Glass Shore

by Stefan Jackson

  Liz looks at me. Then she glances over to Geek and Nikki. They nod.

  “The President wants you dead. What the hell do you have on him?”

  “The truth about the Glass Shore. It wasn’t terrorists. The Glass Shore is a result of an aerial nuclear blast. The target was a UFO.”

  Liz just stares blankly at me. Her lips are parted and I can see her processing the information. “When you say, UFO, you mean, something not from Earth?”

  I nod. “Technically that’s right.”

  Liz exhales deeply. I can see she’s not comfortable with the idea. “Aliens – like in the movies?”

  “No, not like that. I imagine the spacecraft was a drone. I’ll give you my theory later. Right now, we got other stuff to deal with.”

  Liz nods. “Of course.” She looks at Geek, Nikki and me. “And what about Space?”

  “He killed Fury Randall.”

  “Damn! Are you serious?” Liz sits down on a steel chair next to Geek’s operating table. Watching her sitting there sends a shiver up my spine. I can’t count the times I’ve been resurrected on that table.

  Liz snaps a stern scowl at me.

  She says, “You have to turn Space in. You can’t take hush money for murder.”

  I look over at the Geek and Nikki. Geek tosses his hands up and Nikki nods in agreement.

  “Alright … sure. I can turn him in and collect on the reward for information leading to arrest and conviction.”

  “The big problem is that there are two very rich and important people that want you and me dead,” Nikki says.

  “And both of your adversaries can afford to keep bounties active.” Geek states.

  Liz says, “Get as much from Space as you can before you turn him in.”

  Geek pulls a cigarette from his pack. He sets the pack down on the counter. Nikki and Liz each take a smoke. I pass.

  The trio sparks up from a single flame.

  Silence.

  “Geek, set up a few ghost offshore accounts. I’ll get money from Space to feed those accounts.”

  “That’s a plan I can get behind.” Geek replies. He locates his keyboard. A moment later a web page appears above him. “How much money are we talking about?”

  “Millions,” I reply.

  “Good boy. Okay. I have established businesses that sprouted from a few of my patents. We can easily hide big money in those ventures. Give me a few minutes.”

  I nod. I set my mind to work on the Gliddin and Glass Shore issue.

  “So what are we going to do about the President?” Nikki asks.

  “Yeah, I’m pondering that myself,” I reply.

  “Well ponder aloud dammit. I hate hearing my voice in my head asking the same damn thing over and over.” Nikki says. She takes a long draw on her cigarette.

  “Like I said earlier, you’re not going to get an apology or compensation from the government.”

  “So my only recourse is a private campaign to spread the truth about the Glass Shore.” Nikki says.

  “Only conspiracy nuts will believe you. There will be no public outcry to re-open the case,” I say.

  “Well I gotta do something. I’m not gonna let this die.”

  She smokes her cigarette.

  Nikki says, “We concentrate on the other plan. We have to prove the UFO was created. We have to prove Mkeyinc created the UFO. Like you said, dollars and cents – let’s mess with Space’s business.”

  29

  “So what is the great Malcolm Space like?” Nikki asks Liz.

  “Want to get to know your target?” Liz replies.

  “Oh yeah.” Nikki sits next to Liz, like an old friend.

  “I was a captive, not a lover. I don’t know anything about him.” Liz looks at me, then back to Nikki.

  “He’s cute. Sharp dresser. Very, I don’t know, refined I guess you’d call it. I found him cold, yet, I didn’t think he was a killer.”

  Nikki asks. “What did you talk about?”

  Liz sighs, smokes, “He asked me about Apollo. I told him you’d bring him the disc. Or you’d kill him.”

  “What did he say to that?” I asked. Thinking about it, if Space had hurt Liz, I would have killed him.

  “He said he knew that by the fact that you didn’t say it. He said most people, when threatened, will issue some sort of bloody revenge. You didn’t. And he seemed aware of your reputation, so that obviously didn’t sit well with him.” She laughs a little. “He was very pissed that you cracked the security on his flash drive. He was raging over that. And now I got some questions. How did Space kill fury and why do you think he created a UFO? What exactly does that mean?”

  “Accounts are live,” says Geek. “Nikki, Thorosen doesn’t exist in any database I’m aware of. And yes, please explain why you think Space created a UFO.”

  The moment brings a smile to my face. “Nikki, bring Liz and Geek up to speed. I’m gonna call my best buddy. Time to get paid.”

  I grab the phone. Dial up Space.

  “Yes,” Space answers with a cold note.

  “I need one hundred million. Just got a hot lead on a sweet investment.”

  “One hundred million?!”

  “Your net worth is estimated at twenty-seven billion. And let’s just say that your mining firm did find gold on One Ceres – which we both know is highly improbable – well, that would be a mighty find worth billions. Yet the reality is that in a few days, the news will say that a dozen very smart geologists misinterpreted a data stream and long story short, no gold on the asteroid. No matter to you because over the last month your stock has soared up, up and away due to the rumor. Don’t play with me, just pay.”

  “Is this going to be a regular thing?”

  “Now you know why they say silence is golden.”

  And so I receive a golden moment. I can’t even hear him breathing but I know he’s still there. I give it another heartbeat and right on cue.

  “Fine. What’s the account?”

  I look over to Geek’s monitor and then read the digits to Space.

  “Give me time,” he says.

  “Make it work.” I hang up.

  I address my family. “Once we get the money, we’ll make our moves.“

  “And what moves would I be making?” Liz asks.

  “I was just getting to that.” I reply with a smile.

  I look at Nikki. “You got two commissions waiting for you, Liz and Geek. Set up appointments for them to get the deluxe Body Flourish deal. And you might was well get an upgrade too.”

  “Good thinking, and I’ve got the perfect doctor. She’s uptown on Riverside Drive. And what about you, Apollo?” Nikki asks. Then she winces, “Sorry. Body Flourish can only be performed on organic humans.”

  “No matter. I reason Geek will pick their brains, allowing him to rig something up for me.”

  “I believe I can turn you into a chameleon now. I think I have the right hardware for the job. But you’re right; I should get the science on this deal. Then I’ll be able to adapt a clean program for you.”

  “Nice,” Nikki says with a nod.

  “Okay let’s go back a step or two,” Liz says, wide-eyed, her mouth a soft oval of confusion. “Apollo, you’re not an organic human?”

  Nikki says. “I’ve watched Geek kill Apollo and then resurrect him twice today.”

  Liz and I stare at one another. “Wow. I never imagined. You’re so life-like.” Liz chuckles. “I’m sorry, I know how that sounds, but the Housemaid ALUs are so weird. Kinda creepy.”

  Everyone nods.

  “Apollo debuted a decade before Dejann created the Housemaids series.” Geek says with solid pride. “Of course, he cost a helluva lot more money than what it cost to build the average animated life unit.”

  “You created Apollo?” Liz asks.

  Geek nods with a smile.

  “Cool. I like your work,” Liz replies. Then, “This is one insane day. My boss is a creep. I was held hostage by the richest man on the planet, sp
eaking of which, you’re saying that Space created a UFO to be shot down by American air defense, to secure roughly four states for his corporation. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “In a nutshell, yes. I doubt he imagined such extensive damage. But it was nothing more than a power play,” I say.

  “It’s an interesting theory but Space didn’t create the UFO. I saw some of the physical debris from the Glass Shore event. It was amazing stuff – it was thin metal and it floated. It was not of this world.” Geek states.

  “Space created the grid. That comes after the Glass Shore. He affected selected debris with then unknown technology. You just confirmed it. Metal that floats. At that time, he had two orbiting space stations and mining operations on Mars and some asteroids. Of course the source material was off-world,” I say.

  Geek considers this. His face sours. “What the hell.” He taps on the keypad; moments later, web pages dedicated to Malcolm Space appear above Geek’s workstation.

  I study the small picture of a self-satisfied Space. Malcolm has a small, oval-shaped face, gently pinched at the ears and chin. His hair is sunlight blonde, wavy, and cropped close. A blade thin nose splits his tiny black eyes that are seemingly devoid of eyelids and eyebrows. His lips are sharper than his nose. He looks like a genius.

  I point to the Wiki-page. “See, Global Magnetic Transport Grid established in Phoenix, Arizona in twenty sixty-nine. I point to the page at the upper left. “Glass Shore happened in twenty sixty-two.”

  Silence. Geek, Liz and Nikki read.

  “I had always thought that Space’s success was a combo of good education and hard money. And, of course, I believed he had access to the same debris from the Glass Shore as I did,” Geek mused, “but he knew what to do with it. Hence the grid. But, looking at the timeline of his patents with a conspiratorial eye, I can see that your theory has merit. It’s very unnerving.”

  Nikki points to a page. “What stands out to me is the patent for True Balanced Metal, granted in twenty fifty-nine.”

  “Yeah, that’s big. There is also the Harmonic Actuator, granted the same year as the Event. The Harmonic Actuator is the operating platform that allows for undisturbed motion throughout the grid.”

  I say. “Both of those elements would also make a convincing UFO.”

  “Yeah they sure would,” Geek says as he expels a shot of hot air. He continues, “This article is over twenty years old. I never knew this. Little Malcolm changed his last name from Wauglauneetz to Space because, and I quote, ‘I don’t want to be forgotten. When this generation and generations going forward look to the stars, they will speak my name and see my face’.”

  “Arrogant little shit,” Nikki says. “Is it possible to have something greater than a god complex?”

  “Well, unfortunately he’s right,” I say scanning the web pages before us. “He is the space industry. He has more operating space stations and mining companies than any other corporation. He owns the only off-world prison. He owns Celestial Fields, the only off-world graveyard. He owns the most transport ships and he may as well own the military, no one else gets the contracts like he does. His fortune is as vast as space and billions of people follow his lead. He lives up to his name. Everything he is; is off-world.”

  “Except for being a rapist and murderer. Can’t get more terrestrial than that,” Nikki says with that special venom that could burn through concrete.

  And kills the conversation.

  Nikki walks away and consults with her phone.

  30

  A bouzouki plays softly in a distant section of Geek’s cavernous transport.

  “Why are you listening to Greek music?” I ask.

  “Running a language program.” Geek replies as he continues to read about Malcolm Space.

  I wait … and now I hear vocals but I still don’t get it. “What kind of language program?”

  “I’m exposing new germs to archaic and dead languages. You’re not listening to modern Greek.”

  I absently nod with slight understanding. I’m made of germs – organic microprocessors. Live, learning organisms. I think I get it. “Dozens of translation programs already exist. How is this different?”

  Geek shakes his head. “This is primarily about language preservation. There was a big push in the last century to save dying languages. English has wiped out thousands of the world’s minority languages. From North America, to Hong Kong, Eurasia, to the Pacific Islands, indigenous speech was captured on audio and video, but no one has done anything with the recordings. I’m going to offer the treated germs to linguistic scholars and tribal ancestors. Keep the voices of the past alive.”

  “What are germs?” Liz asks.

  Before Geek can respond, we hear a ping and a red dot appears in the middle of the air above his workstation. Geek taps the space bar and the disembodied red dot explodes into a web page. It’s a bank statement.

  “Damn – the money is in!” Geek slaps his palm on the desktop and lets out an evil whoop.

  The four of us gawk at the page. One hundred million dollars. Solid. Real.

  “That was fast,” says Nikki.

  “Well, now we know how much Space wants to keep the murder a secret,” Liz says.

  “Too bad that’s not going to happen.” I reply.

  We absorb the moment in silence.

  Money. Changes everything.

  “I made our appointments for Body Flourish,” Nikki says as she checks her phone.

  “I’m sure he expects to re-claim this money,” I say.

  “So let’s turn him in now. Give the evidence to the cops and the media. Let him concentrate on staying out of jail.” Liz says.

  “Yeah, good idea. Let him dance with that whirlwind. That will give us some breathing room, for a day or so.” I say.

  “I’ll send a copy to NYPD and the FBI now,” Geek says.

  I nod my approval as his fingers tap dance over the keypad.

  Man, this is going to get real ugly, real quick.

  “Did I mention that our Body Flourish appointments are in fifteen minutes?” Nikki says.

  “Send the address to my travel log,” Geek says.

  Nikki nods. She touches the keypad on her phone.

  Ping. 00:15:00 minutes appears on a screen on the lower left. The countdown display fades to a ghost image.

  “What are you going to do, Apollo, while we’re getting upgrades?” Liz asks.

  “Monitor the situation. Try to figure out how Space manufactured and launched a UFO.”

  “I’m gonna spruce up for the appointment thing,” states Geek. He leaves his workstation and disappears down a corridor.

  “Where’s the potty?” Nikki asks. And Liz looks at me with interest.

  I point in the direction that Geek went. “At the end of that hallway.”

  “This mot is massive.” Liz says. She follows Nikki down the hall.

  “I like your stripper outfits,” I say.

  “You’ll see ’em again,” Nikki replies over her shoulder.

  “Maybe at the same time,” Liz states with a grin in her voice.

  I like being alive.

  I turn and study the tabletop of Geek’s workstation. It consists of fourteen touch-pads. Letters from four different alphabets, along with numbers, symbols, and the odd writing in Geek’s shorthand; are written above the various keypads or etched into the tabletop of the workstation.

  Now let’s see if I can remember how to decipher this multi-language tech-junk graffiti.

  I think what I’m looking for is the series of red keys. So I gravitate toward the keypad at the far left. Sixteen red keys are etched with Geek’s shorthand.

  I press the first one. A new screen appears above the workstation. It’s black with a window. Within the window a cursor blinks. Next to the blinking cursor: Enter address.

  Space had told me to delivery the flash drive to four-forty Madison.

  Okay, which keys do I use to type in the address?

  DISPLAY
S is written above a keypad at the lower left. I look up and scan the screens. I see page numbers at the upper right of each screen. The traffic camera trained on Space’s building is page twenty-three. I press 23 on the DISPLAYS keypad. The cursor within the black window stops blinking. I type in the address.

  The black window immediately displays a street view. I watch traffic roar down the avenue. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Geek enters the main room. He looks dapper in his simple black suit. Nice black leather shoes.

  “Where’s that?” he asks.

  “Space’s place. At least that’s where he had wanted the flash drive delivered. I’m waiting for the cops to show up.”

  Geek nods. He taps a few keys at my right as he says, “NYPD dispatch. Let’s see what we hear.”

  The first conversation we hear is peppered with laughter.

  “Woo…. Damn. What type of incident would you say this is?”

  “It’s a . . . it’s a . . . battery. He got beat up.”

  “(jaunty pause)… By assailants unknown?”

  “Ah, well, in there lies the rub.”

  Geek slides his finger over a blue bar, changing the frequency. The next conversation is more sedate.

  “… Your ETA?”

  “In three.”

  “You two go easy. Be respectful.”

  “We hear you. Treat him like the Pope.”

  “No you don’t hear me. Treat him better than the Pope.”

  “Treat who better than the Pope? What is this?” Nikki asks. She and Liz are back in their normal clothes. No less sexy. No less beautiful.

  “You clean up nice.” Liz says to Geek.

  “Merci,” he replies.

  I say, “We’re listening to NYPD traffic for any news on Space’s arrest. The street scene is Space’s place.”

  Liz snaps back. “Sure is. I just left the place. It’s beautiful inside. Few furnishings but a lot of art. A lot of space.”

  We all laugh.

  Liz continues. “You know what I mean. The short tour his hired goons took me on was through rooms that had no furniture so it’s just open, like a gallery. High ceilings too.”

  “Unit four-twenty stand down. Repeat. Do not engage suspect.”