“The investigating team will find it and assume that the rest of you floated off with the wind as a large cloud.”
“Ah...” Jim inspected the bag apprehensively. “Anyone I know?”
“Sure is. It’s you, grown from body samples taken at that university hospital. The police lab will find a perfect match of the DNA with records on Batalavia.
“How’d you get this?”
“Dr. Redmond had it done.”
“More people know about it?” Jim asked, mildly annoyed.
“Just one lab tech, we’re becoming extremely efficient at detecting the agents of that church by their background. Tens of thousands have been discovered. Have to go now. Can not afford to be seen out here. I’ll meet you the day after tomorrow at Barrows Rift. Pad C on your navigational unit.” Angel then pointed to a backpack next to the airlock door. “There’s the second survival pack so you can leave yours here.” Angel paused at the door. “Oh yes, I just received more information on what happened when my cousin Federico picked up your boys to take them to a more secure place.”
“What happened? You told me everything was fine. They were at your Uncle Jesus’ villa on New Hope.”
“Well, I just found out a little mishap occurred when they were picked up.”
“Mishap? Are they all right?” Jim asked anxiously.
“Oh, they’re just fine. It’s my cousin Federico. With all the computer assistance we have he was not used to doing basic arithmetic in his head. He made a mistake in addition and gave them the wrong answer to the code.”
“What did they do?”
“Colin shot him in the groin with his chemical propellant weapon.”
“What?”
“There was no permanent injury but his wife will not be too pleased for a couple of months.”
“Ouch,” Jim grimaced. “Colin is an excellent marksman and usually hits what he’s aiming at. Please extend my apologies, and sympathies.”
“I will do that.”
Angel departed, leaving Jim to one more night of depression and loneliness before his long awaited death in the morning.
* * *
It was a beautiful day Jim thought as he climbed to the cab of the clearer. He had seen the sun twice on the way there.
“There are fish in my pockets,” Jim said as he stuck his head through the cab door and chuckled to himself over the stupid code he’d invented.
“Special sequence activated,” the machine came to a stop. “Detonation will take place in forty minutes.”
Jim climbed back down and walked to the navigator. Reaching inside, he grabbed the survival pack then placed the plastic bag on the floor. “Close door and move fifty three meters from the clearer.”
“Please specify direction,” the navigator asked.
“Direction, this morning’s point of origin. Remain powered up.”
Jim retrieved his small navigational device from a pocket and tapped control C. The arrow pointed to his right so he started walking.
The code had initiated a sequence of events that would be recorded on a device similar to an aircraft’s black box, a recorder protected by twenty centimeters of alloy. It would survive while the main computer was vaporized. The investigating team would discover that a malfunction had occurred. Simple to correct in itself, but followed by a series of operator mistakes and wrong controls pressed, the result was a gigantic explosion. The timed sequence was designed to show the operator in a state of panic, touching controls at random. All evidence of the program that created this fictitious tale of tragedy would be destroyed with the computer.
Barrows Rift was twenty kilometers away. Jim had provided himself with plenty of time to walk the distance, taking into account delays due to passing storms.
Forty minutes into his walk across the brown landscape, he felt the ground shake and turned to see the giant cloud behind him. Twenty seconds later came the bang. Jim turned and continued to walk.
“Well,” he said to himself with a smile, “the next owner can always turn the crater into a big swimming pool.”
* * *
That night he set up the small pup tent from the survival pack and initiated the self-contained air filter and air conditioner. He drove the stakes deep and crawled inside to wait out a passing storm.
At about midnight the storm subsided so he got out to stretch his legs. In the dark a dim light caught his eye. It was about two kilometers away.
“No farms out here. Someone in trouble? Damn!” He thought to himself that if it was someone in trouble he felt honor bound to assist. Doing that may compromise his plans. He decided on a second course of action. Move close during the night and watch, unseen, as the sun came up. He would decide what to do from there.
Packing his gear, he started off through a thick grove of saplings. The area was to be a future forest and was thickly planted with a variety of eucalyptus. It was tough going in the pitch black as he crashed through the thick growth. The noise he made was perfectly covered by the sound of the wind.
He crept to within ten meters of the light and waited. A brief flash from one of the planet’s two moons through the clouds illuminated four pup tents next to the road to Barrows Rift.
“They look all right,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll just settle down here and wait ‘till morning.”
He dozed while waiting for the dawn using his pack for a backrest.
* * *
“Get down you idiot. I’ve got a better one coming.” Jim awoke at the sound of the voice. “Just made a big withdrawal at the bank. Navigator left the city headed this way. Should be here in thirty minutes. Let the first one go.”
Jim peered through the leaves and saw four suited men, one of them holding some sort of communication device to his ear. Jim looked around the camp. The thing that caught his attention was a pair of blue jeans on top of a pack.
“Damn, a high tech James gang.”
He suddenly made the mental connection with the recent increase in unfortunate accidents.
A navigator passed. Jim recognized it as Angel’s. Barrows Rift was only two kilometers up the road. Jim looked down at his own silvery white protective suit. It stood out against the landscape and vegetation.
“Shit,” he whispered through clenched teeth and reached for the closure on his suit. Opening it slightly, he saw the brown outfit he wore underneath. It was more the correct color for camouflage. He quickly removed the suit holding his breath. He took a careful sniff. “Shit, and I do mean shit,” he whispered.
The stink of the rotting weed was almost unbearable. He forced himself to breathe; it made him feel slightly nauseous. Quickly stuffing the suit in his pack, he looked around. He thought of moving along the road toward the city and stopping the target before it reached the ambush.
He crawled a few meters in that direction then realized why the men had chosen that spot. The new forest ended and the road could be seen to the horizon, open country either side.
Crawling back to his original position he looked around the campsite for weapons, none were visible. Nothing else came to mind so he sat and waited.
“Damn, why here?” Jim said. He opened the cylinder of his Colt and inspected the two remaining rounds. “Same reason Angel picked this area, isolated, undergrowth where you can hide.”
Twenty minutes passed. He saw one man run to the side of the road and lie down while the others hid. Jim worked his way around the camp to the right staying low. Before he acted he wanted to know what weapons they had. He took up a position close to the road.
A navigator passed, slowed and stopped, then backed up. The door opened and a man jumped out and ran to the body by the road.
They rushed from hiding. Jim then saw their weapons; large rocks were raised in their hands. Jim aimed at the man closest to the victim, ready to pull the trigger if he did more than threaten.
They surrounded the victim, obviously intent on taking him captive. Jim eased the pressure on the trigger. He strained his ears but c
ouldn’t hear over the wind. They then forced their victim to the open door. Jim heard the vague sounds of yelling. Two men searched the navigator, retrieving several items. After a couple of minutes they backed away from the vehicle as it accelerated, door open, down the road. Jim ducked as the men returned to their camp dragging the protesting man.
“Shit, walk out there with this gun and they’ll think it’s a toy. Fire a warning shot and that leaves me with one bullet. Shoot one and the police will find the bullet, again leaving me with one. Shit.”
The victim seemed to be in no immediate danger so Jim worked his way back to his pack. “Bluff, it’s the only way.”
Jim retrieved his suit and wrapped it around a sapling, then worked his way around to the right again. He took a deep breath and stood. He put his Colt inside his jacket and casually walked toward the camp.
“Good morning gentlemen.”
“What the yack?” said the tallest of the men.
“It looks like you beat me to it,” Jim said as he took a pace to the left trying to avoid being seen by the victim laying face down.
Three of the men picked up rocks while the fourth placed a foot on the back of the victims neck.
“It looks like you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“No, right place and time,” Jim said, smiling.
The tall man took a pace forward.
Jim nodded to his left. “I wouldn’t do that. I’m not exactly alone.”
One of the men peered through the leaves in the direction of Jim’s suit. “Shit, there’s another one over there.”
“One? Your eyesight must be bad. Listen, I don’t want to discuss business with a witness present,” Jim said, pointing at the man on the ground. “My organization would like to remain anonymous, and we want him alive.”
“Organization?” said the tall one who appeared to be the leader.
Jim again pointed at the victim. “And we would like to keep him relatively healthy.”
The leader glanced over his shoulder and nodded. The man guarding the victim produced a small hand held object and bent down pressing it against the man’s shoulder.
“Ah.. I did say healthy.”
“Just put him to sleep,” the leader said. “Now what’s this organization?”
“A consortium of relatives back on La Raza. We need that man alive; he’s a member of an opposing organization.”
The man closest to the victim raised his head and peered into the faceplate. Jim held his breath.
“This guy does look Hispanic,” the man said then looked up at Jim, “but that guy sure don’t.”
“You don’t seem to be up on our organization’s history. My branch of the family are the Dillingers, we intermarried years ago. I’m the youngest son. John’s the name. I’m in charge of our operations in this sector.” Jim smiled confidently at each man in turn. “Maybe we can make a deal. Two thousand G for the man?” Jim reached into a pocket and produced two one thousand G disks and held them up.
Two of the men took a pace forward. “Why don’t we just bash him in the head and take all his mo...”
“Hold your fire!” Jim yelled to his left then turned to the leader. “That isn’t a smart thing to do; we need allies here, not a war. A war would be very short, and quite devastating,” Jim said, telling the truth.
“Four thousand,” demanded the leader.
“Two thousand,” Jim replied with a sneer, it was all he had.
“Three.”
“Two!” Jim yelled, drawing his Colt. “We could just scorch you where you stand and take him. Two is all he’s worth.”
The men stared at the weapon.
“Hey,” the man standing next to the leader said. “Better take the two thousand. That thing he’s got blasts holes in people.”
“Looks like a toy,” the leader said.
“One way of finding out,” Jim said, taking aim at the leader’s head.
“Hold up, we’ll take the two thousand.”
Jim threw the leader the disks. “Nice doing business with you gentlemen.” He forced a smile then realized a gaping flaw in his impromptu plan. If he was the leader of a gang he would now order one of his troops to pick up their purchase and carry him off. If he did it himself, they may realize he was alone and attack him while he was encumbered.
Jim’s head jerked to the right as a navigator pulled up. The door opened and Angel climbed out.
“I’ll get him John,” Angel said. He lifted the limp body by the shoulders and dragged it to the navigator.
Jim followed, and before climbing in, yelled over his shoulder. “You three stay here and make sure these guys leave then meet us downtown.”
“Hey,” the leader called, “why aren’t you wearing a suit?”
Jim turned, amused that the morons had only just realized that fact. “Us Dillingers are tough.”
* * *
“How the hell did you know what was going on?” Jim asked, leaning back in his seat. Breathing was easier now in the filtered air of the navigator.
Angel reached into the back seat and pulled out a box from under the unconscious man. “Used this, it’s a medium range listener, brought it so I could scan the area. Did not want surprise witnesses to our rendezvous. Heard everything all of you said. You know you could make a living on 3V as an actor.”
“Well, there’s an Old Earth saying: If you can’t dazzle them with your brilliance, baffle them with your bullshit. One thing I can’t understand. How do those guys get away with their staged accidents? That police investigating team sounds extremely efficient.”
“Vehicle accidents here are expected due to the environment. They only attract a cursory investigation. That exploding clearer of yours is a different matter. That’s why we planned it that way, so they’ll investigate and find out who you are, or should I say, were.”
“What about this guy?”
“I’ll drop him off at the police outpost and say I picked him up by the side of the road. When he’s awake he can tell them what happened. Those men can not hide out there for too long. First we have to drop you off at the spaceport.”
“Oh, shit,” Jim said. “Those men, they can describe me to the police.”
“No they won’t, they’ll be dead before they get a chance to talk.”
“Huh?”
“The police chief’s brother died in an accident on this road not long ago. He’ll make the connection and fry them before they get a chance to open their mouths. The police here are almost as bad as the criminals. In fact, most of them are ex-criminals. No decent law enforcement officer would want to come to this miserable place.”
Chapter 17
Jim watched the foil boats through half closed eyes. Their willowy, silver sails pivoting on the tips of short masts as the boats maneuvered for position in an offshore race. The white sand stretched one hundred meters from the boardwalk to the water’s edge. The beach was sparsely populated, as were all the beaches in the Belize vacation district, Sanders Island, on the planet Brougham’s Folly.
The sea was not as salty as the ones Jim knew but it was a perfect temperature. Jim loved to swim, especially here and now. It seemed to wash the stink and damp misery of Hebram from his body.
Jim glanced to his right where a long ramp stretched into the water. An ocean viewer was slowly sliding towards the sea. Its two excited passengers sat inside a thick walled transparent bubble. It was a small submarine that toured the depths some distance from shore. They were a popular attraction; Jim had to book one four days in advance. He looked forward to the six hour trip where he could view the marine life of the planet.
Few sea creatures were as they existed on Old Earth. The majority were genetically designed to fill the ecological niches left vacant by those lost during the Exodus. For this sector of the planet, the bio labs had expressed their artistic talents. The marine life here was designed for their beauty along with functionality. For hundreds of years tourism was the major industry, billions were
spent to provide the unique attractions.
Jim looked up at the rented beach filter. An umbrella that filtered out harmful rays from the planet’s sun, it rotated, controlled by a miniature computer, to follow the sun. As he watched the slowly moving yellow ball he listened to the conversation of his nearest neighbors, a man and two women, a few meters away.
“The writer definitely was a genius,” said the man in a stilted voice. “The whole concept of the work, the ultimate struggle between good and evil was superbly portrayed. The symbolism represented by the weapon being the ultimate extension of the man’s ego indicated a great insight into the nature of man.”
“Yes,” replied the redhead, “people back then did have a greater understanding than we thought.”
“I especial liked the imagery created by the use of the petrol powered vehicles of the time,” continued the man without acknowledging that the redhead had even opened her mouth. “Man in control of machine, it was an expansion of the concept of man in control of nature, sometimes out of control. The hero was the essence of man, in full charge of his own fate. The symbolism of the shattering glass window as the hero’s adversary fell through, indicated his dominance over the inner mind.”
“You’re full of shit,” Jim mumbled.
“Why don’t you go over and tell them?” Carol whispered.
Jim laughed.
“I especially liked the statement the hero made,” said the brunette. “‘Go ahead, make my day.’ It summed up the whole concept in five words.”
“Yes,” said the man, “pure genius, I wish we had writers like that today.”
Jim exhaled heavily. “I always thought it was about a cop blowing away a bunch of bad guys. Didn’t know the movie was so deep.” Jim turned to watch the foil boat race again.
“Not everyone has first hand experience at all those twenty first century street shoot outs,” Carol said, continuing to read the novel on her pad.
“What? You think I have? I heard a lot of shots fired and saw police cars dashing past only once. That’s the closest I’ve ever been.”
Carol, suppressing a smirk, turned to face Jim. “I’ve seen those videos. Gun fights in the streets, stepping over bodies every time you go to the store.”
The Time Stone (The Time Stone Trilogy Book 1) Page 31
