Tyche
Copyright© 2020 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 30
Yes.
I’m going to have to choose ... and it’s going to be hard. Do I stay in country or go out. Fed-A is right out. Junior would never forgive me. Although I speak every language that the collective Flintkote know ... I don’t know where to go.
I am easily comfortable with English.
A twelve year old high school senior. (I shall be 13 when I graduate... summa cum laude) Everybody wants me ... schools are offering FREE full rides in hopes I’ll invent something that they can have a piece of.
“The kid is a genius ... she’s going to be worth the investment in advertising alone!”
As unpredictable as rain came the grand day that Atlas Van Lines sent a semi to the Pentwater Theater building. It was in the vicinity of noon. The driver backed down 2nd street and backed up to the basement door. He shut down.
The driver dismounted his Recaro Air-Ride seat and stepped to the back of the trailer. The dolly was across the door. He took that down, fished out a pair of side cutters, snapped the seal and opened the rollup rear door. There lay a pallet with a Verner Scarlett Seven shrouded in about a million miles of shipping wrap ... it was the first pallet of a full load of stuff that was scheduled for delivery to the towns and villages of the Princessapalities Michigan area ... state ... fief ... territory ... whatever Junior called it. He dollied the pallet to the hydraulic lift, closed the rollup, resealed it, lowered the lift, dollied the pallet off the lift and over to the basement door. He raised the lift, stowed the dolly and bashed the basement door a couple of good ones with his tire bat, locked the cab and walked to The Antler.
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