The Atlantium Mysteries
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The Atlantium Mysteries
The Matter of the Missing Martian Millionaire (Part 2)
As Atlas Dakar explains this matter of life and death which he has brought before Ezra Lockwood and John Spencer, the two must decide if they will take on this task, and if so, how they are to assist in finding a man on another planet.
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Mr. Dakkar stroked his immaculately kept grey beard solemnly a moment as Ezra and I waited with keen interest. I wondered what this matter of life or death could possibly be that this man would choose to both confide in and seek assistance from the two of us.
“Are you aware of your fellow Bostonian Dr. Alexei Marsden who is currently on Mars?” Mr. Dakkar at last asked. I couldn’t contain my surprised outburst, “The missing Martian millionaire?”
“Yes,” Mr. Dakkar answered brusquely. “Though I hope you do not believe all of the drivel that is oozed from the lie machine that is the news.”
I was greatly disappointed at having seemingly aligned myself with the very twaddle I was myself rebuffing only half an hour earlier by quoting that title. Now it appeared I fell in line with such exaggerated and presumptive sensationalism. Yet, I could think of no tactful way to restore my dignity.
However, Ezra, moving to take another seat near to Mr. Dakkar said, “John has just read me an article concerning Dr. Marsden, but don’t doubt him, he did so with the heart of a true skeptic.” Wow, I thought, Ezra has vouched for me twice in the conversation already. “You see as we have no other source, such has been our lot. But what of this scientist, Mr. Dakkar? What is he to do with this matter you bring to our door?”
Mr. Dakkar eyed him a moment, seeming to study both the man before him and the character within. Then with a sign of resignation, he went on, “Alexei is a genius. There is no doubt on that account. His work on Mars with his Microbial Fuel Cells has surpassed all expectations. Consider that the high efficiency solar panels, which power the Harmony Station, generate only half the energy on Mars they do here on earth, because of the red planet’s low solar irradiance and greater atmospheric scattering. Meanwhile, Alexei’s MFC’s, which took almost no space on the shuttle, have been expanded on Mars itself. Allowing more payload for the fusion reactor equipment, rather than more heavy, fragile, and inefficient solar panels. His work has shaved ten years off the schedule for a five-hundred-person permanent community on Mars. Therefore, the first true Martian, that is to say, the first person born on Mars, is likely to occur within the next few years.
“Now as to Alexei searching for extinct Martians, that notion has been completely exaggerated. He did not go to Mars to find the crumbling abandoned temples and overgrown windswept roads of little green men. NASA has been searching for microbes since the first days of Martian rovers poking around on the surface like little toys. Microbes are Marsden’s focus of investigation; of course he has a special interest in finding them. It could advance his own work as well as the Harmony project significantly.
“Alexei has his quirks. haven’t we all? But to exploit, misrepresent, and malign his words and ideas just to sell some news does nothing for the advancement of humankind. It is insidious and cancerous. I have known and worked with Alexei for many years now and though he can be secretive and illusive, his reasons are the same I mentioned a moment ago. And he works for the progress of humanity only.
“Furthermore, it has come to the point that Alexei’s work is now just as inextricably linked to my own project as the work that was done at Naptu. Indeed, so important is his research to my own venture and so high in his trust am I, that before he left, he granted me full access to all his data. This was a safeguard; in case he did not survive his space adventure. At the time it had seemed an unnecessary precaution. Now this precaution may be our only way of saving him.
“Alexei’s last chance to be found is a narrow break in the storm. NASA is forecasting it to occur sometime early tomorrow morning. Here is my request to the two of you: come to Alexei’s home office in Forest Hills. Comb through his latest transmissions and research and employ your amazing skills to determine where he might have gone.”
Mr. Dakkar ended suddenly and I sat in wonderment at the proposition. How could we even attempt this? His documents, his research, his database must be massive. This gave me a thought and I questioned, “Can you not just ask Marsden’s ICE where he is most likely to be?”
Mr. Dakkar shook his head disappointedly, “It is a useless machine. Marsden seems to have never given it much leeway. It has all the information, but it refuses to offer any meaningful advice or suggestions. It is simply data recall. I just came from there and I will tell you I was fairly enraged with it, and I simply do not have the time or skill to scan the raw footage. That’s when I thought of you two. I will grant you access to his ICE, but it won’t do any of the heavy lifting for you.”
I looked to Ezra, but he had remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the floor. Mr. Dakkar, after waiting a moment, pressed further, “There is very little time. Every minute here counts, but also it would take so little of your time. Less than half a day to possibly save a man’s life. Eleven hours to ensure the survival of an amazing mind. You will also be well paid, of course. I understand Mr. Hunter sent you something to show his gratitude, and though it was no trifle amount, I will double it.”
This was news to me. “Mr. Hunter paid you?” I asked Ezra with surprise.
“I suppose so,” he said breaking his heavy silence. “He mentioned he might, in spite of my protests, but as you know, John, I’m terrible about monitoring my accounts.” I wasn’t sure what to say about this but Ezra, returning his attention to Mr. Dakkar, expressed his uncertainty about this project saying, “I know nothing of Mars, Mr. Dakkar. I feel it is to establish undue hope to suggest that John and I could process enough information on matters of which we are entirely ignorant as to make a meaningful suggestion of Dr. Marsden’s whereabouts.”
“I understand and lay no obligation upon you; and you will be paid either way, though that seems of little importance to you,” Mr. Dakkar replied.
“Are not the people on Mars themselves the best informed to make guesses? I would not want to lead them astray,” Ezra asked.
“I have been communicating with Commander Harding directly. It was he who reached out to me, hoping Alexie’s friends on Earth might have some advice to help direct the search team. They are desperate for any aid possible and, despite the insinuations, no one on Mars wants Alexei dead. But the Noctis Labyrinthus region is larger than Connecticut. They need help.”
With evident hesitancy in his voice, Ezra agreed, “Okay. We will have a look, but I must impress upon you again, Mr. Dakkar, do not expect anything from us. Is that okay with you, John?”
“It seems improbable, but I suppose we should at least try. If you don’t think there is anyone better suited,” I answered.
“Believe me, if there were, I would be speaking to them instead right now,” Mr. Dakkar said definitely.
Having promised to help, Mr. Dakkar rushed us out into the dripping rain and then into his waiting car. The drive to Forest Hills is not more than twenty minutes and took us past the Museum of Fine Arts, reminding me Ezra had planned on attending a lecture there that evening. I looked at him, but his gaze was ahead and did not linger as we passed the golden-lit columns that beckoned invitingly in the falling night.
As we drove, Mr. Dakkar turned and explained that he would not be able to remain long with us in the home of Marsden, as he had another pressing meeting. Expounding on this, he said, “I had devoted many hours of my busy life to my missing friend, and while he is very important to me and I want dearly to bring him home again, I cannot shirk my duties and obligations to others.”
With the sound of water splashing against the wheel wells, we hurried along Arborway to Washington Street—the trees in the park emerald green with new foliage. Turning into Marsden’s residential enclave, we wound past new and old homes, but all of them stately and large. Cherry trees were common, their pink blooms lit by the streetlamps, creating auroral halos about the lithe dark branches. There were no other cars on the street and I felt the place peculiar for its mix of beauty and quiet loneliness; but maybe it was the rain. Maybe my fancy was taking hold of me, so quickly disjointed from my simple plain apartment and thrust suddenly into this strange adventure.
With these melancholic thoughts drifting through my mind, I found we were turning into a drive and pausing before a gate. I looked forward at the black bars before us blocking our passage. We were still but a moment when, apparently at a signal having been sent by Mr. Dakkar, the gates began to swing open, and we passed smoothly in. The drive circled to the left, with a great elm tree blocking the home so that only as we swung before the very building itself, could I get a view of it.
An old colonial style home, much expanded over the years no doubt, but in an attentive and complementary way. Mr. Dakkar at once stepped out and hailed for us to follow him up the steps to the large solid doors. He was spry, his footing firm yet swift upon the wet stones. Within the porch he did not pause but threw open the door at once. “Come, come,” he said, and we followed him into the warm bright foyer. “Kevin,” Mr. Dakkar called in a commanding tone.
Not waiting for the called Kevin, Mr. Dakkar was striding across the parquet floor even as I fumbled to get my bearings on the room. A spacious entry with the expected fine finishings and upon nearly every inch of wall hung pictures or paintings, it was hard to tell which. Some were quite large, many feet wide, while others were smaller. There were also several statues, some classical and some entirely unknown to me—bazaar and geometric pieces.
A door opened on the left of the great hall and a man, Kevin I assumed, strode up to us, his formal greeting short but polite. He was soon speaking to Mr. Dakkar, but I was not listening to their talk, for a small pastoral painting had captured my attention. I have said painting for that is what I had initially thought it be, but I quickly realized as I drew nearer it was in fact digital, for the light was shifting upon the distant grass and stone tower as the clouds drifted slowly along. What had caught my attention was a small red bird in the foreground, and now as I stood inspecting the image it suddenly twitched its beak and leapt from the branch on which it had been sitting to another of the same tree. It preened and flitted and cast rapid glances here and there as if it were waiting for something. It was all very real looking, like a film, save for the tree branches. They were too symmetrical, too straight, almost ladder-like, and every time the bird landed upon any branch, it chirped a high crisp note.
“All right gentlemen, dinner is arranged. Kevin will call you in an hour or so when it is ready,” Mr. Dakkar said recalling my attention. Turning from the bird, I saw Ezra, too, had become interested in one of the large pieces. Mr. Dakkar stepped over to him and explained, “These are all interactive works designed by Alexei, himself.” He side-stepped to a nearby piece, a running waterfall, and putting his finger to the digital cascade, blocked the falling water in one place so that we saw behind a rock ledge and a solid door with a prominent old-fashioned brass keyhole. “Somewhere in this painting is the key for that door,” Mr. Dakkar said. “It took me some time, but I eventually found it, but I won’t spoil it for you. However, that will have to be for another time. Come.”
But Ezra did not follow, he instead stepped up to the piece he had been staring at. It was a large image of a slab of stone with what I guessed were Egyptian hieroglyphs etched into its ancient surface. A large crack ran from top to bottom with chips and flakes throughout so that I could have sworn the relic was real. Yet, Ezra reaching out, touched one of these glyphs and then drug it across the fractured surface, and removing his finger dropped it at a new location. The glyph appeared again to have been there for ages.
Seeing Ezra’s interest, Mr. Dakkar told us, “Alexei created this one for the Egyptian Exhibition in Cairo a few years back. The event was full of specialists who can easily read these markings, but no one there could solve it. They tried rearranging them to create passages from The Book of the Dead and other well-known ancient Egyptian writings, but nothing was successful. Alexei was quite disappointed. He has kept it prominent here ever since, insisting it is one of his simplest puzzles, and he thought it would have been cracked in minutes in Cairo.”
Ezra gave Mr. Dakkar no response but began shifting the twelve or so glyphs about until, stepping back, he looked on as water began at first trickling and then spurting forth from the crack in the stone. This flow increased quickly so that the stone was soon split apart and crumbled and then washed away in a deluge of rushing green waters. And then words formed in the water as though they were made of bits of debris until a full sentence could be read: “Your reward is a private tour of the dig site of Queen Nefertiti’s tomb.”
“Astounding!” Mr. Dakkar exclaimed. “Absolutely astounding!” And he shook Ezra’s hand fervently. “What a wonder, you read ancient Egyptian, too!? How did you do what so many Egyptologists could not? Is it an unusual dialect, or rare passage?”
“I could not say. I cannot read hieroglyphics,” Ezra explained calmly. “I suppose that’s why I could solve it. It’s not a selection of ancient writing––it’s a map.” The water had drained away and the image reset so that we saw again the same bit of dry fractured stone with the glyphs again rearranged. Pointing to the crack that ran top to bottom of the stone, Ezra said, “You see, this is the Nile River. We have a bit of the delta here where it drains into the Mediterranean, and the whole of Upper and Lower Egypt. These glyphs do not represent letters or sounds but are rather icons marking the sites of well-known ruins.”
Shaking his head, Mr. Dakkar laughed, saying, “Unbelievable, you see, that is why I brought you here. Too bad you didn’t solve that a couple of years ago. Nefertiti’s tomb had just been found and very few people had access to it. That was a nice reward Alexei was offering.”
As Mr. Dakkar led us up the stairs, I marveled at Ezra’s demonstration and found myself wondering if maybe he would be able to crack this matter of the missing Martian millionaire as well. Turning right at the landing, we walked down a wide hall, Mr. Dakkar explaining that Marsden had his own lab in Cambridge, but everything was shared between there and his home office.
At a plinth, on which rested a bust of Benjamin Franklin, Mr. Dakkar turned and opened one of two double doors upon the left. The room into which we entered was at first dark, but at once with a gentle, though rapid, graduation, it grew brighter, the luminance coming from several sources: table and floor lamps, coffer panels on the walls and ceiling, and a flickering gas fire in the stately hearth. There was a large window also, directly opposite the entrance, but as the heavy curtains drew silently back, the grey evening without had no light to contribute to the pleasing radiant atmosphere within.
A large graphene screen also awoke on the right side of the room, displaying an entire iceberg adrift in a clear ocean. The perspective being from the water level, both the frigid white mountain above and the massive blue keel beneath the surface were captured in the image. The effect was cold and striking and somewhat out of place in a room otherwise so warm and comfortable.
Going directly to the desk before this display, Mr. Dakkar spoke to Marsden’s ICE saying, “I am Atlas Dakkar. Do you identify me?”
“I do,” was the quick, almost cheery response.
“This is Ezra Lockwood and John Spencer,” Mr. Dakkar said motioning for us to come within the readers. “Identify, them please.”
“I have done so,” the ICE responded.
“Good. I give them temporary read-only access to everything on your system, which Alexei has given me access too.”
“Atlas Dakkar, please confirm Ezra Lockwood and John Spencer are to have read-only access to Dr. Alexei Marsden’s data lake, digital library, processing sky, and cognitive engine on a temporary basis.”
“I confirm.”
“Excellent. As you have given me no signals, physically or physiologically, indicating coercion or force, I will grant Ezra Lockwood and John Spencer read-only access temporarily. When would you like me to recall this temporary permission, Atlas Dakkar?”
Mr. Dakkar turned and looked at us seriously, “Ten hours,” he said.
As the ICE repeated the request for confirmation, the importance of that number sank upon my heart like a cold heavy weight, to use an obvious metaphor, like an iceberg. Ezra and I had ten hours to attempt to save a man’s life on another planet.
Recalling my attention, I realized Mr. Dakkar was giving us a final admonition, saying almost sheepishly, “Regardless of my dismissal of the notion that Alexie is fixated with alien life on Mars, his sudden departure does suggest he might have made a recent, exciting discovery he simply couldn't wait to investigate. He can be impulsive in that way. It is his excitement for his science. I’m sure you understand. However, I mention this as it may be a good starting point for your investigation.”
And with that final, somewhat cryptic thought, and a hurried goodbye Mr. Dakkar left Ezra and I. Despite the forewarning he had given us, the reality was striking. We were in a stranger’s house, allowed in by a stranger, and now left alone with the former stranger’s ICE. Everything about Marsden was open to us: all his professional work, personal interests, projects, ideas—everything. A great deal of trust and discretion had been laid upon us and I was left wondering if had it really been executed by the appropriate authority.
However, I quickly realized that didn’t matter now. We were here and it was done. What mattered was finding where Marsden might be. In ten hours, Commander Harding would be sending three Hoppers into the vast Martian desert; Ezra and I needed to uncover at least one likely place for them to find him. But where should we even begin?
Ezra was pensive, standing in the white light of the iceberg. The image on the graphene was so clear, I almost felt the cold radiating from it. I realized Mr. Dakkar had not addressed the ICE, so I blurted out, “Dr. Marsden’s ICE, what are you called?”
“My name is Ice,” it responded, sounding pleased at having been asked.
I snorted, “He named his ICE, Ice? Marsden really didn’t care about this thing. It’s like it’s fresh out of the box.”
Ezra said nothing. So, to get us started, I decided to ask the first question which Mr. Dakkar had so reticently proposed we ask, “Well, Ice, where is the most likely location Marsden would go to look for ancient life on Mars?”
The machine answered, “Throughout the history of Martian exploration, scientists have concentrated on studying environmental and geological formations such as ancient lakes, rivers, deltas, caves, lava tubes, and craters, analyzing Martian rocks and soils for biosignatures of microbial life.
“However, despite over eighty years of Martian missions, including six manned missions, no definitive discovery has been made proving ancient life on Mars. This has led most agencies and experts to conclude that there likely has never been life on Mars.”
“Okay, Ice, but where do you believe Marsden might look, based on his own research?”
“Alexei has been very interested in the possibility of ancient life on Mars. Particularly as it applies to his work with microbial life. Most scientists agree, that if life were to be found on Mars, it would be very simple life, such as microbial life. Alexei has considered the possibility of life on Mars as being most likely found in ancient waterways and systems like lakes, rivers, and deltas and caves, lava tubes and…”
“I understand that,” I interrupted with some frustration. “But where would Alexei be most likely to look himself while on Mars, now?”
“Alexei, like many scientists of the past, has shown a great deal of interest in searching for ancient life on Mars in many different areas such as:
Olympus Mons: The largest volcano in the Solar System, standing about thirteen and a half miles tall, with a caldera that is approximately fifty miles in diameter.
Hellas Planitia: The largest impact crater on Mars and one of the deepest and widest known impact basins in the Solar System.
Elysium Planitia: A volcanic plain located near the Martian equator, where NASA's InSight lander was stationed to study the Martian interior.
Cydonia: Famous for the "Face on Mars" feature and other potential geologically interesting formations.
Utopia Planitia: A large plain…
“Ice,” I interrupted again, “these places must be all over Mars. Alexei is based at the Harmony Research Station. From there, where would he most likely search?”
“There are several locations once thought to be possible sites for ancient life on Mars relatively near to the Harmony Research Station. These include:
Olympus Mons: Because its geothermal and hydrothermal activity may have given the necessary heat for life to grow, while the network of subsurface cavities and lava tubes may have provided shelter from the harsh atmospheric conditions such as radiation and tempera…”
“Wait, wait,” I said, “We know where he may have gone. Why am I asking all of this?” I looked to Ezra, my expression saying why haven’t you stopped me, but he only shrugged.
“Ice, we know Alexei is in the region of Noctis Labyrinthus. Where in that area might he most likely be looking for ancient life?”
“Certainly, Noctis Labyrinthus, located near the western end of Valles Marineris on Mars, was once a region of interest for scientists studying potential ancient Martian life because of its complex system of intersecting valleys, ridges, and plateaus. These geological formations suggest a history of tectonic activity and the presence of ancient lakes and water-related processes were thought to possibly provide habitable environments for microbial life.
“Also, the intricate network of valleys in Noctis Labyrinthus hints at past hydrothermal activity. Hydrothermal systems on Earth support diverse microbial communities in extreme environments, indicating that similar conditions on Mars could have potentially harbored life.
“Furthermore, remote sensing observations have detected clay minerals in Noctis Labyrinthus. On Earth, clay minerals are often associated with environments where water was present over extended periods. They can preserve organic materials and biosignatures, making them promising targets for the search for ancient life.
“Lastly, the exposed rock layers and geological formations in Noctis Labyrinthus could have provided…
This time it was Ezra who interrupted the machine, “Ice, what does I.C.E. stand for?”
Ice answered, “With the rampant proliferation of what's termed "dirty data" or "information decay," computer scientists recognized open artificial intelligence systems were too vulnerable to erroneous information. Whether the inaccurate input was deliberate and malicious or inadvertent and benign, it compromised the operational integrity of these early systems. Consequently, ICEs were conceived. Interestingly, the "I" in ICE can represent three distinct concepts depending on the source: Intelligent, Isolated, or Independent. Despite typically comprising two words, such as "Isolated Intelligent" the acronym incorporates only one "I." The "C" distinctly signifies Cognitive, while the "E" may denote Engine or Environment.”
“Gee, thanks for the history lesson,” I said sarcastically.
“I mean, what does the I, C, and E stand for in your name, Ice?” Ezra persisted.
"My designation varies slightly from similar systems. The 'I' represents Immediate, the 'C' denotes Cognitive, while the 'E' signifies Environment."
I turned wide-eyed to Ezra, “What does that mean?” I asked him.
His face showed his concentration. “Immediate, as in first?” he mumbled. Then looking up, he said, “Do you mean to say there is a secondary system? Does this mean you do not have access to all of Dr. Marsden’s information?”
“I have access to all of the information Alexie has allowed me to access.”
“But there is a secondary system beneath or beyond yours that holds more information?”
“I do not know what is beyond my system.”
Ezra stepped back from the desk and paced. “What does this mean?” I asked him again. He shook his head uncertainly. Then turning again to the display, he said, “Ice, is there a password that if given, another system is accessible?”
“Yes.”
My mind was reeling. What was Ezra on to here. A secondary system. A secondary ICE, the actual ICE Marsden used—not this useless front.
“But you do not know what that system is?” Ezra asked Ice.
“I do not, as you say it is beyond me.”
“Is the password Iceberg?”
My eyes flicked to the screen and the mammoth mountain of ice, and for an instant was certain Ezra had done it. There was a moment that felt like minutes when Ice at last responded, “Iceberg is not the password.”
“Of course not,” Ezra said, “Too easy, but a clue nonetheless.”
“A clue?” I asked.
Ezra stepped back and sat in a chair by the wall, staring at the white and blue Iceberg. “Yes, John, a clue. Look at it. So out of place, so obvious,” he said darkly.
The room was silent as he stared off stroking his chin. At intervals, he muttered words, “Lake…Ice…Iceberg. What does it mean?”
Ice and iceberg I knew but I wondered about lake; where had lake come in? I thought back, Data Lake. That was a term Ice had used. It had struck me as odd. I had never heard it before. What could it mean then, was the password water-related? Ocean, River, Stream. I stood and went to the desk and rattled off every water word I could come up with. Nothing worked. I began thinking about where the water meets the land: bay, isthmus, peninsula. I was going on for some little time with this when Ezra stopped me, saying, “John, I can’t think with you doing that. We must be thoughtful here. Dr. Marsden is a man who likes his puzzles. We have to solve this. We can’t guess it.”
“Surely it’s worth trying,” I protested. “How many words could we say in the next ten hours?” I turned to the display and said, “Ice, how many words can we say in ten hours?”
The chipper response came, “The number of words a person can speak in ten hours varies widely depending on factors such as speaking rate, clarity of speech, and whether there are breaks or pauses. On average, a person speaks about one hundred and twenty-five to one hundred and fifty words per minute in casual conversation. Assuming an average speaking rate of one hundred and fifty words per minute that would convert to nine thousand words per hour. Therefore, in ten hours, a person could potentially speak ninety thousand words.
“Well, that’s a lot of words,” I said. “And how many words are there in the English language?”
“Estimating the total number of words in the English language is quite challenging due to its dynamic nature, with new words constantly being added and old ones fading into disuse. However, to provide a rough estimate, the Oxford English Dictionary, which is one of the most comprehensive dictionaries of the English language, includes over six hundred thousand words.”
“You see, John, we could speak straight for the next ten hours and get only a fraction of the known words out. But that’s English words. A man like Marsden, who knows. His password may not even be English or might be a combination of words or a phrase.”
Defeated, I left the blue light of the display and retreated to the comforting flickering yellow light of the fire. Standing at the hearth, watching the flames, I was suddenly struck by the contrast. Turning to Ezra, I pointed this out saying, “Fire and ice. Is there something in the connection. Melt maybe.” I raised my voice, “Ice, is melt the password?”
“No, melt is not the password,” Ice answered happily.
Ezra hadn’t moved or responded but sat working his brain. I returned to the fire and then paced over to the window. Looking out of the large pane, beyond Marsden’s brick wall, I saw a park. I wondered which park it could be. It was full dark now and raining lightly, but I could see the park clearly as it was lit by many lampposts and some spotlights at a monument and about a large body of water. I guessed it must be Franklin Park and the Scarboro Pond.
For some minutes my mind was lost in revolving circular thoughts, until suddenly I realized we were forgetting the instigator of this mystery. “What about Mr. Dakkar?” I said turning to Ezra. “Wouldn’t he know? Why bring us here to go through Marsden’s data if we can’t access it?”
His response took a moment, but at length he said slowly, “That’s what I’ve been wondering about John. Did he know there is a locked second system when he brought us here? Is that actually what he brought us here for? To break into that system?”
I had never doubted Mr. Dakkar, but suddenly I realized how much more likely it might be that we were being used to crack Marsden’s ICE rather than find the man on Mars.
Evidently, seeing my doubt writ on my face, Ezra interrupted my panic saying, “Careful, John, we have very little data. Mr. Dakkar may have nefarious intentions and he may not. We can only postulate but we cannot prove.”
“What do you want to do then?” I asked uncertainly.
At that moment, there was a notification ding. Both Ezra and I looked up. The face of Kevin appeared on the display. “Sorry to interrupt gentlemen, but dinner is ready,” he said.