From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 35, Edgar Changes Professions

This is episode thirty-five of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

Edgar Changes Professions 

The pod sat down, shrouded, in the vacant winter cornfield. Tom exited it and walked to the house. 

Tom wanted to consider Edgar’s future. He sat on a cushioned rocker in the living room. His dad and then his mother occupied that chair many times. They would glance out the large window to the right and stare at the road running in front of the house. Across the road, another field stood silent on a cold gray winter day. He imagined this was the place where they reasoned problems into a corrective course. It is where they sat when time was needed to figure things out.

He thought about Edgar. It was useless to figure out why he ended up in a gambling scheme. The short conclusion was a weakness, or perhaps—perhaps he wanted to win enough money to pay off his debt to the farm. He knew enough about Edgar that he very seldom took credit for something good or kind. He recalled Edgar saying one time that goodness and kindness are for those without the imagination to make it in the real world. And that nobody good or kind makes it to the top.

‘That’s what college did to him,’ Tom thought. ‘He wasn’t raised that way. When he left home, he hugged us all and cried. When he visited, he was arrogant and crude at times. Dad and Mom made excuses. They said he was studying too hard, and after college, he’d be himself again. But Dad and Mom never saw the side of him that I saw. He wasn’t a big brother. His behavior, to me, was cruel and oppressive.’

‘I cannot allow those things to overshadow the fact that he is my brother. He needs help.’ 

Two days passed—two days of thought. 

During that time, Tom replaced the bed of a wagon. Several of the boards showed signs of extensive rotting. He envisioned himself stepping through a rotted board and being in a cast for six weeks. 

After finishing the job, he put away the tools and took a moment to pridefully survey his work. He then closed the barn door and headed for the house. 

In the kitchen, he heated a bowl of tomato soup and a toasted cheese sandwich. The phone rang. He put the dishes in the dishwasher and answered the phone on the wall.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Tom, this is Edgar. I’m in Cape Town, South Africa.”

“What’s the weather like?” Tom asked, happy to hear from Edgar.

“Incredible,” Edgar said.

“You sound good.”

“I feel good,” Tom said.

“What about Tristan de Cunha?”

“That’s why I called,” Edgar said. “I’m about to board a cargo ship for there. It will take around five days to get there.”

“I’m glad you called. Pay close attention. I have something very important to say.”

“Okay,” Edgar said, “go ahead.”

“When you get to the island, find the island’s administrator. Introduce yourself. He will be glad to see you. You have applied for a teaching position at the island’s school.”

“I did what!?” 

“You applied nearly a year ago. At the beginning of your final year of law school, you met a man named Durwood Ambrose. He taught on the island several years ago. You were so fascinated by his experience that you made it your goal to teach there someday.”

“What in the world?” Edgar said. “I’m not a teacher.”

“You have taken some required courses that qualify you to teach.”

“I’m not a teacher,” Edgar repeated.

“For right now, you’re not a lawyer either. Being a lawyer or a teacher, it’s about communicating information, ideas, and persuasion. You sat through enough classes to know how to teach.”

“You sound as if they know I’m coming,” Edgar said.

“That’s right. They are expecting you.”

“How did this all happen?” Edgar asked.

“Edgar, trust me.”

“Do I have a choice?” Edgar said.

“Here’s what happened,” Tom began to explain. “I had some documentation sent from the UK to Tristan da Cunha. It approves you to teach at their school. It gives you something to do. You can’t stay on the island with nothing to do and no visible means of support. The documentation sent shows that you are certified to teach.”

“I don’t get this, Tom. How do you manage to accomplish all these things? It’s like you have connections with the CIA or something.”

“Just do what I told you to do. Don’t mention anything about New York.”

“Is this going to be my career?” Edgar asked.

“That’s up to you,” Tom chuckled. “Who knows, you may like it.”

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” Edgar sardonically.

“No, Edgar, I’m not. There’s no fun  knowing your brother’s life is in danger.”

“By the way,” Edgar said. “I got mugged in San Jose. But I think you already know that. I think you had a hand in the money being returned to me.”

Tom remained silent.

“Geez,” Edgar said, “something is going on here that I can’t even begin to fathom. I’m not even sure you’re my brother. Frankly, I don’t know if I should be scared of Grasso or more scared of you.”

“All I can say, Edgar, is that you’re my brother.”

“I’ll get in touch when I’m settled in on Tristan da Cunha.”

“Have a safe voyage,” Tom said.

“Thanks,” Edgar said.

And they hung up.

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 34, Getting Edgar Out Of San Jose

This is episode thirty-four of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

Getting Edgar Out Of San Jose

Tom stepped out of the Instaport onboard the pod. He used the pod’s telescope to track Edgar to the airport by cab.

“Brain, access the airport's computers and let me know how Edgar is going to get to Tristan da Cunha.”

“I’ll have it in a moment,” Brain said.

Tom waited.

“I have it for you,” Brain said. “He is flying from San Jose to Panama City. There will be two hours and eleven minutes between landing and his next flight. Then he will fly to São Paulo, Brazil. He checked on the first flight from São Paulo to Cape Town, South Africa. It’s interesting to note that there are no planes to Tristan da Cunha. It will be a five-day boat trip from Cape Town to Tristan da Cunha.”

“Talk about isolated,” Tom said. “That almost sounds worse than what he’s running from.”

“It might be wise to suggest things he could occupy himself with during his exile.”

“You’re the brains of this outfit,” Tom said and added, “quite literally.”

“Actually, that’s not true,” Brain said. “I’m not a brain. My functions best describe me as a machine. For better or worse, you are the brains of this outfit—did you like that little dig?”

“I did,” Tom smiled. 

“So,” Tom said, “gainful occupations in Tristan da Cunha, whatcha got?”

“Any sort of work is difficult to obtain in Tristan da Cunha,” Brain said. “Most jobs come by means of government approval and programs. There is currently a need for law enforcement, requiring ten years of experience. There are various other jobs for which Edgar might be overqualified, and taking such positions might attract unwanted attention. There are currently two teacher positions open. Edgar is still overqualified, yet this would be closer to his educational background and skills.”

“The sticking point would be government approval?” Tom asked.

“That is correct,” Brain said.

“Brain, create all the needed documentation that would put Edgar in a good position to accept a teaching position.”

“In other words, you would approve of me creating and forging communications and paperwork that would make it appear Edgar has gone through a rigorous application and acceptance process?”

“That’s exactly what I had in mind. And before you start questioning me, I have no moral issues with this.”

“Currently, there is no one remotely, pardon the pun, interested in a teaching position on Tristan da Cunha. Thus, no one is set aside in favor of Edgar.”

“Thanks for clearing that up for me.”

“It doesn’t bother you now,” Brain said, “but I thought it would be something that might bother you in the future.”

“Thanks for the consideration,” Tom said wryly. 

Tom strolled over to the replicator and asked for a cup of coffee. He took the coffee and relaxed in the lounge. He picked up an electronic tablet and read the local news from home. He checked the grain prices and commodity futures. He recalled his mother and father doing the same thing. They discussed them together. At the time, he found it difficult to understand their interest. However, now he could recall the anxiety and uncertainty in their voices. They didn’t know the future, and now, at a mere command, Brain could predict future prices with a degree of reasonable certainty. 

‘I can’t imagine their turmoil,’ Tom thought. ‘And it was not for themselves. It was for Edgar and me, and to keep the farm in the family. I wish they were alive now so I could tell them the admiration I have for them.’

“Brain,” Tom said, “could I have kept the farm if not for your intervention and help?”

“As you know,” Brain said, “I cannot with complete accuracy predict the future. I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty that you would have found a way to keep the farm. Likely you would have had to rely on Gene Francis, but you would have found a way.”

“Thank you, Brain. That means a lot.”

“I did not say that to comfort or flatter you,” Brain said. “It is based on logic and assessing much of what I have been able to convert into data points.”

“No matter how mechanical and unattached you sound, it still brings me some degree of comfort.”

“Keep in mind, my existence and function are not to bring comfort. I exist to provide facts and reasonable conclusions.”

“I understand,” Ton conceded. 

Tom continued to scroll through the news on the electronic tablet. He grinned and said to himself, ‘What a friend. He doesn’t pull his punches.’

The reading left Tom sleepy. And it had been an exhaustive experience. He lay back and drifted off into sleep.

A little more than an hour later, Brain said, “Tom.”

Tom awoke and sat up. “Yes, what is it?”

“Edgar’s flight is about to take off. I can confirm that he is aboard.”

“Thank you, Brain.” 

Tom stood and walked to the captain’s chair. He scrolled through the data on the control panel’s screen. He entered the appropriate data to return to the farm. 

“Pod, activate!”

The pod softly lunged. And Tom was on his way back home. 

From Here To 1137; Episode 33, The Big Race

This is episode thirty-three of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

The Big Race

Balsa and gliricidia trees surrounded Tom. Their pleasant green leaves wrestled in waves from breezes coming from the northeast. He walked out from the grove of trees onto a dirt path winding through the park. He hurried in the direction of the bank. He smiled at a young couple as they walked by, looking queerly at him.

‘I should have worn something for summer,’ Tom thought to Brain.

‘My apologies,’ Brain said, ‘I should have prepared you.’

‘I’m already starting to sweat,’ Tom thought.

‘The MAS has a cooling feature,’ Brain said. ‘All you have to do is say, MAS and the temperature.’

‘That’s okay,” Tom thought, ‘I don’t want to get soft.’

‘Okay, then,” Brain said, ‘you’ll remain at the ambient temperature.’

‘Can you give me a report on Edgar?’

‘He just entered the bank,’ Brain said, ‘Pedro is approaching the cab.’

Tom started to jog. 

‘Apparently, things went well for Pedro,’ Brain said. ‘The cab just drove away.’

Tom reached the edge of the park. He jogged two blocks and stopped across the street from the bank. 

‘Pedro is sitting on a bench. He is wearing a yellow shirt,’ Brain said. ‘Do you see him?’

‘Yes.’

‘He has a motorcycle parked three blocks away,’ Brain said.

‘What direction?’

‘East.’

Tom walked across the street and to the street heading east of the bank. He wanted to remain unknown to Edgar. He moved to a position where he could no longer see the front of the bank.

Moments later, Pedro streaked east, down a street full of pedestrians, vehicles, and shops. He ran in the direction of his motorcycle. 

Tom dashed after Pedro at his top speed. Tom quickly realized that on his own speed, he could never catch Pedro. And Pedro ran confidently that his pursuer would never catch up with him. 

‘Brain, is Edgar okay?’ He asked as he ran.

Brain responded, “Pedro pulled the knife and threatened Edgar. He handed over a bag. Edgar complied. He’s okay.”

Relieved, Tom ran harder after Pedro, who was far ahead. 

‘MAS, make me run faster.’ 

Tom’s pace became faster with no effort. 

“Stop!!!” Tom yelled.

Pedro glanced over his shoulder. Instinctively, he knew Tom was running faster. He caught sight of his motorcycle leaning against a building a block away. He ran harder and harder.

Tom caught up to Pedro. He gripped his shoulder and spun him to the ground. 

“Now you are going to pay,” Pedro said and pulled out his knife.

Before Pedro could develop another thought, in a blur, Tom grabbed hold of Pedro’s hand, gripping the knife. Tom squeezed until the knife dropped to the ground.

Pedro jerked and tried to break the grip around his wrist. It was as if he were handcuffed to a fire hydrant. 

“You can have the money,” Pedro said fearfully, handing the bag to Tom.

“Here’s what you are going to do,” Tom said. “You are going to go back to the bank. The man you took this from will probably be inside reporting to the police what happened. I know as well as you know that the police are very slow. That gives you time to return the money to the man and get away. I know your name. I know where you live. I know where you work. I know everything about you. If the money is not returned, I’ll come after you.”

“Please,” Pedro said, “my hand is numb, no feeling.”

Tom slowly released his grip. Pedro rubbed the circulation back into his hand.

“Start walking,” Tom said. 

They hurried toward the bank.

“Who are you?” Pedro asked.

“I’m a fast man.”

“What should I say to the man I took the money from?” Pedro said.

“You’ve been a liar all your life,” Tom said, “You’ll come up with something.”

“Do you think he’d believe that Jesus spoke to me?” Pedro asked.

“You could try it,” Tom said.

“I know all the fast runners in San Jose and all of Costa Rica,” Pedro said. “Why have I not heard of you or seen you?”

Tom did not answer. 

“You are very strong,” Pedro said.

Tom remained quiet.

“I am an athlete, you know,” Pedro said.

“I know that. I know all about you.”

“I used to box,” Pedro said.

“I’m aware.”

“I know about strength,” Pedro said. “I know what a man’s strength is. Your strength is not a man’s strength. And the speed that you grabbed my wrist: I’ve never seen anything that fast.”

“You should get out more,” Tom said, and added to change the subject, “Tell me what you are going to do when we get to the bank.”

“I will step into the bank,” Pedro said. “I will toss the money back and say it was all a mistake and run away.”

“That’s the best you can come up with?” Tom asked.

“They have guards,” Pedro said. “I could get shot.”

“Here’s what you do,” Tom said. “You bring up a good point. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Especially when a possibility existed that I could have stopped this from happening. Get out of here. Go get your motorcycle and try to live a good life. I know the odds against that are slim. I’ll see to it that the money is returned.”

“How do I know that you’re not the thief?” Pedro said. “And you’re just faster than me.”

Tom grimaced. “I guess you’re going to have to trust me on this, or I can force you back to the bank where you will be recognized, captured, or shot.”

Pedro stared ahead. He took a small breath.

“Pedro, go before I have to hurt you,” Tom said.

Pedro looked around, almost sensing this entire episode might be a practical joke. “I’ll go.”

“Smart choice,” Tom said.

Pedro hurried away.

Tom walked back to the bank. 

A police car stopped in front of the bank. 

Tom approached one of the policemen. “Excuse me, sir, I found this in a flower bed around the corner. There’s a lot of money inside.”

The policeman looked puzzled and took the bag from Tom.

“It’s the bank’s pouch,” Tom said. “The money must belong to them.”

“Did you see who put it in the flower bed?” The policeman asked.

“I think a man in a yellow shirt did it,” Tom said. “I think it was yellow. Maybe it was more gold. I’m not good at colors.”

“That matches a description of a man who stole a customer’s money. Come inside with me,” the policeman said. “There may be a reward.”

“That’s okay,” Tom said. “I’m late for a doctor’s appointment. I have to hurry. I’m glad to help.”

The policeman walked into the bank with the pouch in hand. Tom returned to the park. He found the grove of trees where he had been transported. He gave the command to transport him back to the pod. And he was gone.