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Back The Desert of Glass Save as PDF
Chapters (84)
  1. BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. 66
  69. 67
  70. 68
  71. 69
  72. 70
  73. 71
  74. 72
  75. 73
  76. 74
  77. 75
  78. 76
  79. 77
  80. 78
  81. EPILOGUE
  82. II
  83. III
  84. IV

“Because it’s part of the reason we’re here.”

The professor’s expression was beginning to border on dubious as he watched Angela carefully reach into her purse to pull out a large manilla envelope.  Without a word, she leaned forward and placed it on his desk.

“What is this?”

Rickards spoke up.  “It may be better if you just take a look.”

The older man turned his gaze to the desk and picked up the envelope.  Opening the flap, he reached in and slid out the packet of papers.  On top was Mike Morton’s email to Angela.

“He sent that to me the night before he died,” she said.  “I didn’t know until weeks later.”

It was unclear whether Townsend had heard her.  Instead, he remained quiet, reading.

When he finished the one-page letter, he silently and delicately lifted the page from the stack to reveal the rest of the printed data, carefully examining the first few pages and then flipping through the rest.

Slowly, the professor frowned and dropped his hands on either side of the paper.  “I hope,” he said with a frown, “you didn’t come all the way to Hawaii for this.”

“What?”

“Please tell me you’re also here on vacation.”

“What do you mean?”

Townsend continued frowning and leaned back again, causing his wooden chair to squeak.  “I know what this is.”

“You do?”

“It’s one of the things Mike always tried to talk to us about.  Me and the other engineers.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

The old professor sighed, carefully choosing his words.  “It’s not that we didn’t believe him.  It’s just that some of his ideas were a little… out there.”

“Like this?” asked Rickards, nodding at the papers.

“Like this.  And other things.”

“If you didn’t believe him, then why–”

Townsend interrupted Angela.  “I just said it wasn’t that I didn’t believe him.  It’s because all this CERES business was disproven back in the 70s.”

“By whom?”

“Almost everyone on our team.  And other teams.  Everyone concurred throughout the department.  Except Mike, who was adamant.  He wouldn’t let it go.  He just couldn’t accept that it was a glitch in one of his own systems.”  Townsend looked back and forth at them.  “He didn’t tell you that, did he?”

“Actually,” replied Angela, “he did.”

“He did?”

“He told us no one believed him.  Then or now.”

Townsend began to look perplexed.  “And he was still looking for it when he died?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“What does that mean?”

Angela glanced hesitantly at Rickards, who gave her a slight nod.

“What it means, Professor, is that Mike Morton was right.”

13

13

“Pardon?”

“I said… he was right.”

Townsend looked over at Rickards, who simply shrugged.

“What do you mean he was right?”

Angela tilted her head sarcastically.  “What does it normally mean when a person says someone was right?”

“You’re not implying–”