Richard Neumann
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Accountants in space and a love story that spans a 100 years and crosses 100 light years of space. Earth born accountant Adrian Smith is a phenomenally successful galactic black marketeer of junk food and music, forced to cleverly conceal the source of his wares. Earth is one of a handful of planets whose very location carries with it a death sentence imposed by the regulators of intergalactic trade, roughly translated as Certified Public Accountants. To unlock the mystery of Earth’s banishment form the galaxy, Adrian will first have to help a dieing alien keep a long forgotten promise. Through a faded journal, Adrian retraces the steps of the alien’s visit to Earth in 1915, from the darkest depths of the Amazon jungle to the Pan Pacific International Exhibition in San Francisco to the war torn trenches of France at the dawn of WWI. Adrian is aided by a bartender who has an unusual propensity to name everything, including a planet after himself, the most sinister of black marketeers whose navigator eats cans of Pepsi™ raw and princess who is locked into indentured servitude. Solving the mystery reveals a treasure far more valuable than a cargo hold filled with Dorritos™.
Richard was born in Burbank, California in 1957, the son of an aerospace engineer and a Hollywood movie starlet. He graduated from San Jose State in 1979 with a Bachelor of Science degree in Business. Although his career has taken him down the path of corporate CFO, his love has always been writing. Richard spent a good portion of his high school writing, producing amateur movies and working back stage for local theaters. Years later he returned to writing and theater as way to bring tranquility to the turmoil of high stress corporate mergers and acquisitions. He has completed two full-length novels and is deep into a third. Richard has also written five stage plays, three that have been produced.
The journal was thick and, flipping the pages gently, Adrian could see that they were filled with an unusual script.
"Please, T’Sam and Mr. Smith, read this. It will explain much. When you are through I hope a dying alien can be forgiven and be granted the mercy of a last request."
Adrian was stunned by the power of Kartel’s words. "T’Sam, did you know about this?"
She looked away, "I had an idea. We should let Kartel rest now. Let’s say our ‘good nights’ and retire." Again, Adrian followed her lead and, picking up the book with great care, thanked Kartel for his invitation and left. He unconsciously started to follow T'Sam into her room, assuming that they would read the book together that night.
She stopped him in his tracks. "I do not think so."
Adrian was confused and distracted by his deep curiosity about the book. He nodded and moved on to his room. He opened the door to the balcony and was moving a chair close to it when T’Sam’s voice called from the balcony next door. He peered over a small dividing wall and noticed that she had moved a table, two chairs and a small reading lamp onto her comparatively expansive veranda. "I can’t invite you in, but if you can get here from there," she smiled maliciously, "I won’t have actually invited you into my room."
Adrian handed her the journal reluctantly and crawled gingerly over the wall. She handed him a small, delicate glass and motioned him into one of the chairs. Adrian noticed that once again T’Sam had loosened her braids, allowing her hair to flow freely about her shoulders. He took the journal from her and laid it carefully upon the small table. With great trepidation he opened it once again. T’Sam edged her chair closer so that she could read along with him.
Adrian closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the smell of the book fill his senses. He loved the smell of old books. It brought back memories of an audit of a used bookstore in the old downtown San Jose. Somewhere, he remembered, on San Fernando Street. How he had loved the smell of the building, that musty thick smell of leather, paper, paste, words, and ideas long forgotten.
The shopkeeper had been old and about to be closed down for failing to pay his California Corporate Tax. Adrian had painstakingly inventoried the entire stock of books, magazines, newspapers, and records. There were lots of worthless items but, amid all of the thousands of books, Adrian had found one jewel. It was a first edition Lost World, autographed by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Adrian had helped the owner locate a buyer in Oakland and negotiated a price that was more than enough to pay his delinquent taxes.
He opened his eyes. His disk projected translated words, dates and numbers into English. Adrian read the title page.
