Well hey there Fanfiction! It's been what, two weeks? Two...long...weeks. But hey, hopefully I used that time wisely to bring you another good chapter. The last one seemed to be well received based on the reviews you left, thank you for your input! Please read, review, and most importantly, enjoy!
. . .
At eight fifty-five, Naota was waiting outside G&R's office, fending off four dogs that seemed determine to lick his face off. Everyone else had started work, their pickup trucks parked in an orderly line out front. As he waited, he got a better look at G&R company property. The lot between the Carson's house and the shop was dirt and gravel stones, crisscrossed with a tangled web of tire and caterpillar tracks. Looking out from the shop to his left, were a trio of flatbed trailers and then a duo of heavy-duty lowboy trailers past those. To his right, the beginnings of what appeared to be a boneyard. Trucks of every size, shape, make, model and function from a Ford Ranger up on blocks with a missing engine, to a rock truck with six foot tall tires. Smaller cars, broken machinery he couldn't identify, stacks of 55-gallon drums, piles of scrap lumber and metal, a bulldozer, a front-end loader and a small mobile crane were next, followed by, of all things, a mast-less sailboat up on an A frame. The collection continued as the property curved around the bend in the mountain.
The front of the shop was very much the same. The building, faded blue and rusting corrugated metal, was fifty yards deep and one hundred long. The first half was the office and the actual shop floor; visible through two forty foot wide and sixty foot tall bay doors. The second half lacked a front wall, but served as a drive in garage for two boom trucks, a gargantuan red mobile crane, two tractor-trailer trucks, another bulldozer and a backhoe. The scale of the operation seemed fairly large to Naota, with so many vehicles, so much heavy machinery and the sounds of the shop workers inside.
"Mornin' Naota." Rig had arrived with a cloud of dust up the driveway and skidded to a stop just shy of hitting the office door with the Ought-Too's back tire. "Are they bothering you?" He nodded at the dogs hopping around them, tails about to wag themselves off.
"No, they're okay." He said, pushing one off him, only to have another jump on his other side. "I'm just more of a cat person."
"You know, these dogs are excellent judges of character." Rig said, leaning his bike against one of the office's awing columns. "The fact they seem to like you is a very good sign."
"I'm sure it is…" He said, almost knocked over by a shaggy black dog that looked more wolf than dog. "But can you…"
"Oh, sorry 'bout that!" Rig apologized and gave a short, sharp whistle. "Fweet! Down sirs! Down with you!" He commanded and the dogs immediately heeled. "Off with you, g'won now!"
"Who do they belong to anyway?" He asked as the dogs separated, each headed for a point of the compass; north, south, east and west.
"Well, the little black one that looks like a walking carpet is Gus, he's George and Rita's." Rig pointed to the one headed north, for Philipsburg. "The brown lab with the bright blue crazy eyes is Bolt, he's Tommy's." Bolt was headed west, across the road and into the woods on the other side. "The beagle, hound-ish, I think, mix, is Sam. He belonged to my grandfather before Grandpap Carson passed." The brown and black mix with a beagle frame, but floppy hound ears, was headed east across G&R's property, along the ledge carved into the mountainside. "Annnd, that one headed south, with the shag carpet for fur's Piddles: The Wonder Dog, and he's mine; the loveable goof." Piddles, hearing his name, looked back and wagged his tail, then continued south towards Osceola Mills; a shaggy wolf-dog with fur as black as anthracite coal.
"Piddles?"
"That's Piddles: The Wonder Dog, to you." Rig said and opened the office door. "Guess how he got the name? I'll give you three chances and the first two don't count."
"I think I can use my imagination." Naota said and followed Rig inside the office. "Not too many different ways to take that kind of a name really."
"S'pose not. Well, hey, you're early, five minutes early. I like that." Rig checked the clock ticking on the wall.
"To be early is to be on time, to be on time is to be late…" He recited as Rig settled into the swivel chair at his desk.
"An' to be late gets you diggin' coal out back, with a spoon." Rig joked and booted up his desk's computer. "Well, don't stand 'round like a stranger. Sit on down, make yourself at home." Naota looked around, but didn't find any obvious spots to sit. All potential seats were occupied and all horizontal surfaces covered. A couch opposite the door had four cardboard boxes on it, filled with hats, gloves, neon green shirts and blue jumpsuits. There was another office chair but it had a milk crate full of heavy nylon straps on it. A bookshelf on the office's wall, to his right, was filled with more boxes, odd lengths of PVC pipe, hard hats, reference and shop manuals, a book on transmissions, and a collection of welding textbooks. The office contained two desks, one buried under stacks of yellowing papers, coffee mugs, overflowing ashtrays, the guts of a disassembled power drill, empty tobacco tins and a box of M80 fireworks. Rig sat behind the other desk, checking something on the computer with his knee-high boots propped up on the desk's corner. Behind him, a drip coffee machine perched on a mini-fridge gurgled and filled the small space with its aroma. On either side of the fridge was a door. The right one, made of grey painted steel, had a bolted on sign that warned anyone reading it to "KEEP OUT. THIS MEANS YOU." The other door, simple wood, had a piece of paper taped to it, scrawled with "The Throne Room."
"Just throw that crate of straps next to the door, we'll need 'em later. Real sorry about the mess, we've been too busy lately to bother with housekeeping and the maid wasn't in the budget anymore so we had to fire her…" Rig turned as the coffee machine beeped and poured himself a mug. "Want some coffee? It's Columbian…"
"No, I'm fine thanks you." Naota said as he sat down and gazed around the room. Its walls were covered with news clippings of events and articles about the surrounding area, pictures of G&R members at worksites, driving excavators and cranes, showing off their completed welding projects. Several more were of different people racing home-built stock cars on dirt tracks, someone racing a dirt-bike; someone awfully Rig-like. Copies of permits, licenses and certifications were framed and hung carefully with pride in neat, prominent rows. Maps of mines, gas and oil fields, Centre and Clearfield counties and one of the entire state of Pennsylvania that measured six feet across and four feet tall, filled in the rest of the empty space. "You guys sure do have a lot of pictures on the wall."
"Uh-huh, that we do. These are all good memories for us, snapshots of happier times." Rig pointed out different ones while he added enough cream and sugar to his coffee to turn it into a slurry. "I'm in a couple of 'em. That's the first dragline I helped take apart and move, then put back together. There's me, Uncle George and Cousin Tom at the county's fracking site…that's all of us sitting on the new boom truck. Well, it was new to us anyway. The dirt-bike one's me at Rocket Raceway, down in Three Springs; finished second that day."
"What about this one?" Naota pointed to an 8x11 printout, tacked to the corkboard on Rig's right, next to the desk. It was a highly contrasted scene with the background pitch black and the forefront occupied by a raging car fire. It was sideways on a dirt racetrack and the driver was halfway out the window, his suit beginning to smoke. "It looks like…an '84 Fiero?"
"It was, an '84 Fiero, and an old junker one at that." Rig clarified.
"But why, is it on fire?" Naota peered closer at the picture. "It looks like it's on a dirt track somewhere."
"It was. That picture represents my first, and last, attempt at stock car racing." Rig admitted, grinning sheepishly.
"What happened? It's burning like a Viking funeral."
"Fiero's had badly cast connecting rods that'll snap if your oil level gets low. I took a hit early on in the race and started leaking oil. Top that off with revving the engine waaaay more than it was designed for, for way too long…and…well…" He gestured at the picture. "A rod breaks, oil goes everywhere and all up in your business, and your engine blows up."
"Where'd you get one of those anyway? Sorry about your car blowing up, but why'd you pick that one to race anyway?"
"Because it was the magic F-word: FREE. I got it from the junk yard, paid like two hundred to take it off their hands." He stated matter-of-factly and took a sip of coffee. "What's so funny?"
"Heh-heh, I just thought, with all the tools and fabrication equipment you probably have on hand, you could've fixed your car so it wouldn't go off like a roman candle."
"You would think that…but when you're fifteen and just got your leaner's permit, you don't!" Rig sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Learning experiences…" He trailed off, then the phone rang. "Sorry man, gotta take this. Good morning, G&R Fabrication and Cranes, this is Jeff speaking." As Rig talked, Naota kept gazing around at some of the smaller pictures he had missed earlier. A small polaroid next to Rig's desk, in a small frame with actual glass protecting it, caught his eye. It was slightly faded, but showed a man and woman in their mid-twenties; both with deep, dark brown hair just like Rig's. They were standing in front of a black jeep and what looked like George's house; under construction. When Rig had finished with the call, Naota asked him who the picture was of.
"Oh. That one huh." Rig said quietly and stared at the photo for a moment, making not a sound. "Those are my parents. This one's from the early eighties, when George's house was getting built. It was actually my grandfather's at the time, but George owns it now."
"Sooo…they, live there too, your parents? I saw you went into that house last night after you dropped me off."
"No, they ah, they don't." Rig said in an even smaller voice that cracked as he spoke. "They're…divorced. So I stay with George and Aunt Rita for now, best that way." He concluded and his coffee mug rattled as he placed it on his desk. Naota was about to ask a little more, if Rig ever saw his parents, but thought better of it.
"Eh, that's really nice of your Uncle." He offered to bridge the silence.
"Yeah, he's a real bleeding-hearted saint." Rig grumbled, then cleared his throat. "Ahem! Anyhow, so you wanna do this interview or what?" His question signaled any discussion on the polaroid couple was over.
"Yes, of course. I'm ready whenever you are."
"Alright…ahmmmm…shit, I've never had to do one of these before…" Rig lolled his head around on his shoulders, leaned even further back so he was almost horizontal, all while tapping his hands on his chair's armrests and staring at the ceiling for inspiration. He swiveled his head back down so that his chin rested on his chest and asked: "Throwing the ball to you, 'cause I can't think of anything…what can you do?"
"Wow, uh, well, what's the job involve?"
"Hummm…lemme see if I can make it easier on both of us. Can you weld?"
"No."
"Ever used an acetylene torch or a plasma cutter?"
"Nope."
"How about driving any kind of a big truck, something with more than four wheels; or anything with tracks?"
"Sorry, I don't even have a learner's permit. Just mopeds."
"Know anything about HAM or CB radios, anything with electronics; like pulling stuff apart to see how it works then putting it back together?"
"Not really, no."
"Pyrotechnics? Chemicals? Ever mess around with fireworks or anything that goes bang?"
"Definitely not!" Naota said, then added. "Do you guys get to do that kind of stuff? Seems out of a fab shop's focus."
"In a way, and more than you think." Rig evaded. "I think, there's hope for you though, despite your lack of qualifications. Would you consider yourself a person of utmost integrity and trustworthiness?"
"I would."
"Do you react well to quickly changing scenarios, hazardous work environments and potentially hostile customers?"
"Hostile customers?!"
"Some of the people we've dealt with…aren't, ah, aren't what you'd call nice people; competitors and upset customers alike. We've seen and had tires slashed, equipment broken or stolen, tools thrown at us…" He stopped, seeing the growing look of horror on Naota's face. "It's not an everyday thing! Little accidents, few and far between! Why did I bring that up?"
"Well, if you say so…but those things shouldn't be a problem."
"Oh? Oh, good. Thought I'd lost you for a secon' there. Almost done. Now, you're willing to learn anything and everything we teach you; you'll be an information sponge?"
"Of course, especially if it's lessons on how to not have tools thrown at me!"
"Don't worry, we offer full courses on wrench avoidance, based on the DUCK principle. Last thing…are you willing to get that mop of yours cut?"
"I…guess?" The question stumped him as to why it mattered. Sure, he'd let his hair go a little long, it was the style back in Japan; maybe not here in Pennsylvania though. It was almost to his eyebrows in the front and down to his collar in the back. "Why?"
"Long hair like that gets caught in lathes. Long hair gets snarled on cables, hooked on equipment, in your eyes, and, in one unfortunate accident that Mike still hasn't emotionally recovered from yet, set on fire. It can also get you called a dirty hippy around here…and you really don't want that!"
"When you put it that way, I don't really have a choice. Get scalped, burned and called a Hippy…no thanks!"
"Excellent! Glad to hear it!" Rig clapped his hands together. "And like that, you're hired! Congratulations to you, Apprentice Naota!" He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a slip of papers. "Here's the terms. Ten bucks an hour, that's just so the math's easy, payday's on every Friday. Work week's Monday through Friday, sometimes weekends, eight to five with an hour for lunch at noon. Weekends aren't bad, usually real easy-type stuff, but don't expect overtime or double-time, or even time and a half really. We'll spot you four official shirts for on the road business, gotta represent yah know. Ah, two hats, two pair of gloves, box of soapstones, you'll need some eye pro…what size boot you wear?"
"I'm sorry, huh?" Naota blinked as Rig rattled off G&R's terms and conditions.
"Shoe size man, focus!"
"Tens."
"Perfect!" Rig picked up the paper, checked that Naota had made all the appropriate marks and stowed the papers in the desk. He then walked over to the cardboard boxes and began throwing clothes over his shoulder. "Here's yer hats…shirts…" He was elbow deep in boxes, tossing their contents into a growing mound on Naota's lap, chest and face. "You'll need a jumpsuit or two as well…here's one…got all that?"
"Think so." Naota couldn't see over the pile in his arms. "Now what?"
"Well, when can you start working, doing anything today?"
"Not really, this was all I had planned."
"Then you'll start right now. Go to the house, there's a pair of hand-me-down boots in exactly your size waiting next to the door. Have Aunt Rita cut your hair next." Rig opened the office door and held it open for him. "Welcome to the team, glad to have you onboard Naota."
"Glad to be here." He said and Rig cracked his first real smile that day.
. . .
Rig's Aunt Rita was a short, full-bodied woman with equally short blonde hair; but no shortage of chatter.
"Oh, you must be the new guy! Naota right?" She asked, snipping scissors and a comb in one hand, trimmer in the other. "So glad to meet you, I was in Maryland visiting my girls and missed your move in; we should've had a house warming party. It's not too late though to have a belated one though!"
"Eh…that's okay, really." He was directed into the empty half of the house's carport and to a stool, over a square of newspapers. "So, uh, do you cut hair for a living?"
"Tch, goodness no! This's just, well, more of a hobby really." She giggled and draped a towel over his shoulders. "Yah know, just for fun."
'Great. An amateur enthusiast.' He thought as he heard scissors begin to snip. 'At least it's just hair, it'll grow back…I hope.'
"I do all the guys hair that work for George. Tommy, Jeff, Shifty, Josh, Mike, Johnny, everyone. Well, 'cept George; he's goin' bald you know…"
"I didn't. Do they all get the same cut? I haven't met any of the other guys yet."
"Uh-huh. Everyone gets the same, it's kind of a regulation thing, like the Army or something."
"You're not cutting it that short are you?" He reached up to feel how much, or little, he had left. Rita merely tsked him and swatted his hand away from his head.
"Oh just settle or I might accidentally take off an ear…now let's see if I can fix this spot…"
. . .
While Naota sat in G&R's barbershop and got himself an Overwatch regulation haircut, George, Tommy and I had a quick meeting in the office.
"I see Naota's in the hot seat." Tommy glanced out the window. "So, then the interview went well?"
"Here's the papers to prove it." I held up Naota's employment contract. "He's officially a G&R Fabrication Apprentice now."
"And since G&R's an Overwatch front…" George added as he poured himself coffee and sipped it, black. "That practically makes him Overwatch too."
"With none of the authority, powers or responsibility, but yeah." I agreed. "And hey, we can't forget to pat ourselves on the back George. G&R may be a front, but it sure is a lucrative front; ain't it Tommy?"
"We're only in the second quarter and already up five percent from last year's overall net." Tommy rattled off, having his own coffee, cream, no sugar.
"I know we kept you around for a reason." George grinned at Tommy. "All those accounting classes in college seem to have sunk in."
"Uh-huh. Spreadsheets and ROI's are reeeeaaallll useful running a crane to set barn trusses..." He said, had a sip, then added: "Oh. Or fighting Medical Mechanica."
"We're glad you're home none the less." George said and turned back to me. "Soooo…now what hot-shot? Naota works with us. Congrats. What's your next move?"
"I need…jobs. Off-campus and…out of the shop jobs." I said slowly, trying to prioritize the laundry list of things I had to teach Naota. "He's new, doesn't know the ground, where the good and bad roads are, landmarks, where we have contacts…"
"Where the cops are set up, the speed traps, which lights have cameras, which corners in town they've set up microphones in the crosswalk button…" Tommy added, underscoring the brave, new little world we called home.
"Those too, especially those."
"Hmmmm…okay, okay…" George was twisting the bolt-like ring on his middle finger, he was thinking hard. "Good choice Rig, very good. You're learning to think ahead, past the end of your nose. Alright, let me check our calendar and I'll have you three on the road in the hour."
"Three?"
"You, Naota, and Tommy." George said and opened Excel on the computer. "What?"
"I gotta have a babysitter? No offense Tommy…"
"Some taken." He said, engrossed in an old Maxim mag.
"But c'mon George, really?"
"Jeff, you haven't been an actual Overwatch agent for even a full week yet. Tommy has twelve years of experience. With the interest M-M's taken in Naota, we cannot afford to drop our guard when we have to venture out of the zone we control. Also, M.I.B. never travel alone, so neither shall we." He warned and Tommy and I shuddered at the mention of those three letters; the initials of our boogeymen. "Ah, here we go. Scomi needs tanks, scaffolds and pumps hauled to Mr. Dahl. He has an exploratory operation going on past Williamsport, sent me a message and wants us to talk immediately and in person. This'll be perfect for the new kid's first day."
"Are we expected George?" Tommy asked as he Tap! Tap! Tapped! His tobacco tin.
"You are…now." George shot Scomi and Mr. Dahl emails and that was that. "Now, before you run off, how was King's?"
"That well turned out to be dry." I reported. I had visited that morning, scouring the miles long strip mine. "I went out and took a good look, my carabiner didn't so much as twitch. I don't know where Atomsk is, but I know for sure where he isn't."
"Has King been hitting a lot of shale lately?" Tommy asked as he and George both fiddled with their own talismans: Tommy his wallet chain and George his middle finger ring. "That could be it."
"He said he has, a really thick layer of it. Does shale always mess with N.O. signals George?"
"Yes, it's been a massive pain in our asses over the years. Shale does something to the signal where it gets all scrambled. You can get false positives that are off the charts, or they're so bad you might as well be blindfolded."
"Is that why M-M has a history with this state then? Because they know the signals can be distorted?"
"I would think that's at least part of it, maybe not all." George theorized. "But it's certainly a contributing factor."
"That and M-M likes places like this." Tommy put in his two cents. "Quiet, low-profile, out of the way and with little attention from our governments. No one cares about Coal Country unless the EPA's involved. We could like, I dunno, start a war here and no one would notice."
"Well let's hope that won't become a reality." George said. "Things are interesting enough already as is."
"Speaking of interesting, I heard a rumor about Roman's Mine." I said, wanting to know if George or Tommy had heard anything of the same. "Know how Piddles likes to hang out in front of Grizzly's?"
"Yeah, what of it? What did the pup hear?"
"That someone's buying Roman's out, someone from far out of state. Roman's been having all kinds of problems; sabotage from the sounds of it. They haven't been able to keep running long enough to turn a profit before something breaks again or someone quits or just…disappears."
"You've been reading those Tom Clancy novels again, haven't you Rig?" George asked. "Conspiracy theories…conspiracy theories everywhere."
"Now come on George, maybe Rig has something." Tommy defended. "Piddles is a good dog, hears lots of good things. I've been past Roman's a few times lately and, well, it looks rough. Like, things aren't going so well. There are lots of things breaking down, people are going missing. Who's responsible, who knows?"
"Hmmm…if that is true, it's certainly not good." George's brow furrowed and he pursed his lips. "It may be, and I hope it is, something completely unrelated to us. But, I'll add it to my list of things to look into."
"How's that list coming?" Tommy asked. "That local response force you want to form?"
"I have a few interested parties." George said. "I've been trying to avoid the obvious groups, ones that are too politicized and…ahm…outspoken, with themselves. But I'm making progress."
"It'll be nice to have something in our back pocket if things get out of hand." I said, remembering the reports of M-M activity around the galaxy. They had done a complete one-eighty from their usual strategy on some planets. Instead of quietly assimilating and rotting the planet's defenses from the inside out, they were simply attacking in a more traditional, head-on style. It meant either they had found some new vigor in themselves, or they were getting desperate. Both were equally bad.
"Again, let's hope it doesn't come to that." George said and checked the clock. "Well, if that's all, clock's runnin' boys. Go out and make us some money!" Tommy left first to start up the boom truck we'd need and I was on my way to follow. "Hold up Jeff."
"S'up?"
"I know you're not incompetent. But you're still learning and it's a very, very dangerous world we're living in. Besides…" George took off his glasses and lay them on the desk so he could rub his face with his hands. "He wasn't just your father, he was also my brother. One family member, no matter their standing or relationship, is still one family member too many."
"Yeah…that's true." I mumbled. "I understand."
"Good. Now it looks like Rita's had her fun, so rescue Naota and get on truckin'; give my regards to Mr. Dahl when you see him today."
"Will do, see you later." I closed the office door behind me and headed for one of our Kennworth trucks. As I climbed in and started up, I had this nagging irk at the back of my mind that something was just…off.
'Just a little sight-seeing tour for the new guy'. I thought as I backed up and hooked up with a flatbed trailer. 'Just another normal, boring day. Nothin's gonna happen…right? Right. What am I worryin' about?'
. . .
Feeling like a freshly shorn sheep, Naota thanked Rita and checked himself in her hand mirror. Despite his worst fears, she had actually done rather well. Next he put on the already broken-in steel toe boots waiting for him by the door. His first steps in them felt like he was learning how to walk all over again but with his feet encased in concrete; each boot must have weighed ten pounds. He left the bulk of his new uniforms with Rita for when he returned and switched his blue polo for an official G&R neon green tee. Properly attired, he looked for, and found, Rig pulling up in a semi truck; Tommy behind him with a boom truck.
"Climb on up man! We're goin' on a field trip!" Rig yelled out the window and Naota hauled himself into the cab. "Don't mind the mess. Makes it fell more…homey, I think."
"That's not your coffee…is it?" He asked, pointing to the sludge-like fluid in a cup on the console. He sat down and started clearing some foot space by shifting a carpet of invoices, old maps, a set of jumper cables, gloves and hard hat…and lottery tickets. "And how many lottery tickets did you buy?"
"The coffee, and lottery tickets, are Shifty's." Rig said as they turned onto the paved road and headed north for Chester Hill. Rig picked up the cup, opened his window and emptied the cup's contents onto the pavement. "Ssssuuhhhhggghhh!...P-too!" He used the cup as a spittoon, haucking a mouthful of tobacco into it, then replaced the cup back on the console.
"Charming and sophisticated as always Rig." Naota dryly remarked as Rig tapped his tobacco tin and placed a fresh plug in his lip. "Are these all really Shifty's?" He asked about someone he had not yet, but was sure to soon, meet.
"Yeah…I'm ah real hoity-toity kinda guy, ain't I?" He grinned. "Nah, yah see, Shifty's well known in every single Skippy's gas station in the state, that man's gotta have his cup of joe and another chance at strikin' it rich. As you can see…" Rig kicked aside a wad of tickets that had its way under the clutch pedal. "He's still chasing that jackpot."
"No kidding. The amount he's spent on these tickets probably matches any amount he's won so far."
"If he was so lucky, yes."
"So what're we doing today?" He asked, excited for his first and sudden day at work.
"Real simple for your first day, just dippin' your toes in. We're hauling parts for Scomi, they supply stuff for all sorts of gas and oil drillers. Pick it up, load it and truck it, drop it off and come home. Since, as the older guys put it, we're young with good, healthy knees and backs, you'll help me secure everything."
"That doesn't sound too bad, I can do that." Naota said as they pulled into Scomi's parking lot, piles of stacked equipment waiting for them and more on the way via front-end loaders.
"Good. Hop on down as we'll go over the rules." Rig said as they stopped and the air brakes whooshed and let off pressure.
"Rules? There are rules?"
"For cranes and equipment, for working with G&R, and life in general too I suppose." Rig explained as they started hooking straps onto the trailer's deck. "Okay, the rules are real easy. There's five of 'em, so not too many to remember. First, always mind your fingers and toes; watch where your body's at and what it's doing. Those boots of yours may stop a dropped hammer, but will not save you if that ten thousand gallon tank drops on your feet. If anything, the steel cap in your boots will just cut your toes right the hell off."
"I see." He said and felt himself pale a little at the thought of his toes being violently severed. "I'll remember that, what else?"
"Second is if it weighs more than ten pounds and it's going to fall, then just let it; don't be a hero. Third should be obvious: Never, ever, under any circumstances, stand under anything suspended, and be aware of your surroundings at all times. Fourth, always use your manly and out-door voice while on a job."
"If my foot is going to get smashed or toes cut off, you'd like to know right?"
"We generally appreciate some warning before you start screaming bloody murder, yes. Lastly, and very important, whenever you're climbing on something, hooking up or are in the air, maintain a minimum of three contact points at all times."
"Seems simple enough."
"Are you two done flirting?!" Tommy called from the boom truck's controls. "I'm all set whenever you are!"
"Okay! Naota, for now you'll help us get this tank centered on the trailer and strapped down." Rig pulled two heavy nylon straps from the truck's cab, each with a quick release carabiner, and clipped them onto the brackets in his belt.
"Hey, is this why they call you Rig? Those brackets?"
"Like a sailor in the topsails, swinging through the ships rigging…" Rig explained. "I've always loved high places, heights and falling don't bother me."
"Well you know, it's not the fall that kills you, but that sudden stop at the bottom."
"That may be…" Rig agreed as Tommy swung the boom around and dropped the main hook to the pavement so Rig could put his foot in it and be hoisted to the top of the tank. "But what a rush it could be on the way down."
. . .
"Hey there everyone tuning in! This's Beau's Beats Buffett! That's right, the Triple-B is back and better than ever. There's just too many good tunes out there to play just one set of the same-old, same-old. So I'm serving up as many as I can: Rad Rock 'n' Roll, Classic Country, and those Sweetly Soulful Rhythm and Blues. For appetizers today, let's hear all about those Rock 'n' Roll Hootchie-Koos."
We'd been makin' good time as we rolled down Highway 80. I'd been pointing out things to Naota as we went: where different towns were and the names of ones we went through, landmarks for reference points if he was lost and needed to get his bearings. He had dug out one of the many maps in the truck and was scanning it, checking our progress as I challenged him with questions.
"Okay, if you had to get home right now, what's the fastest way?"
"Uhh…turn around at the next exit, take eighty west, get off at exit sixty-two…"
"Ah, ah, ah! Stop cheatin'!" I looked over and saw him peekin' at the map. "Put down your crutch. Exit sixty-two…"
"Then ninety-nine south, right onto three-two-two to…Port Matilda…through Black Moshannon and into Philipsburg, left onto Presqueisle, down through Chester Hill, then home." He finished without the aid of his map. Naota sure was a quick study, which was making my job all that much easier.
"What if sixty-two's blocked, like for construction?"
"Keep going to one fifty-eight and south to US two-three-oh, then same as before."
"Ah, but you have to take a detour at Unionville, two-two-ought's blocked."
"Why's it blocked?" He asked, probably wondering if I was being serious or messing with him.
"Just is, don't matter why."
"Oh come on, now you're just trying to get me to mess up!"
"Okay, uh, you're…being chased by…agents of SPECTRE and…another pair of them cut you off at the intersection, forcing you to turn."
"Sooo…I'm James Bond now?" Careful Naota...
"Sure, why not?"
"Which Bond girl do I get?" Annnd…now we're into delusions of grandeur.
"Is it that important?"
"VERY…important." Well, if you say so…
"Fine…uh, what's her face…you get Ursula Andress; you're welcome."
"Okay, that works." Naota's a serious and down-to-Earth guy, eh George? Noooo…say it ain't so. "Turn onto PA-five-oh-four, follow it into Philipsburg, same again from there."
"Annnd, while we're out on a limb, suppose SPECTRE blew up the Walton street bridge?" Hey, it could happen. It's in the realm of possibilities.
"Hard left, get onto the Tyrone Pike, follow it to Church of Christ First, right onto Phoenix, then Rushtown Road annndd…left onto the main road and home."
"Very good, you have been paying attention." I congratulated, both Naota and myself. Part 1-A down, Part 1-B through F and then Part 2 through 10, also A through F, to go. Oh boy. At least the music was good.
Rock and Roll, Hoochie-Koo! (Rock and Roll, Hoochie-Koo!)
Lordy mama, light my fuse! (Light my fuse)
Rock and Roll, Hoochie-Koo! (Rock and Roll, Hoochie-Koo!)
Drop on out and spread the news...*
"Hey, I know I've been askin' you a ton of questions, so for a change of pace, here's another question. What exactly…is a Rock 'n' Roll Hootchie-koo?"
"Something…that if you were to spend the night with…" He slowly theorized. "You'll probably have to take pills to make the itching and burning stop."
"HA! That's a good one, sounds about right. Where'd you think that one up, doing stand-up in your spare time?"
"Nah. I just kinda hang out, play a lot of bass."
"Bass? Really…whattah yah got?"
"A Rickenbacker 4001, left handed and midnight blue…what about you?"
"Well…" I started off slowly. "I recently came into a fifty-six Gibson LP Standard. It's not playable at the moment." I explained, stating the most basic problem with my inherited heirloom. I'm not sure what, or who for that matter, happened to that guitar, but they did an absolute number on it. The internals alone were going to take a week to fix.
"That really sucks, having a guitar and not being able to play it. Can it get fixed?"
"Oh, I'll get it up and playing, don't you worry about that."
"How'd you come into an LP anyway?"
"My Dad." That was all I was going to say about it too. "So you said yours was a lefty…but you're right handed?" For my sake, I had to change the topic.
"Oh, I am right handed." He held up his hands to show off the callouses collected on his fingers. "It was pretty hard to play at first, but a lot easier actually than pulling a Hendrix and learning how to play it upside down."
"That'd be something to see, if you could pull it off. Know any good songs, or did you get those callouses playing scales?"
"Heellllll no! I know by heart: Money, Another one bites the Dust, Seven Nation Army, Cocaine, Sunshine of your Love, Smoke on the Water and Highway Star, Ramble On…" He got into full flow as he ticked off his personal set-list. George had said Kamon described Naota as 'down-to-Earth and serious.' He was certainly right about the serious when it came to him talking about music. He got this bright look that lit up his entire face, the pace of his speech quickened, he talked with his hands! That's always a good indicator when you've hit on something that they're really passionate about. "One of these Days, Mississippi Queen, annnnnd…that's about it."
"I gotta tell you Naota, it's really refreshing to meet someone with such excellent musical tastes, especially in this day and age."
"Do you too wish you could've been our age during the sixties and seventies too; to experience the music when it was fresh?"
"Hell yeah man! That's where it was at, real music, not this…peddled pop…shit."
"Hey, did you hear about…"
"Yo Rig, this's your conscience speaking." Tommy interrupted by calling in over the CB.
"Okay Conscience." I played along as I picked up. "What's the good word of the day?"
"The good word is left, as in you're gonna take the next one, that'll be the access road." In our talking, Naota and I hadn't been following along on the map and were already coming up on the job site.
"Roger that Conscience, any other pearls of wisdom?"
"Uhhh…yeah! You should really buy your cousin a double cheeseburger…and a coke too. It'll be, ah, good feng-shui, no, wait, Karma! Good Karma! It'll be good Karma, yeah."
"Well, Conscience, tell my cousin that he's a grown man who can buy his own double cheeseburgers." I joked as we made the turn off asphalt to bulldozed dirt. "How about that?"
"Nuh-uh, very bad. Not good. I see…a, shadow and imminent conflict in your very near future. Something from across the stars." Tommy could've been a real fortune teller if he wanted to. He had the drama and hyperbole nailed.
"I see…"
"No, I see. You, perceive, what I see." And now he's a philosopher too. Why must my relatives all be USDA certified nuts?
"Fair 'nough. Maybe if you gaze into your all seeing eye, it can find us one of those food trucks that hang 'roung gaswells and you'll get your cheeseburger there."
"Sounds like ah plan, mah man." The normal Tommy came back as we pulled into the marshalling and offloading area; a two hundred by two hundred yard pad of golf ball sized stones and filled with trucks of every shape, size, make and payload.
"Hop-to Naota, same's at Scomi's, but in reverse." I hopped out of the truck and looked around for a foreman. Naota joined me, he head on a neck craning swivel that contained owl-large eyes. "So…a natural gas drilling site…whattah yah think?"
. . .
Naota couldn't believe the scale of a natural gas drilling operation. It appeared to go on for miles, snaking its way through the forest, climbing ridges as bulldozers carved a quarter-mile wide swath to accommodate the operations. Every five hundred yards was another four acre patch that made up each drilling rig platform. Men in blue jumpsuits and yellow hardhats scurried about, their activity bordering on frantic. Each separate drill site reminded him of an anthill kicked open. Boom trucks, forklifts, bulldozers, backhoes, front-end loaders and dozens of other vehicles roared and rumbled by as the other semi-trucks offloaded everything from steel I-beams, fracking chemicals, to prefabricated worker barracks and everything in between. It was an overwhelming spectacle of industry and Naota found his mouth gaping in awe.
"Quite the sight, ain't it?" Tommy asked as they waited for Rig to get himself hooked up. "This's a small one. They just hit a potential pocket no more'n a month ago."
"All this in a month?" He looked around at the small city scratched into a remote mountaintop. "How? We had factories back in Mabase, but nothing to this scale in such a short time."
"Lots of frantic, nail-biting, worrisome months of planning, followed by twenty-four hour a day, back-breaking work." Tommy explained, then paused to spit tobacco. "Natural gas's this state's new coal. Everyone wants a slice, well, tank of it. Cheap, efficient, plentiful. People'll cross galaxies to get first crack at it."
"Galaxies huh?" Tommy's choice of word briefly stirred something in Naota's mind. "Like what, aliens or something?"
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Tommy grinned at him, that Carson gleam alit in his eyes. "Think of the odds. There are thousands of stars in the night sky, some of those are galaxies with millions of suns, with untold more planets orbiting them."
"I'm with you so far…what of it?"
"Well, what're the odds that, with potentially millions of planets, and the universe being billions of years old…what are the odds that only this…" Tommy picked up one of the stones they were standing on. "Little rock…" He held up the stone. "Out of allllll of these…" He gestured to the rest of the pad, covered in millions of similar stones. "Has life, intelligent or otherwise?"
"I guess the odds would be pretty slim to none." He answered and Tommy let the stone fall. "Makes you feel kinda small though."
"That it does." Tommy agreed and took a palm-sized metal tin from his pocket. By flicking his wrist, he gave it three sharp taps with his index finger. "But it also means that this planet isn't it. We're not done, we still have growing to do, exploration to undertake, and that's really something to look forward to, isn't it?"
"It really is. I mean, who knows what all could be out there?" It was a thought that had occurred to him many times, how he had never asked Haruko anything about her home planet. How far away was it? What was the climate like? Was the gravity more or less than Earth's? Where did she get her abilities, the bass, her Vespa and its capabilities? How many others like her were there, if any? Even how in the hell N.O. worked would have been a valid question; seeing she had opened an N.O. portal in his head. And while he was on that thought, of that portal, it had been absolutely devoid of activity since Haruko had left. Not one single protrusion, horn, a bump, a lump even. Nothing. But why?
. . .
"Very well then. Next item on the list?"
"Yes sir, the…" The young, bespectacled Aide shuffled his notes. "Earth, operation. A new tactic we're trying in light of recent shortages and events."
"Bring it up on screen please." One of The Board ordered. The Aide rearranged some data on his personal touchscreen and slid the relevant icon to splash across a wall-to-wall projection. A spinning, real-time Earth was displayed with its greens and blues, bullet points of operational details listed beside it.
"Ah, this one. We tried last in…what's that land mass?" Another Board member pointed with a hand-held laser. "This crooked shaped one here?"
"Japan sir, an industrial town called Mabase. It was very promising, an Activity Level of just nineteen percent and practically zero percent in probability of local pushback."
"That's the one where the GSPB and IIB, and Atomsk, screwed us, wasn't it?"
"Not entirely. They were, the GSPB and IIB involved and both sent agents. Atomsk was of course the operation's death knell, but the one who rang that bell was…" The Aide sifted aside Earth and brought up a grainy, static-fringed photo. "This boy. He was the one that this GSPB officer, Haruko Haruhara…" Another picture, her official GSPB academy graduation photo; red uniform, peaked hat and all. "Used to create an N.O. channel. His image was captured from one of our Assassin Class unit's live feed. It was defeated, along with all the others we sent to close the portal and ultimately to attempt activating the plant."
"Ahhhh…this kid." The Head of The Board sighed. "I remember him, that little shit. We're keeping tabs on him, yes?"
"Yes, but the IIB has been able to relocate him, most likely to the protection of an Overwatch unit."
"Overwatch? Didn't we just pummel a station of theirs not too long ago?"
"Yes sir. They did however, put up a tremendous fight."
"Bah, we won. End of story. Overwatch units are nothing more than their planet's collection of stupid hicks that don't know when to quit." The Head scoffed. "So we have two things on our plate. This new operation on Earth first. Where is it, what's going on?"
"It's located on a continent called North America, in a state called Pennsylvania. The area has an Activity Level of only eleven percent, but…"
"Eleven percent?!" Another Board member interrupted. "With an eleven percent rating, why didn't we just go to this, Pennsylvania first instead of screwing around in Japan?"
"Because the potential for organized and violent resistance from locals is significantly higher, about seventy five percent." The Aide explained. "Our operation is more likely to go undetected, but if it IS found out, blow-back from locals has the potential to be…disastrous."
"Then we'll just have to be very careful, won't we?" The Head asked as more of an order than a question, eliciting nods from all present. "Very good, now this…Nnnnaota? Nandaba, the kid from the Assassin's camera, with the portal. Suggestions? Thoughts?"
"Termination, immediately!" Was the first opinion offered and it was received with much fanfare, Board members cheering him on. "He's too much of a potential liability! A loose cannon portal, just running around unchecked?! And that's not even considering if the boy figures out how to…"
"Okay, you've made your case, settle down." The Head cut him off. "You didn't hear me arguing, did you? I agree. I actually spoke with the Security Council this morning; they've also taken a vested interest in this kid…know why? He scares them. They've never seen a channel so powerful. I only asked because I wanted your thoughts. And based on them, and the Security Council, I think termination's the only option." He turned to the Aide. "Send something through, something expendable but still can get the job done. See if the Industrial Section has anything they want to run a combat test on."
"Sir, shouldn't we just send an Assassin Class?"
"The thought occurred to me, but we don't know what is waiting on the other side. Best to send an affordable sacrifice as a scout. If it actually accomplishes its mission, all the better. Agreed?" The rest of The Board nodded in accord and The Head stood clasped his hands. "Very well! If that's everything…dismissed! Send that unit right away, let's not waste time."
"Certainly sir, I'm sending a message to the facility now." The Aide confirmed, typing away on his touchscreen. "There, it has been ordered and they're readying a unit for combat." The rest of The Board gathered their papers and documents, then filed out back to their respective offices.
"Excellent…excellent." The Head opened the shades to gaze down upon a metropolis of factories and manufacturing, spreading from both sides of his vision and all the way to the horizon. "I cannot, and thus, Medical Mechanica cannot, suffer a loose end to live."
. . .
"Hey, we're all done, so can you get everything put away and the boom secured?" I asked Naota as a loader whisked away the last centrifuge pump. "Tommy an' I gotta talk to the man in charge, we'll be right back."
"Sure, no problem!" Naota said and Tommy and I continued up the hill to the main office.
"Ah! Thomas! Jeff! Guten Tag! So very pleased to see you, come into ze air unt out of ze sun ja?" Mr. Dahl, a balding, middle-aged German with a keen mind, ice-blue eyes and the energy of a man half his age, greeted us at his office door. "Come, come! The cold ist escaping."
"Holy Man, it feels like a freezer in here!" Tommy said as Mr. Dahl sealed the icebox that was his office.
"Ja, but I'd rather be cold than varm. Zee mind ist like a computer, verks best vhen cool." Mr. Dahl explained and sat behind his desk. "So, vat brings ze Carsons to mein office? Something besides verk, I suppose?"
"Work, but not gas related. You contacted my Uncle George that you wanted to speak with us, something about a visitor?" I asked, getting to the real reason we were there.
"Ahhhh…ja, ja, I recall." Mr. Dahl tapped his temple and his smile fell. "Vee did haff a visitor, most curious."
"We're all ears Mr. Dahl." I said and took out the little book and I carry in my shirt pocket for notes. "Ready when you are."
"He vos dressed very conservative, all black; but with a white shirt. Black tie, hat, trousers, shoes, coat, suit unt glasses. Never I see his eyes…unt I cannot recall his face…"
"So what'd he want?" I asked as Tommy and I exchanged a worried glance; one of our bad dreams seemed like it might be coming to life.
"To buy everyzing. Mein land, mein verkers, mein equipment, unt mein company! He vas most insistent, made zees, zees…impossible offers! Too high to be true! I told him he vas, ah, verruckt! Unt told him to leave unt never show himself again. Know vat he said to zat?"
"I can only imagine."
"Zat he vould be back…unt!" Mr. Dahl's voice dropped to a whisper. "Unt I haff made zee greatest mistake off mein life!" He concluded with a dramatic flourish of suspense.
"…Annnnnnd…?"
"…Unnnnt…vat?"
"That's it?"
"Vat do you mean, 'Zat's it?'! I vos threatened!" Mr. Dahl's eyes popped wide as he tried to convince Tommy and I of his fears. I folded the notepad and put it back in my pocket, this was proving to be a dead-end. No offense at all to Mr. Dahl, his mind was as sharp as one of his rigs drills, but the Carson family is not oil and gas company police.
"Look, Mr. Dahl…" Tommy tried to put things as diplomatically as possible. "I don't think this is really anything to worry about. It was probably one of your competitors, or a plant from Greenpeace or one of those groups. What you and the rest of the drillers are doing isn't exactly popular with some people; y'all have a lot of enemies."
"Perhaps…" Mr. Dahl agreed after some thought. "But I do not like zee feeling off zat man. He had ah, evil cloud around him, he hass a bad soul."
"Uh-huh…well, let us know if he comes back or something does happen. We're short-staffed as is already, but will do what we can." Tommy said.
"It's not that we don't believe you…" I added as Mr. Dahl looked a tad let-down. "But until something actually happens or we have something physical to work with…"
"Ah, Herr Carson…your carbiner." Mr. Dahl interrupted and pointed at the carabiner on my belt above my left hip. Click! Click-clack! It pulled against the bracket, straining to move backwards towards the door. Ching! Cling-a-ling! The links on Tommy's wallet chain rang softly against each other in their own warning.
"Oh no." I turned to Tommy. "You don't think…"
"I sure's hell hope not."
. . .
Putting away the spreader cables and nylon straps had been easy, but securing the crane's boom was a little out of Naota's realm. Tommy had shown him the controls back at Scomi, but that was then and far between. He had been staring at the control panel and its many levers, afraid to pull the wrong one and break something.
"Need some help?" One of the passing workers offered his assistance. "I used to run one of these, once upon a time."
"Uhhhh…sure?" He said, unsure if it was okay for someone else to be at the controls. Then again, he didn't know the first thing about running the boom truck's crane, so he decided to trust the stranger's claim of experience. He tossed the spreader cables onto the truck's deck, then climbed up to pick them up and hang them on the rack bolted to the back of the truck's cab. As he stooped to pick up the cables, he violated Rig's Number Three Rule: Always staying aware of his surroundings. The man at the controls mixed up his levers and swung the boom hard to the side.
"Hey kid, look out!" He yelled but too late for Naota to even get out a 'Huh?' before the headache ball swung around and smashed him full in the face. The impact knocked him off the deck, sending him flying head-first through the air and onto the pad of stones for another jarring blow to his head. As his consciousness faded and he struggled to stay awake, he felt a pressure build from inside the cavern of his empty skull, a dull broad force that sharpened to a piercing needle point before bursting free from him; all horrifyingly familiar. With his vision going dark, the last thing he saw was a massive, red hand of wires, gears and metal working its way free from his head.
. . .
BANG! Something very expensive sounding smashed into some else expensive sounding as Tommy and I bounded back down the hill, Mr. Dahl in tow.
"Gott im Himmel! Vat vos zat?!" He yelled as the sound of the crash reached us.
"Something that can be replaced, probably!" Tommy answered and brought us to a temporary halt. "Mr Dahl, go back to your office and stay there. Get your workers out of this area and somewhere safe now!"
"But vat shall I tell zem?!"
"Training exercise, or a drill, that's the usual B.S. right?" I suggested.
"That'll work, do that." Tommy said.
"But, but I…"
"Dahl, we don't know what's down there…" Tommy said as there was another crash and a grating, screeching howl followed. "But whatever it is, Rig and I will deal with it. Best you can do to help is assure the safety of your workers."
"Very vell, I understand. But vat iff…?"
"And no, you didn't see or hear shit, and we were never here!" Tommy added as we started down again and Mr. Dahl returned to his office.
"So what's the plan Tom?" I asked as we sprinted back to the trucks and alarms started blaring.
"I thought you'd have one, since you're a full agent now and everything…" He managed to work in a joke. "We'll burn that bridge when we figure out what it is…ohhhhhh…fuck."
It, was, for starters, ten damn feet tall. A Medical Mechanica robot, no doubt, especially with 'M-M' painted in white, block letters across its chest. The rest of it was painted a glaring fire hydrant red. It was humanoid in form, if that human went on regular trips to the mountains to wrestle bears. It seemed to be built for hard, industrial labor with massive reinforcements at its joints, heavy hydraulic supports and added on plates around its head to protect the back of its neck from blows. It lacked the stereotypical TV-monitor head, either it never had one or it had been replaced with a small head with independently moving eyes for this mission. Luckily for us, it hadn't seen Tommy or me yet and was too busy lifting up tractor trailers to bother, probably looking for Naota.
Speaking of him, we found Naota passed out with a huge lump already beginning to form on his forehead, his cracked hard hat next to him on the stones. Tommy and I stopped to pull him under the boom truck's relative shelter. While I checked to see if Naota was still breathing, Tommy disappeared to the truck's cab. I looked up to the sound of thudding, stone-crushing footsteps to see the bot had spotted us and was on its way to say hi. I stood, lifted the back of my shirt and reached for the back of my belt…
"Don't you dare Rig!" Tommy came back, tossing me a tie-down rod; four feet of solid steel. He carried his personalized three-foot long crowbar, the letters "Attitude Adjuster" etched into it. "That's only for an absolute last resort!"
"Sorry Tom, but don't you think that!" I pointed at the robot, now fifty yards away and closing. "Warrant it?"
"Nah, we can take this thing man to man…er, man to bot." I didn't like the idea of having to fight hand to hand, but Tommy was the adult and senior agent, he knew, I hoped, what he was doing. We also had a standing policy from Command. If a Medical Mechanica bot is encountered in the field, our orders were to kill on sight. No bot is to walk freely or uncontested and we were to reduce every single one we found to a pile of scrap. "C'mon Rig, let's put this sick puppy down."
"Ooookay then. How about I go high and right, and you go low and left?" I steadied my grip on the tie-down bar as the bot took another step, shaking the ground with the force of its weight.
"Sounds kosher to me!" Tommy agreed. "Let's go!"
As we charged forward, the bot actually roared at us, something I'd never heard of them doing. The sound shivered my spine and physically shook me with its power, that deep screeching of metal on metal. It must have been a tactic to scare the hell outta its targets, and boy did it almost work! Seeing we weren't scared off, it seized a spare loader tire from the truck next to it, and tossed the five hundred pound tire at us with a flick of its wrist. Tommy and I split as the tire whipped by and began our first run.
"Go for its hydraulic lines!" Tommy ordered as he attacked the back of its right knee. He hooked into an exposed line, the sharpened teeth of the crowbars hook bit into the line and sliced it open. A high-pressure stream of green fluid began to spray from the gash, spattering in palm sized splotches across the stones. The bot turned and took a swing at Tommy, but its design and extra armor rendered it ponderous and slow. Tommy sprang backwards and narrowly avoided a coffee table sized fist that smashed a two foot deep hole in the stone pad.
As it lunged at Tommy, the bot's torso rotated and opened up its left armpit; a gaping hole of loose cables, wires and tubes. I plunged the bar's bent tip in a good foot or so a got a rewarding shower of sparks as its arm convulsed. Now the bot decided to take an interest in me, and as it turned left, the bar went with it. I clung onto the bar, hoping the bot wouldn't pull it free itself and use it to split my skull open…and that would be if I was so lucky. But my weight was enough for the bar to pull free and I scrambled to get out of its range again. It reached out an open hand, instead of splitting me open, it was going to squish my head like a grape between its fingers…no thanks! I took a swing at its fingers, knocking its hand off course and a few more swings bent its thumb backwards. With the bot distracted, Tommy had his new opening.
He waded into the fight again, ripping the first hose from its attachment points and cut another line. Now the rocks in our little arena were drenched in green fluid as the bot hobbled in a circle on its crippled leg. It focused on Tommy again, only to have its right leg buckle and its knee bend to thud into the rocks. I took some swings at its left shoulder, aiming for a gap between its neck and upper arm plates. I felt a tube, similar to your car's tie-rods, bend under the first few blows and finally break; the impacts sending tremors up my arms and stinging my hands. But now it couldn't raise its left arm, and hey, that's something.
With the bot fending me off and two of its limbs damaged, Tommy took a running leap onto its back. He began stabbing with the long end of his crowbar between armor plates, searching for the main hydraulic reservoir. He clipped a main line and started a geyser of fluid from the wound. The bot shook itself like a dog fresh out of water, throwing Tommy off. As it did, I got as close as I dared; right under the glare of its black-hole eyes. It's head was a mere bulky block, no mouth except for a mesh grille and two fist-sized eyes that whirred as they refocused on me. I picked the left one and stabbed the tie-down bar right into its eye. Its outer protective shell shattered and the whole eye component dropped out of socket, allowing the bar to slip further into its head. Grating howls blasted our ears, deafening us as it struggled to stay upright and online. As its fluid bled and bubbled out, it lost the pressure to hold position and collapsed forward; still trying to push with its good leg and arm. The bar pulled from my hands and hit the ground first, then the weight of the bot drove it through the rest of its head and out the back in a shower of mutilated parts. With a final burst of fluid and garble of fizzling static, then bot was finally Scrap.
"Holy shit Tom…" I gasped as I wrenched the bar free. My heart was crashing against my sternum, blood singing in my ears; my hands shook as adrenaline started to slowly ebb away. "Let's just shoot the damn thing next time eh?"
"We can't do that, you know the rules." He was taking a closer look at the bot, using his crowbars hook to move its limbs around. "This just turned out to be a bigger fight than I thought."
"It looks like an Industrial Model, but they gussied it up some and gave it some mods to press it into frontline service." I checked its head, giving it another series of good hits to make sure it was down. "Huff…huff…So, it looks like M-M's getting' really desperate if they're sending their mothballs out to fight."
"Mmmm…" Tommy shook his head and headed for the boom truck.
"Mmm? What?"
"They are desperate, but not too much yet. They're using their resources of good units sparingly and carefully."
"I…don't follow?"
"This was just a test Rig." He said, tossing his crowbar into the truck and started the crane. "They were checking Naota's portal and what might be on this side of it. That's why we couldn't shoot the bot…"
"Because that could give us away as Overwatch, or something right?" I asked and Tommy nodded. "Their bots have live-feed cameras, I forgot about that."
"It's that thinking a little farther ahead Rig." He said. Then I knew why George had sent Tommy along. I would've just opened fire, probably getting myself killed or at least given myself away as an agent of some sort. "You have to consider more than just the immediate situation."
"Easy for you to say, with fifteen years of experience…" I grumbled, annoyed how I was getting a lecture after just having helped take down an M-M bot. Give a guy a break huh?
"Don't you get fuckin' lippy with me. I'm not patronizing you." He said as we hoisted out newest hunk of killer metal onto the boom truck's deck. "I'm trying to help you think ahead and not just react to things as they happen. That pride and gung-ho of yours is great right up until it gets your skull smashed in."
"Alright, alright." I agreed, just stung that I hadn't thought of the live feeds; I should have been on top of that! "But hey, at least we killed it right?"
"Yes, and without gun or guitar, so be proud of that." He allowed as we covered the bot with tarps and strapped them and it down.
"Do you think we passed or failed M-M's test of Naota's portal?" I asked while we carried him, still alive by the grace of all things holy, and strapped him into the Kennworth.
"I'm not sure." Tommy admitted. "If they just wanted to test the connection, they've done that. If they're trying to kill him, well…then this ain't over. They'll send A LOT more, and they'll be dedicated, purpose built for the job."
"Are…you sure?" I asked, a small prickle of fear in my spine. This bot had nearly killed me, and it was just a sacrificial lamb to test the damn connection?! What were they going to send next, if they really were trying to kill him? I needed a plug to calm down and hurriedly packed my lip full.
"Welcome to Overwatch Rig, welcome to my life, George's and your Dad's. Scary as fuck, ain't it?"
"Uh-huh." I barely got out, having used too much tobacco in one plug. Nervous habits yah know.
"Hey, don't get an ulcer worrying over it. We've dealt with M-M before by just taking things one thing at a time; it's the only way we can. For now, let's just get Naota somewhere to get checked out."
"Right, right. Let's…yeah…" I started for the truck, feeling suddenly whoozy.
"Rig, hey bud. Are you okay? You seem a little more shaken up than I'd thought you'd be."
"Sorry, it's just…I mean, I almost got crushed Tom. That's a lot to take in, I mean, it's never exactly happened to me before. In the moment, I didn't think of it, but now…whoooo…"
"Breathe…breathe…" He put his arm across my shoulders and walked me the rest of the way to the truck, helping me to calm down as my heart rate normalized. "I know it's real scary, I know it's terrifying, I know some of the best agents would have shit themselves today seeing what you did. But you didn't, and did just fine, so just breathe and concentrate on the task at hand. One thing at a time man."
"Right. Naota, hospital, hasta pronto." I breathed, the shaking in my hands finally subsiding.
"That's it. Now let's get going. I'll call Mr. Dahl on our way and explain what he has to do to cover…this…" He waved his arm across the pad, encompassing over turned trucks and the kicked up stones from our fight. "Up. Your job until we get to the hospital, is to figure out what to say to Naota when he wakes up."
"Ohhhh…crap. Debriefing. That's gonna be real fun huh?"
"We'll have plenty of time on the road for you to think of something witty." With a mission in mind, we put pedals to the floor and left before anyone could stumble along and start asking questions. That may make things confusing for the site workers, but that fell on Mr. Dahl to explain away. He was a clever man though, I wasn't worried about him. My worries consisted instead of getting the bot home so we could start having all kinds of fun with it, but most importantly, checking out the head it had crawled out of. I felt all kinds of bad about how the day had gone, even though I couldn't control when M-M sent something through Naota's head. My job was ensuring his well-being at all times, and it felt like I had failed a little in that, since I had to strap him into his seat with bungee cords to keep him upright and his head from lolling off. Man, I really hoped he was okay.
. . .
Songs:
*Rock and Roll (Hootchie-Koo) - Rick Derringer
So what did you think? If you read the first iteration of this story, you'll notice I added a scene or two. Hopefully they added to the tale and made things both a little clearer and more interesting. If you think so, or don't, either way, let me know with your reviews. Thanks again for reading!