Hooman Saga Book One - Mind Timing Chapter 3

SO FAR: Mari travels to another time, before her own. As an introduction to that world, Peter takes her to a chain restaurant for breakfast where she is introduced to addictive foods, then a taxi to..

HE OPENED THE LARGE white door and allowed me to enter before him.

Cool air bathed my face. I felt tired after that meal, very strange.

"That room to your left is yours. You'll find a nice bed, and sanitary facilities. Rest as long as you like. There is a manual lock on the door, but you won't be disturbed," Peter briefed me, with a gesture toward a mahogany-tinted door to my left, down a short hallway.

Then he smiled that winning smile of his and turned right to travel down a similar hallway to a near identical door opposite, again with its own hallway.

While I could see a larger living area ahead of us, and had more questions, I was wrung out from the artificial everything I'd just consumed, plus the change in time. I turned and walked carefully to the door, the opened it.

Locking it behind me wasn't difficult. The question was whether he had a key.

I turned and took in the room. It was simple in furnishing. A huge bed in the center of the room that looked so soft, covered in a padded comforter. A single padded chair. Two matching side tables framing the bed, both with lamps, both secured to the wall on either side.

I kicked off my shoes, shucked out of my own jacket to leave it folded, laying on the side of that bed.

Before I relaxed, I moved the heavy chair over against the door, then opened one of my sturdier locking clasp knives, jamming it into the carpet directly in front of the front chair leg in line with the door handle.

Now I could relax. The noise would alert me if anyone tried to enter.

I intended to sit down on the bed and let my head clear.

But soon, I laid back and closed my eyes. Just for a second...

- - - -

AND I WOKE UP WITH the room dark, alert. Scanning the room, I found nothing had changed. I was still fully dressed, the jacket as I had left it. The light that had come in the windows was gone. Evidently the earth had rotated out of the sunshine. How long we had been in shadow or how long we would be, I could not tell. For I didn't know what time it was here.

The darkness didn't wake me. It was my own reflexes. Something had made a subtle sound. Or something else had wakened me.

Calling for lights didn't affect their status. I quickly scanned the room and felt my clothes and jackets for weapons. All present. Nothing had changed while I dozed.

Standing up failed to turn the lights on, waving my arms had no effect.

A sudden realization came to me. This was a mechanical age where they had actual hard-wired switches to turn things on and off. Just as they needed a human driver to operate that taxi.

It would be logical to have a switch by the door. My night vision gave me dim shapes, plus my memory helped me retrace my steps. Also, it should be about elbow height or slightly higher. Stepping to avoid the chair, I ran my hand along the wall and upward, finding a peg sticking out of a wall plate. Turning this upward made the lights blaze and my eyes flinch in their drug-influenced daze.

Now I could explore the room. Probably should find and use those sanitary facilities, as I felt a need to eliminate.

There was the door. One twist and a quick pull showed nothing of note. Another wall switch turned on the lights.

An interesting seat with a hinged cover must be were one did their "

“duty.”

- - - -

AND MINE I DID SIMPLY enough. Although it was fascinating to work out how the water was plumbed with various knobs and levers. I tried them all to see how they worked. Most fascinating was the puzzle of how to get the overhead sprinkler nozzle working. Two levers had to be operated in sequence to make the water flow into the nozzle overhead instead of the over-large white basin below.

And a flimsy curtain to channel the water into that huge basin. No vacuum jets to pull the moisture into filters for recycling.

Truly primitive times. I wondered how long before our more efficient fog-mist cleansers would take to be invented. Just remove your clothes, walk in and through, then a drying wind would remove the moisture in the time it took to walk through it. Often built in a curved arrangement, where you would then return to your closet where you started, to select fresh clothing.

While I felt a bit soiled in these clothes from the sweat and heat of yesterday, I didn’t know how I was to replace these with clean versions, so I continued to explore.

Just then, I heard a tapping on some surface in the larger room. Alert to someone trying to break in, I pulled a stiletto blade from a side pocket while I made my way over to my jacket on the bed where I could get my large-caliber pistol to hand. It was a choice between that and the smaller caliber derringer, but better overpowered than under.

The tapping was coming from the door.

And I heard Peter’s muffled voice from the other side, “How are you doing? I heard you up and about. Is everything OK?”

“Just fine, thank you.” I sheathed the stiletto and pocketed my pistol in the jacket as I shrugged it on.

Walking to the door, I pulled the knife out of the floor and kept it in hand, concealed. The other hand moved the chair and then shifted the mechanical lock back.

Opening the door, just a crack wide enough to peer through, I saw it was only Peter, I let the tenseness of my shoulders, stomach, and thighs release. There was no danger. Only a single man. A defenseless white male.

Peter was dressed in a pale violet shirt and light gray slacks, wearing only dark gray socks against the tan carpeted floor. Hardly the danger I had prepared for.

“I didn’t want to intrude, but when I heard the water running and saw the light on, I knew you were up and around. So I came to do my hostly duties of showing you around.” Peter said. “While we are here, please let me show you your wardrobe.” He didn’t step forward, but waited for me to allow him entrance.

It was that thin line of manners which separated the barbarism we were currently in and the culture of my own time. Men knew their place there - or would be quickly reminded of it. The blade concealed in my hand would have been my first reminder.

As I stepped back and he passed by me into the room, I was able to pick out his particular scent. Something along the line of charcoal, and a light earthy smell.

“I’ve been out gardening,” Peter explained. “Hope that doesn’t bother you. It helps me clear my mind.”

No, of course I didn’t mind, even though he was again reading my mind without asking. For some reason I found that scent exciting. And for a strange reason didn’t care if he picked up that thought.

“Over here is a selection that should fit you.” Peter walked to two matching wide panels in the wall with recessed handles colored the same as the paint. These panels he slid open silently and they continued on their tracks to almost disappear into the walls. His extended arms showed that the walk-in closet was at least 8 feet wide, just in its opening.

Inside were hanging garments overhead and a long set of drawers below. A rack for shoes resting on the drawer section top was filled in every opening, and extended the length of the drawers. It only stopped for a section of hanging dresses and gowns.

“I’ll leave you to explore at your convenience. I think you’ll find a wide variety of clothing and undergarments that are sized to be comfortable.” Peter turned and walked over to a console that contained a large flat screen. A narrow shelf held a plastic control unit that he picked up. The flat screen came to life with light and low sound.

“These numbered buttons will allow you to find the various programs and catch up on these social nuances they currently call entertainment. There are also some fashion programs that will show you how the various clothing is arranged and worn.” Peter was rapidly flicking through the remote buttons. As he mentioned a program, he was able to show it on the screen.

Finally, he turned the screen off and returned the remote.

“You’ve found the bathroom and probably figured out all you need. Other than the bed, that is about all there is to this room.” Peter continued. “I’ll leave you to change or you can come and I’ll show you a ‘hair of the dog’ mixture that will help wash away that all-day breakfast we had this afternoon. Your choice, of course.”

“Of course. And thank you,” I replied. “While my body would like something a bit fresher to wear, my mind is telling me that this fog around my head should leave.”

Peter smiled. “Wise choice. We aren’t going anywhere tonight, but the questions you have can wait until both your head and body are comfortable again. Will you come this way, please?”

A perfect gentleman, I thought as I followed him. And managed to quietly unlock and stow the clasp knife as I walked behind him.

He led through a great central room that contained a large ring of couches in front of a massive screen over an unlit fireplace. To the side of them was a large, long hardwood table with seats enough to fit all those spaces on the couch. Evidently for eating, although a board conference would also be appropriate. In that case, the large screen might serve for presentations, though I saw no projector.

Finally, he lead to a bar that connected the cooking and preps area to the eating area. On its top, centered, there was a tall, clear carafe of cooling pinkish drink, sitting in an ice bath.

“‘Hair of the dog’ is a phrase which refers to an old remedy for rabies, which was to consume the hair of the dog that bit you. In this age, it mostly referred to having a small amount of alcohol the morning after having over-consumed such the night before,” Peter explained as he poured out a large portion into a tall glass tumbler. “This is known as a protein-drink, but is fruit and plant-based. It has some natural sugars in it as well as protein to help you wash those various chemicals we consumed earlier out of your system.” He placed the tumbler in front of me.

I tasted it lightly, and found it quite good. A larger sample encouraged me to take an even larger draught.

Peter looked on with amusement. “Good, isn’t it? I'm working on my second large tumbler already.”

I nodded as I kept drinking. It was as if my body craved this drink like water to a dehydrated man at a desert oasis. One with a fruit bar.

Empty, I put glass down on the bar top. Peter smiled and handed me a cloth napkin.

I dabbed at sides of my mouth where the pink drink still remained. And smiled back.

“Thanks. Truly refreshing,” I said. “The most delightful dog-hair I’ve ever drank.”

Peter’s smile wavered, as he paused to look at me with concerned eyes. "You are almost ready for the challenge. As you already suspect, this is one of the most important and risky you've ever faced."

---

---

A new serial begins this series

Book One of the Hooman Saga is an anthology compiled from earlier short stories which tell how their dystopiac world started before, well, everything in Hooman Saga Book Two.

An alternate future-history. Starting in about 2018 in this Earth’s time-line.

Delivered here as a new series of serials. From this point forward. For nearly 350 print pages.

For now, set your calendar to keep track of these new adventures. Every Saturday.

Table of Contents

Paid subscribers can receive a no-cost download of each story as an ebook. (See below…)

Too many newsletters? Too few? Go here to adjust your settings.

Your email reader may cut this off - see the full episode at my site.

---

Available as pay-what-you-want instant access ebook from this author:

Paid subscribers also have instant access to the massive
Hooman Saga Book One (348 pages of riveting reading).