Podric Moon and the Corsican Tyrant

by Barney Broom

  Barney fished in his pocket.

  “What do you want it for?”

  Taking it, within seconds Podric was into it, tapping out details.

  “Wha— How’d you get into that?”

  Podric handed it back.

  “’Cos I’m a geek. I’ve inserted my number so you can skip jumping me.”

  “Yeah, likely I’ll call you, Moon.”

  Podric had some more coffee.

  “Yuh, likely you will.”

  Shaking his head at the idiocy of this comment and without any farewell, Barney legged it downstairs.

  Watching him go, Podric’s mien was older than his years. It was as if his latest adventures had somehow given him a maturity.Going through to the lab, he took his own phone from his bag. There were several messages – most of them from Catherine. He speed-dialled Archie’s number.

  “So, you’re back.”

  “You too.”

  “How mutually observant we are. Where are you?”

  “The lab.”

  “You went in from there?”

  “With Barney.”

  “The thug you programmed? How was it?”

  “Interesting.”

  “Back out now, is he?”

  “I brought him. Where are you?”

  “Wales.”

  “Only been through it.”

  “On your way to the bogs no doubt. Talking of which, any sign of the leprechaun?”

  “Her car’s not here and the house is locked.”

  There was a pause in their dialogue.

  “You went to Wales to go in?”

  “Clever boy. I’m with Cosima.”

  “And Dog?”

  “Yes, and bloody Dog!”

  “Coming to town?”

  “Next week. What are you up to?”

  “Working.”

  Archie laughed.

  “I’ll surmise, not academic.”

  Podric didn’t reply.

  “Planning something else?”

  “Tell you when you get back.”

  Putting down his iPhone, Podric felt deflated. He’d begun to realise that experiencing life inside UAR gave him such a high that returning to normal reality left him feeling not only physically drained, but mentally wrung out.

  Making himself another coffee, Podric sat for a long time staring out of the window. He loved the view. From the top of the Lighthouse, one could see for miles – the gentle English landscape with its meandering river, a tiny tributary trickling through the garden below. Archie’s lab had become his world – the place he felt most at home. In a sense, it was his home.

  Opening his wallet, Podric took out the dog-eared photograph of his father. Sean’s face smiled back at his son.

  “Is it so wrong how I feel, Dad?”

  Staring at the snapshot, he could almost swear Sean winked at him! Podric’s phone vibrated. Checking it, he saw that it was Catherine.

  “Hullo.”

  “You’re back.”

  “Missed me?”

  “No. Where have you been? With buddy Boney?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Presume you’re in your lab den.”

  “It’s not mine and anyway, I might be at home.”

  “You’re not. Is the thug with you?”

  “No one’s with me.”

  “Want to meet up?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t sound so keen.”

  “I am.”

  Catherine clicked off.

  Feeling better, Podric put down his coffee and sighed. His mind wandered this way and that. As he thought about the wonders of Ultimate Alternative Reality, he began to consider one last challenge – one that would complete whatever he could create for UAR. It was something he’d never envisaged when formulating his idea and something so audacious that even as he thought about it, Podric could barely reconcile how it might be achieved.

  Bringing a character from a computer game into normal reality.

  Although it appeared that people profiled into UAR were only subconsciously aware of their adventures in the alternative reality state, Podric was confident they would be able to ‘see’ a person out of a game. He was equally aware that no one else would. But even with this limited audience, how fantastic it would be to have someone from inside a game outside it – to hang out with them, here and now. Then he would have the best of both worlds.

  Enthralled with the concept, there was only one person he wanted to attempt this with – the man who gave his name to the game – Napoleon. Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, conqueror of Europe. The man who created so much of France’s infrastructure – legal, economic, and political. But these dimensions of the great man Podric only had limited knowledge of and weren’t why he desired bringing him out of his game existence. Podric wanted to challenge Bonaparte while playing Napoleonic Wars!

  Walking through to the lab, Podric booted up the PC system. To extract Napoleon from the game he’d have to profile him, but programming could wait till he was in normal reality. This would be essential otherwise Napoleon couldn’t be aware of the experiences he was having. To make a start, Podric had Napoleon’s DOB and indeed, the date of his death, but he wasn’t sure in creating the codex if such data would reverse a character out of a game as he and Archie had been able to go into it.

  Still contemplating this when he heard Catherine’s scooter coming down the drive, Podric let her in using the top floor’s visual intercom system. Returning to his lab work, he heard the lift descend and half a minute later Catherine appeared.

  “Working. What is it about you, Podric, that makes me want to be with you? Perhaps it’s because I never quite believe you’re the mad boffin type, but who knows…?”

  Podric was still immersed in his thoughts. Catherine didn’t attempt any intimacy and walked back to the kitchen, making herself a cup of coffee. Returning a little while later with a steaming mug, she came over to him. She put down her drink and forcibly turned his head towards her, kissing him.

  “How are you doing with school stuff?”

  “Trying to spoil a nice day? How do you think I’m doing?”

  “Hmm. Average I guess. What are you cooking up now?”

  Podric sat back and in his particular way, tried to explain the challenge he’d set himself.

  “And you’re going in to bring him out.”

  Taking the news in her stride, Catherine was matter of fact. Podric nodded.

  “That’s great. When are we off?”

  “I’m… er?”

  “Don’t even start, Podric. You promised you would take me the next time and bad things happen if you go back on a promise.”

  The two of them looked at each other.

  “Some of these adventures are dangerous.”

  “How can they be? UAR’s just something you’ve created to get inside a computer game.”

  Podric laughed.

  “Maybe so, but it feels like the real deal.”

  “Want me to sign something?”

  They both laughed.

  “What day is it?

  “Saturday morning. Why?”

  “I sometimes lose track of time. Life in UAR doesn’t relate to normal reality.”

  “Can’t you plan a time out?”

  “Haven’t done so far.”

  “Something else to work on then.”

  She turned away, picked up her mug and sipped her coffee.

  “Let’s get started. The sooner in…”

  Podric looked at her again.

  “Hmm… Guess we won’t be long. This is a strictly in – out operation to see if it works for you.”

  “Well then.”

  Podric reached over to the store box and opened one of the metal
cabinet’s sliding drawers. Taking out a packet of microchips, he removed one, logged its number into a PC and began to programme it with Catherine’s details.

  “You know I have to shoot this into your wrist.”

  “Does it hurt a lot?”

  “No more than a prick.”

  “Podric!”

  Catherine suddenly looked nervous.

  “When you…”

  Catherine appeared increasingly hesitant. Podric laid aside the microchip implant device.

  “When you said we had a number in UAR – how much of a number?”

  Podric shrugged but it was artificial.

  “Well…”

  “Podric, I’m really upset.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “Well… I haven’t done it before. And, well, I think I… Oaah.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got feelings, you know.”

  “What sort of feelings?”

  Catherine became exasperated.

  “Podric you can be the most frustratingly obtuse person. For you, you idiot!”

  Podric, was briefly reminded of the Duchesse Louisa’s similar declaration, but that was experienced in his alternate state. Ultimate Alternative Reality and reality… He looked at Catherine for several seconds.

  “What if I told you that I loved you when you were acting with Mrs. Jordan.”

  “Did you?”

  Podric nodded.

  “I’m glad you said it – even in UAR.”

  She held him tightly for several seconds, her head on his shoulder.

  “Are you okay if we keep it like that for now?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I love you in this real world.”

  “Better get going then.”

  20

  An Important Guest

  The snow falling on Paris during the night of 24th December, 1800 was thick and deep. To the casual eye, the French capital looked picturesque under its white blanket but the city was far from being festively serene. A feeling of deep unease lurked below its surface. The revolution had calmed a bit, but the country remained unstable. Napoleon, now First Consul, maintained control through constant military conflict. He had recently defeated the Austrians at Marengo, driving them out of Italy and consolidating French dominance there; his plans of aggressive expansionism for la belle France were limitless.

  Dressed in a jerkin and breeches, the recently converted monarchists Podric Moon and Catherine d’Alliday sat on the running board of a cart surrounded by wine casks. Peering over them, Podric glimpsed the two men driving the contraption. Having selected a particular moment in Napoleonic Wars, he knew them to be Joseph Carbon and his friend Pierre Limoëlan.

  Turning into Rue Saint-Nicaise, the wagon came to a halt. A figure appeared from the shadows. Podric recognised the man as Pierre Robinault de Saint-Régeant. The two drivers departed leaving the other to take charge. Saint-Régeant offered a girl a dozen sous and requested that she look after the horses for half an hour. The scene that history records was set.

  Nudging Catherine, Podric and she slipped off the cart and walked around to where the girl, Pensol, was standing. Seeing several people huddled beside a rough brazier nearby, Podric gently took the reins from Pensol’s freezing fingers.

  “Go and warm yourself.”

  “M’sieur, I have been paid to watch the cart.”

  Taking a pistol from a leather sleeve on the side of the driving seat, Podric handed it to Catherine.

  “I’ll take care of it. My friend will go with you.”

  Pensol reluctantly allowed herself to be led by Catherine over to the fire. No sooner had they departed than Podric clambered aboard the wagon and got it moving.

  Aroused by the activity, Saint-Régeant ran back to the vehicle and was easily able to catch it up. However, rather than challenge Podric, he walked beside the rear of the cart and started lighting fuses protruding from several of the wine casks. When this was accomplished, Saint-Régeant threw a firecracker in amongst them.

  Panicking, the horses found an energy they didn’t otherwise possess. The wagon careened into the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, Podric hanging on for all he was worth.

  The First Consul’s coach and one following it containing his wife Josephine, her daughter and other family members, approached L’Opéra. The cart Podric was attempting to steer shot through Bonaparte’s Garde Consulaire cavalry escort. The boy had a final yank of the reins before jumping off. The wagon veered and narrowly missed the carriages, detonating nearby.

  The street being full of people attending the evening’s performance, panic ensued and Napoleon, with his family, entered the building, shaken.

  Getting to his feet, Podric sprinted towards the carnage surrounding Napoleon’s coach. Pushing aside his drunken driver César, he took control of the carriage and drove it away from devastation.

  The evening calming, Napoleon enjoyed Haydn’s Creation and seemed unruffled. Other members of his family were distressed and it was decided that they would leave. Their respective carriages ordered, standing on the driver’s platform of Napoleon’s covered phaeton, César’s hat thrust low over his forehead, Podric pulled up at the doors. The First Consul climbed in alone. The phaeton moved off smartly. Leaning back in his seat, Napoleon didn’t seem particularly surprised to find Catherine sitting opposite him.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, mademoiselle?”

  Whilst her costume was boyish it didn’t fool Bonaparte.

  Catherine would forever regard the ride back to the Tuileries as surreal. Dubious of Podric’s UAR claims, the experience was so life-like that it was inconceivable she wasn’t in Napoleon’s coach and that this wasn’t 1800! With some difficulty, Catherine managed to reply.

  “How could any woman resist such an opportunity?”

  Napoleon laughed.

  “Let alone a girl.”

  Bonaparte sat back.

  “Your French is good but like me, you’re not native.”

  “No.”

  Catherine said nothing more. Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

  “Am I being abducted?”

  “Sort of, but not perhaps quite the way you think.”

  “There is only one way to think as far as abduction is concerned.”

  “Perhaps it’s better if I leave any explanations to my partner.”

  “Who drives us.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Indeed. It’s better handled than that oaf César.”

  The journey being a short one, they were soon rattling into the palace courtyard. Napoleon noticed the pistol Podric had given Catherine rested on her lap. He smiled and showed mock horror.

  “Be careful with that. We don’t want any accidents.”

  Disembarking, Napoleon called out to his guard.

  “Organise the carriage stabled. I wish to talk with the driver. My companion and I will be in my apartments.”

  Catherine emerged and she and Napoleon entered the building.

  Candlelit, Napoleon’s private apartments were tasteful. The winter snow outside gave the ante-chamber a heightened sense of intimacy. However, the First Consul’s mood was far from such. Picking up a decanter, he poured two measures of brandy and taking one, handed it to Catherine. She was about to sip it when there was a knock at the door. A guard entered, followed by Podric.

  “Sire, this lad is an imposter.”

  “That is so but he drives better than César. Dismissed.”

  Spluttering in protest, the guard made his exit, closing the doors behind him. Napoleon handed the other glass of brandy to Podric. His manner was now far from amused.

  “You have one minute.”

  Having recently sampled brandy in UAR, Podric put the snifter down untouched.

  “If t
hat’s all I have there is little time for explanation. We’re here to take you on an adventure – or try to.”

  “Your escapades couldn’t match my own. I am Napoleon!”

  Sipping her brandy, Catherine choked and coughed.

  “The girl cannot even drink. Children!”

  “We’ll see.”

  Ignoring Bonaparte, Podric used his wrist operation to activate Napoleonic Wars. Immediately data appeared at the top of his vision. Selecting a games configuration of his own making marked ‘Present’, Podric turned to his convulsed girlfriend.

  “I told you Ultimate Alternative Reality was the real deal.”

  Moving his right index finger over his left wrist, he watched the cursor reach ‘Play’ and pressed.

  ***

  Podric and Catherine were on the couch. Dazed, Catherine began to cough. Slumped on one of Archie’s easy chairs, Napoleon sat sprawled opposite them. His vision now clear, Podric got up and went through to the kitchen, fetching Catherine a bottle of Badoit.

  “So, you believe me now?”

  Catherine sipped her water.

  “Some trip.”

  Going through to the lab, Podric picked up a pre–selected microchip he’d left in a glass sterilisation tray and took out the implant gun. Returning to the den, he approached Napoleon.

  “You’re right. It is a kind of drug.”

  “If programmed people aren’t very careful, life inside UAR could become more desirable than normal reality. I’ll give you half a day and you’ll want to go again.”

  Recovering, Catherine was thoughtful. Podric inserted the pellet into the G-Byte’s chamber.

  “Why did you want to bring him out then?”

  “For the same reason I wanted to create UAR – excitement, adventure and to see if I could – plus, in his case, the challenge; playing the man at his own game.”

  “How’s he going to know how to play a computer game?”

  “As he keeps telling us, he’s Napoleon. You really think it’s going to take him that long?”

  Bending over the First Consul, Podric slipped the little aural fitting deep into Napoleon’s ear. He then pressed the gun to his left wrist and squeezed the trigger. This caused an involuntary spasm. Putting down the insertion device, Podric took Bonaparte’s pudgy right hand and holding his index finger, activated him. A few seconds later Napoleon came to.