Part 4

Frankie rose. The recovery site was nestled between three hills of grayish dirt that held simple scrub. The direction the old man was heading was in the direction of what appeared to be a savannah with tall grass.

“What is the rush?” Frankie said as he caught up to the old man.

“Jakers.” The old man stopped and cocked his head. “Hear that it is them. Let’s move.”

Frankie did hear a distant motor and what sounded like banging of metal. The old man doubled his pace out into the grass which was over his head, not quite running but definitely not walking.

“Jakers?”

“Less talk more speed.”

The motor was getting closer behind Frankie and then it just stopped. Looking back he saw an old style ground car disgorging three big men carrying clubs and what looked to be crude axes. They all seemed interested in the stone table on which he had awaken. With that Frankie ducked his head down lower than the grass and hurried after the old man.

After a few minutes of silent movement, Frankie asked “What were they looking for?”

“You, among other things. Either to conscript you or kill you. Whatever they felt like. Jakers are an exclusive bunch.”

“Jakers?” Frankie asked again.

“Yeah. Jakers named for Jacob Creswell, an outcast 20 years ago, who formed his own fan club, a religion I dare say, that tolerates very little about the other noders out here.”

“Noders?”

“Didn’t they tell you anything? Geese, yeah, noders are you and so am I. Yeah that chip you got buried in your skull acts as a network relay – a node that can track you wherever there are enough outcasts in range of a relay. Nothing like having you movements logged.”

Frankie slowed for a minute. “You mentioned there were other things that the Jakers were looking for?”