Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) (38 page)

     “I already have one of these.”  Rick held it up.

     “No, you don’t.  That’s an XLT port device, Rick.  Only the employees in upper management get one of those.  They port anywhere, anytime, without the aid of a port window.”  He said as he pushed himself up from the low seat and stood outside in the dark looking around.  “You’re going to need it.”  He flexed his back and shoulders and pushed the car door shut.  “We’ll talk again later, after Guam is done.”  And the Manager began to walk away.

       Rick was surprised and troubled at the same time.  He yelled after the old man as he walked away into the night.  “Wait!  I don’t know how to use this thing!  How do I get back?!”   All he heard was a faint reply.

       “It’s already programmed, just hit the button.”

       Rick looked down at the item in his hand.   “But, what about the cab?!”

       The reply was barely audible.  “It’s your cab; you figure it out.”  And then he was alone.

                             
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Anybody Need a Cab?

      Traveling freestyle through the reality streams could be likened to a bad acid trip.  In fact, it has been likened to it.  If someone isn’t experienced at reality travel, the effects on the senses can be overwhelming, disorienting and cause flashbacks and all sorts of other disturbing perception problems.  Mel was one of the most experienced agents in the Company’s arsenal and his mental stability, though usually debatable at best, was never even touched by the swirling vortex of the reality stream.   He could travel through it with ease and surf it like a pro-with a ten point stand on a fifty- foot monster rolling in on Sunset on the North Shore.  His landing might leave a little to be desired, but he could ride the streams like no other.  However, the only thing more disorienting then traveling the streams freestyle is having your body and mind suddenly plucked out of the ether and brought to a terribly hard stop in a place you had no intentions of visiting by someone you didn’t even know.   This is what happened to Mel.  He had traveled from the source with Daniel Boone and followed as he tracked the tear to its origin.  The spot and the time were not what he expected.  But, it was what he had most dreaded in the back of his mind.  He found what he needed to know and while he was contemplating this he was ripped from the reality stream by someone with unknown intentions and unknown motives and surreptitiously plopped down on cold hard concrete like a lab rat.

       Mel’s senses were hardened to the many different aspects of reality travel.  A sudden stop applied while surfing could still shake him up a little.  He was able to recover quickly, just a quick drop to one knee, some heavy breathing, and coughing and then he was back to himself.  He quickly found he was in a strange room.  It was a room with walls made of dull colorless concrete about the size of a small living room.  But there wasn’t any furniture in this concrete living room, except for the bare wooden table in the middle and gleaming metal chair.  He looked around quickly.  There were no windows, no doors, only an old speaker, painted with chipped white paint, hanging precariously from the ceiling.  The light was dim but not dark.  He couldn’t tell where the source was.  He did notice he was conspicuously alone.  Boone was no longer there.

      “Thank you for joining us today.”  The voice boomed overhead from the old speaker along with an annoying electronic squeak and hum. 

      Mel looked sharply up at it.  “Hey!  What are you doing?  Did you pull me out of the streams?!”

      “Yes.  Sorry about that.  It was terribly rude of us.  But, I’m afraid we had no choice, you see.”  The voice continued.  “You have been brought here for a reason.”  It said.

      Mel turned his head slightly, a frown on his face.  “Mind telling me who you are?”

       “Oh, yes, again terribly sorry.  How stupid of me.  I am the person who just snatched you from the reality stream.”   It replied.

       “Gee, how informative.  Thanks.”  He said sarcastically.

       “Don’t mention it.”  The voice replied.  “Shall we get straight to the point?”

      “That would be appreciated,” Mel said.  He could tell that the voice was male, or a very masculine female.  But, in either case, it didn’t sound like anyone he had run into before.  “I have things to do, you know?” 

     “Of course, time is pressing for us all.  I do so hate wasting it with ridiculous frivolous, shenanigans.   I mean, people can be inconsiderate with other’s time.  There simply is no more valuable a commodity if you ask me.”  The voice rambled on, oblivious to its reasoning.

       Mel tapped his foot.  “To the point?”  He anxiously prompted his mysterious captor.

      There was a small pause followed by a slight giggle.  “I’m simply not myself.  I apologize.  I’ve been here too long.”

    “So have I.”  Mel agreed, still tapping his foot.

     “Yes, well, Melvin Thibadeaux, this is your lucky day.”  The voice happily announced.

     “How come I’m not seeing it that way?”  Mel shot back.

     “That’s because you don’t realize the answer I have for you.”  The voice replied cryptically.

      “Which is?”  Mel sounded very irritated.

       “I know how to resolve your problem.  The one between you and your inconvenient other self.”  The voice added with some glee.  “But, I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

    “How do you know about that?”  Mel asked in a sudden flare of anger.  “Who are you?”

      “I know lots of things.  Some things I’m not sure how I know, but I know them nonetheless.  It’s a burden that I bear.”  The voice said.

      “Oh, well it’s terrible to be you,” Mel responded.

       “Well, not exactly terrible so much.  Complicated, confusing, maybe, but not terrible.”  The voice added.

       “Can we get on with this?”  Mel urged.

     “Certainly.  Where was I?  I’ve been here a terribly long time.  I’m trapped here, you see.  But, I get to see the things moving around, things like you and Roger.”  The voice continued.

     Mel slumped and took a heavy breath.  Why did he deserve all of this?

     “I’m afraid you’re going to have to pull the plug on this whole nutter of a situation, my boy.  You’ve got to do some quick two-stepping before they use this nasty little confabulation to tear everything apart.  You see you and Roger are being used.  You have been from the beginning.  Allow me to explain…”  The voice rambled.

       “Wait a minute!  Who are you and why should I listen to anything you have to say?”  Mel yelled at the disembodied voice.

       “Well, because I have the solution for you, the solution for how to stop this Guam thing and I just happen to be the person who caused you to be born.  So in a way, I’m your father, Mel.  Though not really.”  The voice admitted.

      Mel looked surprised.  “What in the..?” He started.

    “Allow me to explain.  Then you’ll know all about it, and you’ll know why I managed to sneak you in here and why I’m going to sneak you back out.”  The voice said.

      Mel didn’t move but stared with eyes wide in disbelief at the rusty old speaker hanging from the ceiling.

      “I swear to all that’s holy, Roger if you don’t get down from that gun this instant!”  Tormodis stood erect beneath the long 120mm barrel of the tank with fists clinched and red glow growing in his cheeks.  He was staring menacingly at Roger, who had perched himself astride the big gun and was happily swinging his legs back and forth.   “I’m not kidding you crazy bastard!  I swear I will climb there and knock you off that thing!   And we will leave your butt behind mister.  Do you want that?!”

       Roger stopped swinging his legs and suddenly looked down at Tormodis.  “But, I like it up here.”

      “You’re not going to like it much longer; I can tell you that!  Now down!  We’ve got business!”  Tormodis reached up and tugged at one pant leg, nearly causing Roger to slide off the gun.  Roger finally got the message and instead slid backward until his feet touched the cold hard steel plate of the tank again.  He reluctantly and sullenly dismounted the barrel and went over to the turret hatch where he started to climb in before suddenly looking back at Tormodis.

      “I don’t like you.  You don’t let me have any fun.”  He sneered at him. 

       Tormodis put one fisted hand on his hip and pointed sharply with the other at the turret hatch. “In, mister!  No more out of you.”

      Roger stuck his tongue out in defiance and slithered down the hatch into the turret, disappearing from view.  Tormodis shook his head and then started to climb on the tank himself.   “You all set, honey?!”  He shouted out as he neared the open turret hatch.

       “I’m working on it!”  Margaret’s voice came back faintly.

       Margaret Rogers had yet another unique ability that she brought to the circus show that was the Rogers’ marriage.   By chance or by design she had become the master transporter of their adventures together.   So far, after only a few years of accompanying her husband on some rather bazaar romps through some of the most unexpected and demanding back roads of history, she had acquired the expertise to pilot, drive, steer, ride or sail anything mechanical built by man.  The long list of machines she had mastered did not, unfortunately, include a 68-ton monster tank of three-inch steel and composite armor that was astride two tracks and required a different type of steering.  But, that didn’t mean she couldn’t figure it out.  That was her ability.  She could figure out anything that moved and after a few moments staring at the rather simple panel in front of her with the short row of light indicators and the throttle nob that clicked from left to right and the two black handles sticking out on either side, she cranked up the massive 1500 horsepower Honeywell AGT1500 gas turbine engine with a roar and a puff of white exhaust.  The engine sounded like a cross between a wild animal and a jet plane winding up to take off. 

       Tormodis paused to smile when he heard the loud machine come to life.  He had one leg in the hatch, preparing to take up the commander’s position.  He nearly tripped when he finally got all the way in which would have resulted in him crashing chin first into the steel rim of the hatch, but he caught himself on the Kevlar helmet that was sitting on the rear of the opening.  He grabbed the helmet and plopped it on his head as he stood upright and braced himself in the hatch.  The helmet was ridiculously too big for him.

        The tank jerked forward before it settled to a rocking stop again.  Then it jerked forward again.  Tormodis was thankful that he had braced himself.  Finally, the machine roared forward on its tracks, unsteady at first as it slid from side to side slightly but then more steady and determined.  The speed increased and it moved down the highway swiftly for its size.  Tormodis let the wind hit him in the face as he imagined what Patton would have felt like in the 1
st
armored in WWII.  He watched the dark asphalt fly by, not realizing that an abandoned car was in the way.  He looked wide-eyed at the minivan that was stopped sideways in the road. He started to shout to his wife, but the speed of the tank was too fast now and they hit the abandoned car quickly and hard, pitching the tank up and over the vehicle as it was crushed beneath the armored behemoth.    The tank took it in stride, barely even paused before it was done chewing up the minivan and was happily on its way again.  Tormodis shook the incident off, happy his wife didn’t steer off the highway into the darkness.  It was only an abandoned car after all.  How much worse could it get?

      He peered intently into the darkness ahead that was faintly lit by the tall lights along the road side hoping to catch the next obstacle before they were on top of it.  The red glow of disaster loomed just ahead, and the smell of smoke was starting to catch his attention.  They were moving in the right direction.

      “
Dis new kind of MRE not bad, eh?”  Pete finished the last bit of his lasagna as he strolled back into the controlroom.  He had left Dennis just long enough to get something quick to eat.  The store room was piled high with MREs, so he grabbed the nearest one and started back.  “Now, you want sometin nasty you try de C rats dey had back in de war…”  His protégé was sitting dutifully in front of the view screens monitoring the activity topside from the feeds they still had active.  He wasn’t listening to a word Pete said.  “What’s wrong Chico?”  Pete asked when he saw the worried look on Dennis’s face.

      Dennis finally looked up.  “I was about to page you.  I think something is happening here, boss.”  He said.

     The old man set his MRE container down and walked around to the viewer console.  There were six small screens in the console, each with a series of controls, in addition to a bank of buttons that could transfer a feed from another part of the island to one of the six viewers.  The system was also designed to cycle through the feeds at a preset interval.  Dennis was only concerned with the feeds from around the Honey Pot.  It was enough to deal with for the moment.