Blake Schwendiman's Blog and Blook

I believe there comes a time in every married woman’s life when she realizes that she seriously overestimated one or more of the attributes that initially drew her to her husband. In some cases, the shortcoming is trivial. In my wife’s case, however, it was difficult for her to even comprehend the concept of my inability as a handyman. She grew up with a father, a brother and a slew of uncles, cousins and other male relatives that simply fix stuff. They can weld, cut, hammer, plumb, rewire, service and otherwise handyman just about anything on the planet. She understood the ability to repair as inherent to all men.

Not only do I not possess the ability to repair, I also am inherently devoid of the capacity to diagnose the types of problems that will eventually require the ability to repair. Therefore, to avoid even the possibility of finding myself in a situation that would require either skill, I typically used one or more of the following responses to any trouble:

1. “It’s still under warranty, let’s make sure we don’t void the warranty and just get someone out to look at it.”

2. “It’s getting pretty old. Maybe it’s time to just get a new one.”

3. “We’re renting. The landlord can take care of it.”

I was feeling quite good about the above approach for the first year of our marriage. My good fortune failed in the second year of our marriage when my in-laws came to visit.

We had been having some recurring trouble with the water heater in our rented apartment, but it was always easily resolved using aforementioned excuse number three. However, on this particular occasion, my wife was concerned that her parents would be subjected to a cool-water (the water is never cold in Arizona) shower in the morning if we were unable to do anything about the water heater right away. The conversation went something like this:

ME: “It is a water heater. That’s a very complicated piece of high-voltage equipment that also stores water. Water and electricity don’t mix well. Therefore I don’t want to touch it.”

MY WIFE: “There’s probably a breaker switch on the water heater. We probably just need to check that.”

Let me interject to say that while the words “breaker switch” were recognizable to me as standard English words, I could not derive any actual meaning from them when used together in that fashion. “Breaker” to me is a word that is most commonly followed by the phrase “one – nine” which I commonly used while driving my CB-radio enabled Camaro in high school, but I was quite sure that I had never before heard the phrase “breaker switch”. I continued:

ME: “That may be, but I am quite sure that I don’t know where to find the breaker switch on a water heater. Let’s just call the landlord in the morning.”

MY WIFE: “If we wait, everyone will have to have a cold shower.”

ME: “Cool shower. They’re from Idaho; our cold water will probably strike them as rather warm.”

MY WIFE: “I’ll just go do it.”

As any man with any pride at all knows, this last suggestion was the catalyst needed to get me off my rear and force me to action. Fortunately for me (as will be later made obvious), I had already begun the process of getting ready for bed and had removed my contact lenses. I donned my coke-bottle nighttime glasses and mumbled a few words about breaker switches as I headed out to the water heater.

There may exist a general-purpose guide to manhood that others received during their formative years, but if it does exist, I had never received it therefore the only tool that I have ever been qualified to use was a screwdriver. This night I was faced with a task for which I was unsure whether a screwdriver would provide all of the necessary functionality.

I approached the water heater. From my perspective this device had always been intended to be a black box: unheated water goes in, hot water comes out. Nothing more to know. In reality a water heater is actually a fairly complex device that can be adjusted and maintained. Who knew? Near the bottom of this water heater there was a small panel indicating some sort of heat control and (amazingly) the existence of a breaker switch.

The panel itself was covered by a large yellow sticker advertising a warning about the risk of electric shock to anyone considering the possibility of removing said panel for any reason. In direct opposition to the warning was the fact that the panel was attached with nothing more than two screws, justifying the use of my screwdriver and bolstering my confidence that I could possibly be qualified to attempt this repair.

I hunched down near the panel and quickly removed the first screw. It came out easily and dropped to the floor. At this point I had not yet suffered electrocution or any other excruciating pain – I felt pretty good about my progress. In fact I began to feel that I would succeed at least in proving to my wife that the fabled breaker switch would not actually fix anything but was simply a diversion used by more technical repairmen to defer making a house call.

I thought of it in computer help-desk terms: “Have you rebooted?” The question is, as everyone knows, simply a way for the help-desk operator to get you off the phone because the following statement when you reply, “No I haven’t rebooted yet, I was hoping to be able to save the document that I’ve been writing for the past six hours,” is of course, “Well, you’ll have to reboot. If that doesn’t work, call back.” Click. I was sure that the breaker switch was the water heater equivalent of the computer reboot. I was determined to at least push the button so that when I later called for a repairman I could pre-empt the inevitable question with the much more knowledgeable-sounding statement: “I tried the breaker switch and it’s still not working, so I need you to come out.”

I began removing the second screw from the panel when I noticed that I could save myself some time by only removing the screw part way, then simply turning the panel on the screw. This would save me the time of first removing the screw and also the time of then replacing it later. I began to feel like a true handyman.

By some unfortunate crossing of a bad water-heater panel design, my own pride and laziness and some inexplicable force of nature, the next few seconds of my life seemed to last as long as the Robert Redford film, A River Runs Through It (which – if you haven’t seen it – lasts about as long as a root canal, but is less enjoyable). I crouched toward the panel and pulled it downward to move it out of the way. My wife stood behind me reassuring me that once the panel was removed we would emerge victorious from this exercise in water heater repair.

If you have never opened the panel of a water heater before, you may not know that behind the panel there actually is a breaker reset button and a temperature control knob. In some cases there is also a connection that provides the 220 volts of electricity to the heating elements in the tank. Curiously, the 220-volt-carrying wires are attached to two internal screws whose heads jut out just far enough that if you happen to be wrenching the safety panel around late at night, the panel itself will make contact with both screws simultaneously.

If you have never short-circuited 220 volts using a metal water heater panel, you may not know this: the panel explodes. Basically a large chunk of panel metal instantly bursts into white light and heat sufficient for the removal of eyebrows rushes away from the panel. My glasses absorbed the majority of the explosion, but the searing light temporarily blinded me which made my backward leap/run much more entertaining for my wife to witness.

I ran to the bathroom to nurse my wounds (which weren’t as bad as I would have liked to have sufficiently proven my point to my wife) while she picked up the mess and closed the door to the water heater.

When she finally came to check on me, I was working to maintain a level of rage that would ensure she never again compelled me to such type of action. However, being who I am, constantly considering the humor in any situation, I could hardly feign anger when I considered how funny it must have been to have seen the events from my wife’s perspective. As she entered the room I could see that she was barely able to contain her laughter, though she wanted to appear concerned. We spent the next five minutes laughing hysterically.

She has never asked me to fix anything again.

Chapter 16

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 8:00 p.m. MST

Ramesh and Quinn had been interrupted by the arrival of dinner, but they were both sitting.

“What do you know about this company?” Quinn asked.

Ramesh felt that this was simply a diversion, but humored Quinn. “Not much actually. Brad was never willing to talk about work much and you were so busy. I just read the same news that everyone else read. I remember that most of the news related to how your company was poised to change the landscape of Tempe and Phoenix. You definitely did do that. I know you have networking, telecomm, computing, genomics and biotech companies.”

Quinn smiled. “Yes, yes. Local boy becomes next billionaire business man and transforms sleepy Arizona town.” He chuckled. “Tell me something, Ramesh. You’ve known me for a long time now. Am I really smart enough to have created all of this?”

Ramesh choked as he swallowed a bite of food. His face flushed as he looked up at Quinn, but struggled to find an appropriate answer to the question. Ramesh had long considered Quinn’s success to be more derived from luck than from skill, but he had never considered actually telling Quinn that.

Quinn laughed. “Come on old friend. You’ve spent the last few years writing primarily about business ethics, pointing out that the lack of truthful intercourse in business is the bane of capitalism. I’m not going to be offended, just tell me what you think.”

Ramesh cleared his throat and began, nimbly choosing his wording, “You must understand Quinn. Without knowing much about what is really going on inside a privately-held business ... It’s hard for anyone to truly know.”

Quinn interrupted, “Come on Ram. Just tell me what you really think.”

Ramesh stammered, “It has always been puzzling to me that you were able to create such an enormous business in areas that you have no real formal training. I know you are a computer programmer, but your companies are not really software companies. And so I always believed that you were either amazingly lucky or you were hiding something else ... perhaps politically.”

Quinn looked up at Ramesh. “That’s what most people think. Either I had extremely powerful friends in Washington, or that I’m simply the luckiest man alive.” Quinn stopped. “I do have powerful allies in Washington now, that’s true, but not when I started this.” Quinn sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. He started to speak then caught himself. He smiled in spite of himself, then looked directly at Ramesh and continued.

“Let me take you back to the beginning of the idea. It will become clear.” Quinn grabbed a bottle of chilled water and sat back comfortably in his chair. Opposite him, the view screens lit. Simultaneously, the ambient light in the room decreased. Quinn spoke. His voice was firm and clear. He was in presentation mode as Valerie called it. He was a very effective speaker when he wanted to be.

“Just after college, I was working for a small networking company called AccuTel Switches, here in Tempe. I was hopeful that the company would go public and that I’d make a lot of money and be able to do something besides programming for the rest of my life. But, something completely unexpected happened.

“One morning while I was preparing to deliver a proposal to the company board, I received a very unusual email message. At first I thought it was spam. You remember the term spam?” Quinn asked, looking at Ramesh. Ramesh nodded.

“It looked almost like a solicitation. It had a bad date. This was back in 1995 and the date of the email was 2004. It looked like a novice spammer had generated a really badly-formed message. Anyway, I looked at it again. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but the message had my signature on it. It was as if the message was actually a response to me from a message I sent in 2004.”

“Anyone could have forged your signature, though?” Ramesh asked.

“I thought about it,” Quinn responded. “And it’s true, I had sent many messages with that signature, but back then I was obsessed with Star Wars. I had created a signature using an Aurabesh font with the letters of my name.”

“Aurabesh?”

“Oh, it’s a font that was used in some of the writing in the films. It’s a real Star Wars geek kind of thing,” Quinn answered. “I couldn’t get it out of my head that this message looked so legitimate. Part of my job at the time was to find ways to increase the quality of service on our networking equipment. I spent days trying to detect and manage dropped packets. It was my life – as sad as that is.”

Quinn’s eyes lit up as he continued. He explained to Ramesh in detail how all computer network traffic is broken into discrete packets and how those packets sometimes get lost in transmission or arrive out of order.

He continued, “As I considered the message over and over, it struck me that perhaps there was a chance that the message had originated in 2004. And somehow it landed in my inbox in 1995.”

“Time traveling email?” Ramesh shook his head as he listened to Quinn.

“Sure, why not? We’re talking about electrons and photons traveling through an enormous interconnected network of computers. Why can’t a single photon or a single electron travel through time? Or a whole bunch in a row?” Quinn continued enthusiastically. “Now I’m not saying that I’m a particle physicist or an expert in quantum mechanics, but it seemed to me that one possible explanation of dropped packets could be that they somehow shifted in time. I built on that theory and integrated some special logic into the firmware of our company’s first commercial switches.

“At first I just sent all out-of-sync packets to a special computer and stored them. It was arduous work, but after sifting through thousands and thousands of packets, I began to see exactly what I was hoping to see. With the trillions of network packets traveling through our global computer infrastructure, occasionally some of those data packets would travel unexpectedly ... through time.”

Ramesh protested, “It’s absurd. I am sure you are playing at something. What is it? This is all nonsense. Have you brought me down for this? If you need me to help you or to help Brad, then you must be honest with me. I cannot fly all the way to Durban to tell Brad that he is in danger because you can somehow see into the future. It’s ridiculous. Maybe you have spent too much time with your Star Trek things.”

“Star Wars...” Quinn said, trailing off.

“What?” Ramesh asked, exasperated.

“I’m sorry. I was just saying that I’m a Star Wars geek, not a Star Trek geek,” Quinn answered, then continued, “But, I really do understand how you must feel. I’ve only told one other person this and she reacted in about the same way.”

“Laura?” Ramesh asked.

“No. Valerie. Laura doesn’t know.”

Quinn struggled with that fact often. He hated keeping secrets from Laura. And he felt a slight level of betrayal any time that he considered he had a closer relationship with Valerie in some ways because of the information they shared. But he was sure that Laura’s knowledge of the truth would put her in danger, though recently he wondered if he could keep her safe at all.

Ramesh stared at Quinn for a moment. He couldn’t seem to even put a sentence together in his mind. He finally managed to pull his thoughts together and asked, “Can you just tell me how you expect me to believe any of this?”

Quinn shrugged, “Can you think of any other explanation how I could have known the winning numbers for six independent lotteries?”

Ramesh shook his head. He truly wanted to find another explanation. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak, then stopped.

“Just hear me out,” Quinn continued. “Then I’ll have you taken to your suite. You can sleep on it. There’s so much more you need to know and to see. In the morning, I’ll let you take a look at the futurestream and if you want, I’ll show you how it works. But, if you can, assume for the moment that I’m telling you the truth.” Quinn looked for a response in Ramesh’s eyes.

“Futurestream?” Ramesh asked.

“That’s what we decided to call it. Basically it’s a stream of data that gives us a view on the future,” Quinn responded.

“I’ll try to lay aside my doubts for the moment,” Ramesh said skeptically.

“At first it was just me. I spent a lot of personal time sifting through thousands of data packets. After months of data analysis, I finally stumbled on some information I could use.” Quinn pointed at the displays on the opposite wall. The lottery drawings were running again. He smiled.

“No...” Ramesh looked quizzically at Quinn. “You won the lottery?”

“Why is that so hard to believe? You just won six lotteries today. I found future winning lottery numbers spanning nearly a complete year.” Quinn winked. “I picked one and decided to play. I didn’t play all the numbers, just enough to make a few nice investments in stocks that were bound to go up.” Quinn punctuated the last statement with another wink.

Quinn continued to explain how within a few years he had amassed enough wealth to buy the struggling AccuTel Switches. He then leveraged that into an opportunity to distribute more of his technology throughout the United States. With an increased base of networking equipment constantly sending stray packets of information, Quinn was able to quickly expand and grow the company into a significant player in the industry.

“I hired three key people fairly early on. Sireesha is an extraordinary database developer. She basically wrote the book in full-text data searching and near real-time data analysis. I brought her on to develop management software for the data packets that were coming in so quickly that we could no longer manage them. We were losing valuable information simply because we couldn’t process it quickly enough to use it.

“Daniel was hired for his networking skills. When I hired him, he was in some serious legal trouble with a few large Asian banks. The only thing that kept him out of prison was the fact that the government in South Africa was so overwhelmed with local issues. They had no interest in prosecuting a young kid for hacking into networks in other countries. I needed to find someone like Daniel – great with network software, able to cover his tracks – to expand the firmware in the next generation of our switches.”

Ramesh recognized an almost remorseful look in Quinn as he talked about Daniel. Based on what had occurred recently, Ramesh understood the look.

“I hired Brad as chief financial officer,” Quinn continued. “I needed someone that I could really trust to manage the finances and the business. Brad was never comfortable with the business, but he adapted. He never broke confidence, and that really wore him out emotionally. He is just too ethical a person to have been involved. I never should have brought him in.” Quinn stopped.

“We deployed an amazingly successful product in the second generation. And when we did, we received so much out-of-sync data that it changed everything ... literally.”

“How is it possible that no one else has noticed this phenomenon?” Ramesh asked. “If there is so much data, it seems unlikely that you are the only one who would have seen it.” He struggled to find any reason to invalidate what he was hearing.

“I don’t know for sure that no one else has seen it. My best guess is that no one else is crazy enough to consider it. There are many other reasons for dropped packets in a network that are more logical. I suspect nobody else thought of the time-traveling-network-packet theory.” Quinn smiled again. He knew how hard it was to accept this. He knew how crazy it sounded, but he had been living with it for over two decades. It was as much a part of his reality as his wife, his marriage and his family.

“But you keep saying that you receive thousands of these packets. How could that volume go unnoticed,” Ramesh questioned. He had leaned forward in his chair. His head was in his hands and he was speaking to the floor. He considered briefly the possibility that he was dreaming, but no matter what he did, he was still having the most unusual conversation of his life.

“Actually, we process millions of time-displaced packets now. Our network has grown to cover most of the world,” Quinn answered.

“Millions? Okay, but my question remains, how can so much information go unnoticed by anyone else?” Ramesh grew frustrated. It seemed that every time he asked a question he received an answer that increased his disbelief.

“The main thing to remember,” Quinn started, “is the huge amount of information being sent over the network. Our estimate is that only about one in one billion packets are time-displaced. So in one sense, it’s a negligible phenomenon. But when you consider the number of packets that have ever traveled over the network, it’s a huge amount. And you have to remember that the information network today is the same as the old Arpanet and then the Internet and today’s global network together. It’s all the same. And as hard as it is to imagine, we consider all network traffic from all time – back to the beginning and forward into the future – as one enormous volume. It doesn’t matter when a packet originates, it may appear in our timeframe at any instant.”

Ramesh sat quietly. He hadn’t looked up for some time.

Quinn continued, “Imagine every piece of mail and every parcel ever sent or that ever will be sent. Imagine the vastness of the information contained in those letters. Now imagine being able to go in and read excerpts of that information from any time in history. That’s what we have to work with. Every email, every instant message, every web page, every electronic file transfer. Everything ever distributed on the network at any point in time. We get a small snapshot of it all. It’s unimaginable.”

Ramesh looked up. He had no words. His head was spinning. In some way, the idea that Quinn proposed seemed almost possible. He shook his head. He was exhausted – both physically and mentally. “I need some time to think about this,” he whispered.

“I understand. That’s all for tonight anyway. There is so much more to discuss, but it’s late and I need to know if you’re ready to accept this completely before you go to Durban. Because if you go, you’ll have to be in completely. You’ll have to trust the information you’ll have, or it will be a wasted effort.”

Quinn stood. The lights in the room brightened and all of the displays went blank. “I’ll have you driven to your suite.”

Chapter 15

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 7:10 p.m. MST

In a corner office on the eighth floor of the Q-Morrow central building, Bryan Skaggs sat, transfixed with something on one of his many computer monitors. Bryan was the head of corporate network management and security. His office was disheveled, completely crammed with reference books, trade magazines and general paper junk. Empty fast food bags were strewn about. On the table against the window, Bryan had a five-year-old assembly of empty aluminum cans. He had originally planned to build a replica of Saruman’s tower from Lord of the Rings with the discarded aluminum, but he lost interest.

Bryan turned thirty-one years old last month. He had been working at Q-Morrow for nearly fifteen years and was the self-proclaimed master of all things network related. Most of the employees at Q-Morrow detested him. He was arrogant, condescending and generally unfriendly. Women tended to dislike him more than men, though, since he tended to be flirtatious around the office despite his bad personal habits. He had a tendency to wear the same clothes day after day – mostly out of laziness, partially because he spent many nights a week on the couch in his office. His hair was thin, long and stringy. It was unwashed and unkempt. But Bryan truly was great at his primary job, and that kept him employed.

Bryan leaned forward in his chair. He had recently requisitioned a new ergonomically correct chair to reduce his lower back pain. The staff in human resources joked amongst themselves that a better cure for the back pain would be to simply lose three hundred pounds, but Bryan had nearly carte blanche purchasing power in his department. No one questioned him.

On the screen directly ahead of him, Bryan had several recorded feeds displaying security camera video. In the late hours of the day, after most of the employees had left, he tended to spend an hour or two going through daily security recordings. He liked to find any clips of Valerie and copy them into a growing library of voyeuristic videos he kept. Today he found clips of Valerie walking through various parts of the company. He particularly enjoyed any clips that included Valerie’s legs. Today was a good day.

As Bryan copied the video clips to his personal library, a message flashed on a secondary view. It had been some time since he had been contacted by this particular client. Bryan had developed a nice side business selling proprietary Q-Morrow information. As network manager, he was able to locate just about any information he needed and easily cover his tracks. He had not been caught and was sure that nobody inside the company was even aware of most of the information he had passed along.

Bryan opened the new message. He knew that it would pay well. He read the message. It was an unusual request, but simple, and it did pay well. Bryan verified that had already been credited his normal fifty percent up-front fee, then he responded to the message.

This is a very good day. Three hours of Val’s legs and five figures in the bank, he chuckled to himself.

Chapter 14

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 5:45 p.m. MST

Quinn sat in his favorite leather chair in his collection room as he waited for Valerie and Ramesh to return. Laura always told him that the chair was worn out and looked terrible. She said that it had to go. Quinn argued that it was a classic, a point that he always punctuated with a smile. It was a comfortable chair – old, faded and torn in places, but comfortable.

He spent as much of his free time as possible in his collection room. He had always been an avid fan of Star Wars and he had amassed a huge collection of action figures, accessories and other memorabilia related to the movies. When he had time, he would meticulously re-create sequences from the movies into large dioramas. He was currently working on a reconstruction of the stadium scene surrounding the pod races. It was the most aggressive project he had undertaken since an accurate recreation would require hundreds of extra figures to populate the stadium, but it kept his mind busy and he loved the distraction.

As he sat in his chair carefully painting details onto one of the model pods, Ramesh and Valerie knocked and then entered. Quinn stood quickly. He still occasionally felt a tinge of embarrassment when someone new was introduced to his hobby.

“Working hard?” Valerie chided.

Quinn smiled and simply left the room. He could see the look of astonishment in Ramesh, but decided to leave it. He flicked off the light in the room and pulled the door shut.

They returned to the conference room and Quinn sat at the table. Directly in front of them, the wall was divided into several viewscreens. One showed an early-morning interview with Sireesha Naidu. Three other segments of the display showed news stories about the recent deaths of children who had died under inexplicable circumstances. The three children apparently had nothing in common with each other, but had died at nearly the exact same time on the same day.

“Ramesh told me some interesting things about you during our tour,” Valerie said as she winked at Ramesh.

“I’m sure he did,” responded Quinn. “But, I’ll make sure that he gets a little dirt about you, to even the score.” He then motioned to Ramesh to have a seat.

“You know I’m squeaky clean, Quinn,” Valerie said as she crossed the room toward the door. She cast a sidelong glance at him as she passed and smiled. “If you don’t need me this evening, I’m just going to finish a few things and go home.”

“Thanks for all your help today, Val,” Quinn answered. He was always sincere about how much he relied on Valerie. “If you don’t mind, have something sent up here for dinner on your way out. We’re going to be here for a while, I think.”

“Sure thing.” Valerie gathered some folders and a few notes then left. “Good night, you two. Don’t work too hard,” she called back as she left the room.

There was a brief period of silence as the two men settled into the office after Valerie left. Ramesh knew that he should be feeling tired from such a full day, but his time with Valerie had actually left him more energized. He took a seat next to Quinn. He glanced up to the viewscreens opposite him and saw Sireesha in front of her main office building. He said something in Hindi under his breath.

“As you said. She is still alive?” Ramesh asked.

“Yes. She’s claiming that there is still an investigation into the explosion. But as far as I can tell, she’s using this as an opportunity to push her business agenda.” Quinn didn’t look at Ramesh as he spoke. He stared at the screens.

“What is her agenda?” Ramesh asked.

“In a nutshell, she’s trying to destroy my companies. But it’s a lot more complicated than that.” Quinn continued starting at the screens. “Since she and the others left here, her presence in India and in all of Asia has grown to a point of near dominance. Her companies are almost a mirror of mine. She has genomics, biotechnologies, computer, networking and telecommunications companies just as I do. And in Asia, she dominates the market. Now, she’s taking on the world.”

“Free enterprise. Capitalism. It’s inevitable that your companies will be subject to the same economic laws as all others before yours,” Ramesh stated bluntly.

“Yes. And if you want to know the truth, my time in this realm has really come and gone. I’m getting old and I’m starting to see that there may be a little more to life than this. But Sireesha has recently begun using stronger tactics. I’m not sure where she’s going, but she’s no longer playing by the rules,” Quinn replied.

The displays all froze. Each display paused as Quinn finished his thought.

“How do you mean?” Ramesh asked, noting a seriousness in Quinn that was uncharacteristic. While Ramesh knew Quinn to be driven and strong, he was never fully serious about himself or his life. In fact, most of the people closest to Quinn always wondered how he managed to create such a powerful global company when he could barely seem to prioritize his personal life.

Quinn turned and looked at Ramesh for the first time in the conversation. At the same time, the display screens rearranged so that the news stories of the three children became the prominent displays, each taking one-third of the full display space. “Do you recognize any of those kids?” he asked, pointing at the displays.

Ramesh turned and looked. He thought that he had seen a picture of the older boy on television or in a newspaper at the airport earlier, but he had not remembered any details. “No, the older boy looks somewhat familiar, but I am not certain.”

“His name is Thomas O’Grady. He is the youngest son of Senator O’Grady of Kansas. He died yesterday of unknown causes at a ski resort in Idaho. He was nineteen years old. The girl is April Ison. Her family lives in northern Virginia. Her father is the director of the National Institute of Health in Bethesda. She was eleven. The other boy is Ryland Ortega. He lived with his mother in Conway, Arkansas. He was an ice hockey player. He was thirteen.” The screens faded to black. “They all died yesterday at the same time of day.”

“Of what?” questioned Ramesh.

“Unknown. I am trying to pull some strings to get one of our forensic experts and researchers access to the bodies, but at this time very little is known.” Quinn focused on Ramesh. “Sireesha had them killed.”

Ramesh felt his heart sink and a pit open inside his stomach. He had known Sireesha. It struck him as impossible that she could have committed murder. “How can you know? What evidence is there? You said yourself that the cause of death is unknown.” Ramesh stumbled to get the words out. His thoughts were racing ahead of his words.

“It is a message to me personally. A message that only four other people on this planet could have sent to me and I can rule out two of those people. The only two people that could have sent this message and who would do it are Sireesha Naidu and Daniel Van Der Merwe. And since they’re still working together, I have no doubt that it was them.” Quinn stopped to let the words sink in. He could see that Ramesh was spinning inside.

“You ... I do not understand,” Ramesh stammered. “How is this a message to you? What is the message?”

“Ramesh,” Quinn started. The gravity in Quinn’s voice was reflected in his eyes as he continued. “This is why I have called you here – to explain this and to ask for your help. But, I want to try to give you a perspective of the seriousness of what’s happening. Three kids are dead. They’re kids, Ramesh. And Sireesha had them killed to send me a message. There are going to be more deaths. People close to us. If we don’t do anything more people will die. But if you get involved, you are putting yourself at risk. I need you to understand that.”

Ramesh sat forward in his chair and rested his head in his palms. He whispered something in Hindi. He rubbed his hands together and looked up at Quinn. There was genuine concern in his eyes. “Quinn, what have you done that has brought this upon you?”

Quinn looked back. He pursed his lips and exhaled. He answered, “I’ll tell you everything. And there will be some very upsetting things. I’m finished with the deceit and the marginal ethics and the fear. But I am not going to force you to be involved in this. It has to be your choice, because once this begins, it cannot be undone. You will be involved and you will not be able to get out.”

Ramesh stood. He paced around the large conference desk, considering his response. “Quinn, I am a writer. I write for trade journals and magazines and I write columns for newspapers. I write articles on ethics and on technology. I am not a high-power businessman or an adventurer. I sit alone on my stoop and write.”

“I know. That’s part of what makes you qualified to help. I can’t explain what that means unless you’re committed.” Quinn’s heart raced inside, but he tried to maintain his calm. He feared involving Ramesh for Ramesh’s safety, but he feared not involving Ramesh even more.

“Can you give me any idea of what you would need me to do, without going into detail?” Ramesh asked.

“That’s fair. Yes, I have reason to believe that Brad is in danger. The first thing I need is for you to go to Durban and warn him,” Quinn answered.

“Brad Harris?” Ramesh asked. Brad Harris was one of the four initial founders of Q-Morrow. Brad was the financial guru of the group. Ramesh and Brad had established a deep friendship in the years that they both lived in the Phoenix area. Brad left with Sireesha and Daniel to form the businesses that eventually became the Naidu companies in India.

“Yes,” Quinn answered. “Last I heard, Brad was living in Durban and had married an Indian woman. He took himself off the grid. I haven’t been able to track him down because he has become so disconnected and reclusive. He doesn’t want to be found and I think he is in danger. I think Sireesha and Daniel will be trying to find him.” Quinn’s voice trailed off as if he were going to continue, but he did not.

“Why me? Can you tell me that?” Ramesh asked. He seemed to be more interested, but he was certainly not sold.

“Several reasons. First, you know Brad. You would recognize him – and he trusts you. Second, you’re not connected with me. Nobody would even look twice at you traveling to South Africa and back. If I or if Valerie were to go it would be a media circus and if I were to send someone from the company, it might alert Sireesha.” Quinn paused. He looked at Ramesh, trying to discern any indication of a response.

Ramesh mulled it over in his mind. He had not been outside of Fort Collins much in the past few years. He hadn’t even left the sanctuary of his home for more than trips to the grocery and other shops. To fly to Durban, his childhood home, seemed daunting, and there were the nightmares of his past in Durban. He thought of Brad. They had been like brothers for a time.

“Okay,” Ramesh said tentatively. “For Brad, I will go.”

Quinn felt a rush of relief and of adrenaline at the same time. He had hoped that Ramesh would go, but it meant that he would now have to introduce Ramesh to the truth – and he wasn’t sure how Ramesh would take it.

“Thank you.” Quinn straightened in his chair. “You’re going to want to sit down now.” He breathed deeply then turned to Ramesh.

“Do you have the list of numbers that I sent you?” Quinn asked. Ramesh fumbled through his pockets and then withdrew the list. “Okay, when did you receive the list?”

Ramesh looked quizzically at Quinn and answered, “This morning.”

“Specifically, what time was it?” Quinn asked again.

“I would say about six a.m., though I am not certain,” Ramesh answered.

“And what time would that have been in London?” Quinn continued.

“I believe that is one p.m. Greenwich,” Ramesh answered. The expression of puzzlement grew in his eyes at the line of questions.

“Yes. And do you know what time the major lotteries are played around the world?”

“I believe that the numbers are drawn in the early evening for the national American lotteries, but I know nothing of the International lotteries,” Ramesh responded.

“Well,” Quinn began, “just so you know, there are several lotteries that are drawn each Wednesday and Saturday, including the British lottery and many of the national lotteries here. Typically the draw time is between five p.m. and seven p.m.”

Quinn spoke knowledgably and quickly as he explained. “Now, it’s almost six p.m., so on the East coast most of the regional lotteries have already played.” The viewscreens opposite the two men lit up again. There were six displays, each showing a lottery drawing. One was the British lottery and five others were regional lotteries on the East coast. “These, of course, are not live, but they are the actual drawings that occurred today. We can confirm that fact later if you like.”

Quinn’s mood seemed to have lightened. Ramesh noticed that Quinn was speaking quickly and he had a glint of deep excitement in his eyes. Ramesh was surprised that Quinn was interested in the lotteries. Quinn’s wealth significantly surpassed the value of any lottery. In fact, Quinn’s wealth easily surpassed the sum total of all winnings of all lotteries currently in play.

Ramesh watched as the numbers fell in each lottery drawing. When all six were played, he looked back at the numbers on the page he had received from Quinn earlier in the day. He looked up at the screens again. His eyes widened and he looked at Quinn with utter astonishment.

“This is impossible,” he whispered. He looked at the paper again and then at the screens. He was holding the winning numbers for six lotteries. His hands trembled at the significance of the paper.

“Not impossible, but extremely improbable,” Quinn gleamed. “I think the odds of winning just the UK lottery are about one in thirteen million. What do you think the odds of winning six lotteries at the same time are?”

“Winning one lottery has no impact on winning or losing any other lottery. They are independent events,” Ramesh answered, “So if there is a one in thirteen million chance of winning one, then the chance of winning all six is one in thirteen million to the sixth ... impossible.”

“Not impossible, but extremely improbable,” Quinn reiterated. He chuckled to see the astonishment in Ramesh. “So, Ram, you’re a scientist. Postulate. Theorize. Tell me how you think I did it.”

Ramesh stood again. He always thought more clearly on his feet. He had developed a habit of pacing on his stoop in Fort Collins. It had become such a part of his life that he had worn through the exterior carpet originally installed on the stoop. He rubbed his hands together and considered the question.

“There are two options that come to mind. Each is as unlikely as actually winning the lotteries,” Ramesh said, turning to face Quinn.

“And those two options are?” Quinn asked.

“First, I think you may have rigged the drawings. But that is unlikely because there would be no benefit to you and it would put you at legal risk.” Ramesh stopped and looked at Quinn. Quinn nodded and winked. Ramesh continued, “The other option is nonsense, but I cannot think of anything else.”

Quinn grinned. “Go ahead. I’ve heard a lot of nonsense.”

“The other option I considered is simply an option, not that there is any justification or sense in it.” Ramesh paused as if considering whether he would actually say what he was thinking. “Perhaps I have read too much fiction.” He paused again, and then turned away from Quinn to hide his embarrassment. “The other option is that you traveled in time.”

Quinn simply raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Interesting theory,” he said. “But, not the case. I didn’t travel into the future, but you’re going in the right direction.”

According to Google, there are in the neighborhood of 165,000 web pages and documents referring to Grape Nuts™, the satisfyingly crunchy wheat and barley breakfast cereal (available at Amazon.com). Grape Nuts web information ranges from the history of the product to recipes for health bars and the famous Grape Nuts pudding. Mmmmm.

Surprisingly however, there seems to be neither a single web page nor even a paragraph describing Grape Nuts consumption safety. This point I hope to rectify while additionally providing a brief warning about the potential side effects of rapid Grape Nuts consumption.

First, I must point out that I am merely an observer and not a direct participant in the following incident. Some fine details may be lacking, but the fundamentals of the narrative are accurate. Additionally I must point out that I love Grape Nuts and hope that this incident does not dissuade anyone from trying it.

In high school, it was the tradition of my brothers and I to remain in bed until the last possible moment while still allowing sufficient time for showering, dressing (see this story for a description of my wardrobe at the time) and breakfasting. Breakfast itself was normally an overflowing bowl of cereal with milk.

Many cereals are perfectly suited for rapid mass consumption because of their properties. Consider any puffed wheat or corn cereal. Because these cereals have been artificially puffed using the well-known process developed by Dr. Alexander P. Anderson of New York City in 1902, the cereal is already inflated beyond its natural size and tends to collapse in any liquid.

Grape Nuts, however, is created using what I assume to be a highly secretive process that condenses massive amounts of food matter into tiny tasty nuggets. The only known side effect of the process is that the nuggets expand exponentially when submersed in liquids. Once that effect is properly understood, the consumer can judge the proper amount of Grape Nuts required to fill oneself. For the novice cereal consumer, apply the following general rule of thumb: one heaping tablespoon of Grape Nuts combined with one cup of milk can expand to fill a normal-sized breakfast bowl to the brim (this may be a slight exaggeration, but I suggest starting small and working up).

It is also recommended that one consume Grape Nuts only after allowing them to absorb some milk (or your liquid of preference). Some recommendations are to allow soaking for fifteen minutes. I prefer five, but then recommend eating slowly.

For those inclined to ignore this warning, please continue reading the following incident and consider carefully any variance from the aforementioned suggestions.

My brother, Ryan, had become rushed in his efforts to ensure that he would arrive at the morning bus stop and hurriedly passed through the kitchen for his morning cereal. In his haste, he over-estimated the amount of Grape Nuts he would need and proceeded to eat them without the adequate soaking time. In less than a few minutes he had consumed a brimming bowl of unsoaked Grape Nuts with milk and then quickly made his way to the bus.

Being about fifteen years old and striving to solidify a tough-guy image, he took a seat at the back of the bus and settled into a menacing stare for the duration of the ride to school. His presence kept anyone from considering sitting beside him for nearly the entire route, but near the end there were no remaining seats save the one adjacent to him. The unfortunate boy that was forced to take that seat was no more than seven or eight years old. He was timid and shy, but as he had been left with no other options, he sat meekly next to Ryan and quietly pretended to be invisible. Ryan’s visage had turned from a distanced menace to an agonized grimace due to the rapid expansion of Grape Nuts in his stomach, but to a young boy both were equally unpleasant.

Ryan is not now and never actually has been an unpleasant person. He recognized how uncomfortable his new seat-mate was at the time and decided to offer a welcome in the traditional method of all teenage boys: a large burp. To a teenage boy, a large rousing burp signifies many things: “thank you for the fine meal”, “I appreciate your hospitality”, and in this case, “welcome to the brotherhood of man, please make yourself comfortable”.

In an unfortunate collision of bad timing, over-eagerness to express welcome and the final expansion of Grape Nuts, when Ryan opened his mouth to force out his gastronomical welcome he was surprised to find that not only did gas escape his mouth but also came approximately seventy-five percent of his rushed breakfast.

Not understanding that the intent of the message was a sincere welcome, the young boy, startled, wept as he made his way to another seat on the bus where he could find acceptance. Ryan, also startled, unable to find adequate vocabulary to express his own confusion simply returned to his posture of a disinterested teen.

Chapter 13

Wednesday, 10 March 2022 – 6:00 a.m. IST

In the dim light of the pre-dawn hours in Bangalore, a small group of reporters gathered around the main entrance of the Naidu BioGenics building hoping to catch some senior officers to discuss the overnight events. Just moments after six a.m., the main doors opened and Sireesha Naidu stepped out to meet the crowd. Instantly there was a buzz of excitement.

Sireesha spoke to the group with a serious tone, “As you can see, the reports of my death are inaccurate, however we are still deeply concerned about the explosion that occurred and wish to send our condolences to the families of all those who have passed.”

The nearest reporter, a young Indian woman stepped forward and pressed, “Miss Naidu, the DNA test identified you as one of the dead. How do you explain that?”

Sireesha stepped up, ensuring that she could be heard and seen by all. Many of the reporting crews had been caught off guard and were still struggling to pull their gear together and position themselves. Sireesha waited a moment for the chaos to subside, then began.

“As I have been explaining for months now, all of the DNA identification techniques developed at Q-Gen are fundamentally flawed,” she answered. She paused to ensure that her statement was clearly received before continuing.

“As many of you know, I am a former employee of Q-Morrow Technologies and helped to spin off the Q-Gen company that has formerly been the leader in biotechnology research and development. However, their dominance is drawing to an end. As a company they have become too large and too encumbered by political worries to maintain their leadership.”

A second reporter spoke up, “Miss Naidu, if the Q-Gen DNA tests failed on the body that was reportedly yours, how can we be certain about the identities of any of the bodies found after the explosion?”

Sireesha could not have asked for a better segue. She had learned to respect the press. Whether good or bad, the press had certainly influenced the growth of her company.

She continued, “All of the bodies will be retested using the latest DNA identification technologies that we have developed here at Naidu BioGenics. We will use the technology that we developed here in India and show the world that India is no longer an outsourcing country. India is now a leader in technical and biotechnical research and development.”

Sireesha paused. Several cameras flashed. She turned slightly to face another group of reporters. She continued, “As we enter this post-American era, it is clear that all of Asia is poised to become the new New World. We at the Naidu companies expect to ensure that India will lead Asia to this end.”

The best part of speaking to the Indian press in Sireesha’s opinion was that the press was always looking to provide evidence of India’s emergence as a dominant world power. Most of India’s population was exhausted from the western perspective of India as a fundamentally backward and third-world country. Sireesha was sure that she never fully answered the question she had been asked, but it made no difference. She had given the press a story – American technology had failed and Indian technology was about to succeed.

She waved to the press as she turned. Some additional questions were volleyed from the group, but she made it clear that the press conference had ended.

It has recently come to my attention that children obtain most of their social cues and even some of their learning by observing their parents. For some reason I was either not given that information or I failed to grant it enough priority to remember it until my daughter provided me with an experience that forced me to re-evaluate my example.

As any good parent, I strive to ensure that my children are provided with a broad base of experience and opportunity. I always encourage them to meet new people (which, if you know my daughter, is not really a problem), to be involved in new activities and to try new foods – which, coincidentally is the beginning of this learning experience.

At about age four, my daughter was interested in trying any new food. I rectified that problem one evening by acquiescing to her request to try the hot mustard I enjoy with egg rolls. What I failed to recognize while recovering from a fit of laughter at her reaction was that she learned not one, but two important lessons from that experience. First, she obviously learned to get a second opinion about any food before tasting it. Second (and this is what I failed to recognize), she learned that it is funny to watch people eat something that they don’t like.

Fast forward about one year. We had spent most of the evening out running errands and considering that we live in Phoenix, we were hot and tired when we finished. I was sitting in the back seat of the car with my daughter and mentioned that I was very thirsty, but it was late and I didn’t want to stop just for a drink.

I have to divert for a moment to comment on the amazing computational power of the human mind. In the split second between when I mentioned being thirsty and when my daughter next spoke, her brain performed a million very complex calculations. She instantly recognized the plastic cup in the rear cup holder and knew that it contained something to drink. She was also able to instantly recall exactly what was in the cup, how long it had been there and most importantly the axiom that I had given her: it is funny to watch people eat something that they don’t like.

Her comment was: “Daddy, there’s some water in the cup right there.”

Allow me to divert again for a moment to point out some interesting facts. According to the Wikipedia:

When raw milk is left standing for a while, it turns sour. This is the result of fermentation: lactic acid bacteria turning the milk sugar into lactic acid. ... Pasteurized cow's milk, on the other hand, spoils in a way that makes it unsuitable for consumption, causing it to assume an unpleasant odor and pose a high danger of food poisoning if ingested. The naturally-occurring lactic acid bacteria in raw milk, under suitable conditions, quickly produce large amounts of lactic acid. The ensuing acidity in turn prevents other germs from growing, or slows their growth significantly. Through pasteurization, however, these lactic acid bacteria are mostly destroyed, which means that other germs can grow unfettered and thus cause decomposition. In order to prevent spoilage, milk can be kept refrigerated and stored between 1 and 4 degrees Celsius.

In Phoenix it is reported that the interior of a car can rise to as high as 200 degrees Fahrenheit which is about 93 degrees Celsius – which is more than 1 to 4 degrees.

The semi-solid milk by-product in the cup that my daughter offered me slid surprisingly easily up through the straw and into my mouth and in approximately as much time as it took my daughter to concoct her plan, my brain evaluated the fact that I had not, in fact, consumed a straw-full of water and immediately put my body into an accelerated fight or flight mode.

Child locks on windows always seem like such a great idea until you find yourself trapped in the back seat of a moving vehicle with a mouthful of congealed sour milk. Surprisingly my wife found it difficult to interpret my flailing and closed-mouth pleas for help and therefore offered no real assistance in the excruciatingly long moments before I was finally able to throw open the rear door and spew out the bacterial experiment from my mouth.

After regaining my composure I turned to my daughter with a very serious what-in-the-world-would-compel-you-to-do-that look. She simply smiled and asked, “Was that funny dad?”

Chapter 12

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 2:40 p.m. MST

Quinn and Ramesh returned to the Q-Morrow top floor suite just after two-thirty. As they exited the elevator, Valerie met them with a smile.

“I hope you had a nice lunch,” she said then continued, “Quinn, Laura just called. She’s meeting with the governor at three and hoped you could be there. She said it’s mainly a PR thing. She said it would be a good time to show your support.”

Quinn had promised Laura that not only would he support her candidacy, but that he would be involved and engaged in her campaign. He did support Laura and he had made a decision to make her political career at least equally as important as his business. She had supported him through twenty years of work; it was his turn to support her.

“I can show Mr. Kapoor around while you’re gone. It shouldn’t be more than an hour, I suspect,” Val added.

“Please. Valerie, you can call me Ramesh.”

“I can show Ramesh around while you’re gone,” she repeated with emphasis on Ramesh.

“That would be perfect. Ram, I’m sorry I need to run, but this is for Laura,” Quinn said as he turned back to the elevators. “I’ll be quick. Val, you be nice to Ramesh.” He winked as the doors closed.

“Shall we?” Valerie asked as she stepped into the second elevator. “There’s so much to see.”

“Yes, please.”

Ramesh stood just slightly behind her. She was turned away temporarily. He looked at her. She was about five feet eight inches tall. She had the skin and muscle tone of a twenty-one year old. Her dark brown hair had a slight wave and touched her shoulders in the back. She was petite, but not thin and she had a perfect figure. She wore little jewelry, but Ramesh noticed that she did wear a wedding band. He smiled.

“How much do you know about Q-Morrow?” Valerie asked.

“Actually not much more than I have read in the news and trade journals,” he replied. “I was living here in Phoenix when Quinn started this. I was at the open house for this building also, but Quinn and I were both very busy at that time. I truly do not know much about how this all began,” he said.

The elevator arrived and they stepped inside.

“I think you’ll find this very interesting, then.” Valerie pressed the button for the eleventh floor. “You have a history in biotechnology, right?”

“Yes. I was at one time on the executive management team for the International Genomics Consortium in Phoenix. I studied both biochemistry and computer science at university,” he answered, catching himself before continuing. He had a tendency to dominate conversations regarding his technical expertise and didn’t want to bore Valerie. He preferred to let her speak. The sound of her voice seemed to lift him each time she spoke.

“I think you’ll love the research and development we’re doing on the eleventh floor then. It’s right up your alley,” she said with a wink.

They arrived at the eleventh floor and began their tour. Ramesh hung on every word that Valerie uttered. He could not believe the exciting things he was seeing. He was amazed. At every floor, in every office, the research and development was dizzying. Ramesh knew that he was not entirely current with the state of the art, but he felt that what he was seeing was much further ahead than was known in the industry. He guessed that some of the research was even five to ten years ahead of the most aggressive estimates.

Valerie led Ramesh on a whirlwind tour of the complex. They visited two other buildings on the Q-Morrow campus and met dozens of people. Ramesh entirely lost track of time, but was sure that more than an hour had passed.

“So, what do you think?” Valerie asked as they finished their tour and headed back to the main Q-Morrow tower.

“This is all fantastic. I have never seen anything so advanced,” he said as he walked quickly beside her into the large atrium of the main building.

“I hope you don’t mind that we took a little more time than planned. Quinn has only just returned from his meeting,” she said as she led the way to the elevators.

She moved quickly, but did not rush. She was so confident. She seemed to know everything about the company and she was well organized. She conversed pleasantly with the staff, but she always maintained a professional relationship. They respected her and she them.

She reminded Ramesh of his wife, Padumi. She had been so confident, so strong. He missed her. “No, not at all. It has been very pleasant,” Ramesh returned. He was a bit disappointed that the tour was over. He glanced at his watch. It was just after five thirty. Three hours had passed in a blink.

Chapter 11

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 10:30 p.m. SAST

Daniel had hoped to arrive at the DF Malan Airport early enough to catch a connection to Durban, but there were no flights leaving until morning. With virtually unlimited funds at his disposal, he considered chartering a personal flight, but decided that he had plenty of time. He loathed charter jets. Instead he hired a limousine and sought out the night life in Cape Town.

He enjoyed his current life and lifestyle. He had grown up poor in Pietermaritzburg, a medium-sized city north of Durban. His mother died of multiple sclerosis just after the end of apartheid in the early 1990s. He stayed with his father until he was sixteen years old. His father had grown weary of being alone and married their Zulu housemaid. Though apartheid as a form of government was dead, apartheid as a cultural influence was not and Daniel was unable to cope with his father’s marriage to a kaffir.

He lived in various places in the Durban after leaving home. He quickly found that he had a natural talent as a software developer and found a legitimate job by his seventeenth birthday. He also found that he could make a great deal of money outside of his job developing working on less ethical projects.

In 2002, Daniel found himself facing a potential prison term for creating a software virus that provided back-door access to several Asian financial institutions. He was able to avoid prison time due to the lack of legal precedent for his activities and because of his age. However, the news of his skill spread quickly and Daniel found himself inundated with job offers from around the world. He eventually decided to go to work at a startup firm in the United States called Q-Morrow technologies.

Daniel glanced around the plush limousine and took a sip from his beer. It was still incredible to him that in less than two decades he had morphed from the homeless boy in Durban into one of the wealthiest people in the world. He maintained a detached lifestyle free from anything or anyone that may encumber his solitude. His relationships were short lived. He owned almost nothing. He rented an apartment in Bangalore, one in New Delhi and one in New York City. He lived free from responsibility and attachment.

The limousine stopped. Daniel paid the driver, said nothing, and walked into the nightclub. Heads turned. His black-light sensitive tattoos, his facial tattoo art and his piercings spoke volumes on his behalf. Only the elite could afford the body art he flaunted. Within moments he was surrounded by a group of women. He sat in centrally-located booth and ordered drinks. For the next four hours, Daniel lavished himself in pleasures.

Chapter 10

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 1:00 p.m. MST

Quinn and Ramesh sat opposite each other in a casual Indian restaurant. Ramesh looked over the menu while Quinn chatted with the store manager. Quinn had loved this restaurant since it opened six years ago. It was within walking distance of the office and provided the best authentic Indian cuisine he had tasted. The manager was grateful for Quinn’s patronage and made sure to remind him of that each time he came in.

“I recommend the biriyani,” Quinn offered. “Either the vegetarian or the lamb. They’re both excellent.”

Ramesh closed the menu. “Please, whatever you recommend,” he said politely to the manager. Ramesh and the manager exchanged a few words in Hindi. Ramesh was not as comfortable with Hindi as he would have preferred, having been raised primarily in England and South Africa and never having visited India. He knew that he had a noticeable accent – most native Indians pointed that out when he spoke.

“I love this place,” Quinn offered as he sipped his water. “Laura doesn’t really care for Indian, so I usually only eat here for lunch.”

Ramesh lit up at the mention of Laura’s name. He had failed to ask about her earlier. “Laura is doing very well politically?”

Quinn couldn’t restrain the grin that appeared. “She is an excellent speaker. She engages people. I could say the exact same words and never get the reaction she gets. It’s truly amazing. And yes, she is doing very well. She’s going to take this election and the next. And she’s going to the White House.”

Ramesh shot a quick glance to see if he could tell whether Quinn was kidding. Though he had lived in the United States for the past twenty-six years, he was still unsure sometimes about American humor, especially the sarcasm. “President? You think she is going to become the President of the United States?”

“I know she will,” he said. He didn’t even seem to be looking at Ramesh. He glanced at his watch, sipped his water, but did not truly engage the conversation. He looked up. Ramesh appeared to be a little stunned. Quinn smiled, something lit in his eyes. “Give me just a few more hours. Then after we’ve really discussed why you’re here, think about what I just told you.”

Ramesh furrowed his brow. “If you say so. I am not sure why we cannot simply get to the point now.”

“Time,” Quinn said. “It’s a funny thing. Sometimes we wait. Sometimes we cannot wait. And sometimes, if we’re lucky, we get ahead of it.” He glanced away and stared into the distance then snapped back. “Oh,” he started. “I was going to tell you about Valerie’s husband.” The gleam in his eye returned. “So, what did you think of her?”

“Very beautiful,” Ramesh started. “And young. How is someone so very young your executive assistant?”

“She’s not as young as she looks. Like me, she’s the beneficiary of her success. A bit of surgery, some biotherapy and anything else that money can do to help. She’s younger than we are, but she’s been with the company for nearly sixteen years.”

“Sixteen years? How old is she?”

“Thirty-three today. She’s just two months away from thirty-four. She started here at eighteen,” Quinn responded.

“Amazing. I have seen few eighteen year olds that look as well,” Ramesh smiled. He hadn’t spoken so openly with anyone for some time. It was refreshing.

“After she was promoted, her stock options and salary were such that she became recognized as one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the country. Do you remember the tabloids? Did you see them?” Quinn asked sincerely.

“No, I have been a bit ... disconnected,” Ramesh glanced away. Truthfully Ramesh had become fully disconnected in a social sense.

Quinn recognized the meaning in Ramesh’s statement. He continued, a bit subdued, “The media coverage became so distracting that Val was unable to perform her normal work. Within the company, staff and coworkers gossiped, some made passes, others entertained courtship. Outside of the office, it was worse. While she was flattered initially, it grew into something pathogenic. She was threatened, stalked. It was scary for a while.”

Quinn stopped and looked past Ramesh, remembering how scared she had become.

“So, she got married,” he said.

“He is a fortunate man,” Ramesh commented. Just then, a waiter arrived with lunch. There was a small break in the conversation as they began eating, then Ramesh asked, “So what about him? Who is this man?”

Quinn smiled deviously. “Me.” He said no more; instead he focused on a bit of lamb.

“Say again,” Ramesh sputtered.

“Well,” he answered, “Val wasn’t really interested in getting married then. She didn’t have any real prospects and at that time she wasn’t sure she could trust any new men who might have come into her life. But, she was sure that being married would change things. So, we got married.”

Quinn stopped again. He glanced at Ramesh. He had never told anyone this. No one.

Ramesh was clearly confused. “But, Laura. Your kids. I do not understand.”

Quinn laughed. “We staged it. Laura, Val and I flew to Switzerland. Laura shot photos of me in a tuxedo standing on a stack of books next to Val. We took shots of a honeymoon. Then we doctored them up – Laura’s really a graphical genius – then we leaked the photos of Valerie’s private wedding to the press.”

“So she is not married? She has no husband?” Ramesh asked.

“With the access that we have to public records facilities and a bit of gray-area database tweaking, technically she is married. Her husband is not a citizen of the United States and spends little time here,” he answered, laughing again. “It was surprisingly easy and amazingly effective. Things normalized in a few months and Val was able to refocus on her work as she had hoped.”

“So how many people know about this?”

“You, me, Laura and Val. I’ve never told anyone. I trust you’ll keep it low.”

“Certainly,” Ramesh answered sincerely. “I hope you do not mind my asking. How did you propose this idea to Laura? It seems ...”

Quinn chuckled. “You know, at first there was a little tension from Laura when she first met Val. Laura isn’t as confident in her own beauty as you might think. And Valerie is just ... well, you’ve met her. She’s beautiful ... and her smile is intoxicating.”

Quinn paused, remembering the first time he met Valerie. She had been working at Q-Morrow for three years before he first met her. She was twenty-one years old and perfect.

“But Laura got to know Val,” he continued. “They’ve become like sisters. Laura and Val hatched the plan themselves. They only needed me to be a placeholder for the pictures.”

Ramesh smiled and shook his head. He could never have been involved in something of that nature. It surprised him that Laura had. Laura wasn’t the type to deceive anyone.

As if Quinn had read his thoughts, he said, “Laura felt that Val’s personal safety and integrity outweighed the deception.”

Ramesh nodded. Laura was one of the most ethical people he knew and she was also possibly the most caring person he had ever known.

“Unbelievable,” Ramesh smiled. “You can fool some of the people all of the time...”

Quinn laughed. The rest of the lunch was filled with light conversation. Quinn and Ramesh both enjoyed the meal and the camaraderie.

Chapter 9

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 12:00 p.m. MST

Laura Sorensen listened intently to the introduction being provided by Dr. Everett Pomeroy, Vice President and Dean of Arizona State University’s college of Liberal Arts and Sciences and former Chair of the Department of Political Science. Dr. Pomeroy was a very good speaker in his own right, but today was Laura’s day. She had been invited to provide a brief question and answer period regarding her Senatorial campaign on campus. She glanced around Gammage Auditorium, noting the large crowd of students and wondering how many were attending solely for class credit.

Dr. Pomeroy recounted Laura’s service in the community. He insisted on calling her Mrs. Sorensen even though Laura preferred the more informal use of her first name. She had developed what she considered to be a grass-roots candidacy that had spawned from years of community service. Though she was married to the wealthiest man in the country, she never felt that she was a shoe-in and she had never leaned on their limitless resources as a crutch. Her campaign was her own. It was born of a desire to serve and nurtured by her values and hard work.

“Mrs. Sorensen is here today to provide a very brief question and answer period. Because of her limited schedule, we, the staff and your peers have preselected three questions that will be presented. These questions have all been submitted by students and Mrs. Sorensen has not been provided with the questions prior to arriving,” Dr. Pomeroy stated as he finalized his remarks. “Please welcome Mrs. Sorensen with the respect and dignity owed her for her years of civil service. Mrs. Sorensen.”

Dr. Pomeroy turned and began clapping. The crowd provided warm applause as she stepped behind the pulpit.

“Good morning, Arizona State University,” she opened. Again, applause rang through the auditorium – more applause perhaps at the mention of the school name than when she was introduced, but Laura understood the politics of politics. “It is a distinct pleasure to stand in this auditorium, the preeminent center of arts of my own alma mater.”

Laura paused. She waited for the again-increased applause to fade. “Before the questions, I would like to make another call for you to vote in the upcoming elections. Whether you choose to vote for me or not, please get out and vote. Since the turn of the century, the youth vote and the minority vote have grown and become more important each election year. Though this is not a federal election year, remember that the great State of Arizona needs to hear your voice. You lay the foundations for the future of this state. Don’t miss the opportunity to lay a foundation whose path is parallel with your own.”

The crowd again raised its collective voice in applause. After settling, a student stepped to an adjacent podium and issued the first question. “Mrs. Sorensen, can you please tell us about your party and why you have chosen to run as neither Democrat nor Republican?”

Laura expected this question. Though she had answered it dozens of times before, the question of her party alignment constantly arose.

“Two party politics is a double-edged sword that has become an increasing divider in our country over the past several decades. As we have seen, this country has become polarized on party lines in such a way that often election decisions are made primarily on party boundaries and not on platform boundaries. This is greatly concerning to me and I honestly wrestled with this decision for years before committing to my candidacy.”

Laura had great stage presence and excellent public speaking training. Her words flowed effortlessly and engaged audiences of all kinds. She could speak to children without condescension and to adults without presumption. She spoke fluent Spanish – engaging Arizona’s second majority population with ease.

She continued, “I did consider for a time aligning myself with either the Democrats or the Republicans. Either choice would have provided me with about fifty percent of the votes needed to win this election. Unfortunately because of my husband’s prominence, the opposing party would have taken issue with me on grounds related neither to my platform nor my candidacy. Now, as I have chosen neither party, both the Democrats and the Republicans get the choice to either waste their money on negative politicizing or on promoting their own candidates. Either way, my candidacy becomes less encumbered by the mudslinging and derogatory campaigning. Additionally neither the Democratic Party nor the Republican Party truly represents my platform, as many of you know. I am a strict pro-lifer and a staunch gun-control activist. Imagine the headaches I would cause for either party.”

She stopped. The crowd laughed and applauded again. As the auditorium silenced she finished, “It is my primary mission in this campaign to ensure that you, the voters, individually, understand who Laura Sorensen is and what she stands for. I am not interested in being classified by an aging political party.”

The crowd again applauded. Laura smiled. She was pleased to see that many more of the students seemed to be engaged. Quinn had often told her that speaking was her gift. Something, he said, that had been given to her that few others had. She had never seen herself as a particularly adept speaker, but she enjoyed it and she enjoyed being a part of something bigger. And she did very well.

The young questioner poised the second question. “How do you respond to the allegations that your Senatorial bid is nothing more than an opportunity to position yourself and your husband in a more controlling position in Washington?”

Laura smiled. This is the second most popular question, she thought. “I respond pragmatically,” she said, pausing for effect. Usually such a short answer had the effect of stunning the audience into thoughtfulness. Most people had barely enough time to engage the question in their own minds and a short answer caused them to evaluate whether they had really heard what they thought they heard. There were a few chuckles in the audience – a stray student or two that weren’t completely sure if that was the entire answer.

Laura continued, “Let us assume for a moment that there are two types of people in this country, pessimists and optimists, and that every person falls into the extreme end of either camp. The pessimists will always cry foul regarding the political candidacy of a person with money. They look for conspiracy in the mundane and seek wrongdoing in all political machinations. The extreme optimists, however, search for a political ideology that unfortunately eludes most of this great country. They often fail to see the corruption and unknowingly exacerbate it by continually re-electing the wrong constituents.

“Fortunately most people fall into an area within the extreme edges of optimism and pessimism. Those who cry foul against my candidacy are on an extreme edge that I will not likely persuade to move. My work, my goal is not to convince the extremists, but to inform the intelligent and to provide a platform that is compelling to the majority. My candidacy is not about my husband and has never been. We love each other, we respect each other and we support each other, but his business is his and my business in politics is mine.”

Laura stopped. There was always more to say, but she had learned that in most cases less really was more, especially when speaking.

The young student waited for the crowd to quiet, then continued. “What are your primary goals and where do you see yourself in twenty years?”

Laura took pause. This clearly came from a student. This was an unexpectedly pleasant query. No one had asked her that question in a public setting before. She smiled and began, “I have many goals. Some for my family – I would like to see my kids go on to college, get married and have families. I have personal goals, but I’m sure that’s not what you’re looking for.” She laughed softly. “No, I think you’re interested in my political goals and that is probably the hardest to answer.

“Since just before the turn of the century, I believe that this country has become mired in what I call the politics of mediocrity. It started benignly as political correctness. At some point in the past fifty years we became more concerned about political correctness than political decisiveness. That fed into a culture of mediocrity. People began to lower standards in all areas of life in an effort to placate minorities all types – race, sexual orientation or even skill level and aptitude. Our schools began to reject rewards based on achievement for awards based on attendance or simply existence. On one hand we, as a culture, have been claiming to embrace the differences in humanity, but on the other hand we have been trying to deny that there are differences. Not all people are Einstein. Not all are Monet. But I fear that we are cultivating a generation that fears to allow an Einstein to be an Einstein because she might offend a Monet by being more gifted mathematically. And in turn we fear praising a budding Monet because it may offend the less artistic.”

Laura paused, as if carefully considering her statements. “My concern is that we are moving backward as a country and as a people. Countries formerly considered third world are progressing at a pace that the United States achieved after World War II. China and India have become the third and forth largest economies in the world and are gaining momentum. In the past decade, the pace of technological achievement in India alone has caused many of our top analysts to suggest that within another twenty years, we may be looking to India as the leader in all advances technical and biotechnical. We may be losing our edge because we are losing our competitiveness.

“My goal is this: to empower our citizens again to achieve. Honestly, I am not sure what specific steps can be taken, but I think the starting point is to re-introduce achievement based rewards at all levels of our society. Let us bring back the honor rolls to schools, let us provide more meaningful incentives to small research facilities. Let us ensure that our own government agencies are not outsourcing research and development any more. I see a vibrant, re-energized country that is an exciting place for all people to live. My goal is to ensure that the United States does not become deprecated to second best by any standard and that its citizens know that they are not second best.

“As for a twenty year outlook, I suspect that most of them will be spent in the Senate. Perhaps,” Laura’s tone grew playful, “I’ll be worried about selecting a running mate for a Presidential bid.” Laura winked to the audience and waved. The crowd erupted with applause.

Chapter 8

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 12:00 p.m. MST

In her years at Q-Morrow, Valerie had grown from a timid young girl into the second most powerful person in the company. She had made the transformation out of sheer will and necessity and she had been rewarded for the effort. Her growth in all aspects of her job and in her personality was recognized by everyone who knew her.

Today she was presenting Q-Morrow’s most recent advancement in bionics and bio-technical implants to a special group of leadership from the Departments of Defense and Homeland Security. Valerie stood behind a small podium. There was a young Marine beside her standing at attention and waiting for her part in the demonstration.

“As you know,” Valerie continued, “the deployment of Q-Morrow visual and auditory implants throughout the military has given our soldiers the technological edge required to outperform all other world military. Today we stand at the edge of another leap in the bio-technical revolution.”

Valerie turned slightly and motioned to a large display behind and to the side of her. A full video demonstration played on the viewscreen illustrating the current state-of-the-art in their military products.

“The visual implants have been used to provide real-time information, GIS mapping and specialty views of targets and terrain such as infrared and satellite overlays,” she continued. She discussed how the visual implants had been developed to provide text, image and full-motion video information directly into the visual field. She showed simulated examples of how a person with the implants might see a map overlaid onto a view of a standard city street or how infrared information may be overlaid onto a nighttime view of a target.

“And you all know how these technologies have improved the security of information as there is no external viewing or listening device required. There is a significantly reduced chance of espionage,” Valerie continued. “However, until now, the system has been fairly static and one-way. The information displayed or played through the implants has been managed solely by external controls or by control groups.”

Valerie pointed to the Marine. “Today, however, we have integrated an entirely new set of features into the implants. We have added a control implant. Captain Disharoom, would you please turn off the lights?”

The young Marine made no motion, but the lights immediately dimmed. There was a small commotion in the group.

“Thank you, Captain,” Valerie continued. “Please turn the lights on again.”

Again there was no visible motion from the Marine, but the room brightened as the overhead lights were illuminated.

Valerie smiled as she saw the excitement within the group. Though they were generally unemotional, Valerie had learned how to read them. She could see that they were impressed.

“We have succeeded in creating a complex new type of bio-technical implant,” she continued, drawing attention back to the viewscreen. “The implant is a microprocessor fused to living human nerve cells that are grafted directly into the central nervous system. Captain Disharoom essentially has a new set of fully-functional nerve cells that he can both feel and control in the same way that we all feel and control a hand or a foot.

“We have developed a training program for teaching the target of the implant how to use it. This training takes as little as a few hours and as longs as two to three days. Once the full training cycle is complete, the recipient has a complete set of control tools enabling full-text message creation and mode control manipulation.”

Valerie turned toward Captain Disharoom. “Do you have anything to say to the group, Captain?”

Behind them the display screen cleared then the text “Semper Fidelis” appeared. There were a few astonished chuckles in the room and one resounding whoop from an obvious former Marine.

“With the complete integration of the visual and auditory implants to the control implant, a complete system is achieved. Each implant recipient has complete two-way access to information and communications eliminating or reducing the necessity of complex control centers to monitor and provide field-specific information to each agent. Rather, the agent is empowered to retrieve any available information at any time as required by the situation.”

Valerie continued to discuss the merits of the implant system that she had helped define in the past two years. She had recognized the importance of defense and security contracts at Q-Morrow and had worked hard to expand her involvement. This development was hers and she was proud of it.

Chapter 7

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 11:30 a.m. MST

Ramesh marveled as he and Quinn arrived in Tempe, the headquarters of Q-Morrow Technologies. The company had literally reshaped the landscape of the college town. In the early years of the twenty-first century a small number of high-rise buildings rose up in Tempe, creating a new hub for commerce near the university. When Q-Morrow exploded in the mid 2010’s, billions of dollars were ploughed into the city. More towers were erected and Quinn’s companies became central to the economics and politics of the valley of the sun.

The main tower was magnificent. Its interior was immaculate, but not ultra-modern. Quinn had a taste for elegance and a love of the classics. His buildings were functional and beautiful. He took pride in them as he did any part of his life.

His office was at the top of the tower. The elevators opened on the top floor to reveal a large reception area. Behind the reception area was the conference room which faced north and opened to a panoramic view of the Papago Park and golf area.

Quinn’s office sat to the left of the reception area. It was large, but not overly so. A large portion of the office had been designated as Quinn’s personal space. Few knew what was there. Fewer still had ever seen it. Only one other person worked on the top floor, Valerie Decker – Quinn’s executive assistant.

Valerie had an office similar in size to Quinn’s, although because she was more likely to be the face of the corporate office, hers was in much better order. Valerie had started working for Quinn when she was just eighteen years old. She spent ten years at the company in various departments proving herself to be the most devoted employee Quinn knew. She had earned both a Bachelor’s degree and an MBA during her tenure at Q-Morrow. Quinn promoted Valerie to executive assistant nearly six years ago. In that time she became a trusted advisor and personal friend to Quinn and his family.

“Val, I’d like you to meet an old friend, Ramesh Kapoor,” Quinn said as they entered Valerie’s suite.

Val stood immediately and crossed the room to meet Ramesh. She was a stunningly beautiful woman. Her dark brown hair, deep blue eyes and beaming smile enchanted all that met her. Her gaze was continually filled with both confidence and happiness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ramesh,” she said, holding out her hand. Ramesh took her hand and smiled back. He was sure he hadn’t felt quite so elated to meet anyone for years. He couldn’t withhold a smile if he had wanted.

“It is also very nice to meet you, Valerie.”

“Call me Val.” The lilt in Val’s voice mirrored the emotions of her eyes. “Can I have anything brought up for you?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Ramesh smiled. He and Quinn then walked through the adjoining doorway into the conference room. Quinn recognized the dazzled look in Ramesh’s eyes and grinned.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Quinn’s stated as much as asked.

Ramesh broke from his trance and made eye contact with Quinn. He was clearly embarrassed.

“Remind me to tell you about her husband when we have a moment,” Quinn said, his eyes beaming with youthful excitement.

Valerie returned. “If you need anything while you’re here, please let me know.”

Ramesh was amazed at how quickly his mood changed in her presence. She had an intoxicating smile.

“I’m sure you have a lot to discuss,” she continued. “If you need anything, I’ll be on the twentieth floor making a presentation.”

Quinn thanked Valerie as she left and motioned for Ramesh to sit. He pointed to the conference room artwork. There were several large pictures mounted in exquisite frames throughout the room. Each was a landscape or a still life. All were black and white.

“What do you think of the artwork?” Quinn asked.

Ramesh didn’t have a strong opinion about art in general. He had been strong in the sciences and had a preference for some subjects in art, but in general he was not particularly interested.

“Very nice,” he answered, hoping that he didn’t offend.

“They’re charcoal,” Quinn continued. “Not photos. You really need to look at them close up. It’s amazing to me that anyone could do that with charcoal.”

Quinn stood and invited Ramesh to more closely examine the art. Ramesh conceded out of politeness rather than interest.

“They’re all done by an artist named Fluckiger. Has a studio in Idaho. Excellent work. I’ve always liked a good black and white, but these are simply the best.”

Quinn returned to his spot in the conference room and continued, “they always make me think. You know it’s black charcoal on white canvas. Just simply black and white. But he puts them together and you get all those complex shades of gray and you get something alive. Life, I think, is like that. Not really black and white ... lots of gray.”

Ramesh felt his throat tighten a bit as he began to understand the point. Quinn knew Ramesh well enough to know that he was a deeply ethical man with strong beliefs. Ramesh knew that Quinn was prodding him to see if there would be a debate.

“You know how I feel,” Ramesh returned.

“Yes,” Quinn smiled. “That’s why I brought you here.”

Quinn motioned to the opposite wall. The room darkened. Simultaneously, the wall became transparent, and then lit into several panels. Most of the views displayed news broadcasts, with others providing what appeared to be internal corporate information.

“You’ve probably not heard the news out of India today,” Quinn said.

One of the viewscreens expanded to the center of the large wall display and the audio changed correspondingly. On the view, a young British reporter stood in the dark, speaking of an explosion. The caption on the screen read Oliver James, BBC – Live in New Delhi. The volume of the broadcast increased and Ramesh heard the reporter clearly.

“Sireesha Naidu is confirmed dead at this hour. Several senior researchers have also died in this apparent attack. The motivation behind the attack is not yet known. Again, at this time we are only certain of a few facts. First, the explosion occurred shortly after six pm local time. Second, DNA scans confirm that Sireesha Naidu, owner of the Naidu corporations and wealthiest person in India, is dead.”

Ramesh uttered his astonishment in Hindi. “I had not heard,” he said quietly.

“Well, don’t waste any emotion on her death,” Quinn retorted. He seemed particularly callous about the news.

“How do you mean?” Ramesh asked, a bit perturbed that Quinn reacted so coldly.

“She’s not dead. If I were a gambler, I’d wager that she set this up.”

“Destroy her own facility? Why would she do that?”

“She has much more to gain. It was an outdated facility on the fringe of her business. It was the center of a misguided controversy that ensured that media crews would be onsite last night,” Quinn continued. “I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot of Sireesha Naidu in the next few days.” He furrowed his brow. He appeared to be distracted momentarily. He glanced at his watch. “It’s going to be a couple of hours before those numbers mean anything. Let’s go grab some lunch. There’s a great new Indian place...”

“How long am I going to be here?” Ramesh interjected, cutting Quinn off. “I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt. I had not thought I would be away for long. I...”

“Not to worry,” Quinn smiled. “I didn’t give you much information, did I?”

“None at all. I did not plan to be here for more than one or two days,” Ramesh said, looking away. He had not actually planned at all. He had one change of clothes.

“To be honest, I was hoping you could do a couple of things for me over the next few days. Maybe a week.” Quinn paused to read the expression on Ramesh’s face. It was clear that Ramesh was not planning such a long stay. “I can get you anything you will need. And I’ll cover any expenses. But I’m getting ahead of myself. If you can just commit to staying until this evening, then you’ll have more information. You can decide then.”

“Yes, and lunch would be nice. I am quite hungry,” Ramesh said. He tried to cover the confusion he felt.

The lights in the room came up to normal and the screens dissolved into the walls again. Ramesh and Quinn left the conference and made their way to the elevators reserved for the executive floors.

Chapter 6

Wednesday, 10 March 2022 – 1:00 a.m. IST

In the very early hours of the morning, a group of international reporters gathered around the remains of the Naidu building in New Delhi reporting the few known facts of the explosion. Terrorism, corporate turf wars, and extremist protestors were all being blamed by different news agencies.

A young BBC reporter, Oliver James, looked to make his mark in international news. He had been in India long enough to have learned a few things. He liked to tell his friends back home that the true official language of India was neither English nor Hindi. The true national language was corruption. Everyone understood it.

Oliver stood away from the crowd looking for his contact. He had made more than a few friends in the New Delhi police, bribing his way in and out of many situations in the past. Soon he saw her. He knew her only as Sunil. She motioned to him. He followed.

“This news is more significant than I had hoped,” she whispered. “You will pay much more.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. It seemed that every lead, every payoff was always worth much more than expected. Fortunately Oliver never actually paid anything close to the true value of the information. He feigned frustration as he asked, “How much?”

“Triple.”

“I don’t think so,” he said as he turned and began walking back toward the central gathering. Never let them take control of a negotiation, he thought. He continued walking.

“Two and one half times.”

Oliver stopped. “Okay,” he said, “but if this isn’t worth the price, you’ll not see me again.”

He pulled a wad of British Pounds from his pocket. Sunil had a single sheet of paper. They exchanged. Oliver stepped into the light of the nearby cameras and read. The paper contained a list of the deceased based on initial DNA scans of the bodies. Eleven names were listed. About halfway down the page, one name was highlighted.

“Sireesha Naidu,” Oliver grinned. “Now that’s news”, he mused as he hurried to find his cameraman.

Clutching my seventy-five cent deli corn dog, my body hanging precariously in mid air, I realized that time had stopped – which was convenient because it gave me both the opportunity to reflect on the past and to anticipate the near future with clarity. The past centered on a single decision that I was very quickly beginning to regret. The future held pain – at the moment that time froze I was still uncertain about the exact level of pain forthcoming, but I was sure that there would be pain.

Just moments earlier, I and my best friend stood at the top of the stairway that led to the basement cafeteria in the Madison Junior High school. It was winter in Rexburg, Idaho which meant that the temperature was only slightly above absolute zero and that there was plenty of snow and ice to turn an otherwise unremarkable stairwell into something resembling a luge track.

We had just visited the Rexburg Food Center delicatessen from which I had purchased the aforementioned corn dog. Although I was not particularly fond of corn dogs, this particular dog represented the entirety of my lunch money for the day and was therefore something of a treasure at the time.

It was initially our plan to return to the Junior High school with our feast and eat with the regulars at the cafeteria and socialize. I use the term socialize loosely as at the time I actually only had one friend and he was with me. I learned later in life that a five-foot one inch tall, one hundred thirty-five pound boy wearing the same pair of Lawman jeans (upheld by a belt sporting my first name) every day of eighth grade has approximately as much social appeal as a dirty gym sock. At the time however, I had no such information and was prepared to break into the social scene by impressing my classmates by pointing out the superiority of my non-cafeteria corn dog.

We surveyed the stairs for a moment. If we went around the school and through the front doors, we might miss the opportunity to flaunt our spoils. The stairwell, however, was completely frozen – it had become a perfectly smooth, forty-five degree ramp of ice. Recently however, some sadist had chipped away at the ice leaving half-inch steps available all the way down the flight. To a thirteen-year-old boy, that seemed reasonable enough.

I remember taking one last glance down at the cafeteria. The windows looking outward were filled with classmates. I decided to forego the handrail just in case any one of them might look out and see me clutching it for safety as if I were incapable of descending stairs like a man. Fortunately for me, a split second later, I no longer had to worry about whether anyone was going to see me – it was clear that they all would.

As I stepped down toward the first partially-revealed step, all of the physical laws to which I had grown rather accustomed were replaced by the physical laws of Looney Tunes. Rather than simply sliding down the ramp, my body lurched forward and outward so that I was parallel to the ground, but still several feet from it. It was at that moment that time stopped and I was granted a moment of reflection.

I suppose that some small alterations to my decisions could have prevented what happened next, but at the time I was able to fully evaluate those conditions, I was no longer capable of changing them.

When the earth finally rushed upwards and collided with my body it did so with enough force to completely knock the breath out of my lungs, but not quite enough to knock the corn dog out of my fist. Aware that I had just fallen before a large crowd of onlookers, I had the good sense to immediately jump to my feet and pretend that nothing had happened. I entered the cafeteria and found a quiet corner in which I could weep and learn to breathe again.

Two consolations comforted me in my lunchtime recovery: first, I was so concerned that I might die before I regained my breath that I never heard the laughter of my classmates and second, my fat-kid instincts kicked in during my fall and saved my corn dog from utter destruction. I still had lunch.

Chapter 5

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 10:45 a.m. MST

Ramesh inhaled slowly and deeply as he splashed warm water on his face in the lavatory of the charter jet. He was just about to arrive in Phoenix. He exhaled. In the mirror, his reflection forced him to pause.

Deep inside he was Dr. Ramesh Kapoor, the brilliant South African biochemist, member of the executive management team of the International Genomics Consortium and the driven scientist with a conservative ethical position that had earned him worldwide accolades. Outside he was a little worn. He had managed to maintain his generally sharp looks and still maintained a very professional appearance, but something was missing. He was empty. His countenance reflected his disconnectedness, a façade he had nurtured to protect himself from pain. Or perhaps I nurture the pain to protect the façade, he considered as he stared in contempt at the face he sometimes barely recognized.

Ramesh stepped out of the jet into the bright Scottsdale sun. It was considerably warmer than he had planned. He had packed for a day trip, only bringing a small bag with a few personal items. He pushed his sleeves up a bit and wished that he had packed something a bit lighter for the day.

“Mr. Kapoor?” called a man as Ramesh entered the air terminal.

Ramesh nodded.

“Mr. Sorensen is in the car,” the driver said as he led Ramesh outside. Ramesh stepped into the car. The door closed behind him. It was a very luxurious limousine, but dimly lit inside. It took Ramesh a moment before he could clearly see Quinn Sorensen sitting directly across from him, beaming from ear to ear.

“Ramesh, old friend, how long has it been?” Quinn asked as he reached across and firmly grabbed Ramesh by the hand.

“Since we last saw each other, or since I’ve held the hand of another human being?” Ramesh thought to himself as he struggled to be nonchalant about the overbearing handshake. “Four years I believe, perhaps four and a half.”

Quinn continued to hold his hand. Ramesh struggled to maintain eye contact. He was sure that Quinn was reading his discomfort. He forced a smile that he was sure looked more like a grimace and tried to tighten his own grip a bit.

“Long time,” Quinn said as he relaxed his grip and sat back. He looked exactly the same as he had four years ago, perhaps even better. He was wearing his signature style, a relaxed black jacket over a dark collarless shirt and black pants. His shoes were naturally the best available. He wore no jewelry other than a platinum wristwatch and a wedding band. He had the skin and physique of a man in his twenties, all of his hair, and a perfect tan. He was the epitome of the successful American male. He, in fact, was the standard by which all other successful American men were measured, having become the wealthiest man in the world in 2016. Since that time, more articles were written about his style and personal taste than about his companies, his technologies or his vision.

“I’ve set up a nice suite for you and you’re welcome to go there right away if you’d like to make some calls or rest a bit, but if you’re up to it, I’d like to take you over to my office and get started,” Quinn commented as the car pulled into traffic.

“No, I am fine. I would like to see what you have that is so urgent,” Ramesh offered as he settled back in his seat. Though he had grown disconnected from most of life, Ramesh still had the curiosity of a scientist.

“Perfect,” Quinn smiled. “Did you bring the list of numbers I sent?”

“Yes, I have them here.” Ramesh fumbled through his pocket and withdrew a crinkled page. He unfolded it and pressed it on his leg, attempting to remove the wrinkles.

“Recognize them?” Quinn asked with a hint of a challenge in his eye. He loved puzzles. Quinn was masterful at finding numeric patterns, solving word puzzles and he loved challenging friends and family to the same.

“I have not had much time to consider them, truthfully,” Ramesh replied. It was a lie. He had spent the better part of the flight looking at the numbers trying to ascertain any meaning. He had been unable to find any answers, having no basis from which to consider the problem. There was nothing else on the page to indicate any reference point from which to work.

“I didn’t give you enough information, but I think you’ll be astounded when you understand what you have in your hands,” Quinn said as he glanced at his watch, “I’m sure you’ve never seen anything like it.”

Quinn looked up at Ramesh, still smiling. But there was something slightly different in his eyes. Concern or fear or sadness exposed itself in the deep green of Quinn’s eyes. Ramesh saw it. He was sure.

Chapter 4

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 7:15 p.m. IST

On the far north end of the Naidu corporate campus stood a small one-story building with no markings. Those who noticed it simply referred to it as building fifty-one. There was no obvious security around the structure, but Daniel knew that it was the most secure facility on the campus. Daniel had been key in the development of the facility. He had hoped it would become a larger part of the Naidu business, but it never had. Sireesha was too concerned that the work performed in that small building would be viewed as terrorist and could not risk allowing it to become prominent.

For Daniel, it was the only truly interesting facility on campus. There were few employees in building fifty-one, but Daniel knew them all personally. He had just received word that his latest project was finally complete. Few things in the world excited Daniel: bikes, redheads and guns, not necessarily in that order.

Daniel entered the building and made his way to the personal weapons area. He was met by Dr. Gustav Wendt.

“Morning, goose,” Daniel called.

“Daniel,” he winked as he replied. “I think you are going to like this one.”

Gustav whirled around in his chair and grabbed a grayish weapon from a locked cabinet. It looked almost like an ordinary pistol, but it was a bit wider. He handed the gun to Daniel.

“Feel how light it is,” he commented.

Daniel smiled.

“Pressed carbon and carbon fiber,” Gustav continued. “No metals whatsoever. You could walk through Heathrow with that.”

“Very good,” Daniel grinned. “And the ammunition?”

“There are three basic types,” Gustav said as he pulled open a box containing dozens of small projectiles of various colors. “Self-contained conductive energy darts,” he continued as he picked up a dark green casing. “Each dart delivers a two point five second charge. It will drop a man and leave him stunned for a few seconds. They’re non lethal ... usually.” His lips curled into a wicked smile as he handed the casing to Daniel. “I think you’ll like these the best.”

Gustav then picked up a gray casing. “These contain the carbon microdarts. At point-blank range the darts will penetrate clothing and skin effectively enough to deliver the genetic agents. They will not be effective at a distance.”

Gustav pulled out a black projectile and frowned. “Basically a carbon-slug bullet. Not very interesting, but probably the best choice for distance shooting.”

“Goose,” Daniel smiled as he turned the weapon over in his hands. “You have outdone yourself.”

Gustav smiled. “I do my best.”

“One of the few,” Daniel said as he turned back toward the doorway. Within moments he was racing quickly away from the campus. He had some work in Durban.

Chapter 3

Wednesday, 09 March 2022 – 10:00 a.m. MST

To say that Ramesh Kapoor hated flying was an understatement on the order of “it gets warm in Phoenix.” It had been more than four years since his last flight and he had become quite accustomed to staying low. It was a relatively short flight – Fort Collins to Phoenix – and the comforts of flying alone in a small charter jet did have a way of reducing his distaste for air travel. He glanced around again, then tried to recline his seat further.

“What am I doing here?” he thought to himself. Four hours ago he had been sitting on his porch looking up at the Horsetooth and casually making notes for his next book. His enclosed porch had become his sanctuary. South African by birth, Ramesh referred to his sanctuary as the stoop. He spent most of his waking hours there either reading or writing. He did little else. He already missed the serene quiet of his stoop.

He glanced at his watch without noticing the time. He was thinking of the phone call that pulled him down from his quiet Fort Collins life. He didn’t receive many phone calls. Most everyone he knew communicated strictly via the net. He lived in a virtual world, connected to faceless people and nameless collaborators. It suited him. Traditional world relationships demanded too much emotional investment.

I need your help, the voice urged, exhausted. Ramesh got little information over the phone. A car would be sent. A flight would be chartered. Ramesh struggled to find any reason in the cryptic request.

He adjusted his seat again, and then pulled a short note from his pocket. It had been the only additional information sent to him before he left. It was a single page containing five lines of digits with no explanation. Ramesh studied the digits, looking for a pattern, a clue. He had no idea why he was flying today.