Alive! He's alive! He's...ALLIIIIVEEE! Whoa man, has it really been nearly two months since I updated? Well shoot, I'm awful sorry about that. During May I was lucky enough to vacation in Ecuador, an experience I highly recommend! But that means that month was shot for writing. June has been the busiest I've ever been at work, there were a few 50 hour weeks so writing took a back seat to getting up, going to work, and going back to bed haha! Anyway. You're not here to listen to my problems, you're here to read! And read you shall, the latest installment of Fooly-Cooly, a-la Pennsylvania. After a week of writers block in early June, I suddenly felt this surge of motivation come out of the ether. Hopefully it was as good in quality as it was in productivity, read on and let me know!
. . .
"How's the shoulder?" Rig asked, indicating for Naota to turn around. He did, and lifted up the back of his shirt.
"I dunno, how do you think it looks?"
"Sssssswwhhheeeewww….ouch." Rig whistled as he took in the spiderwebbed pattern of scabbed over, inflamed and tender in places, cuts from a pickup truck's windshield. They were remnants of Naota's battle with Medical Mechanica's Scorpion unit. A week and a half later it was still bothersome to sleep on his back, and bending too much at the waist risked pulling the cuts open. "That's all kinds of an ugly wound. What 'bout you, Mizz Haruko?"
"See for yourself." She pulled up the tail of her shirt, revealing skin marked by a collage of blacks and blues, splotched dark purple and encircled with sickly yellow. The bruises ran across her back from hip to hip, and from her beltline to halfway up her spine. The Scorpion's tail had left its own marks on her too. "Whaddah yah think? Prettly gnarly huh?"
"I think it's 'mazing your vertebrae didn't get powdered." Rig commented while Haruko and Naota compared their battle scars. "And how you're not in the hospital with a hardware store's worth of screws, pins and plates bolted to your spine."
"Heh, I've always landed on my feet." She let her shirt fall, then leaned to pull her guitar from the truck. Mindlessly strumming the bass portion, she added their past three days had been THE MOST boring she'd ever had to suffer.
"Why's that?" Rig put his weight against one of the office's columns. "I thought you and Naota being alone in a truck all day would be entertainment enough. Can't please some people…"
"Because…Craig's deviated from his usual habits." Naota began, flipping through his own pocket notebook Rig had given him. He swore Rig had to have a desk drawer full of them. "Instead of trying to screw every female in town, and damn is he trying, he just…hung out."
"Hung out?" One of Rig's eyebrows went up. "W'all…that's not illegal; far's I know. When? Where? How long? With who?"
"That's the thing I can't figure out. He was parked in the mall, in front of Sarina's. And he just…watched traffic. For hours." It was the strangest behavior they had seen out of Craig, and that was saying something. On the west side of Philipsburg, past the M4 Sherman tank war memorial that guarded uptown, was a row of gas stations, an auto parts dealer, an old hotel, the McDonalds, the strip mall with Sarina's at its end; closest to the Bigler Highway and where the railroad crossed it. It was at this bustling intersection Craig had stationed himself to watch the endless stream of tractor trailers, natural gas tankers and coal trucks. He appeared to be taking notes, but the only signs of life were occasional puffs of vaporizer fumes rolling out his car's windows.
"Uh-huh…" Rig was copying Naota's notes into his own pocket notebook. "That is weird. I'm not sure what can be made of it; if anything."
"I just wanna know when I get to bust this guy's ass." Haruko had kept her peace 'till now. "I mean, hanging out with you's super exciting and all…" She gave Naota her best sly smile, sticking her tongue out at him for good measure. He knew she must've been bored to tears sitting in the truck for hours on end. "But I think we've got enough to go on, bring him to the table."
"Ehh…that ain't gonna be enough." It was closing time at the shop. Josh, Mike and Johnny waved their goodbyes and drove off, all headed for home. Watching them leave, Rig elaborated. "What've you got? Some pics of him outside some girl's houses, just neckin'. Not exactly a gentlemanly thing…"
"But not illegal either." Naota realized what Rig was driving at. "We actually have to catch him doing something illegal."
"Ahhh yep. That'd be the size of it."
"Whatever he's gonna do, he'd better get a move on." Haruko grumbled, then struck a bum note on the bass half. "Then again…if he's doing observation on traffic, he's plotting a move. To do what, I'm not sure…but sommmeeethingg…definitely something…"
"Sure 'bout that?"
"You seem pretty confident about that."
"Oh Rig, and Naota, silly boys." She held up her left head, her N.O. detector rattled slightly on its bracket with a delicate tingle. "I'd bet this little guy that Craig's up to no good, right this very second."
. . .
"Okay, let's see…" Craig Kauffman was indeed up to, well, something anyway; math to be specific. "Axle's about six inches across, roughly, nineteen-ish in circumference; so nineteen inches per rotation. The truck's wheels are around two feet across, that'll be…twelve and a half feet. Putting that aside for a moment." He shifted his paper and started a new column. Math and computers had always been Craig's forte. Breaking his back, or a sweat even, as a miner or roughneck didn't suit him. A customized deck chair in a climate controlled office with his choice of secretaries to flirt with was more his style.
"Speed limit's thirty miles an hour, and I want thirty seconds of delay. That's…a quarter of a mile; one thousand, three hundred and twenty feet. Divide that by twelve and a half, one-oh-five-point six. Rounding up to one hundred and six rotations. Times that by nineteen inches, two thousand and six, and point four, inches. Divide by twelve…one hundred sixty seven, make it one hundred seventy to be safe. Okay." Craig finished his math and turned to the wooden crate sitting on his bed. "I need one hundred and seventy feet on line. No problem; easy-peasy."
. . .
Atomsk wasn't sure what had roused him from sleep. He'd awoken as if shocked, eyes snapping open. Blinking in the absolute dark of his coal-walled hiding place, he sniffed at the small breeze wafting from the entrance. It had the beginning wiffs of rising tension. Topside, all was still mostly well; but something was slightly…off.
'It's like the first drop of a storm, one that arrives much too early. Instead of being heeded as a warning, it's not even minded; if noticed at all.' Feeling sleep creeping upon him again, he refolded his wings and settled back into repose. 'But then again…I have been wrong before. Perhaps this is one of those times?'
. . .
'Uh-huh…yeeeppp…yessir…mmm-hmm…just another day in the life…another chapter in the saga that is Naota Nandaba. Wasting my days, my youth, my good looks, vigor and stamina, wasting away in the Peeble's parking lot. Sitting here, watching the sexual Energizer Bunny of Philipsburg sit in his car and eat McMuffins. Why? I shall tell you. Because, for some odd reason, I've convinced myself that he's working for Medical Mechanica…what the hell's wrong with me?'
It was five 'till nine in the Peeble's department store parking lot, across the way from the McDonalds. Craig was parked next to the play area, polishing off his second sandwich and sipping coffee. It was so boringly normal that it was even beginning to get under Naota's skin. Just what in the hell was Craig doing, was he waiting for someone, something…anything?...AAARRRRGGGGHHH!
"I spy…with my little eye….sooooooooommmmmmmething…." Haruko wiggled and fidgeted in her seat, gazing 'round and 'round to find the most obscure object in her vision. "Something…green."
"Is that what we've come to? I Spy?"
"Got any better ideas?"
"Sitting quietly, reflecting on the troubles plaguing the world today, contemplating the meaning of life, quietly?"
"Or, or…I could practice my singing."
"Please no."
"He-hem. Heh-HEM! Sssllluuuaaagghhhh…ahem."
"What're you doing? Really, please don't."
"Me-me-me-me-ME-Me-meeeee…."
"So, something green eh?"
"Green. Yes, something green."
"Alright…animal, plant, or a mineral?" While he aimlessly looked for something green, he spotted something red. Large, lumbering on ten wheels with the option for four more, and red. A Pike Natural Gas Co. tanker truck pulled off the Bigler Highway and into the McDonald's lot; in the spot right next to Craig. Now the smaller car was blocked from view by the massive truck. The driver hopped down from the cab and jogged inside the restaurant.
"Hey, we've lost our line of sight." Naota nudged a dozing Haruko.
"He hasn't driven off, has he?"
"No…" He picked up his own new pair of binoculars and put them to his eyes. "But I can't see what he's doing either."
"Here comes the driver, we'll be clear in a minute." The truck's driver walked out, coffee in one hand, bag of breakfast in the other. He climbed back into his truck, started up and turned back onto the highway with a new shadow. A few seconds later, Craig had followed suit and maintained a ten car distance from the truck.
"Now this's interesting." Haruko had the camera up and ready, just in case. "The Followed becomes a Follower himself; Hunted becomes the Hunter."
"Think he's following the Pike truck? Seems the least likely; he worked for Mister Dahl remember?" Naota had started up their own truck and they too were now in traffic, five cars behind Craig. "Could just be a coincidence?"
"Well, I mean, yeah, that could be. But you gotta admit that…Oh-ho-ho-holy shit!" Just one hundred yards ahead of them, the truck's cab began throwing showers of sparks from underneath it, white-hot lights that bounced across the pavement that were followed by a growing billow of flames that engulfed the entire cab. The driver, his vision obstructed by fire and smoke, swerved off the road and buried the truck nose first in the ditch. A smoking and screaming figure ejected itself from the truck, sprinting for the opposite side of the road through four packed lanes of rush hour traffic, waving his arms and bellowing the entire way.
"RUN! RUN! RUN GODDAMMIT!" He pleaded, now climbing the hill behind the strip mall. Naota took the advice, stomping on the gas and swung the truck around, then cut across traffic and fled back into the mall's parking lot. He wasn't alone, leading the pack of everyone with the presence of mind to put as much distance between them and the burning truck as possible. Feeling relatively safe enough, he stopped and opened his door to stand in the cab and look back. All that could be seen of the truck was now a raging pyre that belched a tarry black plume into the sky.
"Man, I hope the fire department gets here soon." He said, the entire truck and its tank were now charred black by the heat. "Are you getting this?"
"All on tape, we are live from P-Burg yo." Haruko had the camera in video mode, resting it on the truck's roof. "By-the-by, nice reaction time when the truck caught fire. You spun us right round in the middle of traffic and didn't even scratch the paint."
"Huh, I did, didn't I? Hadn't even noticed…" After the recent attempts on his life, it seemed a preemptive sense of self-preservation instince had finally kicked in. If only Haruko'd had the camera running in traffic, that would've been pretty damn cool. "It's funny how that works, when you do something cool and you don't even notice."
"Psshhhh…Nao' please." She gave him an unconvinced side-stare, eyebrows disappearing under her own G&R hat. "And you say I haven't changed. Still convinced you're Mr. Ice Cold, too cool for school?"
"Whaaat? Me? No, I…" His defense was interrupted by a brilliant flash, a grey line of an incoming shockwave rushed past them and shook as the truck as it went by, followed immediately by an eardrum rupturing BBBBOOOOOMMMMmmmm… The tanker truck had finally boiled over, pieces of it now rained down on the parking lot as flaming, metallic hail; starting even more fires as some of the cars within the fallout zone were torched by red hot debris.
"Uh. Hey, Naota." Haruko began scanning the area, climbing into the truck's bed for a higher view. "I'm gonna ask what sounds like a stupid question…"
"Uh-huh?" He said, reaching for his ringing phone. Everyone in the county must have heard the explosion; and it was surely someone from G&R on the other end demanding to know what had just blown up. "What's that?"
"Do you see Craig anywhere?"
"Ohhhh…goddammit." In all the chaos, and now the fog of smoke smothering the area, Craig had made his getaway.
. . .
'Man, would you look at that…what a blaze…' Craig admired his handiwork from afar. He found himself transfixed as the fires grew, cars in nearby lots blazing fiercely, the woods along the ditch and across the railroad were beginning to catch, black as death smoke roiled up the hillside against a fore-front inferno of reds, yellows, orange and copper; greedily devouring, melting and scorching. His reverie was broken by the passing fire engines, their sirens and bells snapping him from his live action fantasy.
'And there goes the Buzzkill Squad. But hey, if they wanna put out fires for a living, I'll make sure they stay in a job.' He restarted his car, watching with a smug grin as the trucks slowed to cross an intersection. 'You'd better watch yourselves, foreplay's over.'
. . .
"Fire crews have determined the cause of the natural gas tanker explosion in Philipsburg. The incident took place during rush hour, just two days ago. They discovered trace signatures of thermite, a compound typically used by the military for sabotage, or metal workers and demolition crews for cutting of structural supports. Because of the fire and explosion, investigators cannot be completely sure of how the initial fire was started. Their theory is someone secured a device to the truck in proximity to its fuel tanks, and either remotely detonated it or used a cable attached to an axle to pull a pin, or ignite a fuse to set off the main charge. Police are treating this case as criminal and will be launching an investigation. Charges could include, and are not limited to: arson, sabotage, destruction of private and public property, manufacture of an explosive device, use of illicit explosive, theft of explosive material, malicious mischief, and attempted murder if that is found relevant. Currently the police have not named any suspects, but are looking into persons of interest. Anyone with potential leads is urged to contact the Philipsburg Police Department, the Clearfield County Sheriff's Office, the Pennsylvania State Police, or Crime Stoppers, to leave an anonymous tip. That's all for our local news, and here's Mike with an update on the presidential election debates…"
. . .
"George. Thomas. Jeff." Mr. Welshman greeted the three Carsons. It was the dead of Monday night at the Welshman Mining Company employee cafeteria. Built to seat shifts on one hundred workers at a time, all five hundred and seventy three had crammed themselves inside. The ranks present ran the gamut from supervisor and foremen down the ladder to the janitorial staff. "Who's gonna be doing the talking?"
"I will. Most of it anyway." Tommy answered. He held no flashcards, no notes in his hands, and had not asked for a projector and screen. "Where's the best spot to stand?"
"Over there, on top of the front table." Mr. Welshman directed. "You need anything, all set?"
"Just your men's attention is all." Tommy smiled. "I'm ready whenever they are."
"Alright then." Mr. Welshman climbed onto one of the tables, hooked his pinky fingers into the corners of his mouth and gave a sharp whistle. At their Boss's signal, all chatter immediately ceased and all eyes turned front and center. Mr. Welshmans's personality may be best described as 'prickly', but his men heeded him when he spoke.
"Listen up! Now, we all told our wives that this was a mandatory safety meeting. You all have probably figured out that's really not why we're here. Before we get into this, it should not need mentioning, but not a word, of what gets said here, leaves here. No tellin' your old lady, your drinkin' buddies, not even the Priest at confession. If he don't ask, you don't have to tell. Does anyone have a problem understanding that?" No hands were raised. "Good. And, if anyone turns into a Chatty Cathy, they and I will have a chat of our own in my office with the door locked. Is this all abundantly clear?"
"Yes, Mister Welshman!" The crowd rumbled in well-practiced unison.
"Well Tommy…they're all yours."
"Thank you Mister Welshman." Tommy took Mr. Welshman's place on top of the table. After a quick survey of his audience, he cleared his throat and began to talk.
"Good evening everyone. Most of you know my family name, but for those unfamiliar, I am Tommy Carson, this is my father George, and my cousin Jeff. The reason we've asked you to give up your Monday evening is not for scheduling the Christmas part or any of that sensitivity training. It does however, relate to your safety, and the lives and well-being of everyone you hold dear." With those opening remarks, Tommy had every ear in the room tuned solely to him. "With that in mind, and before we go on, please know this. If, at any time, you feel uncomfortable or want to leave, right now if you want, you are not obligated to stay. Most of what I am going to say is going to upset you. This is purely on a voluntary basis. If there are no complaints…then I'll dive right in." No hands were raised at this time either, and no one vacated the room, so Tommy pressed on.
"You have been approached by your supervisor, or Mr. Welshman personally, about something that you probably have trouble believing. Yes, that's right. I'm talking about the Aliens, about Medical Mechanica." A series of quiet murmurs swept across the hall. Each man turned to his neighbor, asking if he'd had the same conversation, and if so, could the story really be true? They had no reasons to doubt the words of their foremen, of the Boss himself, but it seemed much too outlandish to be real. Tommy waved his hand for quiet.
"I know this raises a lot of questions, so I'll try to preemptively answer as many as I can. First, no, this is not a joke, no we are not taking any drugs, and we do not possess a single tin-foil hat. George, Jeff, myself, and those that work with G&R Fab are part of a global, and interplanetary network called Overwatch. It was set up to act as a defensive, reactionary force to detect, contain and eliminate covert Medical Mechanica takeovers of planets. We are independent of the government, except for a select few in the Black Operations community. The U.N., not even the president himself, knows we even exist. We do this to prevent leaks and inciting panic. Our numbers are relatively few, and we call upon the co-inhabitants of our planets for aide when the need arises. We're not some Agenda Twenty-One, New World Order, take-over-the-planet buncha Bond villains; we're on your side and want to help you help yourselves. I realize I just threw a lot at you, so let's stop for a moment and take a few questions. Honesty's the best policy, we don't want anyone feeling lied to. So, who has a question?" Every single hand in the room shot up. Tommy's eyes went wide at the sea of raised arms. "Oooookaaaayyy…right. Let's see…Rig, put your hand down. Uh…" Tommy recognized someone in the front row. "Baker! What's on your mind?"
"Okay, so…what exactly, IS Medical Mechanica?"
"A good question, with no good answer. Here is what we know. They are a manufacturing conglomerate of anything under the suns, but deal primarily in military and defense; large robotic fighting units are their specialty. It is their business to arm, defend and expand the influence of their sister planets; all part of a group calling themselves 'The Red Star of The Solar Federation'. M-M's primary weapon, their big gun, is what we call an Iron; and is really the reason we're here. Yes, Wooten?"
"What do, Irons, do?"
"Let's put a pin in that one, we'll get to it in a moment. Everyone's heard what happened to Roman's and what happened to Mister Roman himself? All those stories and rumors? How they've sealed it off, that a new paramilitary security force is running things now?" Heads in the room nodded. The Rumor Mill had been working overtime, theories were running rampant; especially when the reports that a gun battle had been overheard on the grounds. But they all agreed on one thing, and that was all was not well within those company gates. "That is all because Roman's is now Medical Mechanica's newest branch office."
This caused the largest discomfort so far, seven men stormed out. After a few moments, ten more followed. The rest, although shifting nervously, remained. Morbid curiosity bound them in place trying to guess what could possibly come next. Finding his voice, a miner called out from the middle of the crowd. He asked why they should care, what the big deal was.
"I mean, what're they gonna do? Take over the world or something? Hey, the government already listens to our phone calls, reads our emails and generally treats us like shit already…so how would this be any different?"
"I was hoping you'd ask." Tommy nodded at Wooten from earlier. "This's where your question about the Irons comes in. And again, if anyone wants to leave, you're not obligated to stay. This'll be really uncomfortable to hear."
"Then stop pussin' 'round about it and just say it! We're not a bunch of social justice warrior cunts!" Someone in the crowd yelled out. "We can take it!"
"Alright. Whooo…The reason you should care, is because if Medical Mechanica takes over, every single one of us in this room is a dead man walking. And that would be the good news."
"That's the good news?!"
"We've seen this happen one too many times, both through observations and spies that have been smuggled onto planets under M-M control." Tommy paused to uncap his tobacco tin, dip, chew, and spit into the trashcan at the table's end. "Here's how it'll go down. They will activate their Iron, which sends out some sort of waves or pulses, we don't know how they work. These waves or pulses will turn ninety percent of people's brains into grey pudding. They'll be alive, can walk and talk, follow simple directions, but will have no will of their own. It'll be a planet of mindless drones. The few unaffected will be quickly hunted down by M-M's military, and after a meager resistance, be killed. Now, I said we'd all be dead men walkin'. That's because every military aged male sixteen and up will be executed. We will be considered too great of a potential risk and have to be eliminated. Most of the women, those past child bearing age, will go the same way. After that, we can only hazard guesses, but our suspicions are well founded. They will start stripping the planet for its resources, think strip mining on a global scale. And they really like planets like ours for our water. This will be amplified using the planet's population as slave labor, working each generation 'till death. The lucky ones, if you can call it that, will be some of the later generations born under M-M's rule. They will have no knowledge of the past, and will be groomed as new followers of The Red Star of The Solar Federation. They will become the new soldiers, the bureaucrats, doctors, engineers, lawyers, they will be model citizens. The idea will be to use them as minders of their own species, to make M-M's management work easier. These generations will happily, willingly and loyally to the pain of death, protect, love and serve the organization that murdered their ancestors and destroyed their planet. And that, my fellow Pennsylvanians, is why you should care."
Sccrrrraaaaapppeee…ssccrrrrrrraaaapppee…ssccrrraaaapppeeeeee…th-thud, th-thud, th-thud…creeeeaakkk…BANG! That was the sound of a miner pushing back his chair, standing and pushing the chair back in. Then, the dense footfalls of metatarsal boots echoed off the concrete floors. Lastly was the door rasping open and then slamming shut behind the miner as he reached his limit. This pattern was repeated forty times. Each departee was silently watched by a crowd struck dumb by the new paradigm.
Extermination. That's essentially what it would be for them, the miners realized. They would be lead off to gas chambers, or incinerators, or meat grinders to become Soylent Green, a pre-dug mass grave, or simply machine gunned down in an open field and left to rot. The means didn't really matter since the end was all the same. But that paled next to what would come after they were gone.
Their thoughts leaped to the tiny pictures in their wallets. Screensavers on their phones and computers. Some had folded up drawings of scribbled crayon, kept in sealed plastic bags and stowed in shirt pockets or the liner or a hard hat. Most drawings showed a cube shaped house, hash-drawn grass and a stick figure family next to crooked letters spelling: I love you Daddy! Be safe!
What a future for their children, let alone the human race. Daughters bred to churn out new workers. Sons possibly digging coal like their fathers before them, but for all the wrong reasons. Not to provide a better life for their family, but as a slave to fuel a machine that had put the chains on him to begin with. And then, the nerve, the gall, the fucking twisted sadism of taking a child and raising it to blindly serve the monsters that had murdered its ancestors. Even going as far as installing them as overseers of their fellow humans; the slaves minding the slaves so that master's work was all the easier.
But there still lingered doubts, fear still gnawed at their otherwise bold hearts, hesitation held normally outspoken tongues. Why them, why would anyone reveal this truth to them? And if they were to fight back for their survival, was there even a minuscular chance of them succeeding?
"So why us Carson?"
"Why not you?" Tommy tossed the question back. "You're strong and fit from twelve hour shifts. You have practice mastering fear and working under extreme duress by crawling into the crushing womb of the Earth; with nothing but a respirator and a flashlight at times. You all know these mountains, their every hidden secret. You know the twists and turns of the roads and two-tracks, every face, building, and brick in your towns. Every fall you practice patience and stealth, creeping through the rhododendron and mountain laurel for that one perfect shot at a deer; and will sit for hours in blowing snow with numbing fingers to ensure that shot. Your family trees are as bloodstained as mine. Your ancestors and mine fought for this country's independence in The Revolution, then again to keep its sovereignty in The War of Eighteen Twelve. A third time to keep the country from ripping in half during The Civil War. Our grandfathers and great grandfathers fought and helped defeat twice, one of the best militaries on the planet. Does the same blood flow in you that flowed and stained the slopes of Blair Mountain?!"
A few more men had quit the room, but the five hundred even that remained nodded in great enthusiasm. Intrigue had turned to fear, morphed to dread, manifested itself as anger, then whipped up by Tommy's rhetoric became a white-hot rage. Where the FUCK, did this Medical What's-it's-shit, get off thinking they could just up and invade their planet; sneaking and spying and using some cowardly mind control instead of conquering the old fashioned way. Man-to-man. In fact, many of them were remembering a shotgun in their closet or a family hunting rifle over the mantle, and were of half a mind to drive up to Roman's right that moment and reenact that Battle of Blair Mountain with a modern day twist.
"Then why don't we just go and kick their fuckin' asses right now?!" This shouted demand was accompanied by cheers and hollers. "I ain't gonna be lead willingly into some gas chamber, and I'll be dammed if my kids spend so much as a single minute as slaves."
"That…now that…Mister Hauck…is exactly the kind of enthusiasm we want to hear." George now spoke, his task made much easier by Tommy's dramatic opening. "That enthusiasm, but we gotta temper it a bit, 'cause I guarantee if all of us headed for Roman's right now, we'd never make it. The State Troopers, the Sheriff and deputies, and the local P.D.'s would meet us halfway through Black Moshanon, and we wouldn't get out of those woods alive."
"Wait, so the cops are with these M-M guys too?!"
"We don't have a picture of them shaking hands, but historical precedent screams a solid yes." George answered and a series of angry murmurs crossed the crowd.
"Motherfuckers…I fuckin' knew it…"
"Sooo…what then?" Another miner piped up. "If the cops aren't on our side, what're our odds? Do we even have time to figure that, or some sort of plan, out?"
"Actually, time is something that's on our side. Jeff, if you would?" George indicated to the table. Jeff took a silver disk from his pocket and laid it on the table, pressing the button at its center. Bl-blip! The disk chirped as it started up, displaying a six foot tall, living color holographic display of the Iron at Roman's Mine. Jeff took the table this time, slipping on a pair of gloves with inlaid wires across the palms, inside the fingers and ending in pads at his fingertips.
"Alright gennellmen! If you'll lend me your attention…" Jeff clapped his hands together, then flung them apart to scale up the Iron to twenty feet tall. Now everyone including those in the back could see. "It's my turn. This is Medical Mechanica's railroad gun, their Little Boy, their B.F.G. for you Doom players…an Iron; or what will someday become one. Right now, it's only a partial skeleton frame, and that's a good thing because it means we still have time." Jeff folded his hands together, collapsing the Iron and its cavernous hideaway upon itself. Spreading his arms wide, the entirety of Roman's Mine was rendered in vivid color, those in the front row could make out individual trees and tire tracks in the hologram. "This is a compilation of pictures I've taken over the past week and a half, all to make this model. What you can see, is a series of new buildings here, here, and here, but also a fully functioning mine. M-M can't bring all their resources with them. They need coal, natural gas, iron and carbon for steel, water and other resources; all that Roman's and…" Jeff clapped his hands twice, the pulled them apart, fingers splayed out. Roman's shrank and disappeared into a top-down view of the surrounding counties. A circular ring of brightly colored areas stood out against the green of trees; seven areas in fact. "All seven other major operations, being Solomon, King, Voyze, Pike, Chartier, and your very own Welshman have in common. And, what's worse, is since you're practically neighbors of Roman's, I expect you'll be next on their list. Think the E.P.A. and Greenpeace is bad? A genocidal juggernaut, coming soon to a work site near you! But that begs the question: who are Medical Mechanica, specifically?"
"You mean, like, the soldiers?"
"Exactly!" Jeff collapsed the satellite view, then knelt to place his right hand on the disk. "And here's one now!" Pinching his thumb and index finger together, Jeff pulled a Medical Mechanica Marine helmet first from the disk, then lightly placed him at his side. At five foot, six inches tall, clad head to toe in his ballistic plates and armor, armed with FN SCAR-H and Five-Seven, face obscured by goggles, respirator and helmet, the life-like apparition cause a few chairs to screech backwards.
"Whoa, whoa, hey! I know he looks spooky, but let's see what we're dealing with. He doesn't have some storm trooper blaster, or vortex cannon, just an FN SCAR-H and Five-Seven pistol. He doesn't have any portable force-field or plasma shield, just your unremarkable ballistic plates outside a suit of soft Kevlar armor. His average height is a good three inches shorter than yours…" Jeff walked around the M-M Marine, pointing out weak points in the seemingly impenetrable shell of intimidation. "Specially designed lenses on his goggles so our Sun's wavelengths of UV radiation don't roast his eyeballs in their sockets, and finally, a constantly affixed respirator because they're unaccustomed to our atmosphere."
"Wait, so if we rip their respirators off…they can't breathe here?"
"Most likely. The atmospheres on their planets and ours aren't perfect matches. Until they are here long enough to adjust, if they can at all, they have to filter our air." Jeff explained and that little sliver of information seemed to have a profound effect on the miners. So, the monsters weren't so terrifying after all, they weren't towering ten foot tall behemoths, and couldn't even handle Earth's air. Maybe, just maybe, they thought, there was a chance after all.
"As we sit here, there's roughly a thousand of these schmucks hanging out on our turf. I want you to know they're beatable, but to keep some realism in mind. These guys are well trained, well disciplined, have some of the best equipment money can buy, are shoveled supplements and genetic modifications at first and second breakfasts, elevensies, lunch, tea, dinner, and supper, are exceedingly intelligent…and as far as we know, have never lost a battle to boot. But, we do have a few things goin' for us."
"And what're those?"
"First, as mentioned, time. It takes on average a year to build an Iron, and that's when they aren't being shot at. Second, we know the terrain inside and out, and we also know the weather. Winter is going to royally mess with their schedule. Third is our numerical advantage. With your help and commitments from the other mines and gas companies, we can easily outnumber them three to one. Fourth is our resources. I mentioned how M-M cannot bring all of their equipment with them, and all of their weaponry they appear to have purchased domestically. That means, if we can cut them off, they'll run out of supplies; eventually. Also, our Second Amendment already sees us armed, so we are not as defenseless as other planets that have fallen to M-M. Last, and most important, our will to see any fight to its end. To this Marine, this's just another planet, another rock to plant their flag. To us, to you, it's our everything; all we've ever known, and everything that will ever be. I truly pity whoever would be so recklessly stupid to ever try and take something like that without expecting the most vicious and fanatical resistance they could have never imagined. The crimson tsunami of The Red Star may tower mighty and tall, but it will dash itself to ribbons on the jagged edges of our Pennsylvanian shale!"
. . .
'Almost done, this'll be my piece de resistance!' Craig smirked as he secured a thermite grenade to the bridge's truss support. He had been having a banner week. Five natural gas trucks had been destroyed, a blaze started at a coal yard that had burned for eight hours and blotted out the noonday sun, and four residences of Dahl's supervisors had been reduced to ash. Mysteriously, all four of the houses had been empty when Craig had come calling. No one had been home at any of them, and he suspected it had been realized the kind of targets being chosen, so the supervisors had skipped town. It didn't matter to him if they had gotten wise, someone tipped them off, or they had just gotten lucky. If he got to watch a hand built house fold in on itself as the central supports burned away, it was a great day. But now, the evening 9:15 train was coming through, headed for power plants across the country with a load of Welshman, Solomon, King and Voyze coal. He was confident the train would never leave the county.
'Last one…' Craig sauntered back to the crate, left at the first support, whistling while he walked. "Hey, what gives?" The last tube, grenade number sixteen, was empty. "The hell…" He kicked around the bushes, peered around the concrete bases of the bridge supports. "Goddammit. Well, I got three on and locked up. That oughta do, I'm no engineer, but it should work." He did some rough mental math, leaning back to look up at the railroad bridge towering overhead. It was a crisscrossed web of wrought iron beginning to show its age with rust patches and groaning under its own weight. This bridge had definitely seen better days. Now that he was out of grenades, he'd have to request new supplies from the Man in Black…or use some other talents of his own. He'd think of potentials on the drive home. In the meantime, this bridge needed to come down.
'Time to get the hell outta here…in three…two…one!' Craig gathered the tethers tied to each grenades pin, and pulled. Cling! Cling! Cling! The grenade's spoons popped off and Craig took off, jumping into his waiting car and drove the winding two-track along the valley's bottom. Waterfalls of burning sparks and pools of molten metal flashed behind him as the thermite bit into the aging iron. And, over the whine of his car's engine, he could just hear the whistle of an oncoming train…
. . .
"C'mon Naota! Put some effort into it!" Haruko chided. "It's like you're not focused at all today."
"Workin' on it, would appreciate some patience on your part." Naota growled back, frowning in concentration.
"We don't have all day, and hey, how about some enthusiasm for a change?"
"Look, if you want to pay for smashing up G&R's truck because I put it in the river, be my guest." They had lost Craig, again, and were following his tire tracks down a narrow, twisting valley. Ahead a railroad trestle loomed across their vision.
"Well…okay then. Grump-y…" She hugged, leaning out her window. "How big's the burr up your ass today?"
"Sorry…I'm, well, it's two things. We lost Craig, which's annoying, obviously. But what's bugging me is how much longer we have to follow me? I mean, what does he have to do for Rig to give us the go-ahead? Blow up a school?"
"Funny you bring him up…" Her voice had changed, that strange, level tone. No snark or sarcasm…even seriousness. "Don't you think he's just, I dunno, kinda odd?"
"Oh, that's an understatement." He laughed, recalling some of his friend's eccentricities. "He'll get into arguments with himself, and lose."
"No, no. Not that." She corrected. "I mean, this. Medical Mechanica. Doesn't he, and everyone else at work, seem a little too chill with the whole affair? A little too eager to help you?"
"That's what friends do, they help each other out when they've got problems. Maybe you could take notes, learn from the example."
"Ehhh…" She sighed, but it sounded like there was more on her mind than what she was saying.
"Ehhh? Ehhh? Ehhh what?"
"Just an ehhh-ehhh." She dismissed.
"I, I can't make anything out of that."
"Oh never mind." She let it go and started to bring up something else up, but was cut off by a shrieking whistle.
'Damn that's loud!' He thought as the train blew its whistle with a deafening WHHHOOOAAAAaaaaaammmm… Half a mile ahead, the train began crossing the bridge with its cars loaded down with one hundred tons of coal each. The engine made it across, but something didn't sit right with Naota, or Haruko either it seemed.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, which I'm not…" Haruko had noticed it too. "But generally, bridges aren't s'posed to move like that are they?"
. . .
For the train's engineer, it had been a normal day so far. He'd picked up the empty cars from the rail yard, made the rounds to fill the cars and was headed for Pittsburgh with a mile long payload. All he was worried about was the bane of this route: a rickety wrought iron trestle from the steam era. The engine made it over without trouble, but as the cars rumbled across, he could feel a trembling through his boots. The engineer look back out his window and, to his helpless horror, bore witness to his train rolling off the tracks from its middle out. Before he could leap clear of the engine, all one hundred and ten tons of it was snapped to its side and began tumbling down the hillside. Its immense weight crushed any trees in its path, tossing the engineer round and round inside the cab, slamming him from ceiling to floor, wall to wall, off the windows and rear bulkhead before coming to a final, groaning stop a full minute later.
Picking himself up off what had been the ceiling, the engineer realized his left arm was broken, dangling limply four inches lower than normal from his shoulder. Caught in the tumbler of the rolling engine's cab, he'd fully expected to be dashed against the steel and his skull broken open while the horizon flipped circles through the windows. Through the cracked glass, he could smell leaking fuel, and made his exit through the upside down door. A quick look around showed a mountainside of trees snapped off at ground level, and a hill carpeted solid black with coal and the air darkened by dust. Farther back, the bridge was no longer visible, reduced to a splintered pile of scrap beams buried under smashed coal cars. Now the engineer smelled smoke, and turned around to see his engine had caught fire and the flames were beginning to spread across the dried timber and spilled coal. Stumbling as quickly as his throbbing arm would allow, he began making his way towards the road, fighting the urge to pass out, and hoping he could out-walk the fire.
. . .
"Okay, let's run over the list to make sure our numbers are right."
"Sure thing Mister Griggs. Ah-hem. The newly formed Irregular Pennsylvanian Army humbly requests the following materials:" I scanned the list once more before reading.
· 2,000 AK-47 rifles
· 400 Remington 870 shotguns in 2 ¾" length 12-gauge
· 300 Military Armament Corporation Model 10 submachine guns in 0.45ACP
· 200 Remington M700 rifles in 0.308 caliber, with 12-power Leupold scopes
· 50 M82A1 Barrett anti-material rifles in 0.50BMG
· 25 FN M240B light machine guns in 0.308 caliber
· 25 M2 Browning heavy machine guns in 0.50BMG
· 3,000 Ruger P90 pistols in 0.45ACP
· 3,000 standard assorted sizes of Class III body armor
· 3,000 standard assorted sizes of Class III Kevlar helmets
· 3,000 pairs of elbow and knee pads
· 3,000 pairs of reinforced combat gloves
· 3,000 standard assorted sizes of rucksacks and load bearing systems
· 3,000 standard assorted sizes of pistol belts
· 3,000 combat first aid and trauma kits
· 500 field surgeon and/or E.M.T. kits
· 3,000 entrenching tools
· 12,000 Mk. II fragmentation grenades
· 6,000 M15 white phosphorous grenades
· 13,000 pounds of TNT, and/or C4, detonators, wiring and blasting caps
· 2,000,000 rounds of 7.62x39mm
· 300,000 rounds of 12-guage 2 ¾" 00-buckshot
· 300,000 rounds of 12-guage 2 ¾" Buckhammer shotgun slugs
· 1,250,000 rounds of 0.45ACP
· 500,000 round of 7.62x51mm
· 500,000 rounds of 0.50BMG
· 3,000 Buck 119 knives
· 3,000 shatterproof, no-fog, full-seal goggles
· 3,000 personal two-way radios with headset, transmitter/receiver and battery
· 3,000 M50 gas masks
· 6,000 spare M50 gas mask spare filters
· 50 M79 grenade launchers in 40mm
· 2,500 40mm high-explosive grenades
· 5 M20 Recoilless rifles in 75mm
· 500 75mm HEAT shells
· Associated cleaning kits, accessories, manuals, magazines and spare parts for each weapon system
"And a partridge in a pear tree…" Agent Griggs double checked our Christmas list. We now had commitments from the rest of our allies; once our presentation had been repeated six more times! That's a lottah talking for two days. All-in-all, the breakdown of volunteers per company went like this:
· Welshman – 500
· Solomon – 700
· King – 400
· Pike – 300
· Dahl – 350
· Voyze – 400
· Chartier – 350
Total that up, and you have a force of angry, pissed-off blue-collars making up the 3,000 strong Irregular Pennsylvanian Army. This was George's order, the locally based response to Medical Mechanica; a show of force from the average people of the area M-M had picked to set up shop. Even with their enthusiasm, we were sorely lacking in equipment, armor, heavy weapons, ammunition, training…everything basically. So George, Tommy and I were having a zero-dark thirty meeting with Agent Griggs. We were hoping he could deliver what we were asking for, and bring some good news while he was at it. I know, that's a lot to ask of the man. Yah gottah understand the context though, this was after Naota an' Haruko had brought footage of the derailed train west of town. They also documented the resulting inferno that had burned down 200 acres of forest before it had mercifully started raining. The engineer had gotten clear in time, so Craig still hadn't managed to kill anyone. We'd intercepted his orders, and were able to warn those on his hit list. Still, he needed to be dealt with before he did kill someone, even if by accident. Anyway…where was Ah? LINE!
(Agent Griggs and the I.P.A.'s wish-list…)
You're payin' 'ttention. I like that. You'll go far.
"When can we expect delivery?" Tommy asked as Agent Griggs thumped his attache case on the desk. "Or will we have to go pick everything up? That won't be an issue, but we need everything sooner rather than later." Waiting for Agent Griggs to answer, Tommy took his orange bottle of pills from his pocket and downed two with coffee; shuddering as they dropped into his stomach.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves." Agent Griggs extracted his own list. "Here's what Uncle Sam, and the fine folks of the Galactic Government, and Overwatch central, can offer; especially on such short notice."
"Let's see here…" George took the list, tiltin' his head back to read through the lower half of his bifocals. "Uh…Griggs?"
"Uh…yeah?"
"Is…is, uh…is this it?" Uh-oh. That's not a good sign.
"Can I see?" I was passed the paper and was blessed to be sitting down. Here is what we were expected to fight 1,000 Medical Mechanica Marines, and an additional 1,000 and change assorted police forces with: (The audacity of it all, I tell yah what!)
· 800 AK-47 rifles
· 300 Remington 870 shotguns in 2 ¾" length 12-gauge
· 50 Remington M700 rifles in 0.30-06 caliber with 12-power Leupold scopes
· 5 M82A1 Barrett anti-material rifles in 0.50BMG
· 5 M1919A4 light machine guns in 0.30-06
· 1,750 Ruger P90 pistols in 0.45ACP
· 1,000 standard assorted sizes of Class III body armor
· 1,000 standard assorted sizes of Class III Kevlar helmets
· 3,000 pairs of elbow and knee pads
· 3,000 pairs of reinforced combat gloves
· 3,000 standard assorted sizes of rucksacks and load bearing systems
· 3,000 standard assorted sizes of pistol belts
· 1,200 combat first aid and trauma kits
· 200 field surgeon and/or E.M.T. kits
· 3,000 entrenching tools
· 2,000 Mk. II fragmentation grenades
· 2,000 M15 white phosphorous grenades
· 1,000,000 rounds of 7.62x39mm
· 150,000 rounds of 12-gauge 2 ¾" 00-buckshot
· 150,000 rounds of 12-gauge 2 ¾" Buckhammer shotgun slugs
· 750,000 rounds of 0.45ACP
· 250,000 round of 0.30-06 caliber
· 250,000 rounds of 0.50BMG
· 3,000 Buck 119 knives
· 3,000 shatterproof, no-fog, full-seal goggles
· 3,000 personal two-way radios with headset, transmitter/receiver and battery
· 3,000 M50 gas masks
· 3,000 spare M50 gas mask spare filters
"Hey, look, I know times are tight and all." Tommy was reading over my shoulder. "But this isn't even half of what we need. What gives? And what're we supposed to do with only a thousand sets of body armor? We've got three thousand guys...do they just draw straws?"
"You know well's I that Earth isn't the only planet with a pest problem." Agent Griggs leaned back into the couch, further rumpling an already wrinkled suit. He gulped down some of his coffee, somehow managing to look even more exhausted than before a shot of sugar and caffeine. I didn't envy his job in the least, especially with those sunken eyes framed by growing purple rings. "And we have our own wars going on here domestically. Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Turkey, Yemen, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Egypt, Somalia, Niger, Zimbabwae, Rwanda, Chad, Colombia, Nicaragua, Venezuela…all of those are also clamoring for guns. The problem is, since we are so low key that also puts us closer to the bottom of the priority list; among other reasons. I'm sorry it's not what you want, but it's what I can get on this kind of notice. More will come, but it'll take time; red tape and all those hoops to jump through."
"Gotta love government bureaucracy." George shook his head, supplies and resources have always been an issue for Overwatch. Of the three branches, the G.S.P.B., the I.I.B., and Overwatch, we're at the bottom of the list. "The major problem we're having, and why we need so much equipment, is the variety of guns our guys have. Some have either an AK-47 or AR-15, but not in enough numbers to be effective. Several more have hunting rifles, but we run into a supply problem there."
"How's that?"
"Mr. Griggs, imagine if you will." I explained our logistical nightmare. "Trying to supply ammunition to an army that carries rifles in 0.223 NATO, 0.22-50 Remington, 0.220 Swift, 0.243 Winchester, 0.30-30 Winchester, 0.300 Savage, 0.25-06 Remington, 0.270 Winchester, 0.308 NATO, 0.30-06 Springfield, 7mm Win-Mag, 300 Weatherby, 0.338 Win-Mag, 0.375 H&H, 0.44 Marlin, 0.450 Bushmaster, 0.45-70 Government, you see tha pattern here?"
"I think so…"
"And even more guys have shotguns at home, varying from 12-gauge, up to 16, 20, 28-gauge; and one guy even had a 10-gauge. I have no idea where he buys his ammo. Then all the shotguns come in different shell lengths, 2-inch, 2 ½, 2 ¾, 3-inch 3 ½ magnum…pistols are no better. 0.25ACP 0.32's, 0.35's 0.380 Auto, 7.62mm Tokarev 0.38 Special, 0.357 magnums, 9x18 Makarov, 9x19 Luger, 0.357 Sig-Sauer, 10mm Auto, 0.40 S&W, 0.41 Action Express, 0.44 Special, 0.44 Magnum, 0.45ACP, 0.45 Long Colt, 0.454 Casull, 0.50 Action Express, 0.500 Magnum…"
"Rig, he gets it, thank you." George cut off my gun-nerd rant. When you hand load your own ammunition like I do, sometimes you can get carried away. Whoops.
"What Rig is trying to say, is that we were hoping to consolidate our supply down to as few calibers as possible." Tommy explained while reading Griggs list; mentally rearranging the training plans he'd stashed away in his head.
"We'll take whatever you can bring us." George said, checking the clock. It was time to start work. "We'll have to beg, borrow or steal the rest."
"Don't get too carried away with that stealing part." Agent Griggs began to pack up. "Besides, you're not giving yourselves enough credit. Why have you bothered with all these tools and fab equipment if you don't use any of it?" The thought had not occurred to us. Looking at each other, I could see gears already turning, ideas for a home built arsenal starting to form. "Ahhh…I know those looks. You've got something, haven't you?"
"Ah half a dozen of this 'n' that." I said, jotting some potentials into my notebook.
"I'll leave you to it then. I have to get back to D.C. and finalize your arms package. While I'm there, I'll see if anything else can be dragged out of the powers that be." He promised as I opened the office door for him.
"Anything you can get, anything at all, we'll take it." George restated. "We'll take anything that goes bang. Even…" He was interrupted by the phone's ringing. "G&R Fabrication and Cranes, this's George…oh, okay. Hey, slow, slow down, Mister King please! Take a deep breath, count to ten…better? I'm gonna put you on speaker; Rig, Tommy and Griggs are here."
"Ohhhh…oh-ho-ho…George…that creepy little bastard'd better hide, and better'd hide good." Mr. King raved. Somethin' must've gone horrendously wrong to put the easy-going King of Coal in such an off-kilter mood. "Because if I find him, I'm gonna kill him, and I'm gonna kill him slow…"
"Who, and what'd they do?"
"That deviant Craig Kauffman! Who else?! He broke in the other day and wrote a logic bomb into our network. It went off five minutes ago."
"How bad's the damage?"
"Total. All my employee info is gone, payroll's gone, all our geological data's gone, customer info's gone, all accounts receivable and payable's gone, my entire company just got erased!" He paused, his voice rattling with scarcely suppressed rage and, I'd wager, a sense of helplessness as the company he'd built began to unravel before him. "I don't care what you have to do, but I'm counting on a visit from that Man in Black within the hour. I won't give that creepy fuck an inch, but if you want my guys to fight, they've gotta have a job to defend."
"Ohh…kay. Give us a second." George put Mr. King on hold. So, Medical Mechanica was targeting King Coal. I had put my bet on Welshman's, can't win 'em all. With 400 souls willing to fight (and King's location being right down the road!) we could not afford to abandon our friend to the Man in Black; and whatever he had planned for Mr. King. "Rig, what does Naota and Haruko have on Craig?"
"From what they've gathered, enough to prosecute."
"Okay, hold that thought." George put Mr. King back on. "Still there?"
"Yep."
"I'm going to come by with Josh and our new tech guy, Canti, and see if we can help. He's working on another project at the moment, but this'll take priority. Meanwhile, do not do anything against Craig. We will look into him." George assured Mr. King he'd be over within the hour and hung up. "Rig, here are the rules. No fuss, muss, mess, guns or bodies. Those are the R.O.E. Take care of it."
. . .
"This's everything we've got." Naota and Haruko upended the folders of photographs onto Rig's desk. They had been filled in on the misfortunes of King Coal and Craig's suspected involvement. If there was ever a time to put the brakes on Craig's shenanigans, it had come. "These are the originals, but I went and printed off copies just in case. Think this'll be enough?"
"Holy man you two..." Rig sifted through the pile of printouts, weeks worth of documenting Craig Kauffman's every move. "This's amazing work, I'd say you've done this before."
"Oh, the tales I could tell." Haruko insinuated. "So when do we take the little skeezer down? I'm ready to go, I'm turing blue over here."
"That enthusiasm, I knew we kept you around for a reason." Rig smiled, giving Naota a knowing twitch of his eyebrow. Whatever kept Haruko around. "I have an idea on how to confront him, but we'll need one more thing."
"What's that, and what's the idea?" Naota felt a smile beginning to form, this was it. The final confrontation, a face-to-face with Craig; like spies taking down their target at last.
"Probably sit Craig down somewhere public where he'll be less likely to make a scene." Haruko predicted. "Ask him the specifics of his involvement and what their plan is, and threaten him with exposure if he doesn't play along…sound about right?"
"Wow. Way to ruin all the suspense and mystery of it all. Just…kill all the fun." Rig seemed exasperated with Haruko's casualness, and shook his head. "But yeah, that, and we'll also need a copy of everything on his phone."
"Why…and how?" Naota wondered, then answered half his question. "Right, for any texts, voicemails or messages related to M-M."
"That, and extra blackmail material." Rig elaborated. "Know anywhere he leaves his phone unguarded?"
"I can think of one." Naota ran over Craig's average daily itinerary. "But how do we get the info off the phone?"
"With this." Rig produced a device that resembled an external hard drive at a passing glance. "Josh used some of his wizardry to magic this up. Plug it into any device and it'll make a complete copy of any data inside. It has a few different jacks for different phone models so hardware compatibility isn't an issue."
"Cooool…" Naota accepted the device and its cables. "Okay, I think Haruko and I can take care of this by lunch, if we can head out now?"
"Yes, yes! Go, go!" Rig turned them loose. "I'll find somewhere for the sit-down and get that set up. If you're able to get at his phone, we can do this tonight."
"We're on it. We'll call soon's it's done." He and Haruko took their usual seats in the white, unmarked toolbox truck and headed for the Philipsburg High School track. Since it was now the tail end of July, the track was open to the public to run on. Craig typically visited in the mornings to get a few laps in; locking his valuables in the security of his car. Right on schedule and in his usual parking spot, was that blue and white '06 Honda Civic. Since Craig was already out running, they would have to make this quick.
"Keep an eye out, would you?" He ordered Haruko, taking a Slim Jim from one of the truck's toolboxes. "This shouldn't take long, but all the same…"
"Less talk, more work, I got it." She sat on the truck's hood to watch the runners. Craig's view of his car was obscured by the truck, but anyone getting close to the fence would see what he was up to. He'd have to be efficient with his time.
Naota approached the passenger door as they have less inner workings than the driver door. And there it was, chilling in the cup holder, Craig's unguarded phone. Just before inserting the metal strip into the door, Naota froze as the gravity of what he was about to do sank in. While following Craig probably didn't break any laws, this was blatantly illegal. Breaking into Craig's car to then break into his phone, was definitely frowned upon in polite society. And now that he thought about it, Josh had conveniently made a device to copy a phone's data, and Rig and everyone else seemed okay with that? Something was off.
"Hey, you done yet?" Haruko interrupted his thoughts. "I think he's starting on his last lap."
"And he'll have a cool-down lap after that." He remembered. "I've got time." Ker-klunk. Fuck it, he decided to play along and see where things went. Besides, Rig and the G&R crew seemed genuine in wanting to fight M-M; and that had to count for something. He popped the door's lock and sat on the passenger seat. Once plugged into Craig's phone, its screen lit up with a progress bar and an 'Amount Copied' display. 10%...20%...30%...
"Cool-down lap!" Haruko announced. "Two minutes, to be safe. Are you going through his spank bank, let's gooooo…"
"Seventy percent, eighty…" He watched the progress bar crawl across the screen; praying that it would finish without error. "Ninety…"
"Time's up!"
"Done!" The screen now read 'Copy complete'. He unplugged, repositioned the phone the best he could, relocked the door, closed it and tried to avoid sprinting back to the truck. With the tingling adrenal surge he was forgetting how to walk like a normal human being.
"Whoa, jitters much?" Haruko teased as he managed to start the truck, but not without rattling the keys in a tell-tale tremor.
"The list of things I never thought I'd do, but have, keeps getting longer." He said, glancing up to the mirror to watch Craig walk to his car. All seemed well and normal to Craig, so Naota breathed a sigh of temporary relief. The easy part was over.
. . .
"Okay, we've got the copy of his phone, now what?" Naota asked as the computer in G&R's office sifted through the phone's data.
"Print off copies of his photos and texts, scan messages for anything M-M related, and pull a phone number to use in contacting him." Rig said, plugging another, older flip-style phone into the computer. While they waited for the computer to finish, Rig sorted their collection of photos, categorizing them by the girls in them. "She's the most pop'lar, isn't she?" He tapped the largest stack, containing the girl from the Chester Hill trailer park. "She's got the lion's share of photos."
"Uh-huh. I think she's his favorite."
"We'll use her then; he'll believe a call from Natalie." Rig turned to his computer. "Natalie Ritter, really sweet girl. Kinda ditzy, but sweet. You'll get to meet her come fall Nao' when school starts; she's in our class."
"Oh, great." He cringed at the thought of coming face to face with someone he'd secretly photographed and spied on, even inadvertently. He'd probably die from embarrassment. "I can't wait."
"Alright, here's how this's gonna work." Rig laid out his plan. "I have this burner phone set up with Natalie's number, which we got from Craig's phone, so it'll look like her to Craig. I'll get a meet 'n' greet setup, we'll go, Craig an' I'll have a talk, annnddd…yeah. Sound good?"
"Why are you doing the talking? Shouldn't the three of us confront him?"
"If he's really working for M-M, we don't want to put you right in front of him, number one. Second, he doesn't know what you look like, far's I know. So I think it'd be best to keep it that way. Mizz Haruko, I don't know if you've got the right temperament for this kinda thing…"
"What? I'm a total people person." She was indignant in her disbelief. "Charming as a Cheshire Cat."
"And besides..." Rig ignored her. "He and his family hate me already, so there's nothing else he can really do to me, is there?" Rig explained and Naota had to concede he made a good point. But there was another outstanding question.
"What about after, assuming all goes well?"
"Put him on the first train out of town? This's ultimately your battle Nao'." Rig suggested. "I'm just here to guide you along and help the best I can; make sure you don't accidentally wander into a minefield. Everything's on how far you're willing to go. But, I guess it'll depend on what Craig has to say, won't it?"
"I suppose it would." Naota agreed, and pondered a moment at what Rig had just said. How far he was willing to go? What did that mean? Such an interesting choice of words. What was he willing to do, if Craig did turn out to be in league with Medical Mechanica? The entire situation was so fluid, so unprecedented, it was impossible to say. Just like earlier at the track, he decided to play along and see where things took him. "The first train out of town sounds reasonable, and fun. Wait, can you actually imitate Natalie's voice?" He knew Rig had an extensive vocal range, but this could prove to be a stretch for him.
"Oh you!" Rig giggled in a hauntingly high-pitched voice that didn't belong to him. "Of course I can silly! Tee-hee-hee-hee! I'm the one and only Natalie Ritter; rawr!"
"Do not, ever, do that again without warning me." Haruko said, looking at Rig like he'd just turned his head in a complete circle. It was only then Naota remembered Haruko had never heard Rig imitate a voice before. "That's just creepy."
"Oh, it's creepy is it?" Rig shifted gears, dropping down from the high and squeaky Natalie to Haruko's lower tone. She didn't appreciate it while Naota found it hilarious.
"Quit it."
"Quit it." Rig echoed while Naota tried not to laugh.
"I'm warning you."
"Oh, whatcha gonna do?" The Rig-Haruko hybrid challenged.
"I'm gonna do you the same's that Scorpion bot, rebar and all; but I'll take my time and make it look like an accident." She answered with a feral snarl.
"….Yes ma'am…" Rig turned back into himself. "Heh-heh-hem…hem. All right, I'm set. I'll put him on speaker so's y'all can hear; butcha gotta be quiet." Hushed they gathered around Rig's desk, breathing only the softest of air. Surely there was some sort of law they were breaking, but this was so unusually exciting that he really didn't care. Rig cleared his throat once more, dialed and laid the phone on his desk. Three rings and…
"Yo-yo, this's the Craig-meister. Whad-up?!"
. . .
"Where are you, you big, dumb stupid meanie?!" A shrill, girly voice screeched in Craig's ear. He reacted by dropping his phone, accidentally stepping on the gas and swerved across two lanes of traffic before regaining his bearings; nearly meeting a coal truck bumper to bumper. "Hello?! Are you there; answer me!"
"Whoa, heeeyyyyy…" He glanced quickly at the screen to remind himself which girlfriend this one was. "…Natalie. What's up?" He wasn't sure just what he'd done, and it was best to play dumb until he was better informed of the charges.
"You know darn well, you, you…cheater!" Natalie fumbled for words, sniffling and hiccuping in her distress.
"WHAT. Did you just say?" Craig whipped over to the berm and put his car in park. He was now hanging on Natalie's every word.
"You, you're, *hic*, cheating on me, you stupid, stupid jerk!" Natalie wailed. "Whyyyy, don't you love me?!"
"No, no, I, well, I do, it's…who, who told you; was it someone from school?"
"N-no, there was this one time, when you were over, and left your phone out, *hic*, and I wanted to play Candy Crush, but my phone was dead, sniffff…so I borrowed yours, but yours is diff' from mine, and, and it got a text from some Amber person, and I didn't want to think anything of it, but, but then I looked at some of your pictures…" Natalie rattled off in single, hurried breath, words stumbling over each other in their rush to get out of her mouth. She paused to get a breath and he thought he'd get a word in edgewise. But Natalie had a lungful of air and took off once again. "And, and there were all these nudes on it, of all these girls around townnn…"
"Baby, you gotta believe me; they're just some prank stuff my bros sent me." He lied, cursing himself for leaving his phone unguarded. Or, did he? He would have sworn up and down that he had never left it out of his sight unless it was secured somehow. 'Must've been drinking that night, that'd make sense.' Craig's main worry though was Natalie's story, however much of it was true didn't matter, somehow getting out. Unfortunately she had more to say still.
"I thought so too, I really didn't want to believe it…but, snnniifff! I was out, and saw you with Julia Roth."
"I've never even heard of her. Are you sure it…h-hello?" Craig looked down, Natalie had hung up. "What the…what the fuck?!" She'd texted him a picture. It was undoubtedly him and Julia, or their perfect clones, and that was most certainly his car. Well, this evening was going to hell… P-ping! Another text.
'And with Kelsey Bowman.' Uh-oh. P-Ping! 'Lisa Diefenbach.' No…no way. P-Ping! 'Rebecca Stevenson' This was NOT happening! He hit 'Call' next to the top of the text before she could send another.
"Okay, okay. Look, this's allll a huge misunderstanding."
"It, it, snniffff! Is?" Man, it was a good thing she was so gullible. Cute, but dumb.
"Of course it is. Look, let's meet up and I'll explain everything." He'd have to come up with something good, but when telling lies, he knew to make the lie big and keep repeating it until they believed it.
"O-okay. But, not at my place. I don't want my parents to find out."
"I totally, totally agree."
"Is the Y.M.C.A.'s café alright?"
"That'll be perfect." Nice, a packed public place where she'd be less likely to make a scene. This could work out after all. "In say, an hour?"
"Promise? You promise to be there?"
"You can bet on it baby."
"Oh-kay. I'll get the back corner booth, so no one'll bother us. See you there…love you."
"Yeah, love you too babe." Craig ended the call, dropped his phone into his car's cupholder and took a drag from his vaporizer. "Man, what an airhead. It's a good thing she's cute."
. . .
"Goddamn that was disgusting." Rig had transformed back to his usual self. "I feel…just…yyeeeaaaauuucchhkkk!"
"You and me both." Naota had resisted the urge to barf the entire call. "I feel like I need a shower just by listening to that."
"Yeah, this's great and all, can we get going now?" Haruko was practically dancing by the door, eager to be off. "C'mon, let's go!"
"What's your hurry?" Rig gathered up the burner phone and put all the pictures back into the envelope.
"Hey, I don't wanna miss this! Either you completely destroy this putz, or it goes totally sideways! I don't lose, it's like I'm the Roman Emperor at the gladiator games. Either way, whoever lives or dies, I get a great show."
"Gee-whiz, Mizz Haruko, thanks." Rig rolled his eyes. "Nao' you'd help me out if I got into trouble, right?"
"Of course."
"'Least I can count on one of y'all. Go on and get in the Bronco, I'll be right out."
. . .
After Haruko and Naota left the office, I gave George and Tommy a call to fill them in. Once I explained the situation I'd arranged, I asked for George's final go-ahead.
"There's a few stipulations."
"I know. There'll be no muss, fuss, mess, or bodies…"
"No, well, yes. That's not what I meant." He laid down the last rules. "Be professional. The Kauffman's may not be on the Christmas card list, but be professional. This is strictly business. Second, if it does get violent or ugly in any form, do not make a scene. Leave immediately and call Johnny. He, Josh and Mike will take things from there."
"Anything else?"
"Craig has to leave town; permanently. And, preferably under his own choice and power if it can be managed. That's the most leniency I can allow. He may be a rampaging douche-parade, but he's also still a Human."
"Oh, the view from that Moral high ground is a right pretty one…"
"Don't get snarky."
"Why's that?"
"You sound too much like your father when you do."
"Oh." There are times when you wish you'd kept your witty little soundbits to yourself. I had been doing well the past two months, really well, in not thinking about my Dad.
"Ah shit Rig, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
"No, no. It's fine. You're right, I was being that stereotypical angst filled teen."
"That may be. At least your angst filled teen self doesn't sparkle."
"A-freakin'-men to that."
"So are you ready, are you confident you can do this?"
"Do you think I can?"
"That's not what I asked." Okay, fair enough.
"…Yes. Yes, I will do this."
"Then your operation is A-Go. Keep us in the loop. Dismissed."
"Roger that. I will report in one hour." I hung up, slipping my phone into my pocket and drew my revolver. To open a Ruger GP100's cylinder, you press a large button on the left hand side of the frame while holding it with your right, and use your left hand to push the cylinder out to the left. The cylinder holds six, count 'em, zero point three fifty seven caliber shells. Each cartridge was hand loaded by yours truly, consisting of: a Remington brass casing, a CCI pistol primer, 9.8 grains of Herco smokeless pistol powder, and a 125 grain Hornady XTP jacketed hollow point bullet that would scream along at 1,600 feet per second should I ever be unlucky enough to ever have to fire it. God, Allah, Buddha, Shiva, Spaghetti Monster…and Dad; if any of you ever bother listening to me, just this once would be nice. Please, please don't let me mess this up. That's all I'm asking, I'm not too worried about the rest.
With all six shells in their place, twelve more of them hidden along my belt, and my gun in good order, I closed the cylinder, set it in place, and secure in its holster at my four o'clock. And hopefully that's where it would stay. Alright. Quick deep breath. Make sure you've got everything. Wallet, watch, keys, pocketknife, hat, folder with pictures, burner phone, gun, ammo, sunglasses, spare change…yep, yep. Okay, let's do this.
"Hey you lay-abouts! Git yer butts in the truck!" I barked, seeing Naota and Haruko merely leaning against my Bronco. "Ain't got no time to waste; I've got a date!"
. . .
*No songs or translations. I'm disappointed too. :/
So maybe it wasn't as action packed as a parking lot smack-down with a Scorpion bot, or didn't show any intrigue and political maneuvering of Medical Mechanica's inner circle. But I think it was important none-the-less. There'll also be a few small things here and there that'll pop up again down the road; see if you can keep track!
I also love making lists, thinking of supplies, outfitting homegrown militias, and talking about firearms in general. Can you tell?
Cutting things off where I did felt like a good place to stop, especially when I saw the word count was approaching 13,000. So we'll have to wait a little longer for the Come to Jesus moment with Craig Kauffman, ohhhh...the suspense! Who else feels it? Or is it just me? That'll be all out of me for now, time to actually get outside for a bit. I hear tell there's this bright and warm yellow ball in the sky; they call it a 'Sun'. Until next time, thank you so much for reading and being unbelievably patient; please let me know how I'm doing! Thanks again!