He had no idea how he had escaped, but after having experienced using his psi ability to good effect, it wasn’t a surprise that he had. His escape must have gone horribly wrong, though, for him to have needed to hide in a dumpster.
He thought about Megan once again. He had to tell her. About what a jackass he had been. And about Alicia. He needed to get this off his chest. And he owed it to her.
He had thought he might have been drawn to Megan because she was the only person he really knew. She had anchored him. Kept him sane. She was his only friend in an entire world of strangers. But now that his full memory was back, he felt just as dependent on her. Maybe more.
So he would tell Megan of his past, and pledge to her that he was a changed man forever. He didn’t need to tell her what a jackass the old Nick Hall often was, he knew, but it was something he refused to hide from her.
The black BMW continued to glide quietly along California 99, eating up the miles with effortless power and grace. The conversation up front had died down temporarily, and the absolute quiet within the luxury car, even at highway speeds, spoke of some impressive automotive engineering.
“Are you okay back there, Nick?” thought Megan at him after several minutes of silence. “I know you wanted some time to think. And I know you’ll tell me what’s bothering you when you’re ready. But can you give me a hint? I mean, you’re an innocent oceanographer, right? It’s not like you remembered you really are a supervillain with minions somewhere, right?”
Hall smiled. “I’m sorry, Megan. Didn’t mean to worry you.”
He thought about what else he might tell her right now. He knew they had a conference call scheduled for the moment they arrived at the Homestead Inn, to include the three of them, Cameron Fyfe, and Ed Cowan. So he wasn’t sure when he would have time to really tell Megan what was on his mind, and about Alicia. As great as telepathy was, when he had this discussion, he wanted to be alone with her. And to be able to read her body language. And to be able to hold her.
“Everything is okay,” he continued. “Just needed to sort out a few things. I’ll tell you all about it when we get some time alone. But for now, just know that, if anything, I’ve come to appreciate you even more than I did when I had no identity. Which is saying a lot.”
“Great,” thought Megan, but in such a way that Hall sensed part of her was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I look forward to being alone together.”
“Me too,” thought Hall.
But with his past and Alicia Green as the primary agenda, he knew he didn’t really mean it.
34
They arrived at the Homestead Inn, and it was as nice as Altschuler had advertised. A fairly large number of people resided there, but while Hall would have still given his right arm to get rid of the constant background chatter in his brain, he was becoming ever more adept at ignoring it.
They walked straight through the lobby, having no need to check in, keeping their heads down to avoid the cameras there, and onto the grounds. Ed Cowan had assured them there were no cameras covering the grounds or the rooms themselves, so once they were through the lobby they didn’t have to look down at their shoes anymore.
They located the keycards Cowan had hidden for them—so they wouldn’t have to use their own names to rent a suite, and were soon inside. A bowl of fresh red apples sat on a table to welcome them, along with a plate of home-baked chocolate chip cookies, which sent a schizophrenic message about the Homestead’s position on the health of its guests.
Within minutes they were in the small living room section between bedrooms, and Cameron Fyfe and Ed Cowan were displayed in split screen on the TV hanging on the wall, in full three-dimensional splendor.
Cowan and Fyfe began by peppering Hall with questions about his ordeal. He told them he remembered a first meeting with Gray and then nothing else. With respect to his escape, and how Megan Emerson had ended up joining him on the run, he answered as truthfully as he could. But given he didn’t want to disclose his psionic ability, he had to fabricate more of the story than he would have liked. He left the events at the mini-mart out of the narrative entirely.
When he had finished describing a somewhat fictionalized version of events in Megan’s office, Fyfe and Cowan both looked skeptical.
“Just to be absolutely sure I’m not missing anything,” said Fyfe, “let me try to recap. The first guy, the guy at the Shell, got distracted by some kids setting off a firecracker. And when he turned, you were able to slam a door handle into his skull.”
“Right.”
“And then two men were threatening Megan in her office, but they left the door open a hair.”
Hall nodded.
“And you were able to slip behind them quietly while they were concentrating on Megan.”
“Exactly,” said Hall.
The venture capitalist’s face remained impassive, but Cowan’s eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh,” he said. “So two trained killers, who were stupid enough not to close the door all the way, didn’t hear you sneaking up on them? And you were able to take both of them out?”
“That’s right. I’m not saying I wasn’t lucky. But you know the old saying: I’d rather be lucky than good.” Hall shrugged. “And maybe this Delamater ran out of talented bad guys.”
“The same Delamater who managed the flawless assault on the Explorer?” said Fyfe. “The kidnapping of the century?”
Hall ignored him, deciding to forge ahead with the rest of the chronology instead. When he had finished, Fyfe said, “A fascinating story, Dr. Hall. . . . Nick,” he amended, since Hall had insisted they use his first name. “You are, indeed, a very lucky man.”
Fyfe leaned forward and stared intently at Hall, his eyes probing. “But are you certain there isn’t anything else you’d like to tell us?” he asked, almost as if daring Hall to answer.
Hall shook his head. “That’s it. I wish I could remember my seven-month imprisonment, but I can’t. I don’t think that’s ever coming back.”
“That’s okay,” said Fyfe. “We have more evidence than we need already. And you at least remember that Kelvin Gray was behind it.”
“True,” said Alex Altschuler, who had been largely silent up until this point. “But it would have been nice to have eyewitness testimony, from a Scripps Explorer survivor, that we weren’t involved, Cameron. Regardless of the evidence we present, you know the public will have lingering doubts.”
Fyfe smiled, which was a rarity. “More than just lingering,” he said. “And with good reason. If this had been perpetrated by the CEO of another company, I’d have trouble believing the majority investor and Executive Vice President of research had been totally clueless. Even if they were responsible for bringing the CEO down in the end.”
Hall knew with absolute certainty that Altschuler hadn’t been involved, but he knew this using a means he couldn’t disclose. So if they wanted eyewitness testimony, he wouldn’t feel the slightest bit guilty in stretching the truth to assist. “But I can deliver testimony that will help show you weren’t involved,” said Hall excitedly. “Gray spent five minutes boasting to me about how great he was.”
This was an absolute lie, but it did fit in with what he had learned about the man. “He bragged that he was the only scientist involved. How he was so smart he was using hundreds of other scientists to translate his findings into reality, and was still able to keep them all in the dark. He mentioned Theia Labs and specifically said that not a single person in the company had any idea of what he was doing. He boasted that no one at Theia would believe a bad word about him, anyway. Even if you showered them with evidence.”
“Very interesting,” said Fyfe, but his expression suggested he didn’t entirely trust this statement either.
Hall realized it was a bit of stretch to believe he could only remember one short interaction with Gray, but during this lone meeting Gray just happened to have said the exact words needed to absolve Theia personnel.
“I guess your luck is ru
bbing off on all of us,” continued Fyfe. “This will go a long way toward getting everyone comfortable with new management and the people Gray left behind at Theia.”
Hall went on to describe his web surfing capabilities, and then the group discussed their plans to catch Delamater and hold a press conference at nine or ten in the morning on Tuesday. Fyfe would fly out to Fresno immediately afterward to meet Hall in person, which he was eager to do, and present him to the FBI.
This normally wouldn’t have been so intimidating, but the authorities were sure to be livid they hadn’t come forth sooner. Especially when they learned that Kelvin Gray had been killed and left to rot in his own private wine cellar days earlier. Not to mention that Hall could have cleared up several unexplained murders in Bakersfield.
“I’ll call the press conference for New York,” said Fyfe. “Arguably the news epicenter of the world.”
“What do you plan to tell the press to get them there?” asked Altschuler.
Fyfe frowned. “I’ve given this a lot of thought. I could tell them I know, with absolute certainty, what happened on the mysterious voyage of the Scripps Explorer. Then I could tease the true story beforehand. I’m sure this would get the press there in droves.”
“But you aren’t sure if that’s what you want?” guessed Hall.
“Very good. Under the circumstances, a very modest, low-key press conference might be the better choice. So I won’t get swarmed and tied down. So I can make a quick exit and wait for the world to digest things. So I think I’ll just tease this to a select few journalists, who will end up thinking they’ve won the lottery. Believe me, within hours of the press conference finishing, this will be the number one news story in every country in the world.”
“And you plan to reveal everything you have on Gray?” asked Megan. “No matter how bad it makes your company look?”
“That’s right,” said Fyfe. “We’ll tell the world about the Explorer and apologize for Gray’s heinous acts. After this, the press conference and Theia Labs will be in a tailspin. That’s when we’ll announce Nick is alive and show a video statement from him, which should begin to pull our propeller back up.”
He turned to Hall. “Nick, as soon as possible, I need you to tape a brief statement and a demonstration of your implants. Both with respect to web surfing and your view of the technology’s use for blindness and deafness.”
“Tape a statement?” said Megan. “Wouldn’t this be more effective if Nick was at the press conference in person?”
“Yes,” replied Fyfe. “But we can’t risk him traveling across the country and making a personal appearance while this Delamater is still out there. And I can’t have him fielding questions. I’ve already mentioned how pissed off the FBI will be by all of this. If the public got to question him before they did, this would rub salt in the wound. They’d take pissed off to a new level.”
“What’s the point of demonstrating the web surfing aspect of the implants?” asked Hall. “Why create buzz for a technology that can’t possibly ever see the light of day?”
“Why not?” snapped Fyfe. “Because of how it was obtained?”
“That’s one of the reasons, yes.”
“Let me worry about what becomes of this technology,” said Fyfe, with a can-anyone-really-be-this-naive expression. “Just give the best demonstration you can. Visual, auditory, and thought-controlled Internet connection.”
“So when this all settles out, you really think you can market the Internet aspect of this technology?” said Hall skeptically.
Fyfe answered in the same way he had answered Altschuler earlier. No technology had ever been more tainted, but it was too important and useful not to be adopted. “You can’t stop progress,” finished Fyfe. “Not the kind of progress this represents.”
“I hate to rain on the parade,” said Hall. “But I don’t think it will ever get approved. For reasons beyond how it was obtained. The visual and auditory aspect, yes, for blindness and deafness. But not for a personal, thought-driven Internet. At least not in the US. Not when the government thinks through all the implications.”
From the looks on the faces of Cameron Fyfe and Alex Altschuler, it was clear they had no idea what he was talking about.
“I don’t get it, Nick,” said Altschuler. “You’ve been raving about the technology. You’ve said it works flawlessly, and is profoundly useful. You said you’re already having trouble imagining life without it.”
“I am. And that’s the point. That’s the very thing that makes it too dangerous for widespread use. It’s absolutely, one thousand percent addictive. Think of how many people are addicted to their cell phones. Who can’t carry on a conversation at dinner without checking it every ten seconds. Think of those already addicted to the Internet. The old style Internet. And online virtual worlds, like Second Life, and role playing games like World of Warcraft, Sim City, Guild Wars, and the like, which are growing in popularity every year.”
He had become so facile at using his internal Internet connection that the exact figures for the growth of this demographic hovered in view of his mind’s eye, but he ignored them.
Hall took a deep breath and pressed forward. “A scary and ever-growing number of players are becoming so addicted they live more of their lives in the virtual world than the real. And the technology in my head makes this a hundred times worse. It’s totally immersive. People will become so addicted they won’t leave their beds for days at a time. The technology works too well. You’d have better luck asking the government to approve widespread use of LSD.”
Altschuler looked highly troubled by the picture Hall had painted. Fyfe, on the other hand, looked almost amused.
“And just to make one final point,” continued Hall. “Any idea how many traffic accidents immersive web surfing will cause? How many annual fatalities?” He paused. “Ten thousand? Five hundred thousand? Five million?”
Fyfe shook his head condescendingly. “Nick, you make some good points. But let me tell you, an army couldn’t keep this out of the hands—minds—of the public. The government will talk about addiction. And about safety. They’ll wring their hands. But it will go forward. Do you know how many car accidents have been caused by cell phones? Do you have any idea?”
Hall effortlessly queried cyberspace and the answer hovered in his view. In 2010, years before hands-free cell phones in cars were mandated in all fifty states, it was estimated that more than twenty percent of the nation’s annual accidents were cell phone related, which amounted to roughly one and a half million. And after cell phone use in cars was restricted, this number of accidents was actually thought to have stayed the same, or even to have increased.
“No,” said Hall, not seeing the need to quote these statistics. “How many?”
“I don’t know for sure,” said Fyfe. “But a lot. A hell of a lot. But Americans are fully prepared to overlook dangers, and even clear evidence and proof of fatalities, to have their tech toys. The government will just make a law like they did with cell phones. You know, you must have your hands free and no texting. Who cares if you know for sure that many millions will ignore the law, and thousands will die each year because of it. Same thing with this. The danger of addiction and traffic fatalities will be gladly overlooked and accepted. Cell phones still cause numerous deaths, but nobody has the nerve and audacity to suggest we stop using them.”
No one spoke for several long seconds.
Megan Emerson finally broke the silence. “Sorry, Nick,” she said softly. “But I think Cameron’s right.”
“I know I’m right,” said Fyfe.
“There are other issues,” said Hall. “Privacy issues. Porn issues.”
Altschuler couldn’t help but laugh as his agile mind considered the porn angle. “It would certainly shake things up in the world of sex, all right. In the old days, if you were bored with your partner, you had to imagine you were with someone else. These implants would allow you to actually ‘see’ someone else—no imagina
tion required. Even if your actual eyes were open and focused on your partner, you could choose to view a porn film in your mind’s eye instead.”
“Yeah, brave new world,” said Fyfe in disgust.
“Sex isn’t even the real issue here,” said Hall. “The real issue is that I don’t see any problem with reversing direction, so that you can convert anything you see or hear into video and audio. So everyone becomes a perfect spy. Every human interaction is potentially recorded. Two people never can be certain of absolute privacy. The consequences of this are incomprehensible.”
Altschuler nodded thoughtfully. “The cloud could become a repository of every word ever spoken in the presence of someone else.” He shuddered. “It does have a Big Brother vibe to it,” he said grimly. “And just to bring it back to sex for a moment,” he added. “Sleep with a girl, and nothing can stop you from ‘filming’ the act with your eyes, and posting videos of the entire encounter online before you’ve even finished.”
“Now he tells me,” Megan shot telepathically to Hall. “I’m not about to see a YouTube video labeled, ‘How to be intimate with an injured Neanderthal girl,’ am I, Nick?’”
Hall laughed.
“Do you find the idea of invading a woman’s privacy amusing, Nick?” asked Fyfe.
“No. I was laughing at another thought I had,” replied Hall.
Fyfe stared at him a few seconds longer and then continued. “My point stands no matter what argument you make. This is progress. This is an invention that is as big a leap forward as the fire, the wheel, and electricity. And it will not be denied. Society will adjust—or turn their backs on any unpleasant side effects. Maybe they’ll make it an imprisonable offense to post images of others taken without their knowledge or consent. Who knows? Expert systems are getting smarter all the time. Maybe the Internet itself will police this kind of behavior.”
“Oh yeah, that makes me comfortable,” said Hall sarcastically. “Let’s turn cyberspace into Skynet.”
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