- Vincent -
Jonathan G. Meyer
Copyright
-Vincent-
Copyright © June 2017 by Jonathan G. Meyer
Cover Art by Dawne Dominique
Editing by Crystal Meyer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written consent of the author except for brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my daughter, Crystal Meyer. Without her assistance, this book would be just another story bouncing around in my head. She acts as my editor; my second pair of eyes, my second opinion, my beta reader, and provides a fresh perspective on the Science Fiction genre we both love and treasure.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
-Vincent-
Chapter One
His fall from society happened faster than he could have imagined. One year ago Jim Thompson was happily married, with a beautiful home built with his own hands and a steady job that put him solidly in the middle class. He considered his life comfortable and full. Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed his fortune could change so drastically in so short a period. Now, at fifty-four years of age, he found himself alone, broke, and homeless.
They built a home designed for retirement, on two and one-half acres not far from town. They raised two children together, and life was good. He was not particularly religious while she was, so she would go to church on Sunday with her family while he stayed home. It was harder for her than he knew.
When she calmly asked for the divorce, he was shocked and surprised. He did not see it coming. What he was unaware of is she had re-connected with an old friend; a man that didn’t drink or smoke cigarettes and went to church every Sunday. Jim would be unaware of this detail until after the papers were signed.
As the years passed, their love grew complacent. He did not realize the significance of their changing needs and opinions. Over the last couple of years, their relationship deteriorated to the point where his wife spent her evenings watching television in the living room, while he spent his in the garage drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. He would occasionally attempt to go inside and spend time with her watching her shows, but talking resulted in a raised finger and a harsh, “Hush!” He would retreat to the garage for the music, the cigarettes, and the beer. Somewhere along the way, they stopped being a couple. When they were younger, they believed opposites attract. In the end, it’s what tore them apart.
They worked for the same company, and every weekday he would drive them to and from work. The thirty-minute drive usually gave them a chance to have the discussions couples need to have. When she stopped speaking altogether, he begged for an explanation, which she steadfastly refused to supply. She feared he might uncover her hidden intentions.
She left him alone in their house for two weeks, him believing she would rather live by herself than stay married to him, while she made plans for her freedom and his replacement.
By her request, they met at a public place. She picked a barbecue restaurant they often frequented with excellent food, and without emotion informed her husband of her decision. After twenty-five years of married life, he was to be alone again. The meal he ordered when he arrived at the restaurant sat unopened in the to-go box—in the fridge—until he threw it out.
They handled the division of property quickly and arranged the legal affairs. Jim’s soon-to-be ex-wife was in a better position financially to keep the house, so he settled for half of what the house was worth, his retirement savings, and the six-year-old pickup truck. All the things he cared about fit in the bed of the truck under the camper shell.
His pain and anger turned him to drive the process forward. He even went so far as to save her some money by allowing his lawyer to represent them both, and before he had time to dwell on the ramifications, the deed was done. He reluctantly joined the ranks of the newly divorced.
Then he lost his job.
****
He was not unusually tall, at five feet nine inches, and thin in spite of his bad diet, with green eyes and receding brown hair that grew long between cuttings. Currently, it was almost touching his shoulders. He considered himself neither handsome nor ugly and thought of himself as an ordinary fifty-four-year-old guy.
For twenty-three years Jim was an electrician for a large brokerage firm in downtown Saint Louis, with a multi-building complex. He did not always acknowledge it, but it was a good, secure job. The company was family owned and went through great pains to minimize turnover. Unlike most corporations, this company specialized their building services, with separate departments for electrical, heating and cooling, relocation, and special services. Jim was one of six electricians responsible for keeping the electrical network functioning.
A modern brokerage firm generates vast amounts of highly sensitive data and therefore must maintain extensive data centers that must stay energized at all times. Highly sophisticated uninterruptable power supplies and battery banks that supplement the large diesel emergency generators needed to be ready twenty-four hours a day. Unintended power outages were not allowed. Because of this requirement, there were sporadic late night shifts testing generators and emergency equipment. It was a technical part of the job with a lot of responsibility.
In addition to the emergency equipment, the electrical department was responsible for almost everything fed from an electrical panel. Lighting, building distribution systems, kitchen equipment, ground fault safety devices, data wiring installation, and even microwave repair were all within the responsibilities of the job. The diversity made for an interesting, fulfilling vocation.
The end of his career came with a thirty-day notice. In a bid to cash out, the board members sold the company to a larger firm, which in turn sold to an even larger brokerage house. All maintenance duties would be contracted out, and the current maintenance employees terminated.
He had the opportunity to apply with the company replacing them, but there were significant changes scheduled for the future. Extensive Training and twenty-four-hour coverage would mandate rotating shifts and new stricter procedures. Jim’s employment for the last twenty-three years required him to continually be learning new skills, and he was tired of learning. He decided on a new start, took the modest severance package, and left.
Then the largest financial institutions in the United States began to fail, and the Great Recession of 2008 began.
****
He began his new life by renting an apartment and starting the search for a new job. In time he moved to a cheaper motel when the search proved more difficult than anticipated. His savings account was relentlessly depleted with rent, gas, food, and all the day to day necessities like cigarettes and beer. There came a day when he ran out of cigarettes and had no money to buy more. Quitting turned out to be easier than he thought. Eventually, even
the beer became more than he could afford.
He collected his unemployment benefits until they ran out. Still, he could not find a job. Unemployment skyrocketed in the first few months of the recession, leaving many without work and searching. His skills were specialized and not immediately in demand. Sometimes he wondered if his rejections might have something to do with his age, for there were often eager, younger candidates applying with him, who were also hungry for work.
A year after he lost his life partner, his job, and his home, he was sleeping in the back of his truck under an aluminum camper shell. Except for a small pile of boxes stored at his brother’s house, everything he owned was inside the truck; now parked under an overpass down by the river. A home out of gas. This reality was now his world, and he was still shocked by the number of life-changing-events that placed him here.
His brother, the only remaining member of his family, and Jim’s two grown children had lives of their own. He refused to even hint of a need for help because he was embarrassed. In spite of the circumstances, he was determined to dig himself out and create a better life. He just didn’t exactly know how…yet.
****
There were no job interviews to go to today, nor yesterday or the day before. He did not have access to the internet or a working phone to assist him in the process, and had not had an interview in three weeks. He already tried all the usual sources many times without success. Somehow, he had to figure out a way to make money.
Jim liked to draw and spent more and more of his time working on his sketches. His hope was to find some place to sell the best of them for a few dollars. He could buy food, or gas for the truck. The city could run him off at any time, and if the vehicle could not move of its own power, the city would send a tow truck. They would deliver his home to the impound lot where the exorbitant fee would prevent him from bailing it out.
This morning he was headed towards the gym for a much-needed shower, and a chance to sell a drawing. He learned early on it was well worth the money to maintain a gym membership. It provided a place to stay warm, shower, and sometimes swim. He, like many others, avoided the shelters whenever possible.
Carefully, he made his way from the outskirts of the overpass and headed downtown. It snowed two days back and then warmed up, leaving mud and slush to navigate. It was the middle of the morning with a bright sun warming the concrete of the sparsely populated streets. Most people were either working or at home in the suburbs.
Along the way, he stopped in an alley to check a dumpster used by an office supply store. Sometimes they threw out old paper stock to make room for new. He figured he was doing his small part in saving the planet if he rescued the drawing materials they were too lazy to recycle.
This time, when he opened the lid, he found an envelope laying on top of the refuse filling the bin. The brown cover was remarkably clean and without creases. Inside the oversized jacket was a package of twenty sheets of white drawing paper, complete with the cardboard overwrap. Paper he could use to release his imagination. His discovery of this unexpected treasure appeared almost deliberate and made him wonder if someone left it specifically for him. The gift lifted his mood, and for a moment it caused a rare smile. He looked around the alley and saw no one. How could anybody have known? He had a few friends but mostly kept to himself. He did not look further into the dumpster, thanked his good luck, and turned to finish his trip to the gym.
In the middle of the narrow lane, where a second ago had been empty street, sat a small silver drone. He took a step closer for a better look and checked the alleyway again. He was alone.
It appeared to be a toy quadcopter only four feet long; except there were no propellers. The four fan shrouds were there, with slender supports leading down to a streamlined body below, but the means of propulsion were missing. Someone with more money than they needed had tired of their toy mid repair and tossed it out.
What a waste, he thought.
On closer inspection he found the craftsmanship to be excellent. The shiny silver skin of the craft reflected the surroundings and made it difficult to distinguish details. Still, he could see the subtle outlines of variously sized access hatches, and a door on the lower pod with a tiny keypad beside it. There were small ports for purposes unknown and markings too small to read. Underneath he could see larger door outlines representing cargo doors and more ports for who knows what. He did not see a scratch, dent, or mark anywhere.
Once more he stood and surveyed the alley; verifying he was alone.
I have to get this back to the truck. Even without the propellers, it has to be worth something. It was just too beautiful to end up broken and discarded in the trash.
Jim bent down and ran his finger over the shroud closest to him. The skin was smooth and slippery to the touch as if highly polished. His finger slid without friction across the surface.
He reached around with both arms, and as gently as he could attempted to lift the drone. It remained two feet off the ground for only a few seconds before he realized it was too heavy to carry very far. It quickly became apparent he would not be transporting this treasure without assistance. He didn’t want to leave the incredible model behind for someone else to find, so he searched for solutions.
Propped against a nearby dumpster, he found a rusty silver oven grate. Inside that same bin, he found a pair of old-fashioned roller skates. They were the kind of metal skates with straps and clamps used for fastening them to your shoes. The leather straps were missing and the clamps bent and broken. Still, they were precisely what he needed. He remembered as a child how he and his brother nailed this same type of skates to the bottom of a board, added a crate to hold on to, and rode their contraptions down the biggest hills they could find.
He used a partial roll of discarded red electrical wire to strap the skates to the bottom of the grate and added a broken broomstick in the front to use as a handle. The broom handle would allow him to balance his load and pull it back to his truck. With the pocket knife he always carried, he cut two thick squares of cardboard and placed them over the grill to support the craft. He used two large rocks to level the makeshift dolly, and he was ready to load the drone.
With great care, he placed his find onto the cart and covered the load with a ripped and dirty blanket from the trash. He hated soiling the craft by using the rag, but he wanted to prevent anyone from becoming curious as he pulled it home. To secure the blanket he used more of the red wire and strapped the covering around the drone. He found that the cloth covering would slide off if he didn’t. The outer surface of the craft was that slippery.
It took more than an hour to get his prize back to his pickup. Shortly after he started, it began to drizzle. The sky was a uniform shade of gray, and the sun hid behind the thick layer of clouds. Jim hardly noticed the dreary atmosphere. He was concentrating on getting back and considering the possibilities his find might bring.
The path back to the truck was littered with obstacles, and it required time to find a clean, level course to prevent his hastily built cart from falling apart. When he finally arrived at the truck, he was tired and soaking wet.
The shower he initially went out for had not happened, and it was almost a week now since the last time he had the pleasure. He figured once he got the drone settled in the bed of the truck, he would lock it up and make a quick trip to clean up.
It was one o’clock in the afternoon. The cloudy sky allowed only enough diffused light to reach the ground that it appeared more like evening. He rolled up his sleeping bag and moved some things around to empty a spot for the little aircraft in the bed of the truck. Then he managed to muscle the craft inside with the intention of getting a better look at it.
He climbed in, closed the tailgate and the rear window, located his flashlight, and removed the dirty covering to perform a more in-depth inspection.
Jim marveled at the detail of the engine cowlings and fuselage. With the right background and the proper perspective, the craft could pass for a fu
ll-sized ship. He spent a few minutes close up, admiring the artistry of the work, and then scooted back to lean on the tailgate and think. What the drone enthusiast in him wanted most was to fix it. Flying this craft would be a lot of fun. Unfortunately, an expensive toy is also costly to repair. Without the funds to make repairs, he would have to sell the craft the way it was.
He was about to get up and go for his badly needed shower when something completely unexpected happened. A broad beam of blue tinted light came from the craft, enveloped him, and forced him to close his eyes—simultaneously changing his view of the universe and restarting his less than perfect life.
Chapter Two
Jim Thompson opened his eyes to a new reality, and it took a moment to make sense of what just happened to him. The small flashlight he held comfortably in his hand a short while ago, now lay on the foam behind him and was six feet long. The beam it cast lit the way to the towering drone, illuminating an expanse of foam rubber typically used under his sleeping bag. It was no longer the man-sized scrap he had been using for months. It was now a dirty beige landscape of soft foam rubber.
The craft he worked so hard to rescue from the trash was now fifty feet away, at the far end of his oversized surroundings. Somehow, he had been reduced to the size of a mouse—and the drone into a full sized aircraft.
A soft whine caught his attention and directed his gaze to the hatch with the little security pad, where now a full sized door swung open. A ladder extended from below the hatch and descended until it touched the soft foam of what was now the terrain he must cross. An unspoken invitation. He sat where he was and considered his options. It only took a moment to conclude there was but one choice. I have to go inside.
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