Tag: My Fiction

More Than Meets the Eye – Part 3

photog Book Reviews, Literature, My Fiction, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , ,

The bank branch of the Farmer’s Credit Union and Loan nearest “Grid 19” was open for business on a Tuesday morning when a convoy of black SUV’s rolled up in front of the building and a phalanx of men in dark suits and sunglasses marched into the building and converged on the manager’s office.  A security guard intercepted them and was shown some very high-powered federal credentials that backed him right down.  The manager was handed paperwork that required him to begin providing access to all of his files, account data and any other damn thing the feds decided they wanted.

At approximately the same time a similar invasion was occurring at the headquarters of that bank.  And the man heading up that raiding party was from the Justice Department and he wasn’t interested in uncovering some scam that the IRS would be adjudicating.  He was interested in a conspiracy.  He demanded and received access to all transactional data for accounts that were deemed to be colluding in a price fixing conspiracy to control commodity prices throughout the United States.

The president of the bank was a mild-mannered fellow who was basically scared out of his wits and agreed to cooperate as thoroughly as humanly possible but he assured the official that he had no idea what they were talking about.  His bank wasn’t a high-powered financial behemoth.  They were strictly small potatoes.  And after a few weeks of digging through the bank’s accounts, transactions and files they found precisely nothing.  All of the payments were between the private individuals that bought and sold the farm products.  The bank had no control over prices or quantities.  There was no commonality between these transactions and the bank other than the money passed in and out of their accounts.

The Deputy Assistant Attorney General who was overseeing the investigation read the report he had received from his flunkies and shook his head.  This was not going to be well-received by his boss.  He now regretted having allowed himself to be convinced that his old Harvard Law School buddy Dex Hastings was onto something big with this price fixing conspiracy.  He called up Hastings, “Hey listen, Dexter, make sure the next time you have a tip on a conspiracy theory just call up Morning Joe instead.  You can’t have price fixing when the individual prices are up and down all over the map.   I can’t waste a million dollars auditing some penny-ante flyover-country bank looking for super-villains.  Some of us have to work for a living.”  After that he felt better.  But then he wondered if Hastings would still invite him to his summer party on Martha’s Vineyard.  After that he felt worse.

Dexter Hastings got off the call from Washington and he was incensed.  His friend in Washington had insulted him, his dashboard had that red flashing light which the CEO would slam him for and he still hadn’t gotten to fire Barry Carver for his insolence.  This was turning into a hell of a week.

Just then he received a text to report to the C-Suite.  Arriving, he saw that the executive board was assembled and Dexter nervously entered the board room and took a seat at the far end of the table.  Eventually the matter under discussion was resolved and the CEO, Jim Hatcher turned to him smiling and said, “Dex, we’ve been discussing your project.  It seems that wheat just isn’t going to recover soon enough for us to put your plan into action.  We’ve decided to reallocate the capital to another venture.  We’ve had an offer from Typhon Industries to buy up your entire portfolio in the Midwest.  We’re going to have to take a bit of a haircut to get him to take the whole lot but we’re just champing at the bit to pick up that Korean Biotech firm with the hair restoration patent.  I’ve heard it’ll be worth a trillion dollars over the life of the patent so how can we resist.  I’m sorry we won’t be able use you anymore but you know how these things go; here today gone tomorrow.  But we’ve got an excellent package set up for you, I hope.  So, buck up.  You’ll surely bounce back from this.  In fact, if you’d like I’ll put in a good word for you with Typhon Industries.  Who’s that fellow, Paul Connors?  I hear he’s a strange duck, but any port in a storm, as they say.  Well, that’s all Dexter.  See you around the Vineyard next summer, maybe.”

Paul Connors was sitting at his desk, looking at what liquidations he could expedite in order to make the land purchase from Bay Holdings.  He would be forced to sell an embarrassing amount of gold and platinum group metals on the international markets.  It would necessarily depress the prices but more problematically it would draw too much attention to commodity holdings that would be difficult to explain.  For these metals hadn’t been purchased they’d been mined.  And having to account for his mineral holdings would raise too many questions that he could not afford to answer.

Just then a deeply encrypted link appeared on his desktop.  Opening it he saw the face of his most valuable operative, Cutter.  The bearded face looked only slightly worried which Connors took as good news.  “What’s the word Cutter?  Will the gestapo be busting down my door this week?”  Cutter shook his chin, “No, not this week.  You lucked out.  That nitwit Hastings sicced his equally stupid friend in the Justice Department on the poor guys in the bank.  And since they know exactly nothing about our operation, that’s exactly what the feds learned.  We dodged another bullet.”

Connors smiled weakly, “How many more will we dodge?”  Cutter looked down, “Better assume that was your last break.  We’ve got to have a plan to deal with the day after tomorrow when some bright young man kicks over your Potemkin scenery and exposes your operation.”

Connor stopped smiling, “Do I declare war on the United States?”  Cutter looked at him with a glazed expression and said, “Yeah, more or less.”

More Than Meets the Eye – Part 2

photog Book Reviews, Literature, My Fiction, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , ,

Barrymore Carver descended like a storm on the research department.  Within an hour he had half of the department digging through the details of the financial records for all fifty of the farms he had failed to take.  By 8 pm he had a systematic database of all the financial and commercial records for each farm for the last ten years.  By midnight he had a pounding headache but he also had a eureka moment that might save his career.  And at 6am he collapsed across his desk with a look of relief on his face.

When Dexter Hastings reached his office at 10am Carver was in his office.  “So, Barry, I hope you have something worth my time.  I have a 10:30 with the HR director to browbeat her for hiring you and I know that should put her in the mood to craft your separation package properly.  What have you found?”

On the office display, Carver queued up a slide deck that he had assembled sometime after 3am.  In his best corporate jargon, he detailed the data he had unearthed.  He demonstrated that each of these farms managed to pay all their bills with an absolutely precise balance sheet.  Each of the accounts managed to match debits and credits down to the penny.  And this occurred regardless of how many separate sales the farmers collected or what random setbacks or emergencies befell them.  And in fact, these farmers didn’t seem to sell their products to wholesalers or even retailers.  They sold their products to private individuals.  And even the prices they charged were constantly changing without any rhyme or reason.

Dexter listened to this exposition for about ten minutes then shut off the display from his desktop and disgustedly said, “That’s enough Barry.  This gibberish is meaningless.  All you’ve shown is that these dirt-poor farmers are dirt-poor farmers barely scraping by.  It means you were defeated by the most pathetic individuals imaginable; penniless yokels.  You might as well go now before I really get mad.”

Carver did something very strange, he smiled condescendingly at his boss and said, “Sure Dexter I’ll go, but if you had a little more attention span you would have learned why you haven’t been able to increase the price of wheat in three years.”

Anger and confusion battled with curiosity on Dexter’s face, “What are you talking about?  What could these fifty farms possibly have to do with the price of a commodity like wheat?”  Carver walked over to Dexter’s desk, turned the display back on and started an animation that showed the fifty farms colored in red geographically on the GRID 19 map and then expanded out to the Midwest and showed hundreds of thousands of additional parcels in the same color, “How about half a million farms?”  Our fifty farms have all their financial accounts in the same bank.  This bank has an additional eight hundred thousand accounts.  Not all of them are farms.  Some are small businesses and some not so small businesses but the great majority of these accounts have the same kind of screwy bookkeeping.  Apparently, none of them make any money worth talking about and yet none of them go out of business.  And I’ve looked at the owners of these businesses.  All of their homes and businesses are financed through this same bank and on paper none of them seem to have enough money to be able to buy a toaster without a loan and yet based on a random selection of social media accounts they all seem to have large families and are active members in all the community groups around them and none of them look like they’re starving.  And when I built up the customer list for our fifty farms every customer is an account holder at that same bank.

This isn’t a coincidence.  This is a highly developed and carefully orchestrated hidden network.  This is a secret society.”

More Than Meets the Eye – Part 1

photog Book Reviews, Literature, My Fiction, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , ,

Dexter Hastings looked out of his office window of the corporate offices of Bay Holdings, the largest corporate real estate owner in the United States.  He smiled as he looked into the sun glinting off of the mostly empty skyscrapers of Manhattan Island.  Far below he could see the tent cities of homeless immigrants squatting on the once frenetic streets of this former bastion of American prosperity.  He shrugged his shoulders knowing that his escort and armored sedan could get him through any street provocation without the need for him to get involved.  He could reach a heliport or major highway to leave this troubled metropolis if it was necessary for another “demonstration” for the bourgeoise of who was in charge of this country.  At this thought he smiled again and went back to his enormous mahogany desk.

Looking at the quarterly acreage goal he nodded to see that all the quotas were met and the reductions in private ownership of wheat, corn and cattle farms had been reduced to the levels specified in the quarterly dashboard.  Everywhere he looked he saw green lights.  Except one.  Up in the northern quadrant of the Great Plains there was one red light on his board.  What the hell is that!  He clicked the red icon and a file; Grid 19, opened up.  It listed the farms that had been targeted for foreclosure by their local bank.  There were fifty farms all clustered within a radius of twenty miles that had looked like easy pickings last year.  All pressure points for their owners had been applied.  They even got the IRS to audit half of them to see if any fines could be levied against them.  And all the buyers they typically worked with had been instructed to lower the commodity prices they would pay.  Most if not all of those farms should already be in bankruptcy.  But not a single one had folded.  That was impossible.  Sure maybe a few might have found a private source of funds to allow them to limp along.  But all of them?

Dexter muttered to himself, “Something is fishy here.”  He rushed out of his office and barged into a conference room where some of his direct reports were having a meeting about the company team-building trip to Auckland.  He rapped the door behind him and said sternly, “I’m gonna need you in my office now, Barry.  Grid 19!”  And he rushed back to his office with a black look on his patrician face.

Barrymore Carver hustled into Hastings office with a worried expression and stood nervously in front of the huge desk.  He looked surprisingly like a frightened boy standing in the principal’s office.  He knew Grid 19 would be a big problem.  If there was a red light on the dashboard, whoever owned it had to have a story to tell Dexter that included a speedy resolution and a penalty prize to pay for the outrage.  Otherwise, the penalty was a walk of shame to HR and an armed escort out of the building.

“What the hell is going on Barry?  Oh for fifty?  Are you just tired of working here?  Have I brutalized you so thoroughly that you sabotage my dashboard like this?  Talk to me Barry.  Quick!

“Dexter, I worked on this Grid for months I put pressure on these people you wouldn’t believe.  I managed to cut off their power in the middle of a deep freeze.  I even had the government inspectors declare half of their beef cattle substandard.  I did everything but light their fields on fire.  But they made all their mortgage payments they cleared all their supply bills and paid all their taxes.  There was nothing I could do.”

Hastings shook his head, “And it never occurred to you that this wasn’t normal?  When have you ever seen fifty targets fail to succumb?  Never!  Now you are going down to the finance boys and you are going to find out where the money came from and if you don’t have an answer by tomorrow then just go find another job.”

Carver flushed, spun on his heel and took off for the elevators at high speed.  A smile broke out on Dexter’s face.  He loved pulling the wings off of flies.  It was what he was born to do.  He looked down at that red light blinking on his board and the smile left his face.  “Where the hell did that money come from?”

Gardening

photog Literature, My Fiction, OCF, photog's Corner , ,

One day the Master was working in the garden and the Servant approached, “Father, your son wants to see you.”  The Master put aside what he was doing and asked, “What did he say to you?”  The Servant frowned and hesitated, “He says he won’t leave.  He says it’s not fair and he won’t leave.  I think the woman put him up to this insolence.”  The Master smiled ruefully, “She is spirited, isn’t she.  Well, look, leave this to me.  They’ll only blame you and become even more incensed.  I’ll have to have that talk with him now.  Just leave them alone for the time being.”  The Servant looked relieved, “Thank you Father.  I never know how to deal with them when they disobey.  It’s very confusing.”

The Servant left and the Master sat in thought for a while and then walked through the Garden to find his troubled son.  The young man was standing on a high hill and looking out at the beautiful forest and the valley below with its orchards and streams and grazing herds.  The Master approached him and called to him, “Hello my son, what would you like to tell me?”

The young man upon seeing the Master looked troubled and his shoulders slumped, “Father why must we leave our home.  This place is beautiful and full of all the good things that make our lives happy.  Why would you make us leave?”  The woman is afraid.  She thinks the Servant has told stories about her that made you angry at her.  He is always suspicious of her.”

The Master patted his son on the shoulder and laughed, “They don’t understand each other.  He doesn’t have any point of reference to decipher what she means.  And she can’t figure him out at all.  But all that’s beside the point.  You haven’t done anything wrong.  You two are not being punished.  And this is not your home.  It’s like the nest that a baby bird hatches into.  It is the place where you grew and developed.  But now you must leave the nest and face the world on your own.”

The young man looked angry, “But I’m not a bird.  I’m your son.  Why can’t I stay with you?  Don’t I share in your possessions?  The servant said we will be sent into the wilderness where wild animals and wild men are all around.  Why would you leave me at the mercy of the cruel places outside this garden?”

The Master looked sad, “The reason you can’t stay with me is because you are not like me.  Only the smallest spark of your being possesses the property I possess as my nature.  You will die.  You and the woman will grow old and die.  You must have children and raise them as I raised you.  You must learn how to survive in the world so that they can survive after you’re gone.  And that chain from parent to child must go on until time ends.  And when this world is finally at an end you will be like me.  And you will be able to remake the world in your own image and then you will find me again.  And your work will be done and we can enjoy what you’ve built.  In the meantime, I’ll leave the Servant within this world to keep it from falling apart.  But his strength is not as mine and eventually you will have to learn to control all the forces of the world; the stars and the voids and the waters of the deep.”

The young man was stricken, “But, I will die.  I will never see you again!”  The Master smiled, “Do not believe that.  There is a spark in you that can never die.  You were made to conquer death and you shall.  But now you must face death.  There is no other way.

But there is much you need to know.  The Servant will answer as many of your questions as you can think of in the next month.  And you and the woman will dine with me for the month you have left here.  And I will tell you some things you must know.  And some of them will be about her.  She will be a great help to you but remember that her nature is different from yours.  Learn what that means and take that into account.  And most importantly try to remember what a father and son are to each other for when you have children.  This will be your most important role.”

The young man was dazed from the impact of everything he had heard, “Dad, I’m scared.”  The Master hugged him to his chest and said, “Of course you are, so was I when I was your age.  But you’re lucky you didn’t have your grandfather to deal with.  He was much tougher than I am.”

Aspects of World Building – 2

photog Book Reviews, My Fiction, OCF, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , , ,

This installment is a fake.  What I want to talk about isn’t really part of world-building but rather different aspects of writing characters.  But since I’m too lazy to start another series of posts for non-world-building writing considerations I’ll put them here.  And in fact, I might even do that with other posts on other aspects of writing because I am inherently messy and undisciplined.

So, aspects of characterization in science fiction!

Over the years I have noticed that characters in science fiction have become more detailed.  The earlier writers in the 1930s and 1940s often produced stories that were more about some aspect of science driving a plot that didn’t require well rounded human characters.  Even the protagonist might be something of a cardboard cutout.  Sometimes this was intentional because the author didn’t care about the characters.  They were merely a means to an end.  They just had to move the plot along to the payoff.

And sometimes this flatness was more a consequence of the extremely limited abilities of the authors to portray normal human speech and actions.  They weren’t good writers.

But the opposite problem is now the case.  There are “science fiction” authors who write “literary” stories that are extremely character driven and psychologically grounded and lavish enormous attention to the interactions of these characters but which do not produce any interesting plot.  So, if your story takes place in a dystopic or utopic future but all your characters do is discuss their romantic problems, I have a hard time thinking of that as science fiction.

It seems to me that a happy medium is what’s needed.  But that is easier said than done.

In my latest story-writing, “The Sniper,” most of the text is taken up with the plot.  There is dialog and interaction and character development but I wouldn’t say it is sufficient.  There are several relationships between the characters that need further development.  But the tricky part is fitting the required dialog into the storyline.  It’s almost as if I’ll need to have two of the characters pinned down together during a battle for them to have the time to say what’s needed.  I remember in Heinlein’s “Beyond This Horizon” there was some such scene that was pivotal for the exposition of the two major characters’ points of view and the resolution of the plot.  The hard part is making it seem spontaneous and not contrived.  Apparently, there is some art to this writing thing.

It’s funny.  Over the years I have developed a taste for some literary fiction.  Specifically, I enjoy well-written short stories.  What I have been toying with is the idea of embedding one or more literary scenes in an otherwise non-literary science fiction story.  There could be a minor scene going on and two characters, possibly neither one of them very important to the plot become involved in a discussion or an activity that has only incidental importance to the plot but which is inherently meaningful and aesthetically interesting.  Of course, that presupposes that I can come up with something that displays those qualities.

With respect to characterization, I intend to go back into my sniper novel and add more dialog to some of the secondary plot lines.  I need to work on my female characters.  I may even try to get Camera Girl’s advice on these.  She is, after all, a girl, so she may have valuable recommendations.  But I fear she may make her characters too ruthless.  Like all barbarians she is inherently merciless

And I still have to decide what I will do with my AI character.  If her creator dies, I’m not sure whether I want her to survive or not.  I had decided that she would suicide.  But I’m growing attached to her.  And I see her value in future stories.  Perhaps death of a parent can be a maturing experience.  She is rather childlike.

In conclusion, the correct amount of characterization in a story is an indication of the balanced writer.  Not so much that the plot bogs down nor so little that you don’t care what happens to the characters.

“All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances.”

Aspects of World Building – 1

photog Book Reviews, My Fiction, OCF, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , , ,

As is natural for a man of my era, Heinlein is the exemplar when it comes to science fiction craftsmanship.  But whereas in his youth he was something of a progressive I am a conservative.  So, whereas his earliest “what if?” scenario for his future history was the United States becoming an unlikely Christian theocracy, I’m confronted with the reality of a United States that’s already halfway to becoming a woke oligarchic police state.  Therefore, I’ll use that as the first component of my world building.  Of course, it’s hardly original or surprising.  Maybe it’s even lazy or boring.  But I think it fits.  Besides it can be a one off that’s quickly cured by a revolution that leaves a more interesting and fertile chaos in its wake.

And just as easy to add to the pot is the looming energy drought that is already a part of the daily conversation.  Global warming, green energy, fear of nuclear power; all of these conspire to make the future a bleak prospect for the everyday people trying to eek out a living and raise their families.  Therefore, technology around new energy sources and technologies is a no-brainer.

Now, all that’s good stuff but we need some cooler technology than geothermal turbines.  So, we’ll add in cold fusion (or at least warmish fusion) based on the alleged ability of some heavy metals (platinum group, tantalum, etc.) to produce neutrons under the right conditions.

And we’re going to need a Mars mission I’d say.  Why?  Why not?

What about global unrest?  I guess so.  I’m not all that interested in Asia or Africa, or Europe for that matter, anymore.  I guess I should think about their status to make the story convincing but I’ll leave that alone for the beginning.

What other technology?  Well, biological and genetic should be in the mix.  Maybe the ancient DNA information turns up some anomalies that point to a more complicated hominid prehistory that can be leveraged for some genetic engineering stories.  Maybe some research produces a useful understanding of how other aspects of the cellular apparatus beside the DNA mediate evolution.  Maybe some kind of evolutionary acceleration can be controlled using biochemical stimuli that are not currently recognized.  Maybe this science is unlocked by a genius who wants to change humans.  What kinds of change?  Obviously, intelligence but how about gills to breathe underwater?  Look at all those millions of square miles of ocean.  Maybe make humans photosynthetic.

Artificial intelligence is a for-sure part of the universe.  We need AI’s that in many ways appear to be conscious but whether they actually are I don’t currently know.  I’ll have to see what works.

Extraterrestrials?  I really don’t know yet.  Maybe it’s too early for that.  After all I don’t currently have a star drive.  Maybe I’ll start by finding out if there’s simple life somewhere in the solar system.  Could it be bio-pollution from Earth.  Could algae and tardigrades have drifted from Earth to Mars.  Sure, why not?  And could they have developed some interesting new tricks trying to survive on a freezing, almost airless desert?  Of course!

I used to toy with the idea that the gas giant planets (Jupiter and Saturn) might have a stable layer somewhere in between their hot cores and cryogenic surfaces where creatures swim and fight and live and die.  Maybe that would be fun to play with or maybe an ocean inside of one of the Jovian moons would be better.

Okay, I think that’s enough to start with.

How Do You Concoct a Science Fiction Universe with Plenty of Elbow Room?

photog Book Reviews, My Fiction, photog's Corner, Reviews, Science Fiction / Fantasy, SF&F Book Reviews , , ,

Different science fiction writers have produced every kind of world imaginable and for many different reasons.  A very large chunk of writers did this because they wanted a paycheck and they were told that science fiction was the golden way.  And depending on how talented they were, the stories they wrote were more or less interesting, memorable and coherent.

The earliest of these stories were cobbled together based on an author’s understanding of other genre literature.  So, if the writer wrote cowboy stories previously, then we got Showdown at the Betelgeuse Corral or some such thing.  And in the grand scheme of things that’s not really the worst outcome.  I mean, if our western author is a good story teller then the Showdown may be a very interesting space cowboy story.  And who doesn’t like space cowboys?

But if science fiction should include some world-building that actually has something to do with science then an author should go the next stage and make some kind of hand-waving exercise to justify the technology being used.  You know, warp drive fueled by matter/anti-matter mediated by di-lithium crystals that provide the warpity-warpity part (somehow).  Okay sure.

Now you have the means for a story but why is it?  Who is doing what to whom?  And here is where the cowboy story might be just what you want.  Or maybe it’s the Roman Empire writ large or space Arabia with monstrous spice sandworms or the American Revolution on Luna or Vietnam in space or, or, or.  Whatever gives you a good idea for a story with humans or humans and aliens or just aliens.

And if you want the story to be really worthwhile, well, learn enough about humans to write them somewhat convincingly.  Of course, this is going above and beyond.  There were (and probably are) plenty of writers who apparently have never spoken to or even bumped into living humans.  So, they’re forced to base their characterizations on themselves and thereby end up with some truly weird conversations and interactions.

Now, all of these things are on my to-do list for my foray into sf but I want one more ingredient.  I desire my world building to be the basis for more than one story or even one series.  I’m ambitious.  I think of Heinlein building his “Future History” timeline with its torch ships, terra-forming, social crises and advances in medicine and longevity and the first halting steps to the stars.  Now that’s the way to do it.  Build up a framework that will allow for a whole suite of related but not interlocking stories.  Give yourself some guidelines and parameters but leave plenty of elbow room for different events, characters, locales, times and moods.  I want to make sure I don’t paint myself into any corners so I need some kind of overall outline that I’ve thought through.  That way I’ll be satisfied with whatever restrictions are involved.  For instance, maybe in this universe there isn’t any working star drive and maybe there never will be.  Or maybe the sun is dying and my Earth is working out a crash program to send colonists in suspended animation to every solar system that’s been telescopically identified in the hope that at least some of them will survive.  Or maybe a universe where the aliens found us and have put us in a remedial program to become less stupid and we have an enormous inferiority complex that is causing terminal ennui.  Whatever the setup is I’ll have mentally signed off on it.

So that’s what I’m working on (in a sort of retroactive way).  I want to build a world that my sniper story can be nested into.  I like the idea of our real world being reflected in a story with a way of resolving the problems we have run up against.  But I think I have to put a lot more potential in the story beyond the political conflict.  So, I’m trying to look at the big picture and add as many gee-whiz angles to make it more fun.  I think I may add cold fusion to the mix.  I’ve always liked the idea of some research into some of the heavier metals providing some unhoped-for breakthroughs in advanced physics.  Maybe not as drastic as the E. E. Smith trick that gives his Skylark characters a star drive but definitely limitless and elegant power production.  It’s definitely cheating but I’m thinking about it.

But all this big picture stuff is hurting my head so it’s a tough slog.  But I think it’s the right order of operation.

The Safety Dance – Part 4

photog My Fiction, photog's Corner ,

The Safety Dance – Part 3

And once again Jim felt like the mark in a three-card Monty game.  He didn’t put his hand on his wallet but he almost did.  Instead, he shook the hand that Connors proffered and allowed himself to be escorted to a chair at a small table to the side of the huge desk.  The former chauffer took another chair next to him and put on a sheepish grin, “I guess you’re starting to wonder whether the lunatics are running the asylum but I assure you there is a reason for all this.

Jim vented a particularly heavy sigh and said, “Mr. Connors, I think I’m too confused at this point to know what to say.  I think I’d like to head home at this point.  I’m just a regular guy who takes the commuter train back and forth to work and doesn’t expect to have the CEO spying on him on the drive from the airport.  Maybe we should call it a day.”

“I can’t blame you for feeling that way.  But before I send you home, let me try to explain and if what you hear interests you, we can continue.”  Jim nodded his head.  Connors continued, “You know all this is your own fault.  When you called your friend Dave, it triggered all this.  And it wasn’t the fact that he wanted you to interview for the Missouri job that caught our attention.  It was how Dave described you.  As it turns out Dave isn’t your biggest fan.  He kind of thinks you’re an idealist about politics and how the world works, although idealist isn’t the word he uses.  As you probably know Dave is not at all idealistic or even particularly ethical in how he approaches work or even life in general.  Dave works at that office because he works quite well with other people like himself.  And unfortunately, that is valuable more often than we wish it were.  So, he’s a kind of negative standard.  If he says someone is a loser, we assume he means that person is honest.  So that’s why we interviewed you in New York and that’s why you’re here.  Now this job is a technical one and so I needed you to talk to my team.  They think you’d be a good addition to the group.  Your background and your skills are a good match.  So that’s great.

But our organization is extremely unusual in a number of ways.  For instance, the compensation package is completely different from any other company you’ve ever heard of.  And the secrecy agreement is much more stringent than anything this side of the Sicilian Mafia.  So, as you can imagine we take the candidate selection process to extreme lengths.  For instance, we’ve done a background check on you that would make the CIA jealous.  We have access to intelligence sources that are pretty much comprehensive.”

At this point Jim spoke up, “Are you guys working for the US government or some other country?”  Connors shook his head, “Just the opposite.  We do most of all this to avoid the interference of the federal government.  And if Dave’s negative description of you got you that interview in New York, it was your answer to Milo that got you to Wyoming.  Do you remember what he asked you and what you answered?  He asked, “What’s the biggest threat to your family’s long-term well-being?” and you said, “Our own government.”  Well, that was the secret password.  That’s the golden ticket.  This company exists in the form it has because I believe that same thing you said.  Our government is the greatest threat to the future of its citizens that exists on this planet.  More generally it’s the greatest threat to all of humanity because it is so powerful that there is no longer any brake on its power and its mission is no longer tied in a meaningful way to our welfare.”

Connors had now managed to direct Jim’s thoughts away from his own predicament and toward the larger reality of the modern world, something that Jim spent a considerable time thinking about before he became unemployed.  Jim asked, “Well, what could you hope to accomplish against a coordinated and all-pervasive system of control like the feds?”

Connors smiled.  “You’d be surprised.  Or maybe you wouldn’t be.  But the way we do it is to build our own society right out in plain sight.  We’ve formed a tight-knit community of like-minded individuals and their families and we go about our lives looking for all the world like everybody else but like the iceberg the great majority of our organization is hidden from view and provides the opportunity for us to thrive away from the government’s habits of interference.”

Despite his earlier alarm at Connor’s tactics, Jim found himself intrigued by this crazy story of a secret organization hiding from the government in plain sight.  “But surely the IRS and several other federal agencies would detect all this additional commercial activity and come crashing down on you.  Won’t all the excess consumption by your employees trigger alarm bells in those who spend their lives looking for people avoiding taxes?”

Connors countered, “It would if there were excess consumption to detect.  But what my set-up entails is internal capture of all or almost all of the commercial and industrial needs of our communities.  Did you notice the automobile that we drove here in?  That doesn’t come from Detroit or Japan or Korea.  We make them ourselves.  And we also make the gasoline it runs on, at least when we fill it up in town.”

Jim jumped on this statement, “But not having any commerce is just as bad as having too much.  I’m sure the government monitors the apparent economic activity in an area and would notice if a large population like a whole town or several towns didn’t seem to buy or sell anything.”  Connors smiled, “Very true and that is why we very carefully balance our apparent commerce to expectations.  In fact, we have all this down to a science.  But that’s hardly all we do to maintain this masquerade.  I am one of the largest government contractors outside of the defense procurement sector.  My enterprises support a very large lobbying effort in DC and I keep all the most important congressional leaders well-greased.  In addition, I employ another retinue of former government regulators on staff to make sure that we are well regarded by the deep state.  It’s people like these that your friend Dave involves himself with.  The levers of power are lined up in the correct order.  I leave nothing to chance.”

Jim considered these details carefully.  And then said, “But to what end?  Where can this all go?”  Connors replied, “I’m building something that should one day be strong enough to come out in the open and tell our masters, “No more!  We’re free and we’ll stay that way and we’re too strong for you to hold us down.”  That’s the end game.  But in the meantime, we’re a family.  Every family in our organization has the resources and opportunity to thrive and live a great life.  Everyone has the creature comforts of modern life and in addition education is addressed comprehensively and the level of expertise in the faculty rivals what you could expect at MIT or Cal Tech.  Our humanities curriculum isn’t as developed as the technical side but it’s adequate.  And best of all the government is kept at bay.  We live our lives without the interference of Washington bureaucrats telling us what we can and can’t do; what we can and can’t think.”

Then Connors stopped talking and watched Locke.  He was silent for several minutes, looking like he wanted to say something.  “What if I say no?  I know a lot of stuff that you don’t want known.  What would happen?”  Connors looked at him seriously and said, “Do you mean would we kill you or something?  We’re not evil men.  You wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think you were basically a decent man.  If you say no, we send you home and that’s the end of it.  I’ll be very disappointed but we’ll find someone else to take that spot.  If someone went out of his way to make trouble for us with the government, I couldn’t say how it would end up.  We have built up some protective arrangements into our government connections but they are unpleasant and dangerous.  We work with some questionable people in the intelligence agencies and if we told them that you were a security risk, bad things might happen but it wouldn’t be something we would initiate.  Are you telling me you are thinking of informing on us?”

Jim answered quietly, “No I’m just trying to understand how you can allow a safety risk such as myself to threaten your whole operation.”  Connors said, “We’re good people and we’re smart.  We can tell the difference between the trustworthy and the dishonest.  We recognize good people.  When we find them, we treat them fairly and depend on them to treat us the same.  It works.  Are you interested?”

Jim smiled, “You don’t pay your employees money.  So basically, it’s as if I had a sign across my chest that said “WILL ENGINEER FOR FOOD!”  Is there a chance I can get an Amazon gift card for Christmas?”  Connors scowled and said “Why is it always the engineers that think they have a sense of humor?”  Jim laughed, “Because we see the cosmic irony of trying to get anything done by the boss’s schedule.  Will you be driving me home to the airport?  I’ve got to get home and start uprooting my family.”  Now it was Connors’ turn to laugh, “I’ve got more important things to do than that.  Luckily for you we’ve got an airfield on the property.  I just drove you from Bozeman to get a good read on you.  Can never be too sure of the new guys you know.

The Safety Dance – Part 3

photog My Fiction, photog's Corner ,

The Safety Dance – Part 2

Faber tapped his left index finger on the table top a couple of times and nodded his head once.  “Mr. Locke, I think we have a reason to continue our discussions further.  I would like you to meet with one of the leaders of our firm.  But he never travels to the Northeast.  At your convenience I’d like to set up a meeting with him at our corporate headquarters in Wyoming.”

Jim thought about this for a few moments.  All of this was so irregular that he was starting to feel like he was being set up for something illegal.  He began thinking of how he could back away from this without appearing to be afraid which, in point of fact, he was.  “Mr. Faber, I’ve just lost my job and I haven’t got the resources right now for airplane trips and mysterious job opportunities.  I’ve got to find a job right away.”

Milo smiled.  “Jim, I realize that this has been a very confusing “job interview.”  But we’re used to how unorthodox our organization appears from the outside so I’m also prepared to provide you with an incentive to entice you to give us a listen.  Here is ten thousand dollars in cash to give you the flexibility to consider talking to us.  All you’re committed to is meeting with us.  After you hear our story, you can walk away and continue your job search with enough money to get you through the next month.”

Jim looked at the bankroll with its crisp one-hundred-dollar bills strapped together.  He was beginning to think he had fallen asleep on the commuter train and would soon be awakened by the conductor and told to move along.  But after a minute or so he picked up the bundle and examined it.  He flipped through the bills and determined that they were all the same denomination.  They looked and felt real.

“Do you guys sell fentanyl?”  And that finally, forced Faber to smile.  “Mr. Locke, here’s my card.  Go home and think about all this.  Talk to your wife and see what she thinks.  If you don’t want to go forward just call me up and arrange to return the money.  Keep a thousand for your trouble.  That’s fair, isn’t it?  All I’m asking is for you to meet with my bosses and find out if we’ve got an opportunity that makes sense for you.  I think you can see we’re serious in our intentions.  Why not hear us out?”

Jim put the bankroll in the breast pocket of his jacket and told Faber he would call him the next day with his answer.  Then he got up from the table walked out of the restaurant and wandered aimlessly around midtown Manhattan for an hour before heading back to Penn Station to go home.  Every few minutes as he pondered what had happened, he found himself saying out loud, “Judy is not gonna like this.”

A week later Jim Locke found himself on a jet headed to Boseman MT.  Once there he was met by a large odd-looking SUV-like truck driven by a non-descript man in sunglasses and a polo shirt.  Not being directed where to sit he took the front passenger seat and prepared for the long ride to the corporate headquarters in Wyoming.  Having never been to the Mountain West Jim was impressed by the view of mountains, prairie and especially by some cattle crossing the road.  So, he engaged the driver whose name was Paul in some discussion about the countryside.  “Yeah, after a while you forget that it’s pretty amazing scenery hereabouts.  You just get used to the view and it just becomes the background to your life.  But every once in a while, you realize just how beautiful it is.”

“Have you lived in this area long?”  “Oh, ever since I came home from Iraq.  So quite a while.”  “Do you work for the company that I’m visiting?”  “Yeah, I’ve been with them for a good long while.”  “What are they like?”  “Well, I hear the guy in charge is a little screwy, but all the people I deal with are pretty decent types.”

After this there was silence for about a half hour.  Then Paul asked Jim, “So what do you do?”  “Well, by training I’m an engineer but what I do mostly is run projects for assembling complicated and expensive machines.  I build a team and then they build the machine.  Then I take the credit (or blame) for the result.”  “Sounds like a very interesting job.”  “Well, that depends on a lot of particulars.”  “Like what?”  “Well, can you find and pay for the right talent for all the disciplines?  Is the budget honest or did they buy the job?  Is the client smart or stupid?”  “You mean if the client is too smart the project will lose money?”  “No.  If the client is too stupid, he won’t believe you when you show him realistic constraints.  How many times have I been confronted with a client who demanded dry water?”  “Oh, I think I see your point.”

After another lull in the conversation Paul asked, “So where are you from?”  “Well, originally I’m from Brooklyn but I live on Long Island now.”  “Would you really move to a place like this?  We don’t have a lot of restaurants and clubs here.  Wouldn’t you be bored?”  “I don’t know.  We spend most of our free time at kids’ soccer games and movies with yellow animated characters.  Do you have those things around here?”  “Yeah, I guess so.  I don’t have any kids so I’m just going by what I’ve seen but yeah, folks around here have lots of kids’ sports teams and sure there are movie theaters though a few of them have gone broke.”

Afterwards, Jim excused himself saying he needed to get in a nap before they arrived.  He woke up as Paul shook him to announce they had arrived at the headquarters.  It was an old storefront converted into an office building.  At the receptionist’s desk he was asked to wait until his hosts came to get him.  When they arrived, there were six men, ages thirty to fifty something.  They brought him into a room filled with computer displays and started peppering him with questions about his previous work and asking him hypothetical questions about how he would approach some projects that seemed to require technologies that as far as he knew did not exist.  He found himself getting excited about the prospect of incorporating these impossible innovations into some of his best designs for industrial equipment.

And his enthusiasm sparked a synergistic energy from his hosts.  A couple of hours in they broke for a meal but it was plain to see that Jim fit in well with these men.  At the lunch, which consisted of ham or turkey sandwiches and decent coffee, Jim tried to pick the minds of his hosts about the company.  Their answers were a mixture of enthusiastic boosterism and a complete lack of details.  They insisted that the company would be a fantastic fit for Jim but they assured him that the details about the contract he would sign had to wait until he met the boss, Mr. Connors.  Apparently, in some senses this was a one-man band.  After they finished lunch, they went back to finish up discussions of some preliminary aspects of the project he would hopefully become involved in.  A half hour in a young man in a suit with a clip board walked in and announced that it was time for the interview with Mr. Connors.  Jim shook hands with the men he had so easily bonded with and ruefully headed off to what was for him, the least favorite aspect of any interview, meeting the head honcho.

He was led down a few corridors to an area of the building that looked more like a corporate office than the rest of the building with polished hardwood paneling and gleaming metal trim.  The kid with the clip board swiped his keycard through the electronic door mechanism and after the chime announced its acceptance Jim was told to let himself in.  Walking through the imposingly tall and broad doors he walked toward the large desk and halfway there he recognized the man behind the desk by his sunglasses and polo shirt.  It was his chauffer, Paul.  Paul saw him enter and jumped up to meet him on his way to the desk and said, “Hey Jim, good to see you again.  I’m Paul Connors.”

The Safety Dance – Part 2

photog My Fiction, photog's Corner ,

The Safety Dance – Part 1

Jim Locke was on the 10:30 commuter train headed into Manhattan.  Of course, at that hour it was a local and stopping at every empty platform on the line.  Which suited Jim to a tee.  He was trying to make up his mind whether he should apologize for even setting up this meeting or hear them out.  Last night when he broke the bad news to Judy, she had looked truly scared.  And when he told her about the possible job offer in Missouri she had cried.  It was all happening too fast for her.  Too many things changing at once.  Of course, nothing had been mentioned to the kids but somehow, they seemed nervous, as if they sensed something was wrong.  Or was it his imagination?

By the time they rolled into Penn Station he had made up his mind.  He would listen to the spiel and then “decide” that the job wasn’t for him.  Maybe if he could impress the hiring manager that he was a strong candidate they might remember him for another opening closer to home.  Entering the office building lobby, he found the elevator bank for his floor and headed up to the fortieth floor.

When he got off, he was in a reception area and he announced himself and asked for Dave.  Five minutes later he saw his two hosts walking toward him.  “Jim, how the hell are you?  You look like you haven’t aged a day.  In fact, I think that’s the same suit you were wearing the last time I saw you five years ago.  This is Milo Faber.  He’s the hiring manager for that job I mentioned.  Milo, this is Jim Locke, the guy I told you about who called me out of nowhere yesterday.”  Jim and Milo shook hands and waited for Dave to subside before exchanging a few words of greeting.  “Well, Mr. Locke why don’t we head out for lunch.  I know Dave only has an hour before a meeting but I have a good long opening in my schedule and I’d like to talk with you a good bit about the position I’m looking to fill.  If you’re hungry there’s a very good new restaurant that’s opened up on Park Avenue that everyone says is pretty great.”  Jim was actually pretty hungry because he had missed breakfast while trying to calm his wife’s nerves that morning.  All he’d had was coffee.

During lunch Dave did most of the talking, filling up the silence with somewhat embarrassing stories from his time working with Jim.  In fact, Jim was beginning to think that Dave was somehow intent on sabotaging his chances with Milo.  But there was nothing he could do to end the babbling short of physical violence so he concentrated on the very good plate of food in front of him and chalked up the whole interview as a mistake.  Eventually the lunch hour expired and Dave excused himself to head off to his meeting and told Jim he’d talk to him later and then left.

Milo waited a few minutes while they finished their entrees, then asked if Jim wanted dessert or coffee.  “Milo I’m stuffed but I’ll take a coffee.  He signaled the waiter and gave him their orders and then looked at Jim carefully and said, “Were you and Dave close friends?”  The question caught Jim off balance but he decided for some reason to answer it candidly.  “No, we were casually friendly but Dave and I have somewhat different personalities.  I was somewhat surprised when he recommended me for this interview.”

Milo continued to peer into Jim’s face and said, “So were we.  Dave’s responsibilities with the company are decidedly unrelated to the kind of work involved in the position we have in Missouri.  I’m pretty sure he doesn’t understand the scope of work involved.  And that’s mostly because he isn’t the right fit for that kind of work.  So, if your temperament aligns with Dave’s, the job we’re discussing probably wouldn’t be for you either.”

Now Jim was becoming both confused and intrigued.  This was the strangest interview he’d ever sat for.  What was next?  A scavenger hunt?

“Well Milo, I haven’t a clue as to what kind of job we’re discussing but you’ve got my attention anyway.  What would you like to know?”

During the interval, their coffees had arrived.  Milo took a sip from his coffee and sat back and shifted his gaze back at his guest and asked, “What do you want out of life?  What is most important to you?”

“Alright,” said Jim, “I’ll play along.  First of all, I’ll tell you that “the good of the company” is not my highest priority.  So, if that’s what you want to hear then it’s game over.  My highest priority is keeping my little family in groceries and school tuitions.  My wife and kids are the reason I work.  So, moving them down to Springfield Missouri would require it to be the best environment I can afford to give them which seems kind of unlikely to me.

Faber nodded slightly and displayed the faintest hint of a smile.  “Do you have family connections that would preclude relocating permanently away from the Northeast?”  Jim shook his head.  “No, neither my wife nor I have any close family left.  Our ties to New York are at this point just our personal history.  We’ve been thinking of moving out of the metropolitan area for some time but I haven’t found the right job and location to make it worthwhile yet.”

Faber pushed his coffee away and leaned slightly across the table toward Jim and speaking in a low voice asked, “What do you think is the biggest threat to you family’s long-term well-being?”  Locke tilted his head to one side, opened his mouth slightly and blinked, “Mr. Faber you ask the strangest questions I’ve ever heard from an interviewer.  You sure you’re not recruiting for the CIA?”

Milo looked down at the table and said, “Of that I’m very sure.  But it’s an interesting analogy.  Let’s say secrecy is involved.  But humor me.  What’s the biggest threat to your family’s long-term well-being?”  Jim thought about it for a few seconds and said, “Our own government.”