The next morning, after a night recovering in the modest motel, the five friends got together for a late brunch. The Old Woman said, “I know we have much to sort out, but I have been entrusted by my old lover with an important task. We owe him much for mu extrication from the pickle at Freemen Ranch, and I cannot bear to refuse him. Though he must urgently repair to Poughkeepsie to see an old friend on his deathbed, he asked me to personally deliver this ivory Chinese puzzle box containing a thumb drive to his close friend and fellow oligarch, Kellen Tuskboar, at a small town right here in Texas.”
All instantly recognized the name of this Uber-Titan of the Plutosphere. Indeed, Cardoshia’s father, in his past heyday, had personally known the trillionaire Tuskboar, although of course these days the destitute P-M would be utterly undetectable by the retina of the Great Man.
Great Man Kellen Tuskboar was rich and famous for constructing an extensible space elevator connecting Pismo Beach to the Tycho crater on the moon; perfecting and mass producing scalable fusion reactors capable of powering everything from a mobility scooter to a megalopolis, and deploying the Global Illuminati Flux Reticulum (GIFR), which interconnects every electronic device in the solar system, extracting all data, enslaving all programming, and subjecting each to the will of the Master of the Universe.
Kandude and the others immediately consented to this detour. As it happened, the small town was only a few hours to the South. On their way they stopped at a fruit and vegetable outlet featuring a cornucopia of farm fresh produce and numerous tourist sundries. Gathering up their finds, they made their way to a makeshift check stand, which was operated by an extensively disabled one-eyed man in a wheelchair.
Kandude noticed that a burly overseer kept an eagle eye on the beleaguered cashier, whacking him heartily about the head and shoulders when he failed to execute transactions to his satisfaction. Oddly, when remonstrating the poor cripple for his incompetency, he sarcastically referred to him as “Professor.” Though terribly disfigured, the maimed lackey seemed oddly familiar to Kandude.
Kandude turned to Cardoshia, nudging her and nodding toward the miserable purser. “If I had not seen our beloved Professor B crushed to a pulp by a monster truck in the desert, I might think it were he ringing up the fruits and vegetables,” he said. At the name of Professor B, the paraplegic wretch uttered a loud cry, spilling the contents of the cash box onto the ground. The veggie boss commenced a renewed beating of the disfigured creature.
“Stop! Stop, sir!” cried Kandude. “I will cover all damages and inconvenience, and purchase a generous bundle of your wares besides.”
What? Is it you Kandude?” said the wreck of his once lively and cavalier Professor.
“Well, is this the great philosopher, still among the living?” asked Morton, coming up behind.
“You, brutal vender,” said Kandude, “this man, a learned professor and champion of pure capitalism, will leave your humiliating employ and come with us immediately.”
“So you say,” replied the cruel overseer, cudgel in hand. This was a man obviously used to exerting great authority over his abject plebians. “Well, he isn’t really in a position to do that.”
Kandude stepped up to face him, with Tanemahuta coming swiftly to his side. At the sight of the intimidating Māori warrior, the sadistic supervisor fell back a step. The diminutive Morton stepped in between them.
“Is this man your serf, your bondsman, your indentured servant?” he demanded. “This is America! While it is true that here employers have the power to overwork and underpay their employees, to find infinite ways to avoid providing health insurance, to discard them the moment they become ill or injured, to work them in warehouses and fields without proper respite, safety equipment, and sanitation, and to boot them at will in favor of the next desperate working stiff waiting to suffer capitalistic servitude because they have children to feed. Still, in America. a man or woman still may stand up and quit. This distinguished professor has cashed out his last kumquat for you, fruit stand bully. Count yourself lucky for avoiding proper justice for abusing a disabled man.”
Kandude, Tanemahuta, Cardoshia, and the Old Woman looked at the slight but suddenly formidable Morton with astonishment. The petty tyrant shrank back, cringing at Morton’s rebuke. The friends wheeled Professor B over to the Subaru, levered him into the back seat, put his wheelchair in the back along with the compact and flexible Morton, and drove to the next small town where they traded the Subaru in for a capacious used Suburban.
CHAPTER XXIV. THEY MEET THE MOST BRILLIANT MAN IN THE UNIVERSE