I was walking straight toward his table and was going to just give him a piece of my mind when another piece of that same mind decided I should make him come to me. Really, in retrospect, that just was so girlie. And, since he was watching me walk in and march toward him, when I did a perfect ninety degree military turn in the middle of all that marching and strode to the other side of the room, I really should have been as embarrassed as I felt about the whole drama. Then, my non-rational self decided not to give him the pleasure of looking in his direction. I was a mess.
The assistant parked Daven at the lengthy boardroom table and closed the door quietly behind her. Daven sighed. He knew he was now destined to wait for three to five minutes for his host to arrive. That was the proper amount of time to signal Alpha status without offending. Thank God for smart phones. What a colossal waste of time these Power Waits had been before the advent of convenient electronic connections. In this office, however, Daven discovered that his device couldn’t find a cellular signal. He stood and moved to the window. Still nothing. His host had achieved the ultimate move in a Power Wait: block cellular signals to the conference room. It screamed that nothing could be more important than the impending interaction with the owner of the room.
Jeff was concentrating less on the words he was speaking than on the miles-per-gallon output on the Prius dashboard. The car had become a game for him, too. The point was to try to maximize mpg at all times.
For me, car driving was a waste in many ways. While others focused on the negatives of pollution and petroleum costs, I could not fathom the human waste involved—not the excrement kind; rather, I mean that the average American spends sixteen hundred hours driving a car every year. Sixteen hundred hours of rapt, pointless attention. Assuming other brains work like mine, we each have only a limited number of hours of serious concentration in us each day. If four hours of that shockingly scarce resource are wasted daily on left and right turns, it is little wonder that civilization was waning.
I remain unconvinced that I had much choice in this “experiment.” So, by way of disclaimer: this is not my hypothesis. When your dissertation advisor tells you to do a bit of research, you do it.
Rich and poor look at death very differently. If there is something after this life–another existence of some kind, the law of averages require that if you live now as a poor person, you’d have more chance of coming back in the next life a little richer. When the rich die, they have a greater chance of coming back with less. The rich have every reason to cling to their lives of good fortune tenaciously.
Kodachrome is a novel about a global revolution that cuts across cultural, economic, and geographic divides; a conflict between the forces of rampant greed and demands for fairness and dignity.
The two main characters are extraordinary yet solitary – reluctant warriors who never meet. Miranda Carter is a cloistered graduate student dispatched to meet her estranged Mormon grandmother and examine a bizarre medical prognosis. Zhuli Cai is an unassuming young Chinese army officer willing to give everything to save the members of his unit. He holds a heavy secret.
Miranda and Zhuli are thrown headlong into technological and supernatural intrigue and deceit. They reckon with true impossibilities and face their own worst fears in a world of double-crosses, prophets, spies, presidential candidates, and Chinese revolutionaries.
On its way to a truly surprise ending, Kodachrome will beguile you with thriller-like tempo, the foresight of science fiction, deep social truths normally found only in historical novels, and a plot that you have never seen before – anywhere.