chapter 17
TEAM 1, YEAR: 1200
Time Remaining: 182 Days
Jake rose early to take a walk before the day began. The sun had not yet risen, but there was enough light in the sky to see easily. He wanted to get his head in the game before the day began. Although he had been out of sorts at work for months, he had been able to get away with it because everyone went home at the end of the day. Here, he was responsible for everyone, every minute of every day. With that thought, he felt more weight crash down on him. Looking out over the glistening water in the distance, he slid his earphones into his ears, climbed down the rocky face and walked toward the lake.
Jake returned to the camp as his team finished eating; the smell of bacon hit him like a wall when he opened the door to the main tent. His team sat together at one of the picnic-style cafeteria tables wrapping up a breakfast fit for champions—bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, pancakes and sausages. The group chatted while they ate, learning about each other and hearing about their past operative experiences. Jake filled a plate and took his breakfast into Mole Control to read reports while he ate.
Never in his life had Jake Anderson shied away from hard work. Brought up by two hardworking parents in a lower-class neighbourhood, his father worked at one of the few remaining automobile manufacturers that made road-only vehicles. He did menial tasks deemed too random or insignificant to assign to a robot. To help make ends meet, his mother ran an unofficial daycare during the day and waited tables in the evenings.
Jake had always been happy despite not having much. He had learned that material possessions were not the key to happiness. With family, friends, a barbecue, a case of beer and an old FM radio, there was nothing more he could ever want. He had literally married the girl next door; a little brunette in overalls with whom he spent countless hours as a kid building forts, riding bikes and playing catch over the fence between their two houses. Looking back, he thought he must have always loved her; although, he had only discovered this on their first day of school in grade ten when she wore a dress for the first time. He made fun of her while they waited for the bus and she tackled him to the ground and forced him to eat dirt. He could still remember the taste of the grass and his mother’s shrieks later that evening when she saw the grass stains and rips on the knees of his brand new pants.
Jake and Britain—or Brit as he always called her—lived a quiet, simple life. They got married at eighteen and Jake worked in a local mine as a heavy-duty mechanic. Their quiet, happy life had been turned upside down when an accident at work had caused permanent damage to the ligaments in Jake’s shoulder leaving him unable to perform the repetitive motion tasks his job required. Jake approached his boss about a transfer to a different department, but sympathy was light and excuses were plentiful—there was no room, budgets were tight—and he found himself out of a job. After a year of unemployment, he took some teaching courses at the local community college and was hired by the NRD to teach heavy-duty mechanics. His teaching career had been short-lived as his superiors decided his knowledge and expertise were too valuable to keep locked in a classroom, and they eyed him for a supervisory role. Jake found himself as a lead in the Mechanical & Infrastructure Recovery Unit managing post-combat recovery operations where his team would repair and bring home as much equipment as they could feasibly salvage. Having a family had been put off until he felt assured his job was stable and, within a few years, their first child arrived—a little girl. When they had their son three years later, Jake felt blessed beyond any words he could find. It seemed preposterous to him that his life could get any better. But it all came crashing down ten months later.
The afternoon weather brought a marked improvement; the cloudless sky seemed more blue than possible and by mid-afternoon, short sleeves were necessary. Ben and Lexi pushed the two suspended tunnel-boring machines across the camp, setting them in front of the large windows of Mole Control, and began running the predeployment checks. Having two Moles ensured there was always one working if the other required maintenance or broke down. Lexi ran the preflight checks on Mole1 and Ben did the physical inspection on Mole2.
Tunnel-boring machines were not new technology, having played a role in global construction projects for over 200 years. Despite the invention of simplification tools, the safest and fastest way to build a tunnel was with a TBM. However, an enhanced TBM equipped with simplification tools made the task a far more efficient business. If a curved tunnel was needed, the compact and agile Mole models were the best option. Miniature in comparison to regular tunnel-boring machines, the Moles’ bodies articulated, allowing them to cut and turn around tight corners. However, the trade-off for this feature meant slower progress.
Attached to the front of these round, white drilling machines was the drill head—a flat, disc-shaped cutting bit, constructed of thick, hardened steel with a ten-foot diameter. Along the edge and on the front of the disc were rows of interchangeable, round metal protrusions that cut away the rock. Behind the cutting disc, a trough caught the discarded debris and funnelled it onto a conveyor belt. As the rocks fell onto the conveyor belt, they passed through a compression beam which shrunk them to a fraction of their original size. The conveyor belt carried the discarded stones from behind the cutting disc, through the body of the machine toward the rear, where they fell into metal collection containers. These containers, called dump buckets, floated behind the Mole underneath the conveyor belt to catch the discarded rock. Other dump buckets lined up in a queue behind the active bucket in the collection position. Once filled, the active bucket exited the queue and the next bucket would move into the collection position. The full bucket would proceed to a preprogrammed location to unload.
Mirrored on either side of the large drilling machine were two rows of rectangular feet, several feet wide and double that in length. These hydraulic feet gripped the rounded wall of the tunnel to provide the stabilization the Mole needed to dig its teeth into the rocks and simultaneously inch the machine forward. As the Moles progressed forward, they automatically installed small pressure shield devices in the floor of the tunnel every few steps creating an invisible shield that prevented any loose debris from collapsing into the tunnel.
Ben began his visual inspection on Mole2. He hopped up the four diamond plate steps to the deck-like platform at the back of the machine, moving toward the door to the inner control room. He opened the narrow door to the control room at the back of the machine, ducked his head and stepped inside the cramped space. The inner control area was not the place for a person suffering from claustrophobia. Controls covered every surface. Ancient, plastic-protected keyboards and age-faded monitors displayed status updates on the Mole’s systems. The Moles could be controlled from inside this control room, but this practice was not common owing to the tiny space, the constant noise and uncomfortable vibrations. The room generally remained unoccupied unless something required close attention.
He finished his inspection of the control room and ducked again as he squeezed through the small door. Ben’s five-foot-eleven, slender build made for a tight fit in the control room and he wondered how Jake would ever fit in there. His lead stood six-foot-three with the shoulders of a linebacker. Then again as the lead, it seemed unlikely he would spend even a moment in the machine’s control room.
Ben circled the Mole, opening each access panel as he passed them. He pulled and twisted hoses and fluid lines to ensure they were in good shape—tight with no leaks, bends or kinks. At the drill head, he checked each tooth on the cutting disc and rotated the massive drill head with his hand to reach the teeth at the top. As he did so, the cutting disk of the Mole beside him spun to life.
“Mole1 is online and all systems are a go. How’s Mole2 looking?” asked Lexi. He adjusted the tiny red earpiece in his ear. He looked over his shoulder at Mole Control and saw Lexi watching him through the large window.
His Icomm lenses picked up on his brain’s intent to speak only to Lexi and the communicati
on system engaged the talk mode just as if he had hit the “talk to speak” button on a walkie-talkie. “Mole2’s passed visual inspection. Fire’r up and give’r the gears. I’ll take Mole1 to the shed and load it with some supplies so she’ll be good to go when Jake and Tyler are done surveying.” She gave him a thumbs up and left the window.
Starved, Lexi jogged into the dining area to find Darren serving up an assortment of sandwiches, potato salad and raw veggies for lunch. Maya, Ben and Tyler were already eating.
“I was wondering if you were going to stop for lunch,” said Maya, turning in her seat. “Ben was just saying the Moles are nearly ready to roll. That’s exciting!”
“We should be good to start prepping the dig site tomorrow,” said Lexi. She grabbed a plate off the counter and sat across from her lone female team member. “Jake should be finished those survey calculations today I’d think.”
“Has anyone seen Jake?” asked Tyler.
When no one answered, eyes and raised eyebrows asked the questions they dared not verbally.
Finally, Ben spoke between bites. “He’s got a pretty laid back leading style, eh?”
Darren put the last of the prep food into the fridge, took a plate off the counter and sat beside Ben. He grabbed two sandwiches off the tray in the centre of the table and took a handful of raw veggies.
“You mean nonexistent,” said Maya, as Clint entered the main tent. She was happy that Jake’s bizarre behaviour had been noticed by others and was not the product of her imagination. “I’ve had to make all the decisions since we got here. I mean, I don’t mind, but some of this stuff is his call and I don’t want to start off a six-month op by stepping on my lead’s toes.”
Clint grabbed a plate and sat down heavily. He reached over Darren’s plate to grab a sandwich off the tray, knocking a carrot out of the chef’s hand. “All you’ve had to call the shots on is where we’re going to play house.” He crammed the sandwich into his mouth then spoke with his mouth full. “Like that’s so hard.”
Lexi ignored Clint’s comment. “Apparently he’s an awesome leader. I’ve never worked with him before because our jobs seem to be at opposite ends of operations. I’m usually on intel gathering missions before the real ops, and he’s on the infrastructure-salvage end after the ops. But I’ve worked with people who’ve been on some interesting post-op trips with him,” said Lexi. “Time travel is a hard thing for people to get used to. Maybe he’s got a family that he’s worried about.”
“He did look a little green around the gills when we landed,” said Tyler.
“Well, we are about 1,000 years in the past and, personally, I find it’s got a real isolating feel. I think it’s going to take a few days for all of us to adjust,” said Ben.
The spring sun retreated early and by seven-thirty, the twelve pod lights hovering above the temporary base illuminated the camp. The wind had picked up and rain began to fall but inside the WeatherShield, the chilly camp was calm and dry.
Jake left his trailer for dinner. He hoped everyone would be finished eating and have vacated the dining area, but he heard voices and laughter through the thick canvas roof of the main tent. Procrastinating, he decided to complete his arrival inspection, already two days overdue. He cut across the camp toward the sheds, noting as he walked how tidy everything looked. Even the grass—long and tangled when they had arrived—was now trimmed like a manicured lawn. Little green shoots had begun to puncture the brown decay of last year’s grass.
Jake walked to the work shed, outside which Mole1 waited to be deployed. The work shed, while the largest of the three utility buildings, featured only one equipment bay. The grey shed was a modular structure and its metal-plastic hybrid panels married aluminum’s light weight properties with the resilience of plastic. The lights in the darkened work shed flickered to life when Jake opened the door and crossed the threshold. Mole2 hovered in the bay at his left. To his right, workbenches and toolboxes lined the wall. Above, dingy furniture had been laid out as a makeshift break room on the mezzanine.
Jake took in his surroundings, impressed by its organization. Crates of consumable parts were stacked neatly under the workbenches and frequently used tools hung on the wall behind the workbench with magnetic strips. Along the left wall, safety clothing and equipment hung from a series of hooks and a welding cart was tucked neatly in the corner beside the overhead door. As he left the building, the lights went out as the door closed behind him.
Jake ambled over to the tool shed—another portable structure— lined up beside the work shed. It contained the less-frequently-used tools and parts. Jake opened the door and, like the work shed, the lights came on as he entered. Jake noticed the same meticulous organization of the shelves.
Beside the tool shed and adjacent to the house trailers was the food pantry. Jake had never been on an operation with a food supply of this size. Row after row of shelves contained boxes, cans and crates of food. At the back of the shed, a cold room contained enough fruits and vegetables to feed an army for six months. Jake opened the door to the industrial freezer to find several white boxes among a sea of brown, waxed paper meat packages marked with codes that he assumed were meaningful to Darren. Jake’s stomach growled and he looked at his watch. He knew Darren would stay in the kitchen until he had eaten, and he did not want to take advantage of the chef’s easy-going nature.
Jake opened the steel door to the main tent and entered the dining area. His six subs were eating at what had become their usual table.
Jake looked around the cavernous space. A tent in name, though nothing about it was tent-like except its thick canvas ceiling. The outer walls were constructed of the same plastic-aluminum panels as the three utility buildings. Lamps hung from the white ceiling, illuminating the room unevenly.
A meeting room bordered the left side of the sizeable eating area. Jake had spent many hours in this meeting room, or ones identical to it, on previous operations strategizing and collaborating with other team members. At the rear of the building, the lights were off in the medical and recreation rooms.
When Jake had entered, the team looked back, greeted him and continued their conversation. He sensed their uncertainty of him and to this he harboured no ill feelings—he felt unsure of himself, too. The smell of Darren’s roast permeated the building, and Jake’s stomach growled for him to get down to the business of eating. He took a plate from the stack on the counter and filled it.
“Jake, that roast is amazing. Darren is a culinary genius,” said Maya, sliding her knife and fork together at the four o’clock position on her plate. “I’m so glad he came with us.”
Darren looked over his shoulder at leftovers on the counter. “Yeah, it wasn’t bad, but I’m not used to cooking for such a small number of people. I hope you guys like roast beef sandwiches.”
“I’d be disappointed if there weren’t any,” said Tyler.
After Jake had finished, Darren collected the dishes. Maya stood to help.
“No, please sit. You’ve worked hard all day,” said Darren. As he said it, Clint stifled a laugh with a cough.
Maya began collecting the dirty plates. “I don’t mind. You cooked an incredible meal.”
Darren took the plates from Maya and chuckled appreciatively. “Thank you, but this is what I’m here to do. While you’re out working away, I’m loafing around.”
“Let her do it. She is a woman after all.” Clint popped the last bite of garlic bread into his mouth and laughed into his glass of wine, oblivious to the incredulous stares in his direction. Jake stood suddenly and without a word, he turned and left. The sound of the door slamming him behind him caught Clint’s attention. Clint looked up to see the others looking at him.
“What?” asked Clint innocently.
Jake beelined to his trailer and slammed the door behind him. He sat on the corner of his bed and held his head in his hands. A crushing weight gripped his chest like a boa constrictor as he fought the panic welling up from his belly. What am I
doing here? I shouldn’t be here. How am I going to get through six months of this?
“Well, I think I’m done for the night, too,” said Clint. He picked up his plate, handed it to Maya and dropped the cutlery on it with a loud clank. The knife slid off the plate and bounced off the bench, spraying her with gravy. “Better get scrubbing.” He winked at her and left the table. The group watched in awe as the door closed behind him.
Lexi was the first to speak. “Did that really just happen?” she asked. “Did that shit really come out of his mouth? What is this, 1942? And what is Jake’s problem?”
“I should have said something,” said Maya, her eyes focused on the table and not meeting the others. She put down the plate and used her napkin to wipe the gravy off her pants. “I’m second in command here. I should have called him on it, but it kind of caught me off guard.”
“I think it caught us all off guard,” said Ben. “You just don’t hear that kind of stuff anymore. Joke or no joke. I’m sorry Maya, I should have said something. It’s not cool that none of us said anything.”
Lexi stood and collected the wine glasses off the table. “I’m sure you’ll get a chance to redeem yourselves. I don’t know why Clint is the way he is but, from my experience, that about sums him up.”
“Jake should have said something,” said Tyler. He placed a lid on the pan of mashed potatoes and slid them into the oversized fridge. “It’s going to be a very long six months if that’s the kind of lead he’s going to be.”
Ben shook his head. “This isn’t the Jake that I’ve heard about. Something isn’t right.”
“Well, he better get whatever it is sorted out because if Clint keeps that up, I’ll end up locking him in one of the Moles and welding the door shut,” said Lexi.
Time Remaining: 181 Days
“I can’t believe how much crap is in here,” said Clint. He looked up and down the racks of shelves in the tool shed for a box containing spare teeth for the Moles’ rotating drill head.
“I know. It’s a little mind-blowing,” said Tyler. He pulled down three unlabelled boxes, decompressed them and pulled off their lids one by one. Not finding what he wanted, he compressed the boxes again and placed them back on the shelf. “We’re only here to do one thing, but there are so many different things that can go wrong. The Moles, the trailers. Christ, even Darren’s stove could give out.”
“Where’s Ben? He’d know exactly where these are,” said Clint with an edge of irritation in his voice. He scanned the boxes with no labels in the row he walked down but opened none of them. Clint looked back at Tyler, who was digging through a box. “Make sure you check those, will you?” Clint asked, pointing to the stack of crates on the shelf Tyler had just gone through.
Tyler looked at Clint and chuckled. “I just looked through them.” He expected Clint to laugh and say “Haha, I know you did, just kidding man.” But he said nothing.
“Are you sure they weren’t in there?” asked Clint. “I swear they were in a grey box.”
Tyler fastened the lid back on the box he had searched and slid it back on the shelf. He walked over to where Clint was idling and grabbed the only grey crate on the entire shelf, one that Clint had dismissed without opening. Tyler set the container down roughly, removed the lid and found it full of compressed boxes containing the cutting teeth. Clint reached out to grab the crate, but Tyler hesitated before releasing it.
“Dude, you gotta take it easy with the comments.”
“What? You mean last night?” Clint laughed. “I was only kidding.”
“I don’t think people realized you were kidding.”
“That’s not my problem now, is it?” said Clint. He pulled the box from Tyler, but Tyler continued to hold tight.
“People might not find it as funny as you do.” Tyler’s tone elevated from casual to warning.
Clint put on a sad face and pretended to rub his eyes like a crying child. “Awww, did I ruffle the feathers of the hens?” His face hardened. “I’ll say whatever I want to whoever I want and if they can’t take a joke, that’s not my problem.” Clint took a step forward and faced Tyler squarely, eye to eye. He jerked the box out of Tyler’s hand and walked out the door.
Tyler followed closely behind him into the bright morning sunlight. “All I’m saying is that we all have to live together for the next six months, so everyone needs to be amicable.”
Clint continued toward the work shed without looking back. “Oh, I’m amicable,” he yelled back over his shoulder, loud enough for everyone to hear, regardless of where they were in the camp, “all the goddamn time. It’s not my problem if she’s got a stick jammed up her ass.”
Tyler tailed Clint and kept pace. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’re not making any friends.”
Clint stopped dead in his tracks, dropped the box and turned around to face Tyler. “If you’ve got a problem with me just say so.”
Tyler stood face to face with Clint, not because Tyler wanted to fight but because he had been following so closely when Clint stopped abruptly. He had no desire to get into a fight, and he was dumbfounded by how Clint had taken a simple conversation and blown it into an explosive showdown in less than a minute. Tyler felt cornered. If he backed down, Clint would think he could get away with bullying the group.
Ben heard shouting outside the work shed and peered through a window to see Tyler and Clint toe to toe. He raced toward the pair and inserted himself between the two men and tried to push them apart. Maya ran to Ben’s aid and, with both hands, grabbed Tyler. Tyler, though shorter than average for a male, carried his presence in his broad shoulders and wide build. Maya could no more restrain him than an infant could hold back a raging Rottweiler.
“Guys! What’s going on?” yelled Maya. Bucked around by Tyler’s arm, she looked around for Jake.
“Did you run to Tyler last night because I hurt your feelings?” spat Clint. “I don’t have a problem. You’re the one with the problem.”
Maya was taken off guard again. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Lexi and Darren ran up, and Darren jumped into the melee with Ben. Four arms succeeded where two could not and they separated the two men. Lexi, assuming that Clint was the catalyst, ran up behind him, grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him away. Clint spun to face her as though her touch burned him like fire. He yanked his arm up and out of her hand with such force that when it broke free of her grip, the back of his fist struck her on the side of the face.
Jake sipped his coffee in Mole Control, reviewing the preflight test logs generated by Mole1 when a commotion outside caught his eye. He bent forward in his chair just in time to see Clint hit Lexi, knocking her backward to the ground.
Jake sprinted across the camp to the group now frozen in shock. Clint stared at Lexi; both were equally stunned by what happened. The moment of silence was broken when Tyler burst through Darren and Ben whose attention had been distracted and he tackled Clint to the ground. Maya helped Lexi to her feet. Lexi looked over at Jake, holding her throbbing face. His expression was puzzled as though trying to piece together what had happened.
“What the hell is your problem?” Lexi squared off at Jake as Tyler managed to get the upper hand on Clint. Her face reddened—not from being hit but from anger. “Are you leading this team or what? I don’t know what your bloody problem is but get over it! This team is falling apart and it’s your fault. You’re supposed to be leading us, and if you can’t, get out of the way so someone can.”
After Lexi’s outburst, there was very little for Jake to break up. For the second time in several minutes, the group froze like statues, staring at the Level Two who just verbally assaulted a highly respected Level Five. Her words had an effect on Jake, as though she had just given him permission to participate in the team. A light seemed to spark in his eyes. He stood straighter and, for the first time, looked engaged.
Jake strode to Clint and Tyler, sprawled out on the ground. Clint wore a red patch on his face where Ty
ler’s fist had connected with it, and Tyler’s lip bled. Jake grabbed Clint by the collar and pulled him to his feet like a rag doll. He pulled Clint in close, his voice barely audible. “You’re going to shut your mouth and learn some respect. I don’t know who you talk to like that in your home, but it’s not tolerated here.” Jake nearly pushed Clint over backward as he released the smaller man’s collar. Clint’s eyes widened in surprise as he stumbled.
“Go and prep the drill site. You,” Jake looked at Tyler and the overturned box of teeth, “surely you’ve got something to do. Put these away.”
Tyler glared at Jake as he picked up the box of spilled teeth. In the scuffle it had been kicked over; the lid had fallen off and the miniaturized boxes of teeth had spilled onto the ground. Ben pulled Tyler to his feet and brushed the grass off his shoulder. Eager to avoid the conflict, Darren silently returned to the main tent.
Jake turned to Lexi, his expression a mixture of sincerity and concern. “Are you alright?”
Lexi’s face, still reddened, had begun to swell.
Jake looked at his feet. He stammered, unable to find words to articulate his feelings. “I’m sorry…I…”
“I think we should scan that cheekbone,” said Maya, cutting Jake off unintentionally. She looked over the swelling around Lexi’s eye with concern. Maya put her arm around Lexi’s and led her toward the main tent. Jake noticed Lexi intentionally look in the opposite direction as they passed him.
Maya led Lexi to the state-of-the-art medical unit at the back of the main tent. Doctors rarely accompanied field operations, and only level fours and up had comprehensive first-aid training. The automatic lights were exceptionally bright, magnified by the white floor of the sterile-looking room. Lexi flinched when the lights came on. The pain of the flinch caused her to recoil again. She inhaled sharply and in doing so, noted the smell of disinfectant in the room.
Against the far wall, a MediScan RX-4000 dominated the small room. The imposing medical appliance resembled more closely an expensive, oversized dining room set, not a billion-dollar medical appliance. At waist height, a thick glass exam surface sat atop a stainless steel base. A metal arm extended from the base, curved up and came to a stop above the patient surface. Attached to this arm was a rectangular metal fixture, surrounded by more glass and bright strip lighting. Centred above the base, this fixture housed and hid from view the various ray projectors, surgical tools and other tools required to administer treatments.
The all-in-one medical appliance took the place of doctors and nurses by addressing a patient’s needs from diagnosis to treatment. A patient would lie on the glass surface of the device while it performed a full body scan. It would then present a diagnosis that a front-line caregiver or the patient could interpret. It also recommended treatment options, the pros and cons of each, and the expected outcomes. The patient could choose their desired treatment, and the device would administer the remedy and heal the patient sometimes in minutes, or longer if surgery or multiple procedures were required.
Maya closed the door behind them. She took her jacket off and tossed it onto one of the two stools in the room.
“Maya, I’m fine,” said Lexi. “It’s no big deal. I just needed to get away from there.”
Maya smiled and rolled her eyes. “If you say so.” She turned Lexi so she could see her now purpling reflection in the mirror above the sink.
“Whoa.” Lexi leaned toward the mirror to look more closely at the mark darkening around her swelling eye. She gently touched her painful puffing cheek. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get a quick scan.”
Lexi tossed her jacket on the stool with Maya’s and pulled herself onto the oversized, transparent surface. She kicked off her shoes and lay down. The glass examination table chilled her and she regretted taking her jacket off. She stared up at the glass and metal housing of the machine that doctors had dubbed, “a medical vending machine,” at its introduction. When they saw how much relief it brought to overcrowded emergency rooms and the backlogs of scheduled procedures, they quickly changed their tune.
“I always feel like an appetizer when I lie on one of these things,” said Lexi.
Maya chuckled appreciatively as she took in the large control screen projected up at the edge of the machine. She tapped the intangible screen in several places and the screen changed as the scan activated. Lexi lay motionless and listened to the faint whirring noises coming from the base of the device. Maya watched the three-dimensional silhouette illustration of Lexi’s body appear on the screen. When the scan finished, the machine beeped.
“Good news. Nothing’s broken, you just got a good whack. It recommends another scan to treat the area with some anti-inflammatory feeder rays.”
“Sounds good to me.” Lexi continued to lie still and closed her eyes. A red light issued from the centre of the metal housing above and focused on the injured area. The beam cast a pinkish glow on Lexi’s swollen face as the warm, medicinal rays were absorbed.
The high spirits that the team had enjoyed during the first several days were extinguished like a bonfire in a deluge of rain. By day’s end, the sombre mood around the camp had not improved. Jake had been predictably absent, and no one expected him at dinner. Clint sat at the same table as the others but distanced himself by sitting at the far end.
The group looked up hearing Jake enter the tent. Maya, always trying to keep the peace, greeted him warmly while the others mumbled acknowledgement. He strode to the head of the table and looked his team over.
Jake had spent the rest of his day locked in the boardroom of Mole Control putting together a plan. Lexi’s words had shocked him back to reality like a bucket of ice water to the face. Everything she had said was true and he had needed to hear it. He realized that instead of just talking about leaving his past behind and moving forward, he actually needed to start doing it. His wife and family were gone and nothing was going to change that. There was a group of people here relying on him, and he had let them down. As a result, people had been hurt.
Jake surveyed the faces looking up at him. They looked tired and worn and they were only in their first week. He felt so ashamed. Lexi’s cheek looked the same as it had before the incident, thanks to the RX-4000. Though the physical mark had been healed, Jake knew the damage he had caused her and the rest of the team had not.
“I would like to apologize,” he said. Jake made eye contact with each one of his subordinates as he spoke, starting with Lexi. “My head hasn’t been in the game since we arrived and I’ve been a horrible leader. I’ve let you all down and I apologize. I’ve been very distracted for the last several months, but it’s no excuse. I accepted this position and I didn’t step up. This isn’t who I am and I’m embarrassed by my lack of leadership.”
The teammates stole quick glances at each other around the table. Clearly, this was the last thing any of them expected him to say.
“Thank you, Lexi, for calling me on it.” As he smiled at the petite blonde, her eyes widened in surprise. “I needed a shot of reality.”
“Uh, no problem?” She smiled tentatively. “So you’re not going to have me fired when we get back?”
“No,” he laughed. “But we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot, so I was hoping we could start over.” Jake eyed Clint.
“Clint, do you have anything you’d like to say to Maya and Lexi?” Jake asked.
Clint looked thoughtful for a moment, popped a sugar snap pea in his mouth, then turned to look at Lexi. “I’m sorry Lex, I didn’t mean to hit you. It really was an accident.”
Lexi’s eyes softened. “Yeah, I know.”
Clint shifted back in his seat and picked up his fork. His facial expression soured like he had bit into a lemon wedge. He studied the utensil as he turned the handle over in his hand. “I’m sorry about my comments Maya, I was only joking.”
“It’s okay,” said Maya. A weight seemed to lift from the room as the air cleared. “We’re all under a bit of stress. No hard feelings.”
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Darren rubbed his hands together. “Well, it’s a good thing you guys are getting along because I wasn’t going to give any of you dessert.” He retrieved a covered plate off the counter and set it on the table. “But seeing as how you’re all friends again, and seeing as I like dessert,” he grabbed some of his extra pounds around his middle with his free hand, “here you are.” He pulled the lid away with a flourish to reveal a cherry-topped cheesecake.