Talent: Book Three, the Wizards Series

Jack Knapp

Talent

Book Three, the Wizards Series

By Jack L Knapp

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COPYRIGHT

Talent

Book Three, The Wizards Series

Cover by Mia Darien

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

Disclaimer: The persons and events depicted in this novel were created by the author's imagination; no resemblance to actual persons or events is intended.

Product names, brands, and other trademarks referred to within this book are the property of the respective trademark holders. Unless otherwise specified, no association between the author and any trademark holder is expressed or implied. Nor does the use of such trademarks indicate an endorsement of the products, trademarks, or trademark holders unless so stated. Use of a term in this book should not be regarded as affecting the validity of any trademark, registered trademark, or service mark.

For Sharon and Ronnie

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

***

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Author:

Prologue

Battleship Rock was four years in the past.

Ray had pulled T, half-dazed, to safety before the great mass fell. The two had waited, concealed in the forest, for their headaches to subside before levitating clear of the dust. They'd barely recovered enough to escape before the helicopter arrived to survey the destruction.

Dynamite had since undone the damming that nature had attempted, and the Jemez River flowed again in the same channel where it had historically been found. Spence Hot Spring was still far too dangerous to use, and the small creek downstream from the spring's outflow was no longer suitable for trout.

People salvaged what they could from homes damaged by the earthquakes, and most rebuilt in the same locations as soon as the debris was removed. This option was not available to the Ray and T, the two men who'd risked their lives that those trapped behind the teetering monolith might escape.

The two had prepared for the possibility of discovery, though no one could have foreseen the catastrophic earthquake. Discovery was not only possible, it was inevitable, given that neither man was prepared to stand idly by when danger threatened others. They'd had money, documents, and credit cards waiting in safe-deposit boxes. If New Mexico and West Texas were now closed to them due to the possibility that they might be recognized, well, it was a big country.

Ray and T had activated two of their reserve identities. Using these, they'd remained in New Mexico only long enough to clear up a few remaining issues, and as soon as possible after that they left the state.

Traveling in Ray's motor home, they explored the country west and north of New Mexico. T had argued that Arizona was also dangerous; the possibility existed that he might be recognized by former business contacts. They finally decided that a town in Nevada, so small it didn't even appear on maps, was the perfect place to vanish. Little Dry Creek was no more than a crossroads and a cluster of businesses, most run by elderly people.

***

T's attempt to clear his military record had fizzled, because the American government apparently had no record that he'd ever served. Puzzled but relieved, T had acquired a metal box and locked the remnants of his military service in it. The box, with his identification card and copies of his orders, was now pushed to the back of the bottom drawer of his desk.

US Army LtCol 'Shezzie' Schmidt, now retired, had used some of the money from the cache T had found to attend medical school. She would have preferred a more-prestigious American school, but there were few openings available and none of them immediate. Unwilling to wait, she'd signed with a school in the Caribbean, her previous experience and knowledge making up for the school's deficiencies. After graduating, she took the American battery of examinations required for foreign medical graduates and easily passed. Newly certified, she'd signed up for residency at a hospital in Las Vegas and on completion, now fully licensed to practice medicine in the US, she'd moved in with T, joining Ray and Ana Maria on the ranch they'd bought just a few miles west of Little Dry Creek.

Life soon returned to something resembling normal. Shezzie opened a clinic, the only one in the vicinity, using funds provided anonymously by T and Ray. Ana Maria became her receptionist-clerk.

Little Dry Creek was small. Businesses rarely looked at the community's location, and only small entrepreneurs looked twice; there simply was no more than a minuscule opportunity for growth, or for that matter of earning a living. Operating a business in Little Dry Creek was for those with little ambition, but with a desire to serve their neighbors and be part of a community. So long as they could scrape out a bare existence, the entrepreneurs who lived there were satisfied.

Four new people joining the community got noticed. They were quiet, caused no trouble, minded their own business, and other residents well understood that attitude. As a result, the four soon gained acceptance.

Shezzie had done all that medical science could while treating the elderly people in the community, while at the same time wishing she could do more. Mona complained of arthritis and had trouble waiting on customers in her small café and Shorty was gimpy as were most of the other residents, truth be told. Shezzie's gift for empathy had soon reasserted itself and she'd done what medicine couldn't, quietly awakening latent Talent and teaching the recipients how to use their gifts. T shook his head in resignation and joined her efforts, as did Ray. Neither had been certain that the assistance they provided wouldn't end badly, but they'd gone along with Shezzie's feelings. The oldsters were now much less gimpy; they might even be called spry.

A side effect of this was understanding; the new people had things to hide, but were decent folks who were prepared to be neighborly. The older residents developed an intense loyalty to their benefactors.

Ana Maria's past activities as the Chupacabra were known, but never mentioned.

T's PTSD had subsided. Somehow, risking his life to protect the people who were trying to escape after the earthquake had changed his outlook. His only bad dream now, not even a true nightmare, had to do with the fall of the huge rampart and even that was rare. For the first time in years, T was happy.

Ray was equally content, having recovered the money lost when the US Attorney had attempted to confiscate his funds. And Ana Maria was back; the two had built a house on the ranch, only a mile from T and Shezzie's renovated and improved ranch house. A number of conveniences made them all comfortable and there were no real worries. The four settled in to become members of the isolated community called Little Dry Creek.

***

T was working at his desk, his usual morning occupation.

A number of newspapers were spread on the surface before him. T read them daily, watching for trends. He was particularly interested in reports of price fluctuations in the gold market. Most of the gold bars they'd recovered from Doc Noss' caches had been sold, the others held in reserve until additional money was needed and then sold only if the price was favorable. Ray and T had managed previous sales by claiming the bars had been recovered from a mine the two had found on the old Spencer Ranch. There was indeed an old mine on the property, dug during the time when Nevada was a major source of metals. Explorations before the sale had convinced them that this was a workable solution to marketing the gold they couldn't otherwise claim to own. The original owner had died intestate, so the two had purchased the ranch for back taxes owed.

The story was superficially plausible. Miners had often held back semi-refined product, sending it out only when there was enough on hand to justify the expense of guarding the shipments. Bandits preyed on mine shipments, so the gold and silver was often safer stored at the mine than on a stagecoach or bullion wagon used for transport.

Whether the old mine had ever produced much wasn't known, although T was certain there really was a vein farther back in the mountains. At some point he and Ray would reopen the mine and try to reach the hidden vein, but for now the mine served as a convenient cover.

Chapter 1

A knock on the door caused T to lay the newspaper listings aside. "Shorty, what am I going to do with you?"

"I wasn't my fault, Mr. T. How was I to know there was a tourist out there with a camera?"

"There's always someone with a camera, Shorty. What were you doing out there at daybreak anyway?"

"It wuz the sheep, Mr. T. I had to go protect the sheep. If they got loose, the stupid critters would be scattered from hell t' breakfast 'n' my granddaughter would be plumb disappointed next weekend when m' boy Joe brings her up to visit."

"Sheep."

"Wal, sure. They aren't my sheep, y'see, they're my granddaughter's. I couldn't let them get loose, could I? I mean, she's plumb attached to the things! It would pure break her heart if them sheep got killed."

"Shorty. Can you get to the point?"

"I'm doin' it, Mr. T! You know I wouldn't embarrass you, don't you?"

"You're doing just fine so far, Shorty! I'm beginning to regret helping you! Still, I couldn't watch you limp around; you're a veteran. How long have you had that limp, anyway?"

"Since Bastogne, Mr. T. There's a German machine gun bullet in there, right next to the bone, although I think it's starting to work its way out now, thanks to that help you gave me."

"It seemed wrong, watching you gimp around, but when I helped you awaken your Talent you promised me you'd be careful!"

"I have been, Mr. T. I mostly only use that levitatin' stuff when my old wound starts achin'. The rest of the time, I just limp on my cane. Mostly."

"The heck you do, Shorty! I saw you in the barbershop! You came floating in the front door and you'd probably have impressed the others no end if they hadn't already been able to levitate too. Doctor Shezzie saw to that."

"Well, yeah. She's a heck of a doctor, Mr. T. I 'spect we're all a sight healthier now than before she come here. You give her my regards, now, that Ana Maria lady too. Right friendly, both 'o' them. Pretty too. It's a pure blessin', them openin' that clinic! I reckon every rancher and cowpoke in the area's comin' there now. We should'a renamed the town after you two. There's even a convenience store next to Mona's, and what with the barber shop we've got a downtown now! Hardly seems possible after all those years when Little Dry Creek was Denny's Barber Shop and Mona's Cafe. 'Bout the only traffic then was trucks hauling cattle and sheep from the ranches, headin' off to market. And when there was enough rain, haulin' alfalfa that couldn't be sold to local people. Did I hear right, you and Mister Ray paid for the clinic and convenience store?"

"I'll do that, Shorty, tell 'em what you said, and yeah, we put up the money for Shezzie's clinic. There's no hospital anywhere around, people needed the clinic, and we had the money. Shezzie wanted to go into practice after she finished medical school, we didn't feel like settling in Las Vegas, so it seemed at the time something we wanted to do. The convenience store came in on its own, I don't know who financed that. But about that photo..."

"Wal, that. It wuz the sheep, you see. And the elk."

T leaned over the desk and put his head in his hands. "Shorty. Can you get to the point? The photo? And what in the world were you wearing?"

"Wal, I didn't have no time to get dressed! Besides, who wuz gonna see me, that early in the morning? I just got out o' bed and went to chase them elk away. It's m' union suit, you know; I wuz so cold after that winter in Bastogne that I wear a pair o' long johns to sleep in. Been doin' it now for, let's see, more'n seventy years! Time shore does fly! But m' long johns and sleepin' cap, I've been right snug in them. Keeps m' old bones warm."

T's voice was muffled by his hands. "Shorty. Please. The photo! And you were wearing your long red underwear and a sleeping cap all the way over by the highway?"

"Wal, yeah. I chased them elk away, antlers all cracking together and makin' a fuss fit to wake the dead. Good thing I was awake by then, 'cause I sure couldn't have slept through all that racket!"

"Why chase the elk away? And why all the way to the highway?"

"They're migratin', the elk. Been a pore year for water up in the mountains and the elk were lookin' for feed, that's why they come up to the sheep pen. You know, where my granddaughter keeps 'em? She's doin' a 4-H project, raisin' sheep, y'see."

"OK, the elk were at the sheep pen where your granddaughter keeps her sheep. I've got that much. Finally."

"Well, that's what I wuz tryin' to tell you, 'cept you keep interruptin'! The elk were sure enough goin' t' break down the fence to get that feed, and shore as anythin' m' granddaughter's sheep were goin' to get out. There are coyotes about, you know, and they're hungry too, what with the dry winter. Why, I spect half o' them dumb critters would be coyote poop b' now if I hadn't run the elk off 'fore they could bust down the fence!"

"Shorty. The photo. You mean you were all the way to the highway? That's five miles from your place, maybe even more!"

"Yeah, 'bout that. I figgered to chase them elk across the highway and let 'em go t' feedin'. There's that alfalfa field over there. It's been cut over since fall and not replanted yet, but they'll be able to rustle somethin' to eat. As soon as the elk settle down to feedin, they won't be comin' back to my sheep pen, and that old feller complains about the deer and elk and antelope eatin' his alfalfa anyway. I figured that there'd be enough alfalfa left over after the last cuttin' t' keep 'em away from m' granddaughter's sheep."

"It's starting to make a kind of twisted sense, Shorty. The elk were pushin'...pushing, I mean...against the fence so you went out to run them off. In your long red underwear and a sleeping cap."

"That's what I said, Mr. T! Ain't hardly no traffic over there, this early. It's a pretty good road, straight as a string, but don't hardly anybody go there 'ceptin' people like us, the ones that live around here."

"Yeah, Shorty. Not much traffic, that much at least I can understand. So you levitated and chased off the elk, all those racks of antlers. Rut's over now and the bachelor bulls are hangin' out together, trying to bust into where you keep your feed stored. By the sheep pen. Is that it?"

"Yeah, Mr. T, that's what I said. And that family o' tourists wuz drivin' along and I reckon they seen me."

"Since they took that picture of you, I'd say that's pretty obvious! Long white hair blowin' in the wind...damnit, I'm starting to talk like you! And don't call me Mr. T! I'm just T!"

"'Bout time you started talkin' like us, Mr. T, you still sound like one o' them California fellers. Took us a long time to understand that you 'n' that friend o' yours, Ray, wuz just ordinary folks. Like us, 'cept younger, and both veterans too like Denny 'n' Mike 'n' me. 'Bout time we got some more young folks livin' here! And Denny's plumb grateful to Miz Shezzie for helpin' him like you helped me, teachin' 'im how to float 'stead o' gimpin' along in that wheelchair. He can't say enough good things about her. Mike too, he's grateful, though Mike hardly ever says anything. Why, Denny's even gone back to work since he learned to do that levitatin' stuff. Funny, watchin' that old coot floatin' off the floor while he's cuttin' hair!"

"I guess so, Shorty. Mona doing all right too?"

"Shore, she needed to know how to do that levitatin' too. She was about to try sellin' her cafe 'til Mr. Ray did that joinin' thing, the same way you did it fer me. Nobody wuz gonna buy that place o' Mona's, so it's a pure blessing that she only needs to walk now when strangers are in town. Rest o' the time, she just levitates and brings coffee around. Pie, too. She bakes a pretty good pie, does Mona."

"Back to this photo, Shorty. You're chasing off elk, early in the morning, and a tourist snaps a picture. And sells it to the tabloids. You could stand a visit to Denny's barber stool too, you know. Old man with long white hair bushing out around your sleeping cap and a white beard floating in the breeze, wearing a union suit and herding elk across the road. But did you have to pick a road that's called the Extraterrestrial Highway? A road that runs near Area 51?"

"Aw, nobody calls it that 'cept on the map, and we never need to look at a map anyway. That feller from Area 51 wuz makin' a joke, like, anyway! He never saw no alien extraterrestrials, he wuz just pullin' their leg. And that tourist, he didn't have to call me that. It's a pure foolishness, that's what it is!"

"Maybe it's a good thing you were wearing that red union suit, Shorty. Otherwise the Las Vegas and Reno papers would have printed the story. But only the tabloids, that National thing, were going to run a photo of an old man floating along. Behind a herd of elk. Wearing a long, tasseled cap."

"Wal, yeah. I reckon it wuz some embarrassin', right enough. Me in m' underwear. But there wuz no reason fer them to say that. It's bull-crap, that's what it is. Print a picture and claim Santa Claus is an extraterrestrial that lives in Area 51! And herds elk 'stead o' reindeer. Wal, hogwash! Say, if you're gonna be in Mona's Cafe later this mornin', I'll buy you a cup o' coffee and a slice o' Mona's blueberry pie! I'm plumb gonna need help. Both o' them other old coots, Denny and Mike, are gonna be on my case because I had that picture o' me in the paper after you told us not to go flyin' around. Maybe if you're there they might let up on me.

"It's plumb embarrassin', that's what it is!"

Chapter 2

Unintended consequences; it was the story of T's life. There was no telling where Shorty's little adventure would end up, but T had the feeling it wouldn't be good. They'd spent years developing a place where they could disappear, and now one old man's accidental exposure might ruin it all. What if a major newspaper picked up the story? What if there had been a video of him flying along, merrily chasing a herd of elk away from his sheep? <Ray?>

<What's up, T?>

<We might have a problem, so I want to try to poison a story before it gets out of hand. It's Shorty; he managed to get himself photographed by a tourist, and he was flying along near the highway at the time while wearing a pair of red long johns and a matching sleeping cap. Heck, I'd have taken a picture of that, even if he hadn't been levitating! If there's a silver lining at all, the photo looks like it was taken using a cell phone so not much detail. I think we'll need to do the same thing we did back when that photo of you surfaced, but maybe do it a little different and not use the wizard props this time?

<It might,> Ray agreed. <What if we used Ana Maria in the photo? Blur her face a bit to make her hard to recognize and pose her in a bikini, while suspended by a birthday balloon with several more blurs overhead? Would that help?>

<Sure. Would she do it?>

<OK, you talk her into it and let me know when you're ready. If not her, then one of us; we can't use Shezzie because she's already fairly well known, and not just to the patients who visit her clinic. It would really make things worse if someone recognized her from the photo! Shorty's bad enough! Levitating—the Talent has already spread further than I ever intended, and I'm afraid of what will happen if it gets out of control. Somebody from the government will notice, and then we'll be on the run again.>

Ray soothed, <and I'll talk to her tonight. How are the investments doing?>

<Good. We've got a steady income now and no major expenses, so there's no need to cash in more of the bars. I was thinking that we might consider trying to open the mine for real, push an adit back toward that deposit I sensed. If it's as big as I think it is, our money concerns are gone forever.>

<Even if we do, T, we can't market the gold,> Ray cautioned, <or not very much of it. If word gets out that there's been a strike, the place will be overrun by weekend forty-niners! And all of them hot to prove they know more about mining than great-grandpa ever did! It wouldn't take much of that to put us on the run again, and I'd really rather not do that; once was enough!>

***

Ray had a new interest, raising Registered American Quarter Horses.

He'd built his small herd slowly, starting with a gimpy stallion. The horse had shown promise on the tracks, but then succumbed to injury. It's not uncommon; quarter horses begin their racing careers as two-year-olds, before their bones are fully developed. As a result, many are retired to become breeding stock at an age before ranch horses even begin serious training. A dozen mares had joined his small herd that first year. Two were descended from horses that had done well in reining discipline, others had sires known for producing offspring that did well as working cow horses.

Originally the breed had been do-everything generalist horses that could herd cattle during the week and race on weekends, but after breeders began specializing different types of animals had emerged. One branch still harkened to the days when quarter-mile sprinters gave the breed its name, others concentrated on reining capability, an event that required the horse to have a maximum of agility. Others, show animals, simply looked beautiful, and ranch-horse breeders sought that elusive 'cow sense' that was present to greater or lesser degree in all of the breed. Working cow horses simply had more of the trait, and were the mainstays of ranch work and competitions involving cattle. They were also used by the rodeo industry.

Ray hoped to breed back to more-generalist horses, but he'd also begun searching for breeds noted for endurance. His next purchase would likely be an Akhal-Teke or Trakehner, assuming negotiations went well, but adding Morgan blood to his stud at some point also interested him. Arabians were noted for endurance, but the breed had already been heavily bred into the quarter-horse lineage, sometimes directly and other times by crossing quarter horses with thoroughbreds. Ray shared the opinion of many breeders that modern quarter horses had too much of the thoroughbred in their pedigree. They had been crossbred to the point that as a breed, the legs were too delicate for ranch work.

Aside from his interest in quarter horses, gaited horses fascinated him, particularly the ancestral appaloosa which had been noted for endurance as well as a comfortable gait. It was rare nowadays for such a throwback to appear, but Ray had sources who would notify him should such a horse turn up. He'd considered Icelandics too, to be kept as a separate bloodline, because they are arguably the most comfortable of riding horses. He'd finally abandoned the idea, accepting that the breed was unsuited for Nevada's climate

Ray had money, space, and the time to pursue his hobby, and besides, he and Ana Maria loved riding the back country between the ranch headquarters and the mountains. Each had personal mounts consisting of a saddlebred and a Tennessee walking horse, all of them comfortable animals to ride. The four were kept apart from the quarter horses, either in the corral or the small field adjoining the barn, and from time to time they were turned out into the larger pasture.

Ana Maria had lately begun spending considerable time at the computer after the two returned from riding. Between short online stints, she spent long minutes pounding the keyboard and Ray wondered what she was doing. Research? What could she be researching? Had she decided to follow Shezzie and attend medical school, perhaps nursing school? Could it be she was no longer content to serve as the clinic's receptionist and clerical assistant? Well, she'd tell him when she was ready. Meantime, telepaths are better off not snooping too closely into the minds of family members if they expect domestic tranquility.

***

Ray commed T the next morning. <T, I've been thinking about what you said. I think we should push toward that ore deposit. We could look at the mine, maybe get an idea of what we'd need to do if we decided to go ahead with development? I know I suggested we wait, but I've been looking for horses and there's a Trakehner available but it won't be cheap. We're living on our investments, but that won't support buying more blooded horses. We could at least take a look at the ore, if it's not too hard to get at, and if we sold some of it—assuming you're right and a large deposit is there—we could keep the remaining bars from the cache as an emergency reserve. What do you think?>

<Not all that safe!> T cautioned. <We'd still have to go in and clear out the rubble, and our bubbles won't protect us against a cave-in. It might keep us from being hit by falling rock, but we'd still need to breathe and being buried alive would not be a good thing! I agree that we'll need to inspect the shoring in the tunnel and replace anything that looks rotted. We've only been a few yards back in the mine shaft so far, just enough to support the story that we found the bars there, but if we're going to be working at the tunnel's face we'll have to have solid supports all the way to the end. No offense, Ray, I'm not willing to trust our lives to the training you had a long time ago using different explosives. You can consult, but we'll need a pro to do the inspecting! Fortunately, I may know someone.>

<Someone you met while you were talking to the mining companies?> Ray asked.

<No, but that's where I heard about him. I met him in Afghanistan, briefly, because he lost a leg shortly after I got there. Not on one of my missions, but a week later on a helicopter insertion near the border; I remember, because it happened right after the squad I worked with at the time went back to their parent company. His squad was attached to an infantry platoon that was sent out on a QRF mission, and the chopper was shot down.

<Some bright fellow back then had decided I should only use people who didn't know me, so someone from the parent company always picked the troops to go with me on patrol. For all I know, my patrols were used as a punishment detail, or maybe the troops ended up assigned to me because the First Sergeant figured he could spare them. Just maybe he'd decided that a little extra patrolling might be just the thing to show his bad bargains that he wasn't pleased! Anyway, the result of all this was that instead of being exposed to people in one company who might figure out that I was different, I ended up working with troops from several battalions. I met a lot of soldiers, even if only for a short time, and I still remember a lot of the names.> T was silent, remembering. Some of those soldiers hadn't survived.

<Anyway, Bobby got out of the Army after the crash, with a prosthetic leg that fits on just below the knee. The mining people I talked to said you'd never know it was fake unless you'd been around him for a while, it's that good. I don't think he's working in the mines now, at least not where he was when I heard about him. I think he's doing blasting work for a quarry, maybe a strip mine, in the east. He might be interested in working with us.>

<He'd know you as Tagliaferro, T. Could be a problem.>

T sent. <He might have heard I was captured, and if it comes up I'll just tell him the story about the Taliban releasing me. I can also claim the records are sealed because it was an intelligence matter, because they thought I was some kind of spook anyway. He was an infantry corporal when he got dinged, maybe a sergeant by the time he was medically retired, so pretty low on the totem pole; he wouldn't have picked up anything that could hurt us.>

Ray let the matter drop after that.

During the following week he tried to track down the rumor regarding the Trakehner mare and that occupied his free time. That was usually in short supply anyway.

Even by surreptitious use of his PK, and with the help of a stable hand they'd hired, the horses took a lot of care. Feeding every morning and evening, cleaning out the water troughs to control algae buildup, mucking out the stalls and dumping the used bedding straw and dung in whichever pasture wasn't being used, these things had to be done daily. Then there was exercising the animals, seeing to their hooves, periodic visits by the veterinarian and the farrier, caring for the numerous pieces of equipment...

Just catching up the horses and saddling them for their afternoon rides took time. Tacking up consisted of haltering the selected animals and currying them as a first step, a real chore in spring when the animals began shedding their thick winter coats, but even in summer brushing them down took time. Then examine the hooves, pick out any embedded dirt and ensure there were no rocks trapped in the nooks and crannies, or the horses would become lame. Put the saddle pad in place, laying it over the withers before sliding it rearwards. In this way, the hair on the back was smoothed and the pad would lay flat. Wrinkles in the pad or hairs forced to lie in an unnatural pattern caused sores. Horses are in many ways delicate animals.

Lift the heavy western saddle, ease it into place, cinch it snug by passing the latigo through the saddle's buckle. Tie off the extra leather while making sure the knot lay flat, important for security and rider comfort as well as comfort for the horse. Fasten the rear girth leaving a two-fingers-width gap beneath the leather and the horse's belly. This was enough to avoid irritating the animal, not enough that he could somehow put a rear hoof through the gap between belly and strap. Lift the stirrup from where it hung over the saddle horn, lower it into position for the rider. The well-trained horses stood quietly while all this was going on.

Pick up the bridle, do a quick inspection of the leather reins. Ray used 'broken-snaffle' bits, jointed in the center to flex and allow the horse's tongue room to work. Warm the bit in the hands during cold weather before easing it into the horse's mouth. The bars inside the mouth, the area of the gums just behind the teeth, are sensitive and horses resent the cold metal of the bit. Ease the ears through the headstall, in front of the crown strap and slide that into place over the poll. Buckle the cheek strap, not too tight. Pass the reins over the saddle, letting the knot rest loosely on the horn. Elapsed time, five minutes, most of it taken up by currying the animal and picking out the hooves.

Ray had chuckled silently while learning how to tack up the horses. Somehow, the necessary routine never seemed to find its way into movies! Generations of people grew up believing horses were robust instead of delicate, and saddles magically appeared when the hero was ready to gallop after the villain!

The horses finally ready, he and Ana Maria could go for a pleasant ride, perhaps dismount in the back country and walk around if something caught their interest. Return before dusk and untack the horses. Saddles and pads had to be stored on their racks, the pads laid with the hair side up to air out and dry. Hang the headstalls on hooks in the barn. Curry the horses, then allow them to roll in the pasture. Put out feed, a flake of hay and a measured amount of grain for each.

Ray used five mangers for feeding the riding horses. Each animal would feed for a moment, then amble over to the next manger, following a strict dominance order. The alpha animal would bluff, lowering his head and baring the teeth; the lower ranking horse would shy and move away, only to push the next-lower horse away from another feeder. He often watched the byplay, just enjoying the company of the horses. It was quite common for one to approach him at the corral fence and wait quietly while Ray gently scratched between its ears or along the jaw.

Ray had his own memories to overcome. Attacking gangsters and falling cliffs faded when he was with the horses. Nowadays it seemed those things had happened to a different person in another world.

Chapter 3

<Ray?>

<I'm here, T. What's up?>

<That's what he said. I'll try to refine the ore body's location while we're waiting. Maybe I can triangulate, get an idea of size and depth as well as direction.>

<No, I haven't been to the cafe for a month. Last I heard, she was doing fine. She doesn't have to walk nearly as much now that she can levitate.>

<I'm not sure if the pain from walking did it or if she just wants to spend time with her grandchildren, but she's moving to Las Vegas. She's selling the cafe, so that might take some time.>

<Yeah, Ray, I saw her in Mona's with Shorty. Cute little tyke, sharp, too. Those eyes don't miss much!>

<Nope, I had enough of that when I accidentally connected with her that first time. She can keep her privacy, I'll keep mine, such as it is. Anyway, I've got stuff to do, so I'll comm you later.>

T broke the connection and thought about what he'd need to take along while he was working back in the mountains.

***

Ray gassed the Hyundai up at the convenience store. The Santa Fe was nice, but it wasn't his Volvo; Ray felt a pang whenever he thought about leaving the car behind at Battleship Rock. Something about the feel, perhaps that instant acceleration... Still, it was gone now, crunched under a house-sized boulder when Battleship Rock fell. The two had been lucky, very lucky, to get out before being buried by the collapse.

Levitation had saved them, taken them into hiding, then over the canyon wall after the helicopter departed. A late-night sneak into Albuquerque to recover the motor home, still parked at the KOA, then tie up loose ends before vanishing again. No, tearing up their lives and going back into hiding wasn't how any of them wanted to live. Perhaps Shorty would be in the cafe. If not, Mona served good pie and acceptable coffee. Ray headed for the cafe.

Shorty was indeed there, but so was his granddaughter, sitting alone at a table within hearing distance. She had a soda and a slice of the blueberry pie, now half gone. Apparently she only sat with her grandfather when the two were alone, not when he was gossiping at a table filled with friends. But maybe she would get bored and walk out of earshot long enough for him to caution Shorty?

Ray sat down at the table with the old men, waiting for his opportunity. He no longer felt out of place, despite the forty-year-plus age difference. They shared a secret that bridged the gap. But the little girl stayed nearby, content to sip her soda and eat her pie. Ray tried once again to comm Shorty, but as had happened before he got no reply. The old man had acquired the ability to levitate, but not the telepathy; for that matter, none of the old men had mastered communication. All could levitate to an extent and Mike had a smattering of psychokinesis, but it was more curiosity than reliable Talent.

Strange how that had worked out, only the original four had developed the suite of Talents. Perhaps it had to do with T, how strong he was. He had been the original pattern, the one who had melded with Shezzie, and the two had then melded with Ray. Ana Maria had somehow picked up PK, almost certainly from Ray, and her other talents manifested only after she melded with T and Shezzie. Was it possible that Talent depended on the source of the awakening as well as the native ability of the receiver?

Well, if he couldn't talk to Shorty, he could at least take part in the discussion at the table. "Strange weather," he said.

"Sure is, Mr. Ray. Never seen this much cloud cover. Maybe it's that Area 51 place, messing with them space aliens. What do you think?"

"That's ridiculous, Mike! Why would space aliens, even if there were any, be stirring things around in Little Dry Creek? I can see it now, they land their flyin' saucer in front of Mona's and holler, "Take me to your leader. But first, gimme a piece of pie and a cup of coffee!" The rest chuckled at Denny's sally.

"Probably won't stop in to see you, Denny, because all the pictures show the space aliens bein' baldheaded. If there was any of 'em left, that is, after them people in Roswell got through doin' autopsies on 'em."

"I heard tell that was faked!"

"Aw, Shorty, next thing you're gonna claim is that Santa Claus doesn't live in Area 51 neither! But we know better, 'cause that tourist got a picture of him! He probably ought to see Denny though, get that beard trimmed up don't you think?" The others smirked and laughed as Shorty squirmed. "I like that other picture better, though, the one in a bikini. That lady shore looked familiar!"

Ray finally gave up and headed home. Maybe Shorty would be more careful. He'd certainly been embarrassed enough!

***

Ray drove home and checked on the horses. '

Mundo, the hired hand, had been busy. With nothing else to do, he'd worked on the tack, saddle-soaping it and applying a light treatment with neat's-foot oil. The main horse herd was enjoying the pasturage, green now because of the light rain that had fallen a week before. Strange, indeed; this weather pattern was unheard of for the deserts of western North America, and it appeared to be localized over southwestern Nevada. The other dry states could only look on in envy.

Ray went in to see if Ana Maria was busy.

She was, but this time she was ready to take a break. "Ray, I've been meaning to tell you something. I've decided to try writing. I was bored at work, we hardly ever get patients in and when we do it's not serious, so I started taking notes. I know you and the others have money, but I got to thinking that I'd like an income of my own. If I can get a book written, maybe I can publish it. There are people who publish online, and some of them make thousands of dollars!"

So much for the idea that maybe Ana Maria was considering medical school! Ray glanced at her and frowned. "How many of them make that much money?"

"Well, not many, apparently," she admitted. "But I won't know if I don't try, will I? Besides, I'm improving my English by writing."

"Your English is fine, Ana Maria! After all, you were taking college classes in English."

"I know! But writing a class assignment, and writing for strangers...it's different. I want to get it right."

Ray gave up and logged on to his email account, where he found a message from his agent; the prospective deal involving the Trakehner had fallen through. The agent was vague on details, something to do with medical issues or a genetic test. At any rate, the horse wouldn't be for sale until sometime in the future, if then.

Ray sighed and typed a response. For some reason, he wasn't as interested in the news as he expected. Most likely it had to do with what Ana Maria had revealed. He hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed when her book didn't sell.

***

The clouds were still around three weeks later. The national weather channel had picked up on the story, but no one had an explanation. Clouds, occasional rain—the valley hadn't looked so green in living memory!

Some of Ray's stored hay had gotten wet and developed mold. He'd sold it to a cattle rancher, who bought it because cows can eat hay that would sicken a horse, but Ray had lost money on the resale. 'Cow hay', what he'd sold his as, was cheaper than horse hay by half, but colic was to be avoided at all costs. Cows regurgitated their cud and chewed it; horses couldn't do that, couldn't even vomit if they ate spoiled food. As a result, horse colic often killed.

He and 'Mundo had put up better shelters after losing the hay. The only bright spot was that he needed less hay now, because the horses grazed on newly-productive pasturage. Indeed, they were fat and sassy, clearly in need of exercise. Maybe 'Mundo could do that; T and Bobby were busy preparing the mine shaft for reopening, meaning it was an excellent time for Ray to check in with them. Tomorrow would be time enough, though. He and Ana Maria would have supper first and a glass of wine, and who could say what might happen after that?

***

"Ray, you know Bobby, right?"

"Right, T, I met him the day after he got here. How's it going?"

"Pretty good. I did a survey like you wanted and while there's not much rot, those timbers are simply too old, not to mention that some are cracked. Easiest solution, replace all the shoring starting at the adit mouth and moving back, and I'm already doing that. Like I explained to T, it's expensive if you don't find anything after we extend the adit, but better safe than sorry. A cave-in, even if no one is working inside at the time—you'll be up to your neck in reporters as soon as the story gets out!"

"What are you using, T?" Ray asked.

"The replacement shoring is four by six Douglas Fir, number one grade which is better than the original, and the vertical supports are in two parts that can be adjusted for height. The old ones used wedges at the bottom to lift the support, and some are rotted. We tension the new ones in place with a screw jack, then secure the two parts together by using friction clamps and nails. Bobby is satisfied with that, since we won't be operating the mine for very long. We'll just get in, explore to see if that old map we found is right, then get out."

<Map, T?>

<Could be. OK, back to speech.> "T said you're a mining engineer, Bobby?"

"I graduated," Bobby confirmed, "but hard rock mining jobs were down again at the time. The price of metal was in a slump, mining wasn't happening, and people were being laid off. I got an explosives license while I waited for something to turn up and decided I liked it. There are always jobs for a blaster, anything from mining to quarrying to demolition of buildings, even excavating rocky ground for swimming pools. I may go back to engineering at some point, but for now I'm happy blowing stuff up. I've been meaning to ask you something, Ray; did you ever serve in Afghanistan?"

"I did, office weenie though. I don't recall ever meeting you."

"Don't think we ever did, not formally anyway because I didn't hang with the desk apes, but I've got a good memory for faces. I think I saw you once, maybe while I was running convoys."

"I did the intelligence briefing for several convoys before they went out," Ray confirmed.

"That's probably it," Bobby agreed. "Anyway, always good to work with people who were there. More trustworthy, the way I figure it. I estimate another week, no more than two to finish up the shoring if that next load of timbers gets here on time. After that I'll want to run a couple of test shots, probably try using a general ANFO mix to see how the rock cracks. I can tailor the mix if I need to, change the ammonium nitrate amount depending on what the tests show, easier and faster than ordering a custom slurry from an explosives company. This isn't a big job, at least I don't expect it to be, so I doubt there would be much interest in what we're doing."

"What else will you need, Bobby?"

"Usual stuff, safety fuse, igniters, electric and nonelectric blasting caps, blasting galvanometer to test electric circuits, crimpers, detonating cord for branch lines—I'll get you a list. You've got my certificate, you'll need that to get the explosives shipped in, but I prefer to make my own ANFO slurry on site."

"It was a lot easier when I used Army explosives, Bobby! All I had to do was requisition a kit of the tools and the necessary consumable materials!"

"Yeah, Ray, but blasting in civilian applications is different. Anyway, I'm glad I only have to supervise and set the charges. T said you guys will do your own mucking out?"

"That's the plan," Ray agreed. We can bore the holes to your specs too. You load the holes, set the booster charge and the initiation system and supervise the blast, then go back to the motel and lounge in the pool."

"I avoid pools since I lost that leg; people tend to stare. Anyway, I need to see about a new leg; this one's been giving me trouble."

"It won't stop you from working, will it?"

"I doubt it. The old leg is showing its age, I guess, and I should have replaced it six months ago. But I was busy at the time."

"Maybe we can help you, or Shezzie can. If you're sure, maybe plan on doing the test shot in a week?

"That should work. The guys you hired will have the shoring in by then and I'll tell you where I want the boreholes. But unless you're using an experienced contractor, you'll have to be careful because placing the boreholes is critical. You've got to put them where I tell you, and they've got to be as deep as I tell you."

"Not a problem, Bobby. We can handle that part."

"Good enough. Well, I need to get to work, earn that money Chief T is paying me."

"Chief T?"

"Oh, sure. I met him in Afghanistan. I wouldn't forget him; weird dude, no fucking idea of how to conduct a patrol. Lucky he didn't get his ass blown away!"

Chapter 4

A sudden, heavy rainstorm had fallen in the mountains.

The year was 1850, and an unusual number of people were crossing the territory. Some were heading for the California gold fields; others had begun prospecting along the way, and one such miner barely escaped the flash flood generated by the storm. The roar alerted him and he stopped in time, then watched as the flood's crest rumbled down the gully. Composed of debris and rocks as much as water the wave passed, depositing some of the overburden along the way.

The flood crest soon subsided, leaving mostly muddy water puddles in its wake, and by late afternoon it was no more than wet sand in the bottom of the wash. The prospector decided it was safe to cross and did so, leading his burro. In later years he described his journey and inadvertently gave the place a name, Little Dry Creek. In this way the 'creek' became part of local lore: "Go north after you cross Little Dry Creek and head up into the mountains. There's good water up there, but be careful when you approach the spring 'cause Whisky Jim ain't much on company. If you don't already know him, he's plumb suspicious, apt to shoot first and say howdy afterwards. That hole he's diggin' ain't never paid off, but he's sure hopeful. Lives on bacon, beans, sourdough biscuits, and whisky. He'll share his food if he knows you, but not the whisky. I wouldn't want a drink of that stuff anyhow. Worst kind of rotgut if you ask me, but he likes it."

The burro had escaped eventually, joining the others already living in the desert, and Whisky Jim's bones lay somewhere near his mine. But the name he'd given the gully lived on.

***

Mona had needed something to do after her husband died. She had a few acres and a small house, but was unable to work the land except for a small garden. This provided vegetables for her own consumption at first, but she needed a source of income. With help from her friends, she enlarged the kitchen and added even more space to the front porch, essentially doubling the size of her original house. The enclosed front porch became the dining room, and Mona's Cafe soon grew to define Little Dry Creek. Like Mona herself, it was wryly humorous, too stubborn to die, and too far off the track to ever amount to much, hanging on by grit and determination more than anything else.

Someone with a sense of humor and too much time on his hands soon stuck a sign on the bridge that crossed the gully. It was always good for a grin, seeing that 'No Fishing' sign on the bridge over the dry arroyo, and soon another sign sprouted near the lone cottonwood that existed on whatever moisture occasional floods left behind. The water evaporated almost as soon as it arrived, but some remained trapped under the sands, enough to nourish the half-century-old cottonwood tree. The Little Dry Creek National Forest had never made it onto state maps, but along with the No Fishing sign it helped define the nature of the town and its inhabitants; the people in Little Dry Creek were able to laugh at themselves, a quality that was uncommon in more-respectable towns.

Now, Little Dry Creek wasn't. A small stream, fed by newly-activated springs in the mountains, meandered under the bridge before sinking into the desert some twenty miles south of the settlement. There were no fish so far, but a couple of people claimed to have spotted stonefly nymphs and gossips figured it was only a matter of time before someone planted a few minnows to eat them.

The place had seemed tailor-made to Ray and T. They'd settled quietly into the community when it consisted of Mona and a dozen antiquated natives but now it was growing. The growth pleased few of the locals, who liked being out in the middle of nowhere. T and Ray counted themselves among this group.

<T, there's a bunch of strangers in town.>

<I've seen them, or at least some of them! There's a news van, one with a big reflector antenna on the roof, and also what looks like some kind of portable weather station east of town. They look harmless enough, but scientists being what they are, they're likely to see things we'd rather they didn't, things like the load of mine timbers that rolled through yesterday on the way to our place. The only good news is that the reporters look to be pretty low in the scheme of things. They aren't filming for 60 Minutes, they're asking if anyone's seen space aliens out of Area 51! But even so, I'd rather they were snooping somewhere else!>

But it wasn't; T's precognition Talent had failed him this time. The clouds came back, and soon another, larger, van filled with instruments arrived next to the weather observatory. The observers left Mona's parking lot and took up temporary residence east of town in a motor home parked near the van.

Mona had a hard time finding seats for all the new people when they showed up at the café!

***

T had hired a pair of Mexican laborers to do the shoring, working under Bobby's direction, and had discussed keeping them on to muck out the tailings after Bobby fired the explosives that blew rock loose from the tunnel face. The new hires liked the idea; the work was easier than picking fruit in California and T paid better! While they worked, T ranged the hills behind the mine, trying to refine his mental image of the mineral deposit. Plotting distance, depth, and direction in a notebook, he planned where he wanted the adit to go. He worried about flooding, wondering—hoping!—that the recent rains wouldn't percolate through the rock and seep into the shaft. The possibility couldn't be dismissed, and if severe enough they might be shoring up a mine that couldn't be worked.

Ray had his own reason for being gloomy. His horses, accustomed to the desert, were showing signs of hoof problems. Constantly exposed to wet grass, the hooves had become softer. The stallion had already come up lame and others would likely follow. Despite their genetics, the rule remained: no hoof, no horse, and there had been instances when horses had to be put down after the hoof cracks extended to the corona. The coronary band would stop the growth of the crack, but the injured hoof would never repair itself adequately. Farriers used butterfly clamps as a stopgap, but weakened hooves prevented the horses from having a normal life; Ray had cause to be worried.

The riding horses were kept in the stalls, only being allowed to roam the pasture when the ground dried. Their hooves were still healthy, but Ray hadn't wanted to ride without Ana Maria. For now, she was still immersed in her writing. Truth be told, she rarely had time to spend with Ray and there was only so much time he was willing to spend working with the horses.

Ray moped, unwilling to expose himself to the strangers. They were found often in Mona's, more than the former group of regulars, so he had taken to avoiding the café, and Mike now hung out at Denny's Barber Shop.

Denny had dug out a coffeepot, ancient the last time it had been used. Plugging it in had resulted in a pop and the lights had gone out until Denny replaced the fuse. But the old coffeepot was dead beyond resurrection. The convenience store stocked coffee but not a coffeepot, so Ray had been pressed into service; he ordered an automatic coffeemaker online. Mike had paid for it, on condition that he got to drink coffee free whenever he was in the barber shop. Denny fumed that he'd gotten the worst of the deal, but kept the pot going. Shorty occasionally tried to join his old friends at the barbershop, but granddaughter Libby had given him a patented reproachful look. Defeated, Shorty took her to Mona's and they sat at a tiny table Mona had put in the corner for their use. The 'Reserved' sign got funny looks and a few giggles, but Shorty and Libby had a place to sit while Shorty wished he could be at the barbershop and Libby enjoyed her pie and milk.

Young people often have astounding metabolisms. Libby never seemed to gain weight. Perhaps it was exercise...she was constantly on the go...or worry. She was staying with Shorty because her mother and father had separated and divorce seemed likely.

***

<T?>

<How's it going, Ray?>

<Town's changing. I've stopped in at Mona's and the place is full of strangers! We never see Denny or Mike now, and it looks like Shorty's going to be keeping his granddaughter full time because his son is divorcing the kid's mother. Rough time. The little girl doesn't want to live with either one, so Shorty expects to keep her until things settle down. Mona thinks the girl will eventually decide to go back and live with her mother in Las Vegas; pretty lonely out here, even staying with grandpa. No other kids to talk to, and Shorty doesn't even have a TV yet.>

<Yeah. Any luck narrowing down where that ore deposit is?>

<I'm close. I can get it to maybe twenty yards. I can't do better than that until we extend the tunnel. We should start blasting in a few days.>

<I'll come out when you start. I saw Bobby in town yesterday.>

<At Mona's?> T asked.

<Where else? He either likes her pies or he's sweet on Mona!> The two chuckled. Mona was skinny and wrinkled, not to mention fifty years older than Bobby.

<Bobby thinks he recognized a guy he saw in Mona's,> T sent.

<Interesting. Wonder why he's here? You're the only one with a mine, T, and we haven't started mining anyway. The bars we sold were all marketed through a connection in Mexico, and I don't see how he could know about that.>

<Maybe because I bought shoring timbers and clamps?> T mused. <If he had an in at the company I bought them from, he might have smelled something. Why would timbers be shipped to a place where there's no mine? But it might not be the same guy because Bobby wasn't sure. He only saw him a time or two and they never worked the same jobs.>

<Well, let me know when you plan to shoot. Anything is better than rattling around the house, watching the grass grow and hooves turn to mush! I don't know what I'll do if the rain keeps on.>

<Bitch, bitch, bitch! Last month you were hoping it would rain!>

<Yeah. Farmers and ranchers, hard to keep us happy! There's always something to worry about.>

<I'll be in town later. I want to sit in Mona's for a while, see if I pick up anything from the people hanging out there and if that mysterious guy shows up, try to read him.>

<Huh. Do I detect a faint trace of unhappiness with your love life?>

***

Sixty Minutes didn't pick up the story but one of the national news programs did, and as a result other reporters came to town.

Half a dozen motor homes were soon parked on Mona's land. Her parking lot had always been far more generous than the number of customers warranted, so she had the room and besides, they paid for the privilege. Mona, in face, charged what she thought was an exorbitant fee for parking and the visitors paid without a murmur! She fumed and decided she'd rented the parking spaces too cheap, and besides, the constant murmur of generators during the night disturbed her sleep.

One of the motor homes was leased to a human-interest reporter. He filmed the No Fishing sign over the tiny creek, added footage of the Little Dry Creek National Forest sign and the thriving cottonwood tree, and soon resurrected the story featuring Shorty as Santa Claus. Fortunately no outsider had connected the blurry photo with Shorty, but it might happen. Area 51 aficionados drove through town, but rarely stopped. They were only slightly deranged, after all. Space aliens in Little Dry Creek? Preposterous! And the photo of 'Santa Claus'? An obvious fake!

Ray researched the price of gold on the spot market. If T could indeed bring in the mine and sell the ore while the price was high, it could be very profitable. His thoughts were interrupted by a comm.

<Ray? We plan to shoot tomorrow. Still want to come out?>

<Wouldn't miss it. What time?>

<I'll be there. Are you keeping your crew around to muck out?>

<I'll be there. Congratulations; you guys have done more than I expected.>

<You're a disgrace to mining, T! Miners are supposed to be optimists.>

***

Ray joined T and Bobby the next morning.

"Morning, guys. I brought a couple of thermoses if anyone wants coffee."

"Maybe later, Ray, I want to get this done. The ANFO is already in place, so all I need to do now is put in the dynamite boosters. I'll want you two well back when I cap the dynamite and emplace it."

"What kind of circuit are you using?"

"You know about using explosives?"

"I've used military explosives, Bobby. TNT mostly and some C4, but never what you're using."

"I added a little perlite to the ANFO, works better, I think, but you've got to use a booster to be sure of setting it off. That's what the dynamite is for. As for the firing circuit, I've pre-prepped the branch lines and sealed them. The caps are protected inside 'socks' of thick cellulose cushioning to keep them from contacting anything until I'm ready to emplace them. I'll be the only one handling those. I've got a ring main laid ready in the tunnel, and I'll prime it after the branch lines are in place and tied in. I've got a grounded and shunted wire for the electrical cap, it's already laid in the tunnel too. I've only been waiting for you to do the final steps, prime and walk out. All I'll have to do then is test the electrical circuit and if it tests good, fire it."

"Go to it. Just talk to me while you're working, if it's not too much trouble."

"I can do that. The first thing I want to do is install the dynamite boosters and tie everything in to the ring main using the branch lines I prepared. After that, I'll test the electric cap with the blasting galvanometer. That's it, under those sandbags over there, and I'll do the testing from here. After the electric circuit is ready, except for removing the shunt at this end, I'll light the safety fuse. I've timed it and twenty minutes is plenty. I'll be out of the tunnel in less than five minutes, so I've got a fifteen-minute safe margin. As soon as I'm out, I'll hook up the electric cap to the blasting machine and fire it. The non-elec system is for insurance in case the elec cap doesn't fire, but I've never had one I tested misfire."

"You've done a few of these, have you?"

"Probably not more than a few hundred, Ray. Don't worry about it, I know what I'm doing."

Ray joined T and they watched Bobby work. Soon he called to them that he was going in to do the final steps and he'd be out within five minutes.

Five minutes passed. Then it was six minutes, and the time continued to pass very slowly.

"T, shouldn't he be out by now?"

"Yeah. I can't imagine what's taking him this long," T worried. "The caps fit into wells in the dynamite and there's a plastic screw cap to hold them in place. All his consumables were already in place, nothing to do there. Something's wrong."

"How much longer?"

"I'm going in now," T decided. "We're down to less than twelve minutes if he lit the fuse. You stay here, it won't take two of us to see if something's wrong."

Ray fidgeted, and waited. T had gone in a full minute ago. He poured a cup of coffee, then poured it out without drinking.

<Ray! I can see Bobby. He's down; looks like that fake leg gave out, part of it's on the ground and Bobby's not moving. I'm going in to pick him up. Don't come in, Ray, I can see smoke! He lit the fuse before he fell!>

<Shit, T! Are you sure!>

<I'm sure. Stay out. I hope Bobby was right about that fuse, that it doesn't burn faster than he expected!>

Chapter 5

"I'm all right," Bobby muttered. "I hit my head when that damned piece of plastic junk collapsed and it stunned me for a minute. I'm glad you got me out before the charge blew!"

"Your fuse was cut a little generous, Bobby. I had time to carry you out before it blew."

"I felt you pick me up, Chief," Bobby agreed, but you didn't walk me out of there."

"Sure I did! How else do you think we got out in time?"

"I don't know, but it felt like we were floating. And moving way faster than walking!"

"You were stunned worse than you thought, Bobby! I'll take you in to the Clinic and Shezzie can have a look at you, make sure you didn't get hurt worse than you think."

"I'm okay," Bobby protested. "I'm fine, except for not having a leg! The part that broke off is under the rock, if it didn't get blown up when the charges fired, so I guess I'll be gimping until I can get a new one delivered. I won't be able to set charges until then."

"Don't worry about it, Bobby. We'll work something out. Maybe you can supervise Ray, he can be your gofer."

***

Ray and T helped Bobby to Ray's SUV. Showing surprising agility, he hopped along on his remaining leg while the two supported him by holding his arms over their shoulders. The same system got him into the Clinic after they arrived, and Bobby got priority service. Ana Maria reached for a clipboard of forms, but Ray told her he'd deal with paperwork later and she laid the clipboard aside.

Shezzie came in as soon as Bobby was on the examination table, sitting on the end with the remains of his prosthetic leg removed. She glanced briefly at the device before beginning her exam.

"Bobby fell when the leg broke, hit his head we think," T said. "He was groggy, so I felt it was best for you to have a look at him. He'll need a new leg too, so maybe you can help him order a replacement. It'll need to be fitted, right?"

"Probably, unless his measurements are on file somewhere, but I can help. You two can wait outside; I'll call you if I need you." Medical routine now firmly in charge, Ray and T went out to where Ana Maria was filling in paperwork. T supplied the name and when she asked "Insurance?" Ray replied, "I'll take care of it. List it as 'privately insured'." She nodded and completed the necessary forms. While there might be informality between the four of them, various licensing, regulatory, and taxing authorities would doubtless frown at such!

<What happened, T?> Shezzie sent.

<Later; he's talking now and I have to concentrate.>

"How long have you been here, Doc?" Bobby asked.

"Since I got my license, about a year ago. Why do you ask?"

"There's not much business out here for a doctor."

"You might be surprised! People come from a long way off, because there's no place closer. Ranches from more than a hundred miles away send people here, some because they'd rather deal with us than one of the hospitals. I send serious cases on of course, but quick-care clinics like this one are common nowadays. We've even got a heliport behind the clinic."

Inevitably, the sign had appeared: 'Little Dry Creek International Airport'. Like the other signs, no one admitted to having placed it. Perhaps the space aliens had escaped from Area 51. They might have a sense of humor too. But probably not; if they'd planted the sign, it would have read 'Interplanetary Airport'.

"I've had enough flying for one day, Doc! Chief T made good time, getting me out of that mine."

"Yes, he's quite strong. I'm sure he carried you as fast as he could."

"Known him long, Doc?"

"Several years. We're a couple, you know. We came here together after I finished medical school and got my license."

"Are you involved in the mining, too?"

"No, T and Ray handle that. They don't practice medicine and I don't do mining." The two grinned at each other. "Bobby, you don't appear to be injured. If you have any problems, give me a call. Do you already have a source to replace your leg prosthesis? And was it fitting satisfactorily before it broke?"

"It was comfortable, Doc, up until the last week or so. I'll call the company and see if there's a new leg design. They're doing a lot of work now, developing fake legs. Lots of guys like me, came back from Afghanistan missing important parts."

"You seem to have adapted very well. Handling explosives and walking on a prosthesis wouldn't seem to go together!"

"Some guys stay on active duty," Bobby shrugged. "I heard of one who runs marathons on his prosthesis! At least mine looks like a leg, not one of those blade things, but maybe the blade wouldn't have broken. They're steel, maybe some other kind of metal."

"Yes," Shezzie agreed, "there's been considerable progress since I left Afghanistan."

"You were there too? Did you meet Chief T over there?"

Shezzie hesitated, aware she'd given Bobby more information than she'd intended. "I did, but I wasn't a doctor then."

"Well, I was a grunt, we didn't see a lot of women, and anyway I wasn't there very long. Afghanistan to Landstuhl General Hospital, then wave the Army goodbye."

<T?>

<What's up, Shezzie?>

<I've been picking up fragments of what Bobby's thinking and he's suspicious. He saw something in Afghanistan that puzzled him, while he was on patrol with you and he heard rumors, too. The troops thought you were lucky, and after a while some thought you were just too lucky.>

<Crap! He's not going to believe I carried him out on foot, is he?>

<I'll come in,> T sent. <Maybe I can talk to him.> He knocked on the door and without waiting for an answer, went in. Shezzie was sitting at her computer, updating the file that Ana Maria had started. "Guess you're all right, Bobby. Probably your head's too hard to get injured by a piece of rock!"

"Yeah, I'm lucky, and I guess we both are. You had that reputation, back when I first met you."

"Did that bother you, working for a guy who was 'lucky'?" T asked.

"Not then, and not now, actually. I just don't want to be there when the luck runs out!"

"What if it was more than luck, Bobby?" T asked casually. "What if I could help my luck along?"

"Then it wouldn't run out, would it? But T, I work around explosives. I need to know everything there is to know about your 'luck'. You're not doing anything electrical, are you?"

"Maybe," T admitted. "Not always, but maybe part of the time. I just don't know, and I've never tried to find out."

"Don't do whatever you do when I'm setting up an electrical blasting circuit, OK? That's very bad for my health!"

"Understood. No reason for me to do electrical things when you're blasting."

"Feel like telling me the rest of the story, Chief? I always knew you were too lucky to be true."

<Shezzie, I think we should try a meld. It might not work, though. If he doesn't have a little natural talent, nothing will happen but it won't hurt to try. I think he's been up-front with us, and I have reason to trust his judgment.>

<Go for it,> Shezzie sent. <I'll link with you.>

"Think good thoughts while I explain it to you, Bobby." He had time for a half smile to form, I felt Shezzie's touch, then felt for 'Bobby'. Minds aren't people, not exactly. Nothing, then a blurry image, fuzzy and fading, and then nothing. This wasn't like what I'd done with Shezzie, nor was it like what happened with Ray and Ana Maria. But like a radio trying to find the frequency, the blurriness faded and suddenly I had a sharp link.

Below stretched a brown expanse of ground, rocky and cut by shallow canyons. Ahead was the outpost; the Chinook was filled with palletized supplies, water, ammo, food, batteries, medical supplies, and a dozen soldiers were in the rear behind the pallets. They were all around me. I could see the ground passing outside, slow at first then faster as the big chopper descended rapidly. But not rapidly enough! Behind me, through the open hatch, I saw a hint of movement on the ground, then a flash. Smoke or dust, quickly fading, as a spark grew rapidly closer and disappeared above us, hidden by the upper hatch frame.

I had time to feel relief. The missile had missed, but then there was a bang overhead and shrapnel rattled against the Chinook's aluminum skin. The engine noise, part of the background along with the ordinary rattles and bumps from the rotors overhead, changed. A sudden loud grinding became a rising shriek that faded into nothing. Had the engine over-revved? Or had it stopped? Supplies strapped on their pallet lifted above the deck, floating as the aft end of the Chinook sank. Suddenly I was looking down at them! We mere humans had been unrestrained by cargo straps.

I brushed against the roof just before the rear wheels dragged against the ground and the forward cockpit section thumped down. The tires blew with loud bangs. The cabin buckled in the middle, then broke in two and I looked down at my foot. It had to be there somewhere, but it wasn't. It was just...gone. Something had cracked into my leg just below the knee and I waited for the pain... Hospital room, machines that clicked. A nurse bustled in and looked at the machine, then spared a glance for me.

"Doctor! He's awake!"

***

"What world? What are you talking about." Followed by, <Has this guy gone off the deep end?>

<That's the world I was talking about. There's a lot more to it, but I can't say how much of it will work for you. We can try, though.> I wanted to try. The link had been unlike any of the others. I now knew exactly how Bobby lost his leg, even the feeling. I wondered how much he knew about me? Probably more than I wanted him to know! And what of Shezzie?

Well. It would work itself out. Across the Room, Bobby, still seated, floated a few inches above the examination table. I probably had few secrets that Bobby didn't know about now.

***

Mona looked at the young man standing at her counter, waiting for him to order. "Can I get you something? Maybe a burger, something to drink? It's late for lunch, but I can fix you something. And we've got pie. Lots of people like my pies."

"I might try a slice later, but that's not what I'm here about. I hear you want to sell your place?"

"I do," Mona confirmed. "Are you in the market to buy? I've had a lot of business lately, but mostly I depend on locals and there aren't many of us. I probably sell more coffee and pie than burgers or fries. You won't get rich, but it's a nice little community, all friendly, so you'll make enough to pay your phone bill. There's a well and the solar plant behind the house takes care of electricity. I put the photovoltaic panels in five years ago, haven't had a bit of trouble. Standby batteries, deep-cycle lead-acid, are about two years old, they will last another year or three before they have to be replaced, and most months the electric company pays me. Not much, but every little bit helps and we don't need much out here. I have a small garden already and there's no reason why a young fellow like you couldn't farm the rest. Sell your extra vegetables through the café, the ones you don't need for yourself. I like asparagus and broccoli myself, but nobody's ever ordered those!"

"Sounds like what I'm looking for," the man agreed.

"You married?" Mona asked.

"Nope. She bailed when I lost. I think she had some idea that cooking show was gonna make me rich and famous, but I lost."

"You lost? What cooking show?"

"Wasn't all that much. I won the Chef's Challenge Surprise contest on the Homemaker's Channel. A bunch of us entered and the judges picked their favorites from what we cooked. The winner only got a little money, but you can always get a good job if you can say you won a cooking contest. Open your own restaurant and put that in the window, but I'd rather not mention that I went out in the first round. I don't think the judges liked spices as much as I do."

"You won't have that problem around here! Long as your cooking doesn't set fire to the tablecloth, they won't complain. Half of my garden is chili peppers! But if you're looking to meet some young lady here, I expect you're out of luck. Everybody around here is too old or too young."

"Trying to talk me out of buying?" he asked.

"No, just making sure you know what you're getting into."

"Well, I like what I see. Of course, there are other places I could buy and I'll just go look at one of those if we can't get together on price. I know what you're asking, but let's get real; how low are you willing to go? Like you said, the cafe isn't a moneymaker."

"Hey, I didn't even mention renting space to the motor homes! That's income too. Why, there's no reason you can't develop that. People will rent space and they'll come in for food while they're overnighting. The ones out there, they come in every night. There's no reason you can't make a durned good living out of this little cafe!"

Chapter 6

The clouds eventually vanished. The creek stopped flowing after a few weeks, and soon only puddles were left of the water. Puzzled scientists finally gave up and left Little Dry Creek. The reporters left, still curious, but with nothing to base their curiosity on. More importantly, there was nothing to write about, and soon the motorhomes vanished.

The old regulars returned to what had been Mona's Cafe. It was now Max's cafe, but he kept Mona's name on the sign. He might change it after the regulars became accustomed to seeing the young man behind the counter. But they'd only recently returned and Max saw no reason to introduce further change.

The temperature had not rebounded. A faint haze obscured the sun, not quite a cloud but no longer the clear skies of before. Locals assumed it was caused by the added humidity, the result of all the rain they'd enjoyed during the weeks before, but the moisture evaporated and still the haze persisted. So far, it hadn't come to the attention of the weather scientists, bit it was worrisome, particularly to T and Ray. They knew something unusual was going on, but had no idea what it could be.

Or who could be doing it.

***

Mining continued.

<Ray, can you bring that spool of det cord? I used the last of the other spool laying a secondary ring and branch lines behind the rock face.> As T had suggested, Ray did much of the explosives work under Bobby's direction.

A rented backhoe had dug out the new road-bed and a bulldozer had scraped the raw surface smooth. A diesel-powered roller then compacted the road-bed to support heavy traffic, and a labor crew, hired at the suggestion of T's original two employees, had laid a simple track of steel rails from just behind the headwall to the tailings dump. A section of side-track located just past the shaft's entrance lay alongside the new road, which ran parallel to the section of side-track but eight feet below track level. Trucks could park on the road while the ore was being transferred; it was simple to position and tilt the ore cars, and the contents slid down a short ramp to fall into the truck beds. The trucks would then haul the ore to a refinery as soon as they were filled. And, of course, when there was ore to ship. So far, the only thing the mine had produced was country rock.

Shoring went up after each blast to stabilize the new tunnel roof. The two workmen hired by T could then cart the spoil outside, where it was added to the original tailings dump. The tracks grew longer as new shoring was added. The tunnel grew longer after each blast. All that remained was to tunnel into the deposit that T was increasingly certain lay just ahead.

After Bobby's accident, Ray had insisted on a new system for blasting, because he believed Bobby had been overconfident, lulled into a false sense of security by long experience. Now, no initiating system was ever prepared in the tunnel. Instead, detonating cord linked the outside ring main with a secondary ring and branch lines laid just behind the tunnel's face. All testing was done outside and the wires for electrical firing extended from the ring main, now laid in the same place for each firing.

A thirty-minute safety fuse led to a cap, which acted as backup to the primary electrical circuit. Ray did the work and Bobby supervised, floating a few inches above the ground. The missing lower leg added an incongruous air to an already strange activity.

As was usual now, the labor crew was dismissed before the explosives were prepared and fired. Bobby, Ray, and T made short visits after the explosions but left mucking out to the labor crew. <You know, we could move this stuff ourselves. It wouldn't take much.>

***

T and Ray accompanied Bobby to Mona's Cafe. Bobby was waiting anxiously for the new prosthesis, made using his mold so it would fit comfortably. But the leg hadn't arrived, and a phone call got the same response as earlier ones: "Soon. It takes time to get it right, you know."

Talent: Book Three, the Wizards Series

Jack Knapp

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Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

That was a preview of Talent: Book Three, the Wizards Series. To read the rest purchase the book.

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