The Acolytes of Crane "Updated Edition" (14 page)

I
was like a zombie as I plowed through the meal. I would not even try to hear
the conversation my grandparents were having over my drooling and lip smacking.
The provolone cheese she melted over the peppers was caramelized. The first
bite of pepper tantalized my seduced taste buds and gave way to reveal a bundle
of meaty delight. I sat down, and my grandfather spoke:

‘So,
you got your stuffed pepper eyes, I see. You look like a starving stegosaurus
when your grandma makes these, let’s eat,’ my grandpa said, while he ripped
into the culinary masterpiece.

I
overflowed my stomach with four of the peppers. I waged war on that meal. I
must have worked up a serious appetite running home. The human garbage disposal
struck again. I retired into my room, knowing that I needed rest for what was
in store, but I just had two subjects that I needed closure on: splices and
time travel. Splices, I needed to know about, because King Trazuline had said
something about different time versions of Travis colluding together. I held
out my hand, and initiated the thought:

‘Precisely
one million years previous to the current moment, time travel was limited to
the concept of velocity based transversal time dilation . . .’

Nezatron
carried on about the existence of time travel and its history for hours, before
I grew tired. I found enough information to last me.

Zane
had used a million years of endless research to develop a method of time
travel. He located and stretched wormholes with Dietons, to facilitate time
travel. That was the only way they could be certain that each pair of wormholes
would be opened simultaneously. They merged the technology founded in
teleportation with their discovery of the wormholes in creating The Chamber of
Rafal.

Nezatron
explained to me that my twin in time—my splice—was pulled from the time
continuum and replaced with my present self. I was extracted and immediately
deleted, then replaced. I was satisfied with just that explanation. Everything
else was beyond my scope of comprehension.

I
could not help but be disturbed by how easy it was to tear someone from his or
her life, and remove them from existence. Before I drifted into a deep sleep
that night, I had one last realization: I had to exercise caution on both
sides—good or evil.  I had no desire for deletion.

I
lay in bed. I heard the sound of my grandpa’s television. Its dialogue of witty
repartee reverberated within the air-vents leading up to my room. As I heard
familiar lines from a movie I had seen long ago, I had to see what he was
watching, so I ran downstairs.

“My
grandpa was really pleased to see me, despite the late bedtime. He beckoned to
an empty worn sofa and begged me to stay up a bit. I politely protested, I, but
when I sat down, there was no way I was going to leave. The intriguing scenes
of that black-and-white Moroccan movie had me. I spent the rest of my night
enjoying a classic with the company of a wise man.”

As
I gaze at my tablet, my head aches from hours of listening to my voice as it
slowly became hoarse. I cannot help feeling useless. What am I doing? I remind
myself that what I am doing is important, and the best parts are yet to come.
Why stop?

I
drink, swishing some of the water around, letting it slide down my throat
rather than gulping it—I savor it. There is nothing wrong with gargling a bit
of water. My lips make contact with the rim of the cup—cracked, scaly, and
blistered, they press against it.

I
swallow what insignificant amount of water remains after a good gargle and
swish. I sigh as I lick my just-moistened lips, and trudge on through my bad
storytelling.

“The
next morning, I woke up and snapped to my feet. I had that feeling again: the
presence of someone. Prying eyes were watching me, and my amulet started to
glow faintly but ominously. Even though Zane had my best intentions at heart, I
still felt troubled.”

The
house was abnormally quiet and echoed every move I made; the crack of my
joints, or the shuffling of my dirty callused feet across the wooden floor.
Usually, I heard the background sound of the news echoing from the radio in the
kitchen or my Grandma’s rocking chair, creaking as she rocked with a word-find
booklet in hand.

I
had my blanket wrapped about my body like a cocoon, and grasped it firmly to
avoid any cold drafts as I straggled through the house. I shed my cotton
chrysalis and searched the whole house as if I was in a SWAT team about to
engage in close quarters combat. The entire house was empty. My eyes darted
about, betraying my apprehension.

I
looked through the window at the backyard. As I saw a revolting sight near the
wood-line, fear gripped my heart. I gasped; surely I did not see what I thought
I had just seen.

Sticking
out, behind the shed in the backyard, two sets of legs stretched out on the
grass. The accompanying feet were concealed by rose bushes.

‘Grandma!
Grandpa!’ I screamed as terror threatened to throttle my throat. I panicked and
ran through the porch, and bolted down the downtrodden steps. In my haste, I
tripped over the steps near the grass, dropping to all fours. A couple of my
fingers sunk through the ground and my fingernails were caked with dirt.

When
I arrived at the shed, I found lifeless and eyes peering upward at the clouded
sky, those of my grandma and grandpa. Horrified, I rubbed my eyes for tears,
but nothing was there. I pulled my curled hands away from my eyes. Marvin’s
face suddenly changed to the actor’s from the black and white movie that I had
watched last night. With a wink, he turned his head to me and said, ‘Here’s
looking at you, Ted.’

I
heard a twig snap behind me. I turned, and my eyes were staring down the barrel
of a forty-five caliber pistol. The handgun trembled in the hands of none other
than the person who desired me dead, Travis Jackson. His eyes were those of a
demon’s. Grinning malevolently, he pulled the trigger.
POP
! I winced and
closed my eyes when the gun fired. No bullet exploding into my skull yet. I
opened my eyes again, and saw a tiny black flag extending outward from the
barrel of the gun that read in white letters,
you are dead!

I
awoke, sweating. It was a dream.

My
neck was incredibly sore. I sat up to catch my breath and rubbed my neck.

I
looked down toward my feet, and I found a present. A perfectly wrapped gift lay
upon the ground next to my bedpost. On the gift lay a tag that read:
Open
now
. Was I still dreaming? It was not Christmas, not by a long shot.
Excited, I opened the present. It was a brand-new pair of basketball shoes:
magnificent and top of the line.

They
didn’t feel like regular shoes. When I lifted them out of the packaging, they
must have weighed twenty-five pounds each. I used both hands to pull them out
one by one. I fumbled and dropped the second shoe, and it slammed the wooden
floor with a large bang.

‘Is
everything alright in there?’ my grandmother hollered from the living room.

I
yelled back and told her everything was okay. It was a good feeling to hear her
voice after that nightmare. I sat there, contemplating whether I should trust
that gift. I was afraid that if I put them on, my feet would explode. It was
time to consult my on-board nanocom. I lifted my hand and from my palm appeared
a tiny hologram. I studied the image intently: yes, futuristic, awesome shoes
much like mine, but completely different in concept. The holographic shoes
appeared to be made of metal. Not only that, mechanical components adorned
these shoes. I had to communicate with Nezatron directly in thought to be sure
of what I had in my possession.

I
emitted a thought.
Nezatron, this is Theodore
.

‘Theodore?
This is Nezatron. How can I be of assistance?’ he asked over the nanocom.

I
thought—
I found some shoes in my room today. They look like basketball
shoes, but displayed differently on my IPU. Did you send them to me? They weigh
a ton.

‘Theodore,
the popular and trendy shoes that you currently see lying at your feet are not
what they seem. They are actually shrouded by a hologram. Their true
nomenclature is X73-21. They are the twenty-first model from a series of
porta-transmechanical lifters. In fifteen-year-old language, they are shoes
that can help you fly, dude. I suppose that explains their weight. These shoes
operate on the same technology as your palm device and function on your
brainwaves. You can use these shoes to jump higher and run faster. I apologize.
I am not trying to sound like a shoe jingle from the nineteen-fifties.’ He
paused because of my confusion. ‘The one and only disappointment is that you
must reprogram the shoes to present a holographic image of the current shoes
you own. We don’t want you to be obligated to explain where you received your
X73-21’s.’

I
took a glance at my old shoes. They had been so worn and dirty that they were
grayish brown, rather than the original white. He was right.

Nezatron
had the tendency to release too much information. Like back on the Uriel, when he
said my great grandpa Willard cheated on his wife. Although, it was the truth,
it wasn’t necessary information to divulge. It also pained me to hear it.

I
slipped the shoes on. The paired contraption wasn’t as comfortable as one might
imagine. After the shoes formed to my feet, they made an uncomfortable
connection. It felt like a million needles stabbing into my feet at once. My
tingling feet seemed asleep, like when I sat for far too long.

I
thought,
can you tell me how to use these things, and can you do it in kid
language?

   ‘I
will grant you your request,’ Nezatron said. His upcoming uneasy pause alerted
me to a disclaimer to follow: ‘but you must know that I have strict
instructions from Zane regarding my explanations on your nanocom. Namely, high,
exact standards in my pontification. He didn’t give me clearance to speak using
‘kid language.’ So I will have to take it up with him, Teddy,’ he said, and
then he broke into an awkward robotic laugh.

‘Hey
that is cool. I like it when you talk like that. How is it that you are
laughing? Robots don’t have feelings.’

‘You
are going to get me into a bind with my maker. Listen, robots in my time are
advanced beyond anything you could fathom. Even with all the modifications we
just made to your neuro-pathways, you still could not understand. I am
Sepheran—not robotic.  I am programmed to feel. I have been programmed to
respond to one million, three hundred thousand, and two hundred and six
humorous stimuli. The stimuli cause me to react to a laugh or joke. It is my
program, but occurs without hesitation and processing. It is similar to your
conscious state of mind. I know humor by definition and try to compute it and
respond—dude.’

Wow,
that is awesome
—I
thought.

‘No
Teddy, Zane is awesome, after all, he created me,’ Nezatron said, before he
switched to an audio playback of the tutorial for the X73-21.

After
I began listening to the tutorial, I heard a muffled crackle, then a rustle
outside my window. It sounded like someone stepped on a cockroach.

Someone
was watching me. I could feel it.

Nezatron
interjected, causing me to temporarily disregard my own uneasy feeling:

‘Oh,
did I forget to mention the shoes can make invisible anyone who wears them. I
saved the best part for last. So, surprise!’ I could detect a slight quiver of
glee in his voice. He continued, ’I spoke with Zane just now, and I now have
his permission. He said I could translate information into a form that might be
easier for you to understand. Therefore, I guess that makes us pals. I will be
monitoring this channel as well as Migalt. I am not your personal assistant. I
have a job to do too, so please don’t rely on me to answer every time I am
summoned. Relax dude, and let me know if you need anything. The shoes take
about five minutes to calibrate to a human’s feet. See ya, would not want to be
ya.’

I
was curious for a moment about how the shoes made me invisible, but instead
chose to understand that some things just cannot be explained. I left it alone.

With
Nezatron absent from my thoughts, I rubbed my forehead. There were trickles of
sweat running down my temples. I remembered where I had felt that dread. Fear
seized my heart like a vice. Afraid to verify anything, I turned slowly,
rotating toward the window.

I
gave a short silent scream.

Travis
was staring into my room! He looked around curiously, but he didn’t stop to
lock onto me with his eyes.

Frightened
and desperate, I attempted to channel my thoughts to the loquacious robot:

Nezatron,
he is here. Travis is outside my house!

Nezatron
replied calmly, as if speaking in a tut-tut manner, ‘I am running a check on
the perimeter and the only heat signatures I am finding are yours and your
grandmother’s.’

When
I looked again, there was a burst of light and singed grass. Travis was nowhere
to be seen. I sighed with huge relief. I guess I was experiencing
hallucinations because of all the overwhelming changes pre-ordained into my
mission.

Yes,
crazy things were happening: flying shoes, communicating telepathically across
light-years of space with a mechanical being, and invisibility. It all was
every kid’s dream come true. It took a while to complete the programming but
the shoes finally calibrated to my feet. I moaned happily. The comfort I had
from these dream shoes was amazing.

I
downloaded Aikido instructional videos from Nezatron. I decided that training
every night in martial arts would be the best course of action. I had to do
something to protect the people I was dragging into that mess. Travis wanted
something from me. I just couldn't put my finger on it. I felt that if he
wanted to kill me, then why was he scoping out my house? Why didn't the
Dacturons just drop a bomb on it or blast it from space with a giant laser?

Yes,
I had to plan. I paced around my bedroom, muttering to myself. Focus needed to
be shifted around finding three more individuals. I had Lincoln, but that
wasn’t enough. I knew that if someone entrusted me to do a task, even if it was
a small task, I had to complete it.

It
wasn’t my job to judge what was significant and what was trivial, because even
the smallest error could carry devastating consequences. It was a concept that
I was just recently acquainted with by my newfound knowledge of time and place.
I could be two minutes early for school, or two minutes late, yet one or the
other scenario could forever alter the future, beyond my control.

I
took off for Lincoln’s house immediately. It wasn’t as easy as one might think.
I was having difficulty harnessing my shoes’ power.

Through
intense trial and error, and some road-rash, I found that I could propel myself
on my banana skateboard without pushing off the ground. I was cruising. Every
time I was around people, I pushed along the ground to front as a kid
propelling his board normally. I didn’t need any unnecessary attention. The air
was forced against my face and pulled my cheeks back slightly, and I swallowed
a bug. I figured it was probably a good idea to keep my mouth shut after that.

I
arrived at Lincoln’s house with just a tiny amount of energy expended. I
decided not to tell Lincoln about the shoes, unless I absolutely had to. It was
in his character to want scientific data for every new variable, which usually
meant I was going to be a lab rat. I wasn’t going to be a rat that day.

‘Yo,
if it isn’t the missing Linc. What is up buddy?’ I asked, while Lincoln gave me
a look like something was amok. He stood behind his wrought-iron door with some
window cleaner in one-hand and paper towels in the other.

‘My
dad is uncontrollably and disruptively cleaning the house right now. So, if we
know what is good for us, we will go somewhere else!’ Lincoln shouted over the
roar of the vacuum cleaner. It smelt like dust everywhere, as if Lincoln’s
father was determined to aggravate his son’s sinus condition. We knew he didn’t
intend to.

‘Let’s
go out to your lean-to,’ I said, and started to walk with Lincoln, ‘So check it
out. I spoke with Nezatron today. I now have a direct link to both him and
Migalt. So I feel safer, only problem is, I have been seeing Travis in my
dreams and—’

‘What?
Tell me dude!’ Lincoln asked.

‘I
thought I saw him outside my window today. I was out of his sight, so he didn’t
see me, but he knows where I live, and he had guts enough to stand outside.
Nezatron says I’ve been imagining things, but man, I gotta be careful.’ I
paused. ‘I thought that if Marvin saw him, he could be done for. I think he is
using some sort of port, because where he stood, the ground and the bush next
to the window were burnt.’