Preserving Will Read online

  Ashley noted that the original Aliomenti, like Will and Eva, had been far more hands-on in their efforts. They didn’t invest money; they learned and perfected crafts to make better products and materials and eventually saw those approaches move naturally into human society. Were they missing out on the chance to do something similar now? If Adam, as Cain, could dedicate his focus and considerable abilities to learn into becoming so dominant in a field or technology, they could change things for the better directly, rather than working through humans from the shadows.

  It was something worth pondering.

  David eyed him curiously. “You okay, Cain?”

  Cain blinked a few times, and then remembered what Cain had said a moment earlier. “Sorry. Just trying to figure out what it is you’re going to do that will undoubtedly wow Mrs. Farmer.”

  David eyed him, and then nodded. “I’m planning to grab lunch nearby after my interview. Want to join me? I’ll tell you about my interview if you’ll tell me about yours.”

  “Deal,” Cain said.

  At that moment, Ashley Farmer emerged from her office. She seemed surprised to see her two candidates chatting together, and Cain smiled. “David and I sat through a few college classes together several years ago. We were just reminiscing.”

  Ashley allowed herself a smile. “I’m glad the two of you were able to catch up.” She nodded in David’s direction. “If you’re ready, Mr. Richardson?”

  The lanky man nodded. After a firm handshake with Freeman, he followed Ashley into her office.

  Cain remained seated in the plastic chair in the lobby. Once the office door closed, he pulled out his smart phone, plugged in a set of headphones, and put the buds in his ears. To any observer, he was simply listening to his favorite music.

  In reality, he’d snuck in to Ashley’s office before she’d arrived that day and planted a camera and microphone. He’d cheated there, using teleportation to break through the physical security, and wouldn’t use anything found that way as part of his security cracking efforts. He hadn’t been convinced he’d use the equipment at all. But he was intrigued by what David would discuss, and thus elected to eavesdrop.

  “Thank you for agreeing to interview me, Ms. Farmer,” Richardson said, as he took the seat she indicated with a wave of her hand. His manner was one of casual calm born of supreme confidence.

  She nodded. “What can you tell me about yourself, Mr. Richardson?”

  He pulled the small vial from his pocket. “I fear my biography is decidedly uninteresting, Ms. Farmer. But given what your company is looking to do, I thought you might find the results of my tinkering the last few years to be of interest.”

  He pulled the stopper out of the vial and spilled the contents on her desk, and Ashley jumped back in her seat in shock at the sheer brazenness of the act.

  Nothing came out of the vial.

  Ashley was perturbed. “Mr. Richardson, what is the meaning—?”

  Richardson held up a hand. “Watch.” He pointed at the desk, at the spot where he’d “poured” the contents of the vial, and then leaned down until his face nearly touched the surface. “Hello.”

  Ashley looked at the redheaded man, disbelief on her face. She’d never seen more bizarre behavior. “Mr. Richardson, I must ask again—.”

  “Look,” he repeated, pointing at the desk once more.

  She looked. Her jaw fell open for the second time in as many interviews. And Cain Freeman, watching from the outside lobby, sucked in his breath as well at what was happening on her desk.

  The previously invisible particles poured from the bottle came together in larger and larger clumps, dancing across the wooden desk, attracted to each other by some unseen force. Ashley seemed to stop breathing and her eyes went wide, watching the bizarre and amazing display before her.

  When the particles stopped moving, they’d formed the letters to the word “hello,” a word that now appeared to be written in a streak of black ink on the surface of her desk.

  It was bizarre. It was impossible. It was brilliant. Cain grinned. He’d known his old friend was brilliant, but he’d no idea he’d made so much progress with the miniature devices.

  Ashley had been mesmerized into open-mouthed silence. The man before her had done what her team still struggled to do, even after years of effort and millions in investments. After what seemed an eternity, she looked at him and said the only words that came to mind. “When can you start?”

  David smiled, the gesture exaggerating the freckles dotting his face. “Well, I need to figure out how to terminate my apartment lease back home, find a place to live here, and move everything in… Can I start a week from Monday?”

  She nodded, still in a daze. “Of course.”

  David grasped the end of the letter “h” on her desk and lifted the entire string forming the word off the surface. He dangled the end inside the vial he’d used earlier, and allowed the particles to fall safely inside before putting the stopper back in the opening. He dropped the vial into his pocket before glancing back at Ashley. Cain couldn’t help but snort. It was definitely a good idea to clean up the boss’ desk after you write on it with a nano-bot magic marker.

  Ashley shook her head. “That display shows that you’ve figured out how to fix our most vexing problem, how to get the tiny bots to move in relation to each other. Those bots of yours… they have to be aware of each other, have to know how to move in relation to each other to form patterns.”

  Richardson shook his head. “They have some intelligence, but they aren’t that smart. What you’re suggesting is that those bots could form that word with any of the bots in any location within the word string. They don’t do that, not yet, anyway. Right now, bot number one is always next to bot number two, and the two will seek each other out until they join up. Each bot is intelligent enough only to move to correct its position relative to another bot. In other words, if I lose one bot, the rest wouldn’t know to close the gap. And they’re not able to form other words unless I do a lot of reprogramming.” He shrugged. “There’s a lot of improvement I’d like to see made, because I think these can be used in construction, or in medical devices, or other ways I can’t even think of right now, if I can get a more intelligence into them. I just don’t have the resources to make the next step.”

  Ashley nodded. “I think we can help you there. If we give you the right materials and supplies, can you help us? Can you help us figure out how to fix them and make them work?”

  David nodded, his freckled face spreading into a grin. “Of course. That’s what I do. I fix things.”

  ●●●

  Seeing the interview nearing its end, Cain Freeman ended the video and audio feeds, pocketed the headphones, put his phone away, and walked outside to wait for his former classmate. He didn’t have to wait long. Moments later, David stepped into the bright sunlight and breathed a sigh of relief. Cain chuckled inwardly. David was relieved that his demonstration had gone well. Ashley Farmer didn’t know—yet—that David had run through his demonstration the previous night—and that it had failed miserably. She didn’t know he’d been up the entire night trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and had been within minutes of calling to cancel the interview. He’d found the problem just in time, and the actual demonstration had gone as well as he could have hoped.

  Now he needed sustenance.

  Cain waved at David, attracting his attention. “How’d it go?”

  David grinned, an expression that reached his deep blue eyes. “She offered me a job. It looks like we’ll be coworkers, Cain.”

  Cain offered a hand, and David shook it. “Congratulations! Ready to get some lunch and tell me about it?”

  David nodded. “Absolutely. I… forgot to eat breakfast.”

  Cain laughed. “Late night?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Cain, of course, had more than a mere idea about the accuracy of the statement. He slapped his new coworker on the back. “I heard there’s a nice diner
up the street. I’ll drive.”

  David nodded, and followed Cain to the rental car. Minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant with a simple name: “The Diner.” The decor inside was reminiscent of a 1950s restaurant: booths with plastic-covered cushions for seating, stools lining the front counter, a menu dominated by burgers and thick milkshakes. The restaurant wasn’t crowded despite the lunch hour, and the two men slid into opposite sides of an open booth.

  “Have you found a place to live yet?” David asked.

  Cain shook his head. “Not yet. Nanoscience paid for my flight and a hotel room for the interview. Now that I’m going to be working here in Pleasanton, though, I guess I need to find an apartment. You?”

  David shook his head. “I’m in the same predicament. I did some checking, though, and found an apartment building on the outskirts of town. It’s relatively cheap and there are a couple of units available.”

  Cain nodded, appreciating the forward-thinking—and positive—research the other man had performed. “Let me know the address. I’ll definitely take a look.”

  Cain heard the approaching footfalls, an audible indication that their waitress was nearing the table. He watched as David’s attention was distracted. Cain watched his dining companion’s face light up, the undeniable sight of a young man seeing a beautiful woman. Cain turned to look at the target of David’s affections… and frowned.

  He turned back toward David. “I’m pretty sure she’s already taken, David,” he whispered.

  David sighed. “I don’t doubt it,” he whispered. “But a guy can dream, can’t he?” He smiled at the woman as she reached their booth.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the young woman said, in a voice so very familiar to the disguised Adam. “My name is Hope, and I’ll be taking care of you.”

  IX

  Encounter

  2020 A.D.

  Will stared out the window of the limousine carrying him from the airport to the hotel. It was twilight, and the rainstorm reduced the scant remaining visibility to near zero. The loud thudding of the raindrops helped him realize that he’d see little at the property today, even if new construction work hadn’t gotten underway.

  The weather pattern was similar to the one that had sent him through Pleasanton a year earlier. Powerful storm cells had diverted his private plane from its intended landing in Columbus, forcing them to touch down instead at the small, isolated airport in the southeastern Ohio town. With fuel supplies for the private plane low, and refueling stations unable to meet their demands, his entire entourage of security personnel and assistants had been forced to stay the night at the sole hotel they could find. His people had complained bitterly about the “inadequate” accommodations, accustomed as they were to luxury hotels with exquisite furnishings, room service, and an on-site concierge. They’d groused as they’d hauled their own bags through the blinding rain into the small rooms, bickered over who would sleep on beds instead of cushioned chairs in the shared accommodations, and were aghast at the limited choices in cuisine. All of the men and women considered it the worst night of their lives.

  All of them, that is, except one.

  Will felt alive in this sleepy little town, felt a joy in his existence, a joy he’d not felt in… well, ever. It was because no one living here had the slightest idea who he was. No one begged him for—or demanded—money. No one wanted his autograph. And no one seemed interested in taking a shot at him or his people… not with a gun, a camera, or words.

  What would it be like to live in a place like this, every single day? To not feel as if each step might be your last? To be a normal man who could drive himself to work? To be able to shop at a grocery store without the event becoming a public spectacle?

  Perhaps, in a town like this, he could meet that special someone, the woman he believed was out there, waiting for him, a woman who’d want him for who he was, not for the checkbook he possessed.

  Will had insisted that they spend the next day in the little city, and as they drove around, he absorbed the atmosphere of the place as if it was the very stuff of life itself. He eyed the dilapidated buildings as if seeing valued antiques, the roads in all manner of disrepair as if they possessed some hidden charm. When the crew drove by a heavily wooded tract of land on the outskirts of town and he spotted a “For Sale” sign, Will knew he needed to act.

  He hired a man to travel back to Pleasanton the following week and negotiate the sale of the land on Will’s behalf. The giddiness and sensation of safety he’d felt in Pleasanton dissipated after they’d returned home—likely due to the twelfth attempt on his life—and he envisioned a fortress built on his new property. One portion would house his business empire, and the remainder would be dedicated to a gargantuan private residence with state of the art armed security protecting him and the other occupants. An architect was hired to turn his vision into blueprints.

  Two events changed his thinking.

  Further reflection on the design concept helped him realize that he had no interest in having his private and public lives so intimately mingled. The ability to walk from his house to his office held appeal when compared to an hour long commute. Yet it meant he’d never truly be away from his work, or the people he employed. The decision was made and the revised concept sent to his architect. The property would be for his personal residence only. The added space gave him far more interesting options.

  The second event was the passage of the thirty-first amendment to the Constitution. After many horrific armed attacks in public places—including the many attempts on Will’s life—the new amendment modified one of the original ten. Firearm ownership by private citizens was no longer a protected right, but rather subject to any limitations local and national legislatures might see fit to enact. The ink was barely dry on the newly passed amendment before state legislatures passed, with near uniformity, laws limiting firearm ownership to police, military, and militia members only, charging heavy fines and imposing prison sentences to those who chose to resist rules to surrender firearms to local authorities. As often happened with such legislation, it was an open secret that monetary contributions to the right people would result in exemptions and grace periods for influential individuals.

  Will’s private security team was denied a waiver. Faced with the prospect of long prison terms, they felt compelled to turn in their weapons. They now protected Will by increasing the number of guards surrounding him at all times, and Will’s longing for a simpler life—one where he didn’t wear a human strait jacket—intensified.

  The impact on the design of his new home was significant. They’d envisioned decorative walls with a large, round-the-clock, armed security team preventing access by those who might engage in harmful activity inside. The structure itself would now provide the sole defense. Penetrating the walls would be such an expensive and dangerous prospect, even without the threat of being shot, that no one would bother making the effort.

  Will held the tube with the plans for the gargantuan estate in his hands. He saw a sign for a restaurant ahead, with the simple moniker of “The Diner.” Suddenly famished, Will asked the driver to pull in.

  Lance Maynard looked at him from the opposite side of the limousine cabin, frowning as the vehicle pulled off the road into the restaurant parking lot. “What are you doing, sir?”

  “I’m eating dinner. It’s late, and I didn’t eat lunch today.”

  “You’ll recall, sir, that I had inquired about lunch while you met with the architect, and—”

  Will held up his hand. “I’m not blaming you, Lance. I’m merely stating the fact that I’m hungry and would like to have dinner here.”

  Lance’s mouth twitched. “You want to eat… here.” His scorn toward the restaurant, and the people working there, was evident in the condescending tone of the words.

  “I’m not asking you to eat here, Lance, in a place so clearly beneath you.”

  Maynard’s face reddened slightly. “I’m merely looki
ng out for you well-being, sir. We’ve no verification if the food here is safe, or if the patrons… are… well, trustworthy.”

  Will rolled his eyes before fixing the security chief with a glare. “I’ve changed my mind, Lance. I’m ordering you, and the rest of the crew, to eat somewhere else. Anywhere but here. I’ll go inside by myself, look over these plans, and enjoy a nice, greasy burger without any of you needing to expose yourselves to small town cooties.”

  Maynard sat up, rigid. “I made no such statements, sir.” He kept his tone just a shade below angry, trying to work deference to his employer into the anger he felt at the accusation of arrogance.

  “Not in so many words, no.” Will shook his head. “But your malevolence toward this town and everyone who lives here couldn’t be any more apparent if I could read your mind.”

  Maynard opened his mouth to protest, and then sighed in resignation. “I suppose there’s no changing your mind, then?”

  “No. Hand me the umbrella and take the rest of the crew someplace else. Meet me back here when you’re done.” As he opened the door into the driving rain and raised the umbrella into the storm, he couldn’t resist one final dig. “If all of you behave, I might even treat you to ice cream later.” And he slammed the door shut behind him.

  He fought his way through the buffeting winds and rain, finally pushing the door open and ducking inside. Despite the umbrella, he was drenched, and he shivered as the cold, conditioned air brushed against his skin.

  “Leave it by the door, please.”

  Will glanced around, spotting a middle-aged woman in a waitress uniform looking at him. “Leave… what… where?”

  “Leave your umbrella by the door. We don’t want you tracking the water inside. There’s enough moisture around just from drenched clothes, but rest assured… we won’t ask you to leave those by the door.” Her matronly eyes twinkled with well-intentioned mirth.

  There was at least one chuckle at her comment, and Will, to his surprise, blushed crimson. He added his umbrella to the pile and glanced around. There were perhaps a half dozen other patrons there, each isolated physically and mentally from the others. Will recognized the soft tones playing over the speaker system, a song popular back in the 1960s, and he found himself humming along.