“I’m not gonna do that,” Beau replies.
“Oh c’mon,” Kendra pleads; “why not?” she asks.
“Because it could be some dangerous freak setting us up,” Beau answers.
“You know you can leave an anonymous message,” Kendra points out; “and what if he really is from the future?” she asks.
“Oh please!” Beau responds. “What am I supposed to put under the stone anyway? Remember it has to last fifty-five years,” he sarcastically adds.
“Fine, be that way,” Kendra says light heartedly; “sometimes you’re no fun.”
Beau shakes his head, hoping to drop the topic. He has a tradeshow to attend and a lot more on his mind.
“I’ll be back Saturday,” he says to her.
“I’ll miss you,” she tells him as a brief look of sorrow overtakes her face.
“I’ll miss you too,” he answers.
They hug for a moment before Beau turns and walks out the door.
Moonliner 2:09
Beau catches the 7:10 Amtrak Cascades to Vancouver from Seattle’s King Street Station; a route that epitomizes low-speed rail. It is, however, the most comfortable public means of getting there, and though a little slower than an average bus, more predictable. Best of all, when you catch an early morning train north out of Seattle, you get the most scenic mode of transportation, hugging the Puget Sound shoreline for a large part of the ride.
Beau couldn’t have picked a more picturesque morning either; a low lying fog with fleeting patches of light makes it feel like the train is slithering through a painting. He stares out over the shimmering, silvery water looking for Orcas. It’s a less common place for them to swim, but could happen just the same. The train winds through patches of heavy fog, past an abandoned, wrecked fishing boat, two old piers supported with shell-covered, decaying posts, then finally breaks away from the shoreline. Once away from the water’s edge, the fog dissipates and the train picks up some speed.
Soon, the train slows down considerably as it crosses a small swamp before reaching the mouth of the Snohomish River, which it crosses over a few long, rickety, old steel bridges. Beau can see the engine car for a minute as it winds left, toward his side. He can’t help but stare out the window, watching the world go by field by field, town by town. He hears the train’s horn sound as it nears Everett Station.
The Olympic mountain range can be seen to the west out of the train’s windows. Perched on an aging post in the middle of a patch of willows sits some kind of crane, most likely a blue heron, balanced high on its two skinny legs, wrapped and well nestled within its own wings. Though beautiful beyond words under a blue sky, it’s preferable to see it in silver, at least along the water. Most of the trees are evergreens and hold their color year round.
Beau checks the clock on his phone; it’s eight-seventeen. He opens his email and reads through a message from NeoTech with attached files containing copies of his tradeshow schedule, registration confirmation, and all relevant information. He thumbs through them.
Bored stiff with trivial tradeshow info, he makes his way to car seven; the café car. There he grabs a cup of coffee and a microwaved breakfast sandwich. He takes a seat at a petite, one seat table next to the window. With the weight of the world on his shoulder, his mind is moving faster than the train itself, processing a parade of thoughts, questions, and doubts that won’t stop until he lands a job. Beau’s being reminded that the world is a jungle and our survival is based on competition. It’s become a complex game in contemporary society; a delicate dance of sorts, but competitively based just the same. It’s what has drawn him to this tradeshow. It’s what has put him on this train.
Three hours into the ride and the novelty has long worn off. Back in his seat, Beau fidgets to get some blood back into his legs during an unscheduled stop at a drawbridge, drawn to allow a tug to pull a disabled trawler to dry-dock. The train powers down during the stop to conserve energy. Sitting silently, Beau looks out of the window at a line of pine trees on a distant ridge. It triggers something deep within him; a feeling that he’s been here before, not just in the train car but in the moment, or in the situation.
The delay leads to another delay as the train makes another unscheduled stop to allow a Burlington Northern freight train to pass. Eventually, it does get on its way again, crossing the Canadian border and through the seaside town of White Rock. The sky has darkened considerably and rain looks more likely by the minute. Though a short distance, the train takes forever to wind into Vancouver. The last hour seems longer than the first three combined.
The train pulls into the station and Beau grabs a Skytrain into the downtown, getting off at Burrard Street Station. He walks to his hotel, which towers over Robson Street right in the heart of the city.
Slinging a shoulder bag, Beau steps out of the elevator and into a long hallway, where he makes his way to his room. He opens the door with a key-card, tosses his bag onto one of his two twin beds, and steps onto his balcony. He takes a long look at the bustling downtown from his ninth floor balcony. Robson Street is a river of happy faces, flowing between trendy shops, restaurants, and bars. It’s Thursday and the weekend energy is building. Behind an endless group of west end office towers and condos, in silence, lies the park.
Tired from his travels, Beau sits on his bead with his back against the headboard. He picks the phone up and dials the front desk.
“Guest services,” a young woman answers.
“Has Sidell Holden checked in yet?” Beau asks.
“Let me check for you sir,” the woman answers, followed by several seconds of audible keyboard strokes. “Not yet I’m afraid,” she says after a moment of silence.
“Could you give him a message when he does?” Beau asks.
“Sure,” the woman answers.
“Could you tell him Beau is in room #917?” he requests of her.
“I’d be glad to let him know as soon as he checks in,” she warmly responds.
“Thank you,” Beau says before hanging up.
Beau then slides down the bed onto his back and lies in pure silence, staring at the ceiling. The building is a little older but in good condition. He found the room online at a great rate, just ahead of the tourist season.
After a few more minutes of silence, he grabs the TV remote, turns on the tube, and begins thumbing through channels.
“The power of Christ is in us. It’s in everything; the air we breathe; the sunlight; the snow…!” Beau changes the channel.
“Tens of thousands of people marched in Venezuela on Wednesday to mark the one-year anniversary of the death of President Hugo Chávez. The commemorations were disrupted by government opponents, who have staged a series of protests against Chávez’s successor, Nicolás Maduro. Thousands of people rallied against Maduro on the eve of the anniversary,” a news station reports.
Fading out, Beau turns the TV off.
“Do you have a passport,” the immigration official asks.
“What do you mean?” Beau asks in return; “I’ve already entered the country.”
“What is your occupation?” the officer asks.
“I don’t have one,” Beau replies; “I was an IT manager before I got laid off. That’s why I’m here, for a job fair.”
“You have no job and no passport,” the officer says.
“I have a passport,” Beau answers; “I’ll show it to you again.”
The phone rings, snapping Beau out of his bad dream.
“Hello,” he answers the phone with, still in a minor state of shock.
“Hey Beau! Sid Holden,” a voice says over the phone; “I just checked in.”
“Hey Sid, how was your bus ride?” Beau asks.
“Not bad, except for a long delay at the border,” Sidell answers. “I wanna grab a nap, but I’m up for something a little later if you’re game,” he tells Beau.
“Yeah, sure. What did you have in mind?” Beau asks.
“I don’t know. Anything.” Side
ll answers; “we could stroll around and see what we like. We’re in the heart of the action here.”
“Sounds good. How does seven sound?” Beau asks.
“Perfect,” Sidell answers. “How about meeting in the lobby at seven?”
“I’ll be there,” Beau responds, then hangs up the phone.
Seconds later, the phone rings again.
“Hello,” Beau answers.
“Hey Beau it’s me,” Kendra says; “I take it you got in safe.”
“I did,” he says.
“I’m still at work and bored. I’m too tired to really get much done,” Kendra says.
“That train ride is seriously scenic,” Beau tells her; “and I forgot how lively this city is. We’ve got to come up here for fun again sometime soon. It’s so close.”
“Sounds good,” Kendra says smiling. “Have a good time! I’ve gotta get back to work.”
“Will do,” Beau says. “Do you really think I’m no fun?” he asks her.
“I was just joking,” she answers; “you’re fun!”
“I should let you go,” he tells her.
“Okay goodbye, I’ll call you later,” she says before hanging up.
“Goodbye,” Beau replies, not even sure she held the line long enough to hear it.
Moonliner 2:10
As agreed, Beau and Sidell meet in the lobby of their hotel at seven sharp, both rested from their travels and anxious to snoop around the town. They make their way down Robson Street, tapping into its energy, taking in the atmosphere.
Their aimless drifting lands them in a restaurant on the water’s edge in Gastown, with a spectacular backdrop of North Vancouver. A freight-liner slowly glides across the backdrop as the men take a seat at a table near the window, enjoying the amazing view. They both watch a float plane circle high in the sky with a mountain backdrop before coming in for a landing in Coal Harbour.
Both being unemployed and seeing that beer by the pitcher is the cheaper, Beau and Sid grab a pitcher of wheat-steamer, a hefeweizen brewed in house. Beau orders a steak salad while Sidell goes with an Italian sausage calzone with extra ricotta.
“I forgot how much I like this city,” Beau tells Sid.
“Yeah, me too,” Sid replies; “it’s been a while since I’ve been here.”
“So what time does this thing start tomorrow?” Beau asks.
“Orientation starts at ten,” Sid answers. “Are you going?”
“I thought I would,” Beau answers; “I’ve got nothing better to do. Is Lane or Rod coming?” he asks.
“Rodney got a job with Dot-Quad and a significant raise,” Sidell answers; “and Lane said he might come, but sounded pretty doubtful when I talked to him a few days ago.”
“I can’t believe Rod got on with Dot-Quad,” Beau says. “They turned me down you know.”
“Me too,” Sidell replies. They both laugh.
The men eat a fine meal, then chase it down with several freshly brewed ales. They recall story after story of their days working together, laughing harder with each one. The night is good for both of them, giving them a chance to take their minds off of things for a while.
“Do you think we’re wasting our time coming to this?” Sid asks Beau.
“I don’t think so,” Beau answers optimistically; “it seems like a statistically sound decision at least.”
“I guess. I’ve just never had any luck at these things,” Sid says.
The fall of night brings out the ski lights on Grouse Mountain, clearly visible from the restaurant. The sky turns pink to the West and dark blue to the East as the last light of the day makes its way over the Pacific. After what boils down to a pitcher and an imperial pint each, the men decide to call it a night and request their bill.
Beau gets a text from Kendra.
“It’s too quiet here without you,” it reads.
“I miss u 2,”Beau types back.
Moonliner 2:11
The next morning, Beau has no trouble finding the hotel where NeoTech is being held. Seeing he’s early, he stops off for coffee and a breakfast croissant. Standing on the water’s edge at Canada Place, he looks across Coal Harbour at Stanley Park while having a quick bite of breakfast. For the first time in a while, the day is bright and sunny, beyond simple sun breaks. The sky is light blue and spotted with small, puffy pink clouds. Beau snaps a picture of the clouds with his phone and sends it to Kendra with a text.
“Nice morning here. Just about to go into the show,” he texts her; “hope you have a nice day!”
“Thanks,” she replies within a minute; “busy now - will call you later!”
Beau makes his way back over to the hotel and registers for the event. He picks up a name tag and a welcome packet and follows everyone into the Cedar Room for orientation.
The room is filling quickly as the ten o’clock starting time approaches. Beau grabs a chair along a center aisle, not wanting to get stuck sitting between people. He recognizes a few faces but can’t place them and doesn’t think he’s actually met anyone in the room. Sidell is nowhere in sight.
“People, please take your seats. We’re about to start,” a woman says into a microphone set up at a podium in the front of the room. Skirted tables line the sides of the room, stocked with coffee and stainless steel pitchers of ice water. By the looks of the program, the water might really be needed.
Beau opens his welcome packet, a thick-grade manila envelope, to find a stack of pamphlets; coupons for local businesses; a keyring for a Dot-Quad; an 8 gig thumb drive from Microbyte, another company that rejected him; and a silver dollar-sized coin of some kind, which upon closer look appears to be a commemorative coin, marking the tenth anniversary of NeoTech.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” Beau thinks aloud, closely examining the coin’s inscription.
The house lights dim as the woman returns to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, then stands silently for a while as people finish finding their seats; “welcome to NeoTech 2014 Vancouver!” she yells out with a lot more exuberance than her jobless audience harbors. There’s a small round of applause as everyone does their best to keep the wind in her sails.
Sidell sneaks in a side door, spots Beau, and works his way over to him. He takes a seat one up and three over from Beau, too late to get an aisle. He smiles at Beau and everyone around him, then opens his packet and starts thumbing through it.
“This year’s tradeshow is unique,” the woman announces; “it’s our tenth anniversary!” she overstates. “If you look in your welcome packet, you’ll find a commemorative coin compliments of NeoTech.”
Beau’s cell phone vibrates. He takes it out of his jacket pocket to check it; it’s a new text from Sidell that simply reads “WTF?” Beau looks over at him and he’s holding up the commemorative coin in one hand and his cell in the other, laughing and shrugging his shoulders.
After a monotonous power-point presentation and a lengthy motivational speech from NeoTech’s founder, the tradeshow opens. Beau and Sid hit the floor running, visiting dozens of booths and striking up conversations with several potential employers from all over the globe.
Hours later, they both sit in Sidell’s hotel room, drinking Coronas and looking through stacks of company brochures, notes, and business cards.
“Coming here has been an ego boost,” Sidell tells Beau; “I spoke with a few people today who would hire me tomorrow.”
“I know,” Beau adds; “it makes you wonder why we waited so long to get out of that dead-end job.” He takes a swig of beer.
Beau hits the power button on a miniature Grundig radio he uses for travel. He quickly tunes in a little smooth jazz.
“You brought your own radio with you?” Sidell asks him.
“Yeah, I’ve had this one for years and years,” Beau answers. “I’m into radios.”
“That’s cool! I never knew that,” Sid tells him.
“Yeah, I’m always playing around with a shortw
ave at home. Last week I picked up Cape Town South Africa,” Beau brags.
“On a radio?” Sidell asks.
“On a radio,” Beau answers.
“How do radio signals get here all the way from South Africa?” Sidell asks.
“They propagate, or bounce off the upper atmosphere, the ionosphere, allowing the signal to skip around the earth’s curve,” Beau answers.
“That’s completely mind boggling,” Sidell says; “all the way from South Africa.”
“I can one-up that,” Beau adds; “the same night, minutes later, I picked up a message from the year 2069,” he says with a solemn look on his face.
Sidell looks confused. The room is silent for a few seconds, then they both chuckle, now feeling the beer.
“That’s movie material,” Sidell says rubbing his eyes. “Did you think that up or did someone really send you a message from 2069?”
“Neither, I’m guessing,” Beau answers; “but I did pick up the signal of a guy claiming to be in 2069. I didn’t make that part up.”
“Who knows?” Sidell says with a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, tipping his beer bottle back to wet his whistle.
Beau is tired and starts to yawn, ready to call it a night.
“I better get back to my room and review a few notes. I wanna follow up on some of these leads tomorrow,” he tells Sidell.
“Yeah, I’m beat,” Sidell says; “I could use some shuteye.”
Beau grabs his things and returns to his room, where he spends the next two hours reviewing notes and researching the companies he met earlier in the day. He’s excited about his prospects.
Moonliner: No Stone Unturned Page 7
