Omniscient: John The Genius Part 2: A Life Worth Living

CHAPTER ONE

TOMORROW IS JULY 4th, 1984 and my birthday. I'll turn eight years old. My name is John Wayne Cook, I have a photographic memory, a documented IQ somewhere above 170 and I'm omniscient.

Earlier this year I gained the ability to remember future events. Events where alternate future versions of me go anywhere and do practically anything. The things they experience and learn I can remember. There is no practical limit to what they can learn, experience, or discover because there are no limits to the number of them. Sometimes the memories of those futures that will never happen talk to me.

Right now I'm losing a fight with my Mom. I am desperate to go to Fort Worth, Texas for the US Chess Open tournament. It starts on August 4th and ends on the 12th. I want to go and win. Winning is not the hard part. Five weeks ago I played 200 skilled chess players, 40 at a time, simultaneously. I won every game but one, and that was a draw with an internationally ranked chess grandmaster.

"Mom, it's my only chance. If I don't go there is no telling where they will hold it next year. It's just Fort Worth, that's hardly far at all," I complained.

"I just can't take you. It's a week long tournament, I just can't take the time. I have to finish packing, and we have to get settled. Mattie starts her new school on the 13th, the day it ends. I'm sorry but there is just no way," Mom said with finality.

"If I find a way, can I go?" I asked.

"I'll consider it. Until then, please go do something outside," Mom requested.

Following Mom's orders, I went outside and got on my bicycle. The hot vinyl seat was a quick shock against my shorts. I pedaled hard down the street, feeling the familiar, jarring rumble of the thick tire treads over the asphalt cracks until I hit the whirring crunch as the road turned to gravel. Past the old cemetery and onto the farm road that led past the fields and to the river.

It was nearly two miles down to my usual spot on the Canadian River. I dropped my bike in the tall grass, and moved to where I could do Tai Chi without being seen. The low, steady murmur of the river, thick with summer humidity. The faint roar of water falling from the hydroelectric dam only 4 miles upstream. I slipped instantly into the Brush Knee and Push form, my movements slow and deliberate, designed to push away the pent up frustration of losing a fight to my Mom.

As I focused and relaxed into the moment, the tension left me. I felt the last knot of annoyance dissolve when I transitioned to Parting the Wild Horse's Mane, opening my arms wide to the bright blue sky. The movement quieted my mind, allowing the noise of the world to recede until nothing was left but the slow, focused breath in my chest. I moved into the Now.

The voices of the future came. They weren't a shock, but a gradual filling of the silence I had just created, like a chorus waiting for the conductor's cue.

"You know there is a way."

"Mom is going to be so mad if I do it," I responded silently to the voices.

"We know exactly how mad she will be. The choice is yours. It's not particularly important."

"It impresses the right people at the right time."

"The question is how important is it to you? Do you do it for the plan, or do you do it for the glory, or do you do it for the fun of pulling it off, no matter how mad everyone gets? Why do you live the life you're living, what makes it worth the effort?"

"I like the idea of flying my plane the best, but if I do that I'll get grounded, literally, for years."

"The choice is yours, as always," the voices concluded.

"I'm going, but I'll fly commercial," I said, making the decision out loud.

There were currently three viable options. One, not go. Two, take a commercial flight from Tulsa to Fort Worth. Three, take my brand new Pterodactyl pTiger ultralight airplane. The problem with number three is that it comes unassembled as a kit and has not yet arrived.

There is no medicine for regret. I know I could solve all those problems. It would have been so cool to fly myself to the competition. I had chosen not to do something that my memories said would be awesome. I felt regret.

My family was planning their normal birthday/holiday celebration. This year my grandparents would be coming to join the celebration for the first time.

I was expecting a lot of presents this year. I wasn't getting extra presents just for turning eight. I was getting presents for a lot of different reasons.

I had just graduated from High School and been accepted to start at TU, the University of Tulsa, this fall.

I had sent a letter to my Grandma Beth with winning lottery numbers and a dollar. She had won millions of dollars.

I had instructed my Grandpa Joe on how to invest in the stock market, and he had tripled their winnings in the last month.

While I was looking forward to cashing in at the party, I did have some money of my own. I had $2,000 that had come as an advance on a book I wrote while finishing high school. $1,000 for the book in its original French, as it had been a school assignment, and an additional $1,000 for the same book in English, which also was a school assignment.

My party on the 4th went well. Dad, as on every fourth, acted as safety officer and master of ceremonies.

"All right, for those of you who don't know our traditions," he said, nodding at my grandparents who were standing in the backyard with the rest of the family just after sundown. "Johnny launches the first rocket. Then everyone else will get a rocket to light. Since it’s an even year, the order is youngest to oldest.”

“I’ll be helping Mattie again this year,” Mom added.

I stepped up to my rocket and pointed the lighter at the fuse. Dad had already set the rockets up for firing. It whooshed into the air and exploded a brilliant red starburst.

“Yay! My turn!” Mattie shouted, and ran to her rocket. Mom took the lighter from me and holding it with Mattie’s help, lit it and hurriedly backed away with her.

This one was a brilliant green and blue.

Mom did hers next followed by Dad. Grandma preceded Grandpa, and finally it was my turn again.

“Every year,” Dad explained, “I look for the biggest rocket I can find for the birthday boy.”

He stepped away and came back with a truly massive rocket. “This year I think I got something extra special.”

Grandpa helped him set it down and then watched as a trigger cord was unrolled, “Rule for this one is everybody has to stand on the other side of the house in case of a misfire. Joe, can you take everyone around? Johnny and I will just go around the corner of the house to hit the trigger button.”

Grandpa eagerly directed everyone around to the front yard, where they all stood looking up. Dad set up the trigger and once we were both around the corner, showed me how to fire it.

“Five, Four, Three, Two, One!” I shouted loudly so everyone would know it was about to go. I hit the trigger: there was a pop, a hiss and a huge roar. It was rapidly visible overhead and seemed to climb forever.

It disappeared into the night sky, then it became bright like daylight as it exploded. The sound could be felt, and I could hear all the neighborhood dogs howling. Birthday traditions are awesome.

“Amazing, Dad. You get a better rocket every year.”

“Happy birthday, Johnny.”

"I'm eight, Dad. Time to start calling me John."

He gave me a look, grinned and picked me up, setting me on his shoulder as he walked around to the front of the house. "No promises, but I hear you."

There were more fireworks, carefully supervised by Dad after the birthday cake and ice cream. Once the fireworks were gone, we headed inside so I could open my presents. There were lots of new clothes, and a card with cash from Grandpa. It was cash I'd won playing chess months earlier. The card had a little loose note from Grandma, 'Your pterodactyl is in Tulsa.'

I gave them both hugs, then Mom sent Dad to their room to get a present, and Grandma sent Grandpa to Mattie's room to get a present.

Both men met in the living room, emerging from opposite rooms, each clutching unwrapped cardboard boxes.

Mom's expression, usually soft and amused on my birthday, went instantly flat. She crossed her arms tight enough to press the air out of her lungs. "You got him a computer too?"

"He said he needed a computer, so we got him one," Grandpa defended, his box showing a simplified drawing of the Macintosh.

Dad’s boxes were held in a big stack. The bottom box said 'The Personal Computer' in cursive. "He told me the same thing!" Dad countered, a hint of desperation in his voice.

I couldn’t help the large, satisfied grin that spread across my face. "Thank you so much! It was exactly what I wanted! They are two different kinds, and I plan to write computer programs for them both."

Mom’s head snapped toward me, her arms still rigid. "Two? What do you need two computers for? You've got two arms and two hands, not four!"

I resisted the urge to explain that the number of arms was irrelevant to the amount of processing power required to bridge two fundamentally incompatible operating systems.

"The two computers work differently," I explained, trying to keep my voice calm. "One is a pure 8 bit machine, and the other is a 16 bit graphical machine. What runs on one doesn't run on the other. I can't fix that unless I have one of each."

"Fix what? You think you can just program a computer to fix things?" Mom started to question, emphasizing the last word.

"Okay," Dad interceded, stepping between them. He gently uncrossed Mom's arms. "I think it's all right. Johnny, you've got a good plan, but if one starts collecting dust, we'll get rid of it."

That mollified Mom, and Grandpa just grinned at her reaction. I grabbed the Apple //e box first. The heavy cardboard was warm from being so far from the living room air conditioner.

I ripped off the protective tape and started setting it up on the dining room table. With a heaving groan I carefully lifted and placed the monitor on the stand above the computer with its built in keyboard. I left the heavier Macintosh box on the floor for later. While I was working to connect the external floppy drive, Grandpa came over to watch.

He quietly whispered to me. "Why do you need three computers?"

"I explained it already. None of them can share software. I'm going to fix that," I told him softly.

"And, you need the third machine to do that?"

"Right, the new IBM doesn't come out until next month."

"Well, don't let anyone know I knew about all the different computers," Grandpa whispered back.

I gave him a wink. "I'll keep it secret, Grandpa, you're safe from Mom."

The following day I left with Grandma and Grandpa to go to Tulsa. They had purchased a building, The Mayo Hotel. Before Grandpa bought it, it had been stripped and abandoned. Construction crews were already at work cleaning the place up when we arrived.

"I'm so excited to see the space for the first time," I told Grandma as we passed through the construction entrance.

"Welcome to The Mayo," said the site foreman, Peter Nivens.

"Just going to show the grandkid his new playroom on the 16th floor," Grandpa said, shaking Peter's hand.

"It's a bit industrial for a kid's playroom," Peter responded.

"Sorry, I'm making a joke and you don't know the story. We are fitting it out as a multi use area for John."

"It's my mad science laboratory!" I crowed excitedly.

"Well, come on over to the elevator and we'll go up to the 16th floor."

When the doors closed, the elevator started ascending. Because of its age, it made some noise. Grandma flinched when it made a heavy thud and I took her hand.

"You are just the best," she told me trying to smile.

"Are you afraid of heights Grandma?" I asked her.

"I'm afraid of falling," she said with a chuckle.

"No fear of falling, the elevator got a full safety check, and all back up systems are in full working order," Peter assured us.

The doors opened on a very large, high ceilinged space and we exited looking around. The hard floors echoing every step.

"This used to be the Crystal Ballroom, back in the day," Peter explained. "About 13,000 square feet of space, double height ceilings and double height windows."

"The windows don't look double height anymore," Grandma said, as she looked around at the solid plywood walls.

"Well," Peter said, chuckling, "you can't see the windows because of the plywood on the walls."

"That's just over the original walls, right?" Grandpa asked.

"Right, we put plywood up on a frame along the outer walls and ceiling. The original is perfectly protected behind it."

"It's going to be very dark in here when the lights get turned off," Grandma mentioned.

"The walls and ceiling will get a sealant and get painted. It's going to be a very bright white. Once that is done the Electrician will be in. He'll run the conduit on the exterior of the plywood, installing all the plugs and switches and such."

"The lighting isn't very nice," Grandma said.

"You just see the temp lighting we put up. The original chandeliers are in storage. My crew changed them out for these overhead lights, after putting plywood up to protect the ceiling."

I smiled and ran into the space and around the corner. It was perfect. I was checking out the new industrial flooring laid over more plywood as they came around the second corner to find me.

"Do you think you'll have the room you need?" Grandpa asked, teasingly.

"It should be enough room for a while. Then this will all come down and the Ballroom will get restored."

I saw pictures of the original. It was a beautiful space," Grandma said.

"Don't worry Grandma, everything in here will come right out, and it'll be a gorgeous space, with amazing views."

Peter nodded eagerly, "The views are amazing up here. It was a shame to cover the windows. Even better upstairs, though."

"Let's go upstairs then," Grandpa said.

We didn't have to wait for the elevator, Peter's override key had kept the doors open and the elevator in place. It was just a short trip up one level.

"Oh my!" Grandma said, as she looked out at the amazing view.

"This is being renovated as the new bar area. It used to be a penthouse suite," Peter explained.

"Elvis Presley stayed here," Grandpa told him.

"Yup, lots of celebrities back in the day. We can't go too far in, as it's still being renovated."

"Is that the roof?" Grandma asked.

"Yup, we are extending the penthouse bar area, but more than half the area will remain an open space for good weather dining."

We all looked out the windows at the bright sunlit space.

"Might be a little warm in the summer," Grandpa said.

"There's a nice breeze this high up," I told him.

"Is it safe?" Grandma asked.

"It will be. We are installing safety fencing along the parapet. Nobody will go over the side."

"Okay, I'm ready to go down now," Grandma said at the thought of someone going over the side.

"Let's go look at our living level," Grandpa suggested.

We went down two floors to level 15. The crews were working hard here, and the noise levels made it hard to talk.

"This is the family level," I loudly told Grandma. "You'll have a space here: three bedrooms, kitchen, living room and everything."

"Why do I need a three bedroom house? Do you know how much cleaning that will take?"

"It's a hotel, Grandma, the staff will clean for you. You can have people come visit."

"If they visit, why can't they stay in one of the hotel rooms?" she countered.

I just smiled, as we headed back to the elevator. It was just too noisy and not safe to wander around looking.

As the elevator dropped, Peter said, "Your architect put together four three bedroom apartments and two two bedroom apartments on that level."

"I want a two bedroom then. That's what I have in California, and I don't need somebody else to clean up after me."

"Whatever you want is fine with me. One of the two bedrooms will be my office space."

"Probably better to use a three bedroom, Grandpa. You'll need room for your staff to work."

"Um, the architect drawings show the office space is half of level 14," Peter interrupted.

"Right, I forgot about that," Grandpa said. "A short commute, and the family level stays private."

"How many rooms will there be?" Grandma asked.

Peter smiled, happy to have the attention, "There were 600 tiny rooms in the building originally. When we are done, there will be 65 two and three bedroom luxury apartments, and 200 luxury hotel suites."

"What makes it luxury?" Grandpa asked him.

Peter laughed. "I have no idea. That's what the Architect put on the plans. You'll have to talk to him and the decorator about that. I'm just foreman for the renovation and upgrades."

"Oh? What upgrades?" Grandma wanted to know.

Peter started listing them off, "We are installing sound insulation, and replacing the windows for not only energy efficiency but noise control.

"All the plumbing, electrical and H-Vac is getting updated. I've got some very specific design details from the Architect on the general interior. Especially the Lobby. According to him: 'We will fully restore the Booz Arr charm of the building.'"

"I thought it was Art Deco," Grandpa said.

"Beaux Arts, Grandpa. It's a French classical modernism and was big here in the US before the 1920s. Art Deco came around as it ended."

"Aren't we doing Art Deco in the lobby?" Grandpa asked.

"The late 1800's and early 1900's were the 'gilded age'. That's the Beaux Arts era. It is similar to Art Deco. Your Architect is a fanatic about both styles, so we'll see what he does. Even if he does a mix of the two, it'll be beautiful and awesome," I said.

Peter gave me a look, and Grandpa hurriedly asked, "What's the time frame on the renovations?"

"The family level, offices and the Mad Science Lab," Peter said with a chuckle, "will be done first. Then we'll move to the bottom and start working up.

"Kitchens, and the pool will come next, then the restaurants, and all the while we will move up, renovating the hotel rooms.

"It'll take a year to have a hundred rooms ready, and maybe another year for the rest of the building."

"When will the restaurants be open? The OneOK (pronounced one oak) building across the street is almost finished, and we want to be the preferred formal dining spot for all those office workers," Grandpa told him.

"Should be by this time next year," Peter said.

"Thanks for the tour, Peter," Grandpa said. Sticking a thumb out to point at me, he continued. "Now we need to grab his bags and move him into his room."

We were riding down to get my stuff out of the car when Grandpa hit the button for floor number 4.

"I need the bathroom," he said. "I'll only be a few minutes."

"Take your time, Joe. John and I can get the bags. We'll leave the computers to you. You should use the hotel luggage cart," she told him before the elevator doors closed.

After riding back up with my bags, I set my stuff down in one of the freshly cleaned original hotel rooms.

"We're next door," Grandma said. "Everything has been cleaned and it's all new. Beds, bedding, and furniture."

I listened to her as I looked out the window at the beautiful building with the green top in the distance.

CHAPTER TWO

THAT AFTERNOON, I grabbed a bag of fresh ground coffee and went to find Grandpa. "Grandpa, we've got an important errand to run while Grandma takes a nap."

"Okay, I'll grab the keys."

Once we were in the car, he asked, "So what's the errand?"

"This is one of those times where you are going to have to really trust me. Are you ready for that?"

He waved up at the building. "I've trusted you this far and it's been good."

"Okay, but this will be a bit different," I said mysteriously.

I gave him the directions to a nearby pharmacy. "Ready, Grandpa? Just go to the drive up window, and ask for the prescription for Wolowitz." I handed him the cash for the purchase.

He was visibly nervous, not sure what I was getting him into. I didn't tell him.

He sighed in relief driving away from the window with the prescription. He promptly found a parking spot and just stared at me.

I gave him a grin. "Excellent work, Grandpa. You just need to do it one more time."

He muttered imprecations under his breath but followed my directions to another drive up pharmacy.

"I'm picking up a prescription for Koothrappali," he told the woman at the window.

"One moment," she said, then gave him the total. He passed the cash over, and she gave him the prescription, then asked, "Do you need to go over the prescription with the pharmacist?"

He quickly glanced at me, and saw my shake of the head. "No, I'm good. Have a nice weekend!" he said, and drove off.

I didn't have the heart to tell him it was Thursday. He grumbled softly to himself. "I'm going to be in so much trouble. I'm going to get arrested for fraud and drug possession. It'll be retirement in jail."

I snorted and directed him north out of town to a small disreputable looking house in a bad neighborhood.

Parked on the street, I turned to Grandpa. "Grandpa Joe, this is very important. The future gets very difficult and I need the man in there. You must not talk at all while we are in that house. Do you understand?"

"Sure, I'll let you talk."

"No Grandpa Joe, you can't say a word, no gasping in surprise, no interruptions, no questions. This only works if you stay completely silent."

He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'll stay silent."

I walked up to the house, as he followed. The front door was unlocked, and I entered as if I lived there. I looked around at the mess. Empty bottles, mostly Jack Daniels, littered the floor and couch.

Amidst the bottles on the couch was a very tall, heavily muscled black man. He was completely out of it, and snoring softly.

I gestured Grandpa in after me. I quietly and carefully closed the door behind us. I put a finger to my lips to remind him to be quiet. He gave me a wide eyed nod in return. Grandpa looked on the verge of complete panic.

I took my bag of coffee grounds and went into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. Grandpa went in with me, but stood so he could keep an eye on the guy in the living room.

When the coffee finished, I poured a cup, and dropped in a few grams of a powder I had created a couple months earlier in Organic Chemistry. After stirring with a questionably clean spoon, I walked back into the living room with the cup of coffee. I gestured to Grandpa to stay where he was.

Standing in front of the quiescent man, I yelled. "Matt! Wake up! Sergeant Preston! Open those eyes!"

One eye opened, bloodshot and bleary. "Who the hell are you? What are you doin in my house?" he slurred.

"I'm making coffee," I said, handing him the cup.

The other eye opened. He reached for the cup and took a sip. With gusto he drank down the rest of the cup.

"I'm out of coffee," he told me.

"I brought it."

"Who are you kid?"

"I'm John Wayne Cook. I'm here to recruit you, Sergeant."

"Not a Sergeant anymore."

"Once a Marine, always a Marine."

"Ha. Move out of the way I gotta pee."

He stumbled out of the couch and down a hallway. Lying on the couch was his Remington M1911A1 service pistol. I picked it up, put the safety on, and set it on a side table. It was a couple of minutes before he returned. I stood there waiting. Eventually he returned, noticing Grandpa for the first time.

"Who are you?" he asked him.

"He's with me. Sergeant, you have three problems and I'm here to fix them."

"I've got more than three problems, kid."

"No, you only have three. Sit on the couch," I told him.

He slowly walked back to the couch, moved some bottles from the floor to a side table. He noticed his gun, but didn't reach for it.

After he finally sat, I continued. "Problem number one, no job. Solution, you will work for me. I need a bodyguard and driver. I'll pay you $25,000 a year plus food and housing. Two weeks paid vacation after one year, and full medical from day one.

"Problem number two, you're very sick and it's not the alcohol. You picked up a disease just before you discharged." I tossed him the package of antibiotics from the pharmacy. "Solution, take those, it'll clear up in a week, but take the full 18 days."

"Problem number three, you're depressed, drunk and contemplating suicide. Solution, a job and medication will help some, but you're low on testosterone." I pulled a small bottle and a syringe out of the second pharmacy bag. "I'm going to give you a shot. Stand up, drop just your pants and sit back down."

He did so, not really understanding why he did so, while I filled the syringe from the bottle. After a quick check for air bubbles, I stepped toward him. I wiped a spot with an alcohol wipe halfway between his left knee and crotch and stuck the needle into the muscle just outside of the centerline. He just watched with a curious look on his face.

Grandpa was looking dizzy but had stayed quiet as I had asked. With the injection complete, I pulled the needle out and dropped it into an empty bottle.

"One injection a week for the rest of your life. Problem solved." I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and set it on the table. I put a piece of paper over it, with instructions.

"This is for a cab and your breakfast tomorrow. Be at this address at 8am with all your belongings, you're not coming back to this sty again. Now get up, go to the kitchen, take your first dose of antibiotics, and go to bed," I told him forcefully.

He stood up, pulled his pants up, walked past a frozen Grandpa into the kitchen, took his pills with a glass of water and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. He dropped into the bed and fell immediately to sleep.

I turned to Grandpa. "We're done, let's go." He practically fled out the front door. I followed, locking the front door before pulling it closed behind me.

Once we were back in the car, doors shut, seatbelts on and doors locked, Grandpa started to tremble. "That was the scariest thing I've ever seen! What the hell were you thinking!"

"I'm thinking that because I hired Matt, you won't ever have to do stuff like that with me again."

"Thank God! Can we go home now?"

"Carry on Macduff," I said with a smile.

A few minutes later after we were back on the highway Grandpa cleared his throat.

"John?"

"Yeah, Grandpa?"

"What was that powder you put in his coffee?"

"A little something that helped him follow directions."

The next morning I met Matt Preston at the front door five minutes to eight. Unlocking the lobby door, I let him in.

"Come on in Matt, just in time."

"So it wasn't a dream. I wasn't sure I hadn't dreamed it."

"You'll see a lot of strange things in the next 10 years," I told him.

"What happens in ten years?"

"I'll be 18 and you'll want a new job so you can be with your family. Your daughter will need your time."

He started to ask questions when my Grandpa came into the lobby. "Don't bother asking, Matt, the kid's a genius and just knows stuff. I'm Joe by the way, we didn't get introduced yesterday."

Matt shook his hand. "Matt Preston. I sort of remember you from yesterday, but it's all little fuzzy."

"Who's this?" Grandma Beth asked as she came from the elevator behind Grandpa.

"My new driver," I told her. "Grandma Beth, meet former Sergeant Matt Preston, of the US Marines."

"My, you are big, aren't you," she said as she reached out to shake his hand with a warm friendly smile.

"Do you have your list of supplies?" I asked Grandma.

"Yes, right here. I've never done such a big renovation before."

"You have the architect's dimensions of the kitchens and I know you'll negotiate a good price, just make sure they stick to stainless steel appliances and no granite counter tops!"

"But granite looks so lovely," Grandma said.

"It's nothing but looks, it's a terrible counter top surface. Basic geology Grandma, granite is porous. Polishing it does not change that. If you want stone ask for quartz."

"Ok, and I'd like to see butcher block for the islands," she continued.

"Sounds good, have fun with the designer, we'll see you back here for lunch."

"Be good boys, see you later," she said as she exited the building.

I turned back to Grandpa. "Will you be getting the minivans today?" I asked Grandpa.

"Yes, shiny black as requested."

"Great, I'm going to show Matt his room, then my lab and the rest of the building."

"Follow me!" I said dramatically, swinging my arm around and pointing up the grand staircase.

When we reached the mezzanine level, We looked over the balcony together.

"Matt, this lobby will be restored back to near original. The hotel check in desk will be over there and the restaurant and dining room are that way," I said pointing it out.

He just listened, and looked around as I described the coming changes.

"Okay, next stop, the fourth floor."

"That's Grandma and Grandpa's room. That one is mine," I told him. Opening the room across from mine I walked in. "This one is yours."

"Just drop your stuff here for now, you can come back later to get unpacked."

He dropped his stuff after a brief look. I handed him a set of keys, "This is for your hotel room, and a key for the building. Let's go look at my room."

I opened the unlocked door and walked in. "Wow, you have two computers?" he said, finally beginning to open up.

"Do you know much about computers?" I asked him.

"No."

"I'll be using them for school work and other projects. Let's do the grand tour and start at the bottom and work our way up."

"Okay."

We rode the elevator down to the basement level.

"The primary kitchen is down here. It'll serve the restaurants and food service for the hotel rooms."

We went through a set of doors into the underground garage. "We are only keeping a few of the parking spaces for the hotel shuttle vans. The rest of this space will be the new indoor pool."

"Cool," he replied.

As we rode the elevator up, I told him, "These will be hotel rooms, and then above them will be apartments. Some of the apartments will be rented out, and some will be managed by the hotel."

We exited on level fifteen. "This is what we call the family level. When this renovation gets finished, I'll live here with my parents and sister in one apartment. Grandma and Grandpa will have an apartment up here too."

"Will I be up here too?" he asked, looking around.

"Yup, two bedroom apartment all to yourself, plus maid service, and room service."

He nodded, "Nice."

We went up to seventeen. "There's no crew up here right now, so lets go out on the patio," I suggested. We walked out to a hot day, and a stiff breeze.

"Wow, what a view!" Matt said.

"There's a big list of celebrities who stayed in the room up here. It used to be the penthouse suite."

"Like who?"

"Elvis loved his stays in the Presidential Suite," I told him.

"Wow, really?"

"Really," I said with a grin, "But the remodel is removing the suite."

"What's going to be now?"

"A rooftop bar."

He asked, "Are you going to name it the Penthouse Bar?"

"My Mom didn't care for that name, though Dad liked it. I like 'The High Bar' but nobody has settled on a name yet."

Finally it came to the denouement, the important moment. I led him back down the elevator one floor. The doors opened into the elevator lobby. I used my key to open the door to the darkness of my lab area, I stepped in and flipped a switch turning on the lights.

"Kind of a big spooky space," he commented.

"This is my lab space. I'll be working here on projects for myself, and the University."

"University? What University?"

"I'm starting at University of Tulsa this fall. That's why I need a driver, somebody to take me back and forth. It's also why I need a bodyguard, somebody to keep me from being shoved around or kidnapped."

"If you're serious, I'm not trained for kidnapping, I can drive you around easy enough but I'm not sure if I'm the guy for the rest of it."

"Don't worry, you're going to a training center in a couple weeks, you'll come back ready to do your job."

"You talk like my former CO. It's hard to believe you're just a kid."

"Matthew James Preston, listen to me very carefully," I said loudly, using the command voice he knew from the military. He stiffened to attention and I continued: "Someday you will save my life. I know that, like you know two plus two is four. Our relationship will never be just employer and employee. I'd like to think of it as more Feudal Lord to Vassal, but there are implications that I can't explain right now. Just remember this, just as you have an obligation to me, so I have an obligation to you. I will meet my obligations to you always, this I swear! Not just because you save my life."

"What do you know, you're eight," he said, but not harshly.

"Go get the deck of cards from your duffle downstairs. Shuffle them till you're satisfied, then bring them up here. I'm going to show you what I know."

He turned and went to get his deck of cards. It took a few minutes, when he returned I was sitting on the plywood floor, waiting for him.

"Here, sit across from me, and place the cards face down."

He sat, a few feet from me, and crossed his legs like I had mine crossed.

"Now, is there any way that I could know what order the cards are in?" I asked him.

"No."

"We will proceed this way. I will name a card, you will flip the top card over. Do you understand?"

"Yeah I get it."

"Three of clubs."

He flipped the card over, it was a three of clubs. He went very still. I called the next card, he flipped it over. Correct again, I kept calling out cards, he kept flipping them. After the ninth card he quickly backed away, until his back hit the wall. The terror on his face was not difficult to see.

"Sergeant Preston, did you stop to think about how I knew where you were yesterday? Did you stop to think about how an eight year old kid came uninvited into the home of a drunk 254 pound, six foot eight, black Marine with a loaded and cocked gun and made him coffee?

"Why do you think I did this?" I asked softly.

"Because someday I'm going to save your life?" he replied.

"But first I had to save yours," I said and waited.

It took him a bit, but eventually he softly said, "Yeah."

"Two hours later and you would have woken up, found no booze, no coffee and put a bullet in your head."

He looked intensely guilty at that statement.

"But," I continued with a smile that belied the seriousness of the conversation, "that was three problems ago. We've solved those, so I think the question now is if I tell you something, will you believe me? Will you act knowing what I say is true? Will you rely on me for answers when you have questions?"

He took a deep breath, and gave me a serious steely eyed look. He wiped the glitter of an unshed tear from his eyes. It was the moment I was waiting for. "You have my oath. My life for yours."

"And you have my oath, a life worth living," I told him solemnly.

The silence filled the room. It wasn't uncomfortable. We both heard the elevator ding. Matt turned to look but I stood up and called out, "In here Grandpa."

"There you are," Grandpa said speaking from just past the elevator doors. "Need to get an intercom or something. Beth is back, she brought barbecue. It's down at the mezzanine."

"Thanks Grandpa, we will be right down," I called out. The doors to the elevator shut.

I turned to him, looked at him right in the eyes, and smiled. "Most days will be normal enough, at least what passes for normal around me. Today you got the deep end of the pool."

He smiled back, white teeth flashing. I stopped him before he could speak, "Before you say it, even once in jest, 'Boss' is fine, but 'yessum massa' is not, and will not ever be funny," I told him before he could say the words.

"Now let's go eat, Grandma Beth got us Dr Pepper."

"Yes, boss!" he said with a newfound eagerness and enthusiasm.

Later that afternoon Grandpa turned up with three shiny black minivans. The hotel would eventually use them as an airport shuttles, but we would use them as needed. The final step was the return of their rental car.

That evening, I caught up with Grandpa. "How are the acquisitions coming along, Grandpa?" I asked him. "Everything is proceeding on schedule, right?"

Grandpa nodded. "The new properties are secured, and I'm ready for the next phase of investments. Things are moving fast."

I handed him the sheet of paper. "Here is the list of assets to liquidate, and the target purchases for the next quarter. Don't hesitate, just execute the trades tomorrow."

He took the paper with a practiced air. "And the hotel?"

"Here," I said, handing him a second sheet. "These are the final construction numbers, including the cost to complete for the core floors. Tell Peter that the entire family level must be finished by the time Dad and Mom arrive on the fifth."

"It won't be done that soon, John," he said with worry.

"I know, but it'll keep him motivated and happy to show Mom how close to finished it is when she arrives."

He gave me a sly grin. "I like it."

"Remember, Peter might be the foreman, but Dad's the one who will run the whole project once he gets here."

"When will he be up here?" Grandpa asked.

"August first. His job asked he stay on till then, and he agreed."

"Less than a month, how trustworthy is Peter in getting the family level completed?"

"He'll stay on task, but it's going to need Dad and Mom to get finished. No matter what is suggested, we don't move in until the entire floor is finished."

"Why?" he asked me.

"Because it'll be miserable for us, and it'll slow the crew down."

"Okay, I'll remember that, no early move in until the floor is finished."

"Also, I'm flying to the Dallas Fort Worth airport on August 3rd," I told him.

"Who have you told?" he asked smiling.

"Just you. Mom did say I could go if I found a way, but she's going to be really unhappy when she gets here on the 6th and discovers I'm not here."

"Why don't you tell her."

"Forgiveness is easier than permission," I admitted.

He laughed, "How much trouble will I be in?"

"Less than Dad. I'll have Matt with me, and I'm not going to get in trouble while I'm gone," I promised.

"When does school start?"

"August 13th for Mattie, I'm starting August 20th."

"I'll just pretend that I thought everybody knew you were going after your big chess game at the lake," he said confidently.

"Thanks, Grandpa. It will help that Dad's the one who tells you to drive me to the airport."

CHAPTER THREE

I CLIMBED INTO the passenger side of one of Grandpa's new shiny black minivans.

Matt got into the driver side and buckled up. "Those seats were really easy to take out," he said as he turned to look at the empty space behind us.

"We'll need it, I have a big shopping list today," I told him.

"Seatbelt on?" he asked.

"Yup. Let's head to the pick a part wrecking yard. Do you know the one out north on Peoria?"

"Yeah. There first?"

"Yeah, I need an alternator from a big GM diesel. Something with over a hundred amps. They should have it."

It was about fifteen minutes as Matt carefully navigated downtown traffic before he could finally head north.

"Success!" I said as the owner set the big alternator on the counter. I paid with cash from Grandpa, and Matt carried it to the minivan.

"Where next, boss?" he asked, a smile on his face at my excitement.

"Now to the place on Archer out east of town. I need four old tires."

We checked off my list as the back of the van filled up with a variety of parts and tools from the welding supply, air conditioning supply house and the hardware store.

"Where is all this going again?" he asked.

"The mad science lab upstairs. I'll have to have you bring everything up while I distract Grandma and Grandpa at dinner."

"Why keep it a secret?" he asked as we headed to the final stop, Sears.

"It's a surprise. I won't be able to start putting it together till later in the year, but there's not a better time to start getting stuff I'll need."

At Sears I picked out a nice Craftsman workbench, some steel shelving, and a new oven.

"Why are you buying an oven?" Matt asked me as I stood trying to decide which one to get.

"I need to bake some stuff."

"The oven in the kitchen downstairs still works, but your Grandpa is replacing it. Why don't you use that one?"

"Is it gas or electric?" I asked him.

"I don't know. Do you need this today?" he asked.

"No. Why?"

"Cause it won't fit in the van."

"I know, I was going to have it delivered."

"I suggest you check out the old oven first, you can always have it delivered later."

"I can do that," I said and turned to the salesman. "Sorry, no oven today, but I might be back. You can deliver the workbench?"

"Yes, sir. I can have it to your house as soon as tomorrow."

"Will you bring it in? I can't move it all by myself."

The salesman's eyes looked over Matt, wondering why he couldn't move it. "We can, but it's extra."

"That's fine, I'm not buying an oven so I have the cash for that."

He checked me out, and Matt carried my new tools to the van.

"Is that everything?" he asked, looking at the clock on the dash.

"It is, we can head back to the hotel now."

"Alright. Buckle up."

I buckled my seatbelt and turned to look at my haul. So much fun stuff to work with.

"So do you think you'll like going to bodyguard school?" I asked him.

"I don't know. It's been a while since boot camp, but I hope it isn't like that."

"I'm imagining you running through an obstacle course while carrying a mannequin in a dress, and firing at targets," I told him.

He laughed. "Why is the mannequin in a dress?" he asked when he finally stopped laughing.

"To grade your ability to keep the client clean, of course."

He chuckled the rest of the way home.

"Will you miss me when I fly out on Tuesday?" he asked me as we neared the hotel.

"Of course. But you'll be back on the twenty-first. That isn't too long."

"I saw you got me a first class flight to Virginia for the training. Thanks."

"Enjoy it. Have fun. Get trained, and come home. I'll be spending most of my time on the computers while you are gone.

"With Grandma and Grandpa busy and no parents to tell me to go to bed. I'll have all the time I need with no interruption. It'll be great!"

"Sure, boss," he said with a smile.

The next day, Grandpa drove Matt to the airport. After they left I sat in front of the Mac, contemplating all the work ahead. I had a comfortable chair and a desk at the right height in the small hotel room that was just for me. The Apple was on the desk next to it but for now it was turned off.

To begin, I needed a compiler that would work on the Mac. Everybody else doing programming was using the more powerful Lisa and then testing on the Mac. I didn't have that option. No one was willing to spend five grand on a third computer for me, no matter how much easier it would have made this first project.

First I inserted the Microsoft Basic floppy disk that came with the Mac to write a simple text editor.

My typing skill paid off, as it didn't take long to build a program in BASIC that would let me write and save a program written in assembly to the floppy drive. The code itself was like a song I knew by heart.

I had to write four separate programs that would work together in sequence to process and compile the code I would be writing. Each one of these had to be perfect. I didn't have a debugger—the code had to execute flawlessly, a single misplaced byte rendering hours of work useless. My ability to know in advance what to write, and whether I had made any mistakes, made the otherwise impossible process possible.

When the fourth program finished and tested without an error, I let out a low, satisfied breath. I stood and did a quick stretch after the intense hours of typing involved. It had been two days of solid work, with only breaks for meals.

The next morning after breakfast, I started on building better tools. I needed a better text editor. I used the Microsoft Basic text editor I already had to write the code, and ran it through the new compiler.

The single floppy drive whirred, sounding like a tiny overworked airplane as it broke each step into little chunks. When it finally finished, I inserted a blank floppy disk. It wrote the program to the new disk and I now had a robust, if minimalist, code writing text editor with more memory available to it than MacWriter, which could only handle a few pages of text before crashing.

I probably was too close to the tiny nine-inch screen as I used it to code my first real Mac program. ArtStudio made full use of the 512 x 342 pixels.

ArtStudio was a significant step up from the included MacPaint. I stared at the tiny screen, feeling the surge of potential as I selected the palette. From white to black it could do sixteen grayscale shades. It also had a built-in image compression algorithm that helped with the woeful amount of available memory. Best of all, it could create animated bitmaps.

I tested ArtStudio by drawing an animated picture for my next project. Clicking pixel by pixel I drew the first animated picture. 24 x 24 pixels and eight frames. When I finished I hit the play button on the saved unit. The little spearman stood ready in the first frame. He lowered his weapon and thrust in the next three frames. The following two frames animated him moving, and in the final two frames he died. It was glorious.

I carefully created a full 28 pixelated units for the game I was building. When I was done, I sat back, pleased at how well it had gone, but dismayed at the amount of time I had spent on it.

"John! Enough with the computer. It's dinner time," Grandma ordered.

After dinner, I sat in the hotel room, the lights out, the room lit by just the glow of the screen. I started programming the game, Civilization.

My new code editing software made it so much easier, and I worked till midnight. I finally finished and tried to start it to compile. I was so tired that spots were dancing in front of my eyes. The persistent hum was no barrier to sleep, but I threw a towel over the screen so it would be dark.

I had just climbed into bed after brushing my teeth when I remembered there was only one disk drive. I was too tired to continue and fell asleep wishing I could get up and keep it compiling.

I woke to the compiler paused and unfinished. It needed me to swap floppy disks. I sighed, swapped disks and went to breakfast.

"Good morning, John." Grandpa greeted as Grandma made pancakes on the hot plate in the tiny hotel room.

"Good morning. Did you sleep well?" Grandma asked.

"I did. My programming project is doing well. I'm at the point where it's compiling. That means it's turning all the commands I wrote into a real computer program."

"That's great. I'm glad you didn't stay up all night," she said.

"I almost wish I had. It would be finished. Every few minutes I have to take out one floppy disk and put in another. I really need to get a second floppy drive."

That caught Grandpa's attention. "Do I need to take you to the store?" he asked.

"No. I have one on order. No one around here has one."

Grandma passed out the pancakes and we ate as they discussed what they were doing today.