The Thunder of Engines

by Laurence Dahners

  The Thunder of Engines

  A Stasis Story #2

  Laurence E Dahners

  Copyright 2020

  Laurence E Dahners

  Kindle Edition

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  Author’s Note

  This is the second book of the Stasis Stories

  Though this book can “stand alone” it’ll be much easier to understand if read as part of the series beginning with “A Pause in Space-Time (A Stasis Story #1).” I’ve minimized the repetition of explanations that would be redundant to the first book in order to provide a better reading experience for those who are reading the series.

  Other Books and Series

  by Laurence E Dahners

  Series

  The Ell Donsaii series

  The Vaz series

  The Bonesetter series

  The Blindspot series

  The Proton Field series

  The Hyllis family series

  Single books (not in series)

  The Transmuter’s Daughter

  Six Bits

  Shy Kids Can Make Friends Too

  For the most up to date information go to

  Laurence E Dahners website

  Or the Amazon Author page

  Table of Contents

  Other Books and Series

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  Author’s Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Other Books and Series

  Prologue

  Kaem Seba in grade school

  When Rob thought Texas was the largest state in the US, Ms. Bowman asked Kaem whether that was correct.

  Kaem had been daydreaming. Without thinking, he said, “No. Alaska’s the biggest.” Though it was brief, Kaem didn’t miss Rob’s glare.

  Later, on the playground during recess, Kaem was talking to his friend Curt. Curt wasn’t a good friend; it was just that there weren’t many African-Americans in Valen. Curt was the only other one in Kaem’s grade so they sometimes hung out together. However, since Curt liked sports and Kaem couldn’t play them because of his sickle-thalassemia, their friendship was quite limited.

  A sudden shove knocked Kaem to the dirt. He righted himself, sat up, and turned.

  It was Rob. Quite a bit bigger than Kaem, Rob was a bully. He said, “Hey, show-off, next time keep your mouth shut!”

  As Kaem climbed back to his feet, he made the mistake of trying to be helpful, “Um, you can look at the globe in the classroom. Alaska’s—” The rest of Kaem’s response was cut off when Rob tackled him, bearing him back down to the ground.

  Scrambling astride Kaem’s stomach, Rob started flailing at his face.

  Kaem heaved up, trying to throw the bigger boy off, but failed. He settled for covering his face as best he could.

  Fortunately, none of the teachers saw the commotion.

  ~~~

  When Kaem got home, his mother took one look at the scratches and abrasions on his face and immediately knew, “You’ve been in a fight!”

  Kaem shook his head dolefully. Knowing it was hopeless, he said, “No, I fell into the bushes at the edge of the playground.”

  That story had satisfied his teacher, but far from satisfied his mother, Sophia. “I’m going to talk to your teacher. They have rules against bullying and those rules should apply double to a sick kid like you.

  “Mom! I don’t want you telling everyone I’m sick!”

  “Oh, come on. Look at you! It’s not like they don’t know already.”

  The worst thing about that day wasn’t getting beaten up by Rob. It was realizing everyone could tell he was sick by the way he looked.

  ~~~

  When Kaem’s dad got home, his mother told him his son had been beaten and how she planned to go to the school and complain.

  To Kaem’s great relief, his dad vetoed the plan. “Absolutely not. Maybe we’ll need to do that if it keeps happening. But if you do it the first time something like this happens, the other kids’ll hate him.”

  “He didn’t tell,” Kaem’s mother said indignantly, “but he should’ve. Those injuries didn’t come from a fall into the bushes.”

  “Yes, yes, Sophia, I can see for myself.” his dad said placatingly. “But for boys, it’s much better if they can stand up for themselves.”

  Her eyes widened, “Emmanuel, Kaem can’t stand up for himself! He’s sick!”

  “Sophia, this is a man’s thing. Let me talk to him about how he might defend—”

  “No!” she interrupted, shaking her head. “Kaem can’t be fighting! I won’t hear of it!”

  “Okay,” Kaem’s dad said, lifting his palms in surrender. “No talk of fighting. But, also, please don’t run to his teacher for every problem.” He turned his attention to Kaem, “Do you want us to talk to your teacher?”

  Heartened by his dad’s support, Kaem shook his head, “No. Please don’t.”

  “You’ll tell us if this boy hurts you again?”

  Kaem nodded. He didn’t like getting beaten up, but hoped the problem would fade away. If his mother got involved at the school… It didn’t bear thinking about.

  ***

  The next day was Saturday. Kaem’s mother worked weekends, servicing the laundromats, but his dad had the day off. After they ate their breakfast, Kaem wanted to watch TV, but his dad said, “Let’s talk about how you might be able to defend yourself from that boy.”

  Kaem felt startled. He agreed with his mother about fighting. He couldn’t have pounded on Rob the way he’d been beaten himself. That much hard exercise would immediately exhaust him because of his anemia. It could even make him have a sickle crisis. “Um, Dad, I don’t think—”

  “I know, I know,” his dad interrupted. “You can’t fight. A struggle would wear you out and might make you sick. But, most fights are won or lost in seconds. They virtually never go on and on like the ones in the movies.”

  Kaem tilted his head curiously. “Really?”

  His dad nodded. “Watch some real fights on YouTube, most of them are over in a few moments. All I want to show you is how you might get in one punch. If you do it right, one strike might end the fight.”

  “Um, I’m not real strong. I don’t get much exercise.”

  “I know son. This might not work. But don’t you think you’d like to know how to at least try to win a fight? Someday, if you do want to know how, it’ll be far too late to learn then.”

  Kaem shrugged, “Okay. I guess I should learn, but I’m planning to avoid fights.”

  His dad put a big hand on his shoulder. “That’s a great idea. But, here, let’s move the dining room table.” They quickly cleared an area in their crowded little apartment. Kaem’s dad picked up what looked like a football wrapped and tied into a couple of layers of sweatshirt. “Okay—”

  His dad was interrupted when Bana came out of the bedroom. She looked around, “What’re you guys doing?”

  Kaem’s dad stared at Bana for a moment, then said, “One of the other kids beat up Kaem.”

  To Kaem’s surprise, Bana’s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in anger, “Who?! Who was it? Doesn’t he know you’re sick!?”

  “No! Or, at least I hope not. I don’t think it’s anyone’s business that I’m sick.”

  “Well, who was it? I’ll…” she paused, evidently thinking better of uttering whatever she’d been about to say in front of her fathe
r. In a more subdued tone, she said, “I’ll teach them not to touch you.”

  Horrified, Kaem said, “Bana, you’re a girl!”

  With a self-satisfied smirk, she said, “I know.”

  “You can’t fight with a boy!”

  Bana’s eyes flicked to her father, then she mouthed, “I already have,” at Kaem. “And, I won.”

  Their dad understood Bana’s mouthed words just as well as Kaem had. In an appalled tone, he said, “You’ve been fighting boys?!”

  She nodded, “Uh-huh. And kicking their…” she thought better of what she’d been about to say, rephrasing to, “kicking their bottoms too.”

  “But Rob’s not just a boy,” Kaem said, “he’s a year or two older than you.”

  “Rob Sanders? I should’ve known,” Bana said indignantly.

  Kaem looked at his father. Emmanuel looked as bewildered as Kaem felt.

  “So, why’re you moving all the furniture?” Bana asked, moving on to another topic.

  “I was…” Their father paused a moment, nonplussed, then said, “I was going to teach Kaem how to throw a punch. He can’t get in a real fight because of his illness, but sometimes a good punch can finish a fight before it begins.”

  “Oh, great!” Bana said. “I want to learn too.”

  “Girls shouldn’t fight, Bana,” their dad said.

  “Mom says women need to be able to defend themselves,” Bana said indignantly. “She says she’s going to get me a little Mace sprayer when she has the money.” Her eyes flashed at her dad, “I think I should learn to throw a punch too.”

  Their dad rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he said resignedly. He started with Kaem. “Stand with your left side toward your opponent,” he said, maneuvering Kaem into the position he wanted him in, then holding up the sweatshirt covered ball representing Kaem’s opponent, positioning it a little higher than Kaem’s head. “Look at him out of the corner of your eyes, so you’re less confrontational. Talk him down if you can. Slowly bend your knees. It’ll make you less threatening and also lets you throw a harder punch.

  “Now, if you decide you’re going to have to throw your punch, try not to give any signal that you’re about to do it. Just suddenly throw your fist from down low there by your side, up around and right through his nose. Throw it like you’re trying to punch your fist in one side of his head and out the other.”

  “His nose? I thought I was supposed to hit his jaw?”

  Kaem’s dad said, “Hitting the jaw doesn’t do that much damage. You’d rather not hit his mouth because his teeth could injure your hand. Getting hit on the nose really hurts, so it’s a good target. If you miss a little and hit an eye, that’ll stop him too.”

  “I don’t want to blind him!”

  “You’re not aiming for his eye, it’s just what you might hit if you miss his nose. Your fist shouldn’t fit into the eye socket and blind him anyway. The jaw’s not good. The teeth are dangerous to your hand. The forehead’s solid bone. You might knock him out but you’ll probably hurt your hand hitting his forehead. So, aim at the nose.”

  “What if he’s too tall?”

  “Aim for the front of the neck… but that could kill, so don’t do that… unless you have to. Or try to kick him in the…” Their dad broke off, eyeing Bana.

  “Kick him in the nuts?” Bana asked, a mischievous look on her face.

  He sighed, “Yes.” He paused as if wondering whether he should explain what happened if you kicked a man in the “nuts.” Apparently, he decided that, as a boy, Kaem should know. Bana seemed to have already learned from someone else. Instead, he focused his gaze on Kaem. “Okay. Look straight ahead, then turn only your eyes to your left to see his head.” Emmanuel shook the sweatshirt covered ball. Slowly bend your knees a little, then suddenly… PUNCH! Right through his head.”

  Kaem slowly bent his knees, watching the ball at the very periphery of his vision, then he pivoted, throwing his fist across his body, shoving off with his right foot, extending his knees and firing his fist out and through the ball.

  To his astonishment, the sweatshirt and ball flew out of his father’s hands, glancing off the wall and bouncing into the kitchen. There it knocked over a container of dried beans, spraying beans everywhere. “Oh-no!” he exclaimed, clapping his hand over his mouth.

  Kaem glanced at his father. The man looked astonished. He lifted his eyebrows and observed, “You may not have much endurance, but you’re fast. Also, I don’t think your disease makes you weak.” He stepped into the kitchen and swept his eyes over the beans scattered across the floor. “Come on, we’d better clean this up. If your mother finds a single lost bean, she’ll start asking questions.”

  “Wait!” Bana exclaimed. “What about my turn?”

  Emmanuel rolled his eyes, “We don’t have enough trouble from the mess Kaem made?”

  “Kaem didn’t do it. You’re the one that let the head slip out of your grip. Hold on better this time.”

  Their dad sighed, picked up the sweatshirt wrapped ball, and walked back over to where he’d been. When Bana took her position, he adjusted it a tiny bit, but Kaem thought it’d been fine. His dad had adjusted her so she’d feel like he’d taught her something. When Bana struck, the ball didn’t fly away, but Kaem thought that was only because their dad was expecting it this time. She’d certainly hit it at least as hard as Kaem had.

  Their dad complimented them both, then set them to work cleaning up the beans, exhorting them with the threat of the questions their mother would ask if she moved the toaster and found a cluster of beans.

  When everything had been cleaned up, Kaem asked, “What do I do if this punch doesn’t work?”

  His dad ruffled his hair, then sadly said, “Then you turtle. You curl up in a ball, arms around your shins, face between your knees. All you’ll be able to do is wait until he’s bruised his toes on your ribs and goes home.”

  Kaem stared at him disappointedly.

  “Sorry son. I wish I had something better to offer you in that situation.”

  ***

  Kaem resolved to avoid embarrassing Rob, thinking it the best solution to being bullied. If he’d understood a bully’s psychology, Kaem would’ve known that strategy was doomed to fail.

  Monday of the next week, Kaem was on the playground, talking to Luanne, a girl he’d found friendly. A sudden shove knocked him almost to the ground. Catching himself with only one hand and a knee all the way down on the ground, he scrambled around and rose. It was Rob again.

  Rob said, “You shouldn’t be talkin’ to her!”

  Before Kaem could ask why, Luanne said, “Why shouldn’t he?”

  “Because… you know…”

  Kaem thought, Even Rob knows he’d better not say it’s because I’m black.

  Having gathered his wits, Rob said, “’Cause, she’s nice. And, you’re… you’re not.”

  Thinking of his father’s lesson, Kaem moved back over near Luanne, switching to her other side so he could face her while keeping his left side toward Rob.

  “Seba! Are you trying to ignore me?”

  Kaem watched Rob out of the corner of his eye, resuming his conversation with Luanne. “Sorry your brother’s sick—”

  Kaem bent his knees a little as Rob stepped closer, interrupting, “I told you to stay away from her. You need to be taught another—”

  Kaem executed the punch his father had taught him, pivoting, spinning and sending his fist as hard as he could toward Rob’s nose—and as if trying to punch all the way through his head and out the other side. He hit the boy’s nose off-center to the right, his fist skidding off and slamming into the kid’s eye socket.

  Rob flailed backward, staggering, then landing on his buttocks.

  Kaem cringed back, thinking, He’s gonna kill me!

  But Rob reached up and put his hands over his nose. As the bigger boy started crying, blood flooded through his fingers.

  Did I just kill him? Kaem wondered in horror.

  Rob’s eye
s crossed. Seeing the blood, his sobs turned into full-on screaming.

  I guess he isn’t gonna die, Kaem thought. He looked around and saw the teacher that monitored the playground coming their way. This probably isn’t good.

  Bana’s voice came excitedly from behind him. “Way to go brother!”

  Then the teacher was there, asking what’d happened. Luanne stuck up for Kaem, saying that Rob had been threatening Kaem.

  But, of course, while the monitor was cajoling Rob into letting her see his face, she said, “If Kaem was being threatened, he should’ve reported it to me. That’s what the monitor’s for. Children aren’t to take such things into their own hands.” She sighed, “It looks like it’s just a bloody nose. Come on young Sanders,” she said to Rob, “let’s get you to the nurse.” She looked at Kaem, “And you’ve got to talk to the principal. Come along.”

  No! Kaem thought.

  Chapter One

  Kaem Seba’s junior year at UVA

  UVA physics professor Giles Turnberry looked out over his quantum mechanics class, wondering how many were understanding what he said. He noticed the black kid, Seba, wasn’t even looking at the equations Turnberry’d written out. He doesn’t pay attention and he asks the most bizarre questions, Turnberry thought. Yet, suspiciously, he didn’t miss a single question on the first exam… is he cheating?

  Turnberry cleared his throat and called on the kid, “Mr. Seba. In what situation will this solve the equation?”

  Without even looking up at the equations Turnberry had on the display, Seba said, “When k’ (x) equals zero.” Then as if anticipating Turnberry’s next question, he said, “It’s a good approximation anytime k’ is very small or whenever k’ is much smaller than k2.”

  “It’s good to see you read the book,” Turnberry said, not sure whether he felt admiration or irritation.