Dollar For Your Thoughts, Part 10/14

            “Keep the badge?” she asked.          

            “Keep the badge,” I told her. “It’s better that the sheriff knows that you’re from Tenger.”

            “What about this rabid hoi polloi you just briefed me on? They’ll think I’m here to take the steel mill back.”

            Which provided for a joint laugh as the highway narrowed and we rolled into town. I explained to her that there was little danger of her being recognized. The learning is stratified in Lumber City. Few would recognize the Tenger crest or even be able to pick out the word “Tenger” there on her badge. Of course, saying that only emphasized a lack of excuse for my behavior three days earlier. As we pulled into the Town Hall lot, I told Connie that authorities there might have questions for us, and might even ask them, but they wouldn’t ask about our overall mission. The Town Hall boasted the only sharp, constant light in town. Power begets power. The human manifestation was a sergeant at reception. I identified myself and introduced Connie.

            “How are things in Lumber City?” I asked him.

            “Well,” he told us, “there are no horned toads here.”

            Connie and I nodded in agreement.

            “But they are a pain in the ass.”

            As we spoke, there was a constant dribble of people, covering a wide demographic for the area, coming through the door, out of the twilight, and onto the cracked foyer tile; bathed in orangeish light. Others departed into the out there, carrying groceries. They all passed through a station in the foyer, checking in and checking out with a sergeant stationed at a small table. They entered with cards in hand and left with food.

            During our small talk with the desk sergeant, I stole a glance past that tiny desk into the short, dim hallway they were passing into and out of. There were about fifteen people sitting on the floor along the wall, staring at nothing in particular. I let Connie find time to see it for herself. She raised an eyebrow to me.

            “Why didn’t you check in at the border?” the sergeant asked her.

            We realized that we would have to step lively, but the sergeant was satisfied with my answer.

            “She flew in through Chicago, but we changed plans. I wanted to show her around.”

            Connie quoted what she’d seen on the billboards coming into town.

            “All the ‘Pride Through Strength’.”

            The sergeant nodded.

            “Strength Through Pride.”

            “Through Strength,” I added. The sergeant rose and took us to a side room that could be used for lodging. As we went down a short hallway, I whispered to Connie that the people renting out their brains for groceries looked like she did when she was in a trance.

            “No, they look like you,” she whispered.

            “No. You.” I said. “They’re all ‘bluggh…’” I crossed my eyes. She raised pincer fingers. I wouldn’t be immune in Lumber City.

            The sergeant took us to what he called ‘the best available room’, meaning that it wasn’t his fault. Although the light hurt my eyes, it was quite orange, and just too dim.

            The unfinished walls seemed proud of their drywall roots. Every chip and scratch in the plaster could tell a story. Some that I didn’t want to hear. Connie had more professional observations to make.

            “No. They’re like you. They’re all ‘mahmahggh…’”.

            “Ok, kids,” The sergeant placed the kit containing the clothes Connie had scrounged back in Oak Falls onto the cracked tile and left. Connie turned to me.

            “This is it.”

            “What, you’ve chosen a new venue for nipple-tweaking?”

            “No, dummy. We’re on the right track.”

            “I know that,” I told her. “That’s why I brought us here.”

            “You didn’t know.” She looked around the room in muted wide-eyed disgust, and claimed a corner with her kit bag.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “You couldn’t have known fully.”

            “Maybe not. But this is the place.” I collapsed onto a cot. “I’m glad the trances are over. ‘Cause if they weren’t, I’d be asleep I think.”

            Connie settled onto a cot in the same way.

            “If the Ims are in on it, then Imno is. Suddenly, everyone’s whizzing around on anti-grav, and that means extraterrestrials are in the mix, too.”

            She shielded her eyes from the invasive incandescent light, then flipped her head over, trying to bring me into focus.

            “I’m tired. I hope it isn’t a symptom.”

            “Who’s to say what is or isn’t a symptom anymore.”

            “Good point. We’ve discovered that everything’s the problem. So. Do we stop looking?”

            I was shocked.

            “C’mon! We’re making headway. The trances have stopped.”

            “So we won the battle, but the war is unwinnable.” She sighed. “We’ll become machines, eventually. Perhaps that’s evolution.”

            I leaned up on the cot.

            “We’ll never be machines as long as we’re curious at our own peril.”

            But Connie was going nowhere. She tilted her hand off her forehead.

            “Nice pep talk.”

            “I want to get really acquainted that anti-grav.”

            “That’s selfish,” Connie exclaimed.

            “An offence is our best defense.”

            She chuckled. A kind of ‘hoo-hoo’. “Rather than be a machine, you’ll throw a monkey wrench into the works.”

            The chuckle continued, and that’s how the day ended for me. As tired as we were, I might as well have been trancing. Comments hung in the air, but we had slipped into a sleep so deep that the lights went off, phasing into motion detector mode. We woke up in the afternoon to the sound of Lumber City coming to. Of course, Connie and I had to keep looking. Perhaps that was why we had been spared so far. Perhaps that’s what they, what you, wanted us to do. We didn’t question anymore. We just filled our roles. We had finally understood that the problem was all around, and used that knowledge to our advantage. But ‘the problem’ still had the advantage of being everywhere.

            We heard the sound of Ims hooting and stomping outside, and new batches of ‘those called’ were coming into the cop shop. Connie and I were ravenous. We left our bags in the room and fell in with the Ims. All that was needed to find food was to look for those whose task was ‘to eat’. And they were heading, in groups, down Water street, toward a community restaurant, which was a former church about four blocks away. I took that time to brief Connie on the customs of the Ims.

            As we approached the community trough we spied our Wingnut out there on the sidewalk, proudly displaying the anti-grav little red wagon. I saw him now in all his glory, and just as Connie described him. He wore a leather jacket, aviator scarf, cap and goggles. What Connie hadn’t seen as he coasted past the motel balcony the night before was jodhpurs and riding boots. Connie was excited. What this encounter gave both of us was a better view of the ship itself, for what it was worth. Since the zinc box was mounted on the bottom of the wagon, its wheels weren’t reaching the ground. But there was little need for them. We studied the scene carefully but quickly as we walked past. A crowd had formed and Wingnut was posing next to the device as kids sat upon it. Perhaps he was running for city council.

            We looped around the display and joined the back of the line to the Lumber Bistro. I gave Connie the most important piece of information concerning Lumber City. I told her not to use fancy words around the locals. Even as the eco-administrators we obviously were, we shouldn’t seem to be able to figure things out for ourselves to any degree.

            The fare in the Lumber Bistro was surprisingly good. This was obviously the locus of food in the city for those who could pay or barter for it. We had hot roast beef sandwiches, fries, and a blandish but not disgusting strawberry crumble. That was the last desert available; now the kitchen was closed. When the time came to calculate the tip, I was the one who blew our cover.

            “Remember,” I said quietly to Connie, “don’t use the word ‘percent’.”

            Her face fell. I thought it was because she had, and I hadn’t heard. So, then I told her, “They use the term ‘six’ here instead of ‘percent’, you see.”

            I then yelped. Somehow, from across the table, Connie had found my nipple, which had just healed from two days before. Behind me, gliding past, was the doyenne of Lumber City.

             Then, still a team, Connie and I tallied the tip and went on to deal with the potentially explosive situation that I had just put us in. Then there was a gasp and commotion. A man climbed onto the bar. Connie grimaced and wriggled down in her seat.

            “Oh, goodie. Floor show!”

            And I thought: Oh, shit. This man, who everyone was saying was the mayor, began a speech. I was doubly ashamed, since a lot of the rhetoric was Imno sanctioned.

            The floor quieted as the mayor spoke. He told everyone that knowledge of math was something that was given, and only to those deserving. Connie nodded righteously beside me, along with the rest of the crowd. It was a nightmare. Didn’t Connie understand what was going on? She looked at her watch.

            “Ims must be a fun-loving lot. Entertainment starts early here.”

            I wondered who was crazier, her, or this elected official. Who continued. He explained to the clientele choir that he understood that a certain amount of mathematics was doled out on a need to know basis for use professionally and personally. As to exactly why, he boomed:

            “I don’t know about all that.”

            The crowd applauded. Then, so did Connie. I…joined her. In the midst of the applause, Connie shouted to me:

            “Nice voice. A bit redundant, but points on volume.”

            We clapped and cheered. As far as I could tell, Connie was enjoying the speech. We were deer applauding the headlights.

            The man continued his speech, telling us that knowledge was one thing, but duty was another, and that was a sum that even a cat could understand. So, not only was he warped, but he had a low regard for cats. It was everyone’s duty, he said, to possess the amount of knowledge needed, and no more. Otherwise, the balance would tip. Too much for one meant less for others. People would be shorted and not get the education they deserve.

            “Sounds logical,” Connie said to me. “All the exits are blocked.”

            The mayor was glancing at me more and more as he spoke. And, yes, the exits were blocked. My precious laminated badge wouldn’t do me much good now. Connie’s was only a potential liability. It was time for the big finish. He told the crowd that there had been one who displayed more knowledge than was needed for his position.

            “This is where it comes apart, Merle.” She smiled. “We’re in a pickle. The heat is on.”

            Which was ironic, because she just as she said that, someone came through a swinging door behind the bar with a couple of red hot smokin’ steak pans which he gingerly held in tongs. Connie shifted in her chair and said, wide-eyed to me:

            “Don’t worry, Merle. I gotcher back.”

            It was a region a bit lower than that that I was worried about.