The Simpleton QUEST

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  * * *

  The records conservatory was as unimpressive as its name conveyed. Cuddy figured it was not so different from any number of similar government-type structures back on Earth. Though certainly more advanced, sleeker, it still was a utilitarian, unimpressive, office construct. Bob went right to work, accessing what looked like three different computer nodes. Display screens came to life as he interacted with each—going back and forth using their respective input devices.

  Kyle asked, “What are we supposed to be doing? How do we help?”

  “I think we wait for Bob to tell us. Maybe explain how to access the computers…the databases,” Brian said.

  “There are twenty-seven different Tripette City computer networks, yet only three remain operational. Fortunately, there was much overlap between them,” Bob said, moving next to what looked like a printer station. Then, retrieving the output, the orb handed the single-paged sheet to Cuddy.

  Jackie, peering over Cuddy’s shoulder, said, “Cool! It’s like…virtual. Like a tablet computer only on a sheet of paper.”

  “Not paper…Transitine,” Bob corrected.

  Cuddy used his finger to scroll down the sheet of items. The first listed was the all-important wellness chamber. “Huh…it’s written in English!”

  “Yes, that is what took so long. Needed to first construct a short translation program. You will note the articles Tow requested…the location of the chamber and several other items…and where in the city to find them. Also, the quantities that remain, although I do not believe this inventory completely reflects actual post-attack stock levels.”

  “That’s a lot of stuff to find!” Jackie exclaimed.

  Brian rolled his eyes at her comment. “Don’t be stupid! Tow’s seeking to heal the dying and rebuild a new world. I think he’s entitled to ask for a few things…a few necessities.”

  Cuddy shouldn’t have been surprised by Brian’s antagonistic response, but to speak to Jackie that way—his only true ally—was indeed surprising.

  “You really are a dick, you know that, Brian?” Kyle said, coming to her defense.

  Tony jumped in. “You know where these sites are, Bob? Can you take us there?”

  “Yes…we should go,” the orb affirmed, as his glithopede passenger suddenly fluttered its wings and took to the air.

  * * *

  Bob was the first to exit the records conservatory. Cuddy watched from the doorway as the orb hovered through into the subterranean semi-darkness. Most of the overhead lighting was either still dark or irregularly strobing on and off. But at least the clicking sound was gone. Leaning farther into the gloom, Cuddy could now see why. The insects had taken flight—hundreds upon hundreds of glithopedes darting and swooping.

  “No fucking way am I going out there,” Tony sputtered, conviction in his voice, as Cuddy continued to track Bob’s movements. The orb, going stationary, hovered some twenty yards out, almost completely obscured by the constantly shifting cloud of insects.

  “Bob’s waiting for us,” Cuddy informed the others.

  “Let him wait,” Jackie said.

  “Come on. Everyone stay close to me…it’ll be okay.” Cuddy quickly positioned his palms before him—one at ten, one at two o’clock. With each step, he parted a path through another swath of flying pests. “Brian…can you help out? Keep them at bay from the rear?” Cuddy asked, waiting for an answer. But none came back. Striding forward, he mentally focused—projecting an energy field around them. He’d never done this type of thing before, and wasn’t completely sure it would work. The others crowded closer-in, as if huddling beneath an umbrella—protection from a torrent rainstorm. They proceeded on toward the center of the room.

  “Good job, Cuddy,” his brother said. “Um…just curious, but how long can you keep this up?”

  “I think I’m okay…for a while still,” Cuddy replied, though truthfully, he was already tiring. It wasn’t the same as lifting, or TK-ing, something heavy. It was more difficult than that. Now his telekinesis powers were tasked with creating an air-tight bubble-like field around them, where even an instant lapse of concentration offered a gap for the bugs to find a way onto them.

  “I don’t see why we even had to come down here,” Brian finally said. “It’s not like we had anything to do. Bob could have come alone. Now we all have to suffer.”

  “Always the breath of fresh air, Brian?” Tony chided.

  On reaching Bob then proceeding forward, Cuddy could see the stairwell just ahead. The strain he felt—all over his body—was increasing by the moment. A bead of sweat formed on his brow.

  “Oh no…” Jackie said her voice barely audible.

  “What is it?” Kyle asked.

  “I think one of the bugs has found a way in.”

  Kyle asked, “Are you helping out, Brian, or are you making Cuddy do all the heavy lifting?”

  Cuddy, chancing a quick peek over his shoulder, caught Brian reading the sheet of Transitine. He glanced up, then around, and said, “Oh…yeah, sorry.” Tucking the single sheet under his arm, he pushed his palms out before him, similar to Cuddy’s.

  Immediately, Cuddy felt relief—a weight lifted off his shoulders and back—now less than fifteen feet from the stairway.

  Then, hearing a chilling scream directly behind him, Cuddy glanced back to see not one, but two, glithopedes stuck to Tony’s face. With clawed fingers, Tony was frantically tugging to get them off.

  “Keep moving, everyone. We’re almost out of here!” Cuddy yelled, aware that Brian, once again, had stopped helping.

  Tony was crying now—like a small child—fear and pain quickly overwhelming him. Kyle and Jackie, each taking ahold of an arm, kept him up on his feet. Climbing the stairs, daylight awaited them at the top. With each step, the cloud of glithopedes dissipated a little more, which was good. Cuddy, exhausted, was forced to release the protective energy field he’d formed. Now on the ground floor of the wrecked building, Cuddy lowered to his knees. Panting, he said, “Bring Tony over…next to me.”

  Kyle and Jackie helped Tony lie flat on his back. He’d quieted down some though his hands still tore at the imbedded insects.

  Cuddy brought his face within inches from Tony’s. In as calm a voice as he could muster, he said, “Hey Tony…listen to me. It’s going to be all right. Bob said they aren’t poisonous. Take your hands away from your face.”

  “No! I have to get them off me!”

  Jackie, at Cuddy’s side, stressed, “You need to do what he says, Tony.”

  Tentatively, Tony pulled his hands away and both Kyle and Jackie gasped. Cuddy studied what he was seeing. The two glithopedes had indeed imbedded themselves— countless tiny legs dug deeply into his skin.

  As Bob hovered next to Jackie, Cuddy’s irritation spiked. Where was Brian, he was the licensed physician here.

  “I have limited data on the removal of insects, such as these, from their prey,” Bob said.

  “Prey!” Jackie spat. “You said their sting wasn’t poisonous!”

  Bob, spinning around on its axis, made a few beeps and clicks before answering, “Glithopedes are not poisonous. I apologize. Although nearly identical, I believe what we have here are…recent mutations to the genome.” The AI orb extended a finger-like digit then said, “See…the purple and yellow coloring are reversed. The body on a glithopede is purple. See, both of these have yellow bodies. Perhaps a result of the Howsh bombings. The truth is, I have no idea what these creatures are capable of…or what they are currently doing to Tony.”

  Cuddy looked up and around. Still no sign of Brian. Tony was starting to hyperventilate.

  “I’m going to try something, Tony. Hold on,” Cuddy instructed him, bringing the tip of his right forefinger just above the elongated body of one of the bugs. Somewhere in his memory, he recalled hearing that imbedded ticks shouldn’t be yanked out. Their heads could get stuck beneath the skin, causing an infection. These weren’t ticks. But all those legs—perhaps their heads, too—he had n
o way of knowing. He had to manipulate it so this mutant bug would extract itself on its own accord.

  He concentrated—bringing TK heat to the tip of his finger—then ever so slowly increased the temperature. It took a full minute before white whips of smoke drifted up from the purple, now turning brown, body. Suddenly, the mutant bug pulled its legs, as well as a tiny head—free and, fluttering its wings, flew away, leaving behind a bad smell.

  Everyone exhaled a combined sigh of relief. Cuddy moved onto the second bug and, performing the same procedure, it took a bit less time for this bug to extract itself and fly away. Tony touched his face—probing his still-red, swollen skin. Both areas showed a dual series of pinprick-sized holes. He looked as if he had two sets of Frankenstein-sized stitches—one on his left cheek, one on his forehead.

  “I’m going to clean and bandage your injuries, Tony,” Jackie said, already reaching into her backpack.

  Cuddy gave Tony a reassuring pat on his shoulder then rose to his feet, both mentally and physically exhausted. Again, he looked around for the elusive Brian. Maybe he’d fallen down a manhole. Oh, to actually be that lucky.

  Kyle stood with him, forcing out a breath through puffed cheeks. “That was pretty awesome…saving us twice in the last hour. Cool little brother.”

  Cuddy shrugged it off. “All in a day’s work,” Cuddy said with a half-smile.

  “We should get going. There’re a lot of items on that list still.”

  Chapter 11

  Seven years ago… Woodbury, Tennessee

  The oppressive little log cabin seemed to close in around Cuddy. His eyes were drawn to what the old man was clutching in his right hand. Still lurking in the semi-dark hallway, Slatch seemed to be quietly considering something.

  “Whatcha’ got there, Slatch?” Cuddy inquired. Slatch then moved forward. Exiting the hallway, he entered the larger room. Sure enough, what he was gripping was some sort of book.

  Momma had a book that looked nearly identical, only its cover was red and this one was green. She called it a photo album. Slatch sat next to Cuddy on the couch. Moving his spit-can out of the way, he positioned the book on the coffee table in front of them. Smelling strongly of sour body odor and fresh-cut field grass, Slatch wore a dingy Band-Aid wrapped around his left pinkie. His old hands were dry and cracked from a lifetime of working on the farm.

  “I want to show you how your pa looked,” Slatch said, with a glance in Cuddy’s direction. “He was about your age…maybe twelve…or maybe a tad older than that.” He opened the cover of the big green album then quickly flipped through six or seven pages. Cuddy leaned over the book, wanting to tell Slatch to slow down. That he didn’t mind looking at some of the other photos that might be of Slatch’s ma, or even his grandma. All the photos were black and white and most were faded and scratched—the corners dog-eared.

  Slatch then made an involuntary snort. With the pages spread open, he pointed and tapped at a photograph in the upper left corner. Swallowing hard before speaking, he said, “That’s your pa right there, sitting up on a buckboard.”

  Cuddy studied the image. Sure enough, the boy looked to be about his own age. He also had blond hair, though not trimmed in a bowl-cut like Cuddy’s. The boy wore short trousers, exposing his thin ankles. They were held up by long straps. “What are those?”

  “Suspenders.”

  Cuddy, glancing at the other photographs on the page, recognized some of the locations. “Hey…that’s our farm!”

  Slatch leaned in and studied the photo. “Yeah…your dad grew up right there.”

  “And that’s you standing next to him, huh?” Both boys were holding up plump chickens. “You were best friends?”

  The question seemed to catch Slatch off-guard. Suddenly, as his eyes filled with tears, he replied—first clearing the phlegm from his throat, “That we were…Slatch and Brody; back then, we were inseparable.”

  Cuddy didn’t know what that long word meant, but the way the old man said it, it had to be a good thing. “Why aren’t you friends now?”

  “How do you know we’re not?”

  “Because you’re only showing me photographs taken a hundred years ago.”

  Slatch’s expression dulled. “I made a mistake. Unforgivable, I guess…”

  Cuddy caught sight of a photograph—a little girl in pigtails wearing a Sunday-kind of dress people went to church in. “Hey…isn’t that my Ma…”

  The book was suddenly banged closed, almost snagging Cuddy’s hand in the process.

  Standing, Slatch said, “We were all friends back then. But that’s enough looking at pictures for now.” He tossed the photo album on the seat of the old recliner, then said, “Best I get you home now, kid. Imagine Dotty will be worried sick ‘bout you.”

  “Can you take me to see my pa, Slatch?”

  He hesitated; his tongue looked to be probing around the inside of his mouth—as if searching for something—maybe a tobacco seed. Then, a smile crept across his lips and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “That might not be such a bad idea, young man. And it just might get the old coot to utter more than two words to me.” He crossed the room and stood before an old clock on the wall. The kind of clock that looked like a small house and where, every so often, a tiny bird would pop out a small door and make a racket.

  “We’d have to leave now…it’s not too long a drive. Maybe an hour each way.” Slatch rubbed the white bristles on his chin then, staring at Cuddy, asked, “You really want to see your pa?”

  Cuddy nodded enthusiastically, although at that particular moment he couldn’t remember the name of the old man he was talking to or why he was seated in his house.

  Slatch clicked the switch off on the warming plate in the kitchen and the amber light went dark. “We should be able to make it back before dark…but best we be going, boy.”

  Chapter 12

  “Captain!”

  Cuddy and Kyle spun in the direction of the AI-orb’s voice. Bob, though out of view, was somewhere nearby within the building’s rubble.

  “Coming,” Cuddy said, pulling Tony to his feet, as Jackie steadied him—ensuring he was capable of now walking.

  “I’m fine. My face feels a little funny…but I’m okay, I think.”

  Together, they circumnavigated around a ten-foot-high mound of fallen rubble. Bob had indeed found Brian. All eyes gazed up at the metal girder suspended above their heads. Bob said, “I found him here like this.”

  “What are you doing, Brian?” Jackie asked.

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?” Brian curtly replied.

  Only then, did Cuddy realize the girder hanging above them now, was no longer suspended by the lone metal cable he’d noticed earlier. The girder was held up in the air by one thing only—Brian’s mental focus. End over end, the thousand-pound-plus expanse of metal rotated on its axis fifty feet above their heads like a giant propeller.

  “That’s dangerous,” Cuddy said. “It could fall…hurt someone. Stop showing off, Brian, and start being part of the team.”

  “Oh…it already fell. Came within a foot of my head, but I stopped it. Total reflex action. Can you believe that? I didn’t even have to think…I simply responded with my TK. Obviously, my powers have evolved.” Brian let his eyes flash to Cuddy, then over to Jackie, then back up at the girder again.

  “I’m serious. We sure could have used a medical doctor’s help back there with Tony. Those insects—”

  “I fucking hate bugs,” Brian retorted, matter-of-factly, cutting Jackie off mid-sentence. With his hands placed up before him—palms facing out—he took in a lungful of air. Then, following an exaggerated shoving-off motion, the girder silently rocketed away with incredible speed. They all watched until it was a mere pinprick in the distant sky, then it was gone.

  Cuddy was more interested in Brian’s fixed, wide-eyed expression than his latest feat of telekinesis. Was Brian walking a tightrope between sanity and insanity, he wondered. Was he dangerous to the mission; to t
his team?

  “What’s next? Oh…that’s right, Tow’s shit list, Brian scoffed, seeming to be his normal, obnoxious self again. For the first time, Brian took in Tony’s face. “Mother of Christ…and I thought I was the ugly one around here.”

  * * *

  Twenty-five miles northeast of the Tripette City Records Conservatory, in a more industrial section of the city, Cuddy set the Evermore down in an open field. He mentally reviewed the one item they hoped to find in the adjacent, still intact, three-story-high warehouse.

  Stepping off the ramp, together they quietly moved as a group across the field. Cuddy took in their surroundings. Like the rest of the city, like the rest of the planet— where constant aerial bombardments had evidently taken place—he could still visualize what had once been a beautiful, futuristic city—one constructed with clean, sophisticated architecture. Perhaps Earth, in a hundred or 200 years, would progress, advance, to something equally as modern and compelling as this world must have been before the war. Perhaps, though, the Howsh would reap the same kind of destruction there…maybe they already had? Cuddy couldn’t think about that right now, he had a job to do. A monumental task, if left uncompleted, could result in hundreds…thousands dying of the shingles epidemic.

  Three large, roll-up-type doors were at the back of the building. Not too different from those found in the rear of similar buildings on Earth, where trucks would back into loading bays to either pick-up, or drop-off, deliveries. The door on the left began to roll up first, then the door in the middle, then that on the right.

  “Take your pick…any door…any door you like,” Brian said in a sing-song whimsical voice.

  “Now you’re just getting cocky,” Jackie responded.

  “Where, specifically, is this wellness chamber located in here?” Kyle asked, keenly aware of their mission.

  Bob hovered past them, going within the building’s dark interior while communicating telepathically to Cuddy en route. I will check on the power situation.

  “According to what’s listed on the Transitine sheet…it’s here…I have the location,” Brian said.