around quick enough – you know, before the sky fell in.
“There’s been plenty of things like this before, you see, but they were all absolute rip-offs and so people are wary. But the best thing about the Fuel Stretcher was that you didn’t have to buy one; you could make it yourself. You know – get the plans, find the stuff, make it up, try it out. Total cost, what … Twenty bucks? …plus a couple hours barkin’ your knuckles.
“Anyhow, when I saw how good it worked was when I actually started thinking straight, and when I started thinking straight was when I decided to put the plans on the internet. Sure it would have been a licence to print money – for a while, anyway – but I knew I wouldn’t stay alive too long if I tried it – like patenting it or anything and setting up a manufacturing business and all. I mean playing in the big boys’ league can get you hurt, especially if they know you’re going to steal their ball.
“Course I could have sold it to them – for whatever they might have given me – but it’s obvious what they’d have done with it. My Fuel Stretcher would have disappeared without a trace and what a waste that would have been, given the way carbon dioxide levels and global temperatures are going up. …Only Brian must have slipped up somewhere when he put the plans on-line.
“See we weren’t to know; we're not internet gurus. But looking back it’s obvious we should have been more careful. I mean I know that now, but now’s too late to do anything about it. Anyhow, I reckon that’s how they got a lead on us.
“Brian was living about ten K’s north of Walleroo at the time, in this old farmhouse he’d rented about a month after my Fuel Stretcher dream. And only me and the old cocky who owned the place knew he was there. Pevensey was the farmer’s name. I went up for a while to help Brian fix the plumbing and get the lights working again, but it was so nice and quiet I decided to stay. I had my old computer with me, too, which meant Brian could set up the web page while I got on with making the place more comfortable.
“Not long after that the place caught fire – like around two in the morning. Old wiring they said, but that was just bullsh… I mean it was quite wrong. See, what nobody knows is, Brian and I saw it go up; we were there when it happened – or not far off, anyway.
“Shame, really. It was a beautiful old house. More’n a hundred years old, they reckon. Sure it needed a bit of work, but it was as solid as a rock and all natural stone. In fact its outside walls were two foot thick.
“We’d gone off in the Holden that morning, to a farm auction about eighty K’s east of there. But the headlights got a short somewhere on the way back and blew the fuses. I had a couple of spares but they didn’t last long. Then I rigged a hot wire straight from the battery.
“Well the old bitch didn’t like that. We’d only gone about five K’s farther when the wiring all started to cook and filled the car with smoke. Course I stopped as quick as I could and pulled the bonnet catch, then we jumped out and ripped off the battery connections before the thing caught fire properly.
“We had a torch, but it took us a while to hotwire the engine and get it going again. Fixing the lights was out, though. They were stone dead. It was really dark by this time, too, ’cos there was no moon, so we had to creep along the road in first gear with the engine idling and find our way home by starlight.
“About a kilometre before our gate the road goes over a rise. The old house is visible from there, through the trees. And that's where we were when it went up! …we were crawling over the rise. I mean you should have seen it; from there it looked as if half the farm had been firebombed.
“And how lucky were we, having had all that trouble with the lights and everything. We didn’t think so at the time of course, but if it hadn’t been for that we’d have been asleep in there when it went.
“I lost all the stuff I'd brought over, like my clothes and bedding plus the computer and a box of books I hadn’t read, but poor old Brian lost his furniture and everything.
“Course after that we just turned around and bolted, pitch dark or not, in case someone saw us, then hid ourselves along a track Brian knew, in amongst some sand hills and mallee scrub. When it came daylight we drove around for a couple hours laying traps to make sure we weren’t being followed then went back to my place at Port Adelaide.
“It sure put the wind up Brian, though, ’cos a couple of days later he shot through. First thing I knew about it was when I came home and found a note saying he’d leave the old Holden at the Mobil servo in Port Pirie. Up to the Northern Territory or somewhere I think he went.
“I caught the train up there to get it and later sent a couple of emails to his son’s address in case he knew the score, but I never got a reply. Then about six months later I had a call from a public telephone – Brian wouldn’t say where. He’d got my messages all right but there was no way he was going to answer them. He was out of communication he said and keeping his head down – like right out of sight. There’s plenty of work around the cattle stations, he told me, and if you like the bush and can do the job they don’t ask too many questions.
“As for our web page, well that was hit or spammed or whatever into oblivion within a couple of days of being put up. It didn’t matter though; it was too late to stop it. Before the site crashed enough Fuel Stretcher plans had been downloaded to frustrate anyone trying to stifle the thing, regardless of how big they might be. And it multiplied quickly, too, because those that got them sent ‘em straight on to their mates – which is how the whole business got started.
“Now there’s a Fuel Stretcher in nearly everything that moves, as you know – trucks and planes and locomotives and ships and everything. And what a wonderful thing it is ... except for the oil companies, that is. It’s ruined the oil companies.
“You don’t know me, of course. And I’ve certainly never been in one of these before. That’s because I’m not a Catholic, see. But I needed someone to talk to, Father, and they reckon that in here everything is strictly confidential.
“Well I sure hope they’re right. See this Fuel Stretcher business has left some very angry people out there and the word is there’s a price on the ones who started it.
“I’m right to be concerned about it, too, Father, I’m sure, but I reckon I’m pretty safe. I’m more or less doing the same as Brian is, see – keeping my head down. Sure I might be past my use-by date but I’m not ready to join up with the Missus just yet.
“—I mean, Fuel Stretchers? …Nothing to do with me, mate. I’m just a retired road maintenance supervisor. Hot tar was my business, not Fuel Stretchers. I mean what would I know about Fuel Stretchers … except that they work pretty good and everybody has one.
“But Fuel Stretching’s not the main reason I came in here, Father, though having this yarn with you has certainly made me feel better. What I’m really after is a bit of advice on something.
“You see, Father, I’ve had another one of those weird dreams. Couple of mornings back I woke up knowing how to make an anti-gravity generator ... with bits from a transistor radio, a couple old computer hard-drives, a good-sized potato and an electric toothbrush. Don't ask me how it works though. I mean I haven’t got the faintest idea.
“It’s in the car, around the back. Some sort of variable field it sets up.
“It’ll float about a tonne and a half I reckon. You just turn the volume control I installed on the dashboard to adjust its strength.
“The thing is, Father, I’m not sure how to handle it. Should I set it up the same way as last time or should I do something different?”
Sweat Dreams Page 2
