Out of Touch (41 page)

Scott turned the glass round and round in his hand. “I wouldn’t know anymore. Since we started to lose money, there’s been so much turnover. You can look at the employee files. The ones who’ve been here longest probably know what they’re doing. But we haven’t had any huge security problems. We built it pretty tough, even to keep ourselves out, so our customers could trust us.”

“Of course.” Reggie didn’t know whether Scott was beyond caring or just didn’t want to name names. Still, he was glad Howard wasn’t there to snoop. Even melancholy and drunk, Scott was a good guy, and he deserved the privacy of his thoughts as he said goodbye to the vision he’d built.

When Phil came back to drive Scott to the plane, Reggie begged off and hiked down to the beach. Soon he heard Howard, like a faithful dog, trotting along behind him.

“Please, don’t tell me you were spying already.”

“Okay, but you’ll be interested in what I found.”

“Not about Scott.”

“Phil first?”

“What? Oh, why did I agree to this?” Reggie threw back his head, staring into a darkening sky.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t read his mind. I can’t. It’s closed.”

Reggie stopped walking. “Really, I wonder why?”

“If he’s a teep he’s not admitting to it. So probably the government trained him.”

“Not Phil.”

“Well, a few people are like that naturally.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Well, Scott—“

“I don’t want to know.”

“You sure? He lied to you.”

Reggie thought about refusing again. Scott wasn’t obliged to tell him everything. Then again, it might make a difference to the new PAD succeeding, even to the safety of his employees or friends. Before Reggie was sure he’d decided, Howard was burbling on.

“He’s suspicious of the pilot who brought you in and the new manager in the mail room. Higher up, he’s been threatened by the Chinese sysadmin who designed their overload protections. Not clear whether that’s personal or political, but Scott didn’t mention it because he feared retribution. You want to know what Scott really thinks of you?”

“Definitely not.”

“Yeah, I knew you’d say that.”

They both walked silently for a while.

Over the next few days, Reggie scuttled through the computer interface like a mouse in a maze. The account books he audited guided him the way smells might guide the rodent. He’d sent Howard off with an established employee to inventory every piece of equipment, all supplies, and even the staff on the island.  Baring serious abnormalities, he didn’t expect to hear back from them for a week. Phil kept popping by, but Reggie tried to brush him off. There was something soothing about searching frenetically through the business they’d acquired. Reggie didn’t want Scott’s role as king or visionary; let Phil do that. It was easier to immerse himself in the business, become a trouble-shooter for the machine, play the magician in Phil Meyers’s court.

“Hey Reggie,” the king spoke, “How’s our web encryption and redirection?”

In a flash Reggie conjured screens showing how PAD could broadcast data with a self-checking security algorithm from any of its sixteen satellites. It could recreate a web site at old or new addresses faster than even a world power could take them down. And though nothing would disable the whole web, there were ways to broadcast direct to wireless clusters if it happened.

Later, King Phil wanted to know if they could broadcast direct to radio. This took Reggie an afternoon of scurrying through the network, but he was able to set them up for targeted or blanket broadcast.

Finally, five days after Reggie came to PAD, Phil asked about the overload protocols. Reggie had checked those first. They looked slick; the architecture and programming was first rate, beyond the insights of an MBA/accountant/techno-phile like himself.

“The programming’s robust, but I’m not the man to test it. If you’re expecting trouble, bring in a top notch programmer you can trust.”

“What about the sysadmin who built it?”

“It’s not always good to check your own work.”

“Someone new would need more start-up time.”

“Are there deadlines I should know about?”

“Are there security issues I should know about? I’ve brought in a new security advisor, not a programmer, but general oversight. Perhaps you’d like to meet her?”

A twitch of Phil’s head as he started toward the door told Reggie he was summoned. Dutifully he locked down his computer and followed.

Phil pulled out his PAD and in a moment was saying, “Cass, where are you? Great, we’re heading toward center from the other side. I’ve got Reggie along. Meet you at my office?”

The bookshelves in Phil’s office must have been added in the last five days. They completely covered the two side walls surrounding the picture window’s ocean view. Most shelves were taken up by multi-volume sets. Eight volumes of
United Nations Trade Rulings
abutted twenty-one volumes of
International Agreements on Biology and Genetics
followed by
Supreme Court Opinions
dating back to the last century. Reggie remembered the books from Phil’s office at Pronoia International and wondered what it cost to ship them out here so expediently. It wasn’t as if Phil was a Luddite. His electronic collection would shame any legal library from a couple decades back. As far as Reggie knew the books were an affectation, a way of marking territory.

Phil sat down at his desk, gray hair toward the view, framed by his walls of printed books.

The woman who must be Cass came in with a wire running from her ear to the PAD in one pocket of her techno-storing, oversized vest. No wire connected to her squarish watch, but Reggie would bet it was linked to the micro-headset’s jawbone vocalizer and offered the security mavin a heads-up display. She glanced at it casually every few seconds.             

“Cass, this is Reggie, our other director on the ground.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Cass replied in a voice like Aliana’s only lower and rough around the edges. Her hand was rough too, and she was glancing at her watch as they shook.

“When did you get in?” Reggie asked.

“Late last night.”

“From Ireland?”

“Yes,” the word grew longer as she looked at him, “Though I’ve worked almost everywhere, if you’d like to see my references.”

Reggie revised his estimate of her age from forty to fifty. “Did you and Phil know each other already?”

“She came highly recommended by old friends,” Phil cut in. “Did you have concerns about sysadmin Cho or anyone else she should be aware of?”

“Nothing beyond hearsay. But for cautions sake we might seek a second set of eyes.”

“Did you have someone in mind?”

“A few names; could we afford to fly one out to interview?”

“Video won’t do?” Phil asked.

There was a pause around the room.

Reggie said, “Sometimes you can tell more in person.” Then Reggie wrote a couple names on a piece of paper that he handed over to Phil. “See if either of those suits you and who they’re with right now. I have work I need to do.”

He was on the phone to Howard before he’d made it back to his building. “Have you accounted for the new hire?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Care to beachcomb?”

“Delighted.”

Howard jogged out onto the sand then pulled off his socks and sneakers while Reggie waited for his report.

“She’s unreadable. Phil’s administrative assistant is too.”

“Has he brought anyone else on board?”

“No, but your Chinese sysadmin is unreadable, as is the manager in the mailroom, one of the custodians as well. I managed to catch the pilot last night when he brought the security woman in, and he’s readable, gossips a bit to the Tongan locals, but no subversion that I heard. Oh, and a lot of the regular employees are worried about their job security and pay.”

“Right. There’s two hundred people on this island, which could give us a couple with closed minds just by chance. There were three in the old staff, three with Phil, and you and me. Not so bad.”

“Except?”

Reggie shivered, and told himself the word didn’t require telepathy; it was an obvious guess. “Except nothing so far,” Reggie said, though he’d been thinking, “Except I’m sure that Phil is up to something.”

For the next two days, Reggie couldn’t tell if he was avoiding Phil or Phil was avoiding him, but work kept Reggie’s mind on other tasks. He crunched the numbers to improve the incentive package for employees who stayed the next year. He ran the income models for the next twenty years with varied assumptions about the life of each satellite. He pondered what would happen if someone shot them down, and plotted ways to keep global coverage while making the satellites trickier targets for each of the aerospace powers.

Finally, Phil called to say one of the programmers had agreed to come out for an interview. The next day, Reggie sat in a room and asked a friend of a friend questions knowing Howard was lurking nearby, checking for information beyond the answers. Afterward, Howard and Reggie took their traditional stroll down the beach, and Reggie went back to Phil’s office.

Phil stood staring out at the beach. Reggie shut the door and paced to the other end of the window. The area where he and Howard walked was not directly visible from here, but Reggie didn’t doubt Phil knew. He was hoping they’d find a way to talk.

Instead Phil said, “So, you satisfied with the programmer?”

“Sure, you?”

He nodded, then said softly, “You’ve changed Reggie. Where’s Sarah?”

Reggie thought of Cass, whose accent reminded him of Aliana, the woman now traipsing around Ireland with his girlfriend. Or was it ex-girlfriend?

“You know she inherited money. You set up the trust. Now, she’s off fulfilling a last request of her benefactor.”

“And she’s not coming back?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Fair enough, Reggie. But if she can be used to hurt PAD, or if there’s some other reason you offered Howard a place with us—“

“Wait.” What was Phil saying? If he knew about telepathy and wanted to know why Howard and Reggie were unreadable, maybe he thought they were spies working against PAD? But short of telling everything, what could Reggie say?

“You brought in your own security,” Reggie nodded toward the door.

“How’d you know about the Chinese sysadmin?”

“Something Scott said, when he’d been drinking. Nothing certain.”

“And if you knew he was spying for China?”

“He’s what?”

“I want to work with you, Reggie, but there are some responsibilities—” Phil spread his hands and shrugged.

“There are things I would tell you.”

“But?”

“They might cause trouble, unless, perhaps, you already know?”

“Know what?”

Reggie shook his head and walked a few steps away. “Things that could get people in trouble, even if no one overhears and they’re never repeated?”             

“If I did, I couldn’t tell you anymore than you could tell me. Catch 22.”

Reggie knew he’d missed a reference, but he thought Phil had just confessed somewhat.

“Perhaps we should speak later,” Phil suggested.

“Perhaps,” Reggie nodded as he turned toward the door.

July 13-14, 2025 – County Kerry, Ireland

After two weeks living among “artists”, Sarah’s lips were chapped and she knew the local tides much too well. A week ago, she and Aliana had been welcomed as part of the household and introduced to each person by name. Sarah could finally keep her thoughts silent, which saved her some embarrassment over constantly forgetting names. Everyone had finally stopped staring at her, but that didn’t make her feel comfortable around them.

Sarah and Aliana began the day outside, on the softest patch of ground they’d found, an area of well-packed dirt covered with soft creeping weeds. They stretched, danced, and did gymnastics until lunchtime. Afterward, Sarah cleared the tables telekinetically, a form of practice that elicited community approval. Then she explored the activities of her new household.

Beyond the main room, where a few still sat and chatted, there were those who wrote or drew in quiet bedrooms or out in the yard. One of the outer buildings contained a kiln and pottery studio. Yesterday that’s where she’d seen Oliver, the teek who shaped ceilings and blobs of water. But he wasn’t there today, and as she visited other workshops where people wove or painted, she realized she was looking for Oliver. Knowing others couldn’t hear her realization flooded her with relief, like hot tea on a cold night.

Eventually she found Oliver blowing glass alone in a building shaped entirely of foam. The room felt warm and still, small and safe. Oliver blew through a tube, forming a small balloon of green glass on the far end. He glanced at Sarah as she sat down to watch. There were some metal tools lying on a table by the fire, but Oliver ignored them as he watched his bit of glass. It rippled and stretched to form four feet, a head, a tail, and a shell. Then he started heating a golden blob of glass as the turtle floated in the air, rotating slowly so the glass wouldn’t sag. Sarah thought of the turtle he’d formed from water that first night and of the glass turtles Reggie had hung when they first moved into the fish tank. Thinking of Reggie made her remember all the scary things she’d done, and she was glad her thoughts were private again.