He was five-four, one-hundred and thirty-three pounds. A
small belly peeked out under his child-sized XL salmon colored t-shirt. His
khaki shorts hung a little above the knees, showing off his pale skinny legs.
Keen-style water sandals covered his feet. Thick glasses sat on the bridge of
his nose. He was sitting at the far table on the veranda, watching the straw
umbrella sway in the ocean breeze.
A man sat
down across from him; six-two, two-hundred and fifteen pounds. A blue T-shirt
with his dated logo stretched to contain his muscles.
“It’s nice
to meet you, Kent,” the small man said, holding out his small hand, “In
person.”
“A
pleasure.”
They shook
hands and Kent sat down. His black hair was cropped and his eyes were blue.
“Would you
like a drink?”
“I don’t
drink.”
The small man
grinned and sipped his cocktail. He smacked his lips at the bitterness and set
the glass on the table.
“You never
change, Kent,” he chuckled, “You never change.”
“I see no
reason to.”
“Of course
not. You’re perfect. Flawless, I might add. But where will you be when the Storm
comes?”
The palms
between the veranda and the beach shuddered against the wind.
“Pardon?”
“Things
aren’t concrete anymore, Kent. Villains don’t run around with explosives and
rob banks, at least in the physical sense. Criminals work undercover. Corrupt
data miners can abstractly control this world. A crook with internet connection
is more deadly than a mutated freak with firearms. Your fists of steel may have
saved this rock for years, but you can’t punch data.”
Kent leaned
forward on the table.
“You’re
telling me you can?”
The small
man took a sip of his drink.
“Me?
Certainly not. I am singular,” he smiled, “But my group? Most certainly. We are
plural.”
Kent sat
back in his chair, taking note of the people around him. Everyone was wearing
large sunglasses and flowered shirts, laughing and sipping on their drinks.
“You’ve
been crowd-sourced,” he continued, “But you’ll never see your replacements.”
Kent became
agitated. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There was something about this
man that unnerved him. He was so calm, so matter-of-fact, like he was not a man.
“You’re
everywhere. Data is not lacking on you, Kent. An anomaly of your extent has
highways of digital footprints. When the bureaucrats want you gone, all they
need is one steel-piercing bullet, and they’ll know right where to place it. I
fear for you.”
The waves
crashed lightly on the shore, one after another for as far as they eye could
see.
“A man so
mighty, now so…”
He paused,
making eye contact with Kent across the table.
“Vulnerable.”
He took
another sip of his cocktail.
“What are
you drinking?”
The small man
smacked his lips, “Let me tell you a story.”
Kent sat
back in his chair and the brown-skinned waitress placed a glass of iceless
water before him.
“Once upon
a time, in the great Pisco desert, there were two naked hermit crabs lying in
the sand. They were the only living things for as far as the eye could see. In
fact, they were the only things for
as far as the eye could see. There were no cacti; no other crabs, no water, and
certainly no shelter—save for the single grey shell between them. It was
slightly too large for the smaller crab and slightly too small for the larger
crab.
‘When the
Storm comes, we will need shelter,’ said the larger crab.
‘He will
provide it,’ said the smaller crab.
‘When?’
‘When He
permits it.’
The larger crab,
displeased with this response, became angry with his friend. The Storm could
occur at any moment, and he was entirely exposed. He could feel the sun beating
down on his skin. Why should he die in the Storm while his weaker friend was
covered? Decidedly, the larger crab reached out with his claws and snatched the
shell. He forced himself inside. Even crabs understood Darwin.
‘I am
sorry, friend,’ said the larger crab.
‘I am too,’
said the smaller crab.
At this
point, the ground ruptured beneath them and a pair of enormous silver claws
tore up through the sand. Each of the crabs was enclosed by a claw. Almost
immediately, the one containing the naked crab returned beneath the sands. The
other, dropping the shelled crab back on the ground, descended beneath the
surface after the first.
‘I have
survived the Storm!’ the larger crab delighted as he fell back into the sand. Feeling
safe in his shell, he started trekking across the desert.
After a few
days, the sky opened and rain showered down. This did not phase the crab. He continued
to delight in his good fortune as the shell kept him dry. He continued his
journey. As the hours passed, the rain did not let up. The sand soon became so
inundated that water accumulated along its surface. The crab struggled to keep
walking. Soon he struggled to keep afloat. As the rain continued to fall, the
water levels rose and the crab realized he had misidentified the Storm. The
Pisco desert filled with water and the crab cursed his sour luck. He drowned.
When the
rain ended and the desert drained, the gigantic silver claws rose up from the earth
and dropped the smaller crab back in the sand. He walked across the desert
until he found the emptied shell of his friend. Crawling inside, he began his
trek across the desert, to live another day.”
Kent stared
at the small man across the table.
“Who are
you?”
The man
crossed his legs. “A vigilante, like you, Kent. But there’s a difference
between us. They know too much about you.”
“What are
you talking about?”
Setting
down his drink, the small man crossed his arms.
“You can
settle here. It’s warm, relaxing, inconspicuous. The Storm won’t reach you, and
we’ll cover your tracks. Let us protect you. Hang up the cape and we’ll finish
the work.”
Kent
frowned and slid back his chair. Standing up, he looked to the sky.
“I’ll be
fine.”
He turned
and walked away. Shaking his head, the small man picked up his drink. It was so
bitter. He watched Kent rise up through the clouds like a rocket. Tipping his
glass, he finished his Pisco Sours and listened to the crashing waves.
