A Sword Into Darkness (5 page)

It was so different from the Navy, where your career path was often laid out in stone.  That regimented military existence had proved his undoing, however, a discordant note of calm in the white noise of life following the sinking.  He had simply been unable to go back to the routine of service stateside, and the war would not keep him as damaged goods.  The reason they gave for medically discharging him was post traumatic stress disorder, but Nathan knew there were other reasons as well.  They were the reasons that went unsaid, the reasons related to the furtive, accusatory stares of doubt other officers gave him when they thought he could not see them, stares that would continue for the rest of his career, cleared by a board of inquiry or not.

So he had given it all up, and after a brief respite in his Pennsylvania hometown, he had sought a new existence as a student and engineer, essentially rebooting his life at the not insignificant age of 30 years old.  Leaving was a big change, an unanticipated change, but a welcome one.  It did necessitate some adjustment.  Life in the civilian sector could be so much more uncertain, precarious even.

But in the civilian world, no one shattered your whole world in a single act of cold anger and your ambiguous split-second decisions did not lead to the deaths of 103 subordinates, shipmates, and friends.  In the civilian world, perhaps he would no longer wake up in a clammy sweat, shaking from half-remembered dreams of rending steel and screaming, faceless men.

Precarious.  He was fine with precarious.

On the day after graduation, while packing up his small office at the university, a welcome—though unexpected—call had come, starting him upon an extremely odd journey into the world of corporate job-seeking:  “Mr. Kelley, would you mind traveling to Windward’s New York office for a second interview?”

That interview, like his first, had been deceptively normal, just the corporate machine getting to know one of their potential cogs a little better.  Nathan had smiled and nodded, answering their questions as best he could and trying his utmost to exude an air of professional competence.  The New York office Human Resources director had smiled back, clearly impressed.  “That was very good, Mr. Kelley.  Would you mind taking a short written exam?”

Again, not too unusual.  Nathan supposed that many companies wanted to test their candidates to find out if their degrees were more than just sheets of paper.  The test had covered a gamut of topics:  physics, biology, math, chemistry, systems engineering, politics, sociology, and finance.  It was not terribly difficult, but it had stretched his limited academic background.  He figured it might have been a great deal harder for someone else, someone whose life experience before MIT had not been so diverse.

“Excellent job, Mr. Kelley!  How about flying down to our Dallas offices for another interview?”  They also put up the offer of per diem compensation for all his time, so Nathan shrugged and agreed, still happy to have gotten past the first interview, the second interview, and then the test.  And now another interview in another city, for what was for all intents and purposes a relatively entry-level position in Windward Technologies engineering management program.  It was then that the first pangs of doubt and anxious bewilderment hit him.

Did everyone go through such a rigorous process?

The meeting in Dallas had been more than odd.  There, he met Windward’s Dallas VP, and the interview had gone far afield in both scope and location.  They met in the VP’s corner office downtown and covered much of the same interview territory that had been asked in the first and second interviews.  Then they had gone for lunch in the West End and the interview shifted to Nathan’s personal life:  Thirty-two, small town boy, single, never married, no kids, but wants the full package later, looking for the right girl, in no hurry, love to fish, love baseball, love movies, love reading, love science fiction.

“Science fiction?”  Nathan’s inadvertent admission had led to a literary discussion that lasted throughout the afternoon as they walked around downtown Dallas, down past the JFK memorial, and back up into the financial district.  At times, it seemed as if the poor executive was simply starved for attention, keeping Nathan talking just so he would not have to go back to his dreary office.  It ended in a somewhat awkward silence, almost like the end of a blind date, and Nathan was unsure what to do or say as the sun began to set.  The VP finally turned to him and broke the silence with, “What would you think of going down to Pensacola for some physical exams?”

As long as Windward footed the bill, Nathan was game.  Thus he had gone to Pensacola to be poked and prodded, but it did not end there.  Then it was back to Dallas for a series of much more in depth written and oral exams, then back to New York for a polygraph, a psychological battery, and a security screening which made his Naval background investigation appear narrow in comparison.  Then there was yet another interview, this time in Washington DC and mainly concerned with his military background.  That one had made him the most uncomfortable, but, thankfully, they had largely avoided any discussion of the
Rivero
or the war with North Korea.

And now this.  If this was not the final interview, Nathan knew he was done.  He was either hired today, or he would finally walk away from the whole process.  Of course, this was probably the last step regardless.  How many more hurdles could there be after an interview at the CEO’s own home?

Gordon Elliot Lee, the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Windward Technologies Incorporated, lived in a large two-story home of cedar, stone, and glass.  It was bigger than a house, but too small for a mansion, fitting into its own category as the perfect size for a single California billionaire entrepreneur.  The main house led a phalanx of other buildings: a pair of guest houses on either side of the main house, barns, garages, greenhouses, and what appeared to be a large domed observatory, all of which cut into a rocky hillside of coastal redwoods and seemingly natural drifts of yellow, purple, and white flowers.  At the very edge of perception, identified by the smells of salt and sea in the air, Nathan could hear the crash of waves upon rocks, from a beach no doubt beyond the house and estate.

He parked the rental hybrid next to a battered truck that he doubted could ever pass California’s emission and fuel efficiency standards.  The gravel of the drive gave way to a landscaped walk lined with manicured plots of floral excess and a slate-walled porch.  Taking a deep breath to settle nerves that had once again been set afire with anxiety, Nathan knocked loudly upon the front door.  A blurred image soon appeared beyond the door’s translucent stained glass and it opened to reveal a smiling Gordon Lee, wiping his hands on a faded, threadbare apron.

Lee was wiry, and fit in a way that seemed to have come from work rather than working out.  His features gave a hint of his Asian heritage, making it hard to discern his exact age, while his balding head and graying hair belied his nearly sixty years—a lifetime which had seen Lee’s sharp business and technical acumen turn Windward from a garage sideline into a Fortune 100 corporation.

“Nathan Kelley?”  Lee stuck out a hand.

Nathan gave it a firm shake, self-consciously debating with himself just how much of a grip to use.  Though he had tired of the interview process, Nathan still wanted the job, so he nervously worried over how he could make himself appear neither nervous nor worried.  “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Lee.  You have no idea how big a deal it is to meet the man behind Windward Tech.”

Lee grinned.  “Of course I do.  I pay people a lot of money to make me seem as impressive as I am.  If you weren’t in complete and utter awe of me, I’d have to fire a whole department of minions.  Come on in.  Lunch is almost ready.”

Nathan followed him in and through the house as Lee walked quickly toward the back.  The interior was a mix of blonde and pale red woods, with walls of pastel green striped paper and creamy white plaster.  It was a simple, elegant look, and well appointed with an assortment of lively abstract paintings and comfortable, overstuffed furnishings.  It appeared inviting, lived-in, and fabulously expensive.  The only incongruous element was in the foyer, where an oversized terra cotta warrior of gigantic proportions dominated the entrance, standing ready for battle, in defiance of the homey interior.  Nathan felt sure it was the only decoration that Lee had chosen himself.

There had been stories, concerns in the past ten years about some of Lee’s eccentricities, but those did not bother Nathan at the moment.  He was here to secure a job, and he would not have cared if Lee had answered the door painted blue and wearing just a cape and underwear.  As it was, he appeared to be nothing if not kind, lucid, and rational.  Nathan relaxed the slightest bit.

Exiting out the back, the two men emerged onto a stained cedar deck, where a large brick grill provided the focal point for a wrought iron and red lacquered wood dining set.  Behind the house, past the deck, was a meticulously managed Oriental garden.  Nathan wondered if Lee maintained it himself or if there were invisible servants waiting in the wings of this elaborate stage of tranquility.

Lee raised the cover of the grill, releasing a cloud of fragrant wood smoke and the smell of pleasantly charring meat.  “Ribs or chicken breast, Nathan?”

“That depends, sir.  If it’s lunch, I’ll go for the ribs, that being a secret personal weakness of mine.  But if this is business, I’ll have the chicken, which I’m sure I could eat with a bit more couth.  I’ll just need to know, is this lunch or is this the interview?”

“Yes.”

Nathan shook his head, reached up, and loosened his necktie and shirt collar.  “Ribs then, if you please, sir.”  He removed his blazer, deciding his casual interview attire was not quite casual enough in the face of the oncoming heat of the day and the apparent mood of their meeting.

Lee served up two plates of ribs, along with half a chicken breast each, and added healthy portions of potato salad and cups of frijoles rancheros.  As both men sat, Lee also passed Nathan a freshly opened bottle of beer and held it up in a silent toast.

Nathan clinked the proffered bottle with his own and took a swig, letting the ice-cold brew wash away some of his own anxiety and confusion.  “I’ve got to tell you, sir.  This is not what I expected.  Then again, almost every step of this process has defied my expectations.”

Lee nodded and had a spoonful of the spicy bean soup.  “And what do you think of the process, thus far I mean?”

“It’s been frustrating, Mr. Lee.  I haven’t exactly known why I’ve been doing what I’ve been doing.  I’ve had five interviews, physical exams, background checks, psych tests, IQ tests, knowledge exams, and just about everything else, and it all seems a bit much for a simple systems engineering management position.”

Lee laughed.  “Of course it is.  You’re absolutely right.  No company would spend this amount of time and expense on hiring some faceless engineer … but it makes a lot more sense when you consider the job you were actually interviewing for.”

“Pardon me?”

“Oh, yeah.  You had the Systems Engineer job after the second interview.  We kept the process going for
you
, though.  It was partly out of a sadistic desire to watch you squirm, but mostly, or almost mostly, it was because we had to see if you were qualified for a far more important job.”

Nathan was quiet for a long measure as he considered the implications.  He had hoped, and feared, for something like this.  He took a bite of the succulent, sweet ribs, and wiped his mouth.  “I don’t know whether to be flattered or pissed.”

“Too early for either, I’d say.  After all, we’ve already filled that Systems Engineering position with someone else and you haven’t gotten this other job yet.  You still have more than enough opportunity to screw things up, and then you can be both flattered and pissed.  How’s that sound?”

Nathan took another bite of his meat and a swig of his beer.  “Sounds like this is the best barbecue man has ever put to plate.  And have I mentioned how handsome and youthful you are in person, sir?”

Gordon Lee laughed harder that time and touched his bottle to Nathan’s.  “Funny!  Clever boy.  I have indeed hired some obsequious morons in the past, and it was always a mistake.  But you’ve got a genuine sense of humor on you, Nathan, even if it does tend toward the smartass end of the scale.  So why don’t I ask you what I brought you here to ask?”

“Suits me, sir, but I think I’ve already been asked and answered every possible question in the book.”

“I doubt that, but here it is.  Ready?”

“Absolutely.”

“Mr. Kelley, how would you go about stopping an alien invasion?”

Nathan almost giggled, but stopped himself with a supreme effort.  He took a bite of potato salad to cover any further inclination to laugh, though he could not stop an incredulous smirk as he thought about Lee’s question.  Eventually, after a long pull on his bottle, he cocked his beer toward his potential boss in a quasi-salute.  “That’s quite the zinger.”

“A zinger?  What’s a zinger?”

“You know.  A zinger’s the big ‘out-of-the-box’ question you get during the interview:  If you were a plant, what kind of plant would you be?  It’s the question that’s designed to show how innovative you can be, to show how you think:  a zinger.”

Lee leaned back and nodded.  “Quite the zinger indeed, Nathan.  So, how about it?  How would you stop an alien invasion?”

Nathan frowned as he thought about Lee’s odd question, and how the entire last few weeks could hinge upon his answer.  He stood up and began to pace slightly.  Nathan never could understand people who could think sitting down.  “Okay, an alien invasion is pretty vague, but defeating any other kind of invasion depends on establishing the parameters of the battlespace.  How are these aliens getting here exactly?”

“They’re flying here in a giant rocket or rocket-like contraption from a distant star.  They turned around at the halfway point and are decelerating toward Earth, which they will reach in a little over 22 years.”