by Lee Bond
“Oh. My. God.” Erick waggled his free hand at the man with the luxurious dark hair and the blue eyes until the other man stopped staring off into nothing and focused on the scene. His right hand was hurting like a mother, but all thoughts of suing anyone had fled right out the window. “You! You! Are you really him?”
Garth put a hand to his chest, made a big show of looking around the room in search of someone else, then smiled from ear to ear while he shook his head like the biggest goof the world had ever seen. The Engineer peeled off from the convenient pole and sauntered on over to where Rommen was still invested in playing ‘Let’s Pull the Idiot’s Hand off His Wrist and See What Happens Next’.
“Heyyyy,” he drawled in his best Joey, “how you doin’?”
“Fine! Better than fine!” Erick displayed his Bodybit-clad wrist like a game show presenter, complete with fancy flourish. “Your product saved my life! My life!”
Garth popped Rommen on the shoulder a couple times with a hand. “How’s about you let this guy go now? I’m sure he’d like to retain some sensation in his hand, Rommen.” The security officer did so with such heavy reluctance that the only thing Garth could see was Destiny, lurking around a corner, intent on making the future as written as written could be. “Now, Mister Mou… ahhh,” nametag said Erick with a ‘K’, “Erick with a ‘K’, you were saying I saved your life?”
Erick rubbed some feeling back into the aforementioned seized hand vigorously. “This won’t fudge the numbers, will it? On the Bodybit, I mean? No? Okay, great. Yes, obviously, I’m saying you saved. My. Life. Wouldn’t have said it otherwise. I’m an eater, okay, you know how it is, on the weekends, when you’re out? You see all those fancy little places on the corner, you’re out, you’re having a good time, a fun time, seeing the world and being seen. Now I really do like to eat, and well, I was packing away the weight like I was preparing to hibernate. I’d had my eye on these fad bracelets that’re supposed to help you stay in shape, help you count calories and all of that, but it wasn’t until yours came out that I had that bazinga moment, you know? Ba. Zing. Ga.”
Rommen wasn’t certain about Garth, but he could feel his brain draining out his right earhole. “Sir, we need to get a move on.”
“Did you know, Rommen, that this weird little dude with the on point moustache is the only dude I’ve spoken to in like, forever?” Garth nodded at Erick’s impressed expression. “True story, Erick with a ‘K’. Been cooped up in my compound for the whole time. Got real close to wearing tissue boxes on my feet. First real time customer testimonial since I started! Gimme just a second to delve deep. How did I save your life? Exactly? Was it the revolutionary heart rate monitor? The way more accurate calories burnt count? The sleep monitor? What?”
“Hardly.” Erick rolled his eyes. “I was at one of those boutique food places I mentioned when this beautiful young woman saw me fiddling with my Bodybit and she came over and we started talking and she’s just so much more fit than I am, bitch drove me crazy jealous. We’re in a competition now to see who can get in the best shape.”
“I … see.” Garth looked over at Rommen, who shrugged with such a perfect lack of compassion that it was almost painful. “That’s … great? No, I mean, that’s great. Good to hear it. So, Erick with a ‘K’, now that I’ve proven my identity and that I am indeed allowed to be back here with the rest of these super-smart people, where in the hell do I go?”
“Oh, oh, nononono, you haven’t proven anything to me yet.” Erick laughed. “I mean, I believe you, but no one’s seen this Mister Nickels person ever. We’re going to need to vet you out, see if you’re who you say you are.”
“Motherfucker.” That was something he hadn’t thought of. No one in the building really knew who he was. He’d arranged the right to speak at the convention center through the usual, secretive channels and double-fronts to ensure that no one found out where the request was coming from, but had somehow managed to completely forget setting up validation.
Rommen saw the Garth’s hand move towards the pocket where The Phone was kept. “Shit. Right here?”
“Won’t take a moment, Rom.” Garth locked eyes with Erick as he brought Samiel’s phone to his ear. “Gonna make a quick call. Arrange to have someone meet us here a few minutes ago.”
“Say what now?” Erick asked, puzzled. “A few minutes ago?”
“I forgot to mention,” Rommen said as the gray phone in Garth’s hand started buzzing like a hornet trapped in a glass jar, “our man Nickels is also a time traveler.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
***
“Who is this?”
“Special Agent Angela Devlin of the heterochromia iridium eyes, how in the goddamn hell are you?”
“Nickels. Why … how … what are you doing calling me so early? How did you get this number?”
“Oh, you know, the usual reasons. Early bird gets the worm, I need a favor, best to get on this right away, I have access to all the information the world has ever produced, that kind of thing. The usual.”
“This is my personal number. And it’s 6 am.”
“Well, Special Agent Angela Devlin, isn’t this your lucky day? You get to wake up to my voice, and you get to have some fun.”
“There’s nothing about you that’s fun, Mister Nickels. Since your arrival in the United States, I’ve done nothing except keep international terrorists and assassins from murdering you in your sleep. We’re seriously considering creating an entirely new branch of government, just for you.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Spec…”
“Stop saying my full name and title. It’s irritating. And nothing coming out of your mouth is making any sense. I can appreciate you are a man of power and foible, and that you like to play the fool, but unless you get to some form of actual point, Mister Nickels, I will be bringing harassment charges against you. So I ask again, why are you calling me?”
“Mmm. I’m doing this convention center thing later on today? Annnnnd I only just realized that no one knows what I look like. I mean, I’d show Erick with a ‘K’ my ID and he’s prolly got a PID-reader laying around somewhere, but that might not do the trick, so I was like ‘who can I call?’ and then blammo. Your awesomeness popped to mind. So, can the US Federal Government’s Number One Special Agent help me out?”
“I suppose. When are you going to be there?”
“Well, I’m there right … I mean, I will be right there at around four pm. Just look for the guy with the hair and the moustache. But … don’t come over right away. Wait until I put the phone in my pocket.”
“What? That’s an odd … you…”
“Oh! Hey. Um. So. Now that I think about it, Also, if you could kindly bring…”
***
“Hey!” Garth slid the powerful phone into his pocket, snapped his fingers at Rommen, who dutifully produced a tissue for the incipient nosebleed, and waved at Special Agent Angela Devlin as she rounded the corner, looking for all the world like she’d just had a beehive thrown right into her face.
“… going to need to vet … whaaa?” Erick blinked slowly, feeling like a lethargic owl. The rest of the sentence he’d been about to finish trailed off inside his own head, leaving him with the uncomfortable feeling that this wasn’t how it was supposed to’ve happened. “Your bleeding.”
Garth accepted the tissue from Rommen, who looked at him so dryly a week’s worth of laundry would be pressed and cleaned. He dabbed at the blood flowing from his beak. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”
“I can’t believe you did that in public.” Rommen whispered, shocked and appalled.
“You remember anything?” Garth asked into his tissue.
“No, but I know what the goldang nosebleed means, don’t I?” Rommen jerked his chin at Special Agent Angela Devlin. “You called her, didn’t you? I suppose it’s my fault for forgetting to set up a way to get you in here.”
“Nah. Don’t sweat it.” Garth jammed the tissue in
to his nose hole and waved cheerily a second time as Angela finished her aggravated approach. “Special Ag … Erick with a ‘K’, may I present unto you one of the Federal Bureau’s finest.”
“We met earlier.” Erick affirmed with a brisk nod. “She attached herself to building security because of all the influential people that are going to be here.”
“Isn’t that marvelous?” Garth shined a smile on Angela’s face, but as usual, the Agent just wasn’t picking up what he was trying to put down. “There’s like, that Musk dude, Stephen Hawking is here, all those … other … smart … guys …”
“You don’t know a single one of their names, do you?” Rommen chided. “Not one. Here you are, filling the internet with all these designs and everything and you don’t know the names of your peers.”
“That’s my line, Agent deShure.” Angela narrowed her eyes at the tall, muscular Securicorps employee and left it at that.
“I’m no Agent.” Rommen replied deprecatingly. “Just an ex-soldier making a living.”
Erick stepped into the conversation. “I’m satisfied with your credentials, Special Agent, which gives you the authority to vet this man. Is he indeed Garth Nickels of Changetech?”
Angela nodded very slowly, taking in the changes that’d been wrought in the man since their first and only fateful encounter that night in the internet café. She had nightmares about that night, awful, dreadful things that had her waking up in a pool of sweat, bed sheets wrapped around her body. Dreams where her team, where she, just outright murdered the man, right there, in the café, with Larry Cumer watching on in horror.
The worst part was, in these dreams, Angela remembered feeling totally justified in perpetrating the terrible act. Remembered hearing the justification tripping off the lips of the other people in her unit.
Even now, her hand wanted to stray towards her sidearm. The reasons for her wanting Nickels dead were ghostly, just a bit of spectral nightmare remembrances and therefore easily ignored, but still, they were there all the same.
And from the bleak smile on Garth’s face, it was almost like he knew.
“Angela?” Garth asked gently. “Am I who I say I am?”
Angela blinked, shook her head to clear it of cobwebs. “This man? Yes. Unfortunately, he is Garth Nickels, of Changetech.” She fixed the man with an extremely pointed look. “There are going to be a lot of reporters and vested individuals in the audience today, Mister Nickels. Are you prepared to answer questions concerning your shoddy treatment of entire companies when you first arrived? Doesn’t matter you’ve given them all employment now, mind you. There are still quite a few people out there with hurt feelings.”
Garth put a sincere hand over his heart and raised his right hand. “Special Agent Angela Devlin of the amazing eyes, I totally swear I am ready to answer any questions that are asked of me, so long as no one brings up my expanding waistline.”
“What?”
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to stay healthy when all you want to eat is pizza and hamburgers?” Garth demanded hotly. “I mean, and have to like, actually pay attention? Like, with sit-ups and push up and shit? I’ve probably put on twenty pounds since I got here!”
“That’s enough of that, Nickels.” Angela jerked a chin at the far end of the room, where Garth was supposed to languish until it came time for him to address the crowd. “Your dressing room is over there. Behave.”
Garth watched Angela stalk her way out of the area, then turned his attention to Erick with a ‘K’. “So we’re cool now?”
“Yessir. You speak in one hour.”
“Dope. Rommen, c’mon. Let’s see what they left in there for us to eat. Nosebleeds, right? Gateway to starvation. Who knew?”
***
The San Francisco Science and Technological Convention was a new thing, the first of its kind in a long time, and it was a huge deal precisely because of the government's urge to bring the United States back into the forefront of the world's stage; everyone in the building was in some way, shape or form a leader on the cutting edge of something that someone somewhere deemed capable of making the US a power once more.
There was Elton Crux, visionary leader across so many different fields it was a miracle the man hadn't burned out yet, but -thanks to Garth Nickels- the spectator sport that was innovation was beginning to learn the true geniuses really didn't burn out; from electricity to space elevators leading right to the moon and everything in between, Crux was a man to watch. The reporters and bloggers and journalists and fans in the audience, talking loudly to one another, one eye and one ear pointed directly at the stage and podium, were all impatiently awaiting the latest and greatest revelation from Camp Crux.
Would he be announcing yet another foray into AI construction? Many believed it to be true, even though his last attempt at bringing artificial intelligence into the world had resulted in the abrupt explosion of three server farms and the accidental deaths of fourteen employees. A tragedy, to be sure, one Crux had vowed to prevent in the future, but spurred on by a newcomer's sudden arrival, all the big brains were launching themselves into undiscovered territory simply to remain relative.
Keever Rocklins, world-renowned astrophysicist and redoubtable Futurist, was on deck to discuss many of the things he was seeing unveiled across the Tech and Innovation sectors, and was -allegedly, but the kind of allegedly that stank of intentionally leaked statements- poised to roundly lambaste the keynote speaker, Garth Nickels, on the incredibly haphazard array of products being released by Changetech, and to call him to task for the unbelievably brutal methods deployed first in the United States and ultimately across the world. Though Keever would be speaking outside his specific areas of knowledge, he had a rabid following of influential men and women, people who would listen to what he had to say and would consider the content of those words very closely.
There were others, too, destined to speak, captains of Industry released into the wilds by their shareholders to address concerns and to drive home mission statements, all designed to appease the ever-watchful eyes of the US Government.
Beyond that, there were the displays of new tech, concept designs … everything and anything would be happening underneath the roof of the gigantic Convention Center over the next four days…
But everyone had come to hear Garth Nickels talk.
By now, everyone knew the story of the Man from Switzerland. How he'd come to America with big eyes and even bigger dreams and completely terrible attitude, how he'd destroyed a handful of companies in a few hours of online trading, how he'd gutted them clean, stripped the assets down to nothing and how he'd gotten himself in Federally heated hot water. How he'd turned his eye on the global market instead, raining Hellfire itself down atop the heads of foreign industrial giants, turning Japanese, Russian, Indian tech companies into smoldering craters. How he'd also transformed online gambling into an outright mockery of itself, strip-mining virtual casinos of their virtual money over big bets and small, and how he'd found himself banned from everything, everywhere, for all eternity.
Some wits on the 'net called him The Visionary, alluding that he had everything from a crystal ball to an outright conduit to future events, while others just called him bad for business, demanding from their digital pulpits and virtual soapboxes that if everyone truly wanted America to be great again, did they really want that to happen with the savage Nickels at the forefront?
Being silent for months, working on the colossus that was both home plate for the apparently unironically named 'Changetech' and the ode to idle hands everywhere dubbed 'Arcade of Awesomeness' and hiring a workforce that rivaled the military contingent of many a small nation, hadn't helped.
The man was a myth, a whisper in the winds. Reporters -actual reporters with actual contacts in places and with people who had the right kind of pull- found themselves staring down the abyssal chasm that was Federally locked files, so there was no digging into the man's past beyond the dry, boring basics.
/> Inventor of Bodybit, mastermind behind the devilishly addictive -and some would argue unsafe- augmented reality game Globalrace 3k that had droves of men and women, boys and girls, old and young, racing at breakneck speeds all across the globe, competing against each other in an effort to complete increasingly circuitous and complex patterns, all so they could hit the top of the leaderboards and unlock the next phase of the race.
The prize money helped, as well, but the sheer exhilaration of the game had sunk deep into the seekers of fun everywhere.
Changetech, developer of the Tesla Concept Engine MK IV, an innovative electric engine that, when combined with UltraLight Solar Flexipanels, left you with the makings of a one hundred percent climate safe vehicle that would almost certainly never leave you stranded. Sales of both were through the roof, and speculation had it that almost every single unit of either had gone directly from the manufacturer's warehouses and right into the labs of Big Oil, Old Steel and Interested Foreigners.
Rumor also had it that they were no closer to understanding the design concepts.
Changetech -and therefore Nickels, the only employee- had it's fingers in everyone's pies and there was nothing they could do to stop him. It. The entity was a technological juggernaut, consuming the weak, improving on designs left fallow on SSD drives and unleashing them onto an unsuspecting populace.
Fingers in pies, and everyone was happy to share because now Changetech was rolling rock solid, there was enough money and power to go around for anyone interested enough; Changetech didn't have the space, the funding, or the permissions necessary to construct large amounts of the concepts rushing at breakneck pace from Nickels' mind, giving any business with room to spare more than enough reason to offer their parcel.
