Recollection Rick

Chapter 42

"This is for all the marbles," George announces. "Whoever has the most points after Final Recollection moves on to the quarter-finals of the Tournament of Champions. The final category is Dimensions. Think about it while we go to break and make your wagers."

Possibilities whirl through Rick's mind. Dimensions could mean anything from the size of a building to how to measure lumber. Or it could mean the kind of question Dana warned him about. Videos the teen Recollection superfan recommended surface in Rick's brain. "Go big or go home," he mutters to himself, making the maximum wager.

Taping of the show resumes, and George reads the question. "What is the number of dimensions required for the string theory variation, M-Theory?"

As the Recollection theme song plays, Rick struggles to keep a poker face. Lyrics in acapella harmony echo in his head. "And one more, eleven is heaven." He puts down his answer.

"Players, from the looks on at least one of your faces, this was a hard one," George notes. "We go first to Bill. What did you put down?" The screen in front of the software engineer lights up, revealing a ten. "No, I'm sorry. Had you been going for pure string theory, that would be correct. But for M-theory, it's not enough. And what was your wager? Everything except five points.

"We go next to Harley. You're shaking your head. What did you put down? Oh, four. I'm sure you know that is also incorrect. And your wager? Ah, you have 100 points remaining. That puts you ahead of Bill.

"Now we go to Richard. And he put down? Eleven! Good for you! The ten from standard string theory plus one more is correct. And your wager? Everything! Richard Castle, our celebrity champion, is moving on to the quarter-finals in a great position. Exciting game, everyone." George turns to the camera. "And I'll see you all next time."

Rick shakes his opponents' hands before hurrying to grab a kiss from Kate, who's backstage with Lily. "I can't believe I did that. I owe Dana, big time."

"From the look on his and Alexis' faces when the camera panned the audience, I think you've already paid off," Kate offers. She gazes down at the baby, squirming in her stroller. "Lily's soaked. I'm going to go change her, and we can meet up with the kids. Alexis has something planned at the loft tonight."

"It's nice that my daughter had faith that I'd win."

"I think the plan was going ahead, win or lose. Martha is bringing Craig."

Rick makes a play of consulting his watch. "Ha! Then I achieved the most short-lived of star statuses. I didn't even get my 15 minutes."

Kate lays a comforting hand on his arm. You'll twinkle again in the quarter-finals. I'll take care of Lily, and then let's get home."


Before arriving at the Castle's Broome street address, Martha warned Craig that except for a small amount of family input, the décor is of Richard's choosing. The A-lister gazes around the cavernous space. Apparently, the author was smart, buying while property below Houston Street was industrial and affordable. It's not quite a Batcave, but clever set dressers could make it into one with little difficulty.

Rick looks up from behind the counter in the kitchen before striding out to greet Craig. "Mr. Daniels, a pleasure. I've enjoyed your movies, although I would have liked to palaver with the writers about a couple of plot lines."

"I would have preferred to make a few tweaks myself," Craig confides. "But once a studio finds a lucrative franchise, the suits don't like the scripts to wander from a winning formula."

"Publishing houses aren't much different, I'm afraid," Rick shares. "At the time I moved on to Nikki Heat, Derrick Storm held no surprises for me at all. They loosened up a little to induce me to bring him back from the dead. After that, I could give him new life in more ways than pretending the bad guys hadn't blown off half his skull."

"I asked Alexis to arrange this soirée because Craig will be giving life to a fascinating character," Martha inserts. "And I believe the kids could play a vital role in building his portrayal."

Rick picks up a tray of appetizers. "Follow me." He brings the snacks to the more formal section of the living space and gestures for Craig and Martha to settle on a couch. "At the scent of food, Alexis and Dana should be joining us any second."


C.E.O. of Dollar Cascade, Palmer Chase, paces his office as Tim Monahan, his supply chain manager, sweats. "How the hell did this get away from us? Don't we have inspectors at our factories in China?"

"It costs a fortune to keep our people in Asia, or even send them periodically. We use an agency there that provides inspection and other quality assurance personnel. A lot of the smaller chains do," Tim explains. "Otherwise, we'd have to raise prices, and we couldn't compete with the big boxers. They already have an advantage in economies of scale. The agency we employ monitors quality control on the production lines and in the labs and generates reports. I get copied on them every week."

"I want to see those reports, everything for the last year," Chase growls. "Yesterday!"

"I'll have them sent to you in five minutes," Tim promises. "But I don't know how much it will help. They only list levels of well-known components: detergents, oils, that kind of thing. We never asked them to specify ingredients like dibutyl phthalate. Those are just identified as fragrance. Shampoos, soaps, cleaners, almost everything has fragrance added, and it's merely listed that way. No one worried about endocrine disruptors or tested for them. And China has coal-powered electric plants everywhere. That means mercury. There's going to be a baseline of contamination. According to what Stop the Poison put out so far, the levels were a little higher than we'd expect or want, but you could argue they were just on the edge of toxicity."

"I don't see many consumers buying that argument," Chase retorts. "They'll only hear 'toxic' and 'mercury.' And shampoo that makes guys grow boobs? Limited market, there. I want our quality team on the next plane to China. We're going to have to do something to pull this out, fast."

"Yes, Sir," Tim acknowledges, already halfway to the door. "But I don't have anyone available who speaks Chinese."

"They can get a translator when they're over there. That agency we're using should have plenty if they have contracts with American companies. Probably half their employees were educated here. Have our people grab whoever they can and get their asses into our factories."

As soon as Tim leaves the room, Palmer retrieves a cellphone from a locked desk drawer. He rapidly puts in a call to Beijing. "Our people are coming to look around. I need you to control what they see but play along. They won't know what the hell they're looking at. None of them speak Chinese, so one of your translators can tell them what we want them to hear. Whatever changes they suggest, agree to work on them. I've got the P.R. machine rolling. We'll throw as much doubt on the Stop the Poison research as we can. And these obsessions never last long. Consumers want low prices and don't care much how they get them. Change the headings on the reports. Have someone else sign off on them, and in a few months, we'll be back to business as usual."