“That’s right; you were just thinking.”
Adiklein pulled out his own smartphone and set it down on the massive conference table. “By the end of this year, as many as two hundred million people around the world will own one of these little devices.” Adiklein stood up. “By 2010 this will be easily outselling the PC. Why? Well, for one thing, it’s so easy, convenient, and as a consumer, there are few things I like as much as that word.” Adiklein picked up the phone and began to play with it. “But even more important, this readily available device is going to become everyone’s new best friend. Yes, soon we will all feel lost without it. No more wasted moments: standing in line at the grocery store, sitting on the bus, walking the dog, eating my dinner, or even making love to my wife.”
This got a respectful laugh.
“Now I can fill all the wasted spaces in my life, all of that useless silence, when I can’t get to my laptop, when I’m not in front of my television.” Adiklein turned back to the young programmer. “Very soon, young man, every person on the planet will have a new best friend in their pocket, a little screen always at the ready to accept an offering of attention. When Mommy can’t get little Max to stop screaming in the backseat of the car, guess what she’ll reach for?” Adiklein tapped his smartphone. “So I think it’s time we stop calling this a limited platform.”
As the young programmer fumbled for a response, Adiklein continued.
“What you’ve shown us today is not bad. But it’s safe. And it bores me. And safe and boring are not what these little gatherings are for. Our salon is about what’s new, what’s startling, what’s disruptive.” Despite the fact that the programmer’s face was reddening, Adiklein was going easy on the guy, and everyone knew it.
Turning around, Adiklein addressed the room. “I’m not singling out young Ali here. Let me ask the rest of you: Why have I not seen today even one idea aimed at that smartphone market? Why?”
Chairs creaked uneasily in the silence.
“Well, I’ve been playing around a little with an idea for a mobile game application,” Blake blurted out. Everyone turned to look at him. With a slight hesitation he added, “I don’t know if now is the time—”
Adiklein smiled. “Yes, Blake. Tell us more.”
“I mean, it’s just something that I thought could go along with our launch of our Lust 4 Blood Expansion. Just a promotional tool in its present form, but it might also serve as a way for us to test the mobile app market.”
“This is what I’m talking about. This is what I’m looking for.” Adiklein turned back to Blake. “Do you have something you could show us?”
Seizing the moment, Blake pulled out his laptop and did a quick search for the mock-up Adam had sent him. Blake had looked it over just out of curiosity, and right now he was very thankful that he had.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on presenting anything today, so please keep that in mind.”
Adiklein winked. “I promise I’ll go easy on you this time.”
Blake strolled up to the front of the room and plugged his laptop into the projector cable. With casual confidence, he began. “This is just a little mock-up I threw together with some basic functionality. The design elements are only placeholders, but as you’ll see, what I’m doing here is . . .”
Once again surrounded by a school of commuter-fish, Adam surfaced from the Embarcadero BART station. Since leaving the house, he had not been able to shake the reverberations of his dream. On BART, the movement of the train helped mask the anxiety, but every time the train stopped at a station, he was faced with a swell of panic that, like the rushing sensation of falling in a dream, caused his body to violently jolt to attention. The first time this happened, the businesswoman next to him let out a yelp and quickly moved away. After that, Adam nervously bounced a leg up and down to keep from touching that terrible stillness again.
Outside now, moving along Fremont Street, the crisp San Francisco air helped soothe his jagged nerves. But as the looming tower came into view, he began to hear that deep, metallic rumble from his dream. That grug-grug-grug felt as if it were wrapping itself around his body, like the steel-gray latticework of the Virtual Skies Tower. And the closer he got, the louder it became, and the more he felt himself being pulled magnetically toward the Tower.
Adam knew his imagination was getting the better of him, so he forced himself to focus his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him: his feet; other people’s feet; lines in the cement; pigeons; a shiny, laminated, pizza restaurant flier; an orange peel; a green Army blanket; books . . . tinfoil-wrapped incense.
When he looked up, he saw Michael and his wheelchair. Adam hadn’t intended to stop, he wasn’t even thinking about Michael, but now that he was here, he felt a momentary calm. The countless butterfly pins on Michael’s jacket danced with light. In his lap a polystyrene to-go container displayed the remains of a half-eaten burrito and some refried beans. Setting his breakfast down next to his wheelchair, Michael gave Adam his soul-piercing smile and nodded for him to come a little closer.
“My brother. Listen, I got something special for you. Real special.” He picked up one of the cheap paperbacks. “Have you read this shit?” This was how all of their conversations began.
Adam took the proffered book. The Sinister Signpost. Another Hardy Boys mystery. “I think I’ve already read this one,” Adam said.
With a shrug Michael took back the book. His perpetual neck twitch was now growing into a violent spasm; his open smile became a tense grimace. Adam waited patiently for it to end. While I’m here, he thought, maybe I can get a little more information about the Virgil Coates book. Adam had tried searching online for information about the book, but had come up with only a few, mostly unflattering references to Virgil Coates. His name appeared on some UC Berkeley faculty lists from the late 1960s, but most search results directed Adam to the same San Francisco Examiner newspaper article. In it were two references to Virgil Coates. The first referred to him as a disgraced professor whose “abusive experimentation with students resulted in advancing the cause of paranoia.” The second mention concluded with the words, “Thankfully the likes of men like Coates, a victim of his own delusions, have slipped into the ocean of obscurity where they belong.”
A second less informative article did include a photograph of Virgil Coates, which Adam printed out and taped inside his book. Coates looked rather ordinary, professorial and serious, with a full beard and thick, messy hair. The most unusual aspect of the photo was his eyes, which were intently focused on whoever was behind the camera.
“How about some incense, brother?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got plenty of that too.” Adam glanced around at the other items on the blanket. “You wouldn’t happen to have any more books by that sixties philosopher? What was his name? Coates? Something Coates, right?”
Michael picked up his burrito and started eating. “Nah, man. I told you. No more Coates.”
“Right.” In the past, whenever Adam had asked about Coates or the book, Michael would stop speaking altogether. But this time Michael went a step further. “Coates told the truth, brother. He told the truth and paid the price. You got to be careful when you start talkin’ truth. Specially round here.”
“Why is that?”
“Not everyone is ready for that kinda shit. And the people who run the show don’t want you to know about folks like Coates. They don’t want you to know what’s really goin’ on.” Having finished his burrito, Michael looked off into the distance.
“What do you mean, ‘What’s really going on’?” Adam asked.
Michael shrugged. “They all lyin’ to you, brother. You should know that by now. They be tryin’ to trick yo’ ass. Keep you trapped right where you are.” Michael became very serious, but still didn’t look directly at Adam. Under his breath he whispered, “Remember what I’m sayin’, brother. This all’s just a big lie to keep you trapped up inside dis shit.” Then, glancing up at the Tower, he added, “You see what they got
up there, don’t you?”
Adam looked up at the Virtual Skies Tower, the distant glass pyramid, and the gray blanket of fog just beyond. Adam squinted. The Tower seemed to be pulsating again, but that was just a trick of the light. Or was it?
“Oh, yeah, brother. I knew you’d see it. I could tell you is someone who can see things the way they really are. They been weavin’ that evil-ass blanket round the whole planet, puttin’ y’all to sleep, and pretty soon, brother, ain’t none of us gonna wake up.”
Adam felt the blood draining from his face. He was wondering whether Michael was crazier than he thought or not so crazy at all.
The homeless man suddenly turned and looked right at Adam. “That’s right, brother, they settin’ their hooks in you. So you better do something ’bout it ’fore you can’t fly no more.” Then with a conspiratorial nod, Michael beckoned Adam closer. “There’s only one way out.”
“‘One way out’?” Adam whispered.
Michael beckoned Adam even closer. “The only way outta this shit”—Michael moved right up to Adam’s ear—“is you gotta dig.”
“‘Dig’?” Adam repeated to himself.
“That’s right, brother. Find a spot far away, somewhere you know that’s safe. Then you start diggin’. You go down and down and down and down, ’til you reach the center of the mothafuckin’ earth! That’s where the switch happens!”
Adam stared blankly at Michael.
A big smile spread across Michael’s face. “See, instead of going down, now you going up! Makes sense, right? But you never gonna go up ’til first you go down.” Michael’s stare became ferocious. “And I mean all the fuckin’ way down.”
Adam held Michael’s gaze. Whatever this man’s words meant, they were having the unfortunate effect of adding exponentially to Adam’s anxiety.
“Time’s runnin’ out, brother,” Michael pressed. “Best to start digging before—” He was about to say something else when his mouth twisted, and again he was overtaken by a violent spasm.
Adam waited.
Finally Michael looked up at Adam, and with that warm smile back, said, “Hey, brother, I got something special for you.” Michael picked up The Sinister Signpost again and held it out to Adam. “Have you read this shit?”
Half aware of what he was doing, Adam paid for The Sinister Signpost, thanked Michael, and walked off. It was not until he heard the elevator ding for the 33rd floor that he realized he was inside the Tower, heading toward the Cave. Stepping off the elevator and into the Pixilate lobby, Adam tried to stop walking but found that he couldn’t. Like a hooked fish, he felt his body being reeled in.
With great effort Adam finally forced himself to stop and stand still. Immediately everything around him appeared to warp slightly, becoming eerily unfamiliar. The modern gray couches in the waiting area, the frosted glass behind the reception desk, the giant Lust 4 Blood cardboard displays—it was as if Adam had never seen any of it before. And the panicky feeling from his dream was back, tightening around his chest. He started moving toward the Cave again, and almost immediately, the panic lessened. In that moment a terrifying thought occurred to Adam, and to verify his suspicion, he forced himself to stop once more. Again his anxiety welled up.
Adam understood with every fiber of his being that he needed to get the hell out of this place as quickly as possible. Approaching Blake’s office he scrambled to come up with the right excuse—stomachache, Jane needs me, maybe something with the kids? Whatever it was, Adam knew it was best to tell Blake directly, as opposed to texting him or just taking off. With the Expansion due next week, Blake would be extra sensitive about my whereabouts, Adam thought. Better to be preemptive.
Cory, Blake’s secretary, who today was dressed like a 1950s housewife, informed Adam that Blake was upstairs at a meeting. “Once he’s back down, sweetie, I can tell him you came by. Or you’re more than welcome to wait here with me, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s okay. Thank you, though.”
Adam had no interest in hanging with Mrs. Cleaver, but he also knew that if he continued on into the Cave and sat down at his desk, all would be lost. He needed to escape now, while he still had some momentum. He didn’t know where he would go yet, just somewhere he could be alone and try to make sense of things. Someplace where you can see the stars, Adam found himself thinking.
The elevator doors opened, and this time Adam stepped out onto the 78th floor. It was the first time he’d ever been up this high in the Tower. From the lobby, he could see through the glass doors into the vast banquet hall where the Cross-Pollination Brunch was being held. It appeared to have just ended. Several groups of people were scattered around tables, chatting casually, while staff from The Commissary cleaned up.
Adam spotted Blake at one of the tables. Adiklein was next to him, speaking enthusiastically, while others nodded in agreement. The brunch must have gone well for Blake, Adam thought. He could always tell when Blake was happy by the way he shifted around in his chair.
The glass doors opened, and some executives from the brunch drifted into the lobby. Adam stepped aside to let them pass. He didn’t want to go in while Blake was still with Adiklein, so he decided to wait. Adam took a few steps back toward the elevator bank and leaned against the wall. Despite himself, he closed his eyes. If only I could make myself invisible . . .
Buried in Adam’s mind, deep in the rusty filing cabinet of lost childhood memories, was some event connected to trying to make himself invisible. Was it a game? Adam wondered. Did it have something to do with the school yard in my dream? Adam knew better than to try to figure it out now. Memories from those early years when he lived with his grandmother were too inaccessible. He could barely even remember where that was. Someplace in the country, with big redwood trees, near some town on the coast, Mendo . . . Mendo-something?
“Pardon.”
Adam opened his eyes to find Rene Adiklein staring at him.
Adam blinked several times to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. There was no doubt about it. Rene Adiklein, lord and ruler of Virtual Skies, was standing right in front of Adam and looking directly at him, expectantly. But why? What could Adiklein possibly want from him? They had never met before; Adiklein didn’t know Adam from—
“You’re blocking the button.”
Adiklein pointed to the wall behind Adam.
“Oh, I’m s-sorry,” Adam stuttered. “My apologies.”
Adam stepped away, and Adiklein pushed the Up button. Wishing more keenly than ever for a cloak of invisibility, Adam watched Adiklein and a few other important-looking men step into the elevator. As the doors closed, something even more unusual took place. Adiklein made eye contact with Adam again. At first Adam assumed he was just conveying his annoyance, but it wasn’t that. It was a look of recognition.
The elevator doors slid closed, and Adam began to breathe again. He turned back to the banquet hall. With Adiklein gone, it would be easier to speak to Blake.
He spotted Blake alone, working on his laptop at one of the massive conference tables. Adam approached and tried to sound casual. “Um, Blake?”
Blake’s head snapped up. He seemed astonished to see Adam. “Hey, Buddy!” Blake quickly shut his laptop and stood, glancing around the room. “What the heck are you doing up here?”
“I, uh . . .” Adam’s throat was locking up. Luckily Blake didn’t seem to notice. “I was thinking . . .” Adam cleared his throat. “I want you to know that I’m ready to hand off the final patch for the Hallowing Hollows level of the Expansion, so—”
“Wow, you’re already done with it? That’s great. Awesome!”
“Yeah. It’s already posted.”
“Okay, well, I’ll make sure the guys in Testing know. They’ll appreciate the extra time. They’re in for a helluva long weekend.”
“So I was thinking,” Adam continued, “I might head home early today. I was going to work on Zombies at home over the weekend anyway, so I thought maybe I could just start working on
it now. Is that okay?”
“Sure, sure.” Blake finally seemed to notice Adam’s unease. “You doing okay?”
“Fighting a stomach bug.” Adam couldn’t tell if Blake was buying this or not. If he didn’t, Blake might call Jane, who would call Dr. M., and that would be a problem.
“Blake, dude!” A guy from the MyStar team walked over. “Bravo, man. You just keep rackin’ up those brownie points.” Blake gave a loud laugh as he reached out to give the guy a fancy, four-part handshake. It was just the distraction Adam needed.
“So see you Monday then.” Adam quickly turned to go.
“Yeah, yeah, totally. Get outta here; go take care of yourself.”
Adam kept walking. He reached the lobby, hit the Call button, and anxiously stepped into the first elevator to arrive. And as the elevator began its swift descent, Adam heard Michael’s voice whispering in his ear again. “You go down and down and down and down, ’til you reach the center of the mothafuckin’ earth!” Continuing to fall, the increase in air pressure caused something to shift slightly inside Adam’s brain, and suddenly the name of the town he had lived near as a little boy appeared—Mendocino.
Adam left through the Tower’s front entrance. He had to make a couple of stops in the Transit Center mall before heading home. First was the Wells Fargo ATM, where he withdrew $500, his limit. Next up was the Bank of America ATM, where he withdrew another $500. Then a third ATM, where he was able to get an additional $1,000 cash advance using his Chase Manhattan card. His final stop was a stationery store.
The images on Adam’s laptop showed a small seaside town. One might assume this quaint village, with its Victorian architecture and coastal view, was located somewhere in New England, but its nearby cliffs opened up to the Pacific Ocean, not the Atlantic. Adam’s search bar read Mendocino CA.
Adam opened a new browser page and, after a quick search, landed on a website for The Mendocino Hotel & Garden Suites.
What Lies Beyond the Stars Page 7
