Island MineChapter 6 free porn video
The Junkyard
Waylon stepped gently, hoping his foot wouldn't plunge through the unsteady floor. He already regretted not letting the constructors make basic repairs to the trailer. Walking too quickly across the small floor shifted something in the supports, and the entire structure creaked ominously. Some of the cabinets were missing doors, while others hung open. The trap for the tiny sink was loose and it looked like the pressboard structure underneath had simply rotted away. A large section of vinyl flooring in the kitchen area had been ripped out at some point, but at least the small walk in fiberglass shower shell was intact and the walls were keeping the worst of the outside elements at bay.
He threw the padding from his overnight camping adventure down over the mattress and rolled his sleeping bag out on top of it. There was a noticeable draft of cold winter air through the middle of the trailer, so he stripped off quickly and took a fast shower.
Clean for the first time since his hotel stay days before, he felt reinvigorated. He considered his immediate future while he made a simple sandwich and drank from a bottle of water.
"Is now a good time to continue our discussion on finances?" the artificial intelligence known as Barry asked.
Waylon used one of the plastic grocery bags from his shopping trip to dispose of the dinner trash. "Let's talk about how bad this trailer is, and why you didn't want me drinking the water."
"Certainly," the AI replied, "the trailer is suitable only for temporary use without major repairs. It is structurally deficient, and there is an issue with the buried sewage waste storage apparatus that the disposal system is connected to."
"Are you talking about a septic tank?"
"Yes, it seems unlikely that the system has been serviced in many years," Barry said. "The ground is contaminated with effluent and unacceptable levels of environmental hazards from the salvage business. It is unsafe to drink from the nearby water well."
"Shit," Waylon muttered.
"Precisely," Barry replied.
"I just took a shower in that!"
"Would you like us to effect repairs?"
"Please," Waylon said as he dug through his pockets for a piece of gum. He suddenly had a bad taste in his mouth. "While you're at it, fix it so I don't fall through the floor. I don't want this thing collapsing on me in the middle of the night either."
"Repairs will be completed by morning."
"Thanks," Waylon replied.
"We will keep the repairs subtle, so as not to arouse the suspicions of the Newberg family."
Waylon agreed with the AI's caution. Besides, the repairs would save the family a lot of money. They might even prove beneficial to Waylon himself, if he agreed to the AI's crazy scheme to buy the property.
While it was on his mind, he asked how it was possible for such tiny constructors to accomplish tasks like fixing the septic system or finding gold deep in the earth.
Norm, the Construction AI, volunteered to explain. Some of the more technical aspects went right over his head, but Waylon grasped the main point when he realized it was a large, flexible pyramid that was almost military like. There were large 'armies' of drones that did the bulk of the work, which were managed by a control unit. Groups of control units, and their armies, were in turn managed by a supervisor. The constructors could be specialized depending on the type of work required. If a task was large enough, new groups would be generated and the pyramid would expand. Simple geometric progression meant that the constructors could undertake tasks of mind boggling scale.
"So, not only do I have you guys, but I've been colonized by armies of constructors?"
"Precisely," AI Barry replied. "AI Norm's explanation is simplistic, but accurate. We are only the latest residents to colonize your body. Humans host a great many beneficial organisms that you are unaware of on a day to day basis."
"At least they haven't started talking to me. Now, how about showing me one of the big probes you've been talking about?"
"Of course," Barry replied, "Standby."
Waylon looked around and tried to listen for anything out of the ordinary.
"We just finished construction of a new survey probe. It is approaching now."
Waylon's eyes widened when a small, cereal box sized object pushed its way through the trailer's window. It looked like the probe was breaking the surface tension on a smooth sheet of water, with the glass seeming to flow effortlessly around the probe's body.
The probe was a dark, almost blackish-grey, and appeared to absorb the light. The edges and corners of the probe were rounded. As it came to a halt, level with his eyes, small control vanes appeared randomly at the corners and moved almost as if the probe was breathing. Occasionally, one of the vanes would retract, seamlessly, into the body only to reappear seconds later in a slightly different location.
"Hold out your hand," Barry suggested.
Waylon closed one eye and stuck out his hand.
The probe drifted over the top of his hand. It took him a moment to realize what was happening. A faint, translucent cloud descended from underneath the probe and drifted over his hand.
"Are those constructors?" he asked.
"They are," the AI replied.
"That must mean that there's a bunch if I can see them."
"They exist on the sub-nano scale, would you like to know exactly how many there are?"
"I think a bunch covers it don't you?" Waylon asked.
"Bunches and bunches," the AI agreed.
"Where is this probe headed?"
"Nevada, to do some prospecting."
Nevada? The AIs weren't shy about expanding their reach, Waylon realized.
The cloud floated up and was reabsorbed by the probe. Its cargo collected, the probe spun about on its axis and simply disappeared.
"Neat trick," Waylon whispered.
He turned off the lights and got into his sleeping bag. Waylon listened to the wind whistling through the junkyard and around the thin walled trailer. He closed his eyes, but couldn't stop from taking stock of his life. In the Navy he knew what he was working toward, and he'd accomplished that and moved on to the next step. For his first semester at NTSU his goal was to make it to the next semester, and the one after that until he graduated. Now ... all he could see ahead was a long fight. Being right or good didn't mean you'd win, he knew that. At least he had a place to stay for a couple of weeks.
Something clattered outside in the wind.
"How's our security?" Waylon asked, cracking an eye open.
AI Chief replied, "We have extensive coverage of the property and the access road. No one will approach without ample warning."
"Okay, wake me if there's a problem," he said, covering a yawn with his hand.
"Good night, Waylon."
Christmas week came and went, but that's not to say it wasn't without excitement. Waylon only ventured out a few times for groceries. His contact with the outside world was limited. He received a couple of phone calls from Albert Newberg. There had been no improvement in his brother's condition and the family appreciated that somebody was onsite to look after the junkyard.
One of the detectives from Seymour called the Friday before Christmas. They had learned he wasn't living in the dorm and required a new address for their files. Waylon asked if they needed to do any more interviews, but the detective didn't think so. He explained that their work was essentially wrapped up. Their preliminary report had been sent to the District Attorney's office. Unless something changed, all that would be added to it were the toxicology findings from the coroner, which wouldn't come in for weeks.
The surviving suspect had been transferred to New Mexico after a quick extradition hearing. The Texas charges would be a formality. New Mexico was getting first crack at him for the Las Cruses murders. If the teenager got life, the county would save money and not even have to try him for what happened at the convenience store. They'd keep the charges on file just in case.
Two days before Christmas, Barry woke Waylon and told him he needed to read something that had appeared in the morning paper.
Waylon stumbled to a section of the trailer wall where the AIs had added a new toy. To anyone else, it would simply have looked like a sheet of Plexiglas affixed to the wall. To Waylon, it was an incredibly high definition monitor. It even had a window mode, where the screen would display any scene the AIs had available to them. The resolution was such that it was virtually impossible to tell that it was artificially generated.
The majestic view of the Colorado Rockies disappeared and a page from the local paper's web site was displayed.
"I'll be damned," he exclaimed.
Waylon touched the screen and brought up the phone application and selected a number. The call was answered on the second ring.
"Alphonso, have you added columnist to your resume?"
"Waylon!" cried his large friend. "The phone has been ringing off the hook here at the range. What did you think of it?"
"It's wonderful," Waylon replied. "Did you know the paper was going to comment as well?"
"I had no idea," replied Alphonso. "The fourth estate proves to be of service on occasion."
They shared a laugh.
Alphonso told him the entire story, about how he had been inspired by the injustice done to his friend to write an opinion piece. He decided that the world needed to know what had been done to a, 'young veteran and hero' as he put it.
The range owner had written a thoughtful piece mentioning the absence of due process. He pounded on the fact that the university's policy directly contradicted the school official's actions, and the extremely poor timing of the expulsion. He'd even included a very kind quote from Mr. Lam, the recovering Stop n Go manager.
Alphonso said the editors hadn't even changed much, just rearranged a couple of lines. The newspaper accompanied the op-ed with an editorial of their own, saying that the matter needed to be investigated fully, and that if the facts were true—as it appeared they were—then a grave injustice had been done. The paper was troubled that the normally communicative university had declined to make any official available for comment.
Before he hung up, Alphonso predicted that Waylon would have no trouble getting a lawyer to take his calls.
He was right, a fact that AI Penelope took great pleasure in. She fielded calls from several law firms in town. After talking with Alphonso, Waylon had been convinced to meet with the lawyer that represented the shooting range, Rusty Lightner.
Penelope also handled calls from several reporters. There were calls from the local paper and the university student paper, and a handful representing the larger regional papers.
The AI's response was the same for all, Waylon needed to consult with an attorney and wasn't prepared to make any public statements. She thanked the reporters to keep things cordial. When asked, the AI described herself as a friend, but declined to provide a last name.
He did take a call from the campus veteran's organization. He appreciated their support. It was encouraging to hear that others were as fired up as he was.
Several articles appeared throughout the regional press in the days that followed. The university dug its heels in and claimed they couldn't comment because it was a student disciplinary matter.
Wednesday after Christmas
There was slush on the roads when Waylon drove to Levall to meet with the attorney. The spring semester was still several weeks away from starting, and the town had a between the holidays sleepiness about it.
The law office was surprisingly plain. He hoped it meant that Mr. Lightner was frugal. The meeting went well. Waylon had a good case and he liked the lawyer's demeanor. "Call me Rusty," the man had insisted. The outcome and cost, Rusty explained, would depend on how strongly the university wanted to back their employee and her decision. If they backed down too early, they'd look weak to the rest of the faculty and staff.
Waylon brought two items of interest to Rusty's attention. With the AI's help, Waylon discovered that Ms. Trammel had been dismissed from Smith, the exclusive women's college, for an inappropriate relationship with a student. The relationship had ended explosively, which was what brought the matter to her former employer's attention. Waylon handed Rusty printouts from the jilted lover's blog, which alleged several improprieties on Ms. Trammel's part while an employee at Smith.
He also delivered the list of names from his dorm and their family contact numbers. When Waylon explained that he was one of the dorm residents who had been spied on by their resident advisor, an NTSU employee, the lawyer almost smiled. The added leverage of a suit against the university with multiple plaintiffs could be extremely beneficial in resolving Waylon's issues.
He left the law office after writing a big check. Waylon was pleased to have secured Mr. Lightner's services, but his anger burned brightly once again. Rusty had made it clear that Waylon wouldn't be a student at NTSU until the case was resolved. The lawyer told him not to get his hopes up because the case could drag on for a year or more, easily.
Rusty also gave him some free legal advice and extracted Waylon's promise to call if anything developed in the Seymour shooting case. The lawyer pulled no punches when he said that Waylon had been extremely foolish not to obtain counsel before talking to the detectives.
AI Barry smugly told him in one ear that he'd had outstanding counsel.
Waylon spent the rest of the afternoon taking advantage of the legal advice. He set up a sole proprietor business. It didn't take much thanks to the state's pro-business mantra. Waylon registered a 'doing business as' name with the county clerk. He waited longer in line than it took to fill out the paperwork. He'd tossed a few names around with the AIs, but couldn't resist a private play on words. He chose 'Wayout Ventures.'
With paperwork in hand, he stopped at the bank. He had to drain his savings in order to setup a basic business account. It had been a productive, but expensive trip to town and he was happy to return to the junkyard.
The trailer was now in pretty good shape. It didn't look any better from the outside, but inside it was clean and warm. The cabinets all had doors which closed properly. A patch had been put down over the kitchen flooring. The plumbing was solid, although Waylon still wouldn't drink the water. Best of all, the trailer no longer shifted on its frame. Even the drafts had been sealed. It was all work that could be attributed to Waylon's industrious hands if questions were asked.
Waylon went to the wall monitor and browsed the state's business web site. For a sole proprietorship, Texas didn't require a tax identification number. His lawyer advised that he get one anyway since it would make business dealings easier than if he used a social security number. After a few short minutes, he had a tax number.
"Waylon, are we prepared to go into business?" Barry asked.
Waylon scratched his head and checked off his mental list, "I believe so. Do we have any gold to sell?"
"We can deliver some tonight, if you wish."
"I wish!"
"Are you excited, Waylon?" the AI asked.
"Of course," he said. "Lately, all my money has been going out. It would be nice to bring some back in. Besides, it's gold!"
"Do you have gold fever?"
Waylon laughed, "I guess you could say that I have a gold temperature at least. Have you been reading about the gold rush?"
"We've analyzed everything we can find on the subject."
"That's good," Waylon decided. "Have you got a plan for how I'm going to explain this sudden wealth?"
"You humans have a need to tell unnecessary stories," Barry said. "You will be conducting a business transaction. There will be no requirement for an elaborate explanation about the origins of the material."
Waylon disagreed, "We humans are a curious species. The buyer is going to want to know where the gold came from."
"Our studies have shown that gold miners are often very secretive, almost to the point of paranoia. A demand for confidentiality, and a refusal to identify the location of your gold strike, should suffice," the AI replied.
"I suppose."
He took a walk. He'd made it a point to try and explore every section of the junkyard looking for hidden treasures. The idea of buying the place was more real to him now. He was going to need, for lack of a better term, a base of operations. He'd gone to college to get an education and find a career path. Instead, he was on some ride that didn't seem to have any end in sight.
He was also worried about this grand scheme. Was it something he could realistically pull off? If the AIs could acquire gold, as they claimed, was there a career in being rich? He had no idea, but he couldn't see himself sitting in a vault on a pile of gold coins for the next fifty years. He wanted to do something, and finish his education. He knew one thing. If he had money, the university would pay a lot more attention to him.
"Have you found a new car?" Barry asked.
Waylon looked around to see where he was. He'd completely lost track of time.
"I was wool gathering," he confessed. "Although, I did see an old Bel Air coupe. A neighbor had one when I was growing up and I always thought it was a pretty cool car."
"Should we add it to the list?"
"Why not." Waylon said.
His evening meal was uncomplicated. He'd stocked up on frozen dinners at the grocery store. It was easier than buying the ingredients and cooking for himself, and it was certainly cheaper than going to town for takeout. The AIs had offered to make some meals for him, but he wasn't quite ready for that experience.
Halfway through a mildly interesting college bowl game, Barry announced that the gold had arrived and was waiting in the tool shed.
The door slammed as Waylon ran outside. He had to stop himself from running the rest of the way, and instead walked, quickly, to the shed. He turned the light on and spotted two familiar probe shapes resting on the lone workbench. As he watched, a series of sealed plastic containers silently pushed their way up out of the probes' bodies.
"How much is there?" he asked.
"We discussed how gold is measured by troy ounce?"
"Yes, but how much is that in real numbers?"
Waylon swore that the AI wanted to sigh, "In real numbers, approximately a hundred and ten pounds of elementally pure gold."
"That's a hundred pounds of gold?"
"Waylon, gold is very dense. A cubic inch of gold weighs roughly eleven ounces, or seventy percent of a pound if you prefer. One cubic foot of it would weigh twelve hundred pounds."
Waylon walked over to the nearest probe. Two plastic containers were sitting on it, each the size of a large brick. The plastic was milky in color and very thick. The other probe supported several smaller sized containers of the same material.
He picked one of the containers up and was surprised at its weight.
"That's roughly twenty seven and a half pounds, the approximate weight of a standard gold bar," Barry said.
"Is it liquid?" Waylon said as he shifted the container, peering at its contents.
"The mining constructors retrieve the gold as a very fine powder unless they find larger quantities of it. In larger granules, it is sometimes called gold flour."
He picked one of the smaller containers up and shook it. He pried the lid open and looked inside. "They're nuggets."
"You could not sell elementally pure gold without raising suspicions," the AI explained. "We added the right amount of impurities, and then remodeled the gold into random shapes that replicate what would be found through exploiting placer, or surface deposits. There are two containers of the 'nugget' size and the larger one contains grain size gold."
"What's this little one?" Waylon asked as he shook it.
"Diamonds."
"You made these already?"
"Actually, we found them while searching for the gold."
Waylon poured the diamonds out onto his palm. There were five of them, and they looked like large glassy stones. "Are you sure?"
"They haven't been cleaned or cut yet."
"I don't know ... gold and diamonds. Isn't it overkill? Suspicious even?"
"Perhaps," the AI answered, "Although it is not so unusual to find diamond while searching for placer gold."
"It may not be unusual for you, but I say we hold the diamonds in reserve. How much is the gold worth?"
"Roughly? Two and a half million..."
...
Waylon could hear Barry shouting at him as if from a great distance over the sound of rushing water.
He shook his head trying to clear the fog from his brain.
"Waylon, are you alright?" Barry shouted.
"Did I fall down?"
"You fainted."
"Men don't faint, we pass out."
"You fainted in a very manly manner," the AI replied.
Waylon sat up and put his head between his legs, "Two and a half million dollars?"
"Yes, with more on the way."
"I'll be damned."
On the road to Dallas
The New Year was going to be very profitable, if everything went according to plan. Waylon was jumpy for the first twenty miles. It was a three hour journey to Dallas. He was transporting a hundred pounds of processed gold representing half of their current holdings. The AIs had taken the elementally pure gold they'd been recovering and modeled it so it matched the kind of gold that the old gold rush miners recovered through hydraulic sluices.
The diamonds had been left at the junkyard where they were secured along with the remaining gold.
The Dallas area had been the obvious choice to find a buyer. He was actually heading to Garland, a large suburb northeast of Dallas proper. After research, they'd decided to approach a company called Whitestar Metals. The company was well regarded in the industry and offered all the services Waylon needed.
Waylon wasn't planning on going into any great detail about how or where the gold had been recovered. The AIs had been right. All he needed to do was drop a few hints and the Whitestar people were suddenly very accommodating.
The gold had to be assayed, or tested, to determine its purity. Whitestar could buy the gold outright, or hold it in their vault facility where the gold would have an auditable trail. That service would allow him to bank gold, minus a variable service fee. From storage he could sell it to Whitestar or any third party. With the price continuing to climb, it wasn't a bad idea and the audit trail was a big plus for gold buyers.
Whitestar was located in a well landscaped industrial complex. It was surrounded by a high fence with a barrier to prevent the curious from looking in. Waylon pulled into the sally port and rolled his window down for the guard. He showed the man his ID and the guard confirmed his appointment time.
There were several buildings on the site, and they looked like any other industrial buildings you'd see elsewhere. Waylon parked by the assay office as he'd been directed.
There were two armed guard inside the front door. He'd have go through a metal detector to get any further. Waylon was impressed with their security measures.
"I'll need to look through your bag," the large guard said.
Waylon set the hard-used leather satchel on the inspection table. It took both hands to carry it. The old tool bag had been recently reinforced.
"You're stronger than you look," the guard commented when he tried to move the bag. "Would you like a cart?"
"Please," Waylon answered as he gathered his pocket items from the plastic tray on the other side of the metal detector.
One of the guards escorted him as Waylon pushed the rolling cart with the satchel. He was shown right into an office. It was rather plain looking, with stock photos of various industrial metals hanging on the wall. Introductions were made. Present for the meeting was a client services representative who introduced himself as Adam Zaitz, and a technician.
Waylon signed a few preliminary papers to authorize the initial assay of a gold sample. He handed the small sample container over to the technician and got down to business with Mr. Zaitz. Barry fed him questions from time to time, but Waylon did a good job of holding his own. They were actually discussing important points, but the representative was also stalling for time waiting for the test results.
The technician returned wearing a laboratory coat and holding a folder which he passed over to the representative.
Adam smiled as he examined the report, "Excellent quality, Mr. Eckermann. Whitestar would be more than happy to provide our full range of services to you. Can I answer any additional questions?"
This was it, Waylon decided. "I think you've answered them all. How do we proceed?"
Adam stood up, "If you'll follow me Mr. Eckermann, we'll go on through to our intake lab and I'll give you the full tour."
The technician pushed the cart and the group passed through a series of locked doors until reaching a brightly lit industrial lab.
The technician had two assistants, each wearing a lab coat and gloves. They carefully opened the plastic containers and transferred the contents to trays.
Adam explained that the entire intake process was recorded on high definition video and product weight was recorded at every step of the process. Waylon's containers were taken away and washed. The cleaning solution was filtered to gather any loose particles which would then be returned to Waylon's inventory.
From intake, the gold was washed and weighed and taken to be spot checked against the test sample. That would take a while, so Waylon got a tour of the facility and the vault storage area. He was impressed with what he had seen. The AIs were quiet for the most part. They did give him one report that Whitestar's testing was producing accurate numbers within tolerances that the AIs could accept. It was reassuring news.
After the tour, Waylon was taken to a nicer conference room to await the official results of the assay. An aide brought out a tray of snacks and drinks, but Waylon was too nervous to eat anything. He glanced around. Maybe he needed a potted plant. They really livened up the conference room.
The representative was called out of the room, and said he'd be right back.
Waylon got up and stretched his legs. He moved to the window and stared out at the unfamiliar sights of Garland.
"Mr. Eckermann?"
Waylon turned to see the representative in the company of an older man.
"Allow me to introduce Mitchell White, vice president of operations here at Whitestar," Adam said.
Waylon shook hands with the man.
"Please be seated. Mr. Eckermann. Adam knows that I like to meet clients when I can, but your account caught my eye for obvious reasons. I don't think I'm breaking any confidences by telling you that this is the largest intake of placer gold that Whitestar has ever seen. Congratulations on your find."
"Thank you," Waylon replied.
"Adam, has your assay results."
Waylon turned his attention to Adam who tugged on his shirt collar and took a quick drink of water.
Adam handed Waylon one of the folders, "This is your copy of the assay. Total weight was forty-eight point eight nine five kilograms. Purity of the gold flour was extremely high, and the larger nuggets were also impressive, as you can see from our testing."
Adam cleared his throat and got a nod from Mr. White.
"Based on the quality, Whitestar is prepared to offer you ninety-nine percent of spot on the flour, and spot plus two on the nuggets. In addition, we will waive our standard service fees on any similar intake and offer you a preferred rate on storage."
"Waylon," Barry said in his ear, "kilograms are a gold industry standard, and the spot price of gold in New York right now is sixteen hundred fifty-one dollars and eighty cents. This is a very good deal."
Adam continued, "We're prepared to transfer two point six five million to your account today."
Waylon glanced at Mr. White, who was studying him carefully, and back at Adam. "You have a deal."
Both Whitestar men were pleased and everyone relaxed in a convivial mood. Waylon had to sign several documents while Adam asked for a laptop to be brought in. Mr. White stayed around. A senior partner was required to sign off on such a large deal for a new client.
As they waited for the laptop, so they could complete the money transfer, Mr. White asked what kind of volume Waylon anticipated for the future.
He had discussed this with the AIs and went with what they had decided. "Near term, I have two more shipments of similar size and content, and a third that consists of refined gold and secondary metals we recovered."
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