Solitude: Dimension Space Book One by Dean M. Cole

Author:Dean M. Cole
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: CANDTOR Press
Published: 2016-12-28T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

A skinny man ran down Boulder's Main Street. Silver hairs highlighted his red and brown beard. The man reached up and pressed the side of one of the Bluetooth earbuds.

"Tell me another joke, Siri."

A few seconds later, the jogger began laughing. "Good one."

Vaughn long-pressed the headset's button again. After the short chime, he said, "Siri, what's on my calendar for the day?"

"Sky Captain, you have lunch with the President at eleven. I also see dinner with Marilyn Monroe scheduled for five PM."

"Thank you, Siri."

Another voice chimed up. "Three miles completed. Total time: twenty-six minutes, thirty-nine seconds. Average pace: eight fifty-three per mile."

"Enough of that shit," Vaughn said. He slowed to a walk, two fingers pressed to his carotid. "Yep, still ticking." He lowered his hand and checked his watch. "Holy shit! I'm late."

Picking up the pace, he jogged another block.

"There it is!"

Having lost its cargo unknown miles before arriving at this destination, a long passenger train had come to a stop in the middle of Boulder. Ahead of Vaughn, its silver railcar straddled Main Street. The purring sound of a well-muffled, top-of-the-line generator came from the far side of the train.

Vaughn stepped onto the stairs at the near end of the railcar. He pressed a red button, and the 1950s-styled diner car's glass door slid open with a rude-sounding burp of compressed air.

The man stepped into the air-conditioned space and raised a hand. "Hey, Jack. Sorry I'm late." He looked beyond the row of booths. Spotting his goal, Vaughn walked briskly through the railcar. He waved dismissively. "Don't get up. I'll be right back."

Reaching the car's far end, Vaughn opened the large refrigerator. Cool, fogged air poured out, chilling his sweat-covered body. His arm disappeared into the appliance's dark interior and then emerged with a ceramic-capped green bottle. After a moment's consideration, he reached in and dug out a second one.

Then Vaughn stepped up to the brightly colored jukebox. He grabbed a coin from the stack on top of the machine and dropped it into the slot. It fell through arcane innards sounding like a gambling token bouncing through a Pachinko machine. Vaughn selected a song completely at odds with the diner's 1950s motif.

Bouncing his head to the hard rocking beats of Metallica's Fuel, the man walked back to the diner's only inhabited booth. He plopped down onto the bench opposite its celebrity occupant. Vaughn placed the two beers on the table, then grabbed the closest one and opened it. The bottle's rubber-lined ceramic cap lifted with a satisfying pop.

He raised the pint to his lips and took a long draw from the ice-cold beer.

Then Vaughn's eyes widened, and he lowered the bottle. "Sorry. How rude of me." He slid the second beer across the table's white Formica top. "There you go, Jack."

The life-sized cardboard silhouette of President John F. Kennedy didn't move. It just continued staring blankly over Singleton's head.

Vaughn frowned. He reached over the table and grabbed the shoulder of the cardboard man. After a little coaxing, the half-folded likeness of JFK now smiled right at Vaughn.

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