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Going Home, Part 02, Greak Oaks
🕑 Added 2025-09-07 13:00:03 +0000 UTCThe army had taught Eric one skill he enjoyed now that he’d left. The ability to sleep under almost any conditions. He’d slept through an artillery drill, while explosives were being detonated in the room next to his. He’d even, once, managed to stay asleep in a trench as gunfire erupted around him. So it wasn’t the clicking sound that woke him.
He was no longer tired, and that happened to be going on. Had been for a while, probably. That he wasn’t tired didn’t mean he felt like getting out of bed. And going back to sleep did sound appealing right now.
Unfortunately, the ability to sleep through anything meant he had to first be asleep. He pulled the thin pillow over his head, but it barely muffled the persistent clicking.
With a groan, he pulled himself out of bed and looked around. It came from the box at the window, and from the gentle heat coming from it, it was the heater. The temperature had turned cold in the night, and it had kicked in, and the clicking came from inside.
The front cover came off easily to reveal the fan, tubes, and wiring. He yawned, and the blueprint formed before realized it. He pushed it away; he didn’t need it to fix this. The fan was loose, and the blades were tapping against the back. All he had to do was tighten the screw.
Was that really all?
He brought the blueprint back, and the prickling jumped forward. Yes, that would fix this problem, but what if he improved it a little? He wouldn’t have to do much, he thought, and the diagram changed to show what he’d need to do to the condenser to increase the output; it was such a simple change.
With a curse, Eric pushed the thoughts away. He wasn’t improving anything, he told himself, as the pricking fought against going back to the back of his mind. He was done with that. He’d fix the fan so he could sleep in, and nothing more.
He’d reached Tiranis. He could take a day and do nothing.
He turned the heater off, and once the fan stopped turning, he stared at the lone screw. Of course, that’s what it would be. The one type his knife couldn’t do anything with. He could tighten a flat-line screw no problem, and he knew that if he didn’t mind sharpening it afterward, he could manage a cross-groove, but a square hole? His knife would slip as soon as the screw resisted, and he’d strip the head. In no time the hole would be round and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
He made his bed, smoothed out the wrinkles and got dressed. He headed to the counter, and the young human girl behind it looked at him, her eyes barely staying open. She was far too young to have been there the entire night.
“Do you have a screwdriver I can borrow? The heater’s fan is loose, and it clicks.”
She looked at him without moving for a full second, then seemed to register what he’d said. “We have someone who does the repairs.” She sounded very jovial about that, even if she still looked half asleep.
“When do they come in? Do I need to fill out a form for them to fix it?”
Another second of immobility, then, “Oh no, just tell him when you see him. He’ll look at it.”
He waited for a moment. “When is he going to be here?” he asked and waited.
“Oh, I don’t know that. He comes when something needs to be fixed.”
“So how do I let him know I have something that needs fixing?”
A frown slowly formed on her face. “I don’t know. He just shows up and fixes things.”
“Like he’s Powered?”
The frown deepened. “I don’t think so.”
“So you can’t contact him. Can whoever is going to replace you?”
A long pause as her face smoothed. “You want to wait until Carl comes on?”
“When is he going to be here?”
“Tonight.”
“Then who takes over for you?”
“Carl.”
Eric opened his mouth, then closed it. This was sounding too much like a comedy clip from one of the shows he watched as a kid. They’d go round and round and it would never make sense, only there wasn’t an audience laughing at his antics.
“Never mind. Where’s closest hardware store?”
A slow frown, then a nod. “Go left at the next light.”
“The next light, north or south?”
She pointed to her right, so south.
The light was three blocks away, and he made a left on Sanders Way and immediately looked down. A car had come into view, and the prickling had jumped forward to show him the schematic. He tried pushing it away, but it was done listening to him. Even closing his eyes, he saw the diagram and blueprints of the cars and devices.
He cursed. He’d known this would happen once he started using it. He glanced up only enough to see the storefronts and tried to ignore the diagrams. If he paid attention to one, it would come into focus, he’d see more, and then he’d see how to improve it, and after that…after that came madness.
He looked up to see ‘Koreria’s Hard Wares,’ on the other side of the street and immediately brought his eyes down, but not fast enough for him to avoid seeing the patterns on the cars driving down the road and parked alongside it.
By this point, he’d seen so many of the diagrams that he knew he could build a car from scratch, but that wasn’t what stopped him; among all that had been something else. He brought back that diagram. He ignored the car; it was the smaller diagram that had caught his attention, the one under the car.
It was a phone, but it wasn’t on the ground, it was against the underside of the car. He’d seen plenty of phones in cars and as part of cars, but it was his first time seeing one against the underside. He had to look.
His memory of the diagram was imperfect. He hadn’t wanted to pay attention. He located the car, and even before he opened his eyes, the diagram came into focus. Now that he wasn’t fighting it, the other blueprints went away. He saw only the car and the phone.
He removed the car. All he was interested in was the phone and figuring out what it was doing there. It wasn’t inside the car or something dropped as they exited. It was clearly outside. And it had wires, some going to a block that, while part of this device, didn’t have any components in itself, so he couldn’t tell what it was. Others went to the front of the car, and, bringing up that part of the design, saw they were connected to the ignition.
What was this?
Now he had to look, not just the designs, but he had to see what was there. His curiosity was something that, like making and repairing things, he couldn’t always control. His dad had told him more than once the kind of trouble curiosity could cause. But Eric hadn’t been one to listen to his dad, even when he might have been right.
He waited for a lull in the pedestrians to appear and then slipped under the car. It was a tight fit, but Eric was built lean. He pulled himself close and his nose was nearly pressed in the brick taped to the underside of the car, along with the phone. He could see the wires connecting the two. And while there was nothing written on the brick to indicate what it might be, that wet, muddy and acrid smell was one he was far too familiar with.
When Eric joined the army, he had been careful not to let on that he was a Builder. He’d heard stories of what the army did with them, and wanted no part of that. And he was careful in how he repaired things, never going further than a normal human could.
But after having to disarm a bomb on the fly, or die in the explosion, he’d attracted the attention of the explosive squad, and after testing his ability to identify the components, they’d taught him the basics of bomb disarming. And he’d become friends with Jarred.
He’d been a Builder, but his ability had been so weak the Builder corp hadn’t wanted him, and on top of that his affinity was chemistry, not something they wanted, or so they thought, at least until Jared had mixed things together and come up with a hard substance that smelled wet and muddy.
He’d figured it made a good fire-starter, a small sliver of it, a small battery to cause a spark and he could make a full log catch on fire. When the Corp got wind of that they snatch him.
Eric hadn’t seen him until the corp had gotten him too, and by then, they’d managed to drive Jared insane. Not Builder insane, his ability was too weak for that. Just plain insane. They’d taken his useful invention and forced him to weaponise it.
Jared had called his initial creation ExoClay and when this atrocity had been made, the name had remained.
Eric had his nose pressed against a bomb.
He carefully wriggled away from it. He didn’t want to bump the phone. A spark, that was all that was needed and that much ExoClay would take out the car as well as the ones on each side.
He could see how small of an alteration to the phone would be needed to have someone call to trigger the spark. No, he could see that the alteration had been made. He was careful not to attract attention when he got out from under. If the person who had put it there was watching, they might trigger it, so Eric couldn’t do anything.
The wires going to the ignition, that was how they were hoping the bomb would be triggered. It would ensure the target was in the car when it exploded. No one noticed him between the two cars, and when there was another lull, he stood.
It was one of seven cars parked at the curb, but there was nothing indicating who the owner was. He couldn’t warn the intended target, and he couldn’t leave it there. What did he need?
He needed tools. Screwdrivers, one of each type, wire cutters, what else? He looked the diagram over. That was all. With those, he’d be able to keep it from exploding.
So long as the target didn’t start the car while he was shopping for tools.
He cursed under his breath. First rule, always have your tools. This was what happened when you didn’t. At least he was lucky that the hardware store was just across the road.
He ran into the store. An older lynx behind the counter glanced in his direction as Eric looked for the aisle with screwdrivers.
The store was large, taking the entire block. Rows upon rows of tools. A chuckle escaped his lips at the thought of all the wonderful things he could make with them. He clamped down on both of them hard, and only then noticed the prickling was stronger, many more things than he’d expected had complex designs and they all threatened to form.
He had to get the tools he needed and get out of there fast.
He found the aisle with the screwdrivers and found that they were the only thing on one side of it. There were small and big ones, short and long. Some let you change the heads, some could be bent at angles. Who needed so many kinds of screwdrivers?
The prickling surged with the answer.
He did.
“I know you.”
The words wrenched his attention away from the tools and from the prickling madness. A young lynx was standing a few feet away, six or seven years old, no more than eight. He looked at Eric intently.
Eric stepped away from the rack of screwdrivers. “You do?”
The lynx nodded.
He crouched, bringing himself closer to the lynx’s height. “And how do you know me?”
The lynx shrugged. “You’re Stevenson.”
Eric smiled. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes you are,” the lynx stated with a certainty that belayed his age.
“My name is Clarkson.” Eric offered his hand. “Eric Clarkson.”
“Are you sure?” The young lynx looked at the hand, but didn’t take it.
“Pretty much. It’s always been my name.”
The lynx began fidgeting, his earlier confidence disappearing. “I’m—”
“Rick, there you are.” An older lynx, the one from behind the counter, and his father, by the similar marking, appeared around the corner. “What have I told you about roaming the store?”
“That I shouldn’t do it. But I’m bored, Dad.” There was no whine in the tone. It wasn’t a complaint, just a statement of fact.
“I offered to have you help unpack the deliveries.”
“I’m a kid,” Rick grumbled, “I shouldn’t have to work.”
“Then you need to stay in my office as we agreed. Go on.”
“Yes, Dad.” The young lynx waved to Eric and left.
“Sorry about that,” the older lynx said. “He’s a bundle of energy who can’t sit still. And with school being out, it’s either bring him here or leave him at home for him to make a mess of the place.” He offered his hand. “I’m Charlie.”
“Eric,” he replied, shaking it. “His mother isn’t around to look after him?” He took a set of small screwdrivers.
“She’s working. She’d in real estate, so she can’t really take him with her. Rick doesn’t mean to get in the way, but he’s curious, and a handful, so it falls on me to deal with him. Do you need anything else?”
“Wire cutters.” His wife worked? There had been plenty of women in the army, but as far as he knew, none of them were mothers. Back then, all the mothers he’d known stayed home to take care of the children.
“They’re just over there.” The lynx led him further down the aisle and pointed to the other side. “What are you planning on doing? I have some that can strip wires if you’re going to be doing electrical work. Actually, I have a model that can do absolutely any part of the work, other than laying down the wire itself. I have some that—”
“I just need a simple wire cutter,” Eric interrupted with a nervous chuckle. There were hundreds of them on the rack, and the prickling demanded that it be allowed to extrapolate what each one could to.
“I’m not sure there is such a thing anymore. You need it small? Large? Needle nose? Do you need to reach into a deep space? Is there going to be an angle?
Eric grabbed a medium-size cutter. “This will do. I’m not doing anything complicated. Not today at least.”
“Anything else?”
“No, this will do.”
Charlie led him to the counter and rang his purchases in.
“How much for that bag?” Eric pointed to the tattered cloth bag hanging from a nail on the wall by a long strap.
“That thing? I can’t sell you that. It’s too old. If you want to take a look, aisle three has good ones.”
Eric shook his head. “I couldn’t afford them.” He took out most of the bills and looked at the cost of his purchase. He could cover that, but breakfast would be a cup of tea, if even that.
Charlie looked at the empty wallet. “I see. Then how about I give this one to you? Let’s call it a complimentary gift.”
“Thanks.” Eric handed him the money and put his wallet away. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone offering work? I do okay repairing stuff.”
The lynx thought it over as he put the cutter and screwdrivers in the bag. “Well, I can’t promise he’ll let you work, but Milton’s daughter left for school at the start of the month. She did a lot of the repair work at his shop.” He wrote an address on the back of the receipt. “She had a bit of the Tecker in her. He hasn’t complained about being overworked, but you can check with him.” He handed the bag to Eric.
“Thanks, have yourself a good day.”
“You too.”
Eric ran across the street. There hadn’t been an explosion in his absence, so that was good. He then waited for a gap in the pedestrians so he could slip back under the car.
He let the diagram come as he unscrewed the cover to the phone. There were no safeguards or secondary relays. So, all he needed to do was take the battery out. Then he cut the wires, pulled the tape off the phone and put that in the bag. Then he pulled the brick of ExoClay off, deforming it in the process and that joined the phone. It was softer than he remembered.
He pulled himself out from under the car and stood as a woman looked at him, an eyebrow raised.
“Dropped something,” Eric said, dusting himself off, and she nodded as if, of course, that’s what had happened. What else could it have been?
He made sure everything had stayed in the bag and slung it over his shoulder before heading to the address Charlie had given him.
Comments
Marcwolf
That would be an interesting skill.
