Out of Touch

by Clara Ward

  He carried a can of soda and a plate with one brown sausage and several piles of vegetables. When he reached Sarah, he held them forward without making eye contact. She took them and tried to nod her thanks.

  He patted a rock beside her, asking if he should sit there?

  She shrugged, and he sat.

  He stared pointedly out at the ocean, and Sarah decided she could go ahead and eat. The plate was warm on her knees, and a fork was braced under the cauliflower.

  As she ate, a blob of water detached itself from the surf and floated to just in front of them. It was about the size of an orange. Sarah wondered if it was safe to do such things out in the open. How good were spy satellites anyway? The ball of water became a dome, then sprouted four feet, a head, and a tail. It was a turtle, a turtle sculpted out of seawater.

  Sarah tried to let her amazement show on her face. She mouthed the word, “Wow!” and the teek sort of smirked and looked to the side, like maybe mouthing words wasn’t quite allowed.

  Sarah wanted to see if she could shape water. But not knowing how to ask for a turn, she scooped up her own blob and brought it up next to the turtle. She managed to shape it into a pancake and then into a long cylinder, but when she tried to form a turtle, the water went all wobbly and Sarah let it splash down by their feet.

  The boy made his turtle into a ball then threw it out toward the sea. It shattered into drops of silver before it landed.

  Chapter 23

  June 30, 2025 – Bangkok, Thailand

  Reggie walked along the wooden dock, absent-mindedly stepping on each buckled board and knothole. The sun slammed off steel ships, all modern, international, unromantic. He tried to imagine himself a captain or a pirate, guiding the wheel on a deck of polished planks, rising on the breakers as he sailed out to sea. Right now he felt more like the maiden left waving from the shore.

  The dock stank of grease and fish. Reggie wandered back toward the warehouse on shore to find his belongings and send them away again. First he had to find someone who spoke English. For all that Thailand had rushed into the modern economy, this area didn’t seem to bother with building numbers, and no one around him was speaking a language he knew. Emma had offered to come along and translate, but Reggie had shooed her away. Since Sarah left, followed by Aliana a couple days later, the teenager kept trying to help him, as if he was an abandoned pet.

  “Do you know where I can pick up this container shipment?” Reggie waved his claim slip at a local holding a clipboard.

  The stout man wiped his left hand on his pants and took Reggie’s claim slip. He held the yellow paper up close to his eyes and squinted at it. Then he gestured to his left and muttered something that might have included the word “farang.”

  So Reggie went left and eventually showed his paper to another Thai man who led him a bit farther to an office where a white man with a buzz cut sat behind a cluttered desk.

  “You here to pick up?” the man asked in an easy mid-western American accent.

  “Not quite,” said Reggie. “I’d like to send everything on to a new address.” He produced a card with the mailing information for PAD island deliveries. From this direction, PAD routed through Samoa.

  “Where the heck is that?” the man asked.

  “Between Australia and Hawaii.”

  “All just got here from California.”

  “Plans change.”

  Reggie stood quietly while the other expat entered the new shipping destination into his computer.

  “You wanna check the goods now, for insurance reasons?”

  “Can I just extend the insurance?”

  “Nope. Have to check now and buy new insurance.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Reggie was checking though the belongings he’d packed back in April. It was strangely disorienting to rifle through everything after living so simply. Like an old sea pirate in his treasure trove he appraised each item before sending it back to disuse.

  He almost didn’t bother opening Sarah’s boxes. He couldn’t remember anything breakable in them, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember anything else.

  Where was Sarah now? And why hadn’t she called? He’d given her a PAD before she left, as a parting gift. She’d held it awkwardly, and not just because it was larger than most cell phones. Why hadn’t he realized before that Sarah never used a phone or computer anymore? What was she avoiding in the outside world? Old friends? The news? Would she know they’d successfully taken over PAD? Most of the coverage was in business papers that Sarah never read, but some of the nightly news shows had mentioned the sale, especially the plan to reorganize PAD as a non-profit.

  Phil was taking care of that, though he called Reggie three or four times a day. Phil was all eagerness and energy for the new enterprise. Reggie wanted to celebrate, but the moment never seemed right.

  He came to the box with Sarah’s Indian fabrics. Would she still care about these? Would they mean more to her than the eight million dollar trust she’d blithely handed over to him to manage or use for the PAD deal? Should he call her to say they hadn’t needed the money? She hadn’t called to congratulate him on the deal.

  “Hey, Reggie!”

  He looked up to see Howard striding across the warehouse.

  “I thought I’d never find you. Emma said you were down here, but this place is a warren of unmarked docks and alleys.”

  “Well, now you’ve found me.”

  “Yeah, I wanted to congratulate you on the PAD thing.”

  “Did Emma tell you about that too?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s been all over the news. Your name may not be in the headlines, but that’s one big makeover you guys are planning.”

  “The actual telecom operation shouldn’t change much, aside from accounting. Funding later clusters of NGOs will take a while.”

  “Are they still NGOs? Isn’t PAD pretty much its own country and government?”

  “In some legal fictions, but they’re not recognized by any major powers.”

  “Still, it’s pretty cool.”

  There was a long pause as Reggie resealed the box with Sarah’s fabric. “I need to finish some arrangements here. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

  Howard glanced from side to side. “I was kind of wondering if there was something I could do for you at PAD. I mean, news says you’re keeping most of the operations staff. I could help you see who’s reliable, who has other interests.”

  Reggie let out a breath and shook his head. Was this for real or was Howard just hoping Sarah would be there?

  “Wait, I can do a normal job too.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything. I could answer phones, take inventory.”

  “We’ll already have people to do that.”

  “But people you can trust?”

  “Listen Howard, it’s nice of you to offer, but there are other ways to handle corporate espionage and disloyal employees. Besides, you’re in school here; you can build a career, a life. Why would you want some dead end job on PAD Island?”

  Howard looked around again. “You know my part in the Chiang Mai thing, right? Well, people cooled off a bit after Tom recovered and said he didn’t blame teeks, but it’s created new suspicions.”

  “Did you try it?”

  Howard made quick, startled eye contact then shook his head and relaxed. “No, my teek’s not as precise as Sarah’s. But, well, I think my relatives know I told. They’ll never say so aloud, but I can’t keep living here.”

  Reggie looked at Howard, trying to judge if the guy was sincere or just a clever attempt by the Thai government to send a spy along to PAD. Howard always seemed honest, but Reggie was still annoyed with him for liking Sarah. That was childish though, and Reggie really did owe him for saving her life.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Emma says you’re leaving tomorrow.”

  “I can call you once I get there. PAD is a telecom business.”

  “If you want. Bu
t I’d be happy to leave tomorrow, if you know what I mean.”

  July 1, 2025 – PAD Island

  The next evening, Reggie looked out at his own warehouses. Five of them lined the airstrip where he, and Howard, landed on PAD Island. The road in front of them led up a hill to what looked for all the world like a modern tropical resort, an assortment of white foam buildings shaded by diagonal solar “sails” in tasteful shades of lavender. Reggie knew it was just the company founder’s economical spin on the ideal work environment. Employees could live in their own private huts with modern amenities and kitchenettes. They could use the pool, the private beaches, the fitness center, or the media hall. Not a bad dream, all in all.

  Speeding down the road toward them was a bright yellow vehicle driven by someone in a loud shirt. Phil waved like the over-eager tourist he appeared to be and jumped out, which incidentally removed his foot from the accelerator.

  “Reggie! Do you like it? We did it!”

  The older man caught Reggie in a powerful hug, then grabbed his bags and practically threw them into the back of the souped up yellow golf cart.

  “Hey Phil, good to see you. This is Howard. I said I’d find a place for him.”

  “Welcome, Howard. Glad to meet you.” Phil shook Howard’s arm then threw his bags in the cart. “You don’t mind riding in the rumble seat, do you? I didn’t know Reggie was bringing anyone.”

  They all climbed aboard and sped up the hill. In the front seat, Phil gave Reggie the rundown on how the hand-over was going so far. “Scott’s flying out in an hour on the same plane you rode in. But he wanted to talk with you first.”

  “Good, I want to talk to him.”

  Reggie and Howard cruised in Phil’s wake as they rushed past the main bar to a small balcony where Scott, the original mind behind PAD, sat beside an already emptied tumbler. Howard was sent with someone to find a room while a cheerful server brought champagne for Reggie, Phil, and Scott.

  An hour passed in a mix of shoptalk and stories, but then Phil was called away. Scott leaned forward, his striped shirtsleeves bunched unevenly, his eyelids a bit over-relaxed with alcohol, and said, “You didn’t have this in mind all along, did you, Reggie? When I first called about donating stock? Were the wheels in your head spinning even then?”

  “Nothing so complex. I was called out of the country suddenly. Not selling the stock just turned into serendipity.”

  “I don’t mind, you know? Better you guys run it as a service to the world than some financiers make a bundle auctioning our satellites.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “I’ll miss it though. I’m ready to leave, but it was nice having our own private island. I hope you enjoy it.” Scott slumped back in his chair and raised his glass, as if he was about to eulogize his creation, but Reggie forestalled him.

  “We’ll do our best. But, Scott, there are things you could tell me, off the record, before you leave. In a business this size, there must be people you worry about. Employees who might not want what’s best for the company, even people working for competitors or perhaps governments?”

  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 complete
ly 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?”