Member
Bubba
Location: Bubba’s Condo West Side of San Francisco
Time: Two days before Mayor Chen went crazy
Sitting on the dining room table was a chemistry book, a guide to crystals, and different resource books.
Gold = [Xe] 4f14 5d10 6s1
Xe = [Kr] 4d10 5s2 5p6
Kr= 1s2 2s2 2p6 3s2 3p6 4s2 3d10 4p6
That meant that gold was: 1s2 2s2 2p6 3s2 3p6 4s2 3d10 4p6 4d10 5s2 5p6 4f14 5d10 6s1
Hydrogen had been easy, Helium no problem. Carbon took some work (1s22s22p2) picturing the lattice work and holding the image of the electron orbitals in his mind at the same time was no easy feat. He tried to create dirt til he found out how damn complex it was. He could create water. But now it was the money, Bubba was trying to create Gold.
Like a freshman in college, Bubba felt like he was cramming for an exam. He had kind of heard all this when he was back in college. He heard the moans of his chemistry teacher and his Lab Assistant. That was back in the days when, well back in the days where he lived that type of life.
Bubba was quite charming when he put his mind to it.
Now he wished he had actually paid attention in class. He had his football degree. A fine diploma hung on the wall, first one to go to college. His major was sex and he graduate high up in his class. He had made his way through three sororities.
“Focus on this stuff, Bubba,” he said out loud. When he could get his hands on a computer geek, he would have him write a program to visualize this stuff on a tablet.
He had a diamond about the size of his thumb laying on the table. That had taken him two evenings of hard work. Now sweat ran down his forehead and back as he focused. He built the image of the atom layering each new level pushing away the ambient atoms and molecules that were trying to pollute his creation. Protons and neutrons, then the electron orbitals. Once he had that he started picturing the lattice structures, then the layers, finally the size he wanted. This took time and energy.
A lot of energy when he was learning something new. He found it got easier when he practiced.
He wanted to make money in case Alexander could figure a way out of this.
Bubba and Alexander Chen
Location: Bubba’s Condo West Side of San Francisco
Time: Two days before Mayor Chen went crazy
As the ambulance’s siren scream echoed off the walls of the hospital, Alexander looked up and asked, “Did they get the shooter?”
“Put the mask back on,” his medical resident housemate said to him, “You’ve got at least a couple broken ribs and possibly a collapsed lung.”
He winced and smiled up.
“Good luck trying to cut through this,” he said,” He had two bulletproof vests on.
The first had a hole about the size of two fingers. The second was barely intact. But he wasn’t bleeding. He just wanted to be dead.
Now he would need to replace both of the vests.
“Did they get it on video?” the other girl showed CNN showing the window breaking and his body laying on the floor. Fox was showing the entire video, even showing the video in slow motion.
The chief of police sat in the front of the ambulance, He called back, “You’ve had quite a day!”
After a moment, he looked back, “No, they did not get the shooter. But he left the phone.”
“I told you they would go for a body shot. They wanted to send a message to others so they needed the head. Body shots give you more area. Shooting me in the legs would be pointless,”
Alexander said, “Remind me to approve drones for you.”
When they arrived his girls played their parts perfectly. He had to look dead. They even moved his legs, dropping them to make him appear dead. Getting him into Trama 2, his girl worked her magic. He’s lost a lot of blood, we need to get him into I.R. so we can get a central line into him. This was not her first rodeo and people moved. When they got down to I.R. Bubba sat in a white coat and scrubs with a bag beside him. There were three scanners in operation. He was waiting.
Bubba smiled at Alexander and said, “You are the luckiest bastard to have us.”
They moved off the gurney and got the vests off. They did a scan with a wand to make sure that the lungs were okay. The broken ribs showed.
A little blood product splashed on the floor from a prior trauma as Alexander was changed into different clothes.
“Seattle Seahawks?” Alexander said to Bubba with some disgust. They put him into pink sweats and a sweatshirt with a white-haired wig, red high heels, a red purse, a wedding ring with a rock on it, and a cane. The girls put on lipstick and the cheap dark glasses they have when you have a headache or an eye exam.
Bubba was adorned in Oakland Raiders colors with a big honking gold chain with a basketball. He picked Alexander up, placed him into a hospital wheelchair, and took him from the room. Outside the chief of police reported that the mayor was under close guard a few minutes later the girls fed a story to the first-year resident who had been on for about two weeks and that he could make a statement.
Dr. Andrew Scott nervously stepped up to the microphones and made a report on the condition of the mayor. That he was being transferred to the ICU in critical condition.
Bubba and his momma who fell and needed an x-ray made their way down to one of the electric Mustang GT’s - black of course with tinted windows.
Bubba lifted Alex, placing him into the passenger seat and buckling him in. He even kissed him on the cheek like you would your Mama. He folded the wheelchair and placed it in the trunk.
Two cut pieces of electrical tape made the license plate different enough to make the feds burn time if they came looking.
Bubba drove them to one of his former girlfriends' apartments that were on the first floor of a junky apartment building. She had been killed in the attack. The place was bad enough that the roaches moved to Oakland. It had underground parking and no cameras and people did not ask a lot of questions. Bubba handed him a bag containing his holster and two 40 caliber Glocks. His service sidearm and his backup.
There was diet coke in the fridge and a television.
Bubba said, “Someone will check on you later. They will have a key, don’t shoot them.”
“There is a greasy spoon around the corner if you get hungry,” Bubba said. Bubba then dropped a handful of 20’s in Alexander’s lap.
“Don’t worry, we got you,” Bubba said as he headed out.
With no phone, no wallet, T.V. pundits fighting over if he was doing the right thing. Commentators saying they aimed too low. A few agreed with him as did some Federal Judges. He had enough.
Bubba headed out in his wig, ball cap, and the stolen wheelchair. He made it to the restaurant without much trouble. To the people in the hood, he screamed undercover cop. Alexander was fine with that. He had only seen one patrols go by all evening. There was work that still needed to be done in the city. The city, hell the world need him.
A kid held the door as Chen tried to get through. A second helped him over the threshold. Not everyone was bad. Chen was counting on that.
The restaurant was the kind of place you would see prostitutes, drug dealers, and the poor working-class come to get a bite. The food was a heart attack on a plate. The fries were to die for.
He sat there watching the world. Contemplating how David was going to survive let alone slay Goliath.
