Chapter 8
Under the shelter of a well-constructed metal dome, Sam chewed thoughtfully on his scrambled eggs. He sat at a long, communal table where a number of others had joined him, wanting to get to know the ‘star child’ better, and Sam was fielding their questions with growing amusement.
“Do you have a space ship, Al?” asked one very short girl with auburn pigtails and a flower painted on her cheek.
Sam swallowed his food, brows high. “Uh, well—not exactly.”
“Then how did you get here?”
Sam’s eyes flicked down to his food. Was there a way to explain leaping in a way that wouldn’t break his rules?
“Well, you know, it’s sort of instantaneous—to me, at least,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “One minute I’m someplace else, and the next I’m… here.”
“Wow,” the girl said, sipping at a cup of juice. “So you don’t even need to fly here in a saucer or nothing?”
“No saucers required, no. Unless there’s a cup of tea to go with it,” he said with a grin.
“What about your planet?” asked another admirer. “What’s it like?”
Sam chuckled. These questions were awkward, but pretty entertaining. It was certainly a test of his finely honed improvisation skills, that was for sure.
“Let’s see…” he said, staring into the middle distance, “There’s this… palace, see… in a cavern under a mountain, with a whole lot of flashing lights in the walls. And a big blue orb in the ceiling which holds—uh—all the planet’s history. It’ll answer any question you ask it, though not without an attitude.”
“Groovy,” the man replied wistfully. “Maybe humanity will some day have the enlightenment to ask it something ourselves.”
Stifling a snicker, Sam nodded. “Some day, I’m sure humanity will attain those dizzying heights.”
Sam returned his attention to his plate, and as he scooped some egg onto his fork, he felt the energy in the area change, and he looked up to see Danny in the dome, wandering over to the dining table.
“Morning,” he greeted everyone. “Try to let our guest here finish his breakfast before you start badgering him, okay?”
“Sorry Danny,” said the first girl with a sheepish smile.
“Don’t sweat it, Alicia,” he said, favouring her with a charismatic smile, causing the girl to flush red and look away. “By the way, you did a great job on the protest signs for tomorrow. Thank you, darlin’.”
Danny turned his attention to Sam, nodding a greeting. “So, I trust you’ve had your needs met, Al?” He spoke the name as though it didn’t fit. Which, Sam thought, was pretty perceptive of him.
Sam smiled up at the apparent leader of the place, and waved his fork. “Yes, I’ve been welcomed and been treated very well, thank you. This place is pretty relaxed, huh?”
Danny pulled up a chair, and sat across from Sam as a plate of eggs was presented to him by an older lady.
“Thank you, Clover,” he said to the woman with a wink, before looking back at Sam. “Yes, we’re all laid back and loose, Al, because we reject the buttoned-down work-a-day life.” He gestured around the dome with one hand, while picking up a fork with the other. “You’ll notice we don’t keep clocks around.”
“Yes, I had noticed that,” Sam mused. “I haven’t seen any mirrors, either.”
Which has been slightly inconvenient.
“All by design,” Danny said. “We trust one another with our appearance here. We do each other’s hair, paint each other’s faces…” he gestured to the pig-tailed girl with the flower on her cheek. “We don’t buy into the vanity of the material world. And as for the clocks? Timekeeping is a shackle of capitalist control. It keeps you stressed out and always afraid of losing it, wasting it. You burn it up to make money for the man, and then it’s all used up before you ever really live. We’re laid back here, ’cause our time is what we make it. Do you get me, Al?”
Sam nodded as he took in the words. “Yeah, I understand, I think,” he said, a smile tickling at his lips. “It’s an interesting perspective. You want people to use the time they have for themselves and their community rather than in service to someone else’s wallet. And you see clocks as a way of enforcing the system that oppresses the working class. Am I on the right track?”
“Exactly,” Danny agreed.
While Sam understood the sentiment, his leaps very often relied on reliable records of time—it certainly seemed that whatever he was here for wouldn’t have the benefit of such records. Pity.
Still, he wasn’t flying blind; all he’d need is a rudimentary sundial, the date, and his current location, and he’d be able to keep pretty accurate track. Then again, he didn’t know those two things just yet. He wasn’t even aware of the year, though his best guess at their location was somewhere in the southwest states, given the vegetation and climate.
“And what about you, spaceman?” Danny continued. “What’re your thoughts on time?”
Sam folded his arms, grinning. “Where would I even begin? You could say it’s a special area of mine.” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “But I think I’ll have to put a pin in that, Danny. Right now, I want to talk to you about some ideas I have. Which, ironically, are time-sensitive, because I won’t be around for long, I suspect.”
“Ideas?” Danny said as he brought a forkful of eggs to his mouth. “What kind of… ideas?”
“Ideas to help this place reach its potential,” Sam enthused. “Now, I have some thoughts about the children here. I met one of them, and found that he hasn’t been taught to read.
“I think that reading is one of the most important things someone can learn, because it’s a springboard to learning anything written in a book, see. So, I really think you should consider building a schoolhouse, and choosing a full time mentor for the kids, you know?” He gestured feverishly with his hands as he spoke, his fork waving in the air. “Because if you want the children here to flourish and reach their potential, you really need to give them the tools to do the things they want to do, and reading would open up so much of the world to them.”
As Sam finished his impassioned speech, he thought he heard some strange radio static ringing in his ears.
“School?” Danny narrowed his eyes. “I’m not opposed to kids learning, but I believe that no kid thrives in a classroom. They teach you to behave and assimilate into a society that chews ’em up and kills their creative spark.”
“I’m not talking about some kind of ‘conformity factory,’” Sam insisted, “I’m talking about giving the kids a leg up in their lives, and—”
“Look, I get the picture. I’m open to the idea, but I don’t like the thought of cooping up the little free spirits in a room to wither, you get me?”
“What’s that? Speak up, Sam.”
Sam furrowed his brow as he heard Al’s distorted, almost inaudible voice underneath Danny.
“I’m hearing other voices, I think,” it continued. “And I can’t see you at all.”
“Uh…” Sam said, eyes darting around. He stood from his seat, holding up a finger. “I’m sorry, but E.T. needs to, er, phone home. Would you excuse me for just a minute?”
He ignored the confused faces who had no idea what an E.T. was and why it would need to phone home, as he scurried out of the dome, following the voice of his friend.
“Bobby has a what? A thin mother? Okay, but how big are her—”
Bobby? Who’s Bobby? Who is he talking to?
“Al!” Sam cried as soon as he was outside the confines of the dome. “I’m here! Can you hear me?”
“What’s that?” Al asked, and Sam was able to see a faint flickering form standing between some bushes.
“I coulda swore you called my name…” the hologram said in a confused tone.
“I did call your name, Al. Hello…?”
“Well, anyway… yeah, Sam, you’re right.”
“Right about what?”
“Guy named Richard Deleon. He went missing when he got drafted—”
“You mean Richie?” Sam’s mouth drifted open as he realised the implications.
“—Only to turn up in a… in a drug? Oh, a drug raid. A drug raid on some hippie commune. Waited out the war in prison after that.”
“A drug raid? When does it happen?”
“Sam, It’s got nothing to do with your leap, at least according to Ziggy.”
“How could it have nothing to do with my leap, Al? It sounds like exactly the kind of thing—”
“What?” Al turned towards him, finally seeming to hear him. “Sam, I don’t know what you’re—”
“Al, I think that could be the key to this whole thing, you know?” Sam seized his opportunity to get through to Al, speaking at a hundred miles an hour in his excitement. “I’ve had so many different ideas about what I was meant to do. It’s been fun trying to figure it out, actually, but I never knew about the drug raid—”
“—Hey, slow down, alright?”
“Sorry, it’s just—I think I’m really going to make a difference in these kids’ lives, and—”
“What kids?”
“The ones that live here, Al. Oh, and I’ve been thinking about how to get the outhouse a little more hygienic, plus—”
“Outhouse? What the heck are you talking about?”
“It’s just over there.” Sam pointed towards the little shack with the big stench. “Can you not see me? What’s going on with the Imaging Chamber?”
“What? I thought I was talking to you.”
“You… you are. I’m right here.”
“Gooshie, something’s gone all funky again!”
“What kind of issue are you having, Al? Is there anything I can do? I want to help.”
“I don’t think we can keep this up any longer, Sam,” Al said with a regretful expression on his face. “I think Albuquerque’s about to have a brownout thanks to this. But I’m glad to hear you’re in a better mood. Take it easy, awright? I’ll be back when—”
And he disappeared.
Sam stroked his chin, baffled, as he processed the final words of his friend. Better mood?