I. Mid-morning, 2231...
Abba stepped off of the fifteen minute rail car that went from the main port the enormous iron droids took people to. One of Zephyron's best had escorted her and she would have made it out the front door altogether if her cousin Trina hadn't reminded her of her age.
So, in nothing but a green jumper with faux fur running down the lapels, she arrived late.
"Abba?" A tall, thin man in his early forties approached her.
"Tress!" The woman threw her green purse to the side and ran over in matching slipper shoes. Her childhood friend laughed in surprise as she reached for his light blonde hair.
"Whoa, whoa." he calmly held her back by the shoulders. "Easy there. I gotta use that neck later." The man had never lost the lingo Hogarth had taught him. "You took the
IR up here by yourself?" Tress tried not to look disapproving as Abba clung to his arm.
"Mm-hmm." She sighed in exasperation at his face. "Oh, Tress! Come on. Let's catch up you and I." The two friends ignored – or in Abba's case, was oblivious to – the stares the elderly people gave them. Many Giant clones helped to transport the green-suited people.
It was the fate that had befallen the last survivors of Kina's failed mission.
"So what are you doing with yourself?" Tress said as he seated Abba first in an oval stool.
The small, open restaurant in Zephyron's middle-class district was where the droids found themselves living. No trash littered the streets and the air punk-powered city surrounding what happened to be the youngest citizens there was Victorian-inspired, unlike Abba who insisted her part of the city be constructed entirely in royal décor; gilded paint, silver trim, colored glass for jewels, scepter poles and only the finest fabrics for the aging population.
"Well, today Trina and I played house." Abba kicked her feet up and down under a metal ornate table. "And of course I insisted that Trina play the grandma. She really needs to go and make herself happy in that pool house I had built for her. Swimming water is so rare."
"Indeed." Tress was immediately serious, which Abba hated.
She sighed.
"You really should consider establishing a form of government." The man talked to her with his fingers laced. "The rest of the three spheres have done so. Abba," she tried hard not to roll her eyes. "You won't be around forever. This fairy tale lifestyle at such an age is not suitable… I-," he stalled from speaking. The woman bobbed her head from side to side and acted like she was looking at something in the sky. "I could help you, my dear."
"I know you can help me."
When Abba placed her hand over Tress's he knew that she was in one of her rare but still far-fetched moments of seriousness. He tried to speak. "Please," she placed a finger to his lips. "You have come from the schooling that takes place in lower- middle class Zephyron, you are skilled when it comes to science." Tress blinked, her finger still stayed in place as he tried to speak again. "I want your help in fully equating all droids as citizens, Tress. I want to start what was abandoned long ago." she spoke with sincerity to her best friend.
"What do you want me to do, Abba?" Tress asked. He was suddenly rendered a child.
"I want to save humanity." She answered, sitting back in her chair. "I will tell you how."
II. – Same day, same time, 2000...
Hogarth was anxious to see where they were headed to.
"Can I put my non-existent hand down, Giant?"
"Yes." The baritone voice of his buddy answered.
What lay before them made Hogarth start to back away, but the Giant gently sat him down and made the move to go. Hogarth brought his brows up and shook his head at the robot.
There was no way he was doing this. It had been made clear to him yesterday to keep out.
"He's not going to live forever, Hogarth."
"Do I at least get a lift back?"
Their bantering was still in place. The Giant lifted his mandible at this and turned to leave.
"I'll come for you later," he promised, disappearing into the trees.
"I still have work tomorrow!" Hogarth called out over his shoulder. "I'm on probation!"
The man's eyes traveled the length of the barbed wire fence. Sighing, he hobbled up to it.
…
"Do you want it or what?" Dean McCoppin swiped backwards at the air. "I'm not makin' a fortunate off of computer copper, but I suppose the extra few dollars I'll get is worth it."
"You know what they say," the fifty-something pawnbroker said. "One person's trash is another person's profit." he flashed the older man a golden-toothed smile and received an even deeper scowl then before. He scoffed. "Whatever McCoppin. Do as you see fit son."
"What?"
"You're twenty years older than me, it's just an expression. You know like 'kid', 'boy' ."
Dean suddenly became enraged at his pestering. "Twenty years deader if you don't-!,"
He froze.
The pawnbroker turned his head to look in the direction of a ragged man off the streets.
"He a client of yours?" Suspicion lined Billy's voice.
"No, stepson."
William Peterson walked up automatically to Hogarth, looked him up and down in wide-eyed bewilderment, and then rushed off. The two outsiders were left to themselves then. It hadn't been Dean's words yesterday that had kept the younger man from coming: "Don't come." but pride itself. Hogarth knew his stepfather wanted to see him. The context had been for Hogarth's own sake and sanity. At least, that's what Hogarth hoped he'd meant.
"Hello, Dean."
The salvage man kept himself busy with the broken computer wires.
A few seconds of silence past.
"Aren't you going to speak to me?" Hogarth made no move towards him.
"Excuse me?" Dean looked up.
"I said-,"
"I heard what you said. Ho-ho! I've always heard what you've said Hogarth. What I don't hear is a Mr. McCoppin out of your grown ass lips. What I don't hear is your reason for coming here. What? Giving you back your motorcycle wasn't enough? You want more?"
Hogarth was entirely at a loss. "Dean, I-,"
"You want the welcome wagon? It ain't here buddy! I'm a seventy-four-year-old bastard, I'm tired as hell and I don't want the likes of you around!" his stepson started. "Go, now!"
"You know," Hogarth turned to leave, not wanting Dean to see his eyes. "The reason I-,"
"The Giant, I know. He personally came down here to tell me he wanted us to talk."
"So you don't wanna talk to me? I was your friend, I loved you. Don't you think I care?"
"Yes I think you care Hogarth." Dean moved towards him. In khaki pants, a sweater vest and a slight hunch in his back, seeing him doing business at this age made Hogarth feel all the worst for wear. "But I'm an old man now Hogarth, and so are you. What more do you want?" he looked stricken. "God, Hogarth! Don't you think I tried my damnedest in life?"
"Yes."
"Don't you think I wish I could summon the courage to be with my daughter?"
"Yes."
"My granddaughter and great-grandsons?"
"Yes!" Hogarth said with conviction, his eyes and voice burning.
The fire in his gut made him clutch at it with his only hand.
"Your arm." Dean motioned. "What happened to it?"
"A jeep accident."
"Your knee?"
"Motorcycle accident ten years ago."
"Your weight?"
Hogarth studied his body; he wore baggy blue pants, a large gray jacket and a turtleneck.
"What about it? I'm one-eighty-nine."
Dean suddenly smiled crookedly and nodded. "Huh huh huh. Sure. Sure." Hogarth saw the wooden cane he had in his belt loop as he pulled it out. "You'll have to be shrewder then that, Hogarth." The elderly man past him slowly, looking at his prickly prison wall.
"You know I never stopped caring about you, Dean." Hogarth whispered.
"I know, kid."
"You know I asked about you all the time in my letters to Julie. About Donna-Lee."
"Now we got us some more kids." Dean said, balancing himself on his cane.
"Listen, Dean, it was really good seein' ya. But I guess I better-,"
Just like that, his stepfather had him around the neck and was drawing him in.
"It's good to see ya, kid." Dean sobbed a little in his ear. He patted his back. "It really is."
Hogarth gradually hugged the man back. "It's good to see you too, Dean. I missed ya."
…
Still unsure of what the Giant was so busy doing, Hogarth rode the old sixties motorcycle that had appeared outside McCoppin's Scraps back up to his sister's two story clapboard home. Julianne's oldest grandson sat on the white wood porch with two gloves and a ball.
He gave the red chrome the faintest interest and looked back down.
Hogarth himself parked the bike by the side of the house. Yes, he knew the scene was set up for him to approach the boy and be fatherly towards him. Somehow, being a mentor to a youngster was just in itself too cliché for Hogarth. Now when he was younger, healthier and stronger, yes. The last time he had seen his son was a day after his twentieth birthday.
It had also been the last time he had seen Taylor; the last day he had felt fatherly towards anyone.. Taylor. Hogarth started around the back of the house when he heard the porch door swing open and close. Ivan. Ivan… his son's name rang in his head. Taylor, Taylor.
"Hey, Jean." The five-year-old boy of the same name called out. "Time for dinner!"
"Does it look like I'm hungry, Taylor?"
"Grandma made soup," he tried to go on enthusiastically. "She's got fish too. Just like we eat back in Portland. Come on, Mom is coming downstairs now." the little boy persisted.
"What part of "no" don't you understand?" Hogarth straightened up against the wall.
He was listening for his own mention.
"You gonna play catch with someone?"
"No."
" 'No!' " Taylor mocked.
"It doesn't even matter, Dad had to drive to the library to run a fax."
There was a pause for thought. "Sorry… hey, why don't you get Uncle Garth to play?"
"Uncle Garth?"
Hogarth folded his arms and anticipated the rumors Julie's daughter had told them.
"Not a chance."
"Why?"
"Cause Mom says he was real cracked up in the war, Nam made him go develop a head disorder called bombshell disorder. It's when you can't function in real life and hate any kind of family stuff…" Satisfied, Hogarth rubbed at his raw nub under his bandages and headed for the back door. "He doesn't like kids, Taylor, ever since he lost his own son."
'Uncle Garth' stopped right at the house's end.
"Oh yeah, Ivan Grant. Mom mentioned him once."
"I know since Grandpa died you've wanted someone like him, but it's stupid Taylor."
…
" 'Stupid?' "
The boys looked up to see their great uncle walking around the house with a bat.
"Now look," Hogarth gave Taylor one of the baseball mitts and handed Jean the ball. "I want you to watch how to place this mitt on and the way to catch this ball," he gloved his hand and pounded his arm into the leather palm, forcing himself into a squat. "Okay kiddo, try tossing it my way." The kindergartner stick his tongue out and tossed it over his head.
"Taylor!" Jean cried out.
His little brother stared wide-eyed up at it and cringed at the ground. Before it could hit him, Hogarth swiped it from out of mid-air. He tossed it up a few times before squatting to Taylor's level and showing him a few easy throws. Jean readied himself for the catch.
"Cool, who taught you?" the older boy asked.
"My Dad."
"Sweet. Just promise not to call us kiddos anymore, kay?"
"As long as you guys promise not to try out for little league."
Jean chuckled.
…
"Mother." Donna-Lee, blonde, red lips and as frantic as a bird, spoke from the window.
"Yes, dear?" Julianne McCoppin pushed herself up in her wheelchair to taste the soup.
"What is he doing?" She watched as her estranged uncle knelt behind Jean.
"Missing out on clam chowder is what he's doing, why don't you page that husband of yours?" Julie received the look she expected. "Darling, they're playing catch. It's safe."
"Correction, Uncle Garth is playing catch with my sons."
"Well is your husband very good at sports?"
"No," Donna-Lee said sourly.
Her mother smiled. "Well, than you have nothing to worry about, your uncle is passable."
To be continued…
~ Lavenderpaw ~
