14
The following day, Pax Co. trucks could be heard from two miles away. Around these parts, a mass machine migration was a rare sight, and the neighbors looked down on the machines with their haughty, judgmental, dead stares. The drilling machines had not been built yet, and already the neighbors hated it. It would be industrial noise all around, they figured. The sounds of bloodless arms moving up and down, taking what they owned from the earth. No one seemed to own anything before now, but now there would be talks of contracts and property lines. Now there would be big men and women toting around how big and important they were.
Supervisor, manager, head-builder, or whatever meaningless name had been assigned them. I belong to Pax Co., they said. I belong to Austin Daark. The chain of command stretched to infinity, and no position alone was all that important.
Most of the farm animals died in the fire, and what decent animals were left over (chickens mostly) were sold off to unsuspecting industrialized farms. By escaping Daark’s range, the animals might be restored to passable health, but it was no coincidence that the animals were all disabled in some form. Daark worked his magic on the farm to get what he wanted; a few dead animals were no great loss to Daark.
Just as he said, Daark drove Jax out to the airport to fly out and leave a mess behind for Wyatt to sort through if he still cared about the farm. And if Daark knew Wyatt as well as he thought he did, Wyatt would take his new job as manager or supervisor seriously.
Once again, Jax caught a view of the gorgeous open plains and felt a sense of freedom.