Edge of Survival Box Set 1

by William Oday

  “Mr. Hill, I think we have it this time.”

  “My predecessor heard that a number of times before. All of which turned out to be untrue.”

  Hari nodded.

  “What makes this time different?”

  “Because this time, I feel it.”

  He could almost see the movement of arched eyebrows on the shadowed face.

  “You feel it? I find that wholly unconvincing.”

  “I could go into the relevant quantum equations and groundbreaking mathematics that my team has developed over the—”

  “Spare me the technobabble.”

  “Precisely. So, you’ll have to trust me when I say that we’ve made a monumental breakthrough. And I believe the upcoming test will confirm it.”

  “Why is this so-called breakthrough not related to faster-than-light travel? Because that’s what we need if we’re going to have any hope of survival.”

  “As I stated, that possibility is in the past, Mr. Hill. And so we effectively have one last hope. A critical refinement to our existing methodology. One that—”

  “It better be a real solution this time, Doctor. The future of your project depends on it.”

  “No, Mr. Hill. That is incorrect.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because the future of the human race depends on it.”

  3

  BOB RANDY took a sip of hot latte and savored the earthy, rich flavor. His assistant had made it for him just like she did every weekday morning. And it was perfect. Its perfection was half of the reason he’d hired her.

  A knock at his office door and it swept open.

  A woman half his age, with looks like one of those pin up calendar girls his father used to ogle, strolled in like she owned the place. Over the past seven years, Veronica had become his indispensable right hand. She’d proven her worth far beyond her gorgeous butt and impossibly long legs.

  The fact that she wasn’t opposed to showing them off wasn’t lost on him during her employment interview all those years ago. She reminded him that he was a man, with lust throbbing in his loins and visions of bending her over a desk in his mind.

  That had been the other half of the reason for hiring her.

  That she’d become so much more only affirmed his belief in his own good judgment of character. He knew talent when he saw it. How else could he have pulled off a decades long career in the cutthroat world of Hollywood producing?

  Seriously. Producing in Hollywood was like a rare earth magnet that drew in sociopaths like metal shavings. If there was a stronger magnet for damaged egos in the world, he was unaware of it.

  Corporate finance, maybe.

  And producing reality TV was like a distilled version of the general disease that afflicted the entertainment field. It was like that rare earth magnet with a billion coils of bare wire wrapped around it and plugged into the sun.

  Everyone was a shark.

  And if you didn’t get that, you were the food.

  Bob knew it all too well because he was having a bad run. And sharks smelled weakness like blood chumming the water. The fact that his last series, Hot Hobos - From Railcars to Runways, had been cancelled after only half a season dumped a lot of chum in the water.

  Veronica kicked the door shut taking care to stabilize the two items she escorted to his desk. A tight black skirt hugged her round hips and clung to the valley between her legs. She had curves in all the right places, not like the anorexic waifs that the fashion industry tried to brainwash women into being these days. No, here was a woman that could drain you dry and then keep you warm all night.

  Sweet Jesus.

  For years now, she’d provided vivid material for his daily? …weekly? …monthly now? masturbation sessions. God, he was old. It wasn’t that he was no longer capable of a good session. He was. It was just that he didn’t care as much as he used to. There were times when he had every intention of taking a few moments for himself, but then other things superseded the desire. Like his favorite James Bond film, From Russia with Love, was coming on. Or the afternoon nap that had become a daily habit in recent years would edge out the victory.

  “My eyes are up here, Bob.”

  Bob kept his eyes on her legs. “What are you doing?”

  “Celebrating your birthday,” she replied as she set a cupcake with, presumably, sixty candles poking out of the top on his desk

  “That thing looks like a porcupine’s butt on fire. It’s a fire hazard!”

  Veronica rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’d have more friends if you weren’t such a jerk.”

  “I don’t want more friends.”

  “Well, I’m sure it would be nice to receive a birthday gift from someone other than your assistant for once.”

  “I’m too old for birthdays. Once you turn fifty, birthdays suck. The last thing you want to do is celebrate the passing of another year. Another year closer to being worm food.”

  “Happy Birthday to—“

  “No thanks on the birthday song! Isn’t it illegal to sing anyway? I think somebody got sued for that at some restaurant chain.”

  She shook her head in resigned disgust. She did that a lot. “Make a wish and blow out your stupid candles.”

  Bob’s eyes traced down below the skirt to the smooth skin of her legs. He grinned.

  “Don’t waste it, Bob. You might not have many left.”

  “You should’ve been the reason my wife divorced me.”

  “Bob, you’re sixty. I’m twenty-nine.”

  “I know. Perfect, right?”

  “You’re not rich enough and I’m not desperate enough.”

  “How rich would I have to be?”

  “Multi-trillionaire level.”

  “So you’re saying there’s a chance?”

  “There is no chance. I’m engaged, in case you forgot,” she said as she proudly showed the ring on her finger.

  “Don’t do it. There’s still time to save yourself. You think you’re happy and that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. But you’re not. Wait until he screws your best friend and says, ‘It’s your fault for not giving him the attention he needed.’”

  Veronica frowned. “Speaking of your ex-wife, she sent me a card for you.”

  “Why’d she send it to you?”

  “I don’t know. Why does everything she sends you come to me?”

  “Because she’s always loved a dramatic gesture. Like sleeping with the traitor that used to be my best friend!”

  “Do you still want it?”

  “Her body? I’ll admit it crosses my mind every now and then. She did tons of yoga. She was so flexible she could—“

  “I’m talking about the card. Do you still want the card?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  Veronica handed him her phone and tapped a link in an email entitled To Your Pathetic Boss.

  Bob slipped on his bifocal glasses and stared at the small screen. A gilt-edged envelope rotated into view. An embossed sticker with his name on it floated away and the envelope opened. A flock of tiny birds flew out toward the screen.

  Wait.

  Those weren’t birds.

  They were hands flapping like birds. The hands closest to the screen curled into fists with extended middle fingers before flying off the screen. A swarm zipped by until one landed right in the middle of the screen. A huge middle finger with the other fingers tucked into a fist.

  A message appeared over the top in fancy red cursive. It appeared a little bit at a time like it was being written in real time.

  I wish you’d never been born!

  Bob stared at it. He looked up at Veronica who had a nervous grin on her face. “That’s seriously creative. I knew I married her for something more than her deviant sexual appetites.”

  He hit the REPLY button and typed a response.

  Tell Roger I hope you both go to hell.

  And hit SEND.

  It had been less than ten months since he came home after a flight got ca
ncelled and discovered his best friend and his wife together. Doing things she hadn’t wanted him to do in years.

  And she was the one that filed for divorce!

  It still made his stomach burn if he thought about it too much. And the worst part was that he still wasn’t over her. Not completely.

  “She should get a job with Hallmark. Surely, there are millions of divorcees out there that would love to send cards like this to their exes.”

  “You’ve got an eye for talent.”

  Bob’s flippant reply choked in his throat. She hadn’t said it sarcastically. She’d meant it. A well of emotion expanded in his chest. The unexpected compliment was the most deadly. Stupid birthdays always made him ridiculously emotional. “You really think so?”

  He almost made himself puke it sounded so pathetic.

  “You hired me, didn’t you?”

  Bob nodded. “I hired you because you make a great latte and you wear a skirt that gets my—“

  “And look how much more I do now.”

  Bob shrugged. “You’re right. But I’m still glad you’re good at the first two.”

  The landline phone on his desk chirped. A button blinked red.

  Without him having to ask, Veronica lifted the phone and punched the button to answer. “Mr. Randy’s office. This is Veronica. May I ask who is calling?”

  She listened a second and then replied. “Let me see if he’s in. Please hold.” She hit the hold button and then double-checked to make sure the call actually was on hold.

  She was a keeper. He’d seen careers ruined by smaller mistakes.

  “It’s the big boss. He wants a word. Should I tell him you’re out?”

  Bob reached for the phone. “Nah. He probably just wants to wish me a happy birthday. After all I’ve done for him over the years, it’s the least he could do. ”

  He took the call off hold and answered. “Hello Malcolm, what can I do for you?”

  “Bob, you’re fired.”

  4

  Bob slammed the phone down so hard the plastic neck cracked. A second later, the translucent button flashed red again with an incoming call. His trembling finger hovered over the square knob.

  Get a grip on yourself, you pitiful old man.

  He’d fired enough people over the years to understand that it wasn’t personal. It was just business. Just part of the game. But now that it was his head on the chopping block, it didn't feel so impersonal.

  The light blinked on and off, on and off. An ominous, evil red that promised to relegate him to extinction. He’d just be another dinosaur swept off the face of the earth.

  He yanked his hand away like the phone was a venomous snake about to strike.

  “Want me to tell him you got sick?”

  The voice echoed into his ears and through the emptiness where his brain had been seconds ago. He looked up and saw Veronica’s lips moving. It was like she was speaking in slow motion. The sounds coming out of her mouth weren’t words so much as whale sounds several octaves lower. An electric pain shot up his arm and ignited in his chest. An invisible spear stabbed at his heart.

  His muscles seized and he bounced off the chair onto the floor like a fish tossed onto the beach.

  The sensation vaulted higher, ripping through his limbs like a lightning bolt.

  Bob clutched his chest as an instant of calm realization settled in.

  Was this a heart attack?

  A flash from his youth showed his father walking through the front door after yet another long, hard day at the steel foundry. Black soot streaked his face and holes dotted his clothes where glowing sparks had landed and burned through. A tight frown creased his mouth as he removed his boots in the entry hall.

  “Daddy!” Bobby shrieked from across the living room. He scrambled over the couch and sprinted for his father.

  His father looked up and the edges of his mouth crept upward.

  “Don’t touch him, Bobby!” his mother shouted from the kitchen. She appeared carrying a glass mixing bowl filled with a red sauce that smelled like spaghetti was going to be dinner. She wore an apron with a faded sunflowers print. Her naturally wavy brown hair was lashed into a tight bun to keep it under control while she worked. “You just took a bath and I will not have you getting dirty again!”

  Bobby skidded to a halt and somehow managed to keep from throwing himself into his father’s outstretched and waiting arms.

  His father’s mouth settled back into a frown as he glanced at his mother. “Helen, my boy wants to give me a hug after a long day at work.”

  She marched over and screamed in his face. “Go wash that disgusting dust off of you before it gets all over my house! I swear to God. I vacuum and mop every day and all you do is come home and make everything filthy again. It’s more work for me, Robert! More housework when I already have to go out and find more work!”

  Dad’s mouth twisted into a snarl. “Not now, Helen!”

  “Not now? Not now? Then when? Now’s as good a time as any! Bobby’s going to find out sooner or later.”

  Bobby turned to his mother. Something wasn’t right here. “What do you mean?”

  “Tell him, Robert!”

  His father opened his mouth and then it clamped shut.

  “Your father is getting fired! He’s not man enough to hold down a job!”

  “Shut up, Helen!” His face flushed and his nostrils flared.

  “Bobby, your father is a loser! A good for—“

  Her words cut short as his father spasmed and clutched his chest. He fell like a stone to the floor, gritting his teeth in agony.

  And he never walked through their front door again.

  Bobby always regretted denying his father that last hug. He would’ve dug through a mountain of black soot to have another chance at one last hug.

  “Bob? Bob? Are you okay?”

  Bob blinked hard and looked up, trying to focus on the face above him.

  Veronica. His assistant. Kneeling beside him with one hand supporting his head. Her full lips trembled and her deep blue eyes were wide with concern.

  She was an absolute stunner. If only he was thirty years younger. She would’ve been his next ex-wife.

  A familiar acrid taste filled his mouth. He felt the tingling burn under his tongue. A nitroglycerine pill. Veronica must have stuffed one into his mouth. The pressure in his chest slowly dissipated and the pain subsided to a dull throbbing ache.

  “Bob? Hello?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. The words croaked out like he had a toad lodged in his mouth. “Fine.” He glanced to the side and caught a wide open view of baby blue, lace panties. The barest hint of a shadowed cleft showed through the gossamer fabric.

  There were worse ways to die than staring at something so beautiful.

  “I’m fine,” he said again, not pulling his eyes away.

  “Are you staring at my crotch?”

  “What if I was?”

  The hand supporting his head vanished and his skull smacked the polished wood floor. “Ow! Why’d you do that?”

  Veronica stood up and tugged her skirt down. “Why do you have to be like that?”

  “Honey, I had to nearly die to get a good look between your legs. Can I get another peek?”

  “Don’t be disgusting.”

  Bob took a deep breath and looked up at the off-white acoustic ceiling tiles. Tiny holes dotted the area above his desk, evidence of the thousands of pencils that he’d stuck up there over the years. He ran his fingers through his hair and couldn't help but notice how little resistance the thin limp strands of gray presented.

  Sixty years old. What a birthday this was turning out to be. First fired and then nearly killed by a heart attack, just like his old man.

  There was irony or poetic justice or something in it, for those who cared enough to figure it out.

  “Want a piece of gum?” Veronica asked, holding out an unwrapped stick.

  “Are your hands clean?”

  “Yes or no?”<
br />
  “Sure,” he said. “And thanks.” He popped it into his mouth and chewed to get rid of the bitter taste of the pill. “Can you help me up?”

  “Are you going to try to look up my skirt?”

  “If I say yes, will you still help me?”

  She rolled her eyes and helped him into his seat anyway.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The phone that had gone dead blinked to life again.

  Bob punched the button to answer it on speaker. “What?”

  “Don’t hang up on me when I’m firing you! Do you think this is easy for me?”

  “Yes, Malcolm. I do think it’s easy for you because it’s not you getting tossed out onto the street.”

  “Don’t you think that’s being overly dramatic?”

  “Are you seriously firing me? After what I’ve done for this network? I produced Barflies in the ’80s and Schwartzfeld in the ’90s. Two of the biggest hits ever on network television!”

  “Bob, you know we appreciate all you’ve done for this network in the ancient past.”

  Bob snarled at the phone. This latest in a long line of network presidents was the youngest yet. The execs were always clamoring for a younger demographic and had put all their chips on Malcom Calhoun to deliver. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old. Bob was snorting coke off strippers’ tits when this punk was suckling his mother’s funbags.

  Life had no sense of shame.

  “Malcolm, listen to me. I’ve got a huge hit on my hands here.”

  “Huge hit, huh? Like Hot Hobos – From Railcars to Runways? Need I remind you that the show bombed, Bob? Bombed like a U-boat in World War II.”

  “A U-boat was a submarine! It didn’t drop bombs! Trying to sound smart by using metaphors you don’t understand makes you sound like an idiot.”

  “I’m the president of this network. And you’re fired. Who’s the idiot now, Bob?”

  If he could’ve shoved his hands through the phone line and choked this kid to death, he would’ve. “This new show is going to be a smash hit, Malcolm. I promise you. Have you read the treatment? I sent it over through interoffice mail weeks ago.”