“Well, that’s a side benefit that I had expected, but it wasn’t even considered when I designed it. No, the main consideration is that, you see, every step taken on this material generates microwatts of power from that stickiness, which is then drawn off the material and sent into my power storage facility. As you can guess, since there are always thousands of people wandering around Las Vegas, the extra power generated is enormous and I own it all. In a few years, all of that power will be made available to the desalination project that is going on west of here, which should be turning out hectares of fresh water on a yearly basis.”

Allison stood with her mouth open, a blank look to her face. She looked at the cameraman, closed her mouth, opened it, closed it again, and then managed to squeak out, “And you own it all?”

“Oh, yes. Check the contracts, patents and the power storage requirements. I own the patents on them all. A few years ago, it occurred to me that a city like Las Vegas really needed something useful to be made out of it. Other than just money. Don’t you agree?” he paused watching her reaction for a moment and then continued. “The energy storage facilities happen to use sea salt as one component of a new battery design I patented and there you are.

“Cheap, potable water from piped in sea water, with about ninety percent of the salt waste used in the storage of electrical energy derived from the foot traffic of tourists and gamblers.”

Cam’s expression was the sort of expression you would expect to see on Jim Jones, or some cult leader who took no prisoners. It occurred to Allison that she was not dealing with a fully sane individual. Las Vegas was a perfect nesting site for fruitcakes, wackos and blood-sucking businessmen. He'd fit right in.

1 2