The Lost Train of Thought by John Hulme Page B

seemed to alleviate Sylvia’s concerns, and she sauntered off to explore the northernmost Thought Track. But for Jelani Blaque, walking along the border of the Middle of Nowhere, it was hard not to be thrown back to that time twelve years ago—when he, Lisa Simms, and the late Tom Jackal were charged with bringing back Hope for a despairing world. He had lost so much on that Mission, and even though it had ended in success, he was never truly the same.
    Behind the rubber stopper for Track #3, something reflected in the sunlight. It was a small knob of wood sticking out of the sand, which he wouldn’t have spotted were it not for the long piece of string attached to it. Upon closer inspection, the filament that danced in the breeze was actually a fine strand of horse hair, and the knob the tip of a violin bow that someone had stuck into the ground. Considering it was crafted from the finest Brazilian Pernambuco wood, he had a pretty good idea of who that someone was.
    “Well done, Lisa. Well done.”
    Contemplation, Department of Thought & Emotion, The Seems
    The only way to the mining colony of Contemplation, save a day’s walk through the desert, was a set of rails that ran due south from the End of the Line. Being that there were no trains running, Becker and Hassan had pulled on their Speed Demons instead. They hadn’t planned to turn the trek into a race, but their competitive natures soon took over.
    “Lookin’ a little rusty, old man!” shouted Becker over his shoulder as he momentarily pulled ahead.
    “Slow and steady wins the day.” Hassan stayed just off to the right to avoid sand being kicked up by his young peer. “Or aren’t you familiar with The Tortoise and the Hare ?”
    The “old man” took a shortcut through a gulch and soon it was Becker who was eating a faceful of dirt. The young American reminded Hassan of his son, Cyrus, who tried to best his father at every turn. Hassan hadn’t seen the boy in six weeks— not since he’d followed a false tip that the missing chapter was buried near Thebes— and he promised to make up for lost time as soon as this Mission was done.
    “Yeah, I’m familiar with that story!” Becker clicked the back of his heels together and shifted into fourteenth gear. “But in this version, the rabbit kicks the turtle’s butt!”
    Fifteen minutes later, the two Fixers were skidding to a stop.
    “Let’s call it a draw,” said Hassan, and the two bumped fists (though in his heart, Becker thought he’d beat him by a step). Up above, a buzzard stared down at them from a cracked and peeling sign:
    WELCOME TO CONTEMPLATION:
WHERE THE THINKING PROCESS BEGINS!
    Unfortunately, the colony itself looked far more like the end of something than the beginning. Torn canvas tents dotted the horseshoe-shaped canyon, pickaxes and sifting pans were strewn across the ground, and a thin trickle of water plinked off the tin roof of the refinery. And much like the dusty station at the End of the Line, no one seemed to be on duty here at all.
    “Hello! Anybody here?”
    The only thing that boomeranged back was the echo of Hassan’s own voice.
    “This place is creeping me out,” said Becker, and he could tell his partner was feeling the same way. “It’s like a ghost town.”
    “I don’t even think the ghosts are here anymore.”
    “Let’s hope not.”
    Since the welcoming committee was conspicuously absent, the duo made a quick decision to split up and search the canyon on foot. Hassan took the Refinery and the Foreman’s office, while Becker made sure that no damage had been done to the Thought mining process itself.
    “Hellooo!” Becker called out to the maze of abandoned railcars and wafting tent flaps. “I know splitting up was probably a stupid thing to do, but I figured calling attention to that might get me off the hook!”
    Again, he was greeted only by the sound of an echo.
    “Not that anyone out there has a hook . . .”
    The unnatural silence was starting to