Not a single hand is idle, and every single body glistens with sweat from the heat of the sun. Work on Crank’s hydro-power turbine has begun in earnest. Grateful for the company, and the opportunity to demonstrate his acumen, even Sherlock replaces his tweed jacket with a thin undershirt and cutoff shorts.

Babe and the goat have been put to work moving various parts for the turbine. Paul coaxes her forward with kind words of encouragement. However, the goat refuses to acknowledge Paul, and only follows Babe.

Crank kneels on the recently constructed scaffold which encircles the town’s forlorn water tower. He uses a primitive ooman tool, called a hammer, to secure metal plates on an inclined platform. However, a smile tugs at the corners of his ooman disguise. It feels good to be doing something again. Something worthy of his time and effort. The energy generator will be up and running before long. He will be able to recharge his weapons to full power. Maybe even construct new ones.

Crank angles his body to hammer a long nail into the opposite side of the metal plate and catches sight of Simone below. Simone is clothed in a pair of tan pants, cut off at the knee, and an old blouse of the fashion worn by the fierce Calamity Jane. However, Simone has removed the sleeves of the blouse at the armpit, leaving her arms exposed. Simone’s light-brown flesh glistens with sweat as she coils a length of rope around her hand and elbow, in order to make it easier to store.

The muscles on Simone’s arms strain with every movement and Crank can’t help but admire her strength—both physical and otherwise. She has worked as tirelessly as any male, be they ooman or yautja, to help build the generator. Often going for hours without food, drink, or a break for rest. Crank is aware that Simone is in need of a distraction just as much as he is. The work on the generator appears to be doing her much good. She seems to have forgotten the ooman male who abandoned her and escaped with her children. Referring to the cruel brute less and less.

Almost as if she senses Crank’s eyes upon her, Simone glances up at the scaffold. Their eyes meet and she nods her head slowly, acknowledging his gaze. A tiny smile turns up the corners of Simone’s mouth. She returns her attention to the rope, her cheeks turning a too common reddish hue, and continues walking. Crank watches her until she passes out of his view under the scaffolding. Then, he too goes back to his work.

Not far away, at the trough, Paul catches this small display of affection. He looks from first, Crank, to Simone—his eyes narrowing. Paul is shifted from his thought process by the black and white goat pushing against his wooden leg. The beast seems hellbent on trying to knock Paul on his butt. It seems to realize that getting the better of Paul will mean getting rid of the wooden leg. It pushes against the back of Paul’s leg—at the joint which represents his new wooden knee. Paul considers kicking the creature, but clicks his tongue for Babe to approach instead.

Babe comes at the sound of Paul’s beckoning. The goat stops pushing at Paul Bunyan’s leg and moves to intercept Babe. However, it shoots Paul a look which almost implies that the war is not yet over. It will have the better of him, whether he likes it or not.

Paul Bunyan shakes his head to clear away the odd thoughts entering his mind. Maybe the goat is just crazy. Goats often were. How could they not be—using their noggins like battering rams? And what is with its obsession with Babe? Did the goat not realize there was absolutely no chance he was going to mate with the old girl? Did it even care? Was it simply impressed with the big ox? Or just confused? Crank's theory, that the goat is simply lonely, does have merit. But, it's still a little weird.

Paul once again shifts his attention to the scaffold, where Crank kneels hammering feverishly. He supposes the goat isn't any more confused than Simone and her spaceman. True, Paul hasn’t been with a woman in a long time. His constant shifting from one place to another, and now his disability, made him not exactly a catch for any woman. But romance is a thing one is not likely to forget once they learn it.

Some time back, while Paul was working a contract in Nevada, a soldier of the Spanish-American war had wandered into a saloon. The soldier had been lacking both arms and a leg. Surprisingly enough, the soldier had wooed quite a few of the saloon girls. Offering them gold coins which he placed into their bodices with his teeth. Drinks had flowed and the soldier had grown more and more generous. The next morning, he was found dead with his throat slit. Authorities had believed it was a jealous card player or other thieving man. Paul had always suspected it was one of the girls from the saloon. Only the girls, and incidentally Paul, had seen where the old soldier had withdrawn his money from. A pouch in the empty sleeve where his left arm had once been. When authorities found the soldier, only the left sleeve had been torn open, and the pouch taken. His pockets had not even been searched.

Paul Bunyan is no fool. He knows better than to underestimate any woman. And he suspects that Simone is aligning herself with the party she sees most likely to get her out of this hellish hole.

Paul's thinking shifts yet again. He remembers the night he got up the courage to propose to Calamity Jane. Jane had been young, wily, and beautiful then. Not quite the rough and tumble gunslinger she'd later become.

That evening, Jane had dressed in her Sunday best. While Jane always claimed to be god-fearing; she could cuss and swear with the worst of them. The worst, being Wild Bill Hickok.

That cool spring evening, with a slight breeze, and a hint of freshly baled hay; she had sparkled like a jewel in the heavens. It had been the night of the Willis family's barn raising. How they had both danced. And Wild Bill Hickok's jealous eyes had taken in it all. Every carefully placed step, every girlish giggle, every tiny brush of Jane's womanly hips, every whispered word in her ear.

Toward the end of the night, Wild Bill had gotten it into himself to pick a fight. However, by then, Bill had had more than too many sips of whiskey. Paul had sent the drunken outlaw flying over two buffet tables--crashing into two other gunslingers on the way to the ground.

Jane had laughed and laughed. Slapping her knees and bending forward; her fiery hair bouncing like tightly wound coils. Afterwards, Paul had asked Calamity Jane to marry him. And, she'd agreed. But then, came the contest. And the blasted storm.

Paul peers up at the scaffold. At that exact moment, Crank so happens to glance in the wary lumberjack's direction. Paul nods his head respectfully, and then goes about his work.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

-

-

Paul swings his axe and buries it deep into a wooden pillar of the local grain and feed store. Most of the wood from inside the store has already been claimed for Crank's water engine project. However, the elaborate storefront's five pillars are perfect for what Paul has in mind.

There is a loud crack from the pillar, and Paul yanks his axe free. More crackling, as he swings his axe yet again and widens the cavernous groove from his previous chops. The roof on that side of the storefront starts to slope--the support pillars in the center having already been removed.

Paul backs up several steps and puts two fingers in his mouth. With a piercing whistle, and a nod of his head, Paul signals Babe to perform her job. With a kick stronger than any Earthly beast has any right to be, Babe knocks the last remaining pillar out of place.

The storefront collapses with an eerie groan; wood pieces and dust choking the air. When everything settles, all that remains is a porchless grain store and a jumbled pile of wood. Babe rears up with excitement, at the completion of yet another task. Paul goes to Babe and pats her back affectionately.

"Good girl, Babe! Good girl!" the lumberjack says with a smile.

Paul looks out at the horizon, a hand at his brow.

"We've only got a couple hours of daylight left. Better get busy. Come on, girl!" Paul says wistfully.

Babe backs up to the storefront and allows Paul to reconnect the chain used for hauling the wood away. The ornery goat looks up at Paul with a hard expression. Paul glares right back.

"What are you so angry about, you mangy animal?" Paul yells down at the goat.

The goat saunters over to babe and yanks on the chain. Paul shakes his head in frustration and wags a finger at the goat.

"I'm not taking off that chain," Paul roars. "We've got work to do. Find someone else to bother. Crank or that Sherlock guy! Leave me and Babe be for once."

The goat huffs and grips the chain tighter in its teeth. Pulling against the chain, the goat tries to demonstrate its true intentions. Paul's mouth falls agape as he realizes he misinterpreted what the goat was trying to do.

"You don't want me to free Babe...You wanna help? Well, I'll be...Ha," Paul chuckles.

He steps close to the goat and pats the top of its head. The goat bristles and drops the chain from its mouth, glowering at Paul.

"Guess we're still not friends, huh?" Paul laughs. "Oh well, you help me build this outhouse and we'll call it a truce. I'm tired of digging holes in the ground to squat into. Maybe then, I'll give Simone the shovel for her garden. Won't tell her what it was used for though. It'll be our little secret."

The goat almost seems to understand. Standing completely erect, it allows Paul to adapt Babe's chain so that both animals can pull.

-

-

The sun is dipping below the horizon when Simone steps to the front window of the farmhouse. She watches the brilliant colors dancing across the sky with childlike amazement. Only a cluster of dark clouds, far in the distance, warns of another violent dust storm.

"What I wouldn't give for a good rainstorm," Simone whispers.

Crank glances up from the current blueprint he is working on and narrows his eyes.

"You wish for another storm?" Crank says in disbelief. "Aren't the storms in this place enough?"

"Rainstorms are different," Simone explains. "When I was young...The neighborhood children would all run outside to play in the rain. No one was a doctor's child, or a teacher's child, or a merchant's child, or the child of a wealthy businessman. We were all just children... Playing in the rain. Our mothers would beat us with aprons and towels when we tracked mud into the house. But we didn't care. It was fun. I miss those days. I miss my family. I miss my little girls. These dry dust storms...Without a hint of rain...Are starting to make me wonder if I'm in hell. And maybe my family...Maybe they're somewhere else. According to some people, it's the least I deserve. I don't have to worry about devils with pitchforks. Just my memories...And these damn storms."

As Simone's voice grows more and more solemn, Crank climbs heavily to his feet--nearly knocking over the chair he was sitting in. He crosses to the window and wraps both arms around Simone's middle, resting his hands near the bottom of her stomach. He lowers his chin so that it is nestled in her thick black hair.

"When I was in the city...I saw men and women with signs," Crank says in a deep voice. "They were telling the passing oomans about hell and who will go there. You do not belong in hell, Simone. This is not hell. If it were...I could not be here."

Simone turns in Crank's arms. She stares up into his face, eyes brimming with tears.

"How do you know that I don't belong in hell, Crank?". Simone insists. "Everything you know about me...Is what I've told you. I might be the biggest liar in history. And you'd never know it. I left my children...In the hands of a monster. There was nothing I could do. He was too well connected. I lost everything. My daughters, my reputation, my job, my home. I was supposed to be traveling to my uncle's house. He promised me I could stay with him any time. Instead, I hopped on a bus going the opposite direction. Going nowhere. I gave up hope on myself...And ever getting my daughters back. What kind of mother am I? You don't really know me, Crank. Not really."

Crank hugs Simone tightly to his chest, stroking her back with his hands.

"I know...You would not lie to me, Simone," Crank says.

He releases Simone and leans back enough to stare down into her face. His golden-brown eyes lock on her hazel ones.

"Unless, you had a good reason," Crank says, finishing his statement.

Simone knows Crank is referring to her unwillingness to divulge the true nature of her encounter with Paul Bunyan. But there really isn't much to tell. Paul was drunk. Drunk people do silly things sometimes. He doesn't deserve to die for it. Simone sighs and places a hand on Crank's disguised cheek.

"It's true. I would never lie to you, Crank," Simone says. "Not unless, I were trying to protect you from yourself. You chose me to be your guide...Your teacher...Here on Earth. I take that role very seriously. I don't want to see you hurt. And I don't want to see you hurt anyone...Not without good reason."

"I could have chosen any guide," Crank utters softly. "But, I would have chosen wrong. The love and kindness you have shown me...Is more than I had come to expect from any ooman. In truth, I chose you... Because you are beautiful."

"Huh?" Simone gasps, her eyes widening. "But..."

Simone is unable to finish her statement before Crank covers her mouth with his disguised lips. Simone reaches up to touch his cheek, feeling the faux flesh of Crank's ooman disguise shift--as his mandibles strain to open. She lightly presses her hand against his cheek, reminding him not to force the disguise past its limits. Crank's face relaxes, but he continues to kiss her.

A large gust of wind buffets the front of the farmhouse and granules of sand brush against the windowpane. Crank partially releases Simone and peers outside. Whatever sunlight remained has been stolen away by the approaching dust storm.

"I can't offer you a rainstorm," Crank whispers. "But I have something almost as good. I've nearly completed work on the shower. If we work together...We can have it finished before morning. I promise...It will be much better than the one Sherlock uses."

Simone offers Crank a coy smile and lowers her lids halfway.

"Mmmmmmm. I hope so," Simone says.

Crank returns her smile.