

Movement

A Short Story Collection

By

Gabe Sluis

Movement

Copyright © 2015 by G. Sluis

Published at Smashwords

First Edition

Cover Photo: Gabe Sluis

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead or undead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. What say you?

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Seasonals

Who Is Lora Clark

Onyx

The Library

Fake Your Own

The Door

Two Rabbits

If Your Right Hand...

The Game

Seasonals

Geo and the gang sat scattered among the red granite steps leading up to the old church. The Victorian monster was an island of the past in a sea of modernity. It was four in the morning and the streets were empty, but that meant little to the seasonals. They lived on their own timetable when the days were warm.

"It's been a long summer," Geo remarked, lounging back on the hard steps.

"No longer than any other," Pook shot back.

"Well, it is the middle of October and seems really warm to me. I walked past the university yesterday and their thermometer read eighty-two! That's pretty warm with less than a month left, Pook."

Pook stood and flapped his arms. The smattering of street people on the steps turned to watched the old man berate Geo.

"How old are you, boy? Fourty or somethin'? I've been living season to season since sixty-two! I seen pups like you come and go! I know how long summer lasts! It ain't longer than none other I seen! Winter will hit right after Halloween and that is that! We are lucky to get as much of these warm days as we can! So you just shut right up about it being a long summer. Next thing you know you'll be talkin' how long it felt when you was a-sleep all winter!"

"Sittawn, Pook," Hattie croaked from her spot leaning against a railing. "Let the kid say what he wants."

"Sixty-two summers I been out here," Pook mumbled to himself, plopping back down in his spot. "Never missed earning enough to be sheltered through the winter. Yah think these fools would give me a little respect..."

"Don't pay him no mind, Gee," Groza spoke up. He sat next to Geo, fishing through his sack of recyclables. "Look at the old man. He is as white as you are, but he is so encrusted in street dust you'd never know! Whenever I see him on the first of spring, he absolutely sparkles! I bet the freeze is the only bath he takes all year!"

"Oh, you goon!" Pook yelled back. "Why waste my time paying fora bath. I earn just enough to eat and pay for the winter! All those luxuries you kids waste on... You'da think that you were living yer old lives like the richers- goin' up in space an living in their tall buildings all winter... I don't make no big deals! I've tried flippin', and it ain't as consistent as scroungen'.

"And look at you Geo, spendin' all yer money on a nice coat and them shoes. How much you got saved up for the winter?" Pook jabbed. "I bet you just blow all the money you make and have to hustle right at the end. One of these days it is gunna catch up with ya and yer gunna be dead!"

Pook shouted his last word as he got to his feet. He continued to mumble to himself as he climbed up on his bicycle, loaded down with mounds and mounds of junk. The dirty homeless man road away from his group of familiars; people in the same situation, who some might call friends.

"He makes a good point," Groza said to Geo. "The old man has survived pretty long out here. You are always out there lookin' for the big scores. There is consistent money in mining the streets like I do. People is always throwin' out stuff. Maybe you should collect like me and Pook do."

"No offense, Groza, but look at that old fart. He sleeps in the ivy under the freeway during the day and haunts the same dumpsters and trashcans on a schedule. That's just not for me. I like to live on the fly! I cruise around. I talk to people. When there are opportunities out there to flip something or make a quick buck, I take it. Freedom, man! Plus, I don't see how you sleep on the concrete the way you do. I'll sleep in the gardens sometimes, but if I can pull a mattress here or there, that's what I'm gunna do!"

"But do you have anything saved for the winter?" Hattie asked the smooth-taking youngster.

"I got some of it. But I gotta eat too, you know. I'm taking off today in fact. I'm going on a long loop to talk to some people. I got the drop on this old lady that found her dead husband's car hidden in their parking garage. Apparently it's a classic and if I could flip it for a good price, I'm set for the winter and then some! Maybe open me a bank account!"

Everyone on the steps laughed at the absurd final remark. Groza found it particularly funny.

"Yeah, maybe even have enough to buy you a suit and fake diploma. Get you a real job so you don't have to go to sleep every winter!"

"And miss out on this life? Miss listing to Pook drone on about how he is ninety years old? Naw, this seasonal life is for me. No boss, no schedule. I take care of me!"

Geo got up from his place and zipped up his jacket. He tucked the scarf under his collar and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Later, lads! I'm off to find the big score!"

A.C. Hess made his way back up the beach on the north side of the sound. His backpack was half full of scavenged goods, his pockets stuffed with small bills from the days haul. A.C. had done well flying his sign down at the exits leading to the suburbs. Richers in the Gateway had soft hearts for the seasonals this time of year.

There was a figure sitting in the sand, with his back against a log. He could tell it was a man by his build and the way his arm moved when throwing rocks into the sound. A.C. recognized the young man when he got within speaking distance, another seasonal that fancied himself a broker.

"Heyya, Hess," Geo said, getting to his feet. "You do alright today?"

"Until I'm living in the Governors mansion, I ain't doing that well. What brings you out here, kid?"

"I'm tracking down a lady with a car. I got a couple of quarts of beer. Thought you might like one. Maybe pick your brain for a bit," Geo said.

"Well thaddount sound so bad. Come on up to my camp," A.C. said, leading the way.

The pair cut off the beach and through a park situated along the water's edge. The owner of the camp took a narrow trail through some bushes and climbed a rise to a shelf of railroad tracks. A hundred feet down the line he took another mud packed trail up the hill, into the woods. Within sight of the tracks, but well hidden from sight, A.C. and Geo reached the camp.

The center point of the drifter camp was a thin tent covered in camouflage netting. A small fire ring sat in front of the tents' main entrance, next to a stolen park picnic table. The camp was a clash between the encroaching wilderness and the muddy, trash strewn set-up of a man that cared little for his footprint.

Geo went to the table and removed his pack, digging out the promised bottles of beer. "It ain't a bad spot you got here."

A.C. grunted a thanks and plopped down in one of his chairs. He took off his dirty baseball cap and scratched the top of his thinning, greasy hair.

"You still go into hibernation every winter? What do you do with your camp?" Geo asked cracking open his bottle.

"Oh yeah, acourse. Acourse I don't try to stay out here. That would be real stupid," A.C. answered. "That don't mean I ain't never been stupid. When I first found this place I thought I might be able to hunker down fer the duration. I dug a whole to sleep in, stocked up on food an water. Thought I was so smart when I was really so dumb. Foolish."

"Couldn't make it, huh?"

"Take a look at this," A.C. said, kicking the worn boot off his left foot. All the toes were missing but the smallest on the end. "I was lucky that was all I lost. It gets colder than you can believe. Shatters the old trees. I had one fall about five feet from me when I was huddled in that hole. The dirt was as hard as concrete. I lasted a week and went stumbling into the cryo offices as soon as they cut the dead toes from my foot! An those greedy pigs had the nerve to try an charge me more, just cuz winter had already come and they knew I had no place else to go. Had to take out a loan and work an entire year indentured to get back in he clear! That was it for me! No more schemes. Now I just pack up my stuff, bury it underground and come a runnin' out here as soon as it's spring to claim my spot."

"Yeah, well, it seems like you do pretty good out here. All peaceful and secluded... You are close enough to walk wherever and have plenty of richers to help with end of season needs." Geo leaned closer and took a big drink of beer. "You've been doing so well I bet you got plenty already to pay for your cryo. You see, I got a great lead on this classic car. It's a custom Newport or something. This old lady had it sitting in storage for years and I saw her driving around. She offered to sell it to me for three grand! I looked it up and I could find a collector who would double that price, no problem! And that's all I need to make up the rest of my own funds so I don't lose any of my own toes!"

A.C. took a swig and looked firm at the younger man. "I don't loan money."

"Oh come on Hess! It's a sure thing and you'd be helping out a man in a desperate spot! What do you say."

"I don't loan money," A.C. repeated.

"I'd have it back to you in two, three days, tops!"

"I don't loan."

"I thought you were kinder than that... Guess I was wrong," Geo tried with guilt.

A.C. sat silent.

"Well, fine. Can't blame a guy for trying. Ain't that right, Hess?" Geo said. "I mean you were the only guy I knew of around here that had extra funds."

"You will just have to try someone else. I don't make no loans."

"Geesh Hess! Come off it! I get it already!" Geo nearly shouted.

The pair sat in silence after the heated exchange. A.C. kept working on his beverage while Geo's was nearly forgotten.

"Say, you seen crazy Spargo around up this way lately? Is it true that he is the richest man in the city, he just lives seasonal because he is nuts?"

"Otis Spargo? Yeah, well thats what I've heard. Apparently he ran some bookkeeping business and sold it for lots of cash. It was involved in some crime stuff and he had a bunch hidden away on top of that. But that was like a hundred years ago or somethin'. No idea how that ol' loon is doing now," A.C. said.

"He is a Bridges guy..." Geo said to himself as he got up to leave.

"Hey, you gunna finish that?" A.C. Hess said, pointing to Geo's mostly full, warm beer.

"Naw, man," Geo said, tossing the bottle across the camp. "I'll catch you next spring, Hess."

Otis Spargo wore a helmet, all the time. He pushed a three wheeled bike rather than riding it. Geo had never met the mush-mouthed old man, only heard stories and seen him from afar. He road a bus down to a waterfront section of town known as the Bridges. He stalked up Renault Street, where he had been told Spargo spent his time.

The street was old and sharply crowned. Wear houses and work garages took up most the real estate, but wedged in between were the occasional bar, coffee shop, and bookstore. Geo tried his luck in a non-chain Java trap.

The girl behind the counter belonged in the outskirts of town, the industrial strip beyond the shining city and the suburbs. She had dirty blond hair that begged for a brush and screamed its cut was homemade. She wore a loose black tee over the thick arms of a softball pitcher.

Geo smiled and enquired about Spargo.

"He came by the back a few minutes ago. I leave him some of the day-olds and a recyclable. Are you his friend?"

"Oh yeah, haven't seen him for a while though," Geo said with his best charming grin. "You are awful kind to take care of him that way. You have a soft spot for guys down on their luck?"

"Yeah, you know, I can't even imagine having to cryo myself for the winter just to survive. And he is such a sweet guy. It's too bad he got in that accident so he can't work anymore."

"Well, you are pretty sweet yourself," squinting his eyes intensely at the coffee shop girl.

"You can go through the back," she said, realizing the inquiring man's motives. "He is probably just down the block at the donation bin."

Geo gave a grin and subtle wink as he exited the back of the store. There were still points that could be scored with a graceful defeat. The girl stood in the doorway motionless as Geo slid down the shaded alley, glancing back only once.

"Stuck-up broad..." he muttered to himself once he was out of earshot.

After a minute of walking alone in the alley, Geo found Otis Spargo.

The girl had been right, he had been down at the back of a donation store, going through unprocessed items, digging through boxes. Otis Spargo looked like a child that had suddenly, and unexpectedly, grown old. He wore a crayon green T-shirt that was one size too large over purple sweatpants. Atop his head was the helmet he was known for. The man's hair was all grey and the stubble on his face matched.

"Hey, Otis?" Geo said as he approached.

"Hi!" he said back, the word clear but slightly extended and slurred.

"Find anything good out here?" Geo said, attempting to start a conversation.

"Not reaaaly," Otis answered. "Do I know youou?"

"You know lazy Babu, right? He is a good friend of mine and said I should come introduce myself to you."

Geo found himself talking slowly to the man. He heard the guy had a head injury, but he didn't really know if he was cognitively disabled. Looking at the scavenger, he started having doubts that this guy was one of the richest guys in the city.

"Ugh. Yeaaah, I know Babu. He is pretty lazy, but he has always been good at paying back his loans."

"Well, that's why I'm here! I heard sometimes you shell out loans. You see, I got this sweet deal on the hook, but I'm short about two grand. What do you say, could I get a loan for this quick car flip? I'll have the initial back to you in three days at the most!" Geo pleaded.

"I don't know you at aalll," Otis answered.

"Well, that's not a no!" Geo tried with charm. "I'm Geo Westphal. It's really close to winter and this is my last option! I can do twenty five percent interest on the loan! Quickest five hundred you'll ever make!"

"Collateral," Otis Spargo said. He closed his mouth with bottom lip out.

"I'll give you my Mud-Brick Act number," Geo said. "With that you got me. I'm sure someone with knowledge and ties like you once had... You know what you could do with that. You'd be the only other one but me that knows it. But, if something does come up years from now, I know where it's been. Good enough?"

"Puhh," Spargo moaned. "Alright, good enough. Turn around and write that number down for me while I get you your money."

Geo complied.

"Your not as simple as you let on. I thought you were a goof at first. But you really are as rich as the rumor goes," Geo said, scribbling down his twenty digit number.

"It's that rumor that makes me cautious. But I know how to flip an easy loan when it comes my waaay," Spargo answered. He had drawn up his shirt and opened a box locked to a band around his waist. He drew out two cards and closed the case. "Alright, let me see the number."

Geo handed over the scrap of paper. Otis pulled out a small pad from his bike and punched in the numbers. With a nod, he handed over the cards containing two thousand dollars worth of credits.

"You have until the 29th. Put the twenty-five hundred in an envelope and give it to Lilah in the coffee shop you came through. If I don't have them by the afternoon, you will be sorry to wake up come sprinnng."

"Got it," Geo said and hurried way.

The roads all had disgusting names, like Dream Garden Plaza and Log Bottom Place. Geo found the walk through the suburbs longer than any other walk of the same distance. Everything was spread out, and lavish lawns filled the spaces. Workers wearing bright blue reflective vests spread black fabric over the sections of grass, staking at intervals, to preserve it from the coming cold. Walking tubes had also been erected, allowing a warmed environment for the residents to enjoy walks through the housing districts, sheltered from the skin burning cold.

"Wouldn't it be nice to live like this," Geo huffed looking at the picturesque buildings. It was like living in a perfect dream village, he thought. No wonder they named a street Dream Garden!

Finally reaching the address written for him on a gum wrapper, Geo rang the buzzer on the condo's front door. He tossed the paper aside as he waited, wishing to have the item it once contained. After a lifetime of waiting, a small, old woman answered the door.

"Flora!" Geo exclaimed, throwing his arms open. "It's so good to see you're doing well!"

"Oh, you came! I'm so glad you came! I was getting worried! You still want the car?"

"Yes ma'am! Like I said, I just had to go to my bank in Vine and get the money!"

"Still planning to drive south to those islands? It's getting pretty late in the year..."

"Oh, I'm sure I'll make it though the wilderness just ahead of the freeze. Time to get myself away from this city. You sure you can't take twenty-five for it?" Geo begged, wincing for effect. "I'm just really tight on money!"

"Oh, I'm sorry dear, no. I need the funds myself to pay my rent. They just increased the monthly amount and my retirement is not going to cover it. By this time next year I may not be able to afford to even live here anymore. I don't know where I'd go for the winter..."

"You don't have any family?"

"Well, I have a nephew who lives Downtown. But we are not close. He did say though that Bob's old Newport is worth a lot more than what I'm selling it to you for. But you are a nice boy," Flora said, patting his arm. "And I know you need it for your trip..."

She led him away from her front door over to her garage. She entered a code, opening a narrow elevating door and a second code for a similar door beside it. The old woman then instructed Geo on how to remove the dividing beam which opened up the entire entrance to her storage area.

"There it is, just as I said. My late husbands Newport. It's a custom, you know. He drew up the plans himself. Said he saw it in a dream..."

"Well, she's beautiful," Geo said, running his hand over the smooth lines of the light green car. "I know there's quite the market for old custom cars of this sort. So, I appreciate you selling it to me above some richer with a fat wallet. I would never stand a chance with what some of them guys got. They could pay right over the top of me!"

"I understand. I'm just glad this old thing is going to someone who will appreciate it."

Geo grinned. "Well there is the three thousand," he said, handing over the two red cards and a stack of smaller denomination cards.

With the exchange complete, Geo started the old, but smooth running car. He drifted it out of the garage. Last, Geo stopped to help the old widow put her doors back into place before he pulled away with a wave. No sense in leaving the widow with anything but a good feelings in her heart. He never knew who might be able to help him the next year.

Two days later, around noon on the 28th, Geo cruised through the covered freeway on the east side of the city. Lamp lights flashed over head as the old car ran as fast as it could in the slow lane. The auto piloted cars with electric motors whizzed past on his left, but with the windows down, Geo felt just fine. Fast food wrappers flapped in the back seat next to the pillow where Geo had spent the last couple nights enjoying his new car.

He had splurged and bought himself a new pack of sox after finding a dealer on the nets that offers to buy the car for seven grand. With the great news and promise of a secured winter on the east side of the city, Geo took the off ramp at a less than cautious pace. Rain had begun to fall, slicking the roads for the first time in the long summer. Surface oils were secreted, and combined with the speed and worn tires of the non-traction controlled car, the Newport began to drift.

Geo jerked the wheel in an attempt to correct the spin, locking the breaks up in the process. The old car whipped around, centrifugal force pulling it off the ramp. Before the metal hulk came to a rest, it knocked over a metal street sign and bumped its tail end into a refrigerator sized junction box sitting along a sidewalk.

Geo cursed and struck the wheel, looking out of the cracked front windscreen.

The engine had shut off, and Geo sat in silence for a moment, halfway on the sidewalk. He he huffed as he worked to regain his composure.

Geo ticked the key, but the engine only attempted to turn over. A second yielded similar results.

Geo got out of the cab and looked at the damage. The front driver headlight was smashed, along with the panels surrounding it. Along the side resting against the junction box, a stripe where the street sign was bowled over cut into the silver metal beneath the paint. Geo let out a frustrated cry.

He popped the hood and opened the air intake flap. He fished a can of carburetor cleaner from the trunk and gave the intake a few sprays. He slammed the hood into place, noting that it was graciously free of damage. Shaking his head, he jumped back into the drivers seat and tried the keys again.

The car jumped to life. Geo pulled away with a big bump as each wheel stepped off the curb. Despite the recent wreck, Geo hammered down on the gas a little harder than practical as he left the scene.

"What the hell did you do? This is not like the picture you sent me!" the thin man said.

"Well, I had a little bit of trouble getting it over here. But it's all minor, I assure you!"

"Ahh, well she is a beaut!" a husky man, bringing up the rear of the trio said. He had a red rag in his hands, wiping grease from one palm. "Looks like the design was based on a 22' Mittan. Prolly even has the same frame, just new body work. Too bad you dinged 'er."

"Oh, that more than a ding! He nearly scrapped it!" the thin man said. "Do you even know how to drive?"

"Do you know all the things that are rolled into holding a drivers license? Anyway, the dings are so minor! Nothing major has changed, nothing a little bondo and paint can't fix!"

"No. No. No. That," pointing to the headlight, "will not be an easy match, along with the paint. This stuff is old. And the chrome edging? Good luck there."

"Come on, man! You have all winter to tinker with this thing! And the interior is pristine! You said six grand! Now I know it is going to need some work but I gotta get five and three quarters out of it! I've got markers out I gotta pay off before winter hits!" Geo pleaded.

"No way! Five at the most! Two fifty off is not going to cover that," the tin man said.

"Oh, Frank," the husky man interrupted. "That chrome is so common it's sick. Give the kid a break. He don't got much time left."

"Close it, Berry!" thin Frank cried. "Why you trying to undercut my negotiations here? Listen kid, I know stuff is rough fer you. Hell, I've been forced to cryo myself a couple winters while I worked to get back on my feet. But the most I can do is five and a quarter. Hard bargains are how I pulled myself up in life."

"Listen, I'll be totally honest, and I'm never totally honest about my financial situation," Geo said. "I gotta get five and a half, or that's it for me. I have seven hundred fifty and owe three and a half thousand. Five and a quarter will leave me two hundred fifty short! I'll be dead. I'll never make it otherwise. I still have to get all the way back out to the other side of the city by tomorrow."

"All I can do is five and a quarter," Frank repeated.

"Fine. Fine! I'll just have to make something work in the next couple days."

"Kid," fat Berry said, while his counterpart went inside for Geo's payment. "Take my bus pass. I'll report it missing after a few days and get another."

"Thanks, fella," Geo said sincerely. "I really appreciate it."

The bus pass was a heaven send. Geo road around the city, every hour becoming more overcast and cold. Soon it would begin to rain, and soon the rain would turn to ice, and winter would have officially arrived.

But so far there was only mist. Geo got off the bus in the southern end of the city, not far from the cryo offices.

His shoulders slumped as he wandered down the streets, fingering the money in his pocket. He was still short the two hundred and fifty he needed to secure his place in a cryo tube for the winter. He had tried all the quick cash options he knew; bar owners who had delinquent patrons who gave a cut of the collection, pawn shops with items they did not know the worth, even a couple squirrel holes other transients hid their money in until the last day of the season. It was all without luck.

Geo found himself on a bridge over a section of a river flowing through the area. He stopped part way across and looked at the run of water with only worry on his mind. Below him, down in the muck beside the river, a figure waded through the viscous. Geo watched the man grope through the mud. His opportunist instincts too over, he crossed the bridge and went down to talk to the man.

"Hiya, there friend. How goes it."

"Oah, ya know. Ever on the hunt, I am," he replied. He was shirtless and malnourished, a gut hanging from a dirty skeleton of a man.

"Find anything good down there? I'm Geo, by the way."

"Hella, Geo. They call me Arvid the mucker," he said. "You a seasonal fella?"

"That I be," Geo confirmed. "A bit short on my keep, though. I had a deal go south and now I'm a couple hundred short."

"What time is it," Arvid said, looking up at the sky, "Three in the afternoon? With final call in six hours, you haven't made enough yet? You's a risky Roo!"

"Yep, it's been an interesting summer," Geo agreed. "You already have enough I assume. Got any hot tips that might keep me from becoming a popsicle?"

"Dang son, get down here and start siftin'," Arvid exclaimed. "You flippers and scrounges and and all else may look down on my kind, wading through the muck, but I make my keep. One good find might hold me over for a couple years!"

"No," Geo said disbelievingly. He pulled off his shoes and shirt. The cold air sent goosebumps all over his torso and arms, but his body was compensating just fine. He stripped off his pants and jumped down in the thigh deep mud with a splosh.

"Oh, yes. Couple years ago I found some old book that was worth a fortune. Six hundred years old the book man said. This whole area in the south of the city used to be a big swamp, they say. The book man also said there was legends about the people back then using magic. Parently, that's what that book was abouts. Fine with me! I took my ten grand and got right back in. No telling what else you could find down here."

"But ain't you worried one day the mud will run out of treasures and you will be forced to do something else?" Geo asked feeling around with his feet, following the example of his new friend.

"Hain't happened yet. People is always throwing stuff in here anyhow. I doubt I'll starve any day soon."

"Well, I got six hours and no better ideas on howta get my last chunk of cash."

"How much they charge for late admittance nows, anyway?" Arvid asked as they sifted along through the stinking mud.

"Five hundred bucks on top of the normal three grand."

Arvid whistled. "That's just impossible once the winter hits!"

"Don't I know it," Geo agreed. "Nearly the only way to do it is to go into debt. And with interest over the winter months, that's impossible to get out from under. Might as well surrender my Mud-Brick to the City and loose all my freedoms. Being a ward of the city is better than being under that kind of loan."

"Well, keep lookin. Don't be afraid to get muddy. Never hurt me none," Arvid said.

The pair drifted through the mud in silence as the light continued to fade. Geo would occasionally reach an arm in to draw out an item, but found trash. Arvid on the other hand, threw all his findings in a bucket he kept close by, enthralled by every bit of something he could draw from the mud. This went on for hours.

"Arvid! It's been fun, but it's nearly six o'clock," Geo called. "I've enjoyed the lesson, but I gotta rinse off and move on. There is someone I was thinking of talking too..."

Arvid waved as Geo made for the bank.

And then he slipped. It was not your normal slip, but a front-foot-sliding-forward slip, causing him to drop seated into the mud.

"What was that!" Geo said, his eyes going wide. Hunched over, all but his back and head exposed from the muck, Geo searched for the thing that caused him to slide out. Arvid made his way over to his guest as Geo rooted around for the thing.

Geo pulled it out with one arm and held the glob of mud high. Standing now, the pair wiped the mud away to find a light grey, snub-nosed revolver with a rosewood grip. Geo let out a woop.

"Arv! Look at this thing! How much you think it's worth?"

"Oh, fella. Thass a nice find alright. I bet you could get five hundred for it. Easy."

"Ha HA!" Geo shouted, hugging the other filthy man. "I gotta get out and cleaned up! If I can only make it to a gun broker in time... Most everything will be closed by eight..."

Geo tromped away with treasure in hand. He made it to the bank and down stream to a place he could rinse off in the clear water. Rubbing vigorously with freezing water, Geo was startled when Arvid joined him, both of their clothes held on the end of sticks so as not to get muddy.

As Geo got out and pulled on his clothes, Arvid took his place.

"Best hurry. You gotta find someone who will take that thing tonight. It was prolly thrown there for a reason, so be careful where you go. Thass a terrific find though."

"Thanks again," Geo said, pulling on his shoes to go. "I won't ever talk bad about muckers again!"

"Ehh! Well, I'm headed over to the offices myself. Hopefully I'll see you in line in a couple hours. If not, have yer-self a nice sleep."

Geo burst into a gun shop, five minutes to closing. He had the revolver, mostly free of mud, crammed into his pocket. He walked through the jungle of survival gear to the back counter and thumped the gun down on a pad.

"Hey, buddy. How much for this? I'm in a time crunch. I need four hundred quick."

The large man behind the counter took his time sauntering over. He picked up the large gun and pressed the cylinder release, letting the swinging arm drop open. Seven spent brass bullet casings dropped out, some still containing the mud the pistol had been encased in.

"Seen a bit of dirt, has it? Not the ideal way to store your weapons," the shop owner commented.

"Yeah, well. You know how much it's worth? How much can you give me?"

"You have here a fine gun. A Rhino SR. I sell 'em new for twelve and some change. The problem here..." he said, slapping the butt of the pistol in Geo's hand, "is the bio-safety. Go ahead, pull the trigger."

Geo squeezed on the trigger but it was only mush under his fingertip.

"See, not registered to you, won't work. That means I can't buy. Sorry pal."

"Please!" Geo leaned over he counter. "You gotta do something for me! You could give me something for it!"

"Sorry pal," the shop owner repeated. "If it's not yours, I can't do anything here at the shop. I'd loose my accreditation. Despite how good four hundred sounds for a piece like that. Just can't do it."

The hearty man started walking away.

"Then you gotta know someone that can," Geo hissed after him. "Please, you gotta know someone. Someone who can reset it! I've got an hour left until the line closes for cryo. If I can't hawk this thing by then, I will freeze to death out there. Please!"

The shop owner paused. After a moment of consideration ad the desperate look on Geo's face, he walked back to the counter.

"I said sorry, but no," the man said in a loud voice. And then quieter, "Go around back, I'll call a guy."

Geo shrunk in relief and stuffed the gun back in his coat pocket. Random mud stain left on his face, he exited the shop and went around back.

Geo waited for what felt like hours. The constant checking of the time did not help. It was past eight in the evening, minutes until they closed down the line, when a figure arrived at the back of the building.

"Hey! What took so long? I'm almost out of time man! I thought I explained it to that guy!"

"Had to run your face from the security footage in the store," the shady connection of the gun broker answered. "Not in the business of buying unregistered guns from Inspectors. Let's see it."

"Here. Now I need my cash!" Geo said, handing the revolver over.

"There you go, three hundred," the man said, handing Geo the cards.

"No, it was supposed to be four!" Geo protested.

"One hundred finders fee for Blunns in there," the man explained.

Geo shook his head in disgust and anger.

"I don't have time for this. What a rip off..." Geo said. "You are lucky I have to go or you would be sorry you think you can make that kind of flip on me!"

Geo sprinted away.

Four blocks he ran, as the seconds ticked by. Rounding the corner to an adjacent block, Geo saw the line running along the building. There was a rope separating the bodies, devoid of any personal belongings, from the rest of the sidewalk. Cryo employees stood every couple yards, monitoring the line as it prepared to move into the building.

Geo looped around the corner of the building, following the line to the end. A man with a clipboard stepped out to block him from reaching the very end.

"Stop there! The line has just closed. I'm sorry, you will have to come back tomorrow for off-peak admittance."

"No!" Geo protested, out of breath. "I've still got... two minutes!!"

"Not according to my clock," the staff member said.

"Come on! I made it! I have the money too! Let me in line."

"Can't do it, mate. Come back tomorrow for off-peak admittance. The fee is an extra five-"

"Hey! Jacco! Let'em in line! I wass holden his place."

"Pook!" Geo shouted, trying to push past the line guard. "Yeah, ol' Pook was just watchin' my place. I have my money right here! Take my money!"

Jacco began to protest, but Pook once again cut him off.

"Jack! You know me! I've been damn near tha last one in thiss line every season! Let the dumb kid in. I was holden a spot fer 'em."

Jacco sneered, but eventually took the money Geo thrust onto his clipboard. The young flipper jumped the road and got in line next to the old man.

"Hiya, Pook," Geo said.

"Hiya, everybody," he added, looking up and down the line at the familiar faces of his fellow seasonals.

"Have yer self a merry summer? Barely made it this time, didn'tcha?" Pook said. "When you gunna learn that flippin' is risky. Scrounging ain't as glamorous, but it is dependable and always gets you in this line."

"Oh, Pook. You got it all wrong," Geo said, fingering his last bit of cash, twenty five dollars, hidden in his pocket. "I came out just fine this season. Great in fact. Even got me a little to show for it!"

Pook grunted and flapped a hand at Geo as the line started moving, freezing mist falling on the unwashed heads, another season complete.

Who is Lora Clark?

It was noon at the Golden Lantern Retirement Community when the Clarks gathered. They came from across the state to celebrate the ninety-third birthday of their mother, grandmother, and for some, great-grandmother, Lora Clark. For most, the event was more of a family reunion than strictly a birthday party, especially since ninety-three was a odd birthday to insist on a large gathering. But the family complied, not to discredit the years conquered by the amazing woman who had given them all so much.

Ariella Kelly arrived late. She was twenty-four, with wild brown hair that she gave little attention. She was relieved to find, upon meeting the rest of the extended clan in the large rec room reserved for the occasion, that she was not the only one who was dressed casual for the occasion. Working through the room, saying her manufactured sincerities to the knots of family she passed, Ariella was drawn into a longer pause with a group of cousins that were all around her age.

"Ell!" a blonde girl cried, getting up from her set on a table. She threw her arms around Ariella energetically.

"Hey, Ashley! Long time. What's new?"

"Oh, you will never guess! Grand helped get me in to Stanford! Stanford! Can you believe it!"

"That's so great!" Ariella answered. With five other aunts and uncles, Ariella had a huge pool of cousins to keep track of. Mainly due to the coloring of the spouses, the cousins generally came out, and tended to group in two ways. There was the cliquey blonds and the loaner brunettes. At family gatherings like this, the blondes were led by her cousin Meredith, who was a red-head, strangely enough. The blonds were always kind and accepting of the brunettes, but outside of forced family interaction, they were not as inclusive.

Meredith was the oldest of three and her father came from a wealthy family. He was wealthy in a way that not even Lora Clark had been able to pass on to her five daughters. Uncle Peter had a cabin in the Catskills and Meredith had a penchant for inviting only her blonde cousins up to the lakeside cabin in the summer. Ariella had seen the pictures of the group having a great time posted on Facebook, but never had the drive to point out that she would love to be invited along.

"I'm so nervous and excited!" Ashley continued. "I knew that Grand said she would help any of us get into school there since she had connections, but I still can't believe they took me!"

"She is pretty great," Ariella agreed, scanning the room for the woman of the hour. "She got me and Mikey in the same way. If it wasn't for her, I don't know if I ever would have ever gotten my journalism degree."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Meredith said, joining the group. "You were always Grans favorite, Ell."

"I don't know about that either! 'Scuse me, guys! I should really go find the birthday girl and say hello."

Ariella escaped from the clump and wound her way back to a nook in the back of the room. There was bookshelves lining the walls of the little alcove, with a pair of siting chairs on top of a nice rug. Lora Clark sat in one of the sea-foam high backed chairs, facing diagonally out at the large picture window, a hardback in her hand.

"Hey there old lady! What are you reading?"

Lora Clark wore a dark blue sweater over a white floral print dress. She was still thin, but not frail, though her skin and dark grey hair gave away her age.

She jumped at the voice, putting down her book and embracing her granddaughter.

"Oh, Ella! I'm so happy you made it! I've so been missing you!"

"I have missed you too, Grand! I should have come by since after I graduated, but I've been so busy with work and looking for big girl jobs. It's no excuse though!"

"Oh, doll, it's fine. Really! I want you to focus on yourself and starting a career. You remember what I told you at your graduation, don't you?"

"How could I forget," Ariella said, shaking her head at her grandmother. "Right in front of my boyfriend and everyone, you told me to forget about boys and pursue my dreams, that I shouldn't depend on any man!"

"And I meant it, despite how your own mother reacted to that statement!"

"Yeah, well the funny thing was that Brad told me later he was planning to propose there at the ceremony, and you threw him off so bad he couldn't do it!"

"Oh, no! You didn't..."

"No, no, no! And it wasn't your fault. He was trying to fix our problems by getting in deeper. I would have said no anyway. But I think he owes you for not embracing himself in front of everyone."

"Still darling..." she said, placing her hands over Ariella's.

"In fact, over the past few months, I have really taken your advice to heart. I want to secure myself before I do anything else. That's why I have been working hard on landing a writing job. I'm trying for a lot of newspapers and magazines, but it's really tough. They wanna see a portfolio of work. The best I can do is to come up with some articles on my own since I have nothing previously published."

"I want to tell you a story. If you want to write about it and use on your resume, I would love to be of help. It's a story no one will ever believe, and probably won't ever matter, either way things turn out. I wanna tell you a short tale about my life; my whole life from the very beginning."

"Okay," Ariella said, confused. She looked at the hardback book that he grandmother put aside. Dynamics of Nuclear Fusion. The hum of the party/reunion continued in the background as the two women talked, forgetting the world around them.

"I was born in 1921 in Dallas, Texas. My last name was Blickton back then, before I was married. My father was a grocer and my mother sold hats in a department store. I was an only child, but my mother desperately wanted more. She was from Germany and missed having a large, close family. I guess in a way, her desire for family was passed on to me.

"But I've learned, sometimes having a large family is more about financial feasibility. That was the lesson I took from my mother. Sometimes it takes more than love to run a huge ship. But I got it right, eventually."

"I think the whole family thinks you did fine, Gran. Look at us, we are all here for you!"

"Hush!" she scolded the younger girl. "Don't you try to distract me with a bunch of silly praise. I'm trying to tell you something serious!"

"Oh, sorry Gran..."

"Now, where what I? Yes! So, I lived a normal life growing up in Texas. All the pretty girls had light brown hair and dresses from the catalogues. I, unfortunately, never fit properly into those dresses. My father was a boxer before he sold produce, and he had the upper body of a gorilla. His legs though! They were skinny as toothpicks. Those broad shoulders were passed on to me and with my dark hair, darker than yours, I didn't fit in with the pretty girls. I didn't own a horse like the ranchers daughters. I was a mess back then!

"But I met a boy, my senior year in high school."

"My friend and I, Pam, who your aunt is named after, went out to Galveston one weekend. We told our parents we were going to a fabric shop and we're going to visit some of Pam's cousins. We did neither!"

Ariella sat with a bemused grin on her face as she watched the far off look in her grandmothers eyes as she told this story about late teenage rebellion. It was pretty cute to imagine a young version of her old Grand lying to her great-grandparents.

"It was 1939 and no one questioned a pair of dolled-up girls in a dinner club. In fact, we were not out of place at all. We danced and had a few drinks, overall a wonderful night. And that's where I met Thomas Clark.

"He was tall and handsome, and I knew right away I had to get to know him. It was as if something was drawing me to him. I walked right up to him and demanded he buy me a drink. Without even smiling, he nodded and got me what I wanted. And that was how it was the rest of the time I knew him. That tall quiet boy rarely smiled and spoke only when he had to. I think I'll always love him most for that, never opening his mouth more than necessary!"

Lora Clark let out a solid laugh, causing a few heads to turn in amusement. She shook her head at her own private joke and then continued.

"I got his address and we kept in touch..."

"Because he was in the Navy. I know this bit!" Ariella said, encouraging the story.

"Oh, you think you know this bit..." Lora said with a smirk. "He was, and the war had not yet fully begun for our side. But he was off sailing the high seas, nonetheless. Thomas was all I could think about those years I stayed at home and he was off. I saw him occasionally when he would come back on leave and we planned on getting married. I went to secretary school while I waited for his service to end, but it never did."

Ariella noticed the story was taking a turn that she did not recognize. She had heard from her mother the story of her grandparents a hundred times, and this was starting to veer away from what she knew.

"In November, 1945, I was twenty-four years old. Thomas was out in the Pacific, helmsman on a heavy cruiser called the Northampton. They named the battle Tassafong after the damn place it was fought. Thomas's ship was hit by a torpedo at the end of the battle and the whole ship caught fire and sunk. Most of the men aboard died, including my quiet Tom."

Ariella shook her head.

"No. No, Grand. Grandpa didn't die in the war. He survived that battle because of a letter you wrote him. He came home, you had six kids and became a geology professor. I remember Grandpa from when I was four, right before he died of cancer!"

"Quiet girl! Do you want to hear my story or not? I told you I would tell you this story from the beginning. And that is what happened!"

"Alright, Gran. I'm still listening."

"He died and I was heartbroken. I was silly and couldn't get over it. By the time the war was over, I was in my mid twenties and had finally grown into my looks. Boys were interested in me, but I just didn't have the equipment inside to deal with them. I kept to myself and worked as a secretary, eventually moving out to California. There was a big boom in defense contracts and there was plenty of work in the towns that sprung up around the companies.

"I took a job at an insurance firm and that was where I met Dale. The long of it was that he wore me down. He was ten years older than me and also fought in the war. His hair was thinning, he had a slight gut, and he never kept his mouth shut. I swear that man had no filter. I guess at was part of the thing that held my attention at first; he was persuasive. But as an insurance salesmen, I guess that is a prerequisite.

"In my own defense, I turned twenty-eight and my biological clock started ticking. He pursued me relentlessly and I figured that I might as well jump before I woke up some day at forty, all alone because I couldn't get over something more than a schoolgirl crush on a dead man.

"So we got married and had two children..."

"No..."

"Dale left his job to start his own insurance company..."

"No..."

"It didn't take off the way he hoped. He was always gone at work while I stayed home with the kids."

"Gran, that's not how it happened..."

"I grew to hate him, but life just kept going on. I became best friends with my children, the oldest a boy we named Mark, and the girl Susie."

"Gran, stop!" Ariella begged. "This is silly. You won the Vetlesen for your work in Central America. They included Geology as a category for the Nobel prize after your discoveries! You pressured the scientific community into recognizing that earth scientists are just as important as the physicists!"

"I know, dear," Lora said. "But first, I settled for a slimy insurance salesman and grew old and even more restless. The highlights of my day were reading the National Geographic and spending time with you."

"Wait..."

"Of course it wasn't really you. It was Susie, but you two are the same. Separate lives of the same person. Same looks, same personality. It's the strangest thing. It's like you were meant to be in this world, one way or another! It just took a generation for you to show up!"

Ariella was speechless. Susie? She went to open her mouth to speak, unsure herself of what would come out, when she was interrupted.

The lights went down and everyone started singing.

A large cake with a conflagration atop came whisked into the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and sang. Everyone except Ariella.

Cake was served. Toasts were made. The birthday girl was brought to the center of attention, away from her favorite granddaughter and away from the middle of her story.

Ariella sat in her chair, unable to move. Unwilling to move is more like it, she thought to herself. Thoughts ran wild across her head, none staying long enough to catch and take root. She wanted more than anything to hear the rest of her grandmothers story. The beautiful woman celebrating her ninety-third birthday had never led her astray before. There was no reason not to hear the story to the end.

The party soon disintegrated. Lora Clark gave special attention to each guest as they said their goodbyes, coming to tears over every member of her huge clan. Families sensed the closing of the gathering and came up with excuses to leave. The guests dwindled down to the single remaining granddaughter. As the staff cleaned the room of plastic cups and cake plates, the two women sat back in their chairs.

"Why did you want a big birthday party this year? We didn't even have something like this for you three years ago," Ariella said, fighting back her own tears.

"Because last time, I only made it halfway past ninety-three."

"Are you seriously telling me that you lived a full life of ninety-three years and then did the same one over again?"

Lora Clark nodded. "That's the question I have asked myself my whole life. What would you do if you lived your life through and then woke up, knowing all you know, and got to try it again? And so I did! I knew just what to say to Thomas when I saw him that second time in the club. I had never really gotten over him, even after ninety years. So there was no way I was not going to see how my life would turn out if I kept him alive.

"I sent him a letter. I made sure it would get to him in plenty of time. I told him not to open it until November, since it had been so many years since I could remember the exact day his ship participated in that surprise attack. I was amazed by how much I remembered of the event. It was not like I knew I would live my life over again and that I should study before I went into the next cycle.

"I told him I had a dream. He was the helmsman of the ship, and I told him that I dreamed he would die if he didn't move the ship as the battle drew to a close. He was on one of the last ships, covering the others as they left the attack. The Northampton was hit right on the keel. He listened to my letter and at that moment he turned the ship, against the captains orders, and the torpedoes hit on the side where sealed bulkheads kept the ship afloat long enough for an orderly evacuation. Apparently there was still a large fire, but most everyone got off the ship.

"He came home to me and I had the family I wanted, rather than the one I settled for. I was sad when you didn't show up. Six daughters and not one was you. I went to college rather than wasting my time being subservient to career minded men. I got a PhD in geology, which always interested me. Those articles in National Geographic kept coming back to me. I focused my research on the K-PG event and proved that it was an asteroid that hit Central America and broiled all the dinosaurs. I worked on that for twenty years, stealing the ideas from people in the future who didn't get a chance to look into the event because I had inside information.

"Still, it was fulfilling work. I got to raise my large family the way I wanted and the feeling of restlessness was gone. I truly feel that this was the life I was meant to live. The same old life, and it was just me who was different."

"And, what? Do you think that it will happen again? That you will die and wake up a child again in the 20's?"

"I don't know, dear," Lora said. "I just don't know. But in the last decade, it's been on my mind. Part of me hopes not. I don't want to do it again, I know I won't be able to just keep living the same thing like that movie, life in and life out. And what happens to all my children? What happens to my beautiful daughter Susie if I have children with someone different?"

Tears filled both Lora and Ariella's eyes. Lora cupped her granddaughters cheek in one palm.

"But if I can't stop it, what can I do? Maybe next time you will come back as a great granddaughter. Maybe his world will keep going without me. You will live out your own life, not ceasing to exist because I have to start over again. Perhaps I'm starting my own reality each time. In less than six months I'll know, and that scares me. All I can do is my best to make this world a better place in case one day I don't came back.

"I have to look at this like a gift," Lora said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "It's all I can do. I was pitiful the first time through, selfish the second, and if I do it a third, I will be selfless."

"Oh, Gran!" Ariella cried, throwing he arms around her frail grandmother.

"I hope to see you again, love. It has been the greatest joy of my life, seeing you again. I knew just as soon as I saw you as a newborn. I recognized you right off. You are my link to the life I deserve. An echo of the life I should have had for being a scared indecisive girl.

"Don't live your life the way I did," she whispered into Ariella's ear. "Do what makes you happy. Write about me and I hope I don't come back to erase all you could become. But if not, I'll be on the lookout for you and make sure you are named Ariella. I was so unimaginative calling you Susie the first time around!"

Onyx

Binno Terrace stood, perplexed, in the middle of the concrete floored garage. He turned around one more time, confused at the empty space. He fingered the gold coin in his pocket as he checked a storage closet in the corner. Totally empty.

Binno closed the door and let his shoulders slump. He shook his head and headed out of the garage. Two steps out of the side door he was stopped in his tracks.

"Binno! Open the roll-up, would you?"

Binno cocked his head and frowned. Rolling down the street toward the garage was the robot he had just upgraded. At least it looked just like the bot he had just given a brain...

But instead of Professor Vance or his student Tom Gregory, a boy with shaggy, dark hair, was riding in the robots arms, positioned to hold him like a chair. A duffle bag was looped across the bots midsection and the boy controlled his conveyance with a corded joystick. The pair rolled up to the main door.

"What is this? Who are you? Is that the N.V. Signature I just worked on?"

"Sorry to tell you Mr.Terrace, but those two were not from a university in America. They had to tell a good story to find someone who could build a brain like you can. Open the roll-up, hey? I want to get this thing off the street," the boy said.

Binno was stunned, but there was something about such clear communication coming out of the kid, who appeared to be about ten years old. The look on the boy's face made him move.

And then it struck him. The child was speaking his native language, Italian. Binno stopped with the door halfway up and turned back to the kid.

"Who are you?"

"Call me Anton. Now, can we get inside, please?"

Binno stood to the side as the snake-tracked war robot and its passenger went inside. The boy was lowered to the ground and began to remove the duffle. Binno dropped the door and walked over to the returned robot.

He looked the old combat robot over. The more he looked, the less he agreed with his initial assessment that it was the same robot he had just enhanced. There were a few attachment points that had not been as fully stripped as the last bot, and no new screws he had placed in the others head.

"I really want to know what is going on!" Binno said, trying to sound forceful.

"Your services are required once more," Anton announced, digging into the black duffle. "I have all of the parts necessary for you to augment this robot to the same level as the last. I even have the same style parts you brought from your personal collection. A few things are of a higher quality, but it should make no difference."

"What are you saying?" Binno asked, still confused.

"I need you to put a brain in this robot, as well. Same specifications; everything."

"You say the Professor lied to me and now you want me to do the same thing he tricked me into?"

"Yes, but at least I'm being up front about it with you," Anton said. "I was told you did it primarily for the money, as you are out of work. I'll give you twice what Vance did."

The boy stuck a hand under his dark grey, V shaped, mini-sarape and pulled out two gold coins. He flipped bot of them to Binno in rapid succession.

"I heard you quoted twenty hours of work for your last outfitting. I'd like it if you could do it in half the time, since you have recent specific experience on this sort of installation."

Binno was blown away. He fixed his gaze on the boy in front of him. He ground the two coins against each other in his closed hand, knocking his knuckles against the single coin in his pocket. How does this child know so much? he asked himself. Each piece of gold was enough to sustain his life in Queenstown for two weeks. In one day, he had extended his ability to search for a new job for a significant amount of time. Or this job could be his ticket to get completely out of town...

"Alright," Binno said. "Lay out for me exactly what you brought. I'll get to work."

"Excellent. I have some painting to do," Anton said, pulling a small sprayer from the bag. He unscrewed an ivory colored paint cartridge and attached a dark steel color. He triggered he sprayer twice, clearing the line of the lighter paint. "I will try to work around you best I can."

Binno left the garage late that night, still partly confused. He felt used, but the three coins in his pocket kept the feelings of frustration to a minimum.

Anton had answered very few of his questions as he worked to paint and repair part of the Bot's track. The speed and skill with which the boy had worked was startling and strange. In fact, everything about the days encounters had been strange, especially the moment he got a peak at the boy's purple eyes.

But he needed to get his mind on track. His plans had recently changed with the new knowledge that he was not going to be working for a university in America. It was back to the drawing board on coming up with a plan; no time to be thinking about the brains he had just placed in the two refurbished war robots.

The closet door opened in the back of the garage as soon as Binno had left.

Envy rolled out as the young boy was finishing affixing expanding forearm shields to the other bot. The ivory colored robot rolled up to face it's darker colored brother as the purple-eyed boy stood back.

"All done. What do you think?" he said, not speaking Italian.

"Do you have any evidence that acquiring a second N.V. Signature was what Vega had in mind when he deceived the Keepers and kept the coin?"

"I don't think so. Knowing Vega, he kept the coin because it would be foolish not to. I don't think he anticipated that we would integrate it into your systems or do anything of what we are doing. Why? Do you disagree with this?"

"I have no feelings, as I am not capable. As far as he soundness of the actions, I can find no faults. You were designated as one of my authorized users and I will follow your commands."

"Good, fine. I want your feedback, though."

"Adding members to our team can only benefit our cause in the long run. Shall we switch him on?"

Fingers found the switch under the chin of the deactivated robot. It came right to life.

"I have been authorized two controllers. Please state your names so I may determine your roles," the flat voice of the war robot spoke. It's flat pentagon face bouncing between toe two individuals.

"I am Envy. We are equals. I will designate all persons or entities from whom we shall follow instructions. Further authorized controllers will be identified at a later date."

"Envy is an authorized user," the war robot agreed.

"Your designation is Onyx. Please begin cycling through male voice options..."

The Library

Kyle Voont tapped his little feet up the marble steps of the library's main hall, heading for the upper stacks. The enormous building was silent, apart from the non-vocal noises created by the stirrings of the scant occupants. Kyle ran his hand along the dark wood railing as he wound around the sweeping staircase- a rule his grandfather insisted upon whenever he took the stairs.

At the top landing, behind a reference desk, sat a tall, skinny assistant librarian. This was Joanie. Kyle attempted to slip past the woman, who was twelve years older than him, and bothered Kyle every time he came for his weekly lessons.

She looked up from her desk just in time to catch the schoolboy slipping past.

"Hey, there Kyle! How are you, handsome guy?"

"I'm fine, Miss Joanie."

"Going to see your granddad, are you?"

"Yep... Just like every Frierday..."

"Well, I last saw him up in the special collection loft. I don't think he is in his office," Joanie said, turning to her NSI to locate the head librarian.

"Don't worry about it. I know where he is waiting for me."

Kyle scurried away from the overly involved woman before she could give him any further useless advice. He wound his way through the dark hardwood shelves of books, towering high over his head. The smell was comforting and familiar; one he would always associate with the time he spent with his grandfather. He couldn't help shuffling his feet on the short red carpet that marked the path into the depths of the forest of knowledge. He reached another staircase, this one much smaller, made of wood and rising steeply up to the special collection loft.

Reaching the top step, the young boy found exactly what he was expecting. His grandfather, short and white bearded, stood at the table in the middle of the loft, looking out the great window that filled the far wall. The other two walls held shelves upon shelves of books that reached to the top of the high ceiling. These books were his grandfathers favorite and most prized, rather than strictly the libraries rare book collection. Most were from Earth, some from Cyn, all having traveled many thousand light years from their point of origin.

Kyle plodded over to the study table in the middle of the loft, dropped his book bag without care, and plopped down into a wooden straight backed chair. He limply placed his arms extended out in front of himself and awaited his grandfathers response.

"What have you been learning in school this week?" the librarian asked, remaining in place by the window.

His grandfather often started out their lessons in this fashion. It became apparent to Kyle that his response usually guided the path of their conversation, mainly when his grandfather did not have a specific lesson in store. Kyle thought about all the things he had been learning in the last week and brought up his favorite subject.

"We have been talking about the stellar geography of the Five Worlds, Grandfather."

"Yes. Yes. A great starting place for your upcoming studies of the history of our worlds," he said to himself. "Tell me all about the Five Worlds and what you know of them."

"Well," Kyle began, swinging his legs under the heavy wooden desk. "First we learned about Cyn."

"And what about Cyn did you learn?"

"Cyn was the first garden planet humans migrated to, from, uhh..." Kyle recited, searching his memory for a name.

"Earth. Humans first came from a planet similar to Cyn called Earth."

"Yeah, that's the one!" the boy agreed. "Cyn has eight continents and four sub-continental islands. It has two moons and is the most populated planet in the five worlds."

"Alright, good, Kyle. Cyn is the only world in its system, so where is next?"

"Next to be colonized was the Achilleus system."

"That is right," the librarian confirmed as he paced back and forth in front of the window. "The Achilleus system is an absolutely remarkable place. Not only is it quite close in proximity to Cyn, but were you told why the system defies standard explanations?"

"Well, is it because both the planets orbit the star the same as each other?"

"Yes! The worlds share an identical orbit, situated exactly at each other's L3 points! What are the names of the twin worlds?"

"Balius and Xanthus!" Kyle said proudly.

"And do you understand what makes them so improbable?"

"Just that nobody thought they could have two habitable planets in one system?" Kyle asked.

"Not quite. You see, by the way we understand the formations of star systems, the configuration of having two planets, with identical composition, mass, and opposing rotation, occupying the exact same orbital distance from the star, but one hundred eighty degrees apart, should never have come into reality. The way that planets form from stellar matter and clear their orbital path... This configuration is nearly impossible. Balius and Xanthus even have continental plates, biological patterns and elemental diversity that are nearly identical as well. It as if the planets were placed there, in perfect harmony, making us unimaginative humans collectively scratch our heads..."

A brief silence settled over the room as the older man paused in thought.

"Oh! But I thought you were telling me! What's next? This should be easy for you..."

"Where we live! The Korin system!" Kyle answered.

"There it is. Tell me about our system, the last to be inhabited."

"Well, first there is Yomi. We are smaller than Cyn and the others," he recited. "We are tidally locked on the sun. All the cities are in the Akesch band, so we don't freeze like at the far pole or burn up like at the close one."

Kyle looked to his grandfather for approval and continued.

"Then there is Inaba Major. It is the super gas giant we can see faintly on the horizon. Inaba Minor is its second largest moon and is a water world."

"How is Inaba Minor able to sustain life being so far from the star? How are people able to live there so that we call it a human world?"

"Inaba is so hot that it keeps the ocean from freezing since it doesn't always get sunlight."

"That's right," the librarian said to his grandson. "Is that all they taught you about our system?"

"Yeah. We have to read some really old stories about the first people on Cyn. They were pretty neat."

"Well, our system is a bit larger than just us and Inaba Minor," the liberian said, getting Kyle back on track. "Inaba Major has a few clusters of asteroids at its stable Lagrange points. The asteroids are mined for resources and shipped out all over the five worlds. Our system is the most diverse since we have no garden worlds, but so many places we have forced our way into and thrived. The heartiest of the star people often come from Korin. It was as if the pioneering spirit of the first people to reach Cyn remained on the frontier and is now on the edge here with us.

"Have you yet learned about Kreios and the Star Crusades?"

Kyle sat still and shook his head.

The older man turned from the red light of he window and placed his hands on the solid table. Just as he was about to speak, a white haired young man ascended the steps to the special collection loft with a stack of books in his arms. He paused on he top landing, begged pardon for interrupting and turned to go.

"Angus! No, please. I am just tutoring my grandson on things his school fails to mention. Return those books to their place. It is no interruption."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Angus, here," the old librarian said, speaking to Kyle. "Is a new assistant to the library. You are a student of history at the university, yes?"

"I am, Sir," Angus replied. His pure white medium length hair was combed backwards, tight to his skull. He wore simple black clothes that smartly fit, but had cuffs at the openings to attach into the type of thermal regulatory suits worn by residents at the extreme ends of the Akesch band.

"I am about to tell Kyle here about Kreios and his reformation of the Five Worlds. I know you have read several of the books here in the library on that subject. You should stay and fill in the details I miss!"

"As you wish. I will listen as I put these books back in their place."

"Angus, here, has something in common with the mighty Kreios," the librarian began, sitting down at the table. "Kreios had purple eyes, which are very rare. Then again, Kreios was not his real name, I believe. What it was, I cannot remember..."

"It was rumored to be Izan, Librarian," Angus said from a ladder, placing a book back on a shelf.

"Thank you, thank you. See, a recently read student is always brilliant to have on hand. Well, Kreios was born a slave here on Yomi about two hundred years ago. Not much is know about his young life until, suddenly, he nearly conquered the system.

"You see, the Five Worlds were in a much different shape than they are today. Good or bad, Kreios rose out of slavery and changed the entire political and economic situation everywhere men walk. There had never been a central governing authority as the star people spread across the Five Worlds. Rich men and corporations claimed lands, space routes, and raised armies to enforce their values. That lead places like the Korin System to be seen as a lawless frontier to be exploited by the affluent people of Cyn. Kreios threw off his bonds of slavery and rebelled against this lack of regulation."

"He wrote the Five Rules for Five Worlds?" Kyle asked.

"Yes! Yes! That was the end result of the the crusades of the Knights of Kreios. It is not known if it was actually written by Kreios himself, or by one of his generals based upon his philosophies, but nonetheless it is a result of Kreios's will.

"But the best part of the story is not how a single man completely changed the face of the Five Worlds and the billions living amongst them. It is how a single common slave boy rose to such power."

"How did he do it, Grandfather?" Kyle asked, rapt by the mention of such a legendary hero.

"He was an unbeatable fighter. Small by most standards of soldiers. He was not thick or bulky, but he possessed a strength like no other man. What was it Angus? How did he take his first ship? He was being sold to Inaba Minor?"

"That is the story as I read it," Angus replied as he finished putting away the last book. He leaned back against the bookcase with arms crossed and listened to the rest of the story.

"Yes, the story goes he was a good slave for his masters, but as soon as he got aboard a starship, he exploded like a bomb of rage, throwing the entire crew, minus the pilot, out of the airlock. The legend goes that his hands, feet and eyes burned with a black light when he fought. They say no man could stop his rampage. He took the ship and fled to Inaba Minor anyway.

"For the next three years, he terrorized the system like a pirate, taking any ship he could and building a fleet. This went on and on until affected corporations sent warships to destroy the band of rogue slaves and mercenaries that were loyal to Kreios. But every time, Kreios's forces were triumphant and grew in size. Then one day, the entire attitude of his army changed.

"Kreios specifically made himself known as the leader of this growing horde. He created the Knights of Kreios and declared a Holy Crusade against the injustice and disorder of the Five Worlds. It was said that Kreios himself would drift around his fleet, outside his armor, enforcing his rule and reputation. He would lead ground assaults and challeng any who opposed him to single combat.

"Famously, on Xanthus, he challenged a regional governor to produce his best fighter, that the victor of their personal combat would decide the fate of Kreios's campaign there. Thinking that the stories were over inflated, the Governor, a formerly talented gunslinger, agreed to fight the young man himself. Although an epic poem describing the duel was written, praising the valor of both combatants, revisionist accounts state the fight was brutal and over and the blink of an eye.

"Fifteen years later, with a solid corps of Knights at his back, Kreios took Trounce City on Cyn and declared the Crusade a success. He soon departed the system, leaving the Knights to impose his will. He returned here to Yomi, designing and supervising the building of his tomb, in the hot zone of the close pole.

"And just as sudden as his rise had come, Kreios the mighty, reshaper of the Five Worlds, disappeared into his palace tomb, never to be seen again. Like I said, that was nearly two hundred years ago. But his legacy continues in the background of the way we live. There is still no central governance over the Star People. The Knights remain as an independent order of judges, enforcing the Five Rules for Five Worlds. Slavery no longer exists. There is accountability when people try to oppress others. Children grow up with mandatory knowledge to keep them from ignorance. The Worlds are a better place thanks to the cleansing storm that Kreios brought in his wake."

"No one has ever gone to his tomb to see what happened to him?" Kyle asked, wide eyed.

"He is surely dead," the librarian said. "He would be past two hundred twenty five. I doubt he would have lived that long. Humans, despite all our attempts at genetic manipulation, just don't live that long. And what is more, no one dares to enter the tomb. Kreios was so terrible, the stories of his rage and prowess keeps all away to this day."

"I want to go there! I want to see the tomb of Kreios!"

"There are pictures you can look at in this book here," the librarian said, rising from his seat and drawing a book off the shelf.

"No! I want to go into the hot zone and see it for myself one day! What good is reading about something in a book when I could visit the real thing in person!?"

"The boy has a point, Librarian," Angus said, with a sly grin. "Books can only take you so far. There is rarely a better substitute for making use of your feet. Life is movement."

Kyle grinned at the affirmation.

The librarian threw his hands up in exaggerated exacerbation."Well, then that ends the history lesson! So much for me thinking these Frierday lessons will instill in you a love of books! I guess I will have to start grooming someone else as my replacement," he said with a wink. "Now run along home, and tell your parents hello for me."

The old librarian ushered the boy out of his seat and down the stairs, shaking a finger at Angus. "There is no place better than this library, my boy! Listen not to this purple-eyed devil!"

Fake Your Own

Even at sixty-five, thirty years after the event, Bobby Ipswich never believed his brother was really dead. He stuck to his story\- that his younger brother Ronny had faked his own death.

It is a funny saying, when you say it enough times, Bobby thought. He bobbed along in his fishing boat on the lake near his home. The beer in his cozy was getting warm, but he had never minded warm beer. The fish weren't biting on the cloudy October day, and the solitude of the brown water was reward enough.

Fake your own death.

What a funny way to put it. Almost like commit suicide. Was the commit part really necessary? Your own... as if you would fake someone else's death... Bobby felt like looking up the phrase in Italian or Bantu. It would be interesting to see how another language phrased that particular deed.

It was time to move. Bobby lifted his anchor, a cinder block held with yellow plastic rope. Once it was aboard, he spun up the outboard and hummed away. Wind in his face, he took another sip of foamy beer. Sometimes he wondered how he found the taste of the swill favorable. He remembered as a kid, eighteen it was, having his first two consecutive brews. He was no taste tester, with a word for every flavor, consistency and aftertaste. Being such, beer was indescribable to him. Coffee was interesting to him in the same way. Coffee smelled great when brewed, but tasted bad unsugared. How did that work? Beer had almost a metallic taste that he was nearly repulsed by the first time he had two.

Why do we drink this stuff? I am long past the original draw of having a beer. What has changed in me that makes me like this stuff now?

Bobby once read that kids lack the component in their brain that tells them they have had their fill of sweets. That was why his grandson would demolish his entire Halloween stash in a weekend. His daughter, Libby, had to come up with a solution to that. The Switch Witch would come the night of November first and trade the sack of candy for cash. Crazy children! Something must have changed in his brain once he got old enough, in the same ways sort of way that allowed himself to like beer.

Bobby cut the engines and lowered the slimy cinder blocked rope. He stood up in the back of his twelve foot aluminum and unzipped his fly. With a look around the lake, he emptied his batter without an audience, out in nature. The best way on earth to take a leak, he thought to himself.

But, forget the Switch Witch and beer, he was thinking about Ronny. His little brother the... the what? It was hard now to to give him a moniker. He was not quite a jokester. Sure, he was always joking around, but he could also be deadly serious at times. Ronny loved life and never let it get him down. Not for a second.

When word reached him that Ronny was dead, he never believed it for a second. It was all just too perfect and convenient in his opinion. Despite how it much it was distasteful to the rest of his family, Bobby maintained his belief: no body, no dead brother.

He had kept his opinion to himself the best he could, but the night after the funeral, drinking that indescribable beer with his sister, it all came out. Beer always had a way of removing his judgement filters.

"What do you mean you 'don't for a second' believe Ronny is really dead?" Judith asked, appalled.

"Just what I said!" he had shot back. "It's all too convenient, if you ask me?"

"'All too convenient' that our brother got eaten by a grizzly bear? Are you kidding me?"

"That's just it! Can't you see? That is a total Ronny thing to do? Get eaten by a huge bear? Who really gets eaten by a bear? No one!"

"Obviously someone... there were bones! They matched his blood type. The ranger found his clothes with the remains. His camp was untouched. That was him Bobby. There is no question."

"Yeah, but who randomly books a trip to Alaska and ends up eaten in his first week in the woods, not to be found for another week. Seems a little suspicious. And how can we be sure it was really him? Like you just said, there were only bones and bear scat left! No body, no Ronny."

"What are you thinking? Is this really that hard for you to accept? A detective looked into everything on this side too. There was nothing to suggest he faked his own death! There was no odd activity in any of his bank accounts. No personal items were unaccounted for. He was in the process of getting picked up for that new position at work. He was not depressed, even after Sandra left him the year before! Everything was going well for him!"

"Exactly! That's why it was the best time! He did it perfect! Do you remember seeing that pretty Asian girl at the funeral today? She was so upset! I asked her if she knew Ron well, and you know what she said? 'We work together. We went out a couple times and then I decided to stop returning his calls.' That was four months ago. Now I'm not saying he did this all to see if she would show up, but come on! Did you see Sandra and her entourage? She was all decked out in black as if nothing happened between them and she was a widow now. I just wish I didn't have to sit so close. I would have skirt the back of the service to see if he was lurking back there watching this all go down!"

"You really think he would do all this to get back at some women? That's not Ronny."

"True," Bobby had agreed, "But that would have been a factor. A bonus to escaping this life he had been disappointed with. I remember him telling me he had come to the conclusion that being an adult was nothing like he was led to believe it would be. Ronny always lived in this alternative reality where his comic books and novels and movie were real life. He looked up to the two of us and our families. He was destroyed last year when the illusion broke."

"But to fake his own death?" Libby questioned. "I mean, I will admit the sudden interest in an Alaskan getaway doesn't quite add up. But to leave with only the clothes on his back and nothing of his old life? Where would he go? What would he do?"

"It makes you think, huh? He had a friend in the Navy who was Tongan. He always talked about going to the South Pacific and living on a beach eating rice and fish. That's where I think he is. I think he got out. Came up with that elaborate plan to make it look like he was grizzly food. Maybe he jumped on a cargo ship or something..."

The sun was going down and the wind had begun to get cold, wiping up off the lake. It was time to head home. Bobby Ipswich thought of hotdogs and his hot tub, both warm and calling his name. He poured out his remaining beer and restarted the cold motor.

"To you little brother!" he saluted the sky. "Until I can poke your dead body in the eye, I know you are alive. Alive on some beach, laughing at us dumb fools so eager to believe a grizzly could get the best of you..."

The Door

He didn't ring the doorbell. He didn't knock. Instead, Jake Gates just walked in the front door of the house he had never been inside before.

Jake ventured through the unfamiliar layout, following the sounds of music and conversation. It was not long before he found the main gathering of old friends, in the kitchen and spilling out into the back yard patio.

"Jake!" Donny Bryte said, coming in from the outside. The two gave each other a quick embrace and Jake handed over an unwrapped toaster box.

"Happy housewarming, D.B." Jake said. "I didn't wrap it cuz I figured it was pointless. This place is pretty nice!"

"Yeah, thanks man. I'm still surprised the bank gave Carrie and I the loan. Should I give you the tour?"

"Let's," Jake agreed.

Donny lead the way out back first, where Jake said hello to the guests he knew, and was introduced to the ones he didn't.

"It's a pretty big backyard, dude," Jake commented.

"Yeah, way bigger than anything I've ever had at any rental. Connie wants me to build a doghouse..."

Jake chuckled. "Well, now at you don't have to deal with pet deposits, getting a dog isn't a bad idea. This patio furniture is nice."

"I know! The McCourtneys got it for us! I was blown away. John was pretty impressed I actually followed through with purchasing a house," Donny said.

Jake smiled at the mention of John McCourtney. The pair grabbed drinks out of a cooler and went back inside the house. Their first stop was the garage, which was mostly empty except for unpacked moving boxes. The pair talked about plans for a work bench and thoughts on the old water heater that could use replacement.

"So, do you know anything about who had this house before you? You said it wasn't a short sale and I can't imagine it was a rental; it looks pretty well taken care of."

"Apparently an old man lived here alone, and when he died his daughter put it up for sale as soon as she could," Donny said.

"He died in here, somewhere, didn't he?" Jake said with a grin.

"Yeah, I found out he did," Donny admitted under his breath. "They had to disclose it in the final sale paperwork. But don't mention it to Carrie. She gets really weird about ghosts and dead people and stuff."

"Those of us who have been killed by crazy men in the woods are immune to stuff like that," Jake said, elbowing his friend. "Your girlfriend wouldn't quite understand about all that though, huh?"

Donny laughed to himself and nodded.

"I had all new carpet put down before we moved in," Donny said. "So that kinda reduces his presence, right? Oh, well," he laughed again. "The price was right, and we are going to redo the tile in the kitchen and half-bath next."

"Cool, man. So, two bedrooms?"

"Yep, here is the spare," Donny said pushing the door open with one hand so the pair could look in. "Not sure what we are going to do with it yet, but it's nice to have the space. And next is the master..."

"Very cool," Jake replied. He half-sat against he foot of Donny's bed, and took a moment to look around. "Ooh, and a walk in closet!"

"Yeah, it's pretty nice," Donny said, pushing the pocket door all the way open. "It's probably the nicest part about this room. Look at all the fancy wooden shelving."

Jake furrowed his brow and looked around. The wooden fixtures were very fancy with beautiful trim and quality hardware. Donny and Carrie had unpacked a good amount of clothes into the shelves and hanging rods.

"It's so nice, it's almost out of place," Jake commented.

"What do you mean?" Donny said, also looking closer.

"This walk in closet system must have cost a ton. No offense dude, but the house is styled a bit old. It still has acoustic ceilings and old doors. The new carpets..."

"And baseboards," Donny cut in.

"No, I mean it all looks good, and some new paint and the tile you were talking about will make it amazing. But before all your updates, his closet system stands out. Have you ever heard of Murphy doors?"

Donny shook his head.

"I have seen them advertised on, like, sky mall and at home shows. They were the original makers of those beds that fold out of the wall, the ones you can put up in the day to save space. Well, they became really specialized in making doors and fold out things that looked really fancy, to hide eyesores and stuff."

"What are you saying?" Donny asked.

"I think there is something more here than a closet. Think about the layout of the house. Come out here," Jake said, exiting the closet.

The pair walked out of the hall and toward the living room. They began to speak in hushed voices.

"Think about it," Jake said again. "There is space unaccounted for. Not much, but some. The half-bath doesn't look like it goes all the way back to the exterior wall. Look how deep the living room is compared."

Donny and Jake skulked through the party, judging the space of the house while everyone visited. They stuck their heads out the back sliding glass door. They made depth comparisons silently until one eyed the other and wordlessly agreed. Jake followed Donny as he made a break back for the master closet.

"Donny? What are you two up to?" Carrie called as they went. "Come be social!"

"Just a minute! We will be out in a sec!" Donny called back.

They went back into the closet and slid the door closed.

"You are so right!" Donny hissed excitedly. "There is space unaccounted for. It's not super obvious, not unless you look."

"And I only noticed because these shelves are slightly out of place," Jake agreed. "It's gotta be this one too. The others are against your bedroom wall and that one couldn't move cuz of the hanging rungs. The old guy must have put the others in here to make the movable door not stand out."

"So how do you think it works?" Donny asked, inspecting the shelf system with his eyes and hands. He gave an experimental tug that yielded no results.

"I don't know," Jake said. "There should be a switch or something. Let me look it up on my phone and see if I can find where they usually hide their switches at."

Before Jake could perform his search Donny's fingers found the switch.

"Got it!"

Both watched in awe as the shelf system swung out from the decorative moulding, reveling darkness behind. Jake shined the face of his lit phone into the dark. Donny stepped over the raised threshold and into the room. With one leg in, and one out, he felt a string hit the side of his head. Realizing what it was, Donny pulled the light chain and the secret room lit up.

The pair stepped inside, leaving the door open to the closet. The space was small; small enough not to be noticed, but large enough to hold the old mans' valuables. Hanging on a peg-board wall were an array of weapons. Two M-16 rifles sat stacked above and automatic pistol and two more revolvers. A double barrel breach shotgun leaned against the wall. Off to the side were an collection of large, fixed-blade knives and a pair of brass knuckles. On the opposing long wall were coils of rope and a pair of stuffed backpacks with labels. Along the concrete floor were boxes of meals ready-to-eat, bottles of water, and ammunition cans. At the back wall, half as wide as the room was long, sat a strong box. Beside it was an empty fireproof file box with the lid up.

"The guys daughter must have never known..." Donny whispered to himself.

Jake nodded as he read the labels on the backpacks. "These were his go bags, in case he needed to bug out. They have a list of their contents on the outside so he knew just what was in them. 'Male change of clothes, medical supplies, maps...' Looks like he had one for himself and one for a woman.

"Look at these guns, man!" Donny said. "I just bought a new collection of guns along with my new house!"

"Safe," Jake said, directing his friend to the final part of the room. "You may have bought more than just some prepper gear."

Donny knelt down in front of the shelf the strong-box sat on. He tried to push it to the side, flaring his eyes at Jake as he felt the weight. "What do you think is in here?"

"The firebox is empty. He must have taken his important papers out before he died. What, does that thing take the same keys as this, or does it have a code only?" Jake asked of the safe Donny sat in front of.

"Combo," he answered.

"Damn!" Jake said. "Any ideas? If seen on some of those storage shows that the guys just pick them up and drop them on the corner of the lid and it breaks the clasp..."

"No, this thing is heavy, and I'm pretty sure everyone in the house would hear if we cracked it on the concrete," Donny said. "I'll just have to start trying numbers... 1-2-3-4?"

"That will take forever," Jake said as Donny began to punch away. "What about your house number, What is your address?"

"5035 Wildland? I guess we could give that a try..."

"Or maybe the old guys birthday..." Jake muttered to himself. "Oh! Or the birthday of the woman this pack was meant for. Or an anniversary..."

"No. Way," Donny said as the safe light went green and the latch cycled open.

"Your address? Are you kidding me?" Jake nearly shouted.

"I guess not!" Donny said as he opened he lid.

Donny Bryte and Jake Gates walked out side and sat in the fancy patio set in the evening light, grinning and sipping on their drinks. They sat next to each other and didn't say a word. Jake elbowed Donny without looking, and Donny elbowed back.

"What are you two grinning about?" Carrie said, coming outside and seeing the two.

"Oh, nothing," Donny answered.

"Your guys's new place is absolutely amazing," Jake said, disrupting Carrie's next thought. "It's so much more than I thought it would be."

"We are pretty happy with it," Carrie agreed. "The house payment is a bit more than we are used to paying, but I'm sure we will get by."

"Oh, I have a feeling you will have no problem with your house payment," Jake grinned.

"Donny, the tacos are almost ready, will you come help me serve them," she said, and went back in side before he could reply.

"I should have got you a scale so you could weigh that stuff," Jake joked with Donny as he got up to go help with the food.

"Coming," he called after his girlfriend and shook his head at Jake. "Don't worry, I'm sure I can afford one, now."

Two Rabbits

The view from train ride out of Milan was not what Anthony Berio expected it to be. The ground was much more dry and dusty compared to the image of northern Italy he had in his mind. In fact, the way he imagined the place his family had come from was no longer there. Ever since arriving, he could not call to mind what he had expected the place to look like. Even the pictures from when his parents had brought him as a toddler were lacking all detail in his mind.

"It's beautiful countryside," Beth commented, as if reading Anthony's thoughts. "Do you know where the orchard is once we get to Asti?"

"Really, no," he answered. "Last time I was here, I could barely walk. I looked it up back in the hotel though. We have to take a short bus ride north to Meridiana and then walk west to Settime."

"Well, it's a good thing you know Italian, because I would be totally lost."

"Not well enough, but I'll get us there," Anthony said. "I talked with my cousins last Christmas and told them I would try to come out here after graduation. They came a couple years ago and got the whole tour. They told me how they got here, I think they rented a car, but I have totally forgotten. I should have written it down..."

The American couple sat alone in the wide berth, leaning against the outside wall of the train, taking in the warm sun. Buildings and towns rolled past, betraying the thought that this land was any different from anywhere else. Beth opened the top flap of her day pack and pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"Is there a smoking car, or something?" she asked Anthony.

"I saw another guy smoking in his seat as we got on," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "And I haven't seen any signs either way."

"Here," Anthony said, yanking on the jam of the window next to Beth. The section of glass slid back six inches, gently sucking wind from the cabin.

"Are you sure," she asked, drawing a short cigarette and a lighter.

"Ehh! What's the worst that could happen? Someone comes by and yells at us. No big deal!"

"Alright," she said, lighting the end and blowing the first drag through the window. "I'll just blame you, anyway. Plus, I have no idea what they would even be saying!"

Twenty minutes later, without incident or sight of an official, the train arrived at Asti. The station was on the outskirts of town and the couple walked down the raised platform to the arrival building next to the street. Anthony scanned the signs as Beth looked around with curiosity.

"Here we go," he said, touching Beth's arm lightly. "The bus stop is right there."

Alone, the pair stood at the stop, Anthony deciphering the schedule.

"So we need to get on the one to Chivasso. Meridiana is the second stop. And we are in luck, the next one should arrive at ten after the hour!"

The bus turned out to be just what Anthony expected it to be. It was old, rounded edges, dark blue with a hand painted sign that read Asti-Chivasso above the front windshield. The pair climbed on.

"Quanto?" Anthony asked the driver as they stepped aboard.

"Ogni due Euro," the driver replied.

Anthony handed over the four Euros and the pair took a seat in the front of the mostly empty bus.

"Dove stai andando?" the bus driver asked from behind the wheel.

Anthony leaned forward and formulated an answer, "Ehh, a Settime. La Mia Famiglia ha un frutteto li. Due Conigli compagnia olio d'oliva?"

"In Settime? Voui dire Olio Puro."

"Certo, Certo."

"Anthony, what is he saying?" Beth whispered to her partner.

"He was asking where we were going, that's all. But I don't think he has heard of my family's olive oil company. Strange."

The bus cruised along the well maintained two-lane road out of the big town of Asti. The pair sat entranced by the hills on either side of the road, stopping first in a small village and finally in Meridiana. They dismounted the bus and the driver handed Anthony a piece of paper.

"Programma per il ritorno," he said and closed the squeaky bus doors.

"Ooh, I got that one," Beth said triumphantly. "So how far now?"

"I'm guessing about a kilometer down this road. We should run right into it. From the pictures I've seen, the orchard and wear houses are off to the left. The main administration offices should be on the right side of the main road. I guess most of Settime was built around Due Conigli olive oil."

"It's pretty cool you know where your family came from," Beth commented as she walked. "My whole family is just a mish-mash. I have no clue where I came from."

"Yeah, apparently my great-grandfather escaped right before the rise of the Faciests and the start of World War Two. My great-grand uncle kept the place going while he was gone. I guess he returned after the war but Grandpa Berio stayed. So it's kinda a cool pilgrimage thing most us Berio's do every once in a while. I really just want to get some stickers or key chains or something with the two rabbits logo on it. Also, though, it's prolly good we show up every few years so that our Italian cousins know we still exist!"

The walk was short and Anthony realized he had reached his destination as soon as he started seeing the olive trees; their neat rows butting up to the left side of the road. He wanted to pick one and pop it into his mouth, but knew that untreated olive were not going to taste very good. Still, he thought about it.

"There is the main wear house on the left. Let's cross the street and say hello to whoever is in the administration building."

"Ohh, I bet they will give us a tour, too," Beth said. "You will have to translate as much as you can for me."

But as the couple approached the corrugated sheet metal building, they could see into the picture glass lobby that no one was inside. Anthony noticed that no one was parked outside the building either as they crossed the small worn parking lot.

"Are they closed today?" Beth asked as the walked up to the front doors.

Anthony cupped his hands to the dirty glass and peered inside. The place was empty; not a sign of anyone inside or recent use. Most of the furniture was gone and computer cables ran to nothing in particular. Anthony frowned.

"That's strange..."

"Maybe they just moved offices," Beth said.

"Let's try across the street," Anthony suggested.

The couple crossed the deserted street and made their way to a small portable trailer with the word office written on the outside. Anthony paused and scratched his forehead.

"What is is?" Beth asked.

"It doesn't say Due Conigli on the outside or have the crest anywhere on the sign. The bus driver said something about Olio Puro and I thought it was just slang or something. But it says it right there too... Let me go in and ask," Anthony said to Beth.

"Okay... I'll have a smoke and wait."

He went up the stairs and inside while Beth fished out another of her cigarettes. She was half-way done when Anthony came back out.

"Uh-oh, that's not a good look on your face," she said as he joined her. "What happened?"

"So, I go in and tell the lady who I am and she has no idea. I said I was family of the owners of Due Conigli, from America, and she told me that this place is owned by Olio Puro now. I can't believe it! They sold the family company!"

"Sold? Oh, no!" Beth said. "When did this happen?"

"I didn't ask, but I doubt the lady knew. It seemed like she had never even heard of Due Conigli," Anthony said, frustrated. "It couldn't have been more than a couple years ago, since my cousins came.

"Wow," Anthony said in defeat. " I can't believe we came all the way out here, and it's gone."

"What do we do now?" Beth asked.

"I guess we head back to the bus. It comes through in a half-hour..." Anthony said. "Dang! I really wanted to come back with some swag! Now there is nothing. I can believe they sold the whole operation to a big corporate oil company!"

Anthony and Beth walked back across the road, past the former buildings of the Due Conigli Olive Oil Company. Anthony scuffed his feet and spun around as he walked, trying to take in the hundreds of years of history this bit of land had seen of his family. After the hard work of starting the business, to keeping it open in war times, and making it through all other hardships it had no doubt endured, Berio's would no longer walk this ground. This fact saddened Anthony more than anything. Passing the edge of the building, Beth broke his trance.

"Is that the Two Rabbits crest right there?" Beth said, trying to cheer up her disappointed companion.

"Ha! Yeah, that's it!" Anthony replied, walking over to the sign she was pointing out. "See, two rabbits, back to back with an olive tree between. Due Conigli and 1819. That is the company logo that is on every bottle."

Beth fingered the white plywood sign screwed to the outside metal of the building. "What does it say? 'No' something?"

"'No parking.' I guess they didn't want anyone parking on this side of the building," Anthony said. "I bet that is the last thing around here with the logo on it. They must have not bothered to take it down since they don't use this building."

"Hey!" Beth suddenly said. "You wanted something to show for your trip out here, right? Why not take the sign! It's got your family crest, or whatever, on it. We should take it!"

Anthony looked up at the sign. It was only half a foot tall by a foot wide... He smiled at the thought.

"Yeah, but it's screwed on. I don't have a..."

Beth pulled a pocket knife from her pocket. She presented it with one hand and pulled out the screw driver tool with her other hand.

"Where did you get a Swiss Army knife?" Anthony said, taking it from her.

"I bought it as soon as we got here. I wanted something to protect myself with if I needed it. Figured one with tools would be better than just a blade if a cop hassled me for it," Beth said with a grin.

"I'm going to do it!" Anthony exclaimed under his breath after a beat. "No one will miss it and it will look great in my room. Watch my back while I get this thing off the wall."

"Alright, but hurry," Beth said, pulling out another cigarette and leaning against the corner of the building.

Anthony worked fast, pushing with all his might as he unscrewed the sign. The screws screeched, having probably been in place for years in the weather, and never removed. His shoulder muscles began to ache as he twisted the hand tool above his head. Three rusty screws down and Beth spoke, making him jump.

"Somebody just got in a golf cart across the street! It looks like security!"

"Almost done..."Anthony strained.

"They are coming this way!"

"It's off!" Anthony breathed, shoving the knife in his pocket and kicking the screws away.

"Quick!" Beth said, sliding her bag backwards with her foot. "Stick it in here!"

Anthony lifted the flap and hurriedly pulled the drawstring open. He jammed the sign in to the bag and swung it on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

The security guard in the golf cart zipped up on the pair leaving the sight of the theft and tried to stop them.

"Sorry, I don't speak Italian!" Beth said loudly and continued to walk away holding Anthony's hand.

The guard did not follow, but rather looked confused at the escaping pair and around at the area they had taken the sign from.

Once they were down the road and almost to the bus stop, Anthony spoke.

"I don't think he knew what we took. I bet they just saw us on camera being suspicious so they sent him out there. I think we are cool, but I'm not sure."

Beth laughed. "Good! And we got you your sign! The trip wasn't a total bust after all. We should get a drink in Asti to celebrate!"

"I don't know. Let's not do that till we get back to Milan. I'll feel better once we get off that train and back into the big city."

Aboard the train, Anthony and Beth once again sat alone in their own berth. The window was open, but this time Beth was not smoking. Anthony sat quite, constantly glancing out at the entrances to the car.

"I don't understand why you are being paranoid over stealing a little sign!" she playfully joked. "No one is going to miss it. And no one is going to come after us for it back."

"Give me this one Beth," Anthony said. "I saw a couple cops at the train station and they were looking at us funny. I have a pretty good sense for these sorts of things. I'm not usually a suspicious person, but I feel like something is up."

"I really think you are wrong, but..."

As Beth spoke, the door to the car opened and two uniformed police officers entered the car. Anthony cut her off with a subtle hand motion. He flared his eyes at her right before they stopped at the entrance to the couples booth.

Anthony smiled at the men as they stood regarding the passengers.

"You speak English, correct?" the shorter of the two said.

"We do," Anthony answered.

"Great, so do I. I am officer Marko Passini. I was an exchange student to Michigan in high school. Where are you two from?" he asked pleasantly.

"New Jersey," Anthony smiled.

"Ahh. Yes, the east coast! Are you enjoying your tour of the country side?"

"We are," Anthony said, keeping his answers short but pleasant.

"Excellent!" Officer Passini said with very little accent. "Well, unfortunately, I have been sent by Olio Puro to question you over the disappearance of a piece of their property. Do you have anything you wish to tell me?"

Anthony looked to Beth for a split second, speaking for the both of them as she sat petrified.

"There must be a misunderstanding," Anthony said calmly, devoid of any previous tension he had before the officers arrived. "We were out at Olio Puro this morning. My family used to own the land but we found it had been sold, so we left. A security guard became suspicious of us as we were leaving, but we don't know why. Perhaps because we got nervous when he tried to stop us."

"Well, I have no specifics either. You must understand Olio Puro is an important part of the economy here and we take their requests very seriously. Will you submit to a brief search so that this can all be cleared up?" the officer asked.

Beth swallowed hard. Anthony nodded.

"Then, please, stand."

The officers briefly swept their hands over the American couple and inspected their turned out pockets. Beth was nervous when the non talking officer looked at her knife for half a second and then stood back, appeased.

"And now the bag. I'm sorry for this, but once it is done we can be satisfied nothing was taken and this was all a mistake."

Anthony picked up Beth's pack and placed it on the seat. He opened the top flap and exposed the loose opening. The office poked through the day bag, finding only common items. He removed a book, water bottle, and a folded map. Standing up straight, he nodded and stepped back.

"I see his was all a misunderstanding. Thank you for your cooperation, and enjoy the rest of your holiday."

"Thank you, officer," Beth spoke for the first time since the men arrived. All parties once again smiled at each other and the pair were left alone in their berth.

After ten solid minutes had past, Beth let out a huge sigh.

"Aren't you glad I was a little paranoid, now," Anthony said.

"You were right," she agreed, and laughed. "You were very right! Do you think it's okay to pull it in now?"

"I'm sure they are off the train. And why would they search us again? Yeah, pull it up," Anthony replied.

Beth ran her fingers along the edge of the window, grabbing the drawstring that had been removed from her bag. She drew two short pulls on the cord, bringing the stolen sign, attached by one of the old screw holes, back in through the window.

"You get to re-lace this into my bag," she scolded Anthony as she stuffed the sign back inside.

"Not a problem," he said with a smile. "I'll do it while we are having that drink."

If Your Right Hand...

Jeffery Calhoun walked into Anne Arbor Lake Ford at eight thirteen, seventeen minutes before his shift began. He wore his dirty blonde hair combed and parted in the center, a lightweight blazer over tan slacks and a red tie. He entered the dealership floor room and made his way to the employee lounge, the hollow sound of his dress shoes clicking after him.

He passed through the door and placed his shoulder satchel in his small locker. Jeff pulled his salesman name badge from its place on the locker door and he affixed it to his lapel. The lounge was empty as he closed up the locker and went over to the coffee maker for a cup.

Jeff, filled cup in hand, took a seat at the white-topped folding table that sat under the white board. He glanced up at dry erase spread sheet with green cars scribbled next to names. His had the longest train following his name, but this was nothing new to him. Jeff pulled his Blackberry from his inner pocket and began scrolling through emails.

The door opened and another salesmen entered. Berry White was taller than Jeff, orange hair thinning and combed over his freckled dome. Berry wore grey slacks with a striped shirt and tie, his gut hanging over the thin black belt at his waist.

"Hey there, buddy," Berry said to Jeff, as he went for his own cup of coffee. "Top salesman, in early for work. Who would have guessed!" he playfully ribbed.

"Well, if you knew how to talk to women, you might have numbers like mine, Berry," Jeff shot back, affixed to his phone.

"Har, har. I just don't want to dress like I've got some sugar in my tank to get sales! Any luck with that job you were applying to?"

Jeff tossed his phone to the table top and rubbed his hands on his face.

"Three months going back and forth with them! Two interviews, and out of nowhere this morning I get a canned letter saying, 'Thanks for your interest, but piss off.'"

"That's rough, man" Berry said. "You just gotta keep hitting the pavement."

"I don't know, anymore," Jeff said, crossing his arms. "I've finished school two years ago and I'm still selling cars here. I'm starting to go crazy. Don't get me wrong, this gig isn't bad, it's just not what I pictured myself doing. I got my degree in math for a reason. And the way they hire for jobs these days just kills me!

"It's so impersonal. You fill everything out online and answer stupid assessment questions and everything goes off of that. Sometimes I think they don't even look at my actual resume or cover letter. If I could just get a face to face, I really think I could have a shot. And the job announcements have such specific requirements. If you lie about experience on the assessments, they disqualify you for future positions and if you don't put that you are an expert at everything, they don't even look at you. Right now I'd take a worse paying job than I have here just to get my foot in the door somewhere."

Berry listened silently while the younger man expressed his frustration. Then it was his turn to set his joking personality aside and really talk.

"Kid, let me tell you. I can sympathize, but what is so bad about working here? Oh no, it's not exactly what you want to do, but it's a good job. It's great money and you are not totally stuck in a cubical. Look at yourself! You are top salesman again. You are the golden child around here! Maybe you should quit stressing yourself out with that rat race and enjoy what you have. Barbara up in finance is leaving at the end of next month. I have it on good authority if you went up and had a chat with Jim, he would put you in her office. You are going places if you stick around. In ten years you could even be general manager.

"Sorry if that bursts your bubble, but it's the truth, and you need to hear it."

"Yeah, I understand what you are saying," Jeff said. "I've just felt so restless these last few years. There is this line in a Stephen King book I keep coming back to, 'Everything I do, I rush through, so I can do something else.' Maybe you are right."

"Either way, I want you out of sales. You are really hurting my numbers," Berry smiled.

"Speaking of numbers, I better get out there," Jeff said. "I gotta get more phone numbers and keep making the rest of you guys look bad."

Jeff pitched his cup in the bin on the way out the door, throwing his right hand back to slap Berry on the shoulder for the last time.

Jeff ensured his shirt was properly tucked beneath his blazer as he exited the back areas and entered the show room floor. The day was bright and peaceful and mirrored the young salesman's mind after the talk with his colleague. Maybe he should stop fighting the inevitable and commit to the job he had, as a real career. He had carved himself out a respectable place in the dealership after spending the last six years working and going to night school.

Jeffery Calhoun was lost inside his head as he pushed through the glass doors and out onto the patio. He walked in front of a pillar and past a brand new dark blue mustang. As he approached his usual place to post up and wait for potential buyers, the sudden revving of an engine caught him off guard. Jeff turned toward the noise, coming from the customer spaces a few paces way. A bush disappeared as a light grey, old model Chrysler LeBarron came shooting right for the pillar directly behind him.

Jeff instinctively threw up his hands to cushion the blow, or stop the cars advance, as he tried to back away. But the old car, much too powerful for the old woman behind the wheel, was not to be stopped. Jeff felt himself swept along and pushed to the side as the car crunched into the building.

There was no smoke from the radiator, or any other indicator that a car had just crashed into a buildings, as seen on popular movies or TV. The car was intact other than the crinkled hood and the massive intrusion into the pillar.

Jeff knelt beside the passenger fender, catching his breath as the old woman inside cried. A gaggle of dealership employees arrived to help the uninsured woman from her seat as she wailed and apologized that her foot had slipped on the wrong peddle. It took everyone a moment to notice that there was one causality of the wreck; Jeff Calhoun with his right arm pinned between the hulk of metal and the masonry of the patio pillar.

The room was furnished in dark oak. A dark oak long table was surrounded by oak bookshelves. The carpet was deep red. The tall backed leather chairs were occupied at one end of the room; the far end by the door were empty. There was a low conversation by the well dressed individuals already seated as a loud knocking punctuated the meeting hall.

"We are ready for you!" a sure spoken older woman called out. She sat at the head of the table and represented five of her colleagues.

The heavy oak door opened, held by an older gentleman as two younger people, carrying stacks of papers, entered the room and took sets at opposite sides of the head of the table. The older gentlemen followed his helpers inside and took his time becoming seated, eyes fixed on the group across the room. He pulled he back of his chair with his right arm, the standard equipment of which was missing from the wrist down.

"Thank you for coming Doctor Calhoun. If you are ready, we can convene this hearing of the research committee," the woman said.

"We are ready, Margaret."

"Excuse the formalities, Doctor, but we will be recording this for our records. I am Doctor Margaret Liddell, Vice Chancellor of the Medical School. Comprising the board is Doctor Ben Peaks, Head of the Biological Medical Engineering Department. Angela Spruce is from the Universities Ethics Department. Professors Dugan Mathis and Shiv Akhol, also from the BME Department. Finally, we are joined by Professor Emeritus Andrew Maylor.

"We are called to order to consider and render a judgement on the next step of Doctor Calhoun's proposed research project to move his limb regeneration into human trials. The board has received copies of your abstract, results of the study up to this point, and proposal for expanded funding through federal grants. Do you have any questions about the structure of the panel proceedings?"

"No, Margaret. I've been in this room more than once," Dr. Calhoun said, leaning back in his chair.

"Fine," Dr. Liddell said with annoyance at the informality. "You may begin with your opening statement, Doctor."

"Thank you, ladies and lads," Jeff Calhoun began. "As you know from that stack of papers I had my people send over, and that I'm sure you read every word contained within, we had a major breakthrough back in May. In animal trials, after years of dead ends and failures, we have isolated the proper cell coding necessary to allow for limb regrowth in mice. In case the significants of this is lost on some of the board members, we are on the eve of a new age of human existence.

"In the near future, the memory of humans permanently loosing limbs without regrowth over time will be forgotten. But this eventuality is just the start. We project that taking control of our own biology in this manner will eliminate the need for clumsy prosthetics or transplants, and may even have the potential to extend human life indefinitely. Used properly, we could extend this technology to pets, dental applications and even livestock. This will be a revolution. This university and medical school will forever be remembered as the ones who pioneered the next stage of human evolution. So forgive my confidence and irreverence for this perfunctory gathering, but my team and I are anxious to get back to work."

"Thank you for that Doctor Calhoun," replied the Professor Emeritus, clearing his throat, "but the matter is far from closed."

"That's right," the department head, Ben Peaks, took over. "We have many questions and concerns. Do not take this the wrong way, we are all quite impressed with your findings thus far. I personally have been inspired by your sudden and swift jump into the field of Bio Med. Returning to school after your own injury and completing your Ph.D. in six years is quite a feat!"

"And the last fourteen years of service to this university," Dr. Calhoun cut in. "Don't forget that. I have put my own goal aside for much of that, assisting Mathis with his micro biome research, teaching undergrad classes. I could go on..."

"As we all do, and are equally aware of your contributions," Peaks resumed. "All of us can also sympathize with the burden you carry which has motivated your research."

"No, no," Calhoun cut in once again, putting up his right stump, an imaginary hand held out in a halting motion. "I have expressed this to most all of you in the past. But I guess it deserves reiteration. I am at peace with the loss of my right hand. Yes, it motivated my return and drove my research, but I have face the fact that I will never regrow this hand. I mentioned dead ends and setbacks. If you had read the particulars of the abstract for the next stage, you would have seen that the code for gradual regeneration must be implanted in an embryo before the cells become specialized. Only an individual inoculated against our forgetful biology at a pre-birth state can reap the benefits of this technology. I am a couple days past this stage, admittedly. So don't turn my drive and excitement for this research into a purely personal pursuit, because it is not. Not anymore."

"Thank you for that clarification, Doctor," Dr. Margaret Liddell said. "But this is not a personal attack. Doctor Peaks was only trying to be polite and cushion the fact that we have grave misgivings about the speed and ethics of your progress. In truth, it is the opinion of this board that much more research and time should be spent confirming your findings thus far."

"You have not published findings in any major medical journal of your progress, why is that?" Dr. Shiv Akhol asked.

"Come on, Shiv!" Calhoun answered. "You know exactly why! If I go publishing every one of my steps, some sharpshooter will come along and beat us to the goal. I have had all my research papers written up by my grad students, ready for publication, as soon as we can slap a patent on this! It has all been well documented.

"Margaret! Don't you want the university to benefit from this first? I'm telling you, this could secure funding for every project forever! No more hands in our business from the state! No more tuition increases! Autonomy and a blank check to grow in any way you chose!"

"But that is not the scientific way," Dr. Mathis said in a soft voice. "As scientists, it is critical to be transparent and submit our findings to our peers for review and comment. You must release your findings so that it can be reproduced and replicated by independent sources. We fear there could be conformation bias in this research. Science is not a race, it is a journey for all man kind to take together. You cannot keep this only for the good of the few."

"Furthermore, as an institution, we can't let that line of argument sway us from the ethical considerations," Angela Spruce responded. "Doctor Calhoun, your proposal states specifically that you would manipulate the genes of ten unborn children in your first round of experiments. In subsequent trails, you suggest experiments that would require the removal of human subjects limbs and organs for confirmation of your hypothesis. I am not here to debate the particulars of these actions or call them Nazi-esque, but rather to point out that they are large steps and require heavy debate."

"Did you just compare me to a Nazi scientist!?"

"Jeff," Dr. Ben Peaks, spoke up, calming the room, "No one here wishes your research failure. But you have to admit that this course of action has no breaks. You are going after the goal in the most direct manner possible, ignoring the terrain. Something this momentous must have oversight and undergo proper consideration- on more than just ethical and social fronts."

"Yes, that was well said, Doctor Peaks," Dr. Liddell agreed. "That is why it is the opinion of this research board that your request is to be denied until your progress up to this point as undergone scrutiny from the scientific community and the ethical considerations can be dealt with."

The room sat silent with all eyes on Dr. Calhoun as they waited for his response.

The former car salesmen stared off at the glassy wood table as he ran his tongue over the teeth of his closed mouth. He placed the remainder of his right arm on the table in front of him, and addressed the board.

"I will not publish my findings until they have been confirmed. On that I am firm. I will be flexible on the ethical considerations, and allow an exploratory committee to make recommendations to be included into the study. My only precept is the inclusion of one of my research assistants in this committee. Does this satisfy your demands?"

"This is not a negotiation. That is not how we function," Professor Emeritus Andrew Maylor said. "Your research is hear by suspended until you fully comply to the satisfaction of this board."

"My father was a plumber," Jeffery Calhoun informed the room. "He taught me as a young man that when negotiating for a raise in a job, make a reasonable demand and dicker if necessary. But if you can't get what you want, have a back up job waiting in the wings so that you can threaten to leave for a better position. Now, believe you me, I have been a busy man these last six months since little Harold regrew that paw. But, unlike my fathers advice, I'm not threatening to leave, I will. And I will take all my research with me if you do not work with me on these ridiculous demands."

"You must be aware, Doctor Calhoun," Angela Spruce attempted to point out, "that all your research up to this point is the property of the University and legal action can be taken should you attempt to leave with any facet of it."

"Please, Jeff, be reasonable," Doctor Liddell said. "We can make this happen but it must be done in the proper way."

With everyone's eyes on the Doctor, including his graduate student assistants, Jeff Calhoun got out of his seat without a word and left the meeting room.

Calvin Young was sitting in his hospital room chair, by the window when the detectives left his room. He gazed out at the old city morning progressing in front of him, going over the interview he just had. He shook his head in frustration as he tried to dismiss some of the implications the investigators had made.

There was a knock at his door and a man popped his head inside.

The man was in his late sixties, white hair and brown suit.

"Is this a bad time?" The older man asked, still half-tilted in the room.

"Uh, no," Calvin said. "What is this about? Are you another cop?"

"Oh, me? Ha! No. I'm a Doctor. My name is Jeff Calloway."

The doctor put out his left hand to shake Calvin's.

"Seems we have something in common, no right hands to shake with!"

Calvin looked at the stump of a right hand hidden under the sleeve of Dr. Calloway's brown jacket.

"Are you an amputation specialist?" Calvin asked, shaking left hands with his guest.

"In fact, I am. But don't let me lead you wrong, I am not with the hospital. I am employed by a private research company that likes to do pro bono work for those in need.

"I heard about your incident," Dr. Calloway continued. "Two men pulled you out of your car and maimed you, is that right?"

"Yeah," Calvin said in a low voice, resting the fingertips of his left hand on his injured wrist. "I was on my way home from my shift at the grocery store where I work. They grabbed me out of my car, shined a red light in my face and then hit me in the wrist with something. It was all so fast..."

"That's terrible. Horrific really. Do the police have any idea who did this?"

Calvin snorted. "I don't think they know much of anything. They kept asking me questions like they thought that I work for a drug dealer or something. Maybe it's because I am an orphan, but they said some high end drug dealers have palm print access for their houses. Apparently they think I got my hand cut off because I have access to drugs like that..."

"And I deduce from your attitude, that this is not the case at all."

"No, man. I got out of the orphanage and have been working at the store for the last few years. They have promoted me all the way up to assistant night manager. It's not much, but I got a good thing going for me. I'm just glad the job comes with benefits so I can get medical..."

"And that is why I'm here," Dr. Calloway said. "Your basic employee health coverage is not going to cover advanced therapies. Due to our similar afflictions, I like to take personal interest in deserving individuals."

"How'd you lose yours?"

"Car accident. An old woman was at fault. I was only a few years older than you are now."

Calvin shook his head in commiseration. "So, what therapies are there for a missing hand? My orthopedic told me they would have me talk with a prosthetic specialist once my bones heal."

"I do cutting-edge science," Calloway said, digging into his jacket pocket. He drew out a thick pen like device and a blue pill bottle. "You see, I have developed a drug which targets cellular memory.

"Do you ever wonder why we don't grow back missing body parts? It is because our cells become specialized and only reproduce cells to replace themselves. They have cellular memory, as all cells do, but for some reason, they don't remember that there was a hand on the end of that wrist and that they should grow it back. It has been a huge mystery in human biology. Lizards and starfish can regrow their tails and arms, so why can we regrow something as small as a fingertip?"

"And what, you think you figured it out?" Calvin asked.

"Oh, I did, my boy. I did. These two pills will start the process. Two more and you will have that hand back in six months or so."

"Then why don't you have your own hand back," Calvin said suspiciously.

"Oh, it's been forty years since I lost mine! I've grown attached to having just one! But, also, it has to do with the cellular cycle. You see the cells in your wrist still remember the hand there. If it heals too far- reproduces and replaces the cells that remember, the memory is lost. So far I have found there is about a month long window for my therapy to work."

"And what do I have to do for you? You said these two and another two. Are you going to get me half way and then I find out here is a catch?"

"Nothing like that. I offer this free to you. All I want to do is have you for research purposes. I want to make a small tattoo mark on the highest point on your amputation site. This is just for rate tracking reasons. I'm sure the tattoo will be less than permanent when the hand begins to heal. Then, after today, in a bout a week, come to my office for a blood test and your second round. After that, check-ins so I can see your progress."

"What are people going to say when suddenly I have both hands again?"

"That's another reason you are a great candidate!" Calloway smiled. "You are an orphan, are you not? No family to tell that you lost your hand. I'm sure there are people from your work who know, and so you will have to convince them the hand was found and reattached. You wear a glove to protect your new growth until it is back, and then the fictional reattachment has totally healed! Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Calvin said, supervised at how much sense the offer made. "I'll do it."

The doctor handed the pill bottle over. With one hand, Calvin popped the cap free and took the pills like a shot.

"Okay, then. Now for the tattoo. Could you unwrap your dressings for me?"

Calvin complied as Dr. Calloway took the cap off his self contained machine. He also removed the other end, exposing some dark green ink which he loaded on the needle by activating the device. When both were ready, the doctor inked a small dash on the top corner of the raw, stapled flesh.

Calvin winced at the sharp pain on his injured wrist, but the procedure was over before he knew it.

"Now, I just need to take a photo for comparison..." the doctor said as he snapped a photo with the camera built into his glasses.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself as he reviewed the image on his lens. "Now, here is my card. Wait, take two. Come see me in a week or so. If you need me at anytime, all my numbers and addresses are right there. I am accessible to you whenever you need. I look forward to seeing your progress Mr. Young."

"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for doing this for me."

"People like you and I are the reason I get up each morning, Calvin. So, no. I have to thank you. I really should be going, though. Before the staff get suspicious and kick me out for stealing their patients. Good day, Mr. Young."

The doctor left the room and closed the door carefully in his way out. He walked down the hall and out past the med/surg waiting room. A young woman got up and joined the old man as he got onto the elevator.

"Did he agree to take the placebo?" she said under her breath once the doors closed.

"Of course he did," Dr. Calloway said, holding his head high. "They always buy the oversimplified scientific explanation. No one in that situation could turn down the kind of opportunity I sell them. I should know, I was in his position once. I know how I would have reacted."

"The last two also agreed without much fuss. What would you do if they turned you down and began to heal on their own?"

"I don't know. If that ever happens, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. With only two more subjects to activate and study, I feel the numbers are with us."

The Game

A bright crow flew over the default black ground of the bi-dimensional world. Animated grass, bushes and trees were no obstacle as it flew in a straight line over the flat landscape. From the crow's overhead view, it strained to see further ahead, the viewpoint shifting behind its flapping wings so it could see the upcoming cottage in the middle of a meadow. As the bird got within normal vision range, the viewpoint shifted back centered above the thick, animated lines of its body.

The crow landed on an open window ledge and the scene changed.

Sitting on the edge of the interior cottage room, the crow cried two times.

Stirring from his chair, an old man, white beard and walking staff yelled back at the intruding bird.

"I hear you! I hear you! If that is Ena or Rall, your father will hear about it this time!" Janu threatened.

The crow once again squawked and bobbed his head up and down, twice.

The old man crossed his single room dwelling and centered himself on the window in front of the visitor. "Well, which is it! Your grandfather can't tell you two apart when you are foolish enough to be turned into beasts! Once for Ena or twice for Rall."

The crow flapped its wings and let out two grating chirps.

"Rall! I could have guessed! How many times must I warn you before you listen? Hrum!" the old man said. He hummed a deep note and stamped his staff against the mustard yellow floor, orange sparks leaping away. The staff hummed the same note as the old man bonked his grandson on the top of his crow head.

Flickering back to the form of a green haired boy, the image of the crow reappeared. Blinking back and forth with greater frequency, Rall finally emerged in his proper form.

"Thanks, Gramps!" Rall said, hopping down from the window sill. "I beat Ena back!"

Just then, there was two solid thumps at the front door of the cottage, shaking the entire view.

"You let your sister get transformed, too!"

"Sorry Grandpa! It wasn't our fault this time!" Rall cried.

"Come on, let's fix her up too then!"

The two-dimensional figures exited the cottage, and the view flashed to the exterior. An animated horse in the same style of Rall's crow stood next to the front door. It pawed the ground twice and let out a high pitched neigh. Janu shook his head.

"What have you two been told about leaving the high forest? Every time you go down into the valley you get yourselves into trouble!"

"We were just down by the river picking berries!" Rall explained. "The witch came out of nowhere and zapped us with no warning!"

"Were you on her side of the river? You have been warned not to pester that old wench..."

"We didn't think we were! We were on that small island in the middle! The chernika berries are so big there and we thought it would be okay..." Rall said. "Now will you turn Ena back?"

The horse whipped her tail back and forth as her grandfather performed the same spell he had used to transform Rall to his standard form. Janu hummed a strong note, stamped his staff and bonked the horse on her head.

Flickering back into a girl, Ena stood up onto he two feet and crossed her arms at her younger brother.

"You only beat me back because you could fly," she said tersely.

"Gramps!" Rall cried out in his own pithy way. "Your spell didn't work! She still has a horse face!"

"Oh, enough!" Janu said, holding back his laughter. "This is serious! You are going to get warped into a turtle or fish next time and we will never find you to turn you back. I'm going to have to tell your father!"

"No, Grandpa, No!" the green haired-siblings cried in unison.

Janu eyed his grandchildren and nodded his head. "I'll make you a deal, my silly little beasts! I will teach you a game, and if you can beat me, we can keep this between us. Deal?"

"Yes! Yes!" they both said, jumping up and down.

"What kind of game is it?" Ena asked?

"Are we on a team?" Rall asked.

"This game is between two people, so you two can take turns throwing," Janu explained. "First, we must draw the score yard. Follow me."

Janu walked across the small meadow until he reached a rock the size of a mans head. He then took his staff and drew a ring around the rock, two more in front of the rock, and then a big ring around all the circles. As he marked numbers in each circle, he explained the game.

"A traveler through this world taught me this contest. We had to adapt it a bit, as you always must for the terrain, but that is the fun of it. He played it as a child up in the trees, where each circle was rather a branch that they landed the batons upon. But here in he meadow, we use circles and rocks to make it more complex. Now, for the batons!"

Janu held up his staff and dropped it to the ground where it separated into three equal length segments. He had Rall gather them up and the group counted ten paced away from the score yard.

"We will throw from here," Janu said, making another mark on the short grass. "Now! Some rules: there are three rounds. Each player gets three throws per round. Wherever your baton lands, you get that many points. The rock circle is five, the left and right are four, the big circle is three, and if you miss, you get two."

"Okay," Ena said. "This seams easy enough."

"So whatever team has the most points at the end of the rounds wins?"

Janu nodded his head. "That's right, but each round is slightly different. The first round is easy, we just add our scores. Let's throw and I'll explained the rules for the second and third round as we go."

"I'll go first!" Rall cried, handing the other two batons to his sister. The little boy stuck his tongue out of his mouth to the side as he underhand threw the baton directly at the rock. The stick bounced off the rock and rolled outside the three-ring.

"Nice throw, Rall!" Ena mocked. "Now it's my turn."

Ena tossed the baton with much more control across the pitch, where it landed with a bounce in the four ring. She let out a woop of satisfaction as Rall grabbed the last baton.

Again with his protruding tongue, Rall threw the baton, twisting through the air, bouncing against the rock but remaining inside the five ring. "That's what I was trying to do last time!"

"Luck," Ena commented.

"Good, kids. Eleven points. Not bad at all," Janu said. "Now it's my throw."

Janu unceremoniously threw all three of his sticks in rapid succession, overhand, but with a light touch. When the batons settled, Janu was left with two threes and a five.

"So we are tied. Now, onto the second round. Nothing changes, except: if you get multiple batons in the same ring, they are multiplied by each other. Understand?"

"You got two in the three-ring last round," Rall said. "So, if you did that this round, it would be worth nine points?"

"That's right."

"And if you got three threes, it would be twenty-seven?" Ena asked.

"Yes. And if in these next two rounds, you can get five in a row, they all multiply. But if it's three threes in this round and a single three in the last round, you don't get 83. It has to be five in a row."

"That's over two hundred points! You'd win for sure!" Rall cried.

"Two hundred fourty-three, and yes, you would almost assuredly win. But there is still round three and its rules. So go ahead- your throw!"

"I'll do this round, and you can have round three. Okay?" Ena said to her brother.

He nodded and Ena threw. This round, she took her time throwing all the batons very carefully. At the end of her turn, she had a five and two fours

"Twenty one! Nice job, dear. With your eleven, that makes thirty two," Janu said, and prepared to throw.

Once again, he rapid threw the batons, scoring three threes.

"Oh no!" Rall stomped his feet. "Thirty-two to thirty-eight!"

"It's up to you, Rall," Ena said, serious about the game. "Dad will be furious if he finds out we got turned into animals again."

"On to the final round. No multipliers here, but instead, if you get a prime numbered score, it doubles and takes ten points from your opponent."

"Both three and five are prime," Rall commented slyly. "I could get a three and that would count right."

"But you have two other batons!" Ena pointed out. "And no matter where you throw them, anything outside the three-ring is two points."

"Seven is a prime number," Rall said undefeated. "One in the three, two on the outside."

"If you think that only fourteen points is a lot. And Grandpa could probably do the same thing, still winning by his lead of six..."

"Hmm..." Rall said. "I guess I just shoot and see what I can do along the way..."

With his signature face, Rall threw his first baton. It bounced end over end and settled leaning against the five rock. He made a face, shrugged his shoulders and thew his next baton. It squarely landed in the right four-ring.

"Nine! What should I do? Just two more for an eleven?" he asked his sister.

"Another four would be better..."

"Rall, what is more important in this game? Accuracy or consistency?" his grandfather asked as he debated his next move.

"Accuracy," he said, thinking about the four-ring.

"No, consistency," Ena said.

"What makes you say that?" Janu asked his oldest grandchild.

"You could get way more points if you can be consistent in the last two rounds."

"But if you can be accurate, you can beat your opponent by just enough," Rall said.

"Well, in my opinion, you are both right. Each round has different rules where both skills are valuable. It is important to know when to use which strategy," Janu concluded. "Well, now that I've distracted you, good luck with your throw!"

Rall gave a playful dirty look to his grandfather and took his throwing stance. He asked the baton high and it plopped squarely down on the left four-ring.

"Haha!" he shouted. "Twenty-six more for me and ten less for you, Gramps!"

"Fair enough," Janu said. "You have fifty-eight and I have twenty-eight."

Janu collected the batons and repositioned himself behind the pitch line. As he did the two rounds before, he launched the three batons overhand, which all came to rest in the five ring. Rall and Ena jumped up and down in victory.

"Horray!" they shouted. "We beat him by five!"

"That you did, and I proved my own point. That would have been a game ending turn if I had done it in the second round. But in the third, it was not enough to win."

Janu patted both his grandchildren on the head before they ran over to pick up the batons. Back in Janu's possession, he stacked them on top of each other and his staff reformed.

"So you won't tell our dad what we have done?" Rall asked cautiously.

"You won, and that was a deal. I will go down to the valley and have a word with your grandmother, though. You two go home, now. And keep to the forest!" he scolded as the two ran away.

Ena waved as they reached the path home. Rall did not stop as he leaped along planning out loud how he would make a Travelers Toss pitch of his own. And in the bi-dimensional world, the old man went back in his cottage, calm settling over the meadow.

Thanks for reading my book! If you got this far and liked what you read, I encourage you to leave a review on whatever site you downloaded it from. Any feedback is appreciated!

Wanna find more of my stuff? I have two other short story collections, and they are also free:

Beyond the Gate (2013)

Five Days On Pimu (2014)

There are also three novels:

Other Worlds Than These (2013)

Saving John (2013)

Arrow Of Time (2014) as G.Sluis from Mythic Dragon Publishing.

Check 'em out!

