Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness, James Gerard [free children's ebooks online .txt] 📗

verified a level altitude.

 

Shoulders cleared the doorway, passed through the module housing hundreds of gaseous tanks.

 

“Almost there,” he observed entering the electric company.  The target neared.  “Missed.”  A fist pounded on the tormentor.

 

He just stared at it, having known better than to go beyond the limits by making bets he could never win.  Just like back home, he thought.  Assure others that this time it will be different.  That this time I can be normal for good.  That this time they won’t see me as a deficit.  That this time I will enjoy interacting with others.  That this time the personality pills will work—I promise.

 

But the situation was different.  The battle was not between individual and government, individual and citizenry, individual and institutions, but rather between him and the tormentor.  And even though the tormentor had everything on its side—all the support from its systems and subsystems—Timothy believed the conflict was yet a winnable war.

 

Nevertheless, Timothy accepted the defeat.  The feet were pinned under the restraints; the bet fulfilled.  “Tormentor, display, systems, headings.  Highlight, network, global.”

 

There is no system by that heading, the tormentor flashed.

 

“Highlight, tormentor.”

 

A finger poked the delete key, and then slammed the keys: F-r-i-e-n-d.

 

Timothy thought about reversing the decision, but he knew it would only lead to internal conflict that would weaken his resolve—and when it comes to conflict, failure was sure to follow.

 

*                             *                             *

 

“They’re the same,” Timothy noticed as he viewed the distant stars.  “They look the same.”

 

Though pangs of hunger disturbed the stomach, signaled the need for nourishment, his only desire at the moment was to sit and stare at the same old faces.  The pangs, however, jabbed harder and harder, and prompted him to obey the command.

 

Hands fumbled about the restraints trying to guide him on the long journey to the kitchen.

 

“Chicken…rice, tomatoes—no, just chicken and rice and gravy this time.  No, just chicken and rice,” he whispered while the thought of handling all the portions of food overwhelmed the mind.

 

Rice grains escaped between the gaps of fingers.  Uncut, the slab of chicken was set onto the bed of settled rice.  The injector needle slipped out of the lid allowing globules of water to escape to the vents above.

 

The microwave oven accepted the container then penetrated the mixture of whole flesh and grains with waves of heat.  Too tired to move as the food slowly bubbled, Timothy froze.  He was suspended in the air and just stared at the oven.

 

The timer buzzed.  It barely aroused the attention.  Hands struggled with the oven’s grip on the container.  One bony hand braced itself against the metallic surface as the other tugged at the container and broke it free.

 

Timothy managed the trek back to the living room and came to rest on the chair.

 

“Yuck.  This is awful,” he mumbled, barely able to stomach the spoonful of grub.  “Salt.”

 

Eyes stared out the window, but did not focus on any particular star twinkling in the distance.

 

Sure, you add a desalinization system, but you do not give me any salt for it to be of any value.  All I get is a pinch of pre-added salt in the meats, a pinch of salt in the morning solution and whatever else you’ve mixed in with that stuff.  It doesn’t make sense.  Dangers of high blood pressure right, thought Timothy.

 

What about the exercise?  You gave me your seal of good health.

 

”Wait,” whispered Timothy.  Eyes widened, eyebrows raised, and heartbeat accelerated: “Desalinization system?”

 

“Friend, display, schematic, system, reclamation, water.”  Eyes peered over the diagram.  A smile broke out as the schematic and maintenance procedures revealed a secret.  “I’m so stupid.  Of course, why didn’t I think about it before?  Transfer, clipboard.”  A hand snatched the clipboard from the slot and legs shot him towards the basement.

 

A glint of hope shined in the eyes as a hand ran over the array of plastic pipes.  “Okay, here’s the water outlet pipe from the toilet, the shower, the bathroom and kitchen sink.  “Let’s see,” he said as fingers followed the lines on the diagram leading to the intended target.

 

“The waste water is pumped to this tank, where the suspended solids, colloidal material, bacteria, and other organisms are removed by sand and microbe filters.  Then the water goes to this tank where it is exposed to ultraviolet light.

 

“Next,” said Timothy as the fingers continued to track the target, “the water is pumped to this tank which contains a vapor compression, distillation, and a thermal integrated membrane evaporator system, where the treated water is pumped to tanks for reuse for washing clothes and irrigation for the plants, or in the event of a catastrophe, to water tanks where it is reconstituted into potable water using calcium hydrochloride.”

 

A hand embraced the handle where the hidden treasure waited for discovery.  “And the separated granules are collected in this compartment and can be reused if necessary.”

 

Anticipation raced excitement through the mind.  Eyes gleamed and darted over the maintenance procedure.  “Deactivate system,” he whispered.  A finger flipped a switch.

 

Ever so slowly the treasure in a tray was slipped out of the darkness and into the light.

 

“Oh my!” he shouted and laughed a joyful laugh.  “I’m rich I say.  I’m rich!” he proclaimed as grains of salt sparkled like rare jewels under the illumination of a bright light.

 

Careful not to scatter the precious granules about the basement, he cradled the tray of salt with loving hands.  “Slowly now,” he whispered on the ascent to the apartment and immediately glided over to the doctor.

 

With a watchful eye on the tray, a hand groped about the doctor’s cabinet for a dish.  An arm stretched above and carefully secured the spoon from the warm container of grub.

 

With a surgeon’s touch, the spoon’s leading edge meticulously scraped the top of the mound of precious granules, then secured them in the base of the dish.

 

“Doctor, analyze, sample, contaminates.”

 

Timothy paced back and forth above the doctor as it examined the salt.  “Oh please tell me it’s okay.”

 

The monitor flashed the diagnosis.  He turned his back to the monitor and sucked in a deep breath.  Fingers interlocked as if pleading for a miracle.  Slowly he rotated around and faced the monitor: No contaminates.

 

“Yes,” he screamed a triumphant scream that seemed to echo throughout the ship.  “My God, you’ve given me an endless supply of salt.”

 

Hands and arms acted quickly.  The body was lowered onto the chair and a single strap was secured around the waist.  The container of grub was placed hovering above the stomach.  Timothy carefully scooped out a mound full of salt and maneuvered it to the container of bland food.  He gingerly meshed the granules in with the sticky globs of rice and chicken and gently stirred the mixture.  A stream of saliva trickled forth from the corner of the mouth.

 

“Oh my God,” he uttered as the mouth sampled the savory flavor, “nothing can compare to this.”

 

The stars twinkled as a heap full of rice satisfied the taste buds.  The slab of chicken slowly disappeared from the hold of fingers.  Thoughts of pure pleasure consumed the mind.

 

The spoon scraped the corners and sides and bottom of the container until all grains of rice had been devoured.  But that was not enough.  He lifted the container to the mouth and lapped up the tiniest remnants sticking to the surface.

 

As a symbol of victory, a toast to the accomplishment fulfilled, the container was hoisted high into the air: “Here’s to high blood pressure and hypertension; long live the risk.”

 

Eyes ogled the tray of life giving salt.  “I need to find a place to put you.”

 

Music echoed about the walls as Timothy whistled a cheery tune.  He glided over to the kitchen and grabbed a capped drinking mug from the cabinet.  “Here you go my precious darlings,” he said as a smile appeared, “you will be comfortable in here.”

 

Timothy frowned, however, as the thought of the stash of salt would not last long.  With that in mind he grabbed the empty tray and floated back down to the basement.  The tray was slipped back into the bowels of the tank.  A finger gently flipped the switch.  A smile radiated its joy into the eyes in anticipation of the next harvesting of precious jewels.

 

Eyes ogled the system.  All of a sudden tired limbs were soothed by relaxation.  The tension and despair that had occupied the mind and body were displaced by a continuous hope.

 

“Life is so good,” he noted as the water cleansed the container and lid and spoon readying them for many a future use.

 

“I suppose I’d better get myself cleaned up as well.”

 

He peeled off the soiled clothing, caught a whiff of a stench from the many weeks, maybe months’ worth of other articles of clothing that had been crammed into the hamper.  “Oh oh,” he whispered, “better do a wash.”  An arm took hold of the hamper and maneuvered it down to the basement.

 

He could feel the spine tingling as the reclamation hummed a sweet tune.  He began to stuff the clothes in the washing machine, but paused over the thoughts of a wrinkled appearance if they were held in suspension in the dryer overnight.  “Right,” he laughed, “like who’s going to care.”

 

The soothing massage from the shower now waited.  The warmth of the water filled the mind with peaceful thoughts.  The feel of warm air wrapping around the body, causing every muscle to limp from the sensation it offered, was a heavenly feeling.

 

Feeling rejuvenated, Timothy floated over to the bedroom.  A movie tonight? he pondered.  That would be nice.  A switch was flipped.  Eyes scanned the list: “Friend, load, program, fourteen.”

 

Although the feel-good cinema was somewhat entertaining, it evoked no laughter.  Then again, he thought, it doesn’t hurt.

 

As he eyed the unknown figures goof about the screen, he could think of only one thing that would make the day perfect—real chocolate.

 

Admittedly, he knew it was probably better not to have it to consume, but it was so pleasing to the palate.  And as much as he tried to coax Robert and Justin and a bunch of other workers in to sneaking aboard like a million bars of the pleasure slabs, he would only get scolded for asking.  Oh well, he thought.

 

For the rest of the night the panic that sometimes visited and sent him running from danger, stayed away.  The ghosts of the past were absent.

 

*                                *                                *

 

“Good morning my friends,” said Timothy.  He smiled from behind the safe confines of the mask.  “I see from the clipboard your wheel’s batteries need changing—can do.  But if you don’t mind waiting, let me check a loose connection on one of the computers first.”

 

Timothy glided down the hallway glowing especially bright today, and directly into the electric company.

 

“Friend, display, schematic, system, vent, transfer, clipboard.”

 

A flashing dot of light revealed the troubled computer.

 

He removed the headset from the terminal’s grip, secured it in position.  “What’s the matter friend?”  He smiled.  “Don’t tell me you can’t fix this problem yourself.”

 

The friend did not respond.

 

Hands clutched the handles of the red access panel hiding the single computer beneath.  He tugged at it until the sticky grip of time released it.

 

“Friend, power, off, computer….”  Eyes peered over the machine, “three.”  The attention was then turned to the monitor.  A lone indicator light ceased its flashing.

 

“There’s the problem,” he whispered.  A hand jiggled and pushed the power cable that had slipped out of its port and shoved it back in place.

 

“Friend, power, on, computer, three.”  Its lights flashed.  “There, that ought to hold you for awhile.”

 

Timothy glided over to the terminal.  He oh so gently nudged the clipboard into its slot and reattached the headset onto the panel.  “I think you owe me for this one friend.”

 

A smooth and uninterrupted glide sent him soaring to the east garden.

 

More and more, as time slipped by, he found himself spending most of the free time with the trees.  As harvesting seasons came and went, he started to view them not as unfeeling entities responding to the systems that fed them the nutrients of life growing needs, but as companions—the only