy man did something and the top half of the pistol snapped back into place. He stuck it into the holster and wrapped the straps around it. Dropping it into the shoebox, he came around the counter for the first time and moved to the wall with parts and ammo and grabbed four clear packets that held magazines and two boxes of .45 rounds. He brought those back and stuffed them into the box as well and jammed the top back on. He held his hands on the box.

  “Cash?” he asked.

  Sandy pulled his wallet out again and counted out five hundred in twenties. The greasy man took the money, recounted it and then slid the box across to Sandy.

  “Need anything else?” he asked.

  “No thanks,” Sandy said, picking up everything and walking fast out of the store. He fumbled with his keys but got the van open and got into the stifling heat of the inside. He had never powered down the systems and it was still in Driving mode. He rolled down his window, backed out onto the street and tried as nonchalantly as he possibly could to drive out of town. He felt like some sort of criminal. He was a criminal. He just bought a gun illegally. It hit him finally that it didn’t matter with who he now had chasing after him. He snorted a laugh and felt better.

  A siren sounded from behind . He snapped his eyes to the side view mirror. A patrol car was behind him with lights flashing. Sandy pushed the Thruster forward and sped up without even thinking about it. Within seconds he laughed when he realized what he was doing. He switched to Bubble mode and activated the Bubble Field and pulled back on the stick. He circled around and saw that the patrol car had stopped in the middle of the road. He laughed again and headed back to the Twin Cities.

  He’d try to find Tasha again. He’d either rescue her or reason with her. If neither worked he would trade for her. He missed her terribly already. She was the only one he had in this world anymore.

  Would she come with him? Could they get away to some place safe? Was there anywhere safe?

  As Sandy headed back to Minnesota, the anxiety and fear that had lessened for the past several hours began to increase again. He wasn’t going to leave without her this time. No matter what.

  Thirty-Five

  As he got closer to Minnesota Sandy got more nervous about what he was going to do next. He’d planned on going directly to the Air Base and figuring out how to make another attempt to rescue Tasha. He looked at as GPS screen just as he was crossing the state border. There was a red triangle on the screen down by the southern border. It was the location of the farmer Fred that helped Sandy the other night with his fuse.

  Making a quick decision, Sandy steered to the right and headed towards the red triangle. He wanted nothing more to rescue Tasha and make their way somewhere safe but he wasn’t ready yet. The first time he’d tried he hadn’t really thought about it. Fear, adrenaline, pain from Mr. Bullock’s death had been driving him then. It still was but the tunnel vision that had seemed to narrow his focus to what was just in front of him seemed to be expanding. New fears and thoughts weren’t clouding his thinking as they had before. He needed to stop somewhere safe for a little while. Catch his breath. He’d be ready after that.

  Within a few minutes he was circling Fred’s farmhouse. He saw nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. Not that he could really tell but it seemed ok
ay. He flew down and parked behind the barn. He got out and stretched. He already felt better. Or was he just putting off what he wanted to do. What he needed to do.

  He heard dogs barking from inside the farmhouse and started walking towards it. As he got closer the front door opened and Fred came out smiling.

  “You’re back!” he called out.

  “Yes, sir. Do you mind?” Sandy asked.

  “No. No. Come on in,” he said waving his arm to come.

  “My van?” Sandy said.

  “Oh” he hesitated for a second or two and then said “We can put it in the barn,” as he walked down off the porch.

  Sandy waited for Fred to walk up and turned walking with him towards the barn.

  “Go get it and I’ll open the door,” Fred said.

  As they got nearer to the barn Sandy continued on and circled around the side to get the van. In Driving mode he wheeled the van around and backed into the barn. There was plenty of room. It didn’t look like it was a working farm anymore. Fred was standing by the entrance waiting. Sandy got out and locked the door. He walked over to Fred who was staring at the van and stopped.

  “Mind if I have a ride, son?” he asked.

  Sandy couldn’t think of a reason why he shouldn’t. Fred had helped him and was helping him now.

  “Why not?” Sandy replied.

  They walked back to the van and Sandy got in and unlocked the passenger door. He had to lean across the pile of stuff he purchased in Arizona to do so. As Fred heaved himself inside, Sandy grabbed the stuff to secure it in the back. The shoebox fell out of his hands and open on the floor. Sandy looked at Fred who was looking at the gun. He reached down and stuffed it back in the box and carried everything to the back, finding a cabinet with some free space after a few tries to stuff them into. He’d organize everything later.

  Back in the driver’s seat, Fred had already strapped his seatbelt on.

  “Ready?” Sandy asked.

  “Ready” Fred answered.

  Sandy flew Fred around the farm and surrounding area for ten to fifteen minutes. Fred smiled but didn’t say anything the entire time.

  Once they landed and were tucked back into the barn Sandy unbuckled his seat belt and was about to get up when he was stopped by Fred’s hand on his arm.

  “You made this?” Fred asked seriously.

  “Yes” Sandy answered simply.

  “They trying to take it away from you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sandy said.

  “Is that why you got the weapon?” he asked.

  Sandy hesitated for several seconds and then answered quietly “Yes.”

  “Know how to use it?” he asked.

  “No, sir.” Sandy answered just as quietly as before.

  “Get it,” Fred said, letting go of Sandy’s arm and unbuckling his own seat belt.

  As Sandy got the shoebox, Fred got out. He found him after he got out of the van, standing by the door again.

  “What I’m about to do might be a surprise. A shock,” Sandy said, and looked at Fred.

  “Okay,” said Fred looking closely at the van.

  Sandy pushed the button on the key fob and there was a pop, liquid blue light and the van disappeared.

  Fred smiled and then said “Is it gone?”

  Sandy, walking towards the invisible van while reaching out eventually felt the Bubble. “No sir, it’s right here” as he ran his hand over the surface.

  Fred walked over slowly and held his hand out and jerked it back a few inches when he touched the invisible field. He reached out again and ran his hand over the invisible surface of the Bubble Field.

  “Ain’t that something” he said. It was all he said.

  They headed back towards the house but Fred detoured off, Sandy following Fred while holding the shoebox with both hands. There was a clump of trees with a clearing in the middle a couple hundred feet away. Once they got inside the trees Sandy saw a ring of stones for a fire pit and some rusting iron lawn chairs showing where the area had been used for gatherings in years past.

  Fred took a semi-crushed beer can and a piece of split log and set the log on end with the can on top of it on one side of the clearing. He walked back to where Sandy was standing. “Let me see it,” he said.

  Sandy put the box on the ground, removed the top and brought out the leather holster wrapped in straps and handed it to Fred.

  Fred unwrapped the straps and pulled the pistol from it. He handed the holster and straps to Sandy, who took it without saying anything. Fred looked and saw there was no magazine and pulled back the slide to check the chamber to see if it was clear. He did this while pointing it away from both of them and said “A weapon is always loaded even when it isn’t. Even when you absolutely know it’s not loaded, you treat it like it is.” At the last word he looked searchingly at Sandy.

  “Yes, sir” Sandy responded.

  He handed the pistol back to Sandy and took the holster out of his hand. Sandy immediately checked the empty magazine receiver as Fred had, and then, pointing away, he pulled back the slide to check the chamber.

  Fred just nodded, but said “the gun guys will tell you to cock it like this, placing his hand over the top of his empty fist. They say that if you have to use a weapon during a stressful situation, that you lose your fine motor control over your muscles and that cocking like this you’ll be able to rather than the way we did it. Cocking it using your thumb and forefinger. I suggest you cock it like they say to. I’ve had too many years in the military, on ranges and in combat to do it any other way now.”

  Sandy looked at him wanting to ask questions but didn’t. Fred hadn’t asked very many about the Bubble Tech.

  “Try it,” he said, indicating the pistol in Sandy’s hand.

  Sandy cocked it a few times with his hand over the slide rather than pulling it with his fingers. Fred looked at the holster and strap contraption and said, “This here’s a Tanker’s holster. You wear it like this.” He placed one strap over Sandy’s left shoulder, Sandy having to lean to the side so he could do so. He wrapped the other strap around him and clipped it to the metal ring at the top of the holster. He adjusted the straps lengths and the holster now sat snugly against his chest under his left pectoral muscle and towards his side. He took the pistol out of Sandy’s hand and jammed it into the holster and put the small leather strap on the holster over the butt of the pistol and snapped it.

  “You can snap this loop here around your belt if you want to. How’s it feel?” he asked as he showed Sandy the other snap loop on the bottom of the holster.

  Sandy moved his body around and said, “Good.”

  Fred looked down at the box and said, “Load some of those magazines there.”

  Sandy spent the next few minutes loading all of the magazines. He held them up when he was done.

  “Here,” Fred said as he held his hand out for one. “Put the rest in your pocket.”

  “Hand me your pistol.” Sandy unsnapped it, pulled it out, checked the empty magazine well, cocked the slide back with his hand over it and checked the chamber before handing it to Fred.

  Fred took the pistol and slammed the magazine into it. He pulled the slide back and chambered a round. Holding up the pistol so Sandy could see, he said, “Safe,” flicking a lever up. “Fire,” he said flicking it down.

  He flicked it up again and said “Watch me,” as he turned facing the beer can and took a two handed firing stance. He was cupping the underside of his right hand that was gripping the pistol.

  He flicked the switch and said “Fire,” and squeezed the trigger. The loud report startled Sandy badly. He didn’t even see that Fred had hit the beer can, knocking it off the wood. Fred fired three more times. It was loud and startled Sandy every time.

  “Safe,” he said flicking the switch up and pointing the pistol down and away from Sandy.

  “Now you try,” He held the pistol in Sandy’s direction, keeping it pointed toward the ground.

  Sandy nervously
took the pistol and tried to emulate Fred’s previous stance.

  “Bend your knees a little. Good. Move your trigger finger a little. No, the other way. Feel that?”

  Sandy nodded.

  “That’s right between the tip of your finger and the knuckle. You want a good grip. These Colt M1911’s will kick. But you want to be able to squeeze the trigger. Not pull it. Squeeze off a few rounds,” he said.

  Sandy squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

  “You’re on Safe,” Fred said.

  Sandy tilted the pistol a little and flicked the lever down with his thumb. He aimed at the wood stump and squeezed the trigger again. The report startled him but not as much. It was still very loud.

  “Keep firing,” Fred said.

  Sandy squeezed the trigger two more times and the slide locked back. He thought he’d broken the gun.

  “How many rounds did you fire?” Fred asked.

  “Three,” Sandy answered.

  “How rounds does it hold?” he asked.

  “Seven,” Sandy answered. He knew that before they started firing. He had loaded the magazines and had counted.

  “Some of those new ones hold thirteen, fifteen rounds but for the money the standard magazine is the way to go. Not as many issues,” Fred chuckled.

  Sandy still stood there stiff-armed with the pistol apparently broken.

  “Drop the magazine,” Fred ordered.

  To Sandy’s confused look he said “That little button behind the trigger on the left side. Press it.”

  With his thumb, Sand pressed the button and the magazine slid out and dropped to the ground.

  “Put another one in” Fred said.

  Sandy dug into his pocket with his left hand and stuck another magazine into it.

  “See that little lever above the trigger. Slide it down”, Fred said.

  Sandy, using his left hand, reached up and pushed the lever downwards, the slide rocked forward chambering the first round and surprising him.

  “You’re ready to go. Keep firing,” Fred ordered.

  Sandy squeezed off all seven rounds into the wood piece. By this time he had knocked it over and was shooting at it while it lay on its side.