Eye of the Machine
Page 3
The circumference area of the energy field grew larger, consuming the airspace until it filled the heavens from horizon to horizon. Finally, the last of the great starships vanished through the opening.
The sphere imploded upon itself, taking everything within into the realm of another dimension. The two F-22 fighters rocketed across the jagged terrain, in a mad-dash for the horizon––But never saw the light of day. The time buoy sealed the opening, and instantly arrived at its destination, landing atop a grand spaceport structure supported by six pillars of light. The marker buoy separated like a mooring tower; the vortex reformulating the transit sphere, allowing the great ships passage between worlds.
The ships had returned home triumphant in the effort. “Answering to helm, Captain,” said the deck officer.
Maneuvering into position for mooring.”
A great celebration was underway, the returning vessels, and their crews kept abreast of the sirens and homecoming whistles.
• • •
Sheriff Bigalow stood next to his deputy, Manny Sergeant, wide-eyed, and in awe; his mouth wide open. What had just happened befuddled him. He was like a little child on Christmas morn––in awe, with nothing to say; and dumbfounded; what he had seen was incomprehensible. The farm was gone, whisked away along with the farmhouse, barn, and a corner of the cornfield. Even the crater was gone, scooped from the surface as if by the hand of God. In fact, it appeared everything was gone including his squad car, as if they never existed; all that remained was the excavation: A dirt-filled crater.
"Well––" said the sheriff, stating the facts. Deputy Sergeant glanced over at him expecting some grand euphony, but there was only the Sheriff’s rhetoric. "I guess we'd better get started; it's a long walk back to town."
The deputy agreed, of course, but then, she was still in shock. There wasn’t much point in chasing down the teens, or taking notes on the story. No one would believe it anyway. Besides, the teens were most likely on the other side of the cornfield by now, on the way home in their nice warm car with a girl’s arm around them. Yes, sir, it was all coming to mind now.
Sheriff Bigalow stepped out into the middle of the two-lane highway, and just stood there. He could see the dusty trail of a hotrod with four teenagers aboard, heading for town. It was obvious he was going to have to walk. If only Deputy Sergeant was at her trusted post, instead of in the field, he could call for a ride home, but she wasn’t. She was nowhere near the office, and he nowhere near a phone.
John Miles, however, wasn’t going anywhere. His dreams had come true, all in one fell swoop! The old farmer walked up to the porch and stood next to his bewildered wife. Their reality had changed. Oh, they still had a farm and a farmhouse, bear still beside them, but for the life of her, Martha couldn’t understand the reality of her good fortune.
The old lady loving greeted the dog, patted him on the head, while John told the mutt to heel. He was standing on the porch, overlooking the vast landscape of his homestead plantation, and couldn’t believe his eyes. The expanse of another world, and another time slowing sank in and took its place in the scheme of things. This was his greatest moment, if not a holy adventure. He had a new home, but it wasn’t away from the Earth like he thought. He was in a new America. One he couldn’t hope but explore. John and his wife were unwilling time travelers, destined to find a new way of life on a plantation amidst an uncertain future. And they loved every moment of it.
• • •
Sheriff Bigalow and deputy Sergeant on the other hand, not so much, they were home, walking up the streets of a deserted town, until they reach the sheriff's office. The parking lot was full of patrons, gibber-jabbering about every subject under the heavens, except what mattered. The future vanished, forever. Their corner of the universe was different, fasting, and fast asleep in front of JOE'S FEED AND VIDEO.
Mayor Stent-worth had finally found peace in front of the West End Community Center. Where he could hear the faint sounds of a sound track rambling beyond the store window. The radiant comfort of a dozen odd shaped television sets filled the glass emporium with TV sets, and bags of grain; each set a marvel of images dedicated to the Science Fiction Classics paid tribute to in his dreams, and ours.