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.

“What can I get you,” asked a diminutive redhead.

“Water, no ice and a menu,” he said.

A few minutes with the menu and he asked, “What’s good?”

“How hungry are you?”

“Pretty hungry ... I been on the road since 4AM. The Fed is damn hard to get out of ... border check ... dogs and sniffers.”

“Did you have any trouble on our side,” she asked.

“Waved me through ... didn’t even weigh me.”

“We let the Fed do the dirty work,” she said. “If they let you out we let you in.”

She ran the butt end of her pencil through her hair and said, “Wendy burger with fries is the best ... although the potato soup is very good.”

“Gimme a couple of those and soup ... is my truck safe?”

She looked out the window. It wasn’t across the street.

“Where is it?”

“Behind the old theater building,” he said and pointed in the general direction.

“Boat parts?”

“Naw, airplane engine.”

“Tyche?” she hollered

From the kitchen, Tyche hollered back, “Yes?”

“Your Scarlett is here!”

“Whee!”

From the force of the bang it was lucky the batwing doors to the kitchen stayed attached to their frames. A small bundle of girl came bursting through. She tossed a water soaked apron back through the door and ran to the waitress.

“The theater,” said the woman.

“Thanks Junior,” Tyche said and sprinted out the door and down the steps of the Village Green hill.

“Who was that?”

“The pilot.”