“So it was about your faith?”
“Something like that,” the prince said. “It also would have cost five times as much as the other designs submitted. We could not justify it to our people.” He paused. “You think this will be built?”
“With your help, yes. Very little stands in Ms. Trammell’s way.”
“It will be interesting to see.” The prince rolled up the blueprint and handed it to Katarina. “She is the architect’s daughter, after all.”
7
Jax, Dylan, and Owen sat at a round corner booth with a faux black leather bench. Owen had taken the train to Palo Alto for the dinner, closer to Jax and Dylan. Jax had picked a vegan-friendly restaurant for Owen. Dylan was saying something about rowing, his strong hands mimicking strokes with his fork and knife, and Owen and Jax nodded along as if they cared. Morale hovered somewhere under the table.
After a while Dylan leaned forward and pushed his plate away. “Guys, I don’t know about you, but I’m worried about Liz. That last meeting was weird, right? Rachel’s her oldest friend.”
“Was her friend…” Owen adjusted his glasses and looked to Jax. Dylan’s gaze had also settled on the coder.
“What?” Jax held up his hands in innocence. “I had no idea she was going to tell Rachel to leave.”
“Did you know about the tower?” Owen asked.
Jax shrugged. “Liz has mentioned it a couple times since her dad died, but she never talked about building it. You guys know she never talks much about her family.”
“It’s a bad sign,” Dylan said. “She’s been losing her grip ever since Babel took off. Maybe all the attention has gone to her head. She’s not grounded like she used to be.”
“Grounded?” Jax shook his head. “She was never grounded.”
“I guess not, but she used to care about other things. Seeing shows, going out for drinks, enjoying life.” Dylan paused. “Remember how she used to laugh?”
“She still does.” Jax grinned, but not in a friendly way. “Remember how you used to be funny?”
“You know what I mean…”
“I think it’s the work,” Owen said. “She’s been working herself to the bone, first building the company, then traveling all the time, making pitches about Babel.”
“Can you blame her?” Jax asked. “The company is changing the world, and it’s worth billions.”
“Why so defensive?” Owen studied Jax. “How big is your slice of the pie?”
“It’s not about the money. Babel is my invention.”
“You came up with the code, not the company.” Dylan tapped the discrete unit by his ear. “It’s Liz’s masterwork, in case you forgot.”
Jax downed a long drink. He wasn’t going to rehash this debate, especially not with Dylan. The guy had been jealous ever since high school, when Jax came up with the code. Dylan, the class president and rowing captain, couldn’t stand it when a short, pimply teen had suddenly stolen all of Liz’s attention.
Owen leaned forward, elbows on the table, and fixed the other two with a relaxed gaze. “Look, we all love Liz. That’s why she shared her idea with us. She’s not crazy. She’s just been working too hard.”
Dylan was shaking his head. “It’s more than that. You haven’t known her as long as we have. She’s never been the same since her dad died. Rachel’s kind of right about that…”
“You find religion, too?” Jax scoffed.
Dylan smiled. “I believe in progress. Building a tower is one kind of progress. But I have a better idea for her.”
“Oh?” Jax asked.
“We’re going to conquer death.”
Jax laughed. “Now that’s funny.”
“I’m serious,” Dylan said. “This isn’t some holy grail anymore. We know the human genome. The genetics team at my lab has been doing amazing things with mice. Imagine what could happen if Liz brought together the best scientists from around the world, let them talk seamlessly with Babels, and set a huge prize for advances. She can even have them work in the tower if that floats her boat.”
“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Owen rubbed his chin. The golden band of his watch glittered in the restaurant’s light. “You seem to think she has the money to do all this, but I’m still not sure selling her stock will produce enough cash.”
“She can cover it,” Jax said.
“The tower could cost billions. And selling out has its own risks. We have to be careful about the securities laws. We’re in the IPO process now.” Owen paused as if worrying over the idea, always the lawyer. “Once the company goes public next year, it could fall into anyone’s hands, along with the code and the data.”
“Not true,” Jax said. “I built the encryption. Not even the NSA can hack its way in.”
“What if something changes?” Dylan asked.
“Like what?” Jax said.
“Well, with the IPO, couldn’t any company buy a controlling stake in Babel?” Dylan asked. “Katarina told me about the risk.”
“You talked to Katarina?” Owen’s voice suddenly had an edge to it. “What else did she say?”
Dylan leaned back in the booth, his face unreadable. “Nothing much. But she’s close to Liz, you know? And she wants to make sure the company is protected.”
“Liz has been giving her too much power,” Owen said. “I don’t like it.”
“You’re always worrying,” Dylan said. “Katarina has been with the company for years. She’s just doing her job. But you have to admit she’s right about the risk with the IPO. Imagine all the data that could be lost. All those recorded conversations in the vault. All that stored human intelligence down the drain…just because Liz wants to build a tower?”
“The data can never be used,” Jax said. “That’s been Babel’s promise from the start.”
“Then why store it?”
“I’ve told you before,” Jax said. “We need it for the algorithm.”
“Okay, but remind me?”
“My code is constantly learning from real conversations. That’s why the translations keep getting better. The more data we get, the better Babel translates. But to get more data, we rely on users’ confidence that the data stays locked away. It all falls apart if the data isn’t safe.”
“And it’s safe as long as you and Liz are around,” Owen said, “doing whatever secret code update you do. That’s why I keep suggesting some kind of security for her.”
Dylan laughed. “She’ll never accept that.”
“I know…but she should understand the risk. This company has become too important for her to just cash out. If you guys care about her, you have to help me make sure she keeps her position.”
“We’ll see.” Dylan swirled the remains of his drink. “Liz knows how to take care of herself, but I’ll talk to her. She’s going to like my conquering death idea.”
“Good luck,” Jax said. “I used to think the code would be enough to satisfy her. I was wrong. Then I thought the company’s success, the fame and fortune would be enough. Wrong again. She’s never been content for long.”
“Think the tower will do it?” Owen asked.
“No,” Jax and Dylan both said.
“So what will?” Owen asked.
Love, Jax thought but dared not say. “I’m not sure,” he sighed. “But it’s lonely for her at the top. That’s why she wants us to help her.”
Owen passed a serious look over Dylan and Jax. “So let’s stay on the same page, okay?”
They both nodded.
“Good,” Owen said. “Just so you know, I’m flying to Nebraska tomorrow to start buying land.”
Dylan raised his drink. “Godspeed. A toast…to Liz and her tower.”
8
A person, on average, meets over ten thousand people in a lifetime. Jacob Conrad was far from average. Only sixty people had ever met him, and most of them thought he was a simple young man. Handsome, sure, but he didn’t talk much. His mother had long ago stopped trying to drag word
s out of him. When he was four, she’d threatened to drive him two hundred miles to a doctor—a real doctor—if he didn’t say something. She’d gotten him all the way inside their red pickup truck before he’d spoken.
“I can talk, Mom.”
That settled that. The following years had given his mother little reason to press the topic. Her boy did his chores, obeyed when asked, and learned his way around the farm. He was eight when he’d surprised her by coming back from the fields early with something to say.
“Pa’s dead.”
It was a tractor accident. The family had mourned for years. Jacob talked even less after that. But every night before his mother tucked him in, he’d kneel beside the bed and whisper his prayers. His voice never rose above a whisper, but his mother would listen in awe. She no longer worried about him being a simple boy. She worried about his beliefs, his unending fascination with theology, and his seeming lack of concern about himself and his future.
With his father gone, Jacob had grown into a man in a hurry. He picked up everything he could from his grandfather. Jacob had no desire to expand their lands, but he worked them well. Whatever it took to be independent, off the grid. No one in the family lacked for anything. Except, his mother often thought, that Jacob needed a wife. Maybe someday somebody would unseal his lips and his lifetime of thoughts would burst like water from a dam.
But not yet. Jacob’s mother was in no rush to give up her firstborn, so she greeted the rare visitor with some relief, because it was a man, not a woman.
The sixty-first person to meet Jacob Conrad was a very curious fellow, with dark jeans that hugged his legs tight and a pink shirt. The hue sure looked odd against his dark black skin. Not that Jacob’s mother cared about the color of his skin, but most everyone around here—black or white—wore overalls, not pastels.
“You sure you don’t want some tea or coffee?” she asked.
The man had a slim tablet laid out on their old wooden dining table, and his eyes seemed glued to the thing. “No thanks.” He finally looked up through thick-rimmed glasses. “Maybe some water?”
“Sure, of course. We have a good well.”
The man nodded. “How long did you say your son would be?”
“He usually comes back for a quick bite of lunch. Not always though. The first apples will be ripe soon. He might just pick one and eat it under the shade of the orchard. He loves it there. Not many folks have apple trees around here, you know?”
The man glanced down at his tablet, tapped it twice, then looked up again. “My next appointment is in an hour. Your son has been difficult to contact.”
“I’m sure. He doesn’t use a computer. Rarely uses a phone.” She glanced down at the tablet. The top had the name “Owen Strand” engraved in sleek block letters. The screen showed a calendar jammed full of meetings and notes. “You could look for him in the orchard.”
“Which way?”
“Won’t you take a sandwich or something with you?”
He stood from the chair and patted the leather briefcase draped over his shoulder. “Thanks again, but I brought a lunch bar.”
She didn’t know much about lunch bars, but decided to let it be. They walked outside to a fancy black car. Dust already lay thick over its shiny frame. She told him the way to the orchard—just down one dirt road a mile, take the second left, and you can’t miss the trees.
She was right. Owen didn’t miss the trees. They were the only ones in sight in this flat universe of corn. As he stepped out of his car, he imagined Liz’s tower invading the skyline. She would make these trees look like ants.
He didn’t have to look long to find the farmer. He was sitting on a rock by a narrow creek that wove through the orchard.
“Jacob Conrad?” Owen asked, approaching.
The farmer stood and nodded. He wore faded blue overalls and a green hat with a yellow deer symbol on it. A half-eaten apple rested in his palm.
“Your mother said you’d be out here,” Owen continued. “I have a proposal I’d like to discuss.”
The man stared back at him like he was from another planet. Something in the farmer’s eyes almost made him afraid. It was like the man already knew what he was going to propose, and what his answer would be. It was like the farmer knew what the weather was going to be tomorrow, and the next ten years. His silence gave Owen the spooks.
After a few moments, the farmer finally looked away, up at the tree above. He took a few steps and pulled down an apple from a low branch. He held the apple out to Owen.
Owen took it. “Thanks.” He motioned to the rock where the farmer had been sitting. “You want to sit while we talk?”
The farmer shook his head.
“Okay, I’ll get to the point. We’re interested in your land. I work for Elizabeth Trammell.” Owen paused. “You know, the founder of Babel?”
No reaction from the farmer. Too bad. Just mentioning Liz’s name had made the last two landowners’ eyes open wide. They’d known they’d hit jackpot. This farmer seemed clueless.
“Let’s make this simple,” Owen said. “What do you think would be a fair price for the land?”
He didn’t answer. Owen knew this type. Tough negotiator. Playing hardball. The marching orders were simple: acquire 100,000 acres, pay whatever it takes. This was an ideal region—flat and cheap and in the middle of nowhere, with plenty of underground water. The farmers around here had been falling like dominos; it was not the type of place where strangers normally showed up offering to pay cash at a premium. Owen had just a few more to convince, and the land would be ready. His research showed this farm was worth about one million. He might as well start there.
“How about one million dollars, cash?” he asked.
The farmer stared at him blankly.
“One million is more than this land is worth. We both know that. You could buy yourself a bigger farm. Buy some new tractors. Take care of your family for a lifetime.”
No response. Not even a blink.
Time to up my game. “I see you’re not convinced, so I’ll get straight to it. I’m authorized to pay 1.4 million for this land.” Actually, there was no limit, but 1.4 million would set this guy for a long time.
Calm as a sunrise, the farmer lifted his apple, bit into it, and chewed slowly.
“Sir, can you tell me if you’ll at least consider that?”
The man kept chewing.
“What do you think?”
The farmer swallowed, then he spoke calm and steady: “That’s money.”
Progress! Owen smiled at him. “A whole lot of money, right?”
Jacob glanced down at the apple in Owen’s hand. “Not hungry?”
“I already ate.” Owen held it out, then thought better. He needed to come to this guy’s plane. He took a bite. It was crisp and juicy. “Pretty good,” he said as he chewed. “What kind of apple?”
“My own variety,” the farmer said, something like a smile curving up under his beard.
Owen had to admit the farmer had some charm with his dark brown eyes and high cheekbones. He looked like a movie star preparing for a role in an antebellum flick. “How’d you like to buy a lifetime of apples, of any variety in the world?” Owen asked.
“I eat what I grow. I don’t sell.”
“I can see that.” Frustration crept into Owen’s voice. “Imagine how much you could grow on 1.4 million dollars’ worth of land.”
“More than I’d need.”
“Exactly! You could sell the excess, earn a profit, buy yourself whatever you’d like. Or buy something for your mom. Maybe a new truck.”
The farmer glanced past him, then settled his gaze on Owen. “I need to get back to work.”
A warm breeze shuffled the leaves above them, allowing dappled light to shift over their contrasting figures. Jacob turned to go.
“Sir, please,” Owen said, making the farmer pause. “I don’t mean to keep you from your work, but you haven’t answered my proposal.”
“Don’t
need to.”
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Owen stepped forward as if to emphasize the point. “Your neighbors have made their deals, or are considering the price. You’ll never get another chance to sell this high.”
“Don’t want another chance.”
“Please, name a price.”
“There’s no price.”
“But listen, Jake, can I call you Jake?”
The farmer didn’t answer.
“What do you want me to tell my boss? You want to barter instead of sell? You want her to buy some other land, make an exchange? Please…” Owen was not above begging. “Tell me what you want?”
The farmer took a deep breath. “John told me he sold you his land. Said it was about a tower.”
“That’s right,” Owen replied. “I told you my boss is Elizabeth Trammell, founder of Babel. She’s was born near here, and she loves the land.”
“Babel?”
“Yeah, the software company.”
The farmer shook his head.
“You haven’t heard of it?”
The farmer stared at him, chewing calmly.
“Babel started about five years ago, and it’s the hottest company in the world. Its rise was even faster than Google, Facebook. Seriously, this company is huge. It’s changing the world.”
“What’s it sell?”
“We sell earpieces, but it’s really about the software. A coder cracked the translation puzzle.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, using the algorithm he came up with, anyone can pop a Babel on their ear and understand any language, instantly. Pretty cool, right? And Elizabeth Trammell is the face of Babel. She’s willing to pay a huge premium for this land.”
The farmer bit into his apple again. He wiped away a drop of juice before it dripped into his beard. “Land’s not for sale.”
“So that’s it? Land’s not for sale?” Frustration swelled in Owen. He hated feeling powerless. “Everything’s for sale, sir.”
Jacob put his calloused hand on Owen’s shoulder. “Back to work, sir. You take care.” He tipped his green hat and walked off through the orchard, leaving Owen to return to his car and the civilized world.
The Babel Tower Page 4