Fall Ceramic Dm™ - Winner!
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Funeris said:
Well, from my perspective, I'd prefer the pictures *not* embedded in the story, but since I generally cut'n'paste the entries into a text editor, it doesn't really make a difference one way or another.
MarauderX
Explorer
Round One, Set Four
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Ketjak vs. spacemonkey vs. MarauderX
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The dream was the same again.
I start in the street, in front of the shack. The faded signs greet me with indifference, merely acting as a starting landmark to the dream. A blue truck is stalled in the street that is otherwise deserted. Behind the wheel is Michael, and a look of astonishment stays plastered on his face for a minute before he begins weeping. I wish I knew why. I run beside the shack, down the dark alley and I see the wooden fence behind it. I squat, touching my knee to the mud, and duck my head to fit through the low opening in the fence.
On the other side is Lyra and she is the first to see me coming into the backyard from the hole in the fence. The yard is lush and beautiful, a harsh contrast to the muddy pits behind the property. The white house has smoke pouring from a second floor window. I still wonder whose house and yard this is, and I hope to find out soon. Lyra talks in a slow muddled way, as if she is faking slow motion. She leads me to the back and I see Felix with his back to me. Like an experienced magician he leaps to the side in a silly way and the group of matchsticks he was playing with fall and roll all over the table. I would smile but I’ve seen it too many times now, and I know what is to come. He was trying to get them all to do some trick, and I help him make the sticks stand on end like soldiers in a phalanx.
We walk together, the three of us, to the front of the house. Lyra pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Felix asks if I like the hat he had found and I ask where he got it, but I’m not listening. I am scanning the two maroon vans parked out front for more details. I know that we’ll watch as the sliding door of the first van opens and four men get out. We’ll listen to what they tell us. We’ll get in the van willingly. I will brush a hand away from my unsoiled knee as the door closes and we drive away.
The dream ends the same again.
* * * * *
I opened my eyes. I had fallen asleep in my office again. The motion sensor snapped the lights on as I lifted my head from the back of my chair. The room was washed with bright light and I blinked until my eyes adjusted. Four-thirty. I had caught about two hours of sleep in the middle of the afternoon, and with the light off most probably thought I was at the hanger to push for a few more tests.
I am a radar specialist. I know how to detect submarines underwater, planes in the stratosphere and exactly how stealth technology works. As a graduate student I engineered a new system to install on the U.S.S. Connecticut fast attack, sea-wolf class submarine. The ship pulled up beneath the concrete shipyard in order to prevent satellites from witnessing the work. On board, we were asked the output voltage of the system in order to determine whether it could be tested with divers in the water around the ship. After working a quick calculation on a pair of napkins, my conservative answer was to wait until the divers were out of the water. My boss looked over my work, and, overruling me with a nod, he gave the go ahead to test the new radar system. An hour later two red-faced divers explained the electrical shock they had experienced to the captain of the sub. Since no one was seriously hurt, the man pushed back his hat and shrugged. He said he wasn’t concerned since he didn’t have to cuddle up to them at night. Keeping the schedule and for the new radar system meant more to the captain than a pair of diver mechanics. That was my first exposure to how much life was worth to the commanding officers.
*
I picked up the file folder of the latest chart printouts on my desk and walked out among the rows of cubicles. I passed Lyra and she smiled like cat playing with a mouse. She must have known I had been napping. I just grinned and nodded – I would owe her another blackmail lunch at the only vegetarian restaurant in Tucson. I found my assistant, Michael, and the nameless intern together, the former leaning against a cabinet full of old test data. They were looking at the profile of some woman on an online dating service. I sighed heavily to let them know I was there, and Michael stretched as though he knew all along. The intern turned from the picture of the girl, a prospective next date for Michael, and I handed him the folder.
I ignored the intern and spoke to Michael. “Run the data in the hourly analysis program, then use the tracer to find the peaks and spikes. Punch out the numbers on electrical loading and drop the obvious to the end.” I waited for Michael to open his mouth, then said “Tomorrow, noon.” Michael nodded a confirmation and he didn’t object, at least not in front of the intern. I stepped back and yawned my way back to my office.
I picked up the plastic model plane from my shelf. I had added the F-22 fighter jet to my resume after two years with a well-known military design and build firm. That was ten years ago, when I was Michael’s age. Information about each of the plane’s systems was kept separate from one another, and walking through the secure areas meant the contractors had to stop and cover their work until I had passed with my four-guard escort. I wasn’t the only one; everyone had it that way. The radar system was the most advanced ever installed, and the data from rugged testing helped to refine our work. When the plane tests were conducted it took us two years getting the bugs out since it took four hours a day to fly into and out of Area-54. It would have been easier to just live there, but no one was allowed to spend the night.
*
I left Michael at the office at seven that evening. I stopped at the cafeteria to grab a left over sandwich and made it home by eight. I checked the mail, phone messages and finally email. Like most days there was nothing noteworthy. I turned off the light at ten to sleep, knowing that Michael was probably cursing me and keeping the intern late with him to share the misery.
I knew what was coming when I shut my eyes. For a month now I’ve had the dream. I wondered if the dream would come true someday.
As I lay waiting for sleep I thought instead about our department’s money. I knew how the industry worked and how little some government agencies worked to get funding. We never hurt for money, and sometimes it was simply a phone call to ensure that we got funding for the coming fiscal year. My salary increased by more than ten percent a year, and my projects were always the most critical. Getting another two or three junior assistants to help us would be easy enough, now that they were approaching the meaty part of the project. With them at least Michael would have it easier; Michael always had it easier than I did. He was spoiled with the number of lackeys and speed of computers these days. It seemed anyone could get a Masters degree in engineering and be content to numbly crunch numbers all day.
*
I woke with a start. I was having trouble breathing and my eyes could only see darkness. I gained my senses and felt a hand holding me down at my throat, pressing down to keep me in place. A pair of hands grabbed one arm at a time and I heard the zip of plastic cuffs as my hands were pulled together. I stopped squirming when the large man sat on my chest and I saw that the drapes in my room had been drawn shut and my alarm clock had been unplugged. Now I struggled to breathe as my mouth had a length of duct tape holding my lips together and the large man sitting on my chest kept my lungs from working. I felt a ski mask pulled onto my head and what little I did see went black.
I was removed from the bed and pulled out of the room where I purposely fell to the floor. This earned me several booted kicks from the man behind me, and they dragged me forward once again. I was taken out of my home and heard the familiar sound of a van side door opening. Once inside it slammed shut and we were moving.
I sat motionless for an eternity. I half waited for a hand to touch my knee. I had time to think about my life and where it was going. I felt fulfilled with what I did, and though it took its toll on my social life, I would trade a mediocre marriage to be satisfied knowing I was on the edge of using the latest technology and being the best in my field. I would leave such compromises to my parents. Then again, perhaps I was too judgmental of others. I would have to work on that, to accept others no matter what lifestyle or impure choices they made. The only thing I shouldn’t abide by was incompetence or laziness. Yes, should I live beyond this day I would change this about myself.
The van stopped and I heard voices for the first time outside the van. The side door slid open and I heard several men get out of the back and several more get in with me. The duct tape was removed. For some reason I thought it wise to speak first, but before a word escaped a swift jab to my ribs cut me off.
“You’ll listen, camel jockey, or you’ll spend the rest of you days in jail for treason. We know a lot about who you’re hooked up with in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, and we don’t care to explain how, especially to you. You’ll be getting some different data on your project today, and you’ll like it. The presentation you’ll give should emphasize that you’ve had no problems with the radar. It’s perfect. Now, tell me you understand.”
I paused and then said “I’m Indian.” I doubled over from pain before I knew I had been hit in the abdomen. I had trouble breathing, coughing and sucking air when I could. I finally knew what it was to have the wind knocked out of me.
“You understand, don’t you raghead. You know exactly how to fall in line, or disappear to a resort in Cuba, next to your buddy Saddam. So you’ll trash the other report and give this one, got it?”
I got it and nodded.
“Good. We’ve been watching and we’ll be watching. You can be sure that you’ve got a huge pile of debt you gotta dig yourself out from. And be enthusiastic. Do you know what that means? Smile when you give that report, like you just won yourself a new goat. That’s what it means.”
The man shoved me from the van and I heard it pull away. My hands were still bound, but I managed to pull the backward ski mask from my head as I sat up. I saw my car in front of me, and realized they had driven it behind us. I scanned the area and realized I had been deposited in near some rock formations in the desert. In front of me were three mounds of dirt the length of a man and each had a makeshift wooden cross at the far end. I wondered if there were three men under the piles who didn’t get it.
*
I ignored, for now, the thoughts and questions that surged through my head. I got in my car and found the keys in the ignition. Beside me lay a thin manila folder with the new report I was supposed to give. I started the car and drove on dirt roads for nearly an hour before I found a paved highway. The sun was cresting when I found out I was an hour away from home. I had to go home first to shower and change in order to be ‘enthusiastic’ about this new report. I’d have to wait until I got to work to review what this new report had to say.
I got to work at eight-thirty, much later than my normal six. The questions of who these men were and how they knew about the project kept bubbling up in my mind. My office was dark, and when I stepped in the motion sensor triggered the lights, the bright light reminding me of the little sleep I have gotten last night.
“You’re in late.” It was Michael. I was silent. Normally I would have read his work by now and had some last minute changes to be done. He was waiting.
“Thank you,” I said, “I’m sure it’s good enough for what they need.”
“Okaaay… did the deadline slide or something?” Michael asked. He was agitated.
“No no, we just won’t need to give them as much detail as I thought.” I replied.
“Ah. Well, good to know now. Next time let me know so I can let Sanjay out early.” he said.
“Sanjay? Oh yes, the intern. Oh, Michael, did you have plans last night? Oh, I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t… Hey, take the day off, go, I don’t want to see you until you’ve made amends with that girl. Go, take her out tonight. And write me a memo on what you did with her so I can expense it.”
“Sure boss. You okay? The project didn’t get cancelled, did it?” Michael asked.
“No, no, now go and give me some space to think and read this. And tell the intern to go to. See you tomorrow.” I said, waving him out of my office.
I sat down and placed the two reports next to one another. Both had the same title:
“SR-71A #61-7951 RETROFIT & UPGRADE FEASIBILITY STUDIES.” Below it much of the rest was the same too, including the initial specifications on the aircraft, its age, and probable future use after being re-commissioned. After this Michael’s much thicker report described at length the many testing problems and radar system failures that showed the electrical system would need to be revamped or scrapped completely. The bogus report described a ninety-five percent success rate on all of the radar systems tests. I had never seen, let alone heard about, a system with over a seventy percent success rate on the first run. I read the bogus report and I felt my head droop after finishing. I succumbed and dreamt the same reoccurring dream.
My growling stomach woke me. It was noon. I needed to get going to make copies of the report to give out at the meeting. No. I wouldn’t do that. No, this would be the only copy, and it was going to stay in his hands. Should anyone find this publishing they might think it the work of an incompetent intern that I never reviewed. I could be the end of my career if it got out. But then again, it was my life they were threatening.
My mind again races as I think about what to do. I disappear to the cafeteria for the next hour before the meeting and think about my options. I would have to give the report summary and find out what was going on later, and give the FBI or CIA or NSA or whoever a call afterwards. I walk down the hall to the hanger and along the catwalk where the project plane sits. Felix, my opportunistic boss, walks towards me with his brow furrowed and dark. We stop and I crumple the fake report unconsciously.
“I read what you have to say in the report. I don’t like it. Too many errors. We’ll have to take them out for now or else the plane will never fly. Understand?” Felix said. He never talked to me this way; if anything he was afraid to confront me with anything since he didn’t understand half of what I did. Then I noticed Felix was wearing a tux, a white tux. Somehow the moment had become surreal – the plane, the tux, the report – my fear was somehow replaced with the relief of familiarity.
“I already changed it,” I said, “see?” and I showed him the report.
Felix gazed over it. “This isn’t the one that was on your desk?” he asked.
“No, thought Michael’s work was a little too wordy, so I pared it down.” I said, trying my best to lie for the first time since a child.
“Well, good, that works. Let’s go.” he said, and then we went to the large conference room.
*
After introductions and a little fanfare, everyone had found a seat and allowed Felix to call on several other engineers to give a synopsis of their work on the old plane. Around the table were different ranks of Air Force elite, each focusing intently on what was being said. Chief among them is General Avery, and smart, gruff man known not to waste time or money on foolish projects. It was important that he be impressed, as he was the one in charge of the purse strings. The other engineers gave rosy outlooks for the project, and after an hour my turn had come. I was fourth of six, and I before I could speak I felt myself becoming sick. As soon as I stood I vomited on the table, my chair, and the floor. I couldn’t stop, and before I was aware I had sprinted out of the room to the bathroom.
I reached the first stall in the bathroom and deposited the rest of my lunch in the ceramic water closet. I reached to flush and remembered I still had the bogus report in my hand. I stirred from the tiled floor and darted to my office. I wasn’t sure why I was there, but when I got there I saw that Michael’s report was gone. In its place was another fake report. Michael was gone too; I was the one who told him to go home, after all. I spotted Lyra holding the old report and jumped over to her.
She smiles crookedly at me. I don’t know why until she closes the report and beneath it I see a gun. A sudden flood of understanding overwhelms me. Now I know why she has been my constant friend, nothing more, but nothing less either. She lives within sight of my house, and her husband applies insecticide on my house every year – for free. How could I be so blind, so stupid as to not think of such things? I take a step back, but before I do Felix has spotted me with her, but not the gun. I stammer, thinking of what to say, but it’s too late.
Lyra tells us both to step into my office. We do. She tells us to be quiet or she will make certain we are shot once we leave the grounds. She promises us that there is a way out of this, as long as we still cooperate. Lyra explains that if we give the report to General Avery this evening at his home we’ll live to continue working on the project, as if nothing had happened. Five minutes later, four rough-neck guards show up and escort us downstairs and outside. I see two vans there; Felix and I get in at Lyra’s gunpoint. I know these vans, and I want to tell them that I have seen them every time I sleep, but Lyra keeps us distracted with promises of a safe return. I listen while Felix seems distracted.
*
We pull up outside of a white house, and I have seen the house, have known it, and now I knew whose house it was. It is two stories. I will have an immaculate back yard. I have seen it all before, studied it almost. The van side door opens, and I notice Lyra has her hand on my knee. I slap it away and shoot her a look of anger. Her smile cracks and fades into hate.
We’re towed onto the lawn and told the general is out back. We listen to the four men threaten us, and instructions for Lyra to keep a close eye on us while they stay out of sight. They return to the first van and close the door. We walk toward the back of the house. Felix asks if I like the tux and the hat, and he says he was supposed to be doing a magic act after work. Then he asks me again if I like the hat. I pull myself out of my daze of watching Lyra pull her hair into a pony tail, and glance into the hat. Inside it is the phalanx of matches. I look up at him and think about what is happening. It was all happening in reverse, the dream was in reverse. I know what we needed to do next.
Once we reach the back yard we see that it is empty. Lyra, frustration written on her face, talks slowly into a microphone on her sleeve. I take the matches out of Felix’s hat and wrap the fake report around it. I tell Felix to cause a distraction. A moment later he launches into a song and dance routine, waving his hat around. Lyra screams at him to shut up. I know I’ve seen it so many times before, but truly now I can’t help but smile. I know exactly where the second floor window is; I light the matches and launch the bound matches and report through it. In a second smoke is streaming out.
My mind races – what comes next? I wave to Felix to follow but Lyra fires a warning shot that nearly freezes my blood. Were all guns that loud? I hear Lyra yelling one word at a time again into her sleeve. I run toward the fence where I know the gap awaits. I hear another crack of the gun and my knee slides into the mud as I squat to make my escape. I run along the alleyway, full speed, already I know what the front of the building looks like. I run blindly into the street.
And I remember the blue truck with the astonished Michael behind the wheel. It was too late – I was flying through the air then landed on my back. I looked up, one last time, and saw the front of the shack.
The dream was complete; now I could sleep peacefully.
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Ketjak vs. spacemonkey vs. MarauderX
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The dream was the same again.
I start in the street, in front of the shack. The faded signs greet me with indifference, merely acting as a starting landmark to the dream. A blue truck is stalled in the street that is otherwise deserted. Behind the wheel is Michael, and a look of astonishment stays plastered on his face for a minute before he begins weeping. I wish I knew why. I run beside the shack, down the dark alley and I see the wooden fence behind it. I squat, touching my knee to the mud, and duck my head to fit through the low opening in the fence.
On the other side is Lyra and she is the first to see me coming into the backyard from the hole in the fence. The yard is lush and beautiful, a harsh contrast to the muddy pits behind the property. The white house has smoke pouring from a second floor window. I still wonder whose house and yard this is, and I hope to find out soon. Lyra talks in a slow muddled way, as if she is faking slow motion. She leads me to the back and I see Felix with his back to me. Like an experienced magician he leaps to the side in a silly way and the group of matchsticks he was playing with fall and roll all over the table. I would smile but I’ve seen it too many times now, and I know what is to come. He was trying to get them all to do some trick, and I help him make the sticks stand on end like soldiers in a phalanx.
We walk together, the three of us, to the front of the house. Lyra pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Felix asks if I like the hat he had found and I ask where he got it, but I’m not listening. I am scanning the two maroon vans parked out front for more details. I know that we’ll watch as the sliding door of the first van opens and four men get out. We’ll listen to what they tell us. We’ll get in the van willingly. I will brush a hand away from my unsoiled knee as the door closes and we drive away.
The dream ends the same again.
* * * * *
I opened my eyes. I had fallen asleep in my office again. The motion sensor snapped the lights on as I lifted my head from the back of my chair. The room was washed with bright light and I blinked until my eyes adjusted. Four-thirty. I had caught about two hours of sleep in the middle of the afternoon, and with the light off most probably thought I was at the hanger to push for a few more tests.
I am a radar specialist. I know how to detect submarines underwater, planes in the stratosphere and exactly how stealth technology works. As a graduate student I engineered a new system to install on the U.S.S. Connecticut fast attack, sea-wolf class submarine. The ship pulled up beneath the concrete shipyard in order to prevent satellites from witnessing the work. On board, we were asked the output voltage of the system in order to determine whether it could be tested with divers in the water around the ship. After working a quick calculation on a pair of napkins, my conservative answer was to wait until the divers were out of the water. My boss looked over my work, and, overruling me with a nod, he gave the go ahead to test the new radar system. An hour later two red-faced divers explained the electrical shock they had experienced to the captain of the sub. Since no one was seriously hurt, the man pushed back his hat and shrugged. He said he wasn’t concerned since he didn’t have to cuddle up to them at night. Keeping the schedule and for the new radar system meant more to the captain than a pair of diver mechanics. That was my first exposure to how much life was worth to the commanding officers.
*
I picked up the file folder of the latest chart printouts on my desk and walked out among the rows of cubicles. I passed Lyra and she smiled like cat playing with a mouse. She must have known I had been napping. I just grinned and nodded – I would owe her another blackmail lunch at the only vegetarian restaurant in Tucson. I found my assistant, Michael, and the nameless intern together, the former leaning against a cabinet full of old test data. They were looking at the profile of some woman on an online dating service. I sighed heavily to let them know I was there, and Michael stretched as though he knew all along. The intern turned from the picture of the girl, a prospective next date for Michael, and I handed him the folder.
I ignored the intern and spoke to Michael. “Run the data in the hourly analysis program, then use the tracer to find the peaks and spikes. Punch out the numbers on electrical loading and drop the obvious to the end.” I waited for Michael to open his mouth, then said “Tomorrow, noon.” Michael nodded a confirmation and he didn’t object, at least not in front of the intern. I stepped back and yawned my way back to my office.
I picked up the plastic model plane from my shelf. I had added the F-22 fighter jet to my resume after two years with a well-known military design and build firm. That was ten years ago, when I was Michael’s age. Information about each of the plane’s systems was kept separate from one another, and walking through the secure areas meant the contractors had to stop and cover their work until I had passed with my four-guard escort. I wasn’t the only one; everyone had it that way. The radar system was the most advanced ever installed, and the data from rugged testing helped to refine our work. When the plane tests were conducted it took us two years getting the bugs out since it took four hours a day to fly into and out of Area-54. It would have been easier to just live there, but no one was allowed to spend the night.
*
I left Michael at the office at seven that evening. I stopped at the cafeteria to grab a left over sandwich and made it home by eight. I checked the mail, phone messages and finally email. Like most days there was nothing noteworthy. I turned off the light at ten to sleep, knowing that Michael was probably cursing me and keeping the intern late with him to share the misery.
I knew what was coming when I shut my eyes. For a month now I’ve had the dream. I wondered if the dream would come true someday.
As I lay waiting for sleep I thought instead about our department’s money. I knew how the industry worked and how little some government agencies worked to get funding. We never hurt for money, and sometimes it was simply a phone call to ensure that we got funding for the coming fiscal year. My salary increased by more than ten percent a year, and my projects were always the most critical. Getting another two or three junior assistants to help us would be easy enough, now that they were approaching the meaty part of the project. With them at least Michael would have it easier; Michael always had it easier than I did. He was spoiled with the number of lackeys and speed of computers these days. It seemed anyone could get a Masters degree in engineering and be content to numbly crunch numbers all day.
*
I woke with a start. I was having trouble breathing and my eyes could only see darkness. I gained my senses and felt a hand holding me down at my throat, pressing down to keep me in place. A pair of hands grabbed one arm at a time and I heard the zip of plastic cuffs as my hands were pulled together. I stopped squirming when the large man sat on my chest and I saw that the drapes in my room had been drawn shut and my alarm clock had been unplugged. Now I struggled to breathe as my mouth had a length of duct tape holding my lips together and the large man sitting on my chest kept my lungs from working. I felt a ski mask pulled onto my head and what little I did see went black.
I was removed from the bed and pulled out of the room where I purposely fell to the floor. This earned me several booted kicks from the man behind me, and they dragged me forward once again. I was taken out of my home and heard the familiar sound of a van side door opening. Once inside it slammed shut and we were moving.
I sat motionless for an eternity. I half waited for a hand to touch my knee. I had time to think about my life and where it was going. I felt fulfilled with what I did, and though it took its toll on my social life, I would trade a mediocre marriage to be satisfied knowing I was on the edge of using the latest technology and being the best in my field. I would leave such compromises to my parents. Then again, perhaps I was too judgmental of others. I would have to work on that, to accept others no matter what lifestyle or impure choices they made. The only thing I shouldn’t abide by was incompetence or laziness. Yes, should I live beyond this day I would change this about myself.
The van stopped and I heard voices for the first time outside the van. The side door slid open and I heard several men get out of the back and several more get in with me. The duct tape was removed. For some reason I thought it wise to speak first, but before a word escaped a swift jab to my ribs cut me off.
“You’ll listen, camel jockey, or you’ll spend the rest of you days in jail for treason. We know a lot about who you’re hooked up with in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, and we don’t care to explain how, especially to you. You’ll be getting some different data on your project today, and you’ll like it. The presentation you’ll give should emphasize that you’ve had no problems with the radar. It’s perfect. Now, tell me you understand.”
I paused and then said “I’m Indian.” I doubled over from pain before I knew I had been hit in the abdomen. I had trouble breathing, coughing and sucking air when I could. I finally knew what it was to have the wind knocked out of me.
“You understand, don’t you raghead. You know exactly how to fall in line, or disappear to a resort in Cuba, next to your buddy Saddam. So you’ll trash the other report and give this one, got it?”
I got it and nodded.
“Good. We’ve been watching and we’ll be watching. You can be sure that you’ve got a huge pile of debt you gotta dig yourself out from. And be enthusiastic. Do you know what that means? Smile when you give that report, like you just won yourself a new goat. That’s what it means.”
The man shoved me from the van and I heard it pull away. My hands were still bound, but I managed to pull the backward ski mask from my head as I sat up. I saw my car in front of me, and realized they had driven it behind us. I scanned the area and realized I had been deposited in near some rock formations in the desert. In front of me were three mounds of dirt the length of a man and each had a makeshift wooden cross at the far end. I wondered if there were three men under the piles who didn’t get it.
*
I ignored, for now, the thoughts and questions that surged through my head. I got in my car and found the keys in the ignition. Beside me lay a thin manila folder with the new report I was supposed to give. I started the car and drove on dirt roads for nearly an hour before I found a paved highway. The sun was cresting when I found out I was an hour away from home. I had to go home first to shower and change in order to be ‘enthusiastic’ about this new report. I’d have to wait until I got to work to review what this new report had to say.
I got to work at eight-thirty, much later than my normal six. The questions of who these men were and how they knew about the project kept bubbling up in my mind. My office was dark, and when I stepped in the motion sensor triggered the lights, the bright light reminding me of the little sleep I have gotten last night.
“You’re in late.” It was Michael. I was silent. Normally I would have read his work by now and had some last minute changes to be done. He was waiting.
“Thank you,” I said, “I’m sure it’s good enough for what they need.”
“Okaaay… did the deadline slide or something?” Michael asked. He was agitated.
“No no, we just won’t need to give them as much detail as I thought.” I replied.
“Ah. Well, good to know now. Next time let me know so I can let Sanjay out early.” he said.
“Sanjay? Oh yes, the intern. Oh, Michael, did you have plans last night? Oh, I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t… Hey, take the day off, go, I don’t want to see you until you’ve made amends with that girl. Go, take her out tonight. And write me a memo on what you did with her so I can expense it.”
“Sure boss. You okay? The project didn’t get cancelled, did it?” Michael asked.
“No, no, now go and give me some space to think and read this. And tell the intern to go to. See you tomorrow.” I said, waving him out of my office.
I sat down and placed the two reports next to one another. Both had the same title:
“SR-71A #61-7951 RETROFIT & UPGRADE FEASIBILITY STUDIES.” Below it much of the rest was the same too, including the initial specifications on the aircraft, its age, and probable future use after being re-commissioned. After this Michael’s much thicker report described at length the many testing problems and radar system failures that showed the electrical system would need to be revamped or scrapped completely. The bogus report described a ninety-five percent success rate on all of the radar systems tests. I had never seen, let alone heard about, a system with over a seventy percent success rate on the first run. I read the bogus report and I felt my head droop after finishing. I succumbed and dreamt the same reoccurring dream.
My growling stomach woke me. It was noon. I needed to get going to make copies of the report to give out at the meeting. No. I wouldn’t do that. No, this would be the only copy, and it was going to stay in his hands. Should anyone find this publishing they might think it the work of an incompetent intern that I never reviewed. I could be the end of my career if it got out. But then again, it was my life they were threatening.
My mind again races as I think about what to do. I disappear to the cafeteria for the next hour before the meeting and think about my options. I would have to give the report summary and find out what was going on later, and give the FBI or CIA or NSA or whoever a call afterwards. I walk down the hall to the hanger and along the catwalk where the project plane sits. Felix, my opportunistic boss, walks towards me with his brow furrowed and dark. We stop and I crumple the fake report unconsciously.
“I read what you have to say in the report. I don’t like it. Too many errors. We’ll have to take them out for now or else the plane will never fly. Understand?” Felix said. He never talked to me this way; if anything he was afraid to confront me with anything since he didn’t understand half of what I did. Then I noticed Felix was wearing a tux, a white tux. Somehow the moment had become surreal – the plane, the tux, the report – my fear was somehow replaced with the relief of familiarity.
“I already changed it,” I said, “see?” and I showed him the report.
Felix gazed over it. “This isn’t the one that was on your desk?” he asked.
“No, thought Michael’s work was a little too wordy, so I pared it down.” I said, trying my best to lie for the first time since a child.
“Well, good, that works. Let’s go.” he said, and then we went to the large conference room.
*
After introductions and a little fanfare, everyone had found a seat and allowed Felix to call on several other engineers to give a synopsis of their work on the old plane. Around the table were different ranks of Air Force elite, each focusing intently on what was being said. Chief among them is General Avery, and smart, gruff man known not to waste time or money on foolish projects. It was important that he be impressed, as he was the one in charge of the purse strings. The other engineers gave rosy outlooks for the project, and after an hour my turn had come. I was fourth of six, and I before I could speak I felt myself becoming sick. As soon as I stood I vomited on the table, my chair, and the floor. I couldn’t stop, and before I was aware I had sprinted out of the room to the bathroom.
I reached the first stall in the bathroom and deposited the rest of my lunch in the ceramic water closet. I reached to flush and remembered I still had the bogus report in my hand. I stirred from the tiled floor and darted to my office. I wasn’t sure why I was there, but when I got there I saw that Michael’s report was gone. In its place was another fake report. Michael was gone too; I was the one who told him to go home, after all. I spotted Lyra holding the old report and jumped over to her.
She smiles crookedly at me. I don’t know why until she closes the report and beneath it I see a gun. A sudden flood of understanding overwhelms me. Now I know why she has been my constant friend, nothing more, but nothing less either. She lives within sight of my house, and her husband applies insecticide on my house every year – for free. How could I be so blind, so stupid as to not think of such things? I take a step back, but before I do Felix has spotted me with her, but not the gun. I stammer, thinking of what to say, but it’s too late.
Lyra tells us both to step into my office. We do. She tells us to be quiet or she will make certain we are shot once we leave the grounds. She promises us that there is a way out of this, as long as we still cooperate. Lyra explains that if we give the report to General Avery this evening at his home we’ll live to continue working on the project, as if nothing had happened. Five minutes later, four rough-neck guards show up and escort us downstairs and outside. I see two vans there; Felix and I get in at Lyra’s gunpoint. I know these vans, and I want to tell them that I have seen them every time I sleep, but Lyra keeps us distracted with promises of a safe return. I listen while Felix seems distracted.
*
We pull up outside of a white house, and I have seen the house, have known it, and now I knew whose house it was. It is two stories. I will have an immaculate back yard. I have seen it all before, studied it almost. The van side door opens, and I notice Lyra has her hand on my knee. I slap it away and shoot her a look of anger. Her smile cracks and fades into hate.
We’re towed onto the lawn and told the general is out back. We listen to the four men threaten us, and instructions for Lyra to keep a close eye on us while they stay out of sight. They return to the first van and close the door. We walk toward the back of the house. Felix asks if I like the tux and the hat, and he says he was supposed to be doing a magic act after work. Then he asks me again if I like the hat. I pull myself out of my daze of watching Lyra pull her hair into a pony tail, and glance into the hat. Inside it is the phalanx of matches. I look up at him and think about what is happening. It was all happening in reverse, the dream was in reverse. I know what we needed to do next.
Once we reach the back yard we see that it is empty. Lyra, frustration written on her face, talks slowly into a microphone on her sleeve. I take the matches out of Felix’s hat and wrap the fake report around it. I tell Felix to cause a distraction. A moment later he launches into a song and dance routine, waving his hat around. Lyra screams at him to shut up. I know I’ve seen it so many times before, but truly now I can’t help but smile. I know exactly where the second floor window is; I light the matches and launch the bound matches and report through it. In a second smoke is streaming out.
My mind races – what comes next? I wave to Felix to follow but Lyra fires a warning shot that nearly freezes my blood. Were all guns that loud? I hear Lyra yelling one word at a time again into her sleeve. I run toward the fence where I know the gap awaits. I hear another crack of the gun and my knee slides into the mud as I squat to make my escape. I run along the alleyway, full speed, already I know what the front of the building looks like. I run blindly into the street.
And I remember the blue truck with the astonished Michael behind the wheel. It was too late – I was flying through the air then landed on my back. I looked up, one last time, and saw the front of the shack.
The dream was complete; now I could sleep peacefully.
Wild Gazebo
Explorer
<sheepishly stares at the ground and twiddles foot>
You know, I kinda feel like the kid who gets picked last for kick-ball.
You know, I kinda feel like the kid who gets picked last for kick-ball.
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Wild Gazebo said:
It can work to your advantage, especially if you haven't done Ceramic DM before. If the judgements start getting posted before you have to have your entry in, it can really help you when you see what the judges reward and punish.
Wild Gazebo
Explorer
I'm kinda not really reading the submissions. I'm just skimming to see what stage the contest is at. I have more fun that way. I'll be able to read everything all at once after the round is over for a fresh comparisson...perhaps I'm weird.
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