Headphones covered his ears, making Laura wonder why music blared into the room from giant speakers evenly spaced around the walls. As Gray ran, his hands pumped through the air and she saw that he wore gloves with tubes down the backs of each finger leading to thick, doughnut-shaped bands around his wrists. Stretched across his chest was a black strap — a heart-rate monitor. No wires were visible anywhere. Laura guessed the small plastic bulb at the top of the mask would contain an infrared transmitter like on wireless stereo headphones.
Gray leapt into the air for no apparent reason, dodging first one way then the other on the fifteen-foot-wide belt. He held a gloved hand out to the side, his knees rising waist-high before he again hurdled thin air. He clapped his hands together and held his other glove out stiff-armed. Suddenly both Gray and the treadmill came to a stop. He bent over at the waist to catch his breath. His jaw was moving and his chest heaving. He was saying something, yelling something, laughing — all within the confines of his mask.
His chest, shoulders, and waist were lean. There was definition to the muscles in his arms. The exercise equipment in the room below was obviously not a neglected toy like the rowing machine in Laura's bedroom closet at home.
Gray stood now at the ready in the center of the tread, his hands on muscular thighs. He took off in a sprint to the right, and the treadmill rolled quickly to accommodate the burst. He clapped his hands, then tucked one glove to his side. He reversed field, leapt into the air again, and weaved left and then right. He threw his hips to the side, held an arm out, then lowered a shoulder.
After an extended burst of speed in which Gray seemed to tightrope an imaginary sideline, he held his arms in the air exultantly. An end zone dance was followed by the spiking of an invisible ball.
Laura laughed and rolled her back to the wall beside the window.
16
Janet led Laura toward the gathering of servants who waited just inside the open French doors. One held back the gauzy curtains that drifted into the house with the chilly breeze. Laura saw the department heads assembled outside on the veranda for breakfast and grew worried she would be far too cold. Although she had dressed for the frigid computer center — blue jeans, three pairs of socks, and a jersey tied around her neck over a T-shirt — her hair was still wet from the shower and pulled back as it was in a ponytail it wouldn't dry for quite a while.
She passed Janet's staff of white-jacketed stagehands and walked out onto what felt like a movie set. It was Hoblenz's scene and he was regaling the group with a story. Laura took the only place remaining open at the table. It was the seat at the far end of the veranda next to Gray. There she felt the gentle warmth of some unseen space heater toast the legs of her blue jeans under the linen tablecloth.
'That new VR helmet is unbelievable,' Hoblenz was saying in an animated voice. 'Ever'thing was crystal-clear. The ring, the crowds, the cut doctors workin' on your face while the trainer barked out instructions. I set my helmet to the challenger's perspective, and when that roundhouse from the champ came screamin' in his glove just kept getting bigger till it filled up the helmet's screens and wham!'
His fist slapped loudly against his palm in time with the reenactment, which seemed to excite only Hoblenz. 'Right on your kisser! The guy's mouthpiece went spinnin' out end over end and the air just exploded in sweat! Next thing ya know you're lookin' up at the lights. One of the boys spilled his damn beer all over my new couch!'
'How were the sales?' the director of space operations asked.
Hoblenz heaved a loud sigh. 'Cain't you people just appreciate the beauty of it? I mean talkin' about your human drama? The guy was lyin' on the mat and rollin' his head all around. When he looked at the wrong corner for help, you knew he was done for. It was just like bein' there!' There was nothing but silence. Hoblenz still got no takers.
'Forty-eight million orders worldwide,' Dr. Griffith said in answer to the almost forgotten question. He had a wry smile on his face. 'At a hundred dollars per order, that's four point eight billion.'
Laura rocked her head back in shock. 'Dollars?' she blurted out. 'You made four point eight billion dollars? From one prizefight?'
'Well, that gross,' Griffith said. 'We did have expenses.'
It was a joke that brought joyous laughs from the department heads, whom Gray compensated by something called a 'revenue slice.'
Laura arched her eyebrows and said, 'I should ask for a raise,' just under her breath.
Unexpectedly, the table exploded in laughter, which caused the blood to rush straight to Laura's cheeks. She'd finally struck a chord familiar to her teammates — a love of the obscene amounts of money Gray raked in.
'Did you enjoy your run?' Gray asked Laura, smiling.
She hadn't intended to raise the subject until after the meeting, but he'd asked, and everyone waited for her response.
'Why do you have armed soldiers down that road over there?' Laura twisted in her seat and pointed toward the crest of the ridge to the right of the gate.
'They're my people,' Hoblenz answered.
'Dr. Aldridge,' Gray said, 'you've been told of our security concerns. Surely, after last night, you understand the value of the trade secrets I possess.'
'But… a private army?' she said.
'I'm governor-general of this island under my lease with Fiji.'
Laura rolled her eyes at the lame justification. Gray's face remained expressionless, but his voice was laden with feeling. 'You have no idea what I'm up against,' he said, and everyone at the table looked up. It wasn't the volume of his voice that attracted their attention. It was the way he spoke the words. If delivered with a sneer, his statement could have been taken as derisive. A put-down by a self-proclaimed visionary, perhaps. But to Laura it sounded like a plea for understanding. A moment of frankness spent bemoaning his mistreatment by society.
At least that was the way Laura took it, but what about the others? They too had heard something compelling in Gray's voice and were now watching Gray intently.
'This isn't United States territory, and… and despite the fact that I'm a U.S. citizen, pay U.S. income taxes, and have never broken the law, I can't exactly count on Washington for support.' Gray looked down at his nearly empty plate — forlorn, bent under the weight of his solitary struggle. At least that was what Laura saw. 'Dr. Aldridge,' he said softly, 'it's extremely difficult to control an idea.'
Laura knitted her brow and focused on Gray — on what he'd said.
The computer had spoken of thoughts and ideas and knowledge the night before in a similarly curious way.
'But, Mr. Gray,' she said, 'surely you're not… surely you aren't trying to control people's ideas.' From the quick looks that were exchanged around the table Laura wondered whether she'd said something wrong. 'I mean, the whole point is to share knowledge. To spread it as widely and freely as possible so we can build on each other's accomplishments. It's only through that type of collaboration that we've been able to advance as a… as a civilization.'
Laura had simply expressed what to her was an obvious truth — an unchallenged tenet to which her career in academia clung like a vine.
But the table fell deathly silent, all eyes on Gray — waiting.
When Laura turned back to Gray, she saw that he was staring at her with eyes ablaze. If he had not said a word Laura would still have taken away from that moment the memory of his look, of his eyes, and of the physical effect they registered on her. But he did respond, and Laura struggled to follow what he said.
'On this island, one rule stands above all the rest. The intellectual property — the knowledge — to which you become privy by virtue of your engagement will come to rest in your brain. You will not write any papers. You will not gossip with anyone, including even the people here at this table. You will treat the knowledge to which you are exposed with the utmost care,' he said slowly, 'out of respect for the power it represents. Out of respect for the
