Under the Stars and Stripes (Under Him)

“You’re the tastemaker,” I said, surrendering to her superior knowledge.

Amy Apab was my most favorite person who wasn’t blood related to me. How exactly we first met was a matter of some conjecture. We were both too young to remember clearly and only had legend to go on.

According to those who were there, I was sad in kindergarten one day, heaven knew why, I’d probably seen an ant get stepped on, and Amy drew a picture to make me laugh.

She wasn’t always Amy Apab, but her self-adopted surname, an initialism for “All Politicians Are Bastards,” fit so well and had been around so long that it was all I could think of her as.

“Did you bring them?” Amy asked, leaning in and lowering her voice like a super spy.

“Of course,” I said, gently laying the portfolio on her lap under the table.

I doubted that the Smith & Smyth non-competition clause extended to illustrating covers of indie magazines, but you could never be too careful. Breaking non-competition was one of the few violations that could get me terminated, my assistance to the bottom line notwithstanding.

“Fuck,” Amy whispered, filling through the pages.

“Fuck good or fuck bad?” I inquired.

“Fuck excellent,” Amy grinned.

“Not recently,” I said.

“Naughty,” Amy admonished playfully.

“What can I say? You bring it out of me?”

It seemed like something from a comedy. Investment analyst by day, underground illustrator on the sly, trying to raise a kid alone in the big city. I would have to try and outline a draft script. It could be animated to keep costs down.

“It could work,” Amy said.

“What could?”

“Making a movie.”

“Why are you psychic?” I asked, only half kidding.

“Twenty-four years of consistent friendship, darlin’. I can read you like a blog.”

“What am I thinking now?” I inquired.

“Goodness! You kiss your son with that mouth?”

“Only on the forehead. Speaking of which - ”

“Kisses?”

“My son.”

“Tease,” Amy smirked.

“Can you pick him up from school? It looks like I am going to have to work late tonight. There is some kind of big account coming available and the overlords want it.”

“Of course!”

“Great, thanks, hopefully I won’t be too late.”

“Come by for breakfast if you’d like, I love little Mattie.”

“The feeling is mutual. Whenever I come and get him it’s Amy this and Amy that.”

“He enjoys having someone he can teach.”

I had never really thought about it before, but she had an interesting point. My baby, who was actually eight, was already following the family tradition of brilliant eccentrics.

Chapter Three - Kingsley

It was almost a meditative state. It tended to happen when I was deep in work. What I was doing was the only thing I was able to see. It was a large part of how I managed to get into West Point, despite the stiff competition.

There was also the fact that my area of interest was rather unique and, no doubt, stood out among the others. Engineers, while certainly part of the military industrial complex, were not a widely acknowledged one.

The music, always European, usually Metal, added a soundtrack to my personal movie, usually veering between an engineering tutorial and sci-fi. Even though the prototype had been built mostly for demonstration purposes. But there were always adjustments to be made, like editing a book after it is written, only with a lot more money and metal involved. The proverbial drawing board wafting in and out of the process a lot more than many let on.

“Sir!” Amanda shouted to be heard over After Forever.

“What?!” I cried.

“S-sorry, you have a phone call,” she sputtered.

“Tell them I’m not here,” I said, already resetting my mind.

“I tried that, sir. She said she could see you on the cam.”

“This mystery caller, did this happen to be Ms. Greene?”

“How did you know?” Amanda asked, amazed.

“Lucky guess. Did you tell her I was coming to the phone?”

“I said I would come and see if you were available.”

“Go tell her I am coming.”

“Yes sir!” Amanda enthused, actually saluting.

I had hired her right out of college. She had never had a job before but was certainly eager. She was also a genius when it came to all aspects of engineering. From design to prototypes.

She had actually been the build-lead on the prototype itself. It was when she was required to talk to other humans that she could get a bit goofy. I planned to hire a trained receptionist when a suitable candidate presented themselves.

Amelia Greene was the president of Greene Planet vehicles. The civilian company behind the domestic release of the design I had initially done while on contract with the military. Adaptation to urban roads the main area of adaptation required for the new model.

It was called The Pilgrim. An all-terrain sport-style SUV/Camping vehicle that had a three-prong fuel source with gasoline, ethanol and electric sources, basically always able to run. Run was exactly what it was designed to do, as it was initially intended for long-term military patrols in hostile environments, allowing troops to remain in an area for up to two weeks without needing to go back to base. The idea Greene had was to roll it out, so to speak, as the ultimate camping vehicle, particularly for the 4th of July holiday.