Rick Carter's First Big Adventure (Pete's Barbecue Book 1) (28 page)

     “Okay, Rog.  You’re up.”  He told his twin brother.   Roger responded with a pleasant smile but eyes that were as empty as a political promise. 

       Tormodis and Margaret responded to the harsh sound of Mel’s voice.  “This is real cold,” Tormodis said.

     “Thanks for telling us the obvious,” Mel replied.  “Rog, we’re going to follow you.  Get your bearings.” He instructed him.  Roger began to search about in all directions, settling at last on one that caught his fancy.  He immediately set out that way but the snow was fairly deep, and it was difficult going.  He walked about thirty yards, looked around some more and then started off again, changing his direction to the east.  Mel watched him shaking his head in disbelief.

   “What’s he doing?”  Margaret asked.

    “Looking for the Tracker,” Mel replied without taking his eyes off his brother.

    “So, he’s tracking the tracker, huh?”  Margaret added.

    Mel looked at her only slightly amused.  “Yeah, I guess you could put it that way.  We better get going, or he’ll leave us behind.”

      “Look,” Tormodis interjected.  “None of us have any coats or boots.  How are we going to do this without freezing to death first?”

    “Well, Rog and me we’re covered by the Prime Sphere, so there won’t be any freezing for us.  But, I promise you if it comes down to it, we’ll both protect Margaret with our own sphere, and we’ll be sure to make good use of your dead corpse.”  Mel smiled at him. 

      Margaret looked at him uncertain until Mel finally grunted.  “I’m kidding,”  He said.

      Margaret let out a deep sigh.

     “Let’s go.  He’s getting too far ahead.”  Mel prompted them.

      The countryside was covered in a blanket of white and it was bitterly cold.  The stands of oaks, populars and walnut trees dotted the rolling land in sparse patches like little islands of forest intermingled with evergreen trees.  Here and there an open area was thick with high dead grass, bent over under the weight of the snow and ice.  Fortunately, the snow had stopped, and a clear blue sky was overhead.  But, that did little to get rid of the biting cold.  And the knee deep virgin white snow didn’t help either.  Margaret left Tormodis as he trudged behind complaining about everything he could think of so that she could ask Mel a few questions.  She was more curious then her husband about what they were doing and far more willing to entertain the good-natured conversation. 

   “So, um, Mel, right?”  Margaret was breathing a little heavy from the hard walk through the deep snow when she caught up with Mel who was ahead of them.   Mel nodded confirmation.  “We didn’t get an introduction before.  I’m Margaret.”  She smiled.

      “I know.  We’ve met.  Well, we will meet that is.”  Mel tried his best to be friendly.

     “I gathered,” She said coyly.  “I thought you might be familiar with him.”

       Mel grunted a mixture of a laugh and a sigh.  “You might say.”

       “Look, I was just wondering…I mean I wanted to ask you…”  She started.

      “What we’re doing here?”  Mel finished for her, looking over at her pale round face.  He always liked Margaret and never really understood why she put up with her loud-mouthed, arrogant jackass of a husband.   It was easy to like her.  She was affable, cordial, rarely out of sorts and often the center of rationality:  essentially the polar opposite of her husband.

     “It would help for us to know.  Maybe we can help.”  She used her famous calm and reassuring voice.  It was younger, less practiced and refined but it was still all there.

     Mel hung his head for a moment, looking at the heavy packed snow that his feet pushed aside as he trudged through it.  “I don’t think Tor is of a mind to help much of anything.”

     “He’s just grumpy.  We missed dinner.  He always gets grumpy when he doesn’t eat.”  She made her normal excuses for her husband.

       Mel grunted.  “He must miss a lot of meals then.”

     She smiled.  “Things have been a little stressful lately.  Our revenues have fallen off sharply lately, and he’s worried about getting things back on track.  It takes up a lot of his time now-a-days.”

     Mel looked over at her again.  “You’re kind of young to be that stressed out over money.  How bad can it be?”

     “Well,” she said bashfully, “I don’t like to talk amounts.  It’s embarrassing.”

       Mel thought that this was a strange comment and couldn’t resist asking the next obvious question.  “Really?  What are you guys looking at?  I mean, I’ve heard things over the years but nothing crazy.”

       “Like what?” She questioned him.

       “Well, you know, that you guys have used your porting to get some extra dough,” Mel confessed.

      “Is that what they call it?  Extra? I’m curious, what do the rumors say about our income?”  She narrowed her deep dark eyes at him.

       He coughed a little, cornered by his own line of questioning.  She’s crafty, he thought.  “Nothing much.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard numbers before.  Just that you guys were comfortable is all.”  He admitted. 

      She could tell he was lying.  She was always good at telling when people were lying.  She let the silence drift between them for a few seconds.  It was her way of letting him know that she only told what she wanted to tell and only to who she wanted to tell it to.  Finally, she put her hands in the pockets of her light dinner jacket.  “It’s 400 billion,”  She said in a low voice.

       Mel stopped, stunned by what he thought he had just heard.  “What was that?”

      She stopped and looked up at him.  “400 billion.”

      “Dollars?”  Mel was trying to process the amount.

      She cocked her head in feigned frustration.  “No, pesos.  Of course, it’s dollars.”

       He shook his head at her and started walking again, smiling and chuckling.  “Well, I can see why the Company has it out for you guys.”

       She grew suddenly interested in his comment.  “The Company?  You know about them?”  Her voice was just a little cracked and tinged with anger.

      “Yeah.  I work for the Company.  So does Rick. Pete used to, but he’s retired now.”  Mel tried to sound nonchalant.

       “Do they know we’re here?  Tabert and Ball I mean.”  Her voice was a little more emphatic.

       “I don’t know.  Why would you care?”  Mel was unsure where she was going with her concern.

       “Do me a favor.”  She pleaded.  “Don’t mention the Company to Sam.  If you need his help, don’t say anything about the Company or Tabert and Ball.” 

       He looked at her face, gauging the importance of what she was asking with the sheer force of her expression.  “Okay, but I think he might know already.”  He finally said.  “Besides, we’re kinda out of graces with this little venture anyways.  You might say we’re freelancing it right now, not exactly on the company Christmas list if you catch my meaning.”

      She sighed heavily.  “Just don’t mention the names.”

       Mel nodded, and they walked on in silence.  By this time, Tormodis had gained ground and caught up with them.  He looked sneeringly over at Mel as he passed by them.  “Don’t waste your time with him, Margaret.  Come on.”  He motioned for her to join with him as he moved on ahead.  She returned his statement with a penetrating glare set, not for stun but kill.

      Mel’s face grew slightly red.  “You really know how to keep things light don’t you?”  He said to him.

    Tormodis shrugged his shoulders and muttered a “whatever” before moving out ahead of them toward the lone figure of Roger, who was some forty yards ahead by now.  He held the strap of the M1 carbine that was over his shoulder with his right hand, steadying it as he forced his way through the snow.  They were descending into a small valley with a little stream at the bottom.  The trickling water was partially covered by the snow and ice.  Roger’s figure could be seen on the opposite side of the valley on the crest of a hill that overlooked their position.

     Margaret took brief notice of her husband’s rudeness.  If only they could see the side of him that I get to see, she thought.  Her mind returned to more immediate concerns, however.   “You didn’t answer my question.”  She reminded Mel.

     He glanced at her in surprise.  “What question?”

    “Why we’re here.  You never told me.’  She answered.

     Mel smiled.  “I guess I didn’t.” They were walking slower now, aware that they were essentially alone and that the freedom to talk was more ensured.  “It’s got to do with the reality streams.  Have you ever seen a reality tear?”  He asked.

     “No.”  She looked puzzled.  “But, we’ve heard it mentioned before, from Tabert and Ball.”

     “Well, be glad you haven’t.  It’s one sorry sight to witness.  A reality stream just starts to unravel, and it rips apart whole sections of reality in terrible kinds of ways.  That’s why the Company is here, why it exists.  That’s what we do.  Fix these breaks.  But, sometimes one comes along that really sets everyone back on their heels.  A bad one.  So bad, in fact, that it takes special kinds of intervention to fix it.”  He explained.

      “And that’s why we’re here?  Doing special intervention?’  She asked.

       “Yes.  We are.  That’s why we’re here, looking for the Tracker.”  Mel told her.

        “This Tracker guy.  I take it he’s important and all.  But, how does he help?”  She plowed ahead with her inquiry, never afraid to search for answers.

        Mel could understand her eagerness to find out.  She was as deep into this as her husband.  “He can find the source of the break.  He knows how to find things that other people don’t. Once we find the break we can figure out how to fix it.”

      “And then things will be okay again?”  She added.

      “Well, I don’t know about okay.  Things are never really okay.  But, I do know that we can save the lives of a whole lot of people if we act fast.”  He replied with a grave tone.

      Margaret watched her footsteps for a while as she contemplated the information.  It crossed her mind that maybe the Company wasn’t so bad after all.  It sounded like they did good things, or, at least, prevented bad things.  How bad could an organization like that be?  She looked up at Mel.  “So who is this Tracker anyway…?”  She started to ask but was cut short by her husband’s firmly planted body in their way on the trail.  He was standing still, looking up at the top of the hill where Roger was still standing.  They both came close to knocking him over.

    “What’s wrong?” Mel asked irritated at the halt.

      Tormodis didn’t take his eyes off of Roger.  “What is he doing?”  He asked almost mesmerized by Mel’s twin brother.

     Mel glanced up at the small round hilltop covered in white.  He could see the dark figure of his brother standing there.  He wasn’t standing still, but gyrating in all sorts of bizarre ways.  He flapped his arms like a bird; he squatted down then popped back up, and he stood on one leg and hopped around in a small circle.  All of this display was followed by a short pause before he began doing it again.   Mel smiled.  Nothing Roger did surprised his brother anymore.

      “What’s wrong with him?”  Margaret blurted out.

      “He’s crazy.”  Mel simply responded.

      “He looks it all right,” Tormodis added.

     “No, I mean really.  He’s really crazy.  Certifiable.  In fact, until just recently, he was the only guest of an asylum built just for him before we broke him out.”  Mel took great delight in introducing his brother this way.  What was the point of having a twin brother who was firing on one brain cell and not being able to surprise people with it?

      “How recent?”  Margaret asked.

      “Yesterday,” Mel replied happily.

      “Greaaattt,” Tormodis exclaimed.  “I love this little adventure.  Can he find this dude or not?”

      Mel looked around, looking between the trees and the other rolling hills that were nearby.  “Yeah, he can.  But, I don’t think I’d call the man dude if I were you.  He might take offense.”

      “I don’t even know who
he
is and at this point, I really don’t…”  Tormodis was interrupted by the sound of a loud crack that echoed across the hills and down into the valleys like a clap of thunder.  All three of them refocused on Roger, who by now was running at a fairly fast clip back down the hill toward their direction, despite the deep snow.  He bore a rather peculiar look of sudden angst on his face that might have been a mix of terror and surprise. Following close behind him, appearing just as they made the crest of the hill from the other side, was a small group of three Indians.  They were dressed in winter buckskin with no ornaments, but powder horns and knives tucked in thick beaded belts.  In their hands were flintlock rifles, primed and ready to shoot.  They kept tightly together and when they made the ridge of the hill they stopped and looked down in surprise at the group in the valley by the small trickling stream. The look of surprise was returned by Mel’s startled group.   The meeting was obviously unplanned, unforeseen and ill-timed.

      Tormodis looked at Mel in disgust.  “Is this the Tracker dude?”   Suddenly another shot was fired and echoed down into the valley.  It struck Tormodis just below the right nipple and twisted him around in an almost comical way before throwing him off his feet into the snow.   Margaret was aghast.  Mel just watched him perform his marionette contortion before face planting into the snow and tried not to laugh.