the city.’
Olaf Jorgenson joined them inside the helicopter, as did Sandra, her red hair flying in the downwash from the spinning blades, until Olaf’s giant arm slammed the fuselage door shut. The
four of them donned headphones, and Aubrey’s voice cut through the static.
‘What about Katherine and the children? Will they be joining us?’
‘Katherine is due to lead the defense for IRIS at the opening of a court case in Miami this morning,’ Joaquin explained, ‘and won’t be able to join us until later.
We’ll have to make do until then. The children will be in school for the week.’
The helicopter lifted off, the downwash from the blades shuddering through the palm trees below as it flew low over the battered shanty towns. Joaquin looked out across the crippled island as it
swept past beneath the helicopter, a barren and mud-strewn wasteland of misery and despair. Tiny figures stared up at him, their bare legs ankle-deep in cold mud, their clothes smeared with filth
and their eyes wide with shock and disbelief, haunted by the loss of their families and homes.
Joaquin felt a burden of responsibility weigh down on him, strong enough that it seemed it could send the helicopter in which he sat plunging back down to earth. One man, one company, one chance
to make a difference. Most people lived under a comfortable illusion that the whole world was now connected, that all people had some idea of what technology was, had access to medicine, had a
chance in life. The truth was that only one fifth of the world’s population lived in the developed world. Half of all the people on earth had never made or received a telephone call. The vast
majority of mankind had little or no access to clean water. Several hundred million children died every decade from easily preventable diseases or starvation. And all the while politicians in
designer suits, chauffeured in cars that cost more than many people would earn in several lifetimes, attended huge conferences and told the world how much better it all would soon be. How much they
were doing to help. How much brighter the future was.
Joaquin looked down at the devastation and considered once again how nothing changed. Not ever. Governments would never be able to save their own people, not unless there was a chance of
generating a profit at the same time, anyway. Too much corporate interference now. As one government gave millions to dig wells in one impoverished country, another would sell arms to its rival.
The whole charade continued, decade after decade, century after century, propping up the wealthy and keeping the poor incarcerated in poverty for all time. A line from Homer’s
Iliad
drifted through his mind:
We men are wretched things.
Sandra’s voice cut through his glum reverie.
‘There’s no word from the Miami-Dade police about Charles Purcell,’ she said, looking at an e-mail on her tablet. ‘He’s not been reported as missing and
there’s nothing from South Bimini about him either. He must have missed the flight, but I can’t locate him.’
Joaquin nodded and glanced at Jorgenson. The huge man’s angular, expressionless face and pale-blue eyes returned his gaze as though he were hewn from solid granite, but his square head
gave a barely perceptible nod.
‘What will I be doing at the reef?’ Dennis Aubrey asked Joaquin, his features vibrant with enthusiasm.
‘Manning our sub-aquatic research station,’ Joaquin replied, turning away from Olaf’s gaze. ‘It’s on the edge of an underwater terrace shelf about twenty miles
offshore of Miami beach. You’ll be responsible for some of the technological assets we have built there.’
Aubrey frowned in confusion.
‘I thought that it was some kind of wildlife preserve? What have we got down there that would need a physicist?’
Joaquin grinned conspiratorially and patted Aubrey on the shoulder.
‘The future, Dennis, or at least that’s what I hope – something that will benefit
Olaf Jorgenson joined them inside the helicopter, as did Sandra, her red hair flying in the downwash from the spinning blades, until Olaf’s giant arm slammed the fuselage door shut. The
four of them donned headphones, and Aubrey’s voice cut through the static.
‘What about Katherine and the children? Will they be joining us?’
‘Katherine is due to lead the defense for IRIS at the opening of a court case in Miami this morning,’ Joaquin explained, ‘and won’t be able to join us until later.
We’ll have to make do until then. The children will be in school for the week.’
The helicopter lifted off, the downwash from the blades shuddering through the palm trees below as it flew low over the battered shanty towns. Joaquin looked out across the crippled island as it
swept past beneath the helicopter, a barren and mud-strewn wasteland of misery and despair. Tiny figures stared up at him, their bare legs ankle-deep in cold mud, their clothes smeared with filth
and their eyes wide with shock and disbelief, haunted by the loss of their families and homes.
Joaquin felt a burden of responsibility weigh down on him, strong enough that it seemed it could send the helicopter in which he sat plunging back down to earth. One man, one company, one chance
to make a difference. Most people lived under a comfortable illusion that the whole world was now connected, that all people had some idea of what technology was, had access to medicine, had a
chance in life. The truth was that only one fifth of the world’s population lived in the developed world. Half of all the people on earth had never made or received a telephone call. The vast
majority of mankind had little or no access to clean water. Several hundred million children died every decade from easily preventable diseases or starvation. And all the while politicians in
designer suits, chauffeured in cars that cost more than many people would earn in several lifetimes, attended huge conferences and told the world how much better it all would soon be. How much they
were doing to help. How much brighter the future was.
Joaquin looked down at the devastation and considered once again how nothing changed. Not ever. Governments would never be able to save their own people, not unless there was a chance of
generating a profit at the same time, anyway. Too much corporate interference now. As one government gave millions to dig wells in one impoverished country, another would sell arms to its rival.
The whole charade continued, decade after decade, century after century, propping up the wealthy and keeping the poor incarcerated in poverty for all time. A line from Homer’s
Iliad
drifted through his mind:
We men are wretched things.
Sandra’s voice cut through his glum reverie.
‘There’s no word from the Miami-Dade police about Charles Purcell,’ she said, looking at an e-mail on her tablet. ‘He’s not been reported as missing and
there’s nothing from South Bimini about him either. He must have missed the flight, but I can’t locate him.’
Joaquin nodded and glanced at Jorgenson. The huge man’s angular, expressionless face and pale-blue eyes returned his gaze as though he were hewn from solid granite, but his square head
gave a barely perceptible nod.
‘What will I be doing at the reef?’ Dennis Aubrey asked Joaquin, his features vibrant with enthusiasm.
‘Manning our sub-aquatic research station,’ Joaquin replied, turning away from Olaf’s gaze. ‘It’s on the edge of an underwater terrace shelf about twenty miles
offshore of Miami beach. You’ll be responsible for some of the technological assets we have built there.’
Aubrey frowned in confusion.
‘I thought that it was some kind of wildlife preserve? What have we got down there that would need a physicist?’
Joaquin grinned conspiratorially and patted Aubrey on the shoulder.
‘The future, Dennis, or at least that’s what I hope – something that will benefit
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