AL Clark by Jonathan G. Meyer (digital e reader .txt) 📕

and half an hour later; Al was going back to the power room to talk with his men already there. His problems would have to wait.

The power room looked bad. Liz told him it would have been a lot worse if he had not put the fire out. She was busy reading schematics on her pad, throwing switches, and resetting breakers to try to reroute and restore power. It was a high voltage primary breaker that exploded, and the debris was strewn everywhere.

His men were off to the side using their pads to review the camera video from the room before the fire started, and they got lucky. The person responsible had known where all the cameras were—except one. This one camera recorded a slight figure in a big hurry to weld the doors open. At one point, the figure looked around, and they got a full view of the face. It was the face of a woman. Why do people automatically assume saboteurs are men?

“Run that through the computer and see if we can get a name,” Al instructed.

One of them exclaimed, “I think I know her, she works in the shuttle bay on the night shift. She’s a bit of a loner that stays to herself, but I always thought she was just shy. We should talk to her.”

“We were just given a gift, gentlemen. A clear image of the person that blocked those doors, and probably started the fire. Let’s not waste our gift. Please, let's get this done, I would like to talk to this person within the hour. Let me know when you have her in custody.” They hesitated, and he reiterated, “Go on—get going.”

Liz was leaning over a bank of breakers close to where the fire had been and was pulling on something. Al walked over to assist.

“Need some help?”

Liz looked up and smiled, “As a matter of fact, I can’t get this panel to break loose.”

“Here, let me see.” Al reached over and saw her hand on a handle. “It pulls straight out?”

“It’s supposed to.”

Al grabbed the handle and carefully pulled, trying not to have it fly out and bounce against the wall; he increased the pressure until it broke loose and slid open.

“You are my hero for the second time today. I should ask you to dinner or something,” she suggested.

“Sorry, but I still have things to do. I’ll take a rain check, though.”

Liz got an inquisitive look on her face, “What did you and the captain talk about?”

“I think it's top secret. Need to know and all that.”

She laughed, “I’ll get it out of you, just not right now. I have to get the power back on.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. I should be finished here in an hour or two. Maybe I’ll see you then?”

With regret, Al replied, “I don’t think I’ll have time tonight, and I go back to the surface in the morning. I expect to be interrogating the person that did this shortly. Maybe we can stop this lunacy before it gets any worse.”

“I hope you can stop it before more people get killed. If you come up here again before I come down, give me a call.”

They said their goodbyes and Al left to head for the security office. A couple of people acknowledged him on his way and shook his hand, saying things like, “Way to go Chief.” and “Nice job.” He was embarrassed and dismissive. He didn’t think of himself as a hero. Still, he had to admit it did feel good.

****

WHEN THEY BROUGHT HER in, she was small like Ana, but not like Ana. This girl did not have the advantages that Ana had been born with, and it showed in her demeanor. Her name was Tammy Shoemaker, and she was a young girl under twenty; now a scared and fidgety bird in a trap.

Tammy hid her fear with anger at the officers that held her arms and guided her to the holding cell, cursing at them with a wicked tongue.

“Let me go you **** planet stealers! I don’t care what the hell you do to me; I will tell you nothing because I have done nothing wrong.”

Al watched from his desk without saying a word, trying to get a handle on how to deal with her. They put her in the cell and locked the door, leaving her alone and in a lot of trouble.

“Let me out of here. I haven’t done anything. I demand you let me go.”

She suddenly realized that they did not particularly care what she had to say. The look in their eyes told her they didn’t care for her at all. She threw herself onto the bunk and sat there in defiance; trying unsuccessfully to hide her fear.

Tammy had long brown hair and a pixie face with a turned up nose and green eyes. She had on the dirty uniform of a maintenance worker that did little to hide a small, slender frame.

“Where did you find her,” Al asked his officer.

“She was in her quarter’s sir, getting ready to take a shower. I think we surprised her. There was a portable welding set-up in her closet and some chemical containers that she could have added to the water. They are analyzing it now. Fingerprints and DNA are also in the process.”

Al, the man responsible for all the settler’s safety, watched his prisoner. He continued to keep his eyes on her as he grabbed a chair, set it down backward in front of the cell, and wrapped his arms around the seatback. The girl had grown quiet and was staring at the floor.

She must realize they would charge her with endangering the lives of all on board—and possibly murder. What would make someone do something like this?

Al sat watching her for a while in thought. He forced a reasonable tone into his voice and asked, “When a crazy person does something especially nuts, the one question normal people are left with is—why? Why would you do this?”

She hesitated for a second and then raised her head. Defiantly she exclaimed, “I am not crazy. I am here to stop you. You have no right to steal someone else’s planet. You ruin your own world, and then build big ships to go out and destroy other people’s worlds. This mission is what I was destined to give my life for, and I only wish I was better at it.”

Al was stunned. He did not need to ask more questions. The hatred apparent on her face made him believe this girl was likely the product of highly radicalized thinking. What kind of life must she have endured for her to think as she does?

It struck him that she might be a victim of chance; wrong place, wrong time, and the wrong people. Al’s anger turned to frustration when he realized her misguided beliefs might not be entirely her fault. These were the twisted views of humans that taught terrorism, and a fervent cause, put forth properly, can become overwhelming. Punishing her would change nothing.

He decided to change his tactics. “Are you hungry, or thirsty?”

“I could use a plate of freedom.”

“Sorry, can’t do that. You’ll stay where you are until we can figure out what to do with you.”

Al stood up and returned the chair to its place by the desk. He motioned to Sid, the senior officer, to move out of the girls hearing and told him, “Sid, I want you to make sure she gets some psychiatric help. That is one mixed up kid. I’m going to file a report for the captain but make sure you keep him up-to-date, okay?”

“Will do Chief. Have a safe trip tomorrow.”

Al went back to his quarters. It was late, and he was tired. Even though he didn’t need as much sleep as other people, he needed it now. Tomorrow would be a whole new day for him, and he wanted to be at his best. In the morning, he had one more stop to make before he rode the shuttle back to Avalon. He wanted to talk to the robot expert.

****

THAT NIGHT AL HAD THE dream again. The same recurring dream that always ended at the same point. He was standing on a grassy hill looking down on a village, with a person running towards him yelling something he couldn’t quite understand.

He woke up confused, with the images fresh in his mind, and then the dream faded away, leaving only small snippets of the whole. There were, however, fragments that remained in his memory. He remembered it made him happy.

Al left his quarters early and made his way directly to the hangar bay where the robotics repair shop was located. He approached the door to the sound of music. Inside, a group was performing an old song Al found vaguely familiar—something about a silver hammer.

He entered the room and closed the door behind him. The music was loud, and the smell of oil and plastic permeated the shop. A short, wild-haired man stood on a table with one of the gardening robots lying beneath him. He was singing along with the band and preparing to swing a large silver hammer at its round silver head when Al interrupted, “Hey...it looks to me like he gave up.”

The white haired man jumped and turned to determine where the voice came from, “Well...hello there, Sheriff. I wasn’t expecting anybody this early. Grab a seat; I’ll be right with you.”

Al watched as he set his hammer down and climbed down from the table. Short, and older, he was a man of fifty or so, with an energetic face, unruly long white hair, and bright blue eyes. He wore a long white coat with more than a few oily stains.

The roboticist went to a small tablet and turned his music down, wiped his hands with a cloth, and walked over to where Al was standing. His coat had a name tag on it that said, Dr. Edward Florida.

“I hope you don’t misunderstand what I was doing just then,” he asked. “To remove that robots head, you have to strike a particular spot with sufficient force to dislodge it from the body. I find it easier to be overhead.” He offered his hand and said, “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Clark.”

As they shook hands, Al asked, “You know who I am?”

“Everyone knows who Chief Al Clark is. You’re making quite a name for yourself in our little community. My understanding is you’ve already saved several lives. Is that not so?”

“I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. I think fortune smiled on me,” was Al’s humble reply.

“Nevertheless, Mister Clark, you are well known in these parts and highly respected. What can I do for you this fine day?”

Al considered how to continue. He needed someone who knew about the human brain and robot combination, and someone versed in this field that could decipher the manual the captain possessed. Still, he needed to be discreet.

Al replied, “You too, Doctor Florida, are also highly respected. I’ve done a little checking on you, and learned you are both a doctor and a roboticist; regarded by some to be one of the best in both