Rolla, Missouri

It was early morning in Rolla, Missouri. The town was waking up for another workday, and Jason needed coffee. Autumn was in full force; trees celebrated in an array of colors. As he left the terminal, a bracing morning chill made him hitch his coat around his neck.

Heading south down Kingshighway toward the yellow M. Coffee and pancakes seemed his measure this morning. Walking toward the Mcdonald’s, he passed a strip mall with a Dollar Store, a hairdresser, an insurance broker, and a couple of other small businesses. 

After getting breakfast, Jason relaxed as he sat at a window table and looked out as Rolla started its day. The place felt good. Pretty average. Not a lot to talk about, no weird, “we are the peach capital of the world.” The M-ds had newspapers, so he spent his time reading. One of the papers was local, and he found that Rolla had a respectable university focused on science and technology; it also sat on Route 44, one of the primary feeders north into St. Louis. 

Three times before, Jason had stopped like this. He had had breakfast, did not feel comfortable, and had purchased a new ticket in a new direction. Nerves got him each time. This time he wanted to see if he could make some luck.

The Dollar Store was opening and started to receive its morning customers. The coffee had activated his body, and the two paracetamols also helped.

Even from his vantage point, he could see the help wanted sign and that no one had come out to collect the shopping carts from the first twenty customers. Jason did not want to go to a motel; he was sick of bad beds and air fresheners.

He headed to the Dollar Store’s parking lot with his duffle over his shoulder. 

Jason was also thinking about the others that had not been arrested. He wanted to reach out to them for their protection and valuable skills.

Not far from Rolla, they found an old Farm Cottage they could rent. It was off the beaten track, and they also purchased a run-down old school bus and drove it out there.

They practiced what it would take to fly in the four frisbees, lock them onto the wheels, and lift the bus.

Ursula had wanted to be in on it, and her software needed quite a bit of modification to do the job on autopilot.

One of the first projects was to get the Frisbees flying so they could work together to grip the bus without ripping it apart or dropping it. Their bus was pretty soon a dented wreck, but they had learned a lot.

Jason went and purchased a second bus. They could get something similar by looking at the court building, and the transport used.

Again they went to task, practicing the snatch. The idea of being computer-driven meant Jason could concentrate on the edge cases of what could go wrong and program them ahead of time.  Ursula was roped in as needed.

Grabbing the bus was one thing, flying it out another, extracting the three friends was a third, and doing that with no injuries was paramount. The fifth was to disappear. What would the authorities be thinking? What would Castle and Yale be thinking? When would all the things they had been doing Rolla hit a tipping point? With the Feds and various Corporate powers?

They set off on a Thursday and drove the three hours to Carrollton. They wanted to arrive after dark. There was room in the garage for the truck they had borrowed. Under a tarp in the back shell was a frisbee.

Carol prepared a meal for them, and while she cooked, she got Maria and Jason to sit down. 

“I have found that talking while cooking is a good way to make other people comfortable. I am not on this trip as a chaperone, well, maybe a little, but I am on this trip as I have had no time to talk to you, Jason since so much has been revealed. I want to air some thoughts, see what you think, and consider the future.”

“As you might guess, family is very important to Louie and me. Family is more than just important; it is the only thing that keeps us civilized. Men need the responsibility of providing for their families; they need to become bound to something; I don’t mean imprisoned; I mean having a purpose. Equally, men need not feel trapped. Are you following me, Jason?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason answered.

“Jason, I have seen way too many men get to their thirties, and they still dress as they did in their teenage years; they still act like adolescents. They are emotionally immature, sexually active, financially illiterate, and have no long-term prospects.”