by R. E. Rowe
“Carmina?”
I remove my cell phone linked to the sea-floor-to-surface relay, then tap out a message to be encrypted before it’s transmitted:
CARMINA: The eagle flies.
CARMINA: Join me.
CARMINA: Confirm a.s.a.p.
I watch confirmation responses display on my cell phone as replies are received from each team member.
People everywhere call me Carmi Cee—the sixteen-year-old girl billionaire and youngest CEO in history. My face stretches into a wide smile.
General will lose the war for good this time.
I clench both fists. “Engage.”
chapter four
I almost start to believe it’s her, but shake it off. This must be how it feels to have a psychotic break. My new doctors told me it could happen while I adjust to the new meds. Just relax, they told me. I try deep breathing like I practiced.
“Reizo, please. Look in the desk. Take out the bottom drawer on the left.”
“Fine.” I take out the drawer of the century-old desk and peer into the open space. “Huh?” I find a loose piece of wood and pull it out.
There’s a key. “A hidden compartment?”
“Yes, Reiz. Take the key. You’ll need it.”
I pick up the key and inspect it closely. It’s an old skeleton key, probably over a hundred years old. How’d my subconscious know a key was in there? Maybe Ames told me about it when she was alive?
“You need to leave now. We’re running out of time.”
“Even if I did believe you how am I supposed to get there? Walk? To Virginia?”
“Arrangements have been made,” she says softly. Her voice sounds eerily like Aimee. “You’ll drive to the bus terminal an hour outside of Franklinville.”
Me drive? Wait. Hold up.
“Right. You know I can’t drive. Even if I could, I don’t have a car. Hey, wait a minute. You should know that too.”
A moment of silence passes.
“I knew it. All in my head—” A pain suddenly shoots from my right temple down my face. “Ow. What the hell was that?”
“Sorry, Reiz. I asked the keepers to download a small thread of cloud memory into your physical brain. It’s not usually allowed, but General is making an exception because of the urgency. A need-to-know exception.”
“Keepers? Memories? General? This is getting weirder by the second.”
“Now you know how to drive. Please get moving. Take the car to the bus terminal outside of town. Get on the bus to Virginia. Then take a taxi to the Old Hall of Genealogy Records. I love you, Reiz.”
“Aimee, wait. Aimee!”
I hear only silence.
“Damn it!”
I pace back and forth inside the shelter, tossing up the key and catching it, mumbling aloud. “Aimee in my head? Keepers? Memories? What is going on?”
After a few minutes, I stop. “Ah, hell.” I put the key in my backpack next to the set of spray paints and supplies I’d planned to use later, turn off the old lantern, and climb up the shelter’s metal ladder. Once I’m out of the shelter, I close the cover and hide it with old bushes. If I’ve lost my mind, confirming there is no car will be the fastest way to prove it to myself. But I still can’t explain how a voice claiming to be Aimee knew a key was hidden inside the desk.
Whatever.
As I approach the road, I see an out-of-place car. No one ever parks on the road near Murdock’s ranch. Yet today there’s an empty car on the side of the road. Coincidence? Probably. It must have broken down.
“Look, I can’t go anywhere,” I say, shaking my backpack. “I have responsibilities. Tonight I have a late night date with a dozen full spray cans.”
No response.
It’s hard to believe, but after the shooting at Murdock’s, the governor’s new assistant, Steve Baxter, asked me to work for the governor’s office and travel around the state adding colorful three-dimensional street art to the sides of old buildings. Baxter gave me permission to paint the old truck stop on the edge of town tonight after 7 p.m. I have three hours to paint epic 3-D images on the truck stop’s gray walls.
Steve will be totally pissed if I don’t show.
The car on the side of the road looks like a silver box on wheels. It’s probably the most embarrassing looking car ever. My mind has gone way too far.
I chuckle. “Right. No freaking way. Besides, I don’t even have a license. Even if I did, I’d never drive a silver shoebox on wheels.” I sneer. “Aimee?”
No response.
“Figures.” I sigh, climbing over the short wood fence marking the ranch’s boundary, then stand next to the driver’s side door. Why couldn’t it be a muscle car or a sports car?
“Now what? Aimee? Really? You couldn’t do better than a silver box on wheels?”
Still nothing.
I open the silver door with a jerk and climb in, throwing my backpack on the passenger seat. Keys are in the car’s ignition. Huh? I sit back in the driver’s seat and close the door.
After a long deep breath, I turn the key. The car starts.
I freak. “Holy hell. What is going on?”
Without thinking, I raise the seat, adjust the side mirrors, and move the seat forward. Weird. I move the shifter into drive and press down on the accelerator.
The car accelerates onto the road. I’m driving. It feels like I’d been driving forever. I’m even confident.
I tap the steering wheel with my fingers and sit back. “Okay, now what?”
How did Aimee talk inside my head? But I don’t hear my other voices? Is that because of the meds? Nothing is making sense.
“I’m just dreaming. I miss Aimee more than anything—”
“Drive to the bus station,” Aimee says. “Take the bus to Richmond, Virginia. There’s a ticket under the seat.”
“Would you at least talk more to me?”
No response.
I search under the seat as if I’ll really find something. “I’m imagining you. That’s it. Right?” I pull out an envelope. “What’s this?” It feels as though I’ve been slapped across the face. Everything instantly feels real. “It’s here just like Ames told me.”
It really is Aimee.
chapter five
My sunglasses dim the bright lights beaming from atop a video camera inside the green cargo container room in my refurbished super oil tanker mobile command center. The fifteen-hundred-foot-long nuclear powered tanker christened Alaric I is as lengthy as the Empire State Building is high, giving me ample space on multiple levels. The most modern technology that ancient gold and corporate profits could buy packs my command center from bow to stern.
Chien enables a second video stream, transforming the green walls around me into background images from a live video feed of my New York City penthouse atrium with Central Park outside its windows. He taps on a computer, combining my real-time image with the New York City background image. The combined video makes it appear as though I’m transmitting from my penthouse.
With one final burst of typing, Chien connects to World-Wide Business Network’s live video feed from London, causing an image to appear on the video screen in front of me of a middle-aged man with a fake tan and perfectly styled short hair.
Chien holds up a hand, prompting me to remove my sunglasses and adjust my long straight hair so it flows softly over the black wool business suit I’m wearing for this interview. I make one last check of my white blouse and buttoned up collar, then reach down and pull a tissue from the box below my chair. I place the single tissue in my lap and give Chien a slow nod.
I’m ready.
Chien uses his fingers to count down: three, two, one, and then points at me. He mouths silently, “You are live.”
Off to my right I see what the viewers are watching: a split screen showing me on the right and the popular news anchor Charles P. Goodwin on my left with a scrolling line of stock symbols moving horizontally below our images.
“Good morning, Miss Cee.
Thank you for joining us on WWBN for this exclusive interview.”
“Good morning, Mr. Goodwin,” I say with confidence, smiling at the webcam. “My father was a big fan of your show and my step mother always said you were very attractive.”
My heart rate suddenly increases. I’ve worked centuries to get to this point. I’m not nervous, just more excited than I’ve been in at least five lifetimes. Everything is unfolding perfectly.
I take a moment to calm myself.
Chien waves his arms and gestures, reminding me to speak slowly and confidently, just as we’d practiced.
“Oh really?” Goodwin’s face reddens. “Why, um, thank you.”
My comment has surprised him. Exactly how Chien and I planned we would start this interview. I can hear Chien’s words from our practice session. “Don’t get over confident. It brings out his aggressive side.”
Goodwin leans forward in an obvious attempt to compose himself. “Let’s talk about you, Miss Cee. This is your first media interview since you took over your father’s company. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Mr. Goodwin. That’s correct. I’ve had my hands full getting up to speed on the business and, of course, dealing with the loss of my father.” I allow my expression to reflect the pain of tragic loss and tighten my lips, before clearing my throat like I practiced.
“For our viewers at home, do you mind if we start off by talking about the time before you became CEO?”
“No. Not at all.”
The split screen changes to a close-up view of Goodwin. “You entered college at age eleven and graduated with a master’s degree in computer engineering at age fourteen. That’s remarkable, I must say. Starting college at eleven seems impossible, so we did some research. We were amazed at what we found. You are one of only a handful of teens in the world who has ever started college so young.”
Goodwin looks down briefly, obviously reviewing his notes. “Then, shortly after your graduation, your father and step-mother...” His voice softens, clearly attempting to show some sensitivity to the viewers. “Died in a horrendous plane crash when their jet collided with another private jet during takeoff.”
He continues by deepening his voice. I’m impressed. He is even more composed and calculated than in the other interviews I watched. “You took over as CEO of your father’s company and have run it ever since. During your tenure, your company’s stock has increased from thirty-eight dollars per share to two-hundred-and-fifty-five dollars per share with revenues tripling.”
The broadcast screen changes back into split screen, displaying both of us simultaneously. “How, Miss Cee? How on earth have you been able to learn so much and grow your father’s company in such a short time? You are truly superhuman. Ninety-percent of the analysts agree with me, by the way.”
Little does Goodwin know his lame attempt at humor is more accurate than he realizes.
“The analysts have set a price target for your stock at three hundred dollars per share by the end of the fiscal year. How is that possible?”
Perfect. Chien and I had expected this exact set-up. I take my time and count to five, waiting for his nervous blink.
Just as expected, he blinks as I reach five.
“Oh, Mr. Goodwin. Thank you. You’re embarrassing me. The truth is I’m lucky to have an amazing executive staff, a supportive board, and an advisory board with the world’s top technologists and business people helping me.” Of course, I don’t need outside people helping, but I do need the perception. “I so appreciate your compliments.”
After a few moments of chuckling and light-hearted banter, Goodwin clears his throat.
Here we go. Now it gets tricky.
“Let me ask you, Miss Cee, about the rumors going around the business world. Some high-ranking officials are saying that Quantum Computer Corporation is going to completely restructure its international business practices. Can you address those rumors?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the split screen change to a full screen close-up of my face.
“Completely restructure sounds so, well, extreme, Mr. Goodwin. I prefer to say we are working to simplify international business and help to make the world a better place to live for everyone. We currently spend ten times as much as any corporation in the world on philanthropic projects.”
I smile and slow my speech until I feel my heart beat at sixty-beats per minute. “First, let me say I am proud to announce that my late father’s dream has become a reality. Most people thought it would be impossible for a teenage girl to step into the role of CEO at Quantum Computer Corporation, but the board believed in me. Two years later, I’m excited to report all legacy computer processors have been replaced with QCC’s quantum processor core. We’ve even deployed two million 3-D printers. Now everybody in the US, UK, and Europe can build custom apps on anything from robots to cell phones using QCC quantum cores. Tomorrow we will expand into Asia, India, and South America, and offer a low-priced 3-D printer so customers can make their own devices at home. Soon all countries will have access to QCC technology.”
I pause, allowing the global audience a moment to understand the impact of such a move. I could charge nothing if I used the gold I’d collected over thousands of lifetimes and hid in secret locations below the world's oceans. My gold net worth alone is larger in value than the combined market caps of the biggest international companies.
“Since the breakthrough in quantum tech on the first anniversary after my father’s death, no other company has been able to offer computing technology as powerful. The free upgrade policy I recommended to the board, which they approved, allows every major manufacture to replace old microprocessors. My father would be proud.”
I pause and allow a grin to stretch into a perfect smile. “This means mobiles, tablets, and laptops will be faster and cheaper. If you sign up for our three-year contract, we’ll give you a free 3-D printer and our app library free.”
I stop for a moment like we planned when Chien holds up a fist signaling the camera is zooming in tighter. Be humble. Unimposing. Use my young face to disarm the worldwide audience. I think back to my recent trip. Pain everywhere. Despair. Tears flow into my eyes. So much suffering and death exists in the world.
“The only thing missing on this important day . . . is my father. I know many people around the world still miss him. Life will never be the same for me, but I will try to begin a new chapter by making the future amazing for everyone.”
I pick up the single tissue from my lap and use it to carefully to wipe the tears from my eyes. Little do these people know how much their future is about to change when each of the self-contained QCC communities I’ve established grows into a collective of self-sufficient cities who’ll trade only with other QCC communities.
The video screen splits into two. “Thank you, Miss Cee,” Goodwin says. “We are all cheering you on.”
“Thank you, Mr. Goodwin, for inviting me onto your show.”
The screen goes back to a single screen fixed on Goodwin’s face. “This is Charles P. Goodwin and WWBN signing off, good day.”
The screen fades to black and the light on the webcam goes dark.
chapter six
After an hour in the car trying to talk with Aimee and getting nothing but silence, I finally arrive at the bus station. I find a place to park on a dirt road near the terminal.
“Aimee, just talk to me. Please?”
There’s still no response.
“Great. This is just great.”
I retrieve the ticket and stuff the cash from the envelope into my backpack, then walk into the terminal. A departure/arrival sign shows the bus matching the ticket leaves in ten minutes.
“Cutting it close, don’t you think, Ames?” I say.
A lady passing by replies, “Excuse me, young man?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
I find the departure gates, locate the bus, then board it, and pick an empty seat a few rows behind the husky driver overflowing his worn leather
seat.
A few minutes later, the driver shuts the door and puts the bus in gear.
“Okay, Aimee. I’m on the bus. Now what?”
“Are you okay?” a skinny elderly woman with gray hair piled high atop her head asks from the second row. A cherry cough syrup smell hangs in the air around her like an invisible fog.
I shrug. “Yeah, fine. Thanks. Sorry.”
Five rows of empty seats in the rear seem more private. I get up and change to a seat near the back. “Now what?” I whisper. “Aimee? Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Nearby passengers glance back, shake their heads, and give me the typical, “He’s freaking-crazy” look. I’m too exhausted to give a shit.
Not long after I sit down, we leave the station and the drone of the bus engine puts me into a trance. All I can think about is Aimee and my pathetic life. My head rattles against the window as I gaze outward without focusing on anything specific until I fall asleep.
When the voices inside my head return, I know I've been on the bus for hours. Obviously, my meds have worn off.
“Wake him up. Wake him now.”
I rapidly blink my eyes, trying to focus on the people inside the bus.
“Wake up!” Honesti shouts.
“Reizo!” Bouncer shouts.
Most people in the front are sleeping. A skinny lady reads a book and the driver focuses on the road.
“Ow! What?”
A few people turn around and stare.
“There’s no time,” Honesti says.
“Just do it, brother man,” Bouncer says.
I rub my eyes. “What in the hell? Not you two again? Where’s Aimee?”
“Get off the bus now,” Honesti says.
“Huh?” I grab my ears. “This can’t be happening. No. I’m having a nightmare. This—”
“Please, Reizo. Listen to us,” Honesti says.
