Out of Touch (40 page)

Everyone was always looking at her. Apparently her mind wasn’t quiet for one second, and the more they looked, the more she thought about things she didn’t want to share. Her mind was swarming with more verbal thoughts than it ever had before.

Someone knocked on the door. Her mind screamed,
“Please go away!”
She was momentarily glad her first reaction had included a please. Then she looked at the poor chair under the door handle and wondered why a teek would bother. She imagined someone trying to come in, to stare at her, to comfort her, just to get their own stuff, and she decided she’d hold the door by telekinetic force if she had to. Then she imagined a telekinetic battle to open the door. Then she imagined some poor teep having to listen to her childish defensiveness. Then she laughed right through her tears, but no one tried to open the door.

After a while she left the bedroom. She kept her head down as she followed the hallway toward the main room. There she saw a large table being set for dinner. There was no way she was going to sit in a room with all those people staring at her again. She couldn’t imagine they’d want her there either. Silently, she walked out the front door and kept walking until she could see only ocean.

The land fell off steeply. Sarah didn’t want to go down to the rocky beach alone. She found a large rock to sit on and studied the water. It was surprisingly interesting to watch the little waves unroll. Each broke in a different place. Each covered a different section of shore. At the same time, a cold wind blew her hair. She could feel it clumping into knots but couldn’t bring herself to care.

After a while she heard music from the house, a thin reedy sound, perhaps a recorder or tin whistle. She saw a few people go in from outside. It must be a call to dinner. Her stomach tightened at the thought of food, but the rest of her body ignored it. She’d wait until the others were done, then find something for herself in the kitchen.

It was mostly dark before Sarah heard someone walking behind her. She thought it was the teenager who had acknowledged shaping the ceiling. He was not trying to walk quietly, and he was not staring at her. If she’d understood correctly, he probably wasn’t telepathic.

He carried a can of soda and a plate with one brown sausage and several piles of vegetables. When he reached Sarah, he held them forward without making eye contact. She took them and tried to nod her thanks.

He patted a rock beside her, asking if he should sit there?

She shrugged, and he sat.

He stared pointedly out at the ocean, and Sarah decided she could go ahead and eat. The plate was warm on her knees, and a fork was braced under the cauliflower.

As she ate, a blob of water detached itself from the surf and floated to just in front of them. It was about the size of an orange. Sarah wondered if it was safe to do such things out in the open. How good were spy satellites anyway? The ball of water became a dome, then sprouted four feet, a head, and a tail. It was a turtle, a turtle sculpted out of seawater.

Sarah tried to let her amazement show on her face. She mouthed the word, “Wow!” and the teek sort of smirked and looked to the side, like maybe mouthing words wasn’t quite allowed.

Sarah wanted to see if she could shape water. But not knowing how to ask for a turn, she scooped up her own blob and brought it up next to the turtle. She managed to shape it into a pancake and then into a long cylinder, but when she tried to form a turtle, the water went all wobbly and Sarah let it splash down by their feet.

The boy made his turtle into a ball then threw it out toward the sea. It shattered into drops of silver before it landed.

June 30, 2025 – Bangkok, Thailand

Reggie walked along the wooden dock, absent-mindedly stepping on each buckled board and knothole. The sun slammed off steel ships, all modern, international, unromantic. He tried to imagine himself a captain or a pirate, guiding the wheel on a deck of polished planks, rising on the breakers as he sailed out to sea. Right now he felt more like the maiden left waving from the shore.

The dock stank of grease and fish. Reggie wandered back toward the warehouse on shore to find his belongings and send them away again. First he had to find someone who spoke English. For all that Thailand had rushed into the modern economy, this area didn’t seem to bother with building numbers, and no one around him was speaking a language he knew. Emma had offered to come along and translate, but Reggie had shooed her away. Since Sarah left, followed by Aliana a couple days later, the teenager kept trying to help him, as if he was an abandoned pet.

“Do you know where I can pick up this container shipment?” Reggie waved his claim slip at a local holding a clipboard.

The stout man wiped his left hand on his pants and took Reggie’s claim slip. He held the yellow paper up close to his eyes and squinted at it. Then he gestured to his left and muttered something that might have included the word “farang.”

So Reggie went left and eventually showed his paper to another Thai man who led him a bit farther to an office where a white man with a buzz cut sat behind a cluttered desk.

“You here to pick up?” the man asked in an easy mid-western American accent.

“Not quite,” said Reggie. “I’d like to send everything on to a new address.” He produced a card with the mailing information for PAD island deliveries. From this direction, PAD routed through Samoa.

“Where the heck is that?” the man asked.

“Between Australia and Hawaii.”

             
“All just got here from California.”

“Plans change.”

Reggie stood quietly while the other expat entered the new shipping destination into his computer.

“You wanna check the goods now, for insurance reasons?”

“Can I just extend the insurance?”

“Nope. Have to check now and buy new insurance.”

Fifteen minutes later, Reggie was checking though the belongings he’d packed back in April. It was strangely disorienting to rifle through everything after living so simply. Like an old sea pirate in his treasure trove he appraised each item before sending it back to disuse.

He almost didn’t bother opening Sarah’s boxes. He couldn’t remember anything breakable in them, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember anything else.

Where was Sarah now? And why hadn’t she called? He’d given her a PAD before she left, as a parting gift. She’d held it awkwardly, and not just because it was larger than most cell phones. Why hadn’t he realized before that Sarah never used a phone or computer anymore? What was she avoiding in the outside world? Old friends? The news? Would she know they’d successfully taken over PAD? Most of the coverage was in business papers that Sarah never read, but some of the nightly news shows had mentioned the sale, especially the plan to reorganize PAD as a non-profit.

Phil was taking care of that, though he called Reggie three or four times a day. Phil was all eagerness and energy for the new enterprise. Reggie wanted to celebrate, but the moment never seemed right.

He came to the box with Sarah’s Indian fabrics. Would she still care about these? Would they mean more to her than the eight million dollar trust she’d blithely handed over to him to manage or use for the PAD deal? Should he call her to say they hadn’t needed the money? She hadn’t called to congratulate him on the deal.

“Hey, Reggie!”

He looked up to see Howard striding across the warehouse.

“I thought I’d never find you. Emma said you were down here, but this place is a warren of unmarked docks and alleys.”

“Well, now you’ve found me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to congratulate you on the PAD thing.”

“Did Emma tell you about that too?”

“Are you kidding? It’s been all over the news. Your name may not be in the headlines, but that’s one big makeover you guys are planning.”

“The actual telecom operation shouldn’t change much, aside from accounting. Funding later clusters of NGOs will take a while.”

“Are they still NGOs? Isn’t PAD pretty much its own country and government?”

“In some legal fictions, but they’re not recognized by any major powers.”

“Still, it’s pretty cool.”

There was a long pause as Reggie resealed the box with Sarah’s fabric. “I need to finish some arrangements here. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

Howard glanced from side to side. “I was kind of wondering if there was something I could do for you at PAD. I mean, news says you’re keeping most of the operations staff. I could help you see who’s reliable, who has other interests.”

Reggie let out a breath and shook his head. Was this for real or was Howard just hoping Sarah would be there?

“Wait, I can do a normal job too.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. I could answer phones, take inventory.”

“We’ll already have people to do that.”

“But people you can trust?”

“Listen Howard, it’s nice of you to offer, but there are other ways to handle corporate espionage and disloyal employees. Besides, you’re in school here; you can build a career, a life. Why would you want some dead end job on PAD Island?”

Howard looked around again. “You know my part in the Chiang Mai thing, right? Well, people cooled off a bit after Tom recovered and said he didn’t blame teeks, but it’s created new suspicions.”

“Did you try it?”

Howard made quick, startled eye contact then shook his head and relaxed. “No, my teek’s not as precise as Sarah’s. But, well, I think my relatives know I told. They’ll never say so aloud, but I can’t keep living here.”

Reggie looked at Howard, trying to judge if the guy was sincere or just a clever attempt by the Thai government to send a spy along to PAD. Howard always seemed honest, but Reggie was still annoyed with him for liking Sarah. That was childish though, and Reggie really did owe him for saving her life.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Emma says you’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I can call you once I get there. PAD is a telecom business.”

“If you want. But I’d be happy to leave tomorrow, if you know what I mean.”

July 1, 2025 – PAD Island

The next evening, Reggie looked out at his own warehouses. Five of them lined the airstrip where he, and Howard, landed on PAD Island. The road in front of them led up a hill to what looked for all the world like a modern tropical resort, an assortment of white foam buildings shaded by diagonal solar “sails” in tasteful shades of lavender. Reggie knew it was just the company founder’s economical spin on the ideal work environment. Employees could live in their own private huts with modern amenities and kitchenettes. They could use the pool, the private beaches, the fitness center, or the media hall. Not a bad dream, all in all.

Speeding down the road toward them was a bright yellow vehicle driven by someone in a loud shirt. Phil waved like the over-eager tourist he appeared to be and jumped out, which incidentally removed his foot from the accelerator.

“Reggie! Do you like it? We did it!”

The older man caught Reggie in a powerful hug, then grabbed his bags and practically threw them into the back of the souped up yellow golf cart.

“Hey Phil, good to see you. This is Howard. I said I’d find a place for him.”

“Welcome, Howard. Glad to meet you.” Phil shook Howard’s arm then threw his bags in the cart. “You don’t mind riding in the rumble seat, do you? I didn’t know Reggie was bringing anyone.”

They all climbed aboard and sped up the hill. In the front seat, Phil gave Reggie the rundown on how the hand-over was going so far. “Scott’s flying out in an hour on the same plane you rode in. But he wanted to talk with you first.”

“Good, I want to talk to him.”

Reggie and Howard cruised in Phil’s wake as they rushed past the main bar to a small balcony where Scott, the original mind behind PAD, sat beside an already emptied tumbler. Howard was sent with someone to find a room while a cheerful server brought champagne for Reggie, Phil, and Scott.

An hour passed in a mix of shoptalk and stories, but then Phil was called away. Scott leaned forward, his striped shirtsleeves bunched unevenly, his eyelids a bit over-relaxed with alcohol, and said, “You didn’t have this in mind all along, did you, Reggie? When I first called about donating stock? Were the wheels in your head spinning even then?”

“Nothing so complex. I was called out of the country suddenly. Not selling the stock just turned into serendipity.”

“I don’t mind, you know? Better you guys run it as a service to the world than some financiers make a bundle auctioning our satellites.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

“I’ll miss it though. I’m ready to leave, but it was nice having our own private island. I hope you enjoy it.” Scott slumped back in his chair and raised his glass, as if he was about to eulogize his creation, but Reggie forestalled him.

“We’ll do our best. But, Scott, there are things you could tell me, off the record, before you leave. In a business this size, there must be people you worry about. Employees who might not want what’s best for the company, even people working for competitors or perhaps governments?”