Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 35

Jack woke with a start as the alarm shrieked accusingly. The sheet was over his head, and he flailed wildly at it for a moment, trying to get his bearings. It was like clawing through molasses, but he finally managed to get his head and arms free. He reached for the clock and fumbled for the switch. Too complicated. He yanked hard, pulling the cord from the wall. The racket stopped, and Jack sank back in relief, holding the clock face to his eyes as the second hand ground to a halt. Two hours late! Damn, how did that happen? He flung the covers off and jumped to his feet.

Hitting the floor jarred his brain back into gear. Rhea. Last night. Wow. It did really happen. She must have set the clock back. He sat down again for a minute, and replayed the memories. It wasn't a complication he had planned on, and he had no idea where it was going, if anywhere. But, God, was he willing to find out.

And I didn't even have to sleep on the wet spot. Actually, there was no wet spot. That was odd.

Hell, the whole world was odd, wonderfully odd—he could feel the axis wobble if he stood still enough. He started to whistle Bruce Channel's "Hey Baby" as he showered and dressed. The pipes in the shower didn't rattle, the first two socks he grabbed for matched and he still had two clean shirts left. He was definitely on a roll.

Jack found his shoes in the living room, spared a grin for the red panties still draped over the TV, and was out the back door and to his car before he even thought of the gargoyle. He waved at her as he turned the key. No ignition. He shrugged. He could get out the hammer and go under the hood, or he could try a rolling start. He thought about the gremlin from the night before. Today was his day for things to work right. He pushed in the clutch, shifted into reverse, and released the hand brake. At the bottom of the drive he popped the clutch and hit the gas. The motor purred into life. Perfect: There was no way that board was going to fail today.

At work, things were hopping. He could tell immediately when he came in the front doors that the old atmosphere was back. Radios were on in offices again, and the people he met in the hall were striding instead of ambling. Not that many people were in the hall—almost every office he passed was occupied by someone working hard but enthusiastically. It was like the early days, when he had just signed on.

"Way to go, Jack!" an engineer on her way to the ladies' room told him.

"Thanks, Becky," Jack said. He hoped she was talking about the drive . . . Rhea must have said something that morning. He wished he knew what, exactly. It always made him nervous when people thanked him before he had really done anything. But if he couldn't make things work today, he might as well turn in his certificate and go raise hogs in Sampson County. Or run for Congress.

Jack flipped on the lights in his office, and unlocked his workstation screen. He had an e-mail message:

 
To: jhalloran
From: rsamuels
Subject: Sleep well?
 
Hope you had a good night's sleep, Jack . . . Because I plan to keep you up late tonight!
X X X X
Rhea
 

Jack whistled appreciatively, and tapped out a reply.

 
To: rsamuels
From: jhalloran
Subject: Re: Sleep well?
 
Rhea,
Up late is great by me, but let's not forget to throw in a little downtime too!
X X X X right back at you
Jack
 

Satisfied, he hit send. Now to work. He really ought to be able to get those traces right with a good day's effort. Jack brought up the circuit diagram again, and made a new printout. The printer hummed and he smelled the faint scent of fusing toner. He took the warm sheet and carefully compared it to the screen. Okay. No, wait a second, it was the same damn thing, the same pixel row missing!

Jack slammed the printout down on his desk and grabbed an old-fashioned letter opener. He popped the printer latch, and lifted the lid. There was the gremlin, transparent and almost invisible, balanced on the corona wires. Jack stabbed at it and missed. Using the tight thin wire like a trampoline, the gremlin hopped over to the printer drum and thumbed its nose at Jack.

"Don't get cocky," Jack told it. He put down the letter opener. That had been a dumb idea. He couldn't hurt the Hellraised little monster any more than it could hurt him. Well, he could squash it and end up with a hellish bill from Hell for the replacement body—he'd heard stories about that. Even the tiny ones were frightfully expensive. And squashing it wouldn't even get rid of it. He was more likely to wreck the printer. Well, he knew the gremlin didn't like coffee, but he couldn't very well pour a cup into the printer, and his reflexes weren't as fast as Rhea's. He didn't think he had a chance of catching it by hand. In fact, when he thought about it, he'd never seen anybody move as quickly as she had.

He thought for a second, then picked up the phone. "Hello?" he said. "Is this Bat Conservation International? . . . Yes . . . I'd like to make a donation. It's deductible, right?" It wasn't much as far as good deeds went, he thought as he hung up. But was it enough? He looked in the printer. The gremlin looked a little disgusted, but it was still there.

Jack sighed and closed the printer on it. He called up classic film stills on the World Wide Web and navigated menus until he found George Bailey by the Christmas tree with all his family and friends gathered around. It was the most concentrated dose of goodness he could think of. Teacher says . . .

He hit Print. There was a small wail from the printer as the image coated the paper. It wasn't a sound that could be explained by any mechanical process. Jack grinned. The printout, though, still had a row of dropouts.

He opened the printer again. The gremlin looked positively ill, but it shook its fist gamely at him.

Fine, pal. Gremlins came from Hell, and Hell was supposedly hot. Jack walked over to his workbench and pulled out an aerosol can of Freez It circuit coolant. Normally he used it when he suspected a heat-related problem with a component. As far as he was concerned, the gremlin had just made itself a printer component.

He pointed the nozzle at the smirking face and pushed the valve. Fog enveloped the inside of the printer and when it cleared, all the metal surfaces were starting to collect frost. So was the gremlin. Jack took a pair of vise grips and grabbed it. An old Firesign Theater album title popped into his mind from nowhere: Don't Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers. Unfortunately, that wasn't a real option. Instead, he cracked the window slightly and held the gremlin outside. The frost was melting, but the small Hellspawn was still blue and shivering. "Bye," Jack told it. "Don't forget to write." He let go and listened for the impact—it sounded like a tennis ball being thrown at a feather bed.

Jack shook his head. There had to be a better way to delouse. The way his life was going, he'd better read up on it.

The printout was perfect this time, and Jack took it over to his workbench to start fixing the traces. It was going to be a real pain—he was going to have to solder actual wires to the board in a couple of places. Not elegant at all. But doable. Jack cracked his knuckles and turned on his soldering iron. He whistled the first few notes of "Morningtown Ride." Time to get started.

 

Back | Next
Framed