Mike v2.0 (A Firesetter Short Story) (5 page)

“Whoa Nelly, don’t you fall down that ladder,”
Steve called, his strong hands surrounding my waist, lifting me to
the engine room floor. He took the coffee pot and the three water
bottles, as well as the handful of straws.

“Well done, Mike,” the other Mike said, his
voice sounding as if his head was inside a compartment. I could
hear the faint echo as it resonated off the metal walls. I could
also smell the scent of fire, an odor reminiscent of burning oil,
wafting through the room.

“Thank you,” I replied.

I was proud of myself, too. Not only had a
managed to traverse the plane entirely in the dark, but I could
identify sounds and smells with a clarity I had never known
before.

There was also something else I was sensing. I
had a feeling, a new empathy for my grandfather. As we stood there
waiting for Mike to repair the transmission, I felt a sadness deep
in my bones. Every time Steve coughed, which he was doing with
increasing frequency, my heart lurched as if it were I who could
not breathe.

Without knowing why, and without a glimpse at
his face, I knew that Steve was going away, and it disheartened me
more so than my lack of sight.

“Why?” I asked, reaching for my grandfather’s
hand.

“Well, you know, I’m getting up there. What am
I, like a hundred or so? I can’t even remember. And, you know, time
has to happen in the way it has to happen, more or less.” He
squeezed my hand. “That’s what my old man used to say.”

Mike climbed out of the compartment and
proceeded to turn on the coffee pot.

“What are you doing now?” Steve asked, as the
water began to boil. I could hear the tiny air bubbles rising to
the surface, bursting upward in miniature breaths of steam. “Time
for a coffee break? You want I should send Mikey back upstairs to
look for donuts and sweet rolls?”

“I’m going to distill some hydraulic fluid,”
Mike replied. “I shall use our engine lubricant oil, refining it
until ‘tis it is light and sweet. That shall suffice for the
reminder of our journey.”

“And, it probably tastes better than the
coffee your mother makes. Right Mikey?” Steve nudged me. “Your
mother may be the Empress, but her coffee tastes like
shit.”

I laughed and nudged Steve back, following
which he wrapped an arm around my waist, and together we waited
while Mike poured something thick and heavy into the coffee pot.
Only a few moments later, I could smell the acrid stench of oil
cooking, and hear the drips of the newly refined oil siphoning
through the straws.

This process seemed to take forever, and Steve
began another coughing fit, after which his breath sounded hoarse
and thick with phlegm.

“Go on upstairs,” Mike suggested. “I’ll come
up when I’ve made enough.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it,” Steve replied,
guiding me to the ladder. “Me and Mikey are going to sit down and
rest.”

“Well, what should we do now, buddy?” Steve
asked, once we were seated in the cabin again. “I suppose were
going to be waiting here for some time. We ought to make it
good.”

“Can we play chess?”

“Chess? You’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t
see a thing.”

“Mike said I don’t need to. He
said—”

Steve drew in hoarsely. Even I could hear the
rattling in his chest. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I know all about it.
Alright, partner. Let’s play, but I gotta warn you, I can whoop
your ass.”

“No, you can’t.” I laughed, “Mike said you
were never very good.”

“That’s not true.” Steve started rasping, so
much so he sounded as if he was choking on nothing but air. For a
moment, I sat there waiting, holding my breath, willing his lungs
to fill.

“I got it. I got it.” He inhaled deeply, that
rattling sound more prevalent than before. “Let me fetch the chess
set. You want white or black?” He stumbled to his feet, opening a
cupboard in the wall across the room.

“Black, I guess.”

“Yeah, of course. Mike tell you to only play
black?”

“No.”

“But, he would. That’s all he ever did
play.”

“When did you play him?”

“Ach, you don’t want to know. Trust me, kiddo.
Some things are better left unexplained.”

As Steve’s fingers moved across the board,
setting the pieces in their rows, I noticed the king sounded
heavier than the queen. The knight had a hollow sound, and the rook
echoed slightly deep inside. The bishop slid almost silently, while
each of the pawns made a tiny tap. I could clearly see them all in
my mind’s eye, and by concentrating, I knew exactly where they
were. Even after I moved them. Even after Steve moved his. Most
amazing of all, I knew where they ought to go.

“Check,” I proclaimed on my twelfth move,
attacking with my queen, just as the ship’s engines began to hum
again and in a normal tone. The clanging noise had ceased, and we
were moving, the ship sailing as smoothly as a boat slicing through
water.

“Ach, you got me, Mikey,” Steve declared, his
voice even more weak. “Do me a favor and play the game the same way
when you’re king. Keep everyone around you off guard, and your eyes
closed so you can hear their silent clues.”

“Okay, Steve.”

“My father used to tell me that, but of
course, I never listened.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s a long story, one I don’t want to
go into right now. Listen, partner, the truth is, I’m going to be
leaving you soon.”

My heart lurched in my chest, as tears formed
in my useless eyes. “Do you have to?”

“Yeah. It looks like I overstayed my welcome.
But, don’t you worry, little dude. I’ll make sure you’re fixed up
first. Ach, Mikey. Just so you know, you’re my favorite
grandson.”

“I’m your only grandson, Steve.”

“That makes it even better.” He wrapped his
arm around my neck. He ruffled my hair with his knuckles, and then
in a rare moment of tenderness, he kissed the top of my head. “You
have hair just like my dad’s, black as night, but with a silvery
sheen. He had the same curls, too. In fact, you take after him in a
lot of ways. Let me tell you the secret to being a good king,
kiddo,” he said, now holding my hands tightly in his. “You remember
this, junior, and you’ll be the Great Emperor v2.0. Otherwise, I’ll
be back to haunt your dreams. Give me your oath that you’ll do as I
say.”

“Yes, Steve,” I swore, waiting anxiously for
the answer to be revealed.

“Good. The secret is this, to be a good king,
you must first be a good man. To be a good man, you must be a good
friend.” With that bit of sage advice, he let go of my
hands.

“Are you going now?” I asked, as he pulled
himself to his feet.

“Afraid so. The boss is waiting, but don’t
worry. At least, with him, forever isn’t really
forever.”

I listened as Mike’s soft footsteps climbed
the ladder and joined us in the room.

“Fix the kid first,” Steve ordered.

“I’ve already done so,” he replied. “Son, open
your eyes.”

For a fraction of a second, in a blink of an
eye, and in a flash of light, I opened my eyes to Steve smiling at
me. Next to him was a boy of my size and age, with my face and
black curly hair. For a moment, I thought he was me, both here and
standing over there. That was until he opened his eyes and I saw
the light.

“Son? Mikey? Wake up now, son. Look Sara, he’s
waking up.”

“Sweetie?” It was my mom. “How do you feel,
baby? Can you see me now?”

I opened my eyes again to the hospital room,
to my mother and father’s faces, to the bed I had never left.
“Steve!”

I learned a lot that day, the day my
grandfather died, not the least of which was that I loved him more
than I had ever thought. I also learned that oil could be refined
in a coffee pot, and traveling to outer space wasn’t very much fun.
Most of all, I learned that blindness was unrelated to one’s sight,
and that sometimes, one’s vision is clearer in the darkness than in
the light.

Many times over the years, as I grew to become
the man and king that I hoped would have made my grandfather proud,
I recalled the lessons of that one odd night among the stars.
Often, I would close my eyes and listen carefully to the unseen and
unspoken clues of the world around me. I also grew famous for
playing a wicked game of blind chess.

As for the Pee Wee Baseball League, my mother
insisted I quit the team, but I refused her Royal Command and
returned to the diamond. With new insight and new desire, as well
as incessant practice both day and night, I improved my batting
skills. While in the outfield, I developed an uncanny ability to
catch by closing my eyes and listening to the faint whisper of a
ball displacing air.

I enjoyed being part of a team and developed a
new empathy for my fellow man, as I realized none of us were
perfect, nor would we ever be. With that empathy came friends, some
who remained throughout my life. Later as King, I was called good
and kind. Though a far cry from being considered the Great Emperor
v2.0, to me, goodness and kindness were more important
virtues.

As for the other Mike, my visitor that night,
I believe I saw him often throughout my life. Sometimes, I’d feel
his presence behind me, or I’d catch a glimpse of him in the
mirror. Sometimes, I’d spy him out of the corner of my eye, only to
disappear the moment I turned.

Sometimes, if I was about to make a mistake,
I’d feel his presence stay my hand, and sometimes, if I was
hesitant, I’d feel him push me from behind.

Although I never discovered conclusively who
he was, I had a suspicion, especially after my mother’s death when
I found myself in possession of a purse of old gold Imperial coins.
Each one bore the likeness of my great-grandfather, the Great
Emperor, a man who looked surprisingly like me, and a man who many
believed was also Someone Else.

****

A Preview of Firesetter, Book 1

A Thread of Time

Available at all of your favorite
ebook retailers
.

Chapter 1

Lance

I
joined
the Allied SpaceForce for one reason and one reason alone, I was
flat broke and I needed money. After hocking everything I owned at
the local pawnshop, or selling it on Craigslist, I was down to
forty-three dollars and thirty-seven cents, in addition to the
ancient Euro my father had left me as an inheritance.

“What the heck is this?” I had mumbled,
holding the single coin in my palm, while at the same time, the
lawyer was informing my brother, Hank that he was bequeathed
everything else in my father's estate.

Granted, Dad was no billionaire.
His estate was pretty simple, a modest house in a not-so-great
town, in the center of the continent, affectionately referred to
as
The Armpit
.
Still, it was worth something, and undoubtedly, more than this
useless coin. I mean, a Euro? Europe hadn't existed for several
centuries!

“Ha!” Hank had laughed in his annoying nasally
voice, gloating over his victory in this final round of the sibling
game. Yep. Dad loved him best, and that was now proven without a
doubt. I was the loser when it came to paternal
affection.

“Congratulations,” the lawyer said to Hank,
but not to me.

Hank nodded regally, savoring his win. Had the
lawyer not been there, my brother would have left with a minimum of
a bloody nose and a maximum of a five month stay in
traction.

“I'll just have you sign off on the deed.” The
lawyer presented the documents to Hank as I rose from my seat,
flipping my precious antique Euro coin between my fingers. “Good
luck, Lance. Hank, let me take you out to lunch.” The lawyer
scumbag barely glanced in my direction, as I let myself
out.

“Good riddance.”

I didn’t really blame him. He knew this cow
was dry. He'd milk no costly legal fees from me and therefore, I
didn't merit even a handshake.

Stepping out into the street, after leaving
the dark and overly air conditioned building, I was momentarily
blinded by the sudden burst of sunlight. I thought the crosswalk
light was in my favor. I thought there were no vehicles on the
street and the heat that was washing over me was merely the sun,
while that roaring sound was a bus on the next corner. I thought
wrong on all four counts. The next thing I knew, I was bouncing off
the hood of something, only to end up beneath its wheels.
Fortunately, by this point, I wasn’t awake.

Three days later, I was, and less than
delighted to discover I was in traction, the sort that I had wished
upon Hank. Karma could sure be a bitch.

When my brother came to visit me in the
hospital, sitting by my bedside and describing in great detail the
renovations he was going to make to Dad's house, if I could have, I
would have reached up and smacked him. Alternately, I would have
yanked his tongue from his mouth, or removed his eyeballs from
their sockets with my fingernails. As I couldn't lift a finger, and
was far too drugged to even spit in his direction, I lay there
prone, subjected to yet another round of fraternal
gloating.