I started printing out the new pictures I'd taken, all but the ones of Tiasa, as soon as I got back to the rented apartment. They were still printing when I fell asleep, but they'd stopped when I woke midafternoon, because I'd run out of ink for the printer again. I got myself sorted, then took my laptop and the unused set of cotton gloves with me when I went out.
With a little searching, I found a postal service store in a strip mall. I put on the gloves before leaving the Jetta. The store had ink cartridges, so I bought replacements, and then pretty much took their stock of FedEx packs and labels. I got some looks, and explained away the gloves to the cashier by saying that I had dermatitis.
Back in the Jetta the gloves came off, and I drove around until I found a coffee shop that also offered wireless access. I got myself a cup of mint tea, then got myself online, began searching up the addresses I wanted. I compiled a list, finished the tea, and headed back to the apartment. Before touching the envelopes or the labels, I made sure I was wearing my gloves.
The gloves stayed on my hands for the next two hours, as I resumed printing. When I finally took them off, I had sixteen FedEx packs loaded and labeled, each one containing a set of all the pictures I'd printed, the CDs I'd burned, and the narrative I'd written.
Then I settled in once more to try to sleep, and to wait for morning.
Sharala called at 10:17 the next morning.
“Congratulations,” she said. “It's a monster fucking Wave Bubble.”
“I'll be right over,” I said.
I lied, but only a little bit. I had to get my things cleared out of the apartment and loaded into the car first. Having done that, I donned my white cotton gloves for what would be the last time, and took my stack of FedEx envelopes to a drop box I'd located earlier. I'd marked each of the domestic packs to be at its destination by ten-thirty the next morning. The internationals, of which there were four, would likely take longer.
With the envelopes on their way, I stripped off the gloves, threw them in the first trash can I could find.
That completed, I headed back to UNLV.
They were waiting for me in the RF lab, the same place I'd first met them three days prior. The toolbox was a large one, traditional bright red, resting on the worktable in front of them, and each of them beamed at me like proud parents. Auggie opened it up as I approached to allow me a look, removing pieces and explaining what each component was. I listened as if I understood, but for all his care in explaining it, to me it was simply a sandwich of yellow circuit boards with hand-soldered wires joining them together, all of them secured to a flat piece of wood. They showed me where the antennae would attach.
There was also, as promised, a big red button.
“Thank you,” I told them.
“You kidding?” Solomon said. “We should be thanking you. This was a blast.”
I shook my head, bemused.
“Nah, you don't get it,” Auggie said. “This is why we got into this stuff in the first place. We all wanted to make the shit Batman carries around on his belt.”
I laughed, then took out the envelope I was carrying in my jacket, handed it to Sharala.
“What's this?” she asked.
“Six thousand dollars,” I said. “Figure that's two grand for each of you.”
“That's too much. Maybe this was a thousand dollars parts and everything, shipping. This is too much to pay.”
I just shook my head.
Six grand was nothing next to what I was hoping my new toolbox would buy me.