"Ovah hyah we haff th' fyool line comin' from th' fyool pump in th' tank. If we open this up we gots this resevwah wit a float ball. When it floats up ta this point heyah, it cuts offa th' flow of fyool from the tank."
"Hayup! Perfek scoah! But fiddlin' round wit' all them preesishun wayts 'n scales mebbe fahn for them clover buggers back on Earth, but round heyah..."
He reaches in with a pair of vise grips and bends the shaft of the float ball up a bit.
"That outta do it!"
You spend the rest of the day reassembling the carburetor.
The next day you continue.
"Now, you menshunned tahmin' yesterday. Ah may of bin a tad hasty in discountin' it entahly but Ah dint want t' confoose ya. Gasoline is explosive. Beyah burns moah regler-lahk, so it takes moah tahm t' burn. The distributter spins round and makes th' spahk plugs fiyah zackly when th' piston's at th' top of its stoke."
"So, what we gotta do for beyah?"
"Oh, yaw rilli given me a lesson heah, no doubt 'bout that. Well, in my head ah kin see the gas-oh-leen ketchin far from th'spark, and the far movin' out supa fas-lahk, bang, which explosion causes the spansion uh thuh aya an pushes the piston out agin. With alcohol, tha's gonna take a bit longa, soz we gots t'make it staht soona. That means that we gots to set the tahmin back a bit, soz the spahk hits the cylinda an instant afaw it reaches full compression, soz it kin staht buhnin and git to th'point of spandin' bah th'tahm the piston is allaway down.
"Coss, y'gots to be caiful theya, cuz if'n the splosion happens too soon, it'll blow the piston back afaw the crankshaft has got past the bottom, an that'll stop th'engine raht quick, and blow it t'bits, probli."
--M. J. Young
"Raht agin, 'cept it's cawled advancin' th' tahmin. So, t' advance th' tahmin so the spahk plugs fire earliah, we open up this-heyah distributter and loosen it off an' turn it a bit opposite th' way this-heyah rotor turns. We don' gots ah stobe-laht so we tahms it bah eyah. We'll advance th' distributter a sixteenth turn fer now. If We heyah th' enjine pingin' we gone too fah, but we want t' find that' point an' be jus' below it or we's losin' pow'r an' wastin' beer. That pingin' is bad fer th' enjine, an' lahk y' say, maht blow it t'bits."
"Now, spahk plugs. Since beer don' burn so easy, we'll put in some that spahk hotta."
You fiddle with the distributer for a while and install new spark plugs.
"It's tahm t' trah it owt!" crows Jim-Bob. "Crank 'er up, Jeremiah!"
The engine cranks over a few times and shudders to life. Jeremiah is feathering the gas pedal, keeping the engine alive. "OK," says Jim-Bob, "No pingin'. We's got t' advance th' tahmin'."
The engine stops and the timing is adjusted. There is more fiddling with the distributer until the pinging is heard, then it is adjusted a final time to bring it back to the proper point. Jeremiah still has to feather the pedal to keep the engine running.
"Th' ahdle is set fer gasoline. We jus' adjust this-heyah screw to set th' ahdle fer beer." He gets a screwdriver and carefully turns the screw until the engine is running smoothly.
"Yeehaw! We gots it! Whah don' ya take 'er fer a spin an' test 'er owt!?"
"Wait a mnutt--when ah wuz nee-hah to a grassoppa, mah daddi showed me a bit o' how t' tune up a cah. Back in dem days, people use te clean an' gap spahk plugs, an adjus the tahmin bah--wut did he call it? Settin' the points. As ah recall, theah's that switch, raht theah, wit' de screw adjusment on it, an' y'kin move that screw in an' out. It rahds on the shaft in the middle, theah, soz that if'n the screw is in fathah th' points don' touch so soon, an' if it's out moah they touch soonah--and so if y'want the spahk t' hits the plugs soonah, y' back out that screw a tad, an' the points'll connec a bit ulieah, sendin' the jolt from the coil t'the plugs that much soonah. If y'kin do that, wah ah we movin' the distributaw?"
(Oh, and you can adjust it while the engine is running, as I recall, although usually you have a chart that gives you the proper gap and you click it until it's open and use feeler gauges to set it where you want it.)
"Oh, tha's kwat kahn o' yoo, but realli, it was yo victri, an yoo should taste the spoils. Ahm pleased to have been learned a thin' awe two t'deh."
--M. J. Young
"Th' distributter controls th' spahk plugs. Th' ahdle screw controls the air t' fyool mixchoor jerring ahdle. It wuz set fer gasoline so we had t' set it fer beer."
Jim-Bob jumps behind the wheel and starts off. He drives it slowly out to an open target range and accelerates. As he's turning around the engine coughs and dies.
Jeremiah and a couple of other mechanics jog up and tow it back to the garage.
"Two thangs," says Jim-Bob. "Th' enjine wuz missin' a bit an' then it dahd when Ah wuz turnin' a cornah. Have any idee wutz wrong?"
- This section is solely for my education.
When I was in high school, my father did regular maintenance and tune-ups on our cars. Although that was the seventies, the cars were from the sixties, so we're going back some time.
Inside the distributor, there was an object I believe was called the rotor; it was in essence a heat-resistant plastic supporting two contacts which served as the switch. It had a keyed hole in it which fit over the center shaft that came up from below; this shaft turned in synch with the motor. As it turned, the rotor pivoted, shifting the contacts to connect each spark plug in turn to the power source, so that the power would be delivered to the right spot.
However, below the rotor the shaft had a hexagonal shape--hexagonal because we had six-cyliner engines. It thus looked like a hex nut. Next to this, fixed to the bottom of the distributor, was a replaceable switch called the points. This was spring-loaded so that it was always pushing itself closed, but the moving arm had a screw through it that pressed against the shaft. Thus as the shaft turned, the changing diameter caused the moving arm to push away and draw near. When it was near, the contacts, the points themselves, would touch. This would permit the power from the coil to pass to the contacts to be transfered through the rotor to the line for the spark plug.
Within a certain range, you could adjust when the points closed: if you backed the screw out a bit, then the points would be closer together when fully open, and since the diameter of the hexagonal shaft changed gradually that meant that the points would connect a bit sooner; if you drove the screw in a bit, the points would be open farther at maximum, and would not connect until closer to the minimum diameter of the shaft.
The result of this is that you could advance or delay the spark by setting the points. As I said in character, this was usually done by clicking the starter until the points were at maximum open, and using a feeler guage to set them to the proper gap distance; but if you had a timing light, you could connect it to one of the spark wires and adjust the points so that it fired sooner or later that way.
Is this a complete misunderstanding of all that on my part, or something that was discontinued at some point between the sixties and whatever decade claims this truck? I know it was an adjustment for an electrical switch, and it was called points; it was similar to the old buzzers I use to play with as a kid.
"Fust thin' ah'd check'd be th' plugs; but y'dun changed all the plugs, so it mus' be the tahmin?"
--M. J. Young
The method of adjusting timing probably varies a bit from engine to engine.
"Ayup! Th' spahk plugs must not be hot enuff. We'll change 'em. The problem wit th' engine dahyin' when Ah turned th' corner is probly 'cuz the float isn't set proply."
Adjustments are made and more testing. After a day or two you get the truck running well on beer.
If I was back in my Scouting days, I ponder, I'd have told this story to the men after hours, as they drank their beer around the campfire after the boys were in bed. Who'd have thought we could make a car run on beer? I'm going to have to remember this. I'm also going to have to remember not to drink the beer.
"So now as we got this'n runnin, I prizoom we fahnd a buyuh. Then we lets the world know that we put out the fuhst machine t'run on beah, an' would be happy to retro-fit any old machines owah customuhs cai t' bring us, yes?"
--M. J. Young
"That's raht! An' we kin prob'ly sell 'em more ammo fer their truck-mounted weapons, too. But Ah've got biggah plans now. Ah've got in mah mind an idee fer a flywheel design t' transfer beah-energee t' all manner of auxiliaries! It will revolushunize all of Joisey!"
He keeps quiet about his new plans at the celebration later while he works on the details. With plenty of nachos and beer, Sammy, Desi, The Dark Lord, and Bea pull out hand-drawn maps, figures and dice and set up a fast-paced war-game.
Are you interested in marketting the beer-engine conversion for RBW?
I've never really seen myself as having significant skills in marketing. Maybe that's wrong, but I certainly don't think I'd be the right man for the job here. After all, I know almost nothing about these people, but that they fight and they use war machines to do it.
My preference is to keep working as an apprentice in the engineering department.
Of course, if someone is offering me a paid position doing something else, I'll definitely discuss it with them. Meanwhile, I'm interested in gathering my gear and getting back to Daisy Mae and family, if that seems plausible. I'm thinking that I left something at the house, although I don't recall what, so I should be able to navigate the area to some degree by scriff sense.
--M. J. Young
I am aware that I haven't yet rolled for your engineering skill acquisition but with all my crazy travelling lately I haven't had much time to focus on the numbers. I'll get to it eventually.
You are welcome to stay as an engineering apprentice as long as you roll up a character in their wargame.
You left the robot lying in the mud where you woke up in this world. It isn't far from the Duke farm. It takes less than a day to walk between the two.
Jim-Bob begins working on various sketches for the beer engine transmission to a flywheel system to store energy and the system to send this energy to remote auxiliaries. Sammy is working on the propulsion system, which sounds like a large pair of legs. Bea is working on a control system. Desi is working on body styling and the basic structural frame to mount everything into. The Dark Lord is working on weapons systems and deployment, which seems to involve a pair of arms wielding an axe. You are helping them all out with sketches, going out to the junk heap to look for what parts might be available and liaison with the mechanics, machinists and other techies. It is all in very much a brain-storming mode so any suggestions you might have would be welcome.
Yes, I'll roll up a character. My dice luck is usually not very good for these things, but since I'm not all that interested in winning or losing, I'm not going to sweat it. What is the name of the game?
I will ask Jim-Bob how he deals with friction losses, whether the gyroscopic effects of the flywheel make the vehicle less maneuverable or are valuable for maintaining stability, and what the advantages of this kinetic system are over turning a generator and storing the electrical power in capacitors or lead-acid batteries.
I will comment to Sammy that I assume that legs are used because they can handle rough terrain better than wheels or treads. I'll ask how he maintains stability with two legs, and why he doesn't use three, or even, as some robotic systems I've seen do for maximum stability, six.
I'm interested in the control system. Part of this is that it occurs to me that a six-legged machine would probably require a computer controlled movement system, but the design they're using might simply have a man in a harness, translating his movements to the machine. It could be done with hydraulics, even, although I would think that a computer interface would still be important, particularly for stability. Thus I'm eager to know how the control system works, as a lot of what the machine can be made to do will depend on what the operator has to do to control it.
I will comment to Desi that I've always understood that form follows function, and so wondered how that applies here.
For the Dark Lord, I will want to ask why we are not contemplating projectile or similar ranged weapons. Also, given the amounts and varieties of energies involved in this system, and the fact that the housings seem to be metal, is there a vulnerability here, that a pair of electrodes contacting different points on the housing and delivering a significant abrupt voltage might disrupt some of the circuitry, and whether that's a vulnerability in other machines that might be exploited.
If anyone thinks my questions or ideas are strange, I'll simply say that I'm not from around here, and don't really know how they do things or why, so I'm trying to learn.
--M. J. Young
The wargame is called "Family Feud".
Jim-Bob explains that it will be a lot easier to get a flywheel system operating from scrounged parts than to get a generator running. (Good copper wire is very hard to come by.) Capacitors of the size required would just be downright dangerous, and batteries are bulky, won't have enough voltage, and the lead inside might prove to be risky when the machine gets going. It will be a bit of a bumpy ride at high speeds. He explains that he thinks that his auto-recarbonization technique will allow the transfer of beer energy to ancillaries and back to be nearly perfect. The flywheel will also help with the stability and if the chassis is well-designed shouldn't affect manoeuverability too much.
Sammy tells you that, yes, the legs are for rough terrain. But you get the impression that "Cool" is one of the over-riding design parameters. "If folks want wheels, they kin drahv their pickups 'n hotrods!" He is incredulous at the idea of six legs. "Do y'know how much that'd cost!? If'n Ah could, Ah'd put onlee one!" He figures if folks can walk on two legs, so will this machine. The flywheel will help a lot here.
Bea's sketches on the control system start with the basic controls found inside a car or truck. There will be cables and hydraulics. Jim-Bob's energy transfer system means that there will need to be beer-energy piping to all ancilliaries. Once the beer-energy is sent to a unit, like the legs, it can operate fairly independently with just simple control lines telling it commands. Computers do exist, but they are glitchy and somewhat unreliable. The version incompatibility between scrounged software is crippling all by itself.
Desi's take on the form is that the function is to be a giant fighting robot, so it's damn well going to look like a giant fighting robot. Considering that all the parts are going to be scrounged, it's not going to be pretty. It becomes clear that Desi isn't at all interested in making it look nice as long as it looks more or less like a giant fighting robot. He is more interested in the chassis available and has you help him measure up different frames from light pickups to massive heavy-duty rigs.
The Dark Lord loves the idea of blasting something with electricity. He isn't sure if beer-energy could be disrupted this way, and the conducting frame of the fighting machine might just send the electricity straight to ground. At the moment, he's working on getting the arms to work right, but he encourages you to work out some of the details once they have the time to develop a wider range of weaponry.
They will spend several weeks working on the design, and you will be helping out producing design drawings, scrounging for parts, talking with the machinists and taking your turn administrating the wargame. Are you intending on visiting the Dukes or doing anything else during the time? You have weekends and evenings free.
New skill:
1@1 Convert gasoline engine to alcohol fuel T8@3
(Dice roll: 14)
I don't guess that there's anything like a phone with which I can call the Dukes. My preference would be to spend my nights there, dinner and breakfast and sleeping between the two, and commute to work. We walked here pretty quickly the first day, so it can't be that far, and I'm in good shape from all the walking I've done. Besides, I'm sure that no one here beats Daisy in a cook-off, and food is important.
I'm guessing that there's some form of remuneration for work done around here. I'd want to pay something to the Dukes for their hospitality.
I realize that if we're not going to be able to build generators, capacitors, or batteries, an electrical jolt weapon is going to be difficult at best. It's surprising to me, though, that with all the junk cars around we can't scrounge a few spare alternators (never really understood why they're not called generators anymore), and the old style distributor systems had a coil and capacitor that delivered quite a jolt when the points closed, which I suspect is still part of the process in newer engines, so maybe a bit of scrounging might get me the parts I need. In any case, while I'm measuring and scrounging, I'll keep my eyes open for those parts.
--M. J. Young
It's a few hours walk to the Duke farm. Not that feasible after work but easy on the weekend. Although, if you ask to take the beer-engine truck, you'd be there in no time.
You're getting a few Bottlecaps a week. (I'll firm up that figure once I gain access to my computer again...sigh...)
You don't find electrical parts in any condition to be worth scrounging this week.
(GE=18)
So where do I eat and sleep during the week?
Also, given that I am so far from the Duke farm, I should be able to triangulate my things from two points. The Robot is close enough to the Duke farm that I can use him as a vector to that location pretty easily. I had something at Denshin Labs and the rest of my stuff at my apartment. I'm going to use my mapping skills here. (I will have started with at least a high amateur 1@10 or maybe better skill in mapping; I learned it in the Scouts, and taught it to cub scouts as well as to teenage gamers, two distinct but related approaches.)
I will get a piece of paper, something close to standard 8.5 x 11", set it landscape on the desk, and place a small circle near the left edge, about 1.5" in. I will then orient it such that the right edge is as directly toward what I think is the robot (and thus the duke farm) as I can manage. I will stand behind the paper when it is so oriented, place a straight edge on it such that it points directly toward my sense of where the robot is. (I remember saying that I was keeping track of the relative directions of things, and I'm very good at spatial directions anyway, so I'm pretty confident I would know which of three lines was the robot unless they were very close together.) I will draw a line using the straight edge, placing another circle about 1.5" from the opposite end of the paper.
Without moving the paper, but walking around the table such that the paper is between me and each of the other two directional points, I will lay the straightedge in line with each of them, and draw lines on the paper marking the direction of each, from the circle to the edge of the paper.
I will then fold up the paper and secure it in one of my shirt pockets.
My plan is to measure my steps when I walk back to the Duke farm, and then repeat this process when I am there. The number of steps will give me a baseline distance, in essence the length of the line connecting the two circles (I have a fairly accurate five foot pace when I pay attention to it). given that it will take several hours to walk, the distance must be at least six to twelve miles (since even a slow walker could do three in an hour), which will give me a substantial base from which to triangulate the other two directional points. Also, when I leave RBW I am going to leave behind something, probably a coin or key from my pocket, so that I can use it as a sense tracer to determine the orientation of the map when I reach the other end, lining up a straightedge along the vector to RBW and getting the map aligned with that. My vectors should then tell me roughly how far each of my points of interest are, and in what directions.
Of course, it won't be until the weekend that I'll have this information, so we'll focus on the work of the week until then.
--M. J. Young
At the end of the week you hoof it down to the Duke farm. Uncle Jesse gives you a big ol' holler when he sees you walking up the drive. Daisy comes to the door and waves. Bo and Luke are sitting on the hood of their hotrod looking down at their boots as they kick at the sand. They look up to nod but they look quite depressed about something. Daisy, on the other hand, is practically buzzing with excitement.
(Please assume the accent continues. By this time it's probably so second-nature to me that I'd have to consciously think about dropping it.)
"Well, there must be news of some sort. What's been happening in my absence?
"I hope I'm not imposing. I've got a few bottlecaps from working this week, and would be glad to pay something for my weekend food and lodging here. I just can't stay at work all weekend, particularly when there's such good company waiting here."
I'll delay my triangulation exercise until after I've had the chance to settle in and talk to everyone. Also, if they ask, I'll tell them about the successful development of the machine that runs on beer, and some of what's been done since then.
--M. J. Young
Heh heh, I was wondering how long we could keep up the accent!
"Aw, shucks Emma-J..." begins Bo but Daisy jumps in.
"Oh! It's SO wonderful! I met a guy in Newark that's gonna record my song! I'm gonna be famous! Weee!"
She hooks your arm with her elbow and dances you around in a circle.
When Bo and Luke don't join in, she eventually calms down, crosses her arms and pouts a bit. "Fine, be that way! Might as well tell your story then."
Bo starts again, "Aw, shucks Emma-J! It's just that the Sludge River Race is next week and we need some quality engine parts for the General Lee. Ace Parker's got a sweet engine that Richard Petty used to win the South Joisey Tournament but he wants 500 bottlecaps for it."
Luke chimes in, "He said he'd give it to use for 200 if we repo that Rolls."
Bo: "I hate repo men."
Luke: "Hey, who don't? Personally, I'd like to win that race Saturday. So, A: we need that Richard Petty car to, B: get the spare parts to, C: rebuild the General Lee so we can, D and E: enter and win, F: am I getting through to you?"
Jesse claps you on the shoulder to bring you in for a meal, "I don't want you boys doin' anything illegal. You know you're on probation. Come on Emma-J, come have some grub."
Oh, I could keep up the accent, but it takes a bit longer to write and a bit longer to read, and I think we've proved the point by now.
"Why, Daisy-Mae, didn't know you sang. You're going to have to sing that song for me, so I can hear it." I'm thinking that I would have had my guitar with me when I went to the plexplo, because I used it for the magic that prevented them from seeing me, so that means it's here with me now. "Maybe I can play along a bit. I did some music myself, years ago and worlds away. You are a girl of hidden talents, and I hope you will tell me more about yourself while we have some time this weekend."
How many bottlecaps was I paid? Obviously not enough to pay for the boys' engine.
"I'd like to help you boys, but I don't get paid anywhere near that kind of money. What sort of parts do you need? We might be able to scrounge something somewhere. How much time do we have? I'm not much for repossessing cars--never tried that--but are we sure that this is a legal repossession? And if we risk our lives to repo the Rolls, does it really put us in a position to pay for the engine? I mean, repossessing a car when someone defaulted on payments is certainly a legitimate job, but you've got to know that, and have proof, that the person hiring you to do it is the right owner of the car, or you're looking at grand theft auto, and I'd bet in this world they hang you for that."
--M. J. Young
You do have your guitar. Daisy promises to sing for you after supper.
You were paid 5 bottlecaps this week.
"Well, Ace says he ain't been paid so that's good enough for me!" says Luke. "Besides, Lulu Hogg wants to buy it. The Hoggs pretty much are the Law 'round here."
Bo says, "We got 200 bottlecaps saved up so we can buy the engine if we repo the car. The race is next Saturday - a week from now."
The Dukes are serving up lunch and there is plenty of good food and beer.
I seem to recall that there is something other than beer to drink here, which is what I was drinking. I've always had an aversion to drinking motor fuels.
I wish the boys luck on the repo job. I'm not certain enough of the social structures here to know whether what they're doing is legal, and I'm not going to risk winding up in some jail on a world in which the respectable citizens are struggling to survive--but I'll not say that. They've not asked me to help, and I'm not offering, and I'm hoping it stays that way.
I'll give two of my bottlecaps to Uncle Jesse, and then after lunch retire to my room "to rest up a bit from the week's work", and finish the triangulation process with my map. I'll have an extra point this time, since the robot is far enough from me to be a separate vector, but having used it to home in on home I know which point that is, and which one is the RBW factory, so I'll orient the map to the RBW factory and mark the other vectors. If my paper is large enough that the vectors cross on the page somewhere, I'll note this, and otherwise I'll estimate how far, relative to the distance between my base points, each would be from the center line.
Then I'll go check on the robot. The tech in this world should be high enough that it will it least operate, unless it was damaged and can't self-repair. Either way, I'm bringing it back to the Duke house, but I'd rather have it functional before I do.
--M. J. Young
The water is bad but the sarsparilla was fine last time.
You do your map vectors. With a bit of trigonometry you figure your stuff is on the order of 10 miles away on their own vectors.
The robot whirrs to life when you give it it's bootup command. It follows you back to the farm without any trouble. When you arrive Uncle Jesse reaches for his shotgun "What's that thingamajigger?" Daisy is wide-eyed.
Bo and Luke haven't noticed. They are having a bit of an argument over by their hotrod and waving around a nearly empty gas can.
"It's all right, Jesse--he's with me. Let me get him settled in my room, and then I'll come down to the kitchen and explain everything over another sarsparilla."
I'm assuming that they'll let me do that, but otherwise I'll wait where I am.
--M. J. Young
They let you.
I settle down with my sarsparilla.
"Well," I begin, somewhat tentatively, "y'all knew that Ah warn't from aroun' heah. Truth be tol', Ah'm still not entarli sher jus' wheah 'aroun heah' is. Ah've weuk'd out that this is a planet called Joizey. Ah come from a planet called," and I'm going to have to drop the accent to continue, "Earth. Maybe there's a planet called Earth in this universe, maybe not. We did have Fords and Chevys, and gasoline shortages, and corn farming and beer and most of what I see around here; we didn't have the kinds of wars you have, but we had a different kind of war.
"And then someone attacked me, and did something to me I still haven't fully understood. He moved me to another time, another place. I woke up a thousand years in the future on another planet. But whatever this guy did, it really changed something about me, because then I was in another accident, where some mad genius created some sort of temporal vortex, and I landed in some medieval world filled with wizards and sorcerers--that's where I got this ring. Then the sorcerers attacked me, and--well, to shorten the story, I've been wandering from universe to universe for a lot of years now. I've learned a few things here and there, and picked up a few odd bits.
"That thing I took up to my room has been with me almost from the beginning. He's a training robot, who teaches me to fight. Knowing how to fight has been pretty useful in a lot of my situations, although I'm not the sort of person who prefers to resort to violence unless it's clearly and unmistakably necessary. I was a Bible teacher before all this, and a musician and writer. Now I'm not exactly certain what I am, other than a lost traveler who tries to help people wherever he goes.
"That's the best explanation of myself I think I can give, although if you have any questions, I can try to answer them."
--M. J. Young
Jesse is the first to speak, "Jumpin' Jehosephat! Yer from Earth! An' you got here without a spacey-ship! That's..." He sits down to contemplate the situation.
"...dreamy!" finishes Daisy. she immediately begins plying you with all sorts of questions about where you've been, what you've seen, what Earth is like, what beer tastes like on different planets, etc.
"Well, I've been to eight or nine different universes at this point, and I'll tell you, some of them were very different. There was one where my companions were intelligent animals who sailed a ship across the sky between fragments of an exploded planet. I still haven't figured out how that one worked. I learned how to use music to work magic in one, and some really foul smelling dwarfs taught me how to use the power of thought in another. The last one I was in was Earth, but very different from anything I'd known--apparently a terrorist bomb had crippled the governments of North America in the mid 1990s, and China had moved in to claim the United States, and Japan had claimed Canada. I was in Canada, working for a company that believed in racial equality but kept a low profile about it. They were very interested in the technology I'd brought from the twenty-ninth century, as the world was struggling to get back on its feet still.where you've been, what you've seen
"I've got a lot of stories, and I'd love to tell them all just so I can remember them myself. For a while I had a pet rabbit traveling with me, but it got to be a bit much for him and he struck out on his own--very odd, that, but it was a very rough world in which we both got very sick and I'm still not sure why."
what Earth is like"The Earth I think of when I think of Earth? I left in about 2000 or so. What year is it here, anyway? That is, what year would it be on earth? Are they still using the Gregorian calendar? Anyway, it's hard for me to say what it's like on Earth. Three of the worlds I've visited were Earth, but they were all different. One actually had superheroes and supervillains. I don't know whether I've ever been to the Earth that exists in this universe, and I don't know how long ago I might have been there."
what beer tastes like on different planets"Sorry, I can't help you with that one. I've always thought that beer tasted like motor fuel--poison, unfit to drink. I'm the same way with wine and sake and anything containing alcohol, except maybe vanilla extract, although I think the alcohol evaporates out of the vanilla pretty quickly when you use it, and I use so very little in my milk shakes.
"So, how far is Earth from here, and how did you folks wind up on some other planet? It seems there's a lot I don't know about your universe--but I'm used to that. I'm often in universes which are very different from what I remember."
--M. J. Young
Daisy pulls out a coil-bound pad of paper and a pencil and begins jotting down notes as you talk.
"Hoo-eee! This'll make a fantastic story for the Newark Nightly News! They can't possibly reject my articles now!"
In response to your questions about Earth she says, "Oh, I don't rightly know. It is year 60 CSA. All I really know is that we came here from Earth. Maybe Uncle Jesse remembers the stories."
Uncle Jesse does perk up at the sound of his name, "Yes, yes. 60 CSA, Counting Since Arrival. I think it was Earth year 2305 when things got real bad. There was some kind of ecological disaster and the government was hoarding all the food. I was just a baby but my grandfather, Jebediah Duke, decided it wasn't right and led the riots. The South Rose Again! No longer could them Yankees keep us from our Moon Pies and fried chicken! We would NEVER SURRENDER! NEVER BACK DOWN!"
"Then what happened, Uncle Jesse?" asks Daisy.
"We gots our arses kicked! Them Yankees rounded us all up and stuffed us into a garbage rocket. We took what we could but it wasn't much. Next thing we knew we'd landed on Garbage World #3263827 an' had to make the best of it."
When Daisy starts taking notes, I interrupt. "Come by that hair color honestly, don't you gorgeous? What makes you think that the news people are going to believe this crazy story of mine? It's not like I can really prove it. I mean, I've got my robot and stuff, but with thousands of colonized worlds largely cut off from each other, no one can be certain I didn't come from another planet. And sure, there's no record of my arrival, but your family could have hidden my spaceship or stripped it for parts, if there were such a thing. You'd do better selling my stories as fiction to some book publisher, or starting a comic book line based on me. Y'all have comic books?" I ask, falling back into the accent for a moment.
After Jesse's account: "Wow--using resources to ship resources to other planets. Earth is either unimaginably wealthy or unimaginably unimaginative. I think with a bit of work and know-how someone could probably get a million barrels of oil out of the trash on this planet. Regretably, I know it can be done, but not how to do it. Probably could recycle and synthesize a lot of stuff from the garbage, if you knew how.
"So I'm wondering about two things. One is, how did the trucks and stuff get here? You've got enough of them that you've got your Ford versus Chevy battles, and I somehow don't believe that Ford and Chevy built competing assembly lines on garbage world number--whatever it was. On the other hand, I don't see the folks back on earth shipping tons of machinery up here with their exiles of war. So how did they get here?
"The other thing, when and how did the feuds start? I mean, thank God for the feuds, if you didn't have them RBW would be out of buisness. But wouldn't it have made more sense for people who had been sent here because they were on the same side of the war to have worked together to build a new world reflecting that for which they had been fighting in the first place? Or was the right to kill each other part of that?"
After some thinking, "So it's approaching the dawn of the twenty-fifth century, more or less, right? I mean, war starts in 2305, takes a few years for one side to win, then a few more years to ship people off-world, and maybe a few years for the rockets to reach their destinations, and it's been sixty years since you got here, so we're looking at maybe 2375 or 2380. Not that it much matters. Worlds advance so differently from each other, it's just a number. Still, it's nice to have the number."
--M. J. Young
"Come by that hair color honestly, don't you gorgeous?
If that's a reference to blonde hair, Daisy is a brunette.
Daisy gives you an angry pout. "Whaddaya mean? There's always people gettin' abducted by aliens and babies gettin' born with all manner o' mutations. We're talkin' news here, not fiction!"
Jesse shrugs as Daisy scribbles, "Most o' them trucks were junkers sent over on garbage rockets. We jus' fix 'em up. Them feuds, though, lemme see... It was shortly after Newark was founded. There weren't much to do but watch rasslin' on TV. Some folks got arguin' about how High Octane Wrestling was better than World Wide Wrestling. Kin you imagine!? Well, we beat them rednecks on the H.O.W. side and exiled 'em up North. We call 'em HOWards now. The North ain't a nice place what with the Eternally Burning tire Fires 'n all. Them HOWards are a nasty bunch o' rednecks an' are always raidin' down South. Anyways, there's always been somethin' worthwhile to feud about ever since.
Daisy is a brunette? Wow. Why didn't I know that? Guess I never watched the show.
I shrug as Daisy goes forward with her news writing. If someone attempts to verify the story, I'll do what I can. Otherwise, I'll let her make her fame and fortune as a tabloid journalist.
I hope I manage to keep a straight face while Jesse explains about the feuds. It seems ludicrously ridiculous, but apparently these people want to fight with each other. I doubt I could change the opinion even of Jesse--after all, he's a wrestling fan, and worse one who apparently thinks it matters which wrestling organization you support. I thank him for his explanations.
I also ask if there's a church in the area, and whether they attend on Sundays.
--M. J. Young
"Yessirree! Big Father Smoky helps us fight the Devil in us all every Sunday!"
The church is Southern Baptist.
I happen to be fairly conversant in Southern Baptist; my father's parents were of that denomination, and I've had some exposure to them through other channels. On the other hand, I hardly expect this to be quite the same.
I will attend church with them on Sunday. I will pay particular attention to whether there are pew bibles and hymnals or chorus books, and will peruse these in detail looking for anything that is irregular.
After church I presume (as is customary) that everyone files past the minister and shakes his hand. I will introduce myself and mention that I once taught Bible College, having graduated from Bible College myself.
--M. J. Young
You help around the house and greenhouses and notice Bo and Luke pushing their car off down the highway. They don't return that night and are not in attendance at church the next morning.
The church is a large building built almost entirely out of cemented-together glass bottles. The foundation and supporting columns are of more durable construction (beer kegs!) It is very informal and you are introduced around. Big Father Smoky is a black man of huge proportions. He is very energetic, though, and leaps around spouting fire and brimstone. There is a choir that backs him up and it is very acceptable for people to get up and dance along if they feel the spirit. The sermon is on typical things like emulating the life of Jesus, the virtues of drink, and doing unto others a bit worse than they did to your clan.
There are some ragged bibles but not enough for everyone. The hymnals and chorus books are pretty much combined into a collection of recycled pages and handwritten music.
Father Smoky is pleased to meet you and shakes your hand in a bone-crushing grip. He invites you by sometime for a discussion. Or perhaps his wanderings will take him up the farm or RBW (if you mention it).
I will indeed mention it.
I gather the shortage of Bibles means I don't get the opportunity to peruse one during the service. Is it possible for me to look through one after people have left? I would probably need twenty minutes to survey a few passages to see what's what.
--M. J. Young
You can peruse them. They are Bibles from Earth that were thrown away (for whatever reason), ended up on a garbage rocket and found their way to Joisey. You don't notice significant differences from the bibles you're familiar with.
Excellent. I would hate to start preaching from the Bible only to find that my Bible didn't match theirs. I think their message is a bit, shall we say, skewed.
I will indeed look forward to my future chat with Father Smokey.
I'm guessing that my best course of action is to leave the farm Sunday afternoon and take a circuitous route by way of one of those equipment senses. I believe I left something (and can't now remember what) at RBW, so I should be able to home in on one site, pick up whatever is there, and then home in on RBW, if I keep attentive to which vector is which while I'm traveling.
My recollection is that one vector is left of line and the other right of line, line being the path between here and RBW and left and right figured as I am headed toward RBW. I will take the path left of line. (If you don't know which is which, I'd rather find the apartment stuff first, as there's more of it there--the office stuff should be the single item which they were studying at the time I left, probably the piano if memory serves.)
I am leaving the robot in my room at the farm.
--M. J. Young
Jesse and Daisy are concerned that they haven't heard from Bo and Luke by the time you head back to RBW. They go out to look and ask the neighbours.
You hike through the garbage-strewn country on paths and by-ways. Eventually you find the things from your apartment. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary.
You collect it up, stow it away and carry on to RBW.
(GE=14)