Travel Log: Gerro

His name was Gerro. At least that was what the faded ID, hanging from his shirt pocket showed. He was short and bent with age; his large, leather pack, nearly bursting, cast its shadow over his frail body.

“Come on in!” I’d told him. He stepped up the stairs and into my bus, then squeezed in behind me. The smells of lacquer, steel, and oil wafted as he passed, the familiar scent bringing memories of Trebin and its industry. It had been years since I’d seen a tinker, not with how easy power had become to harvest—even as the Gods tightened their restrictions.

The man carefully removed the pack from his back and set it down gently onto the floor in front of his seat before just as delicately placing himself down right in the middle of the cushion.

“Where you headin’?” I asked him, shifting myself around in my seat, the springs complaining. “You’re the only one on today. You’ve got top priority.”

He turned his gaze to me slowly, showing a weak smile. “Anywhere, really.” His voice wavered, if only just slightly.

“Anywhere it is, then.” I said. The man just turned his head back down to his pack, lightly caressing the handle with his thumb.

With a creak and a twist, I yanked the separator and I heard the hiss of life breathe into the machine. The great, beetle-like legs stretching, releasing a breath of steam, and crunching into the stone beneath. The mighty, metal beast groaned and stood up, frame screeching as it rose. Such a beautiful sound. Life entering the steel hull of this behemoth created a symphony of tones and harsh harmonies. My passenger, however, sunk his head even lower.

“You travel much?” I called back, waking him from his thoughts. His head turned, slowly and carefully in my direction, eyes pulling in from a distant focus.

He nodded.

“You travel to travel or you just goin’ where work takes you?”

He looked at me through the mirror for a long moment, his long, bony fingers playing quietly with the zippers. I ratcheted the levers forward, urging the steel behemoth into motion. “I travel to leave.”

Ah. An escaper. I thought to myself, making a small note in the notebook I kept at my side. I still raised my eyebrow and with curiosity laced into my voice, prodded him for more. “What do you mean you travel to leave?” The man turned his gaze downward, then outward, watching the rocky terrain pass by. His hands never left his pack.

He didn’t reply. Not immediately. Knowing he’d answer in his own time—escapers always did—I focused back on the landscape; the beauty of the mountains, especially during the heating—the bright emerald of the trees, the activity of the animals, the waves of heat that emanated from the black rock blurring it all together into a single, expertly crafted oil painting. It was mesmerizing. I watched Phante, although still distant, set quietly beneath the horizon. Following just behind her, Nisthi, just larger than her sister star in the sky, fell, seeking refuge.

“It’s my life work.”

I smiled, though did not bother to turn in my seat yet. Instead, I watched him through the mirror and waited. While he spoke, his gaze remained glued out the window. “I’m a tinker. My life’s work.” He paused and sighed, sagging as the breath left him. “Ain’t no one left who wants good, old-fashioned handiwork no more.”

“I’m sure they will. Just give it time.”

His hand tightened on the handle of his bag. “Ain’t got no time left.” His voice hovered just above a whisper. “Time done rolled its dice, n’ mine just came up short.”

“Time’s kinder to you than you might be thinkin’” I told him, adjusting the levers just enough to keep the bus angled toward the setting suns. “She’s actually rather fair if you consider it.”

The man laughed just slightly. Only enough to make his shoulders bounce once and air rush from his nose. “Guess you’re right. Built some beautiful things in my life. They’re out there still somewhere.” I turned around, sending him a calm smile, quietly encouraging him to continue. Instead, he returned with a question. “And what about yourself? Why you drive?”

I laughed. Big and hearty. “Oh, me? I just drive because I love seein’ things, places, people. It’s all just there, waiting to be seen. Ain’t needed no other reason than that.” The man sat back and rested his head against the cloth seat. His hand never left his bag.

“You got the right kind of life, ain’t you? Ain’t a care in the world out here.”

I turned around and offered a simple smile. “You’d be right surprised. You should try the traveler’s life sometime. Get your mind off your work.”

The corner of his lips twitched and for a brief moment, I thought a smile might decide to creep onto his face. Instead, he pulled back from relaxation, tightening his grip on the handle of his bag. “Travel is my work, ma’am.” His head, once again weighed down, turned to me. “Travel is my work. Sure the world looks nice to the eyes, but the beauty’s all gone out of it. Like a painting left out in the sun for a few too many years.”

Back up front, I checked the graphs and adjusted the pressure of the joints. Aside from the melodic hiss of steam, whispering through the windows and the percussive crunching and grinding of metal and stone, the space between us held no sound. No conventional sounds, at least; the muffled whine of a silent memories still echoed in the belly of my bus.

I smiled as two tears fell to the floor at quiet feet. “Well, then. I got just the place for you to go. I’ll take you right there in a jiffy.” I told the man, grabbing the levers and torqueing them to the right, the metal beast complying.

“And where’s that?” He asked, looking up and out the front window, watching the last of Phante’s light vanish and Nishti beginning to touch the top of Llevan peak.

“Home.” I said, marking the new course, just to the right of the double sunset. “I’ll be takin’ you home.”

Gerro sighed. “Home.” He said, expression distant. “Home sounds right nice.”

I nodded. “Home been right nice.”

Bretta’s Notes: Found an escaper today. Seems sad. Tinkerer, this one. Ain’t really seen a tinkerer much no more. They’s gonna be more useful eventually, but right now, they’s just kinda obsolete. Man left his bag on the bus though when he got off. Didn’t even notice until I was already well on the road. Thought about rummaging through it, but just decided to leave it for now. Probably just some old tinker stuff.