The Mechanic
By Jonas Kichda

Chapter 6


Bill


After Graham brought back the Deere, I had a small glass of bourbon with him and his brother-in-law.  Afterward, I went home and plunged back into my routine.  I was like a robot for the next couple of days.  I did the chores, tilled this and that, fertilized the barley, chopped back one of the hedges, and fixed the fence where someone's pickup wandered off the road last week.  I doubt anyone local damaged it.   They'd have fixed it themselves.  It was probably some tourist.

I dreamed a lot at night.  Just the usual, running, flying, walking into class without my clothes on.  I dreamed about Graham every night.  I had the same dream.  The damnedest thing was we were in his Jeep, he stopped in front of his house, the lights were on, like he was having a party, and he asked me if I wanted to stop for a while.  I tried to move, but I was frozen.  Why couldn't I move?  Why couldn’t I say something?  The house looked different somehow,— almost alive, like it might open its doors to me, and swallow me.  I awoke from my dream in a sweat.

I thought about Graham a lot.  I thought about how he knew so much, but didn't try to appear like he was anything special.  I thought about how nice he was when he talked about my dad and mom.  I thought about when Hal Cooper was grieving over his wife Lynn, he gave a barbeque for no reason except to get Hal among his friends.  I thought about how he helped mom after dad died.  He brought her eggs every day and wouldn't take a penny for them, just an occasional meal mom forgot to charge him for.

Most of all, I thought about how I wished I'd known Graham when he was younger and how it might’ve been if I got to him before Mary Ashworthy.  He was the kind of man I wanted for a partner.  He was strong, quiet, knowing, kind, and a real puller.  It’s a pity they didn't have any sons.  It’s a pity I wasn't born earlier.  I could’ve loved him more than,— those thoughts were getting a little sick, so I shut them down.

All week I thought about going over for the drink he invited me to have with him, just to talk a little, listen, or share; just to feel I wasn’t alone out here was really strong, but I didn't give in to my desires.  Graham is too smart for me.  He'd see through me in a cowtown minute.  I thought about going over to see him on Monday night.  Even drove down Gove Road into his drive, but I couldn't get up the guts to turn in and visit with him.  What if he saw right through me?  What if he figured out my perversion while I was under the influence?  Why, he’d probably never talk with me again.  I’m sure he’d never want to see me again.  I turned around and went back to the house, and sat on the front porch drinking a whiskey while the cats lapped at some day-old milk.  When Feta, the female, licked my hand for a rub I couldn't help it.  I held her, stroked her and the tears just wouldn't stay inside my eyes I felt so alone.  I fell asleep in the chair, not waking until well after midnight.  I crawled into bed a few minutes later.  I was so out of it I even forgot to take my socks off.

Tuesday, while I was cursing the damned chickweed I was tilling under, I called myself all sorts of awful names, like chicken-shit, scaredy-cat, asshole, fraidy-faggot, and resolved to go see him.  After all, the man invited me to come over, didn't he?  I thought through almost every scenario; what to say if he asked me who I was dating, when was I going to get married, or how many kids I wanted?  I thought about how I would talk about a really pretty girl I saw in Gove to throw him off the trail.  I got there at half past six, then figured I should wait until he had supper.  I went back to the farm and watched the sunset until half past seven, and drove back.  I almost didn't turn in, but I told myself I would be an asshole if I didn't.

He was sitting in an old cane-back chair on his front porch, watching the sunset, and smoking a cigarette.  He casually watched me come up the drive; sitting and waiting.  I almost turned around and went back, but that would have been just plain-dirt chicken, not to mention rude as a New Yorker, so I got out of the truck and walked up the steps and invited myself for a drink.  He treated me like an old friend, casual, open and warm.  We talked a little  about the hangar, but mostly about me, my farm, and how was I doing.  He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help.  I said something about feeling a little isolated out here, and asked him how he managed to get through it after his wife Mary died.  I wanted to get him talking instead of me.

And all the while I'd spent thinking about how I was going to keep him from finding out was for nothing.  As I was chattering away like a magpie, all I could think of was I didn't want to lie to him.  I didn't want to let him down like that, but I was afraid to tell him all at once.  I was afraid he wouldn't like me any more; wouldn’t want me to be his friend.  I wanted him for a friend.  No, I needed Graham for a friend.  I possibly even wanted,— I didn't know what I wanted, but I wanted more than I had.  I thought if I invited him over to my house for supper, maybe it'd be easier to tell him.  He could say no, showing me he didn't want to get that close and let me off the hook.  I thought I’d asked him off-the-cuff kind of, like it wasn’t a big deal, just a simple county meal, nothing special, just two friends having supper together after a long day on the farm.  I held my breath after I asked.

To my pleasant surprise he said ‘yes.’

Then I told him about me, and how I was.  I just came right out and told him.  No, that's not how it happened.  I don't remember,— I was so nervous.  I told him I was hurting, and lonesome, because I didn’t have any friends and no one to talk to.  I couldn't tell nobody, and then he just up and told me.

"Y’ain't gonna marry, are ya,' Son?"

It wasn't a question.  It was a statement like he already knew all about me.  Like he was trying to crack open a door that was stuck to let a little light in. Then it was easy.  I let a lot out of me, not even caring if maybe I was grossing him out, just telling him about me,— stuff.  He took it all in, and told me it wasn't going to change the way he looked on me, and ‘yes’ he'd be over for dinner the next night.  I wanted to kiss him, he was so understanding, but that would’ve really screwed things up.  He looked so strong and handsome in his chair in the golden sunlight,— so masculine, sure of himself, and comfortable in his skin.  I wanted so badly to get a hug, but I couldn't let it show.

I left pretty quick.  I felt I couldn't stay any longer without making an even bigger ass of myself, telling him things about me I didn't want him to know.  I didn’t want him to know how soft I really was inside sometimes, how all this macho shit was real in a way, but I still wanted to touch and be touched, to hold and be held.  I never had a strong male figure in my life to show me affection, and my heart yearned for it.

I made it down to Gove Road, and turned towards my farm.  I had to pull over and get hold of myself I was so relieved and distraught at the same time.  I was an emotional mess and glad I got out of there before he saw it.  I was determined I was going to be strong and talked to myself.  It didn't work too well.  I bawled like a baby for a few minutes, just at the relief of getting it out, I guess.  I lit a cigarette and watched the moon for a bit through the windshield; the thin sliver chasing the sun, but never catching it.  I sat there thinking, not ready yet to go back to the old house, crawl under the cold sheets, and jack myself until I either filled my come towel or fell asleep.  I dozed off, and dreamed we were in bed, all snuggled up.  I raised up and looked at him, and he was so handsome, so peaceful, then he...

I roused when I heard Graham's Jeep come tearing down his drive.  I thought for a minute he was coming after me, coming to ask me what the hell was I doing hanging around his place.  I tried to start the engine to get the hell out of there.  I had an immediate animal urge to run from danger or confrontation.  His Jeep careened around the corner onto Gove Road on two wheels, and  sped off towards town.  I was a little stunned.  If he wasn't coming after me where in tarnation was he off to in such a balls-on-fire hurry?  I started up the engine to my truck, and turned around to follow.  Maybe there was a fire or something?  Perhaps a problem at the Hangar?  Maybe something happened to Jerry or Elva?  Maybe even Mom?  My imagination went all around the place looking for trouble.  Maybe he needed help?

The Ram sucks gas, but it's quick.  I caught up enough to see him turn north on Katy Road, obviously heading toward the hangar.  There was no fire in the sky, so I stopped worrying about mom, and we'd already gone past the turnoff for Elva and Jerry's place.  He blew through the stop sign on Katy Road at the corner by Pete's place without so much as touching his brakes.  I saw him from Gove Road.  Katy is so small, you can see right down it.  I lost a little time, driving slower as I passed through town, but I caught a glimpse of his brake lights when he stopped to open the gate to the hangar.  Kansas is flat, and the roads are straight.

I drove quickly up Katy, pulled through the open gate, and down towards the light over the side door of the shop at the side of the hangar.  He was already inside.  He left the door open, so I ran in after him, just as he turned the lights on in the hangar.  When I got to the big doors from the shop to the hangar, he was already part way to the other side, going toward the front corner.  I called out to him, but he kept walking, his butt like a beacon.  I ran up to him, and asked him what was going on, but he just swore me to secrecy after promising it wasn't drugs.  Then he opened the doors in the front, the huge doors grating and groaning as they pulled back.

* * * * * * *

At one point, Graham yelled out "STOP" and I thought he was going a little,— well,— a little crazy, but he calmed down, fed me some shit about not getting in the way.  Then the weird part began.  He pointed out a bubble or something, over the top of the Olsen place.  It looked like a spot of June bug gloop on a windshield, making a distortion of the night sky,— making the stars waver about.  It looked kind a like a soap bubble.  You could barely make it out.

"What is it?"  I asked.  It felt a little creepy out there, this thing moving around, just the two of us in the hangar.  We were sitting ducks.  I moved a little closer to Graham, not jumping him or anything, just moving to be a bit closer.  My bladder started to tell me something, but I shut it down.  He put his hand over mine on his right arm, and told me it was all right.  It was a ship, and he knew them.

It was a ship!  A great, huge, beautiful, not of this world, honest to God, pinch me it's not real, better than ‘Close Encounters,’— oh shit, I don't believe it,— it’s a ship!  The bubble against the horizon got bigger and bigger, sort of flattened out, then a magnificent, unreal, gigantic, perfect silvery-gold windowless and lightless fuselage appeared.  It just pulled right into the hangar like it was home.  I guess it must have taken a minute, but it seemed like hours, seconds.  Then it stopped, just hanging there in the air, not moving at all,— waiting , while Graham closed the doors, all so silently (except the doors were screeching and whining) you'd have thought you were deaf.  I felt like I was witness to the second coming.  I wanted to laugh and cry all at once, it was so special, and even more because I was there with Graham,— a big, solid, Marlboro Man with a brain,— Graham.

Then he started talking to someone,— Groth, he called him.  There wasn't anybody there, but I didn't care.  He could have talked to a thousand ghosts, could have said he was having a personal conversation with Jesus Christ, and I would’ve believed him.  God, the ship was so,— cool!  Like a perfect gazing ball, but flattened and elongated, no ripples in the golden mirror at all, perfectly reflecting everything in the hangar, but it curved, and stretched.  It just hung there, four or five feet above the concrete, silent, unmoving.

Graham,— started to tell me it came from a star in the Milky Way, much closer to the core.  It was here to gather and preserve the record of plant life on Earth, but their drive,— the one they use to travel between the stars,— was damaged.  He rattled it off like he was reading a report on the damage to some car that messed up on the Interstate,— calm as a just-bred bull.  A door opened, a little below the mid-section of the ship, maybe a hundred feet from us, and a stairway extended itself to the concrete, beckoning to us, inviting us in.  I didn't even doubt for a minute he was going into it,— the ship, I mean.

"Come on,"  he said, making my day,— my year.

I looked at the ship, the stairs, and wanted so bad to go inside, into what the future was about, into what it would bring us, I hardly listened to what Graham was saying.  There was something about a light called an optimizer, and Graham seemed a little wary of it at first, but then he said it wouldn't hurt,— maybe just a little, but we would be protected from illness.  Sounded like a fair trade.  I was almost pulling Graham towards the stairs, afraid they would change their minds about letting me go on board with him and not let me be a part of this; not let me be with him.

We got to the stairs, and they,— flowed us up to the door.  It was like being on a high speed elevator, accelerating then decelerating at exactly the right times to bring us to the doorway at a dead stop, but super fast.  There were no steps, nothing moved but us and the flat spot we were on.  We walked into a square room, the one Graham talked about, and the door closed behind us.  I moved closer to Graham, as the lights came on pretty bright, and he put his arm around me, drew me into him.  I almost peed myself.  I just closed my eyes against the light and moved into him, his warmth, feasting on his odor of clean soapy shirt and honest sweat, a salty tang, a little yeast, a very light scent of tobacco and whiskey, a hint of male musk.

I didn't want the lights to go off.  I felt nothing,— no pain, no discomfort.  I only felt Graham, his firm body, his strong arm protectively around my waist, his steady breathing.  ‘I could live with that,’  I thought to myself.  I wondered if he could still ‘do it’ at his age.  I hoped to God so, even if it wouldn't be with me.  Oh, God, let it be me,— even if he couldn't anymore.  I was hard like a diamond, but folded up under myself.  It hurt a little, but I didn't want to draw attention by moving it.

The lights went down, stopped flashing, and I opened my eyes just as Graham turned us a little towards the wall on the right.  I turned my eyes just as a square porthole irised open in the wall, and a man stood on the other side of it, wearing blue jeans and a denim shirt, a silver belt buckle, familiar looking,— I did a double take.  Graham?  No,— somebody who looked a lot like him, but not as old as he was, not as young as he is, not as well built as my Graham,— was on the other side of the doorway and beckoned us, then spoke, but not in Graham's voice.

"I am Groth,— welcome,— will you follow me, please?"

So I did, partly glad of the chance to turn away from Graham, push my painfully folded dick sideways a little with my right hand, unfolding it from under me, over to the left.  I could almost hear a ‘crack’ as it straightened out.

"You see him?"  Graham asked as we stepped through the door.

"Yeah,— looks a little like you,— like your brother; older,— same jeans and all.  Are you one of them, Graham?"

“You know better’n ‘nat.”  He hit me on the shoulder and chuckled his denial, just like a friend would.

We came to a big room at the end of a long corridor with a grey dome in the center.  There was a model of the ship hovering above it.  I know this is going to sound totally weird, but I could see through it.  I could make out the room we were in, but it was vertical, not horizontal.  Everything else was mashed together,— all kinds of tubes and wires and,—

We were surrounded by vision screens,— sometimes two high.  The top ones showed views from the outside the hangar in every direction,— even from above, looking down on Katy from, maybe, a thousand feet up.  The bottom screens showed different things,— a three-dimensional display of water tables and a huge underground aquifer.  I never even heard of these things.  There was also a geologic display showing first one type of deposit, another,  another, and then, another; all in different colors, all labeled as they came into view; ferrite, molybdenite, coal, lead, zinc chromate, bauxite, on and on.  I never saw the likes of it, but I knew somehow what everything was, even the deposits of low-grade coal.

Groth explained what they wanted from us and asked if we’d help them. That was that,— I was in.  Of course I wanted to help them!  Groth asked me if I was sure it was of my own free will?  I almost had to insist.  There was never any doubt, never any question after that.  Graham said they could read our thoughts, our questions, and I was afraid some of the things I thought about Graham, about how I was starting to feel they might be able to,—

"We never divulge any of your thoughts of a personal nature, unless to prevent harm to a sentient, or when ordered to do so by the judicial service," Groth said.  "Graham will never know of your bond to him unless you tell him."

My bond?  "I never said anything about. . . "  I said aloud.  I was going to say ‘a bond,’ but I didn’t.  ‘I just said I thought,— I mean I just thought, I didn't say,— I thought he was sexy,— not that I was in love with him or anything.  Get off my case.  I only thought that.’  I wondered if Groth heard me.

There was no answer.

"About what?"  asked Graham, looking at me with a question mark written all over his face.

"Nothing,"  I said, too quickly.  "Nothing important."  I looked away from him.  I was sure I was blushing, my face felt so hot.

I looked back to the projection of the ship as it hung above the Kryst,— the power generator,— and saw the insides a little more,— the way the drive unit was set in the center of the ship.  It was connected to dozens of thrust units that projected out through the screens at mid-section, attracting matter from the ‘forward’ side, expelling particles at near-light speed from the other, using heavy elements produced from the Kryst to augment the matter gathered in the forward shields and funneled to the thrust units' converters.  I learned there was no such thing as ‘empty’ space.  Outside the disk of the galaxy, and to a lesser extent within it, space was loaded with vast quantities of matter, waiting for the ship to use as propellant.  It was as if it was flashed to my mind like an eidetic memory.  I suddenly just knew about these things.  I knew a lot more than I knew when I first walked into the room,— if that makes sense.

I was getting information transferred right into my head,— all sorts of wonderful things,— things about machinery and tools that were available, how to operate them; some simple, some not so simple.  The drive was separated from the electro-gravity propulsion system (the Plastri) used within the gravity-well of a star or a planet, or in the high-gravity clusters,— or near the core.  No point in wasting energy, and besides, the drive was too powerful to be used for short-range work, although it could be used to accelerate the ship from zero to a few thousand clicks in seconds in case of an emergency.

There was a stubby tower thing came out of the floor near the Kryst, with four short posts sticking up from a flat table-like top, sort of a dark gray, about as big around as a hay rake handle.  I knew at once it was the ‘learning center.’  We were instructed to grasp the posts to learn things more quickly.  We went to the table,— center,— whatever, and the ship's computers gave me a double doctorate in neural network and connectivity in less than an hour. My head hurt a little when it finally dismissed us from class.  I remembered everything.  Graham was learning the drive.  He didn't tell me, I just knew.

We had to isolate the hangar power grid from the KP&L grid, and hook up the Kryst to it for a simple energy absorption/broadcast screen, as well an energy ‘dump.’  The energy generated by the ship had to be dissipated gradually, so as not to attract attention.  That meant pulling open the hull with the destabilizer, then freezing the hull barely open for the cables.  It would be opened a lot more so we could pull the drive for modular replacements; however, we were instructed in the strongest possible terms not to do it except when it was absolutely needed.  The ship was too vulnerable.  Graham and I went back to the stairway to get started.  Groth went with us down the long corridor to the optimizer room, but didn't come with us.

The lights went on, and I found out what Graham was talking about.  I was totally blinded, and hung on to Graham like before, but pressed more into him. There was a sensation of dull aching in my arms, legs, chest and head, and the backs of my eyes hurt some.  My ears popped, and damn it, I got another erection, right up against his leg, feeling something moving around in my innards for a second.  My teeth hummed and then hurt.  Every tooth in my head hurt but not unbearable.  Graham was shaking,— even jerking a little,— holding me tighter than he had before, squeezing me to him, first with just his right arm, then turning to hold me in a strong hug, our heads on each others’ right shoulder.  Funny,— he had an erection, too.

He was hard everywhere, muscles as strong, maybe stronger than mine.  I hugged him back, partly because I was hurting, partly because it was a frightening experience and partly because I felt myself wanting him.  I wanted to feel him holding me.  I wanted to hold him.  I'm not sure which was more potent.  The hurt wasn't that bad, and seemed to go away quickly enough, even before the lights went down.  My feelings of wanting him didn't subside. I continued to hold on to him.  He needed me to hold on to him to keep from slipping.  It was worse for Graham.  It seemed to hurt him a lot more than it did me.  His breathing was rapid, he groaned in agony a couple of times, and at one point his whole body jerked violently; however, he continued to hold on to me for support.  I didn’t let go.

" Whew,— that wasn't near as bad as the first time; tolerable bad, but not as bad."  he said after it was over.  We were still clinging to each other.  He suddenly became aware we were holding each other and pulled away, just as the outer door dissolved.  "Sorry," he said, not looking at me.  Guess old Roger was a little out of order there."

"Old Roger?"  I said stupidly.

"My name for my privates,— "  he said,  "wasn't meant to,— uh,— mean anything."  He was blushing.

"Oh,"  I said,  "’At’s all right.  No big deal, Graham.  I know you ain't like that."  But I wasn't so sure of that anymore.  I wondered,—

He gave me a funny look, turned to go out the door, to go to work.  I stepped on the stairs just behind him and saw the hair.  He had short deep mahogany-colored hairs growing all over the back of his head, even under the gray tufts of his sideburns and the nape of his neck.  In the light, I saw dark, downy fuzz, all over the bald part of his head.  Another thing I noticed, he didn't have a ‘farmer's neck’ anymore,— the deeply creased and lined neck we all get by the time we're thirty from working in the hot Kansas sun.  His neck looked as clean as T. J.'s neck when I was still corn-holing him when he was fifteen or sixteen.  Graham had it before, a ‘farmer's neck,’— when I was talking to him at Pete's pump, last week, the night he came to supper at Mom's.  Graham was changing.  It was noticeable.  It was like he was slowly changing right before my eyes.  I kept my mouth shut, though,— I didn't know what this was all about nor what to expect.  God, was he all right?  Was this really Graham?  Was it, maybe,— one of them?

"He is not an ‘it.’  Graham is the same man you have always known.  He will suffer no harm.  It will not displease you,"  Groth's voice said from behind me, and I turned, but he wasn't there.  Damned computers!

The ship moved forward,— backward,— deeper into the hangar until it was almost up against the rear doors.  I felt no movement.  It made no audible sound.  I heard nothing to indicate any movement.  When we got to the bottom of the stairway and onto the hangar floor, the stairway seemed to just melt back into the ship, and there was no door to be seen at all.  Not the slightest crack where a door might have been.  ‘It flowed together like mercury,’  I thought again.  I looked to the front of the hangar.  The ship occupied a little more than half the length.  Looking forward, there were fewer than a few inches between the ‘nose’ of the ship and the rear doors.  It was almost as if it was making space for,—

"Another ship will be making stops here,"  Groth's voice said,  "it must not attract attention while the ship is being repaired."

The rest of the night was a blur.  We opened the bottom of the ship with the destabilizer to hold back the shield, and the dismounting tools to unhook the drive were lowered, followed by the cables, only as thick as a piece of dry spaghetti.  Graham got up on a ladder to hook up the cables to the main hangar circuit box, throwing the main breaker open to isolate the circuit.  His hands worked in a blur as he threw switches in the box, according to a plan he knew but I didn't.  I was busy calibrating the gravity platform, hooking it up to the Kryst, preparing the sockets for the drive to rest in.  It wasn't designed to support the drive, only moderately heavy equipment up to a few ten thousand kilos or so.  There were some cards to replace with new ones fabricated by the ship and dropped onto the platform as it came out of its storage place and past a delivery chute, then floated down to the floor.

By the time Graham was finished with the cables, the platform layout was done, and we got to work laying out the covering screen, which would basically do what the main camouflage screen of the ship did, absorb radiation from any direction, then broadcast the same radiation from the opposite side of the ship, after modifying it for the distance between the absorbing point and the emission point.  As long as the ship didn't move, it was almost totally undetectable.  If it moved, there was always a slight Doppler effect that couldn’t be cancelled, which created the ‘soap bubble’ impression, but it couldn’t be detected by radar.  I couldn't figure why they didn't just use the main ship covering screen.  Groth gave me a technical explanation about the difference between general screens, which reflected all wavelengths, and visual screens, which only dealt with the wave spectrum of visible light, which in a small enclosed space would not result in harmonic reinforcement that would eventually turn the inside of the hangar into plasma.  Made sense,— like running a big engine in a closed garage.

Graham helped me close the shield without too much noise, gradually reducing the power setting on the destabilizer, leaving a hole just big enough for the cables.  By four thirty in the morning, we had it set up, and the ship switched on the cloaking device.  I know it sounds corny, but it was the perfect term, even if it was used in hokey science fiction movies and television.  The ship described it as something totally unpronounceable and completely unintelligible.  We knew what the term meant even if we couldn’t pronounce it, so we just called it the ‘cloak’ from then on.  Even Groth conceded it easier to use.  ‘We’ could still ‘see’ the ship, it wasn’t invisible to Graham and I, because the ship either allowed us to see it or showed it to us in our heads.  I'm not sure which or if that makes sense, but that's the way it was.

Groth asked us to go back into the light of the optimizer, telling us we needed to refresh ourselves.  I didn't feel all that tired, but I knew my body wasn't in full agreement.  I had to pee pretty bad.  I wondered if there was a toilet in there.  At exactly four thirty-two by my watch, we laid down on two narrow cots that jutted out from the wall, the door closed and the ‘optimizer’ put us to sleep.  I awoke feeling like I'd slept a good eight hours.  I looked at my watch.  It was not yet four forty-six.  I didn't have to pee any more. Graham looked younger still.  The hair on his head was a quarter inch long, deep russet red brown, a little gold in it.  His shirt was tight across his shoulders, his jeans loose.  He had to hike them up as we walked away from the ship.

We walked to the double doors, then looked back.  The ship raised itself almost twenty feet above the ground, the cables to the hangar power panel almost rigid.  They would be invisible when the cloak was on.  A man could walk through the hangar from one corner to the other and never touch a thing. Suddenly, just to demonstrate how effective the cloak was, the ship disappeared, or it stopped showing itself to us.  There was no trace of it, nothing; however, the platform, the tools, the cards, and the destabilizer remained.  They didn't look like much.  The ship pulled a joke on us.  It turned the stuff on the ground into a rusty old hand-pump double pallet jack, an industrial-size mop bucket, a carpenter's toolbox open to show a bunch of rust-riddled hand tools, and a jackhammer leaning up against a porta-power box.  Everything was cleverly disguised.  I never knew a computer could have a sense of humor.  I couldn't help but laugh a little.

We left for the farms, riding in silence until we got to Gove Road.  We took the Ram, as I agreed to drop Graham at his place, we'd do our chores, then go together to Charlene's for breakfast.  I was caught up on tilling and fertilizing, and there were things I could be doing in the ship while he ran the garage.  We’d only do morning and evening chores, for a week, maybe two in a pinch.

"Graham?"

"Ayuh?"

"Did you know you’re growing hair on your head?  Dark red-brown hair?"

"Figured as much."

"How?"

"The optimizer is doing something to me.  My beard is growing in darker and thicker.  I lost all the gray hairs on my chest, too.  I think I'm growing in new teeth.  I’m teething for the second time in my life.  I never felt more sorry for babies all of sudden."  he chuckled.

"You have false teeth?"

"Ayuh."

"Anything else,— changing, I mean?"

"My feet and hands are different.  The arthritis is gone.  My nails are falling out.  Don't need cheaters to read no more.  My face is getting less fleshy."

"I like your face like it is."  I looked at his hands.  The nails were all blue and black at the quick, thick and horny and ridged and yellowish at the ends.

"Kind of homely, I guess.  I was a down-right ugly kid when I was young."

"Not to me."

He looked over at me, and I fell into his eyes again.  His eyelashes were longer than I remembered.  His face was the same, but it was,— different.  He looked younger and, damn it, to me, he was God-awful nice looking; honest and caring.  The redness was mostly gone, so were most of the creases.

"You know,"  he said in a faltering voice.  "I never knew a more good-looking man than yore’ daddy when he was alive, but you know what? You're even better looking."

"Do you,— like me Graham?"

"More’n that,— now don’t be scared,— I think I'm falling for you, Son," he said without hesitation, "big time."

"I ain’t scared, Graham.  I feel the same way,"  I managed to get out.  "Do you think,— ?"  I was going to ask him if maybe we had a chance to go further.

"I think we better play this one day at a time," he said.  "I ain’t sure exactly what we're getting in to.  We ain’t exactly living under normal circumstances after tonight."

"Same here,"  I said, putting my hand on his leg, feeling the tingle on the back of my neck again.

He put his hand, his great, warm hand over mine, and I felt better than I had in a long time.  I was glad I had an automatic transmission in the Ram.  I dropped him at his porch.  He looked me over after he closed the door, a big smile on his mug.

"We're gonna have a fine time of this,"  he said,  "we go together good when we set our minds to it."

I was bursting with things to say but I didn’t, I just nodded.  "Pick you up at six."

"Come as early as you can,"  he said,  "we have a lot to do."

I never did my chores so quickly.  I milked the cows on the machine while I fed the chickens and opened the gate to the front pasture for the herd when the milking was done.  I checked the lick, the water levels,— everything. When I got back to the barn, the milk was all collected, I took the teats off, set them in the sterilizer and switched it on.  I transferred the milk to the tank in the cooler for Tom to pick up at mid-day.  I walked to the house, showered, shaved and dressed before a quarter to six.  I wasn't even out of breath, but I'd run like a weasel in heat to get it all done.  I was on Graham's porch at ten to six, and heard him upstairs singing in the shower.  I was tempted to go up and,— I don't know what, but instead, I grabbed a mug of coffee from the pot he just made, and sat on the porch waiting.  The heat from the coffee felt good in my hands, but my teeth were a little sensitive.  He was downstairs before the coffee was cool enough to drink.

"Got coffee?"  he hollered as he bounded down the stairs.

"Ayuh,"  I said back at him.

He came out on the porch with a mug of his own, and I couldn't believe how good he was looking.  His shirt couldn't hide the fine figure of his torso, slim and tightly muscled.  His neck was long and sculpted, and I saw hair on his chest, above the shirt button, short and tight to his skin.  He looked not a day over thirty-five, except for the gray of a few wisps of hair around his once-bald pate.  His scalp was covered with thick short hair, and there was a definite hairline.  His face was Graham, but new and improved.  I stood up, not quite sure of what our position was yet.  He just walked over and kissed me, right on the lips, in front of God and all Creation.  His lips were as soft and light as moist veal chamois, but there was a strength in his kiss that spoke of passion, power and need.  I wanted more.  I wanted to stand there for an hour, but he pulled away before I thought to grab him, keep him in place, open my mouth to his tongue, strip naked and,—

He had a pail of eggs for mom as well as his mug.  I could have taken advantage of him if I thought quickly enough.  He gave me the pail and grabbed his old ten-gallon off the peg.

"Been wanting to do that for a week or more,"  he said, turning to the steps and making for the truck,  "Was worth the wait."

I followed him to the truck, spilling not a drop of the coffee despite my two left feet and spinning head.

"A week?  A week?  Why didn't you tell me?  How come I'm the last to know?"  I hollered as I went, and climbed in after the cup found a home in the cup holder, and I started the engine.

"What, and ruin your debut?"  he said with a fat grin.  "Let you miss out on the joy of telling me you were gay?  I don't think so."

"I was in agony,"  I said as we swung out of his drive.  "It was like confessing to be a murderer, and you just let me sputter?"

He put his hand on my leg, and I got a chill down my spine, a warm feeling in my loins.

"I was afraid to come on to you, jerk!"  he said squeezing my leg just above the knee.  "Old guys like me ain't exactly prime beef, you know."

"You're not old,"  I said,  "especially now."

"Yeah, things are changing kinda fast, ain't they?"

"What else?"

"I got teeth,"  he said.  "The first four broke the gums this morning."

"You're shitting me."  I said looking over.  He had his teeth in, so I couldn't see.

"Show you tonight,"  he said.

"Tonight?"

"We got a supper date.  You forgot already?"

"What about the ship?"  I stopped at Katy Road, letting Pete's tanker by.  I flashed my lights just as Pete waved at us.  He was headed for breakfast, like always, then probably over to Salina to load up.

"We'll set up the drive for pulling her out after dark.  Then we have to wait until after midnight for the fourth ship to bring in the first boards."

"Moonlight?"  I asked.

"Not a problem.  They have to gather four more primary boards from the other ships"

"Why not gather them during the day, deliver them tonight?"  We pulled up in front of mom's place, behind Pete's tanker.  I looked at the shiny end of it, so irregular in comparison to the ship.

"Ships are in South America, Brazil and Chile.  Can't risk a transfer in daylight.  Don't forget,— they don't have any mobility units left.  Have to use old fashioned conveyor belts, I guess."

"We're not going to get anything done!"  I said as we got down and crossed the road.

"Yeah we will,"  Graham said as we walked up the steps,  "don't forget, we don't have to sleep for a while."

"But I want,— "  I stopped as we walked through the door.  I could just imagine the response from the ‘regulars’ if I said "want to sleep with you" as we arrived together.

"Patience, Bill,"  he said in a low voice, like a sexy growl,  "h’it won't be long."

I didn't have time to register my protest.  Everybody was saying ‘howdy,’ and there was a little bit of surprise on a few faces that I was there; mom, for one.  She looked at me, then looked at Graham, then at me again, and I knew she knew,— just like that.  We only kissed once, but my mom had everything figured out.  How do mother’s do that?

"Bacon or Sausage?"  mom called out to Graham as we went to the first booth, after Graham apologized to Dan because he wasn't gonna set with him, and poured us each a mug.  He didn't take off his Stetson.  People would’ve taken note of his new hair growth, I think.  Most guys leave their hats on, anyhow, at least at breakfast.  It ain't polite at dinner or supper.

"One of each!"  called Graham back, ordering for me.  "Bill and I'll flip to see who gets second choice."

I know what Graham eats.  I mean,— I worked the counter for ten years, after all,— and it was the right choice that day.  I made a mental note to be sure and let him know I was my own man, though,— I didn't need him deciding things for me.  Pete looked round over his shoulder when Graham said 'Bill,' but just winked at me and went back to his cake and coffee.  Hal Cooper couldn't keep his nose out of a newborn goat's butt.

"What's wrong with B.B. all of a sudden?"

"Bill's my dad's name,— the name he gimme,'"  I spat over my coffee mug. "I'm proud of it, and I'm gonna' use it!"

"Bill, you want a side of flaps?"  my mom called out from the grill.  Wow! She just canned them all, in one small sentence.

"Best idea yet, Mom!"  I called back.

Everybody went back to talking about the prospects for rain.  Nobody ever called me B.B. again, except Graham, but,— I'll save that for later.

Mom brought over the platters just as Gary Boyce wandered in.

"You boys work all night last night?"

"Ayuh,"  said Graham.  "Andy turn us in?"

"Saw your truck heading home from the hangar before five this morning,"  she said.  "Diane said Pete saw the Ram at the hangar after ten o'clock last night.  Figure you're gonna’ get everything done in a week,— grind yourself into an early grave?"

"Thought you looked right pretty this morning,"  Graham said back at her.

"And,— you're looking younger and better look'n than ever this morning, you old fart."  she laughed.

"Touché,"  Graham grinned.  I just sat there a little embarrassed.  Andy slept over at my mom's place,— she as much as said so, and maybe she thought I was already sleeping with Graham.

"Seriously, Graham,— ain’t never seen you look no better,"  Mom said as she put her hand on his shoulder.  "You neither,"  she said to me, "maybe you're good for each other."

I prayed for a chasm to open up.

"Maybe,"  Graham said,  "right now, though, your cookin' is just what the doctor ordered after a hard night's work.  Best in the land, Charlene."

Mom smiled and blushed a little, then dashed to flip Gary's eggs.

I ate in a fog.  We talked about something or other, I don’t remember,— probably the prospects for rain,— Graham paid and we left, just after Pete left for Salina and some of the others were getting ready to go.  Mom called out ‘nice day' after us, and added something about,  "Bill, don't forget to get your money for the milk.  Tom left it over to Pete's."  She knew Tom left it at my place now that Cal moved out.  She was just letting me know she was okay with ‘Bill.’

We drove up to the hangar, the heat of my hand on Graham's thigh almost white.  I had these ideas about getting in another kiss, but there was a pickup already out front, the doors to the shop were open, and when we walked in, there were two Deere's and an IH in a line on the left, and a Deere and an IH in the two bays.

"Hey, Boss!"  called out a voice from behind the Deere.  I saw two pair of legs through the space under the tractor.

"Hey, Rob!  Morning Cory!  Whose rigs?"

"Guy named Dreeson and couple of other guys brought ‘em in; said they's no rush s’long as as they're ready by Monday.  Nothing but routine stuff, so we figured on gettin' them out of the way.  Somebody called, asked if they could bring in a Cat this afternoon,— name's on yore’ bench."

"Come meet my neighbor Bill,"  said Graham.  "he's gonna' help me out a little for a while."

I had a strange reaction to that,— neighbor?  I wanted to be a hell of a lot more than that,—

Two guys came out from behind the tractor, wiping their hands.  One about twenty-five or so, maybe a little younger, the other a year or two younger than me.  The younger one looked familiar, but I couldn't recollect from where. Both were good-looking, strapping guys.  Graham introduced us, and we shook hands.

"Don't recognize me, do you?"  asked Cory, grinning at me.

"I,— no, ‘fraid I don't."

I was on the second string during your last season,"  he said,  "sophomore."

I didn't recognize him at all.  "Sure,"  I said lamely,  "you've grown a lot since then!"  I hoped it didn't sound as phony as it was.

"Yeah,"  he said with a laugh,  "you about bulldozed me in scrimmage once.  I only weighed a hundred ten, soaking wet."

It didn't help.  I remembered nothing at all of him, but there was something familiar, all the same.

"Bill's gonna do some work in the hangar,"  Graham said.  "We're trying to get some old equipment up and running.  It's a rush job for some friends from out of town, so we're gonna’ do double duty for a while."

I almost swallowed my tongue trying not to bust out.  From out of town? Try 'out of this world, out of this universe!'

"No sweat, Boss,"  Rob said back, looking at me.  "Cory and me can handle all this stuff, no problem.  I'm gonna need some help with the new Deere, though.  I'm not too good with the Diag Unit yet."

"Great, Rob,— holler when you're ready to hook'er up, and I'll run you both through it.  It's a lot easier to use than the manual says."  Graham was already walking over to the bench he used as an office.  "How long you guys been here?"

"Only a half hour or so.  Got here just when Starfleet arrived."

My stomach rolled.

"You mean Dreeson?"

"Yeah, he looks a little like Kirk, don't he?  And that guy with the IH could be Spock's brother!"

I started breathing again.

"You must mean George Carmichael,"  Graham said,  "he does have a pretty close look don't he?  I keep telling him to stop lettin' his wife cut his hair, but he won't listen."

I never made the connection before, but it's true.  George is tall and slender, with close-crop black hair, a long face and big ears.  No points, though.

"We missed Scotty, though,”  laughed Cory.  "I kept waiting for the Captain to say 'beam us up, Scotty' into his communicator!"

We all had a laugh, then Cory and Rob went back to the first bay.  Graham opened the door part way into the hangar and we went in, closing it behind us. The rusty old pallet jack, jackhammer and power pack, and the mop bucket were still there.  The ship wasn't there one second, and was completely there the next, as the computers did whatever they did to let us see it.  The destabiliser, gravity platform and probe were back to normal.  The ship drifted down towards the hangar floor.

"Good morning.  The delivery will be at twelve twelve A.M.,"  said Groth. "We do not wish the drive to be dissociated from the cloak before that."

No amount of practice is going to keep me from having a little thrill go up my spine when the computer talks inside my head like that.

"Right,"  said Graham.  "Bill will do everything possible between now and then to prepare."

"Yes,"  said Groth, appearing in front of us.  "It should be done in time for you to go home, have your meal, and relax before returning here."

He knew we were having supper together that night.

Groth spoke inside my head.  "I know everything you know, Bill.  It is impossible for me not to,— because of the importance of what you are doing, and as a practical matter.  There is a link between us, established when you agreed to help us, when you were in the optimizer; however, you must be clear on something.  Nothing,— I repeat,— nothing,— you do or think will ever be disclosed by me to another person or computer, nor will it be discussed with Graham without an overriding necessity, such as the success of this operation or your personal well-being."

"What if,— "  I thought of the hopes I had for later that evening; another kiss, perhaps, maybe even more?  I wanted no one but Graham and me there, I wanted it to be special.  I didn't want anybody watching.

"Think of me only as a mirror, reflecting reality, but unable to interpret, communicate, or change the scene before it.  I will not in any way intrude.  It is not only unethical but it is immoral."

The explanation helped, but only a little.

"You will learn through experience what I say is true."

"What about Graham?"  I asked.  "How does he feel?"  God, I wanted to know that.  I got no response, not even a refusal to say.

"What can I do here?"  asked Graham as this exchange passed in an instant.

I didn't hear the response, as I got right to work on the destabiliser unit, placing the unit precisely where the ship, indicated with tiny lasers, it should go, so the shield could be opened without turning it off, so it would open an aperture of exactly the right shape and size for lowering the drive down to the platform.

The gravity platform was self-mobile, and would put itself into position at the right moment.  All I had to do the rest of the day was open the control unit of the platform and modify the arrangement of the neural cards, placing new ones into open sockets to supplement the power going to the gravity grid, especially under the supports that would hold the drive in place, and to strengthen the unit's resistance to lateral motion.

Graham was assigned to the shop, to keep things as normal as possible.  My work was simple enough for anyone, as long as I didn't screw up on any of the measurements or switch some of the cards around.  By the time I finished, the platform wouldn't move more than a millimeter unless there was an earthquake of eight-point-zero magnitude or higher, which the ship told me was a one in twelve quintillion, two hundred-seventeen quadrillion, nine hundred-four trillion and a few billion probability of happening within the next ninety days.  It actually gave me all the numbers, right down to the bitter end, before I could tell it to stop, but I can only truly remember the twelve quintillion bit.  Just as well,— the tolerance set for the destabiliser was only five centimeters,— around two inches.  If the platform was off by more than that, the drive wouldn't clear the opening.

We had a hot dinner at a big table Graham built in the back of the shop out of two sawhorses and a double sheet of thick plywood.  Graham sent Cory to pick the food up at Charlene's.  Chicken-fried steaks, two potatoes, two beans, kale, squash, parker house rolls, salad, peach pie with custard and cream, and Gove Cheddar.  There was plenty of iced tea and raw milk from the little used refrigerator Graham bought somewhere.  We ate well.  Graham was especially hungry.  He ate double portions on the meat, kale, beans and squash, salad and cheddar, but didn't touch the rest.  He did eat his peach pie, of course, which we cut into quarters just to keep things even.  Graham and I drank milk,— lots of it.  I usually only drink about a quart a day, but we went through a whole gallon jug between us.  My teeth hurt and I know his must have, too.

Cory and Rob were impressed by Graham's appetite.  They couldn’t believe he could eat so much and keep trim.  I think they'd be doubly impressed if they knew he was sixty-five and not thirty.  Even if I was prejudiced, he didn’t look a day over thirty to me.  We talked about this and that, where who lived,— that sort of thing.  Cory was living with Rob, because his family had six kids, he was the oldest, they needed space, and he wanted to get out on his own, and so on.  I thought he was making too much out of it, like he was hiding why he really moved out.

Rob's parents were in Salina.  He moved out here four years ago to work at Sweeney's, rented a little house that was built for a farmer's parents years ago. The farmer sold out, the farm was being run by a mega-monster grain company, but they rented out the farm houses as a way of improving security. Cory moved in with him to keep the rent down.

The afternoon started out a bit of a drag.  Graham worked with Cory and Rob on the diagnostic machine for the Deere.  I set up the probe and fired it. The tendrils probably burrowed down to where the Earth's core made the material molten.  The probe is for two things,— sucking up essential elements needed for fabrication of the new neural cards, which are only partly biological, and secondly,— the dissipation of energy.  The ship was super efficient; nonetheless, it produced huge amounts of energy while making things, running screens, maintaining position, and so on.  There was inevitably an excess and it had to be gotten rid of after the energy reserve banks were full.

The fuel tanks were full,— the Kryst can use almost any fluid as fuel, but plain water is the easiest to manipulate as well as the third most common molecule in the universe.  It has the perfect balance of particles for most fabrication work, too.

I had nothing left to do on the prep work.  The ship was pumping circuitry data into me all the time, of course, but I had most of it down pretty pat.  I was getting bored.

"You like music."  Groth said.

"Yes, but I don't know much about it," I always wanted to take the time to learn a little more, but I never seemed to have those extra precious hours.”

"Come on board the ship, and go to the learning station.  There is time for some amusement.  You have done the work more quickly than the time allotted."

I told Graham I was going to be doing a stint on the technical data for the machinery.  I figured he’d understand I meant I was going to be on board the ship for a while.  I went back into the hangar, the ship extruded the escalator, and I went in.  The light didn't bother me a bit this time.  Following the ship's instructions, I put a hand on each of the two graphite rods at the learning station, and was immediately in pitch-black darkness.  The flow of circuitry data into my head stopped.  I heard music.  Familiar, but that classical stuff I never really had time for.  A jig, almost.  Suddenly, images appeared in the darkness.

The ship took me to the movies.  I watched ‘Amadeus’ from a front row center seat, the music surrounding me was incredibly beautiful.  Salieri was pathetic but the acting was good.  I hated Mozart, which is probably what the director wanted anyway.  The photography was incredible, but,— the music! It was the first time I'd really listened to it.  I wanted more, even as the credits rolled.  The ship obliged.  I saw my first opera, Tosca, then Fantasia, Cosi Fan Tutti, Carmen, La Traviata, and Das Rheingold.  I understood everything, even the foreign words, somehow.  I heard music as if for the first time in my life.  Finally, I heard the entire Requiem Mass, the one in Amadeus, looking through the eyes of someone in a huge cathedral, stained glass everywhere, a choir of hundreds on either side of an orchestra on a big platform in front of the Nave.

"You collected samples of our music, too?"  I asked as the music drew to a close, as my eyes came back to the ship.

"Not samples,— everything.  There is no comparable catalogue of harmonic composition by any other civilization.  All is stored in the fifth ship's data core, from the earliest recordings to last week's top releases."

"All of it, including rap, soul?"

"All of it."

"How do you get it?"

"All has been brought to us by collectors who are paid in metals you hold precious."

"And our literature?"

"In the eighth ship."

"Why are you collecting samples from us?"

"Not samples,— everything of or about your civilization."

"Why?"

"To ensure it’s not lost."

"How could it be lost?  Nuclear war?  An asteroid?"

I remembered the biology class in high school, where they talked about how an asteroid probably killed off all the dinosaurs.

"No.  There will be more information available to you shortly.  It is not yet time for that, but it is time for you to prepare supper."

I looked at my watch.  It was past five o'clock.

"Oh, shit!"  I thought.  "I'm not ready for this!  I need a shower!"

"Relax,"  said Groth in my ear.  "It is something you will enjoy far more if you do not concern yourself overly with details and specifics."

"I better go,"  I said.

"Yes,"  said Groth, as I got up from the learning station and walked swiftly to the corridor.

I went into the airlock or whatever it is, and the lights went on.  I felt a little twinge in my gut, then the door opened.  I didn't move on the escalator.  I learned if you stand perfectly still, it goes twice as fast.  When I opened the doors to the shop, Graham was working on the third Deere with the diagnostic unit.  He looked to be no more than thirty, his hair in a buzz cut, his face screwed up in concentration over the machine.  I don't think he even heard me come up behind him.  Rob and Cory were gone.  I wanted to wrap my arms around him, hug myself to him, peer over his shoulder and suggest we go home and take a bath together, but I was afraid I might be a little too pushy if I did.  Then I thought of a kiss,— just one,— before we rode home in Jeep, then piled into bed,— together.  Oh, shit,— would I please him?

I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder and said,  "About ready for a break?"

"Thought you'd never ask,"  he said gruffly, making some adjustment to the unit, then switching it off.

"I,— "  I never got the next word out.  Don't remember what it was, don't give a rat's rump.  He turned around, grabbed hold of my head between his two hands, and pulled me into his lips like I was a ten-ounce crappie.  I didn't fight.  I just molded into him, wrapped my arms around him, squeezed him into me, opened my mouth and got the best kiss anybody ever got on the whole Earth,— maybe the whole galaxy.  His hands moved to my shoulders, down my arms a little, around my back, sending shivers up and down me like electric yo-yos.

"Let's go,"  he said hoarsely when we came up for air.  "I'm powerful hungry."


© 2004 Jonas Kichda