Jintao Read online

  Referring to his notes, Manchu began again. “A reactor was removed from the island and—”

  “Defective,” Quan broke in. “The reactor was defective and the Jintao Corporation has the authority to remove it. It’s stipulated in our contract. It was sold as scrap.”

  “And the research?”

  “I invited a few colleagues to visit Kau Yi Chau Island to look at the reactor. That’s not illegal. You should know that.”

  The older man looked down and slightly shook his head.

  Quan’s energy turned up a notch. “You people know what I’ve been doing. I’ve been trying to investigate my father’s disappearance and I was doing so because your detectives have been totally inept at locating him. And, regarding the so called secrets.” Quan looked at the three blue suits. “I’ve been more than cooperative. The CSC was given full access to my father’s private laboratory and his files. What more could you possibly want?”

  The man known as Manchu said, “I would advise you to be careful what you say. This is only a preliminary interview.”

  “I have a right to conduct my own investigation. You people have no reason to interrogate me. I haven’t violated any laws.”

  “Maybe you haven’t, then again maybe you have. That’s for others to decide.”

  “Look,” said Quan. “I’m willing to cooperate. Would you like to know what my research has turned up?”

  “Yes. I think we would all like to hear about that.”

  “Just before he disappeared, my father was studying one of our orbital reactors —OB12. It’s in a state of lockdown because of a malfunction. It’s all in his notes—notes which the Central Science Committee have already seen.” He spoke louder, for the benefit of the people at the end of the table. “If they want to know more about the orbital reactor, I suggest they go and see it for themselves.”

  The interrogator slowly rose from his chair and went to the end of the table to confer with the blue suits. Kneeling behind them, he spoke in hushed tones.

  Quan thought about who might have first tipped them off. Von Ang and McGowen were loyal allies and Laosing Mao wouldn’t do anything to spoil his reputation. Again, he concluded that Dr. Lee was most likely the one. He couldn’t blame her. In some ways, she was still a child, thinking that big government was somehow in everyone’s best interest.

  After several minutes, the interrogator returned. His face was stern. “Equipment was removed from Kau Yi Chau Island—that is of interest. If you return it, we can resolve this matter.”

  Making an abracadabra gesture in the air, Quan said, “It’s gone. Defective. Sold as scrap. It will be replaced with a functional unit per the contract.”

  The interrogator’s wrist disk buzzed and he left his place again to confer with the people in blue. The older man rose from his seat and joined them at the end of the table.

  The men returned to their seats a few moments later. Manchu studied Quan’s face before saying a word. His eyes seemed to say, You’ve won.

  “You are free to go,” he said. “However, you’re not to leave the city. We’ll want to speak with you again.”

  Quan boarded the blue and yellow glide for home. He had placated the authorities with a ploy from The Book of Thirty-Six Strategies: Give them a brick and make them think it’s jade. With the equipment out of reach, their next logical move would be to investigate the OB12 reactor. They’d been given a direction, a sense of purpose but, without the sophisticated retrofits and algorithms, they would spend months trying to figure out what had been done.

  Quan had taken precautions. The critical components were safely away. Decoy crates bearing conspicuous markings had been sent through obvious carriers, while the real payloads were sent through a freight forwarder using bills of lading that changed at every port.

  Arriving back at the penthouse, Sealy met him at the entry—a look of apprehension on her face.

  “Are you in trouble?” she asked.

  “Let’s go inside where it’s safe to talk.”

  He led her to Master Jintao’s study and the black leather chairs.

  “Nothing to worry about,” he said. “It’s under control.”

  “But the police. I mean, why did they arrest you? What’s going on?”

  “Not arrested—just questioned.”

  He told her about the interrogation and the shipments and the restriction on leaving New Hong Kong. The intensity in his eyes as he spoke was something she hadn’t seen before. The situation they were in had unleashed Quan’s dragon energy. It was thrilling to watch him take charge, but at the same time she felt excluded.

  “McGowen will go and set everything up,” he said. “In a few weeks we’ll . . .”

  Just then Quan thought he heard a noise close to the wall. Holding a finger to his lips, he said, “Just a minute.”

  After the sound subsided, he said, “We need to be careful.”

  “They said you’re not supposed to leave the city. So that means you’ll stay, doesn’t it?”

  “The travel ban can be lifted. That’s what we have lawyers for.”

  “And we have another complication. Something I need to tell you about.” Sealy took him by the hand.

  “Oh?”

  “I haven’t done a test yet, but I’m pretty sure—I’m pregnant. I have the early signs and, if I am, for the next few weeks I’m not going to be feeling like traveling.”

  “Are you sure it’s not vertigo again?”

  “A woman knows.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Quan, kissing her hand. “It’s a happy occasion. Great news.”

  “So, you want a child?”

  He kissed her and said, “Of course I do. I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she said.

  Quan looked away, knowing there was something profound he should tell her. He’d been putting off telling her about his new ability, but was now the right time?

  “In four or five weeks I’ll need to go check on the new site, but I won’t be gone long. And there’s something else I should tell you.”

  “What?”

  This was probably not a good time to talk about his ability to walk through walls. It would probably shock her and, considering her condition, this was definitely not the right time for a demonstration. Instead he deflected to a more academic approach . . . laying a foundation he could build on later.

  “Remember the Shakespeare course we took at Oxford?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember in Hamlet? The line that goes ‘what is this quintessence of dust’?”

  “Yes?”

  Flattening his hands on his chest, he said, “That’s what this is . . . dust . . . zillions of particles hanging together, forming a living, breathing person. Do you ever think about what holds them all together?”

  “Not really,” said Sealy.

  “The stuff we’re made of is nothing at all—it’s a manifestation held together by infinite consciousness.”

  “I don’t understand what that means. Honestly, sometimes you can be a little strange.”

  “True.”

  29.

  Central California

  McGowen had put on a tartan kilt and was tromping around out-of-doors, smelling the sea air and the freshly turned earth and feeling free as a boy. Overseeing his construction-bots uncrating supplies, he was preparing to lay the foundation for the new laboratory.

  Scrolling through the archi-tech’s plans, he came to a section showing the foundation details. Even though he’d never worked in the building trades, the details were low-level complexity compared to aerospace. Touching the transmit symbol on the edge of the foundation plans, geometries were sent a nanite controller’s memory bank. The nanite machine was large, sitting on a flatbed truck. It housed zillions of nanites and had a set of chrome valves on its underbelly.

  Over the past few days, the bots had excavated a fifty-by-fifty-meter hole in the ground and McGowen was about to release nanites into the chasm where they would lin
k together creating forms for xynite to be poured into. Completing his final check, McGowen said, “Okay, you wee wonders. Show me what you can do.”

  Following the RUN command, two of the valves opened and a river of microscopic black machines flowed out onto the ground. The mass churned for a moment as if strategizing—then began to move away from the rig, branching into two shimmering streams. One group moved toward the excavation site, flowing over the edge and out of sight. The other group went to a series of open shipping containers—up and over the side of the first container. Almost immediately, sparkling silver granules began to flow out of the container, moving toward the excavation site. Down below, the first wave of nanites had linked together, creating an outline for the laboratory floor.

  Stepping away from the controller, McGowen peered over the edge. The silver river of raw xynite was being transported into the mold, filling it up. As the xynite began to solidify, turning a dull gray, the nanites climbed higher, extending the form. The silver material continued to flow and gradually the basement floor took shape. After an hour and a half, the flow had filled in walls and a stairwell. The activity stopped for a few minutes, waiting for the last centimeter of xynite to cure. Then, the nanites came climbing out of the excavation in a broad black river, returning to their home inside the controller.

  With the foundation complete, McGowen and his bots went off in the direction of the barn to sort materials for the next phase of construction.

  A few days later, as the morning sun began to light the old farmhouse, McGowen heard a knocking at the front door. Still partly asleep, he opened up and almost overlooked the short, plump woman standing below him. Her wide face and dark sparkling eyes looked up apprehensively. She prattled on in Spanish, saying “leche” several times and gesturing toward the barn. Slowly it dawned on McGowen that she was talking about when the property had been a dairy farm.

  “Sorry. I don’t speak Spanish,” said McGowen. “No cows here anymore. Cows all gone.” Determined, the small brown-skinned woman continued in pantomime, indicating that she could cook and clean, and she continued to point into the house.

  McGowen finally gave way, allowing her to enter.

  “Me llamo Rosalea. Sígame, yo se lo explico,” she said as she made her way past him, into the kitchen, beckoning for him to follow. She demonstrated that she knew where everything was, naming the appliances and the pots and pans in Spanish.

  She picked up an empty food wrapper from the trash and made a sour face. “Is no good,” she said. “I cook.”

  McGowen had been eating stabilized food from vac-pack containers since he arrived and the idea of a home-cooked meal sounded good. He held up his hand, then pointed to the floor. “Wait here,” he said and he went to the back of the house. A moment later he returned with a handheld device.

  “Translate English and Spanish,” he said. Then: “What’s your mobile cash number? I’ll transfer a hundred dollars. You bring food.”

  She looked at him for a moment, weighing his request. Then she pulled a card from her purse, smiled, and said, “Gracias. Compraré comida.” (Thank you. I’ll buy food.)

  He touched her card with his and their business concluded.

  She sauntered up the driveway, stuffing the card back into her bag, her round figure swaying side to side. An old four-wheeled hydro was parked on the main road. She got in on the passenger side and McGowen watched the truck slowly pull away, wondering if she would return.

  30.

  “I’ve got first trimester nausea,” said Sealy.

  Lotus sat on the edge of the bed, patting Sealy’s leg.

  “I’ll stay with you while Quan’s away. You’re going to be fine but I don’t think I could handle being pregnant. I can’t imagine going through all that . . . and then raising a child. It’s a life changing experience.”

  “It’s going to be different. That’s for sure. I’m actually looking forward to it.”

  “I’m so happy for you. A baby is wonderful thing. Do you want a boy or a girl?”

  “I’m happy either way.”

  “Hey, I’m going to be an aunt. I love it. Just don’t ask me to change diapers, okay?”

  “I’m glad you’re here and not to worry. We have Ning for that.”

  “You and Quan should be together at a time like this. You’ll join him in a few weeks?”

  “I don’t think so. Where he’s going is too remote. I’d be bored out of my skull. If I ever want to see coastal California, it’s right here—in the great room.”

  “Why is he leaving? What’s so important?” asked Lotus.

  “He’s working on a project with Gaston, and I’m okay with that. He won’t be gone long. Gaston is going, too. I don’t know if you knew that.”

  “No. He didn’t tell me that. Men, huh? They aren’t great communicators. So, if I were to go and join them . . . later of course . . . will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m going to finish my courses online.”

  Quan appeared at the bedroom door with an arm full of pink blossoms.

  “What a sweet man,” said Sealy. “They’re beautiful. Ning should put them in water.”

  “Is there anything else I can get for you?” he asked.

  “No, lover. We were just talking about your trip. Lotus wanted to know how long you’ll be gone.”

  “I expect to be back soon. The others might be there longer.”

  Lotus pushed past him saying, “Excuse me. I need to talk to Gaston.”

  Quan passed the flowers off to Ning and retired to the study where he’d been spending most of his time. His website had generated a substantial following and he was corresponding anonymously with people of interest. In a recent thread, they discussed the idea that life had always been an element in the universe ever since its genesis. Life, they speculated, was as much a force of nature as gravity and magnetism.

  Conversely, some of the visitors to the website came with prejudice, looking to discredit the ideas and a few were downright abusive. They were like reading the thoughts of disturbed minds. To them, Quan made no response.

  There were responses from so many intelligent and creative minds that Quan had become addicted to reading their comments. It was too soon for him to reveal evidence of the other dimensions. His comments were purely philosophical.

  Supporters of the website asked for more disclosure. They believed there was a greater truth lurking behind the bits and pieces. They praised the work and wanted to know who was behind it. To them Quan only said, “Thank you. More will follow.”

  In the great room, Lotus was listening to von Ang explain his plans to leave. He assured her that he wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. While organizing for his departure, he’d run into a problem.

  Working with a local real estate attorney, in hope of subletting his apartment while he was gone, he was informed of the possibility that the property might be confiscated in his absence. Because of the extreme housing shortage in New Hong Kong, when a unit was vacant, especially one owned by an expat, it often happened that a Chinese family would move in and file a claim. Many times, the local courts would honor the claim and rescind a foreigner’s rights. To get out in front of such an event, the attorney advised von Ang to have his rights to the property validated. He would have to appear in court, provide his bona fide lease agreement, explain his reason for sub-leasing the property, and hopefully receive an official permit.

  The Jintao corporate lawyers had prevailed on Quan’s behalf, arranging an exit permit and visa. After saying many I-love-yous and communing with Sealy, he left the penthouse early in the morning, boarding a taxi-glide bound for NHK Terminal 3.

  Inside the airport, he moved through a throng of people who were yelling at one another, as the Chinese are often do, especially when saying good-bye. He made his way to the Sino World counter and, after dropping off his luggage, he went to the boarding area.

  He’d been in line only a minute or two when a young woman in a tan uniform and cap
asked him to step out of line and follow him. Expecting VIP treatment, Quan was surprised when the woman led him into a small interrogation room.

  Behind the locked door Quan waited for almost forty minutes until, finally, a uniformed immigration officer in a dark blue suit and matching cap entered the room. The officer asked a battery of questions—where Quan was going, the purpose of his trip, was he transporting any contraband, how could he be reached, and where he would be staying. While the questioning continued, another man appeared with Quan’s luggage and ransacked his belongings.

  Quan kept calm and answered questions as tersely as possible. In the end, he was instructed to repack his luggage and was released just in time to board the flight.

  Cruise time from New Hong Kong to San Francisco was seven hours and seventeen minutes and, after an hour of listening to music, Quan could no longer sit still. He got up and walked the aisle, thinking about the interrogation. It was likely that either the Central Science Committee, or Central Intelligence had arranged his detention, no doubt to make him aware that he was still a person of interest. Unless they hoped to find some sort of contraband or a mistake in his paperwork, it served no other purpose.

  Walking from one end of the plane to the other, he examined details of the aircraft’s interior: the red, purple, and blue patterns woven into the seat cushions, the smooth edges of the red arrows circling the emergency door latches, the organization of buttons on the galley’s control panel, and the witness marks left by assembly-bots at the corners of each overhead bin.

  Seat belt signs lit and a voice announced turbulence ahead. Quan returned to his seat.

  Sinking into the sleeper seat, his mind filled with thoughts of his father, the machine, his allies and, most of all, of Sealy. He felt guilty leaving her behind in the penthouse. The only consolation was that she was in the company of Lotus—Lotus, with her breezy and unfettered behavior—and Ning, the IA who would take care of Sealy’s needs without question.