“Okay Buddy, I’m listening.”
“It’s like this Joe, we’ve been talking for years, but I’ve never really understood why you’re here and why I’m the only one you can talk to. Why me? I’m only an ordinary bloke, a gardener part of the graveyard gang.”
“There used to be a few others around here like me, but one by one, they got identified and their folks came and they went on.”
“But you’ve been ticketed, there’s never been any problem over your I.D.”
“True, Buddy, but there’s something you see...I’m not Joe. They must have got me mixed up when they pulled me out of the sea. My name is Jack Phillips.”
“The Marconi man! The guy that sent all the signals out in Morse code. Streuth! If you hadn’t stuck to your post the Carpathia might never have come.”
“And if we’d sent all the ice warnings up to the bridge, we might never have hit the iceberg.”
“Captain Smith received some of them, it wasn’t your fault he paid them no heed. No Joe...I mean Jack, your actions were heroic.”
“Now who’s talking bullshit?”
Buddy smiled as he scratched his head. “All these years we’ve talked and I’ve always called you Joe.”
“That’s what the rest of these poor sods here called me. I was ticketed, somehow I got used to the name. But no one came for me, you see, not like the others. They got to pass over, now there’s just me left.”
“Why’s that?
“You have to understand the importance of kin, that’s why we have funerals, memorials, records and death certificates. I.D. is just as vital when you’re dead as when you’re alive.”
Buddy gasped as a sharp pain gripped his upper torso. He thumped his chest with his fist. “Damn indigestion, I should have stayed and finished my lunch in peace.”
“Tell me about the film Buddy. This guy Jack they were going on about seems he was real popular.”
Buddy relaxed, the pain in his chest had eased. “Lots of films about Titanic have been made. You’d think the story line had been flogged to death, but still the writers manage to come up with something new. The latest is directed by James Cameron. Rumour has it he came here to Fairview to pick a name at random for his leading man. If he did come here, I never saw him but that’s not to say he didn’t come. He gets a famous leading actor to play the part of Jack Dawson, who falls for a first-class passenger called Rose. It’s all fiction, but folks know the Titanic existed, so they believe the stories. Jack doesn’t survive but Rose does. The film is their love story. The sinking footage is very convincing.”
“So these girls are fans?”
“Yes, crazy isn’t it. A film made for entertainment. It tells the story but it can’t recreate the real thing. I mean, not the way you experienced it.”
“Buddy, look at me.”
Buddy lifted his head. “Joe? I mean Jack...I can see you.”
“Sure you can, old man, I’ve been waiting for you because it’s time for us to cross over together. Come on, old man. Follow me.”
Matrix Titanica
Footsteps pound after me. I try to run. My legs don’t work. A strong hand grabs my shoulder, the other twists my arm painfully up my back. It’s a man, a uniformed officer. He slaps restraints around my wrists. They hurt. His lips curl into a wry smile when he steps around to face me. Always the same face, in my dreams, never in life. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” But my protests are in vain.
“If I had a dollar every time I’ve heard that, I’d be a rich bloke, instead of pounding the beat banging up slobs.”
My nostrils twitch as his foul breath nears my face. I don’t want to breathe but know I must. “Honestly, I’ve done nothing,” I plead, knowing my words are falling on deaf ears.
“Then why were you trying break out of the Matrix?”
“I was…” My body stiffens, my throat dries, words won’t form but I know what’s coming. He scans me with his handheld body monitor and it bleeps back the information, making the same calculations it always does.
“Central Control says you’re trying to jump ship. I’m arresting you for attempting to escape Matrix Titanica. Anything you say will be recorded and read out at your hearing and failure to comply with Matrix law will result in further punishment. Understood?”
“Er…” No words. No defence. Nothing. I wriggle, squirm, struggle but the automatic stinger attached to the hand restraints zaps me and I go limp.
His powerful hand grabs my upper arm and hauls me up. “Use your head, this isn’t the first time you’ve been pulled in. You know the form.”
I take his advice and come quietly. He keys my code into central terminal notifying the Matrix that he’s recovered the escapee. He escorts me to the elevator and deposits me inside. I’m the only occupant, there’s plenty of room for more but there’s never anyone else. The officer steps in beside me.
Soon I’m descending into the bowels of the mother ship, but I can’t see out. I’m trapped. My hands are still cuffed, but this time in front of me. I look down at them. Familiar, they are always my hands. How did they get from behind my back to my lap? Did he remove the restraints? I can’t remember. It’s not important. I know we are close to the core of the Matrix. It won’t be long.
“All right?” he asks, as if he cares! I make no reply. I know the form. He repeats the question. I do nothing. He stops the elevator. I sink to the floor. I play dead. He yanks open the door. “And you can stop playing stupid games,” he snarls, “or would you like me to add wasting police time to your charge sheet?”
I take no notice. It makes no difference. The outcome is always the same.
I hear the click as he arms his stun gun. I know what he is going to do. He puts the elevator switch on hold and prods me with his foot. I feel it around my left calf but still I don’t budge. He shouts, “Get up or I’ll fire.”
His warning goes unheeded, it has to be. I have to convince him that the figure lying on the floor can’t possibly hurt him. I wait for the sound of his knees clicking as he squats alongside me. He should have learnt by now to restrain my feet. I spring to life, kicking the gun from his hand, then a double kick blow to his ribs. He’s winded and staggers backwards, striking his head on wooden panelling as he falls.
No time to think. No time to plan. I’ve done this before. I know the form. I take control, seize his monitor, punch a few buttons, tell it to ERASE my code and details. My hand restraints spring open, drop to the floor with a clatter. The stun gun lies abandoned. I grab it and aim at the officer letting him have a full dose. “That’ll teach you,” I cry triumphantly, “if you think you’re keeping me back in Matrix Titanica think again, arsehole.” Leaping out of the elevator, I don’t look back, I don’t care about the officer. I’m free again. Free to find an escape route.
I wander around the corridors. Corridors I don’t know, I’m lost. I’m alone but I don’t feel scared. There’s nobody about, nobody to harm me, nobody to see me. I come to a row of staterooms, I try each door, I have to. They are all locked. I hurry up the grand staircase, deserted. Up, up and up I go, racing, taking the stairs two at a time
I reach the gymnasium full of people. I go inside. I’m wearing a life-jacket like the others, old-fashioned tabard style, white canvas with square cork filled pockets. It’s far too big for me.
A six pack Adonis greets me with a broad tooth-whitened smile, “We’re ready now for your work out.”
My mouth drops open, I’ve not been here before, this shouldn’t happen. I’m supposed to get out of the game once I’m free of the officer’s clutches. But this guy is new, he’s physically toned, he’s gorgeous. Why is such a beautiful man bothering to talk to me? I let him lead me to the exercise machines. I go willingly. But I can hear the steam blowing off from the boilers. Matrix Titanica has stopped. This shouldn’t happen. I get out of the game before the...
“We’ve worked out a set of exercises for you,” he flashes me a smile. I’m taken in, speechless I ogle him, I’d a
gree to anything he suggests. “I’ll just set the machine going,” he fiddles with the static bicycle, “just gentle exercise to start.”
I want to reach out to him, touch his smooth glistening skin, run my fingers along his taut muscles, feel the strength of him inside me…
I’m peddling, slow pace at first. My legs are moving. Joy. They never work when I confront the officer. Here in the gymnasium, things are different, I feel welcome, people surround me I am part of the throng. The bicycle pace quickens and I struggle to keep up. Faster. It’s taking me all my concentration to keep up, to stay in the saddle. I grip the handlebars, knuckles deathly white. Anxiety bites, I gasp for air, I can’t carry on. I plead for the machine to stop. Nothing happens. I cannot break free.
Where’s the Adonis now? In desperation I plead for help. He’s gone, so has everyone else. I’m alone, attached to an out-of-control, old-fashioned static bicycle. I can’t stop it. It’s getting faster and faster. Blood pressure soaring, body heat climbing, it takes all I’ve got to fight the machine. I scream aloud and wrench myself out of the program.
Exhausted, I lean back onto soft pillows, slowly letting my body rest, my discarded laptop bleeps at my side. Inwardly I curse myself for being taken in by handsome broad shoulders, tapered waist and narrow masculine hips. He’s virtual, I know he’s an avatar, I know he’s not real, but I wanted him.
I struggle downstairs to the kitchen, open the refrigerator, close my eyes and bathe in the cooling air. Then I see it, a huge mountain of ice, covering any food that might have been stored there. I slam the door. Exhausted I sink onto a kitchen chair wondering how many more times I must play the Matrix Titanica game.
My tablet is lying idly on the table. I push the button and bring it to life. Plans to build replica liner Titanic II screams the headline. The virtual program is becoming reality. How long do we have before it comes true? I know if I go back I will escape the officer when he arrests me but what will happen when it becomes real? I shudder at the thought.
Reluctantly I return to bed and my abandoned laptop. I’m very tired but part of me doesn’t want to sleep, I don’t want to go back but I know I must. There are places in Matrix Titanica I’ve not been to, doors I’ve never been through. They don’t exist, not yet. But I must go back, try to reach another level, another deck and discover why the original program failed.
I start by selecting my class, next chose a stateroom. I usually travel first-class, I know all the other passengers by now, I’ve sailed so many times. I’m escorted to my stateroom and shown the accommodation. My steward introduces himself and asks if I am travelling with a valet. I didn’t used to, but now I do, I created him a few months ago, another avatar but he has a habit of disappearing when I really need him. He’s never helped me with the security officer. He unpacks my clothes, presses my suits and ensures I am dressed correctly.
I hear the bugle calling everyone to dinner. I walk along the corridor, nodding to acquaintances, smiling at the young women, society demands niceties, mentally I’m noting which of the men might be approachable. I already have a list of stateroom numbers, I’ve used them before and know I shall not be turned away, or worse, exposed. Early twentieth century British law prevails in Matrix Titanica.
I enjoy my table company, conversation is lively and my companions are well-heeled. I tell them what I want them to know. Sometimes I change my story. My fellow passengers do not seem to notice. I’m sure Central Control logs every word, action, and thought. Captain Smith is dining at the adjacent table, he looks very formidable but every inch the commander. I’m tempted to tell him the truth, to test him, to try to screw up his programming, but I know it would be futile. Central Control would see he keeps to his original course.
After dinner I take my usual place in the Smoking Room, a fellow who I know is a professional gambler suggests I join his card table. I know the form, he’ll squeeze every last dollar or pound out of the other poor suckers. Not me, I’ve played before, but Central Control won’t allow him to remember. Like Smith, he’s not allowed to sabotage the program. On the way back to my stateroom, I take a detour. I would like to find the Adonis from the gymnasium. I’d like to meet him again, but there’s no way I’m going on one of his machines.
It’s Sunday and I attended the church service. To keep up appearances I have been very charming to an American couple and their daughter. She keeps blushing every time I speak to her but I...no I couldn’t. I know my own preferences but inside Matrix Titanica the date is April 14 1912, attitudes are very different from today. I can’t afford to be accused of sodomy
I glance at my pocket watch. It’s getting late, I have to make my escape from the program before we strike the iceberg. “Hello,” says the Adonis barring my way along the corridor. “Are you enjoying the voyage?”
“Yes, immensely,” I answer, I’m thrown, I can’t understand why he is here. I am confused.
“Care for a drink, old man?” he asks.
Blindly I follow him along the corridor, he taps on a stateroom door. Another young man answers and invites us inside. I fill with anticipation, arousal courses through my veins, when the Adonis suggests a card game.
“Strip Jack?” the young man asks.
We begin the game and for the first time in Matrix Titanica I feel happy. I’m only steps away from completing the program. I’ll stay with the Adonis and his friend, I know I won’t meet the officer again because I won’t be trying to escape. I shall tell my two companions there aren’t enough lifeboats when the last boat has departed. We shall go down with the ship.
Game over. Matrix Titanica has won.
About the Author
Lynda Dunwell writes historical romantic fiction. Her novels are usually set during the nineteen or twentieth centuries. She adores period settings, the costumes and the escapism the past provides.
A Titanic enthusiast from an early age, it was not surprising that Lynda wrote a Titanic novel Tomorrow Belongs to Us: Titanic Novel which was published as an e-book in February 2012 by Musa Publishing. Inspired by her research and her love of short story writing, Lynda decided to put together a Titanic themed anthology of stories. And so Titanic Twelve Tales was conceived.
To learn more about Lynda, go to her website: www.lyndadunwell.com, or email her Lynda Dunwell@ gmail.com
Tomorrow Belongs to Us: Titanic Novel
Innocently embroiled in international espionage, Lucy Mainwaring sails on board RMS Titanic, will she and the man she loves survive?
Follow Lucy through the corridors of Edwardian England in 1912 and onto the most famous ship in the world. Tomorrow Belongs to Us is a sweet historical romance.
Short –listed at the 2012 UK Festival of Romance in the best short romance category.
Published February 2012 ISBN: 978-1-61937-125-5
Available from:
www.musapublishing.com
www.amazon.com
www.amazon.co.uk
and most other ebook stores.
Except from Tomorrow Belongs to Us: Titanic Novel
by Lynda Dunwell
“Look!” A young woman, sitting close to Lucy, yelled. “People are throwing wreckage into the sea.”
Lucy bit down on her lip hard. The desperate situation facing those left on board played out before her. Powerless to do anything to help, she scrutinised the Boat Deck, where hundreds of tiny figures swarmed towards the liner’s stern like ants. She focused on a group of men. They were in danger of being washed into the sea at any moment. Together they fought to free a small, upturned boat stowed on the roof of the officers’ quarters. The hull was white, but the dark ocean was about to engulf the tiny boat. Silently she prayed for the men’s success. It was all she could do.
The Titanic’s bow awash, Lucy watched as her stern rose out of the water. Above the constant screams came a tremendous crashing noise, as if thousands of pieces of bone china shattered simultaneously. Lucy shuddered. Where are they now? Her heart wept – Edwin, Sir Leyster, Marsha
ll. Fearing for them, she struggled to keep hold of her emotions. There will be time for tears tomorrow, I mustn’t give up hope.
Perhaps the Titanic could keep afloat until a rescue ship arrived? Captain Smith had said the Carpathia was on her way. Again she prayed, this time for a miracle.
“There are more men in the water!” the young boy cried. The seaman leaned over the side and grasped the jersey of a man clinging to the grab-line. Slowly he hauled him aboard.
“She’s done for,” the rescued man spluttered, “she’s shipping water too fast!”
Another man, pulled from the sea, pleaded frantically in French. Lucy’s sensitive ears picked up his ranting. “He’s afraid he’s going to be thrown overboard and drown.” She called to the crewman in charge.
“Don’t we all, ma’am? Tell him he’s got to row.” His tone softened. “If you’d be so kind, ma’am.
Lucy spoke quickly in French, and the man fell silent as another man was snatched from the water.
“Papa will be in another boat,” Cecilly said, “probably with Colonel Astor. And Hardie and Marshall, of course.”
“They’ll be on one of the smaller boars,” Lucy said. Although unconvinced by her own words, inwardly she clung to any small straw of hope. She shivered hardly able to feel her toes in the bottom of the boat.
“She going!” a terrified voice screeched. Both girls swung around and watched the ship, now low in the water, blazing light across the ocean.
“I can’t look! All those people, why haven’t they gone to their boats?” Cecilly slumped forward, buried her head in her hands, and sobbed.
“They don’t have any,” Lucy answered under her breath, then prayed Cecilly hadn’t heard.
“If I don’t look, I can pretend it hasn’t happened,” Cecilly cried.
Lucy couldn’t look away. She had to witness and remember it all. If she was to have any future, she knew she had to face this disaster squarely. She fixed her eyes on the ship. With the Titanic silhouetted against the sky, she made her final plea to the Almighty. “Save him, please God,” she begged. “I know it’s selfish of me, but spare him.”
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