Image Credit Pexels.com – Asheil Ramsurrun
Long Thaw
The long thaw had set in, as the pond in Abbey Park could once again accommodate the resident ducks that swam in the cold shallows.
“It’s been unseasonably cool here in Leicester,” said Robert York, clouds of warm air materialized when he spoke before fading away. “Do you know why the ducks live here year round, Henry Bear?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Henry Bear.
“Because the Park Ranger clips their wings, making it impossible to fly,” answered Robert York.
Henry Bear still felt the surreal spell of the moment. When the summer started, this man had his people attempt to kill Henry Bear and his family in a failed shark attack. Then a helicopter leveled his old barn. Not to mention the cyanide poison in the chocolate cake from the Frenchman in Japan, the trial still pending. Only the raging bull, on his path to the European Associate remained questionable.
So, when Mr. Sinclair had called his cell on the hill above Terceira, on the Azores Islands of Portugal, Henry Bear couldn’t grasp the full weight of the meeting being proposed. Even now, did his feet really remain planted, in the thin layer of snow on the edge of a pond in Abbey Park after a long thaw?
Only for Henry Bear, his frozen heart for Robert York, might have just began its long thaw. Still the reservations, and the worry that at any moment, a ninja might flip out of a tree with nunchucks.
Robert York now walked along the edge of the frozen pond. Henry Bear followed feeling the long thaw under his jacket, as the chill faded, with each step he took.
“Too bad we got off on the wrong foot Henry Bear. You’re a talented individual. Only ahead of your time.”
Not long after they’d left the park, crossed the River Soar, and continued down Abbey Park Road; this all happened in silence, as the two men let their eyes settle on the gray mist of the ancient English town. Henry Bear had never been, while Robert York rolled over the grounds like a ghost always haunting this place for eternity.
“Almost there,” were the next words spoken after a good stroll, Robert York lifting his cane to point at Leicester Cathedral straight ahead. “This is the tomb of Richard III and my family’s connection to royalty.”
Henry Bear took another good look at Robert York, the CEO of Lycon Oil, a Fortune 500 company. He thought back to the European Associate - letting him know - the Hemp Satellite would need at least another year of testing. Then to Mr. Fujimoto, who already sold the dream of bamboo satellites.
Now here with Robert York, as a simple Native American man from the U.S. Pacific Northwest. A place once ruled as a British colony, known for fur trapping. His push for a sustainable future with Hemp production somehow stepping on this man’s toes.
“Why don’t you want Hemp Satellites Robert York?”
“It’s not that I don’t want them Henry Bear. It’s that the idea happened too soon. What’s the reason for you and Mr. Fujimoto creating your business model?”
They stopped before the doors to Leicester Cathedral. Each having their own honest reflections about where each man stood in relation to the other.
“Space junk,” answered Henry Bear.
“That’s right space junk. You and Mr. Fujimoto can’t clean the space junk in orbit. You’re only offering to send more satellites into space that won’t add to the problem. Well you should know, as I’ve already informed Mr. Fujimoto, Lycon Oil has agreed to a partnership with Roscosmos to clear out all the space junk.”
“Really,” Henry Bear felt stunned by the news.
“Yes, we’re going to start next year. We can even recycle the old satellites selling the material to traditional satellite makers. People who have proven their technology works. They’ll never need to worry about obsolete space craft filling the upper atmosphere again. For now on, there will be a way to retrieve them and bring them back to Earth. So, unless you can prove Hemp Satellites offer another competitive advantage then…”
“I’m finished. Wow Robert York, that’s really something, seriously that’s going to allow space exploration to continue for future generations. I’m sure there’s a market for what I’m developing. It just looks like a smaller portion of the overall market. Less than we’d hoped for.”
“Glad you can see it that way Henry Bear. I really do. So lets visit Richard III, and I’ve got us tickets to the Leicester City football match this afternoon at King Power Stadium. It’s right over there,” Robert York said pointing with his cane again.
Henry Bear looked up at the old stone façade towering before them. His eyes straining further into the long thaw of the winter storm clouds overhead. The colder temperatures they’d brought slowly fading with the white glow of sunshine. Invisible, the tiny green light of the Hemp Satellite circling the globe once again.
“OK, lets do it.” Said Henry Bear.
To be continued…
Red Roses, Read by Kira Omans
Rikki Luxx Beats, Cold World:
