The Spatial Shard: Edgeworld, #0

By G Russell Gaynor

You're on your board. And whether you are a Barney or a Marley, the wave is coming… 

That used to be Genie's mantra. Little did she know that the wave would literally take her out of this world. Now, faced with a new life, unbelievable dimensions and unexpected dangers, she's got to pull off the ride of her life, or wipe out.

The prelude to the EdgeWorld series serves as an introduction both to the new world Genie finds and the plight that has found her. 

An American teenager living in Bolivia with her father and younger brother, Genie was trying her best to take care of her family in the wake of her mother's death. But that was before she crashed headfirst into the curious stranger and her whole world turned upside down. Now new possibilities, good and bad, await her at every turn, but she cannot allow concerns of the outcome affect how she rides – surf's up!

• Language: English
• Publisher: G Russell Gaynor
• Release date: Oct 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9798201341442

Book preview

Also by G. Russell Gaynor:

NightWalkeR

Mind of the Man-Child

Vassals

To Simone, my Shard.

I cannot say if I was ever your Fighter,

but you will always be my first key,

unlocking whole new worlds to me.

This is but one of them.

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Logo Description automatically generated

The Spatial

Shard

Prelude to the EdgeWorld Series

By G. Russell Gaynor

Foreword – Blessed Pages

From the Adquemlore...

First Law – in all things, great and small, perspective is a reality which can only be addressed, with intent to alter, once perspective has altered...

Second Law – the greatest power is not knowledge, but experience.  Knowledge leads you to perspective, experience changes perspective...

Fifth Consideration – the universe will maintain its balance... it needs not the permission of those who are born within and will die before it... even these laws come after the universe!

Eighty-Seventh Consideration – effort is the construct of resolve... resolve is the fruit of conflict... conflict is born of perspectives that do not align... one’s perspective is one’s reality... reality is the declaration of existence... existence is the product of effort...

First Directive – there is much in the face of the universe which will never be explained.  Do not let this serve as a law.  It is merely the perspective reality affords us at this time.  Yesterday should have no power over Tomorrow.  Seek to change all realities.  If the impossible exists, it is only at the heart of reality where it will be found... until perspective changes!

Prologue – Beginning In The Middle

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Firvah is injured! Anehta proclaimed as Staydenn’s body finally came to a halt.  He moaned as softly as he could, not wanting to make a sound at all.  But the momentum the blast had generated was great and the wall so very steadfast in its task to remain standing; something had to give.  It started with his body and stopped with his ability to remain silent.  I can do nothing for him while the restraint remains on his person, she continued.  It must be removed.

It won’t be removed, Firvah countered as he ran to the archway, not giving any sign the wound the blast had given him had impacted his ability to move quickly. 

Warriors!  How they confounded Staydenn in their ability to be more than Atlantean.  Like so many of the weapons used by their keepers, the grenade had featured a component beyond a simple explosive.  The one that had injured Firvah possessed an incendiary additive.  The large fighter had put his body between the blast and Staydenn, his side catching on fire before his rolling smothered the flames.  The fabric of their prisoner uniforms (dyed an abysmal mixture of orange and yellow shades) had finally served as more than simply a means to categorize the proud people of Atlantis.  But Staydenn could see Firvah favored his right side for all of three strides.  As he took his perch at the archway, he gave no sign he had been injured at all.

Proudly wearing the symbol of his ilk on the right side of his face, the ebon-hued warrior beamed a bright smile as his gray eyes scoured The Yards.  During the beginning of their day, The Yards were given to the Atlanteans so they could exercise their contemplations.  Many meditated.  Others, like Firvah, exercised by performing practiced combat maneuvers, only painstakingly slow.  They called it a saltatorial and while Firvah was not one of the better participants, his errors were never addressed, let alone corrected.  His long, thin black hair blew in the breeze when it was not in a tightly wound ponytail.

The Rotai have taken the bait! Firvah declared, smiling at Staydenn.  They were halfway to a successful mission and leagues beyond where Staydenn had thought they would reach.  They are nowhere to be seen.  You can begin your spell.

If the stone is there, Staydenn added as he readied himself for another short sprint.  He was not given to physical measures, but he was no stranger to them either.  If not, this has all been for nothing!

Bah! Firvah barked as he stepped out into the open.  Nothing an Atlantean does is for nothing, boy!  But I would not expect your kind to understand such things.  Now move!  Both Atlanteans moved out into the abandoned field and as they approached the center, Staydenn dropped to his knees and slid to a stop.  Firvah continued for another three strides and stopped, looking around for an opponent or some other obstacle to his freedom.  He had never been this close, but he was not about to let that convince him that anything was promised.

"Boy?!" Staydenn thought as he feverishly dug deep into the dirt with his bare hands.  Firvah was 600 years his senior... that hardly made him an Elder, but that would be a subject for argumentation at a later date. 

Staydenn muffled his cry of pain when his fingers struck the object he sought.  Stuffing his uninjured hand into his mouth and biting down, Staydenn looked at his index and middle fingers and could see they were both broken.

"I must mend them!" he thought as he focused his mind and quickly locked out the pain.  Perhaps Staydenn should not have been so amazed with Warriors after all.  Almost instantly he was not showing any signs that he favored his injured hand.

Fool! Firvah softly barked as his fists clenched tight.  What are you doing?!  But it was too late.  Staydenn, the promising young apprentice, had already summoned the energies necessary to complete the incantation.  How many times had he cast a spell while under the watchful eye of the Rotai?  It had become second nature to him.  But all of those spells had also been under the watchful eye of his masters who had created a means of masking the sensors of the Rotai.  None of those veils existed outside of the cell block, and without them he had been detected. 

The Rotai could wield every energy form under the stars and did so with masterful precision and incredible magnitudes.  They had managed to best the Atlanteans in every field of science, save one: magic!  Despite their best efforts, magic was not to be theirs and the Rotai set themselves on the mission to ensure no one else would wield what they could not.  They had devices that could counter magic and even detect magic, for the most part.  Staydenn’s mending spell tripped many of the sensors and raised alarms throughout the facility.

Give me Anehta! Firvah’s deep voice boomed and Staydenn, knowing he might have just foiled their attempt to be free, quickly followed the order, reaching into his shirt to produce his creation.  Staydenn knew the word ‘his’ was, at best, misapplied, to say nothing of the word that followed it.  So many minds and talents had gone into her conception; nearly three centuries of searching and seeking, crafting and caring, guessing and guiding!  The existence of a Shard was... more than Staydenn’s mind could truly fathom.  He had wanted to call her Hope but she had named herself Anehta, and in retrospect that was probably for the best. 

A simple grasp was all the Star Foe member needed, and the soft gray axe tattoo on his face burned a bright sky blue.  Staydenn could hear the snap of the restraint Atlanteans were forced to wear on their wrists.  Firvah, for a time at least, was a free man.  The young scholar looked at his own wrist briefly.  His restraint had long since been compromised.  It maintained enough functionality to appear to be operating, but it had no power over Staydenn.  But then again, he was a Scholar and his Abedecaries had seen to his holding apparatus when he started his studies almost 300 years ago.  Firvah was a Warrior, a different breed of Atlantean and a different clan as well.

Firvah’s gray eyes locked on the far side of the field and he tossed Anehta back to Staydenn.

Fathers forgive me! Staydenn cried as searchlights beamed down on the two Atlanteans.

"You’d better hope you live to receive my forgiveness! Firvah barked as he turned his left shoulder to where he was looking, where he was feeling.  Get on with the door, child!"

But they’re coming!

A strong point of debate, Firvah admitted.  But one you will not be allowed to conclude should they arrive and you are still sitting there gawking at me!  Like most Warriors, Firvah’s gift for figurative speech was severely limited.  However, it made understanding him much simpler.  Staydenn turned his attentions on the feat Firvah required of him and he had not yet returned to a state of true focus when he heard the apertures open.  The Rotai were quick to answer alarms triggered by the detection of magic!

Keep going, boy! Firvah whispered as he looked at the four Rotai stepping through the apertures.  Three sentries and one Custodian; a small sliver of good fortune now shined on them.  Firvah had expected a much more powerful contingent.  Perhaps the ruse the Elders had spoken of earlier was more than a mere distraction – typical Elder subterfuge: see to it those who need to know little are given far less than that amount of information.  We still have a chance here.

We have more than that! Staydenn declared as he took hold of the buried stone and Anehta, focusing on the apertures the Rotai had come through.

"A door is a door, Staydenn thought as he placed the buried stone on top of Anehta.  She quickly absorbed the offering; a soft green light shone from her blue edges.  And there are four here now."  Staydenn extended his touch into each of the four apertures and seized their power as well as their effect to minimalize the difference between time and space.  The less magic would have to do, the better.  Combining the four into one was simple; since they were made by machines, they shared the same construction matrix.  Staydenn then brought the aperture to his side of The Yards and thrust his will and energies upon the aperture.  While this side of the aperture was going to remain a fixed point, the other side had to change.  After all, he did not need to go to the barracks of the Rotai; Staydenn needed to go home!

The Custodian slowly walked toward Firvah, ready to bring a quick end to this so-called escape attempt.  He could see the Warrior markings on the Atlantean’s face, but he was not impressed.  It would take more than markings to defeat a Custodian.  Three strides short of engaging, he felt something; a presence.  It was a presence he had been trained to perceive, but one he had never expected to experience first-hand.  Z’Gal’For was in close proximity to a Shard!

He remembered how he had been frustrated with the training schedules and so much of his personal time had been taken up in the pursuit of a legend.  Z’Gal’For’s estimation of his superiors was quickly changing.  He quickly altered his approach course, but the Atlantean Warrior wished to delay him.  The walls were covered with the glare of the light coming off his armor.  But the lead guard was not about to let his emotional state dictate his actions.  He pointed at the marked man and waited for the Sentries to make their attack.

"This one is too smart for his own good! Firvah thought, taking a step back as the three Sentries moved toward him.  But we’ve come too far... too damn far!!!" Firvah’s hands opened, his fingers at first stretched wide from his hands as he took a hard step forward.  His hands relaxed as he brought them up, his left hand in front of his chest, the fingertips of his right hand equal to his tightening jaw.  His lips parted and a slow, intentionally loud exhale escaped his mouth.  His gray eyes flared but his eyelids had not moved; intensity had overwhelmed them!  The Rotai were fairly large, but they had mere centimeters of height on Firvah, five at the most.  It could have been twenty – it would not have mattered.

The first Sentry was too new to the job to be here this evening.  It was clear he had had no exposure to the Atlantean Race.  He reached to his side and produced a restraint to replace the one Firvah had removed.

Do not force us to hurt you! he said in a very clear and commanding tone.  Firvah made no verbal reply.  The way of the Star Foe rarely lay within verbiage.  The Atlantean flashed a smile that held no elation and the Sentry was ignorant of its meaning. 

Firvah lunged forward, his smile becoming a fearsome snarl, and the only word that could be read in his eyes was death!  He gave a loud battle cry and sent his left hand back, forming it for a clawing attack. 

The center Sentry was frozen where he stood.  He had never seen such an expression and Firvah’s war cry shot straight to his center and locked his body off from his mind... not that the Sentry was capable of logical thought at the moment either.  The Sentry to Firvah’s left burst into action, hoping to avoid the final neutralization of a Rotai Guard.  It was exactly the sort of maneuver for which Firvah was looking. 

The powerfully built Atlantean surged forward and with his right hand he took hold of the center Sentry’s hand, the one holding a restraint.  A quick twist and the new restraint, that had been so quick to come to the center Sentry’s assistance, fastened around the Rotai’s wrist.  The new Sentry’s thumb had also been pinned under the restraint and he could not free himself.  Firvah snatched his hand back before the device could activate and both guards cried out as they were shocked by the restraint.

The clawing hand quickly opened up further and Firvah barely smacked a thrust meant for his neck.  The last Sentry had drawn his blade and had abandoned the hope of restraining the Atlantean Warrior.  Firvah snorted as he gave ground, taking a step back.  The world went blurry to Firvah for a moment.  The Sentry had taken the force of the blocking maneuver and spun, kicking Firvah in the face as he did.  This guard had faced an Atlantean before and in the moment that Firvah took to blink, trying to clear his head, the Sentry came forward with another bladed attack and the Star Foe was not in a place to mount a strong defense.

When Staydenn took hold of Anehta, he allowed his heart to hope.  He had expected to expend so much more energy on the aperture with all of the blocks the Rotai had against magic of such magnitude.  Time and Space alterations were among the most difficult.  But the Rotai themselves had provided the means to redefine Space – he only needed to link to the streams of Time, and they were not too difficult to find.  They had been created so long ago, just after Staydenn had entered his time of development – his adolescence, before the Atlanteans had been imprisoned.  But that was another story for another time.  He had an opportunity to correct a tragic crime of circumstance; an opportunity to free his people!

Put down the Shard and I will let you live, Atlantean, the Custodian said softly.  Staydenn could hear the capacitors of his keeper’s armor ready to discharge their energies.

Chapter One – Finding McEmbree

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He could hear his heartbeat over everything else; over the clamor of his footfalls and the cursing of those whose papers and bodies he left spilled in his wake.  His inclination to focus on the sound of the organ in his chest came from fright and fatigue.  But Avery Brewer had a job he had to do.  Failure to complete his task might well mean the stopping of his heart; a gambit he was not willing to take.  He brushed his long gray hair out of his face and pushed himself to continue running.  He could breathe easier later... he could get over the pain later... but he had to make sure he had the option of a ‘later’ in his near future.  Suddenly, the company plan to give all division heads a StairMaster made sense.  It was too bad Avery had yet to take his out of storage.

This is Brewer, he gasped into his wireless headset as he tore through another doorway.  Put me- he started, but another collision in the corridor cut his speech short.  Balkin... Baskins... Rat Face... Avery could not be bothered to remember his name at the moment.  He simply nodded, softened the glare coming off his blue eyes and waved as he panted, scrambling up to his feet.

Yes, Mr. Brewer, the automated operator responded.  Lifeless heap of bolts and wire!  Only for a moment was Avery proud of the design and implementation of the software necessary to get the mechanism to act and react correctly.  Pride meant big chests and big chests only made for an easier target to be struck.  He shook his head clear of the distraction and placed his hand to his headset to keep it from falling off the side of his head.

Put me through to Vey.  Tell her we’ve got a lock!  A lock on the Shard!

∞∞ ∞∞

There was an awkward silence in the conference room; the product of very tough negotiations that had been anything but decisive.  There was no clear winner, no one held an advantage.  But the last raised point of contention was one Samantha Vey had not been expecting.

It’s a very simple question, Mark said with a slight grin on his face.  "When are we going to see something new?  It’s not as if you didn’t promise us new designs six months ago, and I think we’ve been more than patient.  You’ve been given this much time based on your past accomplishments, but this is starting to give us all a bad feeling."

Samantha jerked her head to the side, moving her dark brown curls out of her brown eyes.  Perhaps it had been a mistake for her to wear her hair down over her shoulders; its length gave her few options.  She leaned back in her chair and smiled.  Looking nervous would just be blood in the water and the sharks in the room were always hungry.  How many meetings had she witnessed go sour because of the reaction to implications of failure?  It was an easy trap to fall into for those who wore their hearts on their sleeves.

Mark Greenwald was the one who had come forward with the statement.  It meant he was escalating his assault on Optimum Horizons, and he thought he could find a way into the inner sanctum through Samantha’s heart.  He was definitely a good looking man, but she could find better in any ‘meat market,’ and those choices would come without the migraine aftermath.  She hated the delusion that wearing a skirt somehow meant she was not able to handle her business.  But she had seen men make enough mistakes to know what not to do.

First things first, Mr. Greenwald, she replied in a very calm tone, the first step in avoiding his trap: act as if the implication has no actual merit.  I think we need to address your group’s inability to shore up the marketing and distribution of the projects Optimum Horizons has already delivered.  What sort of a fool would I look like, unveiling a new design when you have yet to meet your contractual obligations with the three projects we’ve already built and delivered?  Her eyes drifted to her phone.  Brewer’s line was flashing white.  It seemed she was going to receive some good news after all.

Maybe you came here today to tell me that the government contracts that were submarined by Congress are now set to close in a positive manner, she said, standing up, a sure sign the meeting was drawing to a close.  She was taller than most women, standing at nearly one and three-quarter meters tall; more muscle than fat and quite shapely at sixty-six and a half kilograms. 

Makeen came from his position near the wall just behind her seat.  It was something of a small wonder how a man of his girth could move so quickly and quietly.  He took hold of her chair as she stood and pulled it back, allowing for a clear path to the doors. 

The eyelids over her soft brown eyes drew tighter together, drawing more emphasis to what she was about to say.  No?  Then perhaps before I give you more of my developer’s hard work, you can prove to Optimum Horizons you are worthy of consideration of any new material.  Good day, gentlemen.  Mark.  She quickly turned and donned her small headset.  Samantha Vey was drawn to small things.  The smaller technicians could make things, the more she loved using them.  This particular headset fit into a special compartment sewn into the outside pocket of all of her executive suit jackets.  As soon as it was secure in her ear, she tapped the small control button and the tone told her she was connected to her communications hub.  She waited for Makeen to close the conference room doors behind them before she spoke.

This is Vey.  Go for network.

This is the network, the synthesized voice of the main computer responded in her ear, and she looked back to insure that Makeen was linking up to the hub as well; his device was already in place.  In many ways, looking back was overkill.  Makeen had yet to fail her in any measure.  But the stillness of his deep brown eyes and his ‘thumb up’ response reassured her.  He towered over her by a little more than twenty-three centimeters.  The cut of his tailored suits did little to mask his massive frame, and there were many who were surprised to know he weighed over one hundred twenty kilos.  He kept his thick black hair pulled back in a ponytail so as to never chance it getting into his eyes, which were nearly as dark as his hair.

Assumption is a foolish man’s mistake, he had once told her.  I find no disservice if, when you do check in on me, I have done or am in the process of doing what I am supposed to do.

Open the administrative channel and activate both users, Vey commanded and she could hear the expected clicking sounds.  Receive Brewer, she directed as she continued down the corridor, her right thumb rubbing against the side of her index finger.  It had been along time since Avery used the White Line... too long!  A soft and low tone registered just before she could hear Brewer’s heavy breathing.  She had no clear reason, but she was suddenly anxious and her stride betrayed her normal steadiness.  She was almost jogging when she turned toward the elevator.  Makeen beat her to it and hit the call button. 

Vey, we’ve got a positive sighting of McEmbree.  He’s in Vallegrande.  Makeen quickly took out his Smartphone, linking it to the network to start making travel arrangements.  He knew of the importance of the find and of Samantha’s confidence in the security teams that had been dispatched in the past.  Too many times they had come back with foul explanations and poor results.

Avery, she replied, stepping into the elevator car.  Makeen was quick to hit the button to take them to her office.  Samantha hit the stop button on the elevator and changed her destination.  The elevator car dropped into the onsite underground Research and Development facility.  "... try to understand that I don’t have Google Earth running through my head twenty-four hours a day!  You could be a little more forthcoming with the information."

It’s in Bolivia, Brewer explained shortly before the sound of a collision.  The link with Brewer went dead and Samantha quickly tapped her headset.

The word is Spanish for ‘Big Valley’, Makeen noted.  "No doubt he is using the site due to its remote status and the possession of an airstrip. 

McEmbree’s come out of hiding, the large man declared.  Probably to get his hands on more cash so he can disappear again.  He won’t be there by the time we get there.

Then out-think him and predict where he will be, Vey ordered.

That is nearly impossible, Makeen replied, still punching his Smartphone.  "He knows how both you and I think, and has taken such matters well into account.

But what I can do is to make the delivery of whatever parcel he is waiting for as difficult as possible.  Are you in the market to sell one of our missile systems?

Do whatever is necessary, she resolved and Makeen nodded with a pleasant smile.  The elevator doors opened and Samantha walked directly toward Lab Seventeen.  I’m about to do the same!  There was a click in their ears.

That would be Brewer again, Makeen concluded.

Coordinate efforts for me, Samantha directed without breaking her stride.  I have to go back on an empty promise.

Then there will be little collateral damage, Makeen added before the elevator doors closed. He was once again bound for Vey’s office to coordinate response and travel plans.  The last time Brewer had been trusted to do either the response team had arrived at the site in question eight hours after McEmbree had been sighted.

∞∞ ∞∞

It took nearly three minutes just to get into Laboratory Seventeen.  It was a pain, especially since time was a major factor in the proper execution of her aims. 

But Dr. Seth McEmbree had proven to be a better adversary than she had dared to imagine, and Samantha Vey was nothing if not the sort of person who learned from her mistakes.  She had not expected McEmbree to betray her; he did.  She had not expected him to make it off the property after the act of his greatest treachery; he was gone hours before she knew what he had done.  She had not expected him to make it out of California, let alone the United States.  By the time she had heard from her contacts in the FBI, Seth McEmbree was a ghost who had arranged to leave several false trails that exceeded the limits of her clandestine contacts.  Lastly, she had not expected McEmbree to be able to survive as a homeless ‘ghost’ of a man for thirteen months.  The culmination of missed opportunities and being outwitted time and time again had composed a profile of a man who had never revealed his true potential to her or anyone at Optimum Horizons.  While he had been hired as a Mechanical Engineer, it was painfully obvious to her that he was also gifted in the fields of Electrical Engineering and Psychology. 

"My mistake was the Shard, Samantha thought as her eyes were scanned for the last time.  Why did I trust him with the Shard? Another interior door opened and Samantha quickly donned the body suit necessary for passage through the last portal.  It was obvious the equipment personnel had received her memo regarding the suits and had changed the ensemble to one that could be put on without the need to consult a manual.  Because of his intuition! she remembered.  It was as if he was clairvoyant!

"The way he came into the middle of the Poseidon Probe Project and corrected the problems we were having with it, she thought.  My best minds made zero progress on those issues in over 200 work hours.  He made the probe more efficient and cheaper to make and maintain; our profit-margin shot through the roof!

"Somehow I knew he would be able to reproduce what I had seen Seaver do with the Shard... and he did!" Samantha closed her eyes to the memory.  It was too painful to complete the reflection.  Seth McEmbree had liberated more than simple property from her possession.  His veiled genius had cost her an opportunity she could not fully measure.

She was inches from the door when her personal cell phone rang inside her purse.  With the limited number of people who knew the number, Samantha had reason to answer it quickly.

Speak of the devil, she whispered, looking at the call’s originating number and corresponding name.

Hello, Hiram, she said into the phone.

Hey there, Samantha, a very sure and steady voice responded.  She could see the smile on his face through the tone of his voice.  "I take it you’re at DefCon 3 and ready to scramble your fighters.

Leave him alone, Samantha, Hiram suggested with a sigh.  You’re only making matters worse.

Sounds like someone slipped a little extra sugar into your Jell-O there, Hiram.  Are they making more of a profit at the Elderly Arms Living Residence?

I spotted the worm too, Samantha, Hiram said in a calm tone.  I know you’ve got eyes headed toward South America as we speak.

Now why would I want to go and do something like that? she asked, keying in the command to have her security hub locate the origin of the call.

Because you want it back! he answered.  That thing is like a drug, and take it from a former junkie, you’re better off without it!

You give yourself too much credit, Hiram, Samantha argued, knocking on the glass before she remembered there was no way anyone inside the lab would hear her through the extra thick transparent material.  "You’re still a junkie!  Why else would you be keeping tabs on McEmbree?"

How do you think he designed the particular worm that keeps feeding him money? Hiram Seaver asked.  Samantha Vey was relieved that the conversation was voice only.  Hiram could not see the look of shock on her face.

∞∞ ∞∞

Samantha Vey had been the Administrative Assistant to Hiram Seaver when he was trying to get his software design company off the ground.  Both of them had so little direction back then.  He had been nearly out of money and she had just kicked her boyfriend out, along with his latest lover who tragically resembled Samantha’s best friend.  She was in an apartment she could not afford, and home for her (Gwinnett County, Georgia) was on the opposite coast.  But Samantha had always been a survivor, so she was not averse to taking two jobs just to keep afloat.  But two jobs meant dropping out of school and getting a lot less sleep than she had become used to receiving.

Seaver had planned to let go of employee after employee in an effort to cut back on his costs.  Samantha took a look at his so-called group of friends and started making broad cuts across the board.  There was no room for feeding already-fat friends who could not have produced a usable product if they had step-by-step instructions.  At first, he resented her, but there was little arguing with what her initiative had afforded him.  She had given him at least another two quarters of operating capital and Hiram went to work, not to be outdone by his secretary.  Just before the bough had broken, Hiram had managed to secure a client, but he had to fly from Oregon to Texas to get the particulars and secure the deal.  Seaver owned a plane and he had insisted on Vey going with him.  She had refused to call the contraption a plane; it was a mechanical device that often traveled above the ground.  To make matters worse, the weather, as it often was in Oregon, had been miserable and it had made the trip even more troubling.

They never made it to the meeting, and the contract eventually went to another developer.  The plane did not crash.  Hiram had actually managed a pretty smooth landing, even with the addition of a most unexpected passenger.  But the landing strip was not in the United States.  In fact, they had not even landed on the planet Earth!  Hiram was right: she was a junkie!  They had both become addicted to that wonderful place called Five Pointes and all it had offered.  Hiram sampled their computer technology and took all that he could understand. 

For six months, it was enough, but Samantha had seen so much more potential for the fruits that special place had offered, and she took the Shard the same day she tendered her resignation.  Hiram had made an effort to take it back, but was once again surprised at the depths of plotting and planning Samantha’s mind could reach.  The very agents he had hired were already in her employ and Optimum Horizons was already a fully functional business before she left his company; a business with many powerful friends.  By the time Samantha was done with him, Hiram Seaver was happy he had secured finances she had not been privy to.  Samantha had been happy to leave him with those finances; Hiram was no fool and he had learned his lesson.  Besides, there was no way she could say she would not need a software developer for some of her weapon designs.  As it turned out, Hiram was not too proud to be on her payroll from time to time.

But Seth McEmbree had done to her what she had done to Hiram Seaver.  The difference was Seth was not looking to go into business for himself; it seemed he simply wanted to make sure Samantha did not do any more business on the other side of the portalway.  Still, Samantha Vey was no Hiram Seaver, and she was not about to make Seth’s escape an easy one.  In retrospect, it did not look as if her objectives were reached.  He had calculated her every move and, as Makeen had already noted, he knew how both she and her security chief thought.  He made his plans accordingly, and the result was perhaps the best orchestrated successful stratagem against her.

∞∞ ∞∞

That was your worm? she asked in a softer voice.

A variation of it, anyway, Seaver answered.  "I should have known you’d have backdoors in my database.  But then again, you knew I’d be too lazy to look.  So your weapons designer got onto your system, broke into mine, and copied my worm.

He made a few changes, though, Hiram added.  It sounded as if he was getting up and walking.

Another cup of coffee, Hiram? Samantha asked.  Weren’t you told to cut back?

For what, Sam? he returned.  Delaying the trip won’t keep me from winding up in hell.  It’s not too late for you though, Vey.

"Save the Ghost of Christmas Past banter, Seaver! Samantha said sharply as the glare of her eyes returned.  Nostalgia Hour was over and Seth McEmbree was just another man in need of an education on the limits of what a woman can do.  Forward everything you have on that worm of yours or I’ll be expediting your travel plans.  And don’t think I’ll be so cold as to make you travel alone.  I know how you hate that."

No need to be rude, Seaver responded quickly.  I’ll send the files as soon as I am back in the office.

Thanks, Hiram, Samantha smiled.  I’ll be in touch.

∞∞ ∞∞

Closing the phone, Seth put his forehead to his hand and closed his eyes as he rubbed his brow.  He took a moment to go over his thoughts, confirming his lack of options and the ever increasing aggravation which was Samantha Margaret Vey.  He briefly embraced solace, took in a deep breath and sighed as he reached for the small box held against his neck by the choker strap.  With only a small amount of pressure, the strap gave and the vibrations stopped.  He rubbed his neck to ease his muscles and cleared his throat.  Seth McEmbree no longer needed to sound like Hiram Seaver; the trap had been set and Samantha Vey was on her way.

I know, Samantha, he sighed.  Sooner or later I know you’ll be in touch!

Are you sure you want to do this, Dr. McEmbree? the young man asked as he lowered the binoculars from his face.  His detail was arriving and in about thirty minutes they would be ready to bring the game of cat-and-mouse to an abrupt end. 

We have little choice, Mr. Weiss, Seth replied as he placed the cell phone in his jacket pocket.  She is not capable of stopping herself.

Understood, sir, Weiss answered as he keyed in the last set of directions to the incoming plane.  Perhaps you should head back to Santa Cruz.  We’ll handle it from here.  Seth turned and walked away without saying anything.  He knew any response to the contrary would fall on deaf ears.  Despite who he worked for, Weiss was still a mercenary and one not far enough removed from his military experience to be open to the suggestions of a man who made his life in the realm of science. 

He walked to his jeep, catching a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror.  He had to admit he liked what he saw; the short and neat haircut worked for him.  All the time he had spent in the sun had given him a good tan to go with his brown hair and blue eyes.  But he quickly disengaged from his personal review and drove back to the hotel to await the report of the events to come.  On the way to his room, however, he would remove the Shard from its hiding place and be ready to go on the move should the absolute worst befall his so-called allies.  After all, in the best and worst of things, Seth McEmbree knew one thing to be sure... there were no accidents.

Chapter Two – Definite Possibilities

––––––––

She stood on the beach and looked out into the tumultuous sea that beckoned her.  The long, thick towel she kept draped around her could no longer keep her warm, but she did not feel the cold.  The dreary gray sky never looked so exciting before, but she had to contain herself.  This was not about smiling and shining at the water; that was the stuff of posers.  She had to find her center because the ankle snappers were done; the wind and the rain were bringing in the big waves now.  There was no need to check her steamer a third time; the wetsuit was in place and fully zipped up, fitting close around her slender frame.  A flick of her head and her long blonde hair, which she regularly dyed black, was out of her face.  Her blue eyes locked on the forming waves and suddenly there was a slight upward curve to her lips.

It’s time!

"You having that Bodhi dream again, Genie?  Oh baby, you just wait!  There was no mistaking the soft female voice that had called out to her.  You think he had a ride in Pointe Break?" Imogene sat up quickly and looked in every corner of the room.

Mom?! she whispered, half believing she would get a response.  But no one was in her room, especially her mother.  She had not been in Imogene’s room for two years now, and that memory was enough to give the young girl pause.  Her chin sank to her chest and she closed her eyes, remembering the sight of the slender woman, topped with a golden crown of sun-bleached blonde hair.  She too had crystal blue eyes, but in those eyes Imogene Amanda Schultz had found a different ocean to surf; one where there were no wipeouts and she was the biggest of Big Kahunas.  That afternoon had been one of the last they would share, just the two of them, as mother taught daughter how to surf.  It was not all they had done at the beach, but it definitely ranked as their mutually favorite pastime.

But the rest of it you have got to bring yourself, Genie, she had said.  I can teach you how, but you’ve got to find the why in your mind and heart.

What if I can’t find it, Mom?

First of all, don’t make it hard and it won’t be hard.  And if you don’t find it, her mother had shrugged as they sat on their boards, waiting their turn to ride the waves.  ...there’s no real loss.  You’ll be good, because you pick up on details like your father.  But without the passion, you’ll never become part of the ride and it will never become part of you.  We’re such itty-bitty things in this world, Genie.  But if you ask me, we have the tools to bridge with things that are bigger than us, greater than us, and take a ride or two.

Genie, I could use a hand out here! her father called to her even though she could still see her mother sitting on her board.  She smiled at her daughter as her head leaned over to the side.

Bummer!  Maybe next time, Genie.  She took hold of her daughter’s board, tipped it over, and Imogene fell into the water.  She jumped as she opened her eyes.  Her Dad was at the door of her room and knocking.

Genie!

I’m up, Dad, she said as she put her feet on the floor.  Be out in a sec.

Thanks, baby.

No problemo, she whispered as she stood up and moved her hands through her hair.  She gasped and quickly grabbed at the cool, wet sensation she felt in her left hand.  She drew focus on it, but could not believe what she was seeing: wet hair!

You see, this is what you get when you get off your meds, Imogene said softly, wringing the wet section of hair.  Collecting a few drops, she quickly put them to her tongue and closed her eyes again.  She needed to steady herself.  "So explain the salty taste, Genie!

You can’t, can you? she asked herself.  You take those pills, you can’t see her and you definitely can’t hear her.  I don’t care what the shrinks say.  I’ve got sea water in my hair and I’m only about a thousand miles from a beach!  This is freakin’ weird!  The sound of breaking glass distracted her and Imogene quickly ran to the door of her room.  Okay, station break on the weird.

I don’t drink orange juice! a familiar shriek reached her ears as she opened the door.  There they stood, face to face; the irresistible force and immovable object of the Schultz bloodline.  War had been declared yet again.  Imogene knew her father, Timothy, did not have time for another parental occupation and Gordon, her little brother, was not about to run up the white flag while he still had an ounce of petulance in him.  I never drink orange juice.

Oh, give me a break, Gordon! her Dad said in frustration, his brown eyes glaring down into his son’s angry sky-blue stare.

You want it here?! Gordon said as he kicked his father in the shin.  It was a swift foot and it made Timothy hop on one leg with the amount of pain it delivered.

Bull’s-eye! Imogene whispered as she ran toward the front lines.  She jumped between father and son and faced her Dad.

Hey, Dad, she said in a calm voice as she kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tightly about the shoulders.  "Mornin’, hope you slept well.  Wow, you smell good this A.M.! 

Okay, it’s Wednesday, she said in a matter-of fact manner.  Which means you need to get to the site, pronto, Mister.  The moneybags are coming in for that big lunch meeting to see what you’ve done and decide if they are going to continue funding the restorations.  Time for you to go and be the magic man; the architect-historian that can’t be touched with a 10-foot slide rule!

Timothy stopped and smiled at another war he was not going to win.  Looking into Imogene’s face was like looking into a time machine.  Even with her dyed hair, his daughter looked just like her mother, and Imogene reminded him of the times he and his wife had spent in high school.  They had hated each other with a passion that was eventually understood.  Tim Schultz put his hand on his daughter’s face.

No way I deserve you, he said with a smile, and she could tell he was fighting back tears.

Duh! Imogene barked as she pushed on his chest and then turned him around.  We are so into old news here!  Now just get your shoulder-bag, your Indy belt, your not-so-Indy hat, and your lunch, she said as she handed him each item.  The last was something of a surprise, as he had not seen her make it last night.  Then again, he had been into his charts most of the evening; a truck could have made his lunch and he might have missed it.  He leaned back against her pushing him as he limped toward the front door.

I’ll be in-

Late! Imogene finished as she pushed harder.  This was one of the moments she actually enjoyed with her father.  So on top of it.  I’ve got dinner planned and I’ll be taking the little monster out and about to make sure he’s good and tired tonight.

You need any money? Timothy asked, trying his best to keep down his laughter.  The pushing stopped and Imogene spun him around again.

Don’t play.  Not a very nice thing to pl- Timothy handed his daughter a roll of bills and wrapped her fingers around it.

Two of the investors came in yesterday, he explained with a smile that reflected a very strong sense of accomplishment.  It was a surprise for me too.  Put this with the rest and make sure we are in the black with the bills.

We’re already paid through next month, Dad, she replied.  This is gravy!

And who likes gravy? he said, kissing his daughter on the forehead.  Take you and your brother shopping.

I don’t want to go shopping! Gordon screamed and Imogene rolled her eyes.

Ignore the wailings of an ignorant child, Imogene quickly inserted.  He has yet to realize how hard it is to go skating without serious inline skates.

Skating?! Gordon gasped.  Timothy shook his head at the ease with which his daughter controlled his son.

Well, I’ve got to go.  I love you both.

And we love you, Dad, Imogene said, flashing a bright smile so that her Dad did not see the hand gesture she made behind her back before flashing the roll of cash.  Gordon would be quiet, at least until their Dad was in the jeep and driving down the road.

∞∞ ∞∞

Are we really going skating? Gordon asked as he came out of his room with his shoes on.

Depends on how well you clean up that mess you made, Imogene answered, getting out the necessary ingredients for breakfast.  You up for cheesy eggs?  The cheer that erupted from behind her made Imogene smile.  I’ll take that as a yes.

Can I have some sausages too?

Is that how we ask? she inquired, still making preparations for the cooking.

May I please have some sausages?

Oh, Bull’s-eye, Gordo.  I feel some syrup-dipped smoked sausages comin’ on!  Gordon’s cheers became the customary happy dance the two of them shared.  There was no music to set the tempo, but brother and sister cast caution to the wind and spun around the house in celebration of Gordon’s happiness.

∞∞ ∞∞

Thought you didn’t drink orange juice, Imogene said as she sat in her chair with her laptop computer, answering her emails.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Gordon suddenly stop, his eyes switching back between his sister and the empty glass that had once held orange juice.  "You’re twelve now and it’s going on two years, Gordo.  When are you going to give Dad a break?

And throw a tantrum on me, buster, she warned as she closed her laptop.  "You might live to regret it.  Chances are good... slim, but good."

Gordon smiled up at his sister.  Mom used to say that, he said as he looked down, his smile fading.  Imogene did not waste a moment of time.  She put her computer down and pulled her little brother into an embrace; a feat that was becoming progressively more difficult.  She hugged him but not as tightly as he hugged her.

I miss her too, bruh, she whispered as she could feel his tears on her shoulder.  "They don’t make ‘em like Eleanor Schultz too often.  The world would not know what to do with that much wonder in it.

And it’s not Dad’s fault, she said as they parted.  Imogene quickly put her hand over her brother’s mouth, knowing his retort was coming.  It isn’t!  She never told Dad she was sick.  None of us knew.

Why didn’t she tell us?

Dude, let me get a couple of PhDs under my belt before I get into that one! she pleaded.  All I know is that when the sun needed lessons on how to shine, it texted Mom.

There you go again, getting geeky, Gordon chuckled as he went back into his embrace.

And don’t you forget it, she added, rubbing her brother’s back.  You don’t want me to release my inner geek.  You’d drown in coefficients and postulates.

What?

Exactly! she said, pushing her brother back enough to look in his eyes.  She beamed a bright smile at him and brushed back his long blonde hair.  Now how about you clean up the kitchen and get ready to go out?  We are in need of skates.  Gordon cheered as he ran off to clean the kitchen as Imogene looked at the roll of bills.  She opened up the roll and started making a quick count.  There were no singles in the roll and it was all in US Dollars which meant she had to get it changed into boliviano.

At least! she whispered as she reached 1,000 with over half of the roll left to count.

∞∞ ∞∞

The park was peaceful even if it was not quiet.  After a few moments of exposure, Imogene could tune out the noise of the younger kids playing.  Gordon had had his fill of skating and was now playing soccer with a couple of the neighborhood kids.  He was doing his level best to change their opinion of American athletes.

Imogene was engrossed in a letter she had received from her friend, Sharon, back home.

Genie,

You don’t know how much you’re missed, Genie.  There are some things home-schooling just can’t replace and his name is Cullen.  Aaaaarrrrrrggggghhh, God is he hot!  And not like that Gossip Girl wannabe hotness.  He is so not processed and really cute!  And this is really going to pop your kernels... he’s a surfer!  I managed to sneak this shot of him in the cafeteria (okay there are some REALLY big differences to home schooling – you don’t have to eat this junk anymore).  I hope it comes out clear.

And after ten years of doing the do, the old man has kicked me out... out of his hand-to-hand classes!  That’s right, Genie, yours truly is now going one-on-one with a real dojo-master and you know it’s been a minute since I’ve been man-handled.  I had to reset my brain quick, fast and in a hurry!  And yes, I’m still Rambo-ing it up whenever I can.  It just seems to be getting harder to make schedules meet as I get older.  God, am I outgrowing my old man???  Eeek!

So, is Gordo driving you completely mad?  Don’t let him.  We both know why he’s still acting up and you’re geek enough to head him off at the pass.  Hope to see you soon, the waves are calling your name and soccer practice sucks without you.  And here I thought you just stood around all day – GOALIE!!!  But you really did a lot for the team... like keeping us from losing!  Can you believe we are 3 and 5 already?!  Glad this is just the Autumn League.

Everyone is trying to walk around like they never knew you but you know me, I don’t play those kinds of games.  I cried when