“It was a shame,” Sam said, “that he had such an inept patent attorney. Of course, that was good for us.”
“Does his estate have a case?” Regina asked.
“Not according to my very expensive attorney, who is billing me for a meeting that I am now missing,” Sam said, taking one of Regina’s shallot crisps before she could slap his hand. “The coding for more than half of the tech he developed came from an alien ship in the first round of contact, so that tech belonged to the United States of America. The government had every right to sell and we are bonafide purchasers with unassailable rights to the twenty-three coding patents related to nano waste disposal. At least, that’s the lawyer’s conclusion.”
Regina finished her burger and made one last audible slurp of the milkshake as the ground crew cleared the way for the jet to begin taxiing. “Is the lawsuit a money grab since litigation could delay the release of your ‘Space Toilet?’”
“No,” Sam said. “Their suit is for injunctive relief only – they want to stop any use of the technology.”
“Could still be a money grab.” Regina wadded up the empty wrappers and greasy paper bag, put them in the waste bin, and resealed the compartment. “As soon as the right dollar figure is offered, their noble concerns will wash away like dead leaves in the gutter.”
Sam shrugged while holding up a manila envelope. “I will know after I read this. The lawyer said the Malcolm family’s representative asked that I read this and then they will discuss resolving the lawsuit.”
“Better you than me.” Regina closed her eyes against the unpleasant feeling in her stomach and thought, Regret always comes after eating a Rowdy bacon cheeseburger and crisps. She buckled her seatbelt as they readied for takeoff.
The Jet surged ahead as it lifted into the sky. With the willpower of a shaolin monk, Regina was able to keep her lunch in her stomach despite the sensation of sitting in the backseat of a drag racer. By the time they leveled out, heading south over the Gulf of Mexico en route to Blanco Island, Regina was able to take steady and deep breaths and feel at peace. She listened as Braxton explained the nano technology element of the Jenkins Space Toilet to Kristine.
“The science behind this tech was viewed as an environmental watershed moment when it filled the sci journals a decade ago. Nanobots break down waste into four components: re-usable nutrients for re-consumption, dry fertilizer, dry disposables and pure water.” Braxton’s voice nearly cracked with excitement.
Kristine sounded a bit disgusted. “Reusable nutrients and clean water? People don’t actually eat or drink the stuff, do they?”
“They could.” Braxton’s excitement remained unswayed by Kristine’s response. “In space, they drank the water, but only packaged the reusables and kept them in storage in case of an emergency. Jenkins Industries will buy back the reusables under a contract with a dogfood manufacturer, and people will probably use the water for plants or pets. But, it’s totally safe.”
Regina had the feeling the young man could go on for hours about human waste and nanotech, oblivious or uncaring of the impact it was having on the attractive woman next to him.
Braxton began talking about the impact this tech would have on sewage treatment when Bradly Carpenter interrupted from the back row of the jet. His curly black hair and dark eyes made him look like a movie star from the chin up, but his oversized Adam’s apple and long neck took away the bonus points gained by his piercing eyes. “This space toilet tech is going to make our boss the 21st Century Thomas Crapper.”
Braxton and Gullivan both laughed. Gullivan, squat and thick-armed with a ruddy complexion, said, “People are going to refer to a bowel movement by saying they have to take a Jenk!” More guffaws from his own mouth followed. Others joined, but without nearly the gusto of Gullivan.
Regina closed her eyes and waited for what she knew would soon follow.
Sam swiveled in the leather bucket seat and said, “Gullivan, you just sprinted past Carpenter to the top of my Jenk List of who gets fired if we don’t fix whatever’s wrong at the factory before five.”
Gullivan laughed as though Sam was joking and said, “Then, I guess I might as well pitch you what I think your ad campaign for Phase Two ought to be. Imagine a glassy mountain lake with pine trees all around. Up pulls a high-end RV and then in the cadence of a 1990’s infomercial, Jack Blang’s voiceover says, ‘The next time you go in the woods, make sure you bring your snapable, tapable, totally collapsible, pocket sized, car seat adaptable, just set it and forget it, Sam Jenkins’ Space Port-a-Potty.’”
Regina wanted to laugh, but she could feel the heat building from Sam even as Gullivan cackled until tears leaked out the corners of his eyes. The others had started laughing, but everyone else stopped before Gullivan.
“You know the thing about really talented engineers, Gullivan?” Sam said icily. Not waiting for a response, he went on, “There are loads of them. And they tend to work just as well in the basement as they do on the twentieth floor.”
Regina shivered. There was a degree of seriousness in Sam’s tone. He might have been puffing before, but Gullivan would need to be more cautious. Sam could be very petty. She added this to the mental list of things to talk about on Fiji with Sam, having already decided that was where they would have their talk. Sam needed to change or he risked losing talented people, like Gullivan. Like her.
The mood was subdued after that.
After a while, Kristine asked, “Why would the government sell the patents based on alien tech? Isn’t that dangerous?”
Sam looked up from reading the Malcolm documents and said, “They didn’t sell any of the weapons or defense-based patents. In fact, it was because of those that they sold the non-military use patents—to raise funds to pay for the Space Defense Initiative. Producing space-based defenses became necessary when the first invasion hit and proved that the universe was more dangerous than we thought. The tech recovered from their ships advanced our defensive capabilities by light years. The government funded those productions in part by selling patents for other tech and retaining rights for a share of the profits. Uncle Sam will make hundreds of millions off this toilet alone.”
Kristine said, “I’ve heard that before all that construction in space, the stars were beautiful.”
Sam shrugged, “I see the stars and wonder which one warms the planet of the aliens that tried to invade us, and when they’ll come back.”
Braxton nodded. “Yeah, but when they come back, we’ll be ready for them.”
Sam went back to reading with a scowl on his face. Regina knew something in the report had pushed him toward the edge. Gullivan’s ribbing would have normally earned him a slap on the wrist rather than a kick in the gut. She also knew better than to ask Sam about the report before he was ready to talk about it.
As the jet neared Blanco Island, the white sand beaches surrounding the five-square-mile strip of paradise glistened like diamonds. It had been a shame for their predecessors to have built an enormous concrete factory, long dock capable of accommodating mid-sized freighters and a private airstrip long enough for full-sized jets to use on top of such a gorgeous place. That predecessor had built military helicopters for clientele that ranged from South American governments, to private security companies, to drug cartels and the very wealthy. Once vacant, it had been a perfect fit for Jenkins Industries’ more secretive projects.