The Green Bus And The X-O Factor! Book One of the Luke Mitchner Series

By Michael M. Tickenoff

Get to know Luke Mitchner, a journalist beach bum and hunter of ocean sunken treasure. He attracts a great group of motley characters as his friends and co-horts in adventures.

Part of this story is taken from real life experience--there was an Etroid and five young travelers headed east on Route 66 in an old VW bus. But fantasy, fiction and romance find their way into this fun tale of misguided ideals and warped intentions

In this, the first Luke Mitchner adventure, get to know Luke, a journalist beach bum and hunter of ocean sunken treasure. He attracts a great group of motley characters as his friends and co-horts in adventure.

Luke decides to hitchhike, as an easy-going way to go cross-country for his next journalism assignment—covering an international moon flight in Florida. But the trip becomes a dangerous adventure for Luke, and the students who’s old bus is taken over by a strange man who claims alien powers. Luke becomes mentor, guide, and important helper of the boys, even saving lives.

A part of this story is taken from real life experience—there was an Etroid and five young travelers headed east on Route 66 in an old VW bus. But fantasy, fiction and romance find their way into this fun tale of misguided ideals and warped intentions

Soon, a massive inherited fortune will be released into Luke Mitchner's care. In his next adventure novels, he finds allies and friends, old and new, who will discover that wealth is a powerful tool which can simplify or complicate lives, including their own. Individually, they seem to attract more than enough exciting escapades but once the team is fully formed, they become a force to be reckoned with.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael M. Tickenoff
• Release date: Apr 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370395408

Michael M. Tickenoff

Michael is a gentle old soul with a heart of gold and a very rich diamond mind. He's been around and around, just won't go away. If you have a hungry mind, he'll feed you well, just read his stories and they will tell. Everything is worn and torn on this old blind man, except for his imagination! Michael is friendly, he is kind and still learning how to be somewhat refined. Take him with a grain of salt and a pinch of gold because he's really on his way to getting old. He's had a rough life, full of strife with many go-rounds and still he lives without a frown. Sure thing, life has taken its toll, but this man named Michael is a special soul with lots of life and a mysterious role !Remember now: One Degree In The Beginning, Makes All The Difference In The End!..........................................................................................................Sadly Michael passed away in November of 2016 and we miss him.We are glad that he has left us stories cloaked in the enchantment of imaginary fables, where we delight in gems of truth and beauty.

Book preview

The Green Bus And The X-O Factor!

Techno Forces And The Great Green Con

By Michael M. Tickenoff

Copyright © 2014 by Michael M. Tickenoff

Second Edition 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to those Route 66 cadets from long ago. It was an adventure meeting you young dreamers looking for a short cut to the heavens. I hope you found your way.

I did some tweaking with your lives and the story itself, adding in a bit of fictional fun. But the Green Bus, remains true.

Oh, and I hope you did finally escape the power of Etroid the great Green Con!

Remember those long talks in the desert; watching the night skies for a get away?

Adventure begins in your mind…

don't let it end there!

Adventure begins in your mind…

don't let it end there!

INTRODUCTION

Journalist and young adventurous loner, Luke Mitchner, was on the road again. His editor and friend Dustin Arrow, Mitchner’s best friend and companion who was also his long time editor and lawyer, had suggested that the opportunity of a lifetime was awaiting any enterprising journalist at the triple moon colony blast off in Florida. Luke could have flown there and saved some time and money but his choice was to cross the country by hitchhiking.

Luke’s choice of travel to the moon blast-off took him into a journey of a lifetime.

His life had taken some difficult turns. He was still in the gray of mourning for his grandparents killed a year earlier in a small plane crash in the Canadian Rockies. That was pretty well the end, for his family. Even though Dustin, his companion in life, had advised against such a trip by thumb, Luke wanted a slow and easy get-away trip across the southern states. One that offered him a bit of freedom and time alone to consider what this disaster would mean for his life and the lives of the many people affected by his grandparents deaths. They had built and supported many operations like mining and ranching, and projects like medical centers in remote places.

This present life crisis had its good side and its bad side, like a coin with two faces, back to back and welded together. On the one part his grandparents had left him their fortunes; they had willed, entrusted and assigned their vast holdings over to young Luke—no light matter. On the other side of the coin was the face of the Canadian Court system and its mountain range of red tape.

The Canadian Court System had stepped into the probate procedures and tied everything up with their inheritance rules, taxes and a hundred law suits.

On top of all this, because this was a high profile case, many companies and enterprises were involved, everyone wanting their cut from this huge rich pie. How it was going to be resolved Luke and his Lawyer Dustin had no idea. But with the loss of his only family, Luke had no immediate care for the vast inheritance.

Luke for now, just wanted to stay free, to travel and continue on with his unordinary story searches and investigative journalism. This desire would come to pass, but not in any way he had ever dreamed.

He knew that these latest events had placed a great responsibility on his shoulders, but he was unsure how to go about carrying them. This life style had worked well for him in the past three years and his reputation as a journalist was slowly picking up momentum.

However, curious journalists and a few investigators had been trying to trace Luke down because he was big news in the Canadian financial circles and was now going to take the helm of a massive fortune and all the companies that were a part of it.

Therewith, he departed his apartment in Newport Beach and staying low key, he had taken the train to Phoenix and began thumbing east on Route 66.

Somehow, the long stretches of empty highway and the passing cars brought back memories of old days of freedom and adventure. In his own way, Luke wanted to embed those feelings into his very soul, for he knew that great changes were in his future. How great, he did not know, but for the sake of memory he wanted to blueprint that feeling of independence and serendipitous adventure into his mind and heart.

There was no doubt he knew big events and serious challenges were on their way. All the same, before these great responsibilities stepped in and would attempt to immunize his spirit of liberty and adventure, he would once again walk directly into the gears of the blueprint memory machine!

CHAPTER ONE – ON THE ROAD

Heading due east on Highway 66, a new season of hellish snow blasted out of the North. It began blowing like a welcome to Siberia storm around me. Evening was already far blurred into the oncoming storm with icy blasts beginning to howl against me. Dimmed headlights reflected through the blustering snowfall, beautifying the flakes into pure white sparks of wonder. This unexpected storm mixed itself with heavy white flurries, blanketing the high desert with a mid-autumn cover on the famous Arizona Flagstaff plateau. My feet crunched the snow underfoot, walking backwards holding out my traveling hand postulating for another generous traveler to consider my fate and possibly stop for this weary stranger headed to warm and exciting Florida.

Soon the traffic thinned to a long empty road while blowing snow turned this lone figure into a white shadow. Hope somehow arose within me for the twentieth time when from out of the Valley Of The Sun came a gear-grinding tune, calling to my frozen ears, offering a faint chance.

From out of the misty flurries, I saw a green bus slowly appear. For the moment, it seemed a slow moving apparition, hesitantly making a decision, possibly worried if it might not make it up the hill if it stopped. Apparently confidence was with it, as it slowed. The door flung open and from out of its secret interior, a well-tanned face, rather a grubby looking driver, maybe 20 years old, tossed this snow flecked loner a careful look of summing over. Several moments passed as I stood there being scrutinized and inspected to see if I was worthy to enter this unknown realm.

Then with a rough but unsure voice calling out, Hey man, jump in before we start rolling back down to Phoenix.

Apparently I made it through check point one.

The cold wind almost pushed me, the half frozen journalist, up and through the open door, with the image of wide open jaws swallowing a lost critter into the warm breathing of a beast.

The door immediately shut behind, sealing off the blasting winds, at the same time locking this sojourner into a powerful story waiting to be told.

While the driver began urging the bus up the snow covered highway, another voice from within the shadows inquired, Where you headed, man?

I stood quiet for a moment, eyes adjusting, while listening to the windshield wipers sloshing back and forth trying to keep the snow from piling up. I turned towards the inquiring voice to see a young man sprawled in the dimly lit interior holding onto the side of a cluttered bunk. As I dusted the snow off my beard, I gave a cheerful but chattering reply, I'm headed east to sunny Florida. Then maybe up to New York.

Oh wow, that is where we’re going, but what the heck you want with New York? a second voice sarcastically asked from out of the side bunk shadows.

Looking back I could see that it was a short bus, made into a traveling van. The interior was fitted with bunks, a planked table was secured in the middle, with two surfboards suspended from the ceiling and a crude butane stove wedged in behind the driver and the nearest bunk. Various boxes and assorted camping gear was piled around and in between the secured furniture. Holding onto the entry pole waiting to see what might be, I was enjoying the musty warmth, listening to the different greetings rising up out of the darkened interior. I removed one glove and rubbed the melting snow off my face and beard.

I hesitantly waited to answer while trying to make my eyes adjust to the nearly claustrophobic atmosphere.

Shadowy faces would suddenly appear, like in one of those old time movie reels gone jumpy, then slowly fade away in the blurred headlights of oncoming cars. I got my footing after a few swaying turns and could see maybe three bodies tucked into the bunks running along the sides.

Answering with the thought of a long journey ahead, I easily said, Well, not really looking to spend time in New York. But from what I hear, it's the best place to fly out of for Europe.

This Europe thing managed to bring to life two younger guys out of their bunks, and they were soon asking me questions. Doesn't it cost tons of bucks to fly to Europe? asked one shaggy haired kid with a flashy ear stud, roughly 16 in years.

Not really. From what I'm hearing you can get to Europe for under 200 bucks, I passed on what I knew.

That's a lot of bucks, you got that much money for a ticket? inquired a stocky, broad shouldered, brown and handsome looking American Indian fellow, who had carefully moved up and now stood behind the driver.

I knew I had made my first mistake by being a little too open about costs among strangers, but replied, Not yet, having my editor wire me out some bucks once I get things arranged.

Editor? You got an editor? the shaggy haired kid, who was now leaning forward, aggressively inquired of me with interest. He went on excitedly, I take pictures, and pointed to the walls of the bus where I could see photos tacked up in every open space.

Well…I'm sort of a freelance journalist and go all over looking for stories. My editor and friend Dustin Arrow handles my business and sells my articles and stories while I'm on the road.

This information brought the young photographer off his bunk, swinging his feet to the floor asking, You think your editor might ever need some really far out photos?

I had to admire this kid's aggressiveness. I could not see the quality of his photos but offered him hope that it might be possible; we could check it out later. It looked like I made my first friend.

The driver adjusted his iron studded cap, glancing up at me, Hey that's cool, how'd you get that gig?

I've been writing ever since I was a surf bum and wrote articles for surfing magazines when I was in high school. In time I got hooked up with a few solid publishers.

This was the simplest and the truest way of describing my somewhat complicated existence and my present 24 year old life, which had just been further complicated by the deaths of my grandparents. I was entering into one of my greatest challenges ever; but that was not for sharing now.

I quickly turned the questioning back onto the grubby group of what seemed to be even more weary souls than myself. So where have you guys been and where are you headed?

The driver turned and said that they had been to California for the summer, surfing and hanging out with girls and partying. Now they were headed across country through New Mexico, Texas and onto Florida and then back home to Iowa.

He paused to check out the highway ahead and then offered me a solid ride all the way to Florida, Hey, you're welcome to travel along with us as far as we're going east but you're gonna have to share a little with the gas.

I nodded and said, Sure. Sounds good.

CHAPTER TWO – GETTING ACQUAINTED

Still standing and holding onto the bus pole up front, things went silent as if everyone was suddenly awaiting their fate through my answer.

Flickering shadows danced around the walls while passing tail lights cast their red glows across anxious faces and flickered into the cluttered interior until what seemed to be an unacceptable grunt merged from the back lower bunk. A blunt feeling of fear filled the dark silence and I thought for a moment that the invitation to travel with this group had failed to pass through the top managerial officer. I just let this sink in, nothing I could do at the moment, so continued looking out at the storm and the growing darkness, the trees bowing with snow.

I thought momentarily, maybe take the path of least resistance, Sure, I will be willing to help out a little as we go. But ain't got too much more than a few spare bucks until I get to Florida and send in my story.

Cool man. What kind of a story are you writing? inquired the driver, again adjusting his cap and squinting into the snowy night.

Clearing my throat first, I hope to get some kind of an interview with the Space Center PR people, or something along those lines. You know about the Triple International and US World Space Launch, don't you, to set up the colony on the moon?

Again, everything seemed to go quiet, the outside noise of passing cars and trucks flowing into the void. This interrupting annoyance became an obvious flag of caution for the longest time.

The silence held until the young shaggy haired photographer kid cleared his voice with some excitement and said, Wow, great gobs of goodness, that is where Etroid is taking us. Or at least somewhere close to that.

Then the driver turned his head to me and inquired with narrow eyed suspicion, Why would you be hitchhiking to Florida for a story instead of just flying out?

It was a fair question and I would have been wondering about this myself if I were in their seats. I learned way back when, it's not a wise thing to give out too much information about oneself, to anyone other than a close tested friend, no less a bus load of strangers.

But I answered him honestly, or at least as honest as I could, Ah, I have found that sometimes there are more stories on the way to the story than the story itself. And besides, this old mother Route 66 has a lot of history, so I thought I might pick up insights to a future story, if I traveled it at least to Texas.

With some hesitancy stirred into the voice I heard one of the guys behind me say, That's fine with us, every little bit counts right now. We’re broke after the California scene, man. Hope you get a great story. This statement came from what I would learn later was Josh, the crew's oldest member, and their number one banker.

Now that they knew I was willing to contribute a little, they loosened up some and introduced themselves. The driver was Jethro, the twin brother to Josh the banker. The native American looking fellow, standing as if a guard behind Jethro and watching me with dark hooded eyes was Indian Joejo. The other three back in their bunks were Gunther, shaggy Abel the photographer, and Josh.

For some reason in this introduction they failed to mention the long lanky guy stretched out on the prime centered bunk in the back. In a moment of silence they glanced at each other with questioning eyes and seem to want the driver to handle this part of the introduction.

Jethro waited a few minutes, looked out at the side view mirrors, adjusted his cap again, as if thinking how to say whatever he had to say and finally spoke in a hushed but respectful tone, The Commander there in the back is our Guru…Etroid!

Okay, I thought, this is getting good, and I looked down the aisle through the moving shadows to take a better look at the Etroid guru fellow. This was one of those strange moments that make traveling a little apprehensive but also enhances the excitement and often turns a simple trip into an all out adventure. Now as the many colored lights of Flagstaff's passing signs and cars flashed into the bus, I caught flickering glimpses of this so-called guru.

He was definitely tall, lanky and very bedraggled. It was hard to make out any details of his features in the changing shadows. But his sandy brown hair was long, tangled and dirty; his hands were thin, long fingered; and it appeared as though he was plugged into another realm, murmuring to something beyond himself.

What was really strange about this guy—was his eyes. I know that eyes tell a story and exist as windows unto a soul. Immediately I knew this guy had a few best sellers of science fiction horror, just floating behind his eyelids.

I love old treasures and his eyes reminded me of polished silver deplumes found in a velvet lined treasure chest. Oh yes, if there was anything to remember about this guru character, it was his eyes.

Later his