by Taylor Kole
“For starters, Broumgard will be giving the United States partial credit for inventing the technology that led to the Lobby,” Tara said.
Alex’s eyes went wide.
Adisah calmed him with a wave of his hand.
The invention had nothing to do with Alex, and maybe you could use a seven steps to Kevin Bacon theory and link some American technology to the Lobby and say the government contributed. But the Lobby was Adisah.
Tara inhaled, which seemed to indicate a death blow to Alex. “As of this coming Friday, Eridu will be closed for the foreseeable future.”
Alex leaned back heavily.
“Close Eridu?” Rosa said.
“How do you close an entire city?” Alex said. “We have hundreds of employees.”
Shaking his head, Alex couldn’t help but think this was how the United States’ operated. They took something amazing and beneficial to humankind and either bottled it up for themselves, or regulated it to the point of impotence.
Adisah rested his elbows on the table and patted Alex’s forearm. “You’ve yet to hear the good news, my friend.” His caring eyes doused much of Alex’s worry.
Alex returned his attention to Tara, who added, “We’re about to get the USA’s seal of approval.”
A light down some distant tunnel flickered, then illuminated. Eridu closed? America’s seal of approval? “What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means we have designated plots for the immediate construction of Atriums in Los Angeles, New York, and Dallas, and our eyes are on another twelve cities,” Tara said. ”I plan to initiate talks with Great Britain, Japan, and Australia by month’s end.”
Globalization? Alex almost laughed out loud with joy.
“We imagine vacation prices will drop during the first few years until they become affordable for the average Joe,” Tara said.
Alex’s adrenaline surged as the implications formed conclusive outcomes: Atriums all over the world, millions, maybe billions using the Lobby.
“With the increase in programming staff,” Tara said, “and your training techniques, we expect you’ll be adding worlds every few weeks, not months. With enough programmers, we could add worlds into the Lobby every day.”
Alex heard her with half of his mind; the other half rolled around the prospect of an army of software engineers. They could produce limitless worlds, of unimagined scope, with intense details.
“In essence, Alex, Broumgard is accepting applications,” Adisah said. “So if you have anyone in mind, let us know. We’re going to reopen the access room tomorrow and allow all Eridu employees, along with members of the government, to experience the Lobby.”
Alex thought about Sean back at Vision Tech. He wasn’t sure the Lobby qualified as a Noah’s Ark, but he looked forward to offering his old pal a position.
“So all of the employees will get these implants in their heads?” Rosa said.
Alex ignored the ill-timed remark. A million possibilities pinged around his mind. “I don’t know what to say, I mean, what’s this going to do to the world?”
The question seemed to catch everyone off guard. An eerie silence saturated the air.
A tink sounded as Rosa tapped her glass with the inside of a ring.
A staff member cleared his throat.
“It’s going to change it,” Tara exclaimed.
Another stretch of silence as each individual considered the magnitude. Alex knew they sat at the epicenter of a seismic shift.
“I do have one more surprise.” Adisah gestured to one of his assistants, who darted off.
Tara stared at Adisah with a confused look and mouthed, What surprise?
The staff member returned and placed a half-inch thick stack of papers in front of Tara and another in front of Alex.
Alex leafed through the legal documents and contracts.
Rosa leaned over to get a better view.
They read like hieroglyphics to Alex. Tara turned the pages at a steady clip, giving each a cursory scan before moving to the next. “What is this, Adisah?” she said while keeping her eyes on the packet.
“Those are legal documents, my dear.” A pause for effect. “Those particular documents make you and Mr. Alex Cutler equal partners with Mr. Roy Guillen and myself.” He scooted back, and, with a staff member’s aid, rose. “If you’ll excuse me, my medication starts to take effect quite rapidly.”
“Why?” Tara blurted, stopping the man. She lifted the packet in both of her hands, as if it contained scandalous blackmail. “Why would you give us your money?”
Adisah shuffled over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You are the future of this company, its very essence. Roy avoids the public, and I like it even less. Going forward, we expect both of you to be Broumgard’s face.”
Tara continued to stare at him.
“You know my belief, dear. Every step a person takes places them on their own path, and each path leads humanity to a brighter future.” Adisah tapped near the bottom on Tara’s paper. “Initial at the Xs, and sign where it’s circled. Congratulations, but this is no ticket to easy street. Much work lies before you.” He gave Tara’s shoulder a parting squeeze and trudged off.
Alex should have been on cloud nine, and buoyancy existed, but trepidation anchored him. He didn’t want to be the face of a company, especially of a product that could reshape civilization. But how could he turn down a key to heaven? Or a gift from its creator?
“What do you think?” Alex asked Rosa.
“It’s a big decision,” Rosa said. “You might want to take some time, think on it.”
Tara set the packet down and started signing.
Rosa watched her with clear discomfort.
“I can’t say no to this. Unless you hate the idea,” Alex said.
“I’ll support whatever you decide. However, you know what happened to the man who got everything he ever wanted.” Rosa reached for her hot chocolate and drank.
Alex considered her comment, and then thought, The man who got everything he wanted lived happily ever after, didn’t he?
G L O B A L I Z A T I O N
Chapter Twelve
Rosa drove along Pacific Coast Highway One, going from her and Alex’s Los Angeles home to their Malibu beach house. Even though it was sunny and eighty-eight degrees outside, Rosa was cold. She turned off the air-conditioner and lowered the driver’s side window. Her black hair whipped in all directions. She freed a few strands from the joint of her sunglasses and leaned into the sun.
Pacific Coast Highway One hugged the edge of a cliff where she was. This was her favorite stretch of the drive by far. Looking to her right and seeing only ocean made her feel like she was gliding on air.
The rhythmic crash of the surf below and the salt-laced air lifted her spirits. She smiled and thanked God for all the things He provided His children.
Six years had passed since Globalization. Her life had changed. She was now wealthy beyond measure, and married. At the core, she was the same woman, but the amount of freedom she now had would change anyone. Her purse, smart watch, and sandals were of top design. However, she still wore jade, topaz, and onyx. The idea of spending six, seven, even eight figures on jewelry would always seem obnoxious to her. She wondered if her future children would have the same values?
She used her new position and fame to make a difference in the world. She hosted fundraisers as often as possible. These events unearthed her talent for smiles, coos, and the casual banter that helped open checkbooks for noble causes. She was surprised how willing those with money were to help. They just needed guidance on how and why.
Her goals extended beyond raising money. She wanted to instill a more targeted morality in her new peers. New money or not, she was married to the infamous Alex Cutler. Her efforts benefited thousands and she hoped the trends she was setting—like wearing jade, topaz, and onyx—would have a residual and compounding effect.
Slowing to turn into the driveway broke the controlled flow of her hair. She spit hairs f
rom her mouth. The driveway sloped down, drastically. The cliff-recessed beautiful, stilted beach home kept it hidden from the roadway, and produced a marvel of architecture when viewed from the sea.
Seeing her mother’s and sister’s vehicles in the driveway added happiness to the wonderful day. She was frustrated that Alex wouldn’t be joining them, yet again. She knew with all her soul that he needed to spend more time with her, at the beach house, and in the real world in general.
She knew he was spending more time in the Lobby because Roy’s health was in rapid decline. For that reason, she never pressed the issue. Having a husband who spent the majority of his free time immersed in a souped-up video game got in the way of her fierce ambition to start a family.
On more nights than she cared to admit, she had stalked past the personal access room inside her own home and shuddered at the image of Alex’s body in that chair, devoid of a soul, just a shell of meat.
Shortly after globalization, vacations in the Lobby went from eight hours maximum to a two-week max. Still, Alex had once vowed to never take a vacation longer than a weekend. Shifting the SUV into park, she wondered if he remembered that. In the last year, it seemed he always stayed two weeks.
Roy would be taken to Heaven soon enough. As always, thinking about that day gave her a slight thrill. Same as every time she felt the eagerness for Roy’s death, she said a quick prayer for forgiveness.
She killed the engine, and glanced at the four large beach bags in the back seat. They were overflowing, and heavy. She sighed with relief that she wouldn’t have to haul them into the house—wealth had its advantages.
Gathering her purse, she climbed out.
The bright sun dimmed behind a cloud.
Glen Daniels, a teenage member of their household staff, exited the multi-million dollar cottage. He was of average height, wiry, with ever-shifting acne. He was a sullen kid who made her uncomfortable. He was also a cutter. She saw the new marks and the old scars on his arm every time he was near.
She couldn’t understand why he’d be here, on this weekend?
Alex knew the kid made her queasy.
Trudging past her without a word of greeting, he opened the rear door of the Land Rover.
Glen’s father had committed suicide last year, a few months before Glen’s hire. Since his father had worked under Alex—meaning they’d exchanged words a few times a year—Alex somehow felt partially responsible for the self-inflicted affront to life and hired Glen at too-high of a salary.
She empathized with the young man, particularly at the beginning, when she’d attempted to counsel, guide, and encourage him. He always watched her with dull eyes when she spoke and answered her in single word, monotone replies.
It was fine to grieve, but she believed this young man had inner demons. She also believed she’d been clear when asking Alex to keep him away from her, so she could be comfortable in her own house. Yet here he was.
Her sister laughed boisterously from inside the cottage. The sound thawed some of Rosa’s anxiety.
“Glen,” she said. Her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat.
Pausing his maneuvering of the luggage, he poked his head around the side of the vehicle.
“Did Alex ask you to come out here?”
“Victor.”
Speaking of uncomfortable things living in my house, she thought.
“Well, I appreciate your help, but when you’re finished with the luggage, you can head home. We’ll be fine.” She forced a smile as genuine as a blue rose. “It’s too nice of a day for someone your age to be cooped up with a bunch of old folks.”
“Should I trim the hedges first?” he asked as he pointed to a row of Euonymus alatus, better known as burning bush. “It was on Victor’s to-do list.”
Examining the bushes, she frowned. The one to two-inch branch spikes detracted from the uniformity, and although she wasn’t a diva, she’d choose something looking nice over mediocre anytime. “Yeah. That will be fine.”
He ducked behind the SUV and tugged out a bag.
Rosa took a deep breath, pressed her lips together, and headed in.
Chapter Thirteen
Everytime Alex stepped into the lobby section of the Lobby, whether from the real world or a programmed one, he took a moment to appreciate the awe. Before globalization, Alex occasionally waited to see at least one client enter. That was no longer necessary. The Lobby was always packed.
Clients arrived in the Lobby with the clothes they’d previously selected, but as a natural default setting of the mind, their face and bodies shifted to their preferred version of themselves. Excluding children, who seemed to prefer ages seven or fifteen. Almost everyone in the lobby section appeared twenty-five to thirty-five. He couldn’t remember seeing someone scared, or bald, or fat. Six-one seemed a uniformed height for men, five-nine for women. Those were the similarities, but everyone always retained their base characteristics: face, eyes, and hair color—which said something about our egos, Alex just didn’t know what.
With hundreds of healthy people stretching for miles in both directions, locating Roy by walking would take hours. And since he was Alex Cutler, the stroll would draw unwanted attention.
Before he voiced the command to locate Roy, a window appeared in front of him. He sighed heavily and read the title. "Client D. Johnson requests an override hearing."
Broumgard employees policed the white section of the Lobby. All employees possessed limited controls over clients, like the ones Tara had used to control Mr. Robertson on his first visit. If a client disputed their punishment (all did), the grievance went to the nearest superior.
Alex's position as head of the company granted him override authority over all employees. He had even back-doored additional code to ensure his supremacy reigned indefinitely.
Alex pressed the icon to read the complaint. D. Johnson had received a one-hour immobility ticket for running down the lobby section shouting obscenities. A small window showed D. Johnson, a "young man" standing in the white. Two pals, who seemed to have vowed to wait by his side, sat in chairs, playing chess. Forty-two minutes remained on the punishment.
Subordinates considered an override of their ruling disrespectful. Alex pushed it anyhow. He hated the concept of Broumgard policing customers. If someone says something you don’t like, mute them. Free speech, whether hateful or not, is the greatest repellent to fascism.
Grinning, Alex watched as client D. Johnson realized he'd been freed. The three celebrated as if they’d just won the lottery, then called forth a world, and then vanished.
"Client item list,” Alex said aloud. “Chicago Cubs baseball hat, Ray Ban Aviators." In a blink, a blue Cubs cap and a pair of Ray Bans appeared on his face. He preferred to travel incognito. "Client locator, Roy Guillen." A moment lapsed while he waited for Roy to approve the revealing of his whereabouts. After a brief pause, a square door with a still likeness of his friend (the younger version) materialized.
Alex stepped through the teleporter.
"There you are," a young, fit Roy said as he closed a novel and rose from an obnoxiously bright orange chair. He wore the same outfit every time he accessed the white of the Lobby: red-checkered shorts, sandals, and a hemp T-shirt.
Roy blamed the attire on the years he'd spent in San Francisco 1968.
Alex chalked it up to poor fashion sense.
People were bunched much closer here, than where Alex previously stood. Like always, the proximity produced stress, even with the Lobby stabilizing his emotions. Unlike Alex, Roy moved in the Lobby without harassment. His face wasn't splattered all over the television, internet, and phone ads.
"Charles intends to rendezvous with us tomorrow at five," Roy said.
Alex swallowed. He had hoped for more time to prepare a line. Lacking the accommodation, he steeled himself and said, "I hate to do this to you, but I'm set to logout later tonight."
Roy frowned, and tilted his head to the side. "I hope it's nothing serious."
"That's all that matters. Charles will appreciate your absence. I had hoped to parlay your support, and pressure him to accompany us to the launch of that new alien world."
“Crap!” Alex slapped his forehead. He had been following Cosmic Conflict's progress for the past eighteen months. It was a collaboration project between the London and Madrid Atriums. Coincidentally, the two locations were headed by his old co-workers, Jason Johnson from Eridu and Sean Flaska from Vision Tech.
Four times the traversable area of the Milky Way, two hundred and fourteen alien species, forty-two playable races. Warp speed. Atomizer guns. Planetary invasions on the regular. Total galactic anarchy. And he’d forgotten about its launch.
Briefly, like nanosecond brief, he considered going back on his earlier decision to surprise Rosa and visit Cosmic Conflict on its launch, like tens of millions of others. In the end, he lacked the cruelty needed for the veto.
"It's just that I want to surprise Rosa," Alex said. "Her family is visiting our place in Malibu, and I need to at least make an appearance."
"Say no more."
Reaching its time limit, the bright orange chair behind Roy popped out of existence. Behind it, Alex noticed a couple ogling in his direction.
"Still up for rock climbing?" Roy asked as he followed Alex's gaze over his shoulder.
"Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe something less challenging this time?"
He overheard the female of the couple say, "That's definitely him," confirming he'd been recognized.
"World select, Rock Climbing," Alex said.
A portal with a panoramic view of Devil's Tower, the rock formation made famous in Steven Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind, appeared six feet to their right, in the direction of the curious couple.
Alex hurried to enter.
With nothing more than a slight tug against his person, he stepped into another lobby of sorts, the modifier room—standard for most worlds created after the global launch. This one resembled an underground aquarium. Blackness engulfed the perimeter. Pebbles littered the floor. Instead of an environment for aquatic life, a section of full-length screens with images of various rock climbing destinations formed the front wall.
