by John Luxton
It was Agim that spoke next. “Watcha think, broddy?” he said. “Are kids the future?”.
“How does the holographic bit work?” asked Joel, staying serious.
Agim became more animated. “They can now render multiple 3D objects that float in space in front of the screen of any web-enabled hand held device or laptop. The onboard cameras would display the current location and Joe or Crow or any one else will be charactered within the augmented reality space. The characters will in effect be exploring multi dimensional augmented reality and photographically chronicling their journey. And the really good part would be that, surprisingly, the development costs are way lower; plus those costs could be halved by going into a partnership deal with someone who has the kind of product that could benefit from the association.”
“Like who? You mentioned cereals.”
“Lorna had the idea of a range of kid’s clothes, then Joe Canoe could be part of the branding. That would give it longevity and the brand could establish an iconic status.”
“Every kid the world over would want a pair of Joe Canoe trainers and more importantly your game would be propagated to the max,” added Lorna.
“Aren’t the media and publishing houses controlled by our friend Blake Snake?” said Joel. “You can’t just trot in and pitch to the decision makers unless you have some clout.”
Agim looked across at Lorna, “tell him,” he said. When Lorna hesitated he elucidated. “We do have someone who has very good contacts at a major digital agency, and she wants to help.”
“Who?” said Joel.
Again it was Agim who answered, “Lorna’s new best friend, Jada.” Joel looked as if he was about to puke. But he didn’t, instead he raised his cup of coffee.
“Here’s to Project Skyshine. And whatever it takes to get it out there. And remember, in the space between worlds, in The Loa, you will always find Joe Canoe.”
They all raised their drinking vessels in agreements.
* * *
That night Joel dreamt that he was walking across the rippled sand, far out into the estuary. The light was golden sepia and made Haile Sands Fort seem much closer. It oscillated in the heat haze. The flats stretched out into infinity; he saw something approaching fast, skimming over the sand. Joel got ready to run. Then he recognised the shape and his mind formed the object into a sand yacht. There were two birds flying above, like outriders. With much palaver the operator turned his vehicle so the sail emptied of wind and it abruptly stopped only yards away from where Joel stood. It was Dave.
“Watch out for the shite-hawks,” he shouted by way of a greeting.
“The who?” said Joel.
Dave pointed upwards at the two sea gulls, silently wheeling and banking high above them. “So where you been? I thought we were mates.” He took of his helmet and peered at Joel more closely. “And why the mullet?”
“It’s just grown that way,” said Joel. “There aren’t any barbers around here.” He took a couple of steps towards Dave and his vehicle, an all-seeing eye was drawn on the prow, Joel wondered if on the other side there was a beak.
“They said you had a breakdown and came here to recover.”
“Who are they?”
“The den mother, and her blades.” Dave shook his head sadly. “Before they threw me out.” Joel saw that Dave had tears in his eyes. He too felt teary and had a knot in his throat. “We miss you, man,” said Dave in a croaky voice.
“It was an accident but now I’m stuck here. I miss you too.”
Dave shrugged, half turned away to spit on the ground and began replacing his helmet. Then stopped and took from the pocket of his coveralls a folded newspaper cutting that he held out to Joel. “Put this in your pocket,” he said. Joel wordlessly complied.
“Mai too,” he continued. “She misses you big-time.” Hearing her name spoken, Joel felt he was going to crack completely and start with a full-blown man-weep. “Inconsolable,” said Dave climbing onboard. “But I found a way.” He was smiling now at Joel. “Consoled her many times I did: Think about that when you’re out here, at night, writing your piece-of-shit story.” He pushed a lever and pulled on a rope and the sail flicked and filled. The yacht lurched forwards then picked up speed.
“Watch out for the shite-hawks,” he called, but it was too late, one of them had already crapped on Joel’s head.
In his dream Joel had felt a sudden waft of energy enter his world; now the door swung shut and he was alone on a beach with avian excrement in his hair.
He was a long way out; always dangerous after tide turn and that was right now, must hurry. Bucks Beck always filled up first, coming around behind to trap the unwary. But Joel’s dream footfall was sure and he soon was approaching the dry sand; amongst the flotsam a silver twig caught his attention and he stooped to pick it up, then turned and looked towards the Fort. Where he had been with Dave was now under water. Taking the twig he began to doodle in the white sand, he was in no hurry. First the eye, and then the beak, drawn with the simple sweeping lines that had appeared of Dave’s land yacht, then a circular perimeter to frame them, he stopped and took a deep breath. Then drew them again, but this time superimposed one upon the other, looking back at his originals to make sure the lines fell correctly. He stepped back, closed his eyes and saw in his mind the symbol from the medieval arch in the churchyard. He opened his eyes and studied the pattern etched in the white sand. They were the same.
When Joel awoke he made sure that the symbol was sketched and scanned and uploaded to Skyshine, in order for it to become the glowing hologram that would appear when a player successfully linked Alpha World with Beta World. He was of course asking himself the ultimate question: Could augmented reality, augment reality. Or was that a crazy dream?
Lorna and Agim stayed for two days, Joel was grateful for the company. His dream meeting with Dave would have disturbed and depressed him to a greater degree without their companionship, as it had reawakened the residue of yearning that he carried for his former life.
Because he was living at the Ultima Thule, the end of the world, his guests had thoughtfully brought supplies. So before their departure, Joel and Lorna set about preparing a feast. Roast beef with potatoes and haricot beans followed by apple pie. Agim was outside smoking on the porch.
“God, these chicken livers stink,” said Joel pulling a face and directing his statement towards Buster who was watching every move within the kitchen attentively.
“They are Buster’s favourite and we brought about six months supply,” Lorna replied on his behalf. She turned the gas flame under the blue enamel saucepan all the way down to allow the aromatic delicacy to simmer.
“And did I see you and Agim holding hands on the beach this morning?” Joel enquired nonchalantly.
“Maybe,” she answered.
Just then Agim entered the kitchen. “That smells good.”
“Smoking has obviously destroyed your sense of smell,” replied Lorna laughing. “That’s Buster’s dinner not yours.”
It was around dusk when Joel waved them off. They both had lives to live, roles to play, goals to achieve and more, but that was back in London. Joel however had the lingering feeling that after Joe Canoe was finished his work would be done, and then what would he do? Something good will come my way, he hummed to himself and then made his way indoors.
A shadow of a memory was dancing around the periphery of his mind and before it could reassemble itself he inexplicably reached into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a folded piece of newspaper and then stood on the threshold of his shack staring at it, before going inside and closing the door. A peculiar mixture of hope and desolation accompanied Joel’s bafflement when he looked at the cutting. The headline was – “The slow death of the Alembic Valise causes concern.” And there were pictures. He began to read.
The sad wreck of the Alembic Valise has become something of a local landmark in recent months. The boat has been moored against the wall in Corney Reach near
Chiswick Pier and has risen and fallen with the tide. However recently she seems to have given up the ghost and has remained rooted to the riverbed. There were fears that if the boat breaks up it could be a hazard to local river traffic although the Port of London Authority believes it does not present any immediate danger. The boat was originally being towed from Staines down to Essex when there was a problem with the "tow" and she sprang a leak. She was initially moored at the pier for a couple of weeks to effect emergency repairs but during that time the Port of London Authority (PLA) examined the state of the boat and decided that if she continued her journey it would be a serious risk to navigation and prohibited further travel downstream. It was then moved to the wall where it has been ever since, initially somebody was around fairly regularly apparently starting repairs but more recently there does not appear to have been any activity. A local resident…
Whilst sitting at the kitchen table, drinking one of the cans of beer that Agim had brought, Joel pondered the meaning of the clipping. It was a dream artefact but it was actually dated a week ago, he turned it over, on the back were small ads for lonely hearts.
Chapter 42
The weeks passed and every time they crossed the sand dunes to emerge onto the margins of the estuary he would scan the flats for the sails of a land yacht. Buster would run ahead to chase sea gulls, no longer barking at them as they flapped away.
Project Skyshine was progressing and soon Joel would have to risk a journey to London to meet with the development team. Because the game was to be predominantly visual in its narrative he was able to take a different approach for the project. His role would be to draw the strands together, to overlap and overlay the symbolic content to suit the young and curious minds at who the game was aimed: A far cry from trying to please the hardened gamers who ruled the industry dev clans.
But one important person was missing, a lead artist to vision the characters and landscape. The choice of this person was important enough for Joel to spend a week in London meeting the candidates. In preparation for his journey back to the metropolis, Joel had taken the motorbike rig into Grimsby for a service and a new tyre; the bike would be in the workshop for a couple of days, so after lunch outside a pub on the Cleethorpes sea front Joel and Buster dawdled along the promenade watching the holiday makers until they got bored. Joel was keen to see the Winter Gardens, apparently a fantastic palace of glass and white stucco. The venue where Vern claimed to have seen the San Francisco Psychedelic band Country Joe and the Fish, and smoked his first marijuana cigarette back in the 1960s. To Joel’s disappointment it had been demolished. It was now a car park.
Eventually the promenade petered out and they followed the sandy path towards the Fitties. The weather was changing, clouds were stacking over the Yorkshire coastline, the tide was high and Joel could feel the bevels of the universe recreating antique futures. Only a path with a heart, he thought, can withstand this merciless coggery.
Buster was the first to see it. Smoke being drawn by the breeze between the dunes and fanned out across the mudflats. As they got closer they could smell it and hear the cracking of tortured timber; they abandoned the path and moved out between the dunes to gain an earlier view of the imagined nightmare. Something made Joel hold back from running along the beach, instead they worked their way around, all the time staying in the shelter of the dunes until one more turn would give them an uninterrupted view. Then he heard them; there were men on the beach, shouting to one another. Joel lay in the grass and watched them. The shack was still burning fiercely but they seemed unconcerned, appearing calm and controlled as they walked away from the scene, looking around, looking for him.
Joel knew the terrain well, and in order not to be caught in the open he needed to move quickly. For his searchers out on the beach the angle of visibility would widen dramatically as they spread out, then there would be no cover. He needed to get inland, and this would mean crossing the single-track road whilst the dunes still provided a shield. The problem was there would be probably be others watching the front of the shack but it was their only chance.
The adjacent homes were vacant so they ran diagonally along a hazel hedge and then dodged behind a caravan that was parked in his neighbour’s garden. A stretch of Leylandii covered the exit out onto the road and Buster and Joel took it at a gallop, not even looking, as a split second later they threw themselves into the landward ditch, crawled through another hedge then set of at a steady trot down an access path that Joel knew emerged a mile to the west, where they could, with luck catch a bus into Grimsby. He had his laptop in his satchel; his helmet and leathers were with the motorbike rig, which he could pick up in the morning. Tonight he would figure out an escape route, Joel still intended to get to London. Project Skyshine and the Joe Canoe launch were just too important.
There was a high fence along one side of the path and recreation grounds on the other, as he walked Joel tried to figure out how they could have possibly tracked him down. He had been careful to only connect to the internet in the Wi-Fi zones of coffee bars and even then not to browse or surf, just to upload his story or retrieve his emails. Had the encryption that protected his cloud connection to Skyshine been cracked? It seemed unlikely, however the other option was more worrying; that someone had told them where he was. Had Lorna divulged his whereabouts her new best friend, Jada?
He tried to look on the bright side; he had got away, no-one seemed to be following, he had his laptop and dongle, his means of transport was safely out of the way and would be accessible tomorrow. Then a thought struck him and he groaned out loud; he had paid in advance for the tyre and service with a credit card that Agim had given him and maybe that was the source of the problem.
He carried on walking wrestling with the thought that picking up the motorbike in the morning may not be as straightforward as he had originally presumed. Maybe he would be walking into a trap. He stopped walking again, pulled out his wallet and looked through the contents; less than thirty pounds, just enough for a tank of petrol and some food, but not enough for a night in a Bed and Breakfast.
Once on the main road they soon found a bus stop, there was no timetable, but there was a bench and Joel sat down. Almost immediately a rabbit appeared on the grass verge on the other side of the road and Buster shot off after it. After a few minutes Joel began to feel drowsy, he knew Buster would return in his own good time, only occasional cars passed but no bus, he closed his eyes; grey ash began to settle upon the radiant mirror of his mind.
Chapter 43
“Let me get this straight. You torched the place when you found he wasn’t there.” Jada was in the hallway by the part open door, listening to Baba talking on the phone. “Then you walked up and down a bit, and then gave up.” The way Baba was labouring each point was an indication the party on the other end would be lucky if he ended up cleaning the latrines at the Led Donut as his next assignment.
“So what if there are lots of hotels, it’s a seaside resort, for fuck sake. Check ‘em all, and continue to cover the train station. Ok?” Baba hung up, so it obviously was ‘ok’. Jada went back to the kitchen to make some herbal tea. She was no longer living with Baba; they had agreed to separate shortly after the incident on the riverbank, about which she had told him nothing. She was still head of marketing at Hammerfall Productions and therefore reported directly to him but apart for the professional curtsey required of her in order to do her job, she avoided him.
It was too soon to see if her cage-fighting career would be affected. She and Lorna were still training together and in a few days the autumn schedule would be released and she would see whom she had been slated to fight against. She took her glass of peppermint tea back to her office and closed the door, then called Lorna on her mobile.
“Hi sweetie, yes, look, your friend, have you heard from him?” On receiving an answer in the negative she continued. “I heard something, can’t say now what, but it sounds like they found out where he is.” She paused. “Is it on the coast?
” She paused again. “Oh shit! Can I meet you after work, can’t talk now?”
The office complex was situated on the anterior mezzanine level of the Led Donut and was the product of an interior designers nocturnal emission; the walls were cover in laser etched pony skin and the doors laminated with some kind of marine crustacean that produced a texture reminiscent of petrified dog vomit.
Jada’s door suddenly opened and Baba entered the office just as she was slipping her mobile into the pocket of her waistcoat.
“I need a contact number for that Lorna Z girl,” he said. “Or better her still, her address,” looking at her expectantly.
“I can call her for you now.”
“That’s not necessary, just print it out.”
Baba stayed on the other side of the desk as she brought up the contact details from the database.
“My printer won’t connect to the network for some reason; look.”
She began to write out Lorna’s old address on her message pad, hoping that he would not come around the desk and peer over shoulder. She and Lorna were now living together in a converted warehouse in Battersea and she was not about to disclose that fact. After the obsolete address she added Lorna’s phone number, but changed the last digit from a six to a nine. Baba left seemingly satisfied and she began to sing quietly: If six turned out to be nine, I don’t mind. A minute later he was back.
“That number was chad,” he said. Then proceeded to stand over her while she again brought it up on the screen. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
He picked up her phone, dialled nine for an outside line then punched in the correct sequence, staring at her all the time. It went to voice mail and he hung up. Then he glared at her and left the room. Jada exhaled slowly.
