The first report I saw, which left me cold and nervous, was of a factory that had been bombed. Luckily, the building had been smoked out first so that the workers were evacuated. But news reports suddenly filled with offices, tower blocks, shops and more factories being burnt down.
I should admit that I felt a small thrill. While I hadn’t really meant to incite this kind of behaviour, I couldn’t help thinking that it might be the only way to properly be heard. The frisson of excitement and fear gave me a bit of a kick. Who cared what the bloody PM and the government thought anyway.
The burning buildings were adding to the pollution and destroying habitats for wildlife. On one occasion the fire spread to a nearby woodland destroying a row of cottages, whilst also devastating the nests and homes of many birds, mammals and insects, not to mention the flowers and plants.
I recorded messages to try and stop the violence. Mr Corey had implied we were terrorists. We were not terrorists!
Chapter Six
There was only one empty black chair at the boardroom table. Eleven men and one woman occupied the others. Everyone looked towards the monitors along the west-facing wall; the same face filled every screen like a technological piece of pop art.
‘He’s threatening every industry we represent,’ said the twelve identical faces, all blinking simultaneously. Then the screens created one giant face like a freshly solved puzzle. The large eyes widened, this time without blinking ‘Plastics, oil, gas, travel, food-processing, chemical, agricultural … I don’t need to spell it out.’
‘Our world is certainly changing before our very eyes,’ said the only lady in the room.
‘Unprecedentedly so,’ said a grey-suited man, turning away from the monitors to start tapping the keyboard of his customised golden MacBook. ‘I think you’ll agree that we really have no other choice.’
Consent was quickly and unanimously granted.
Chapter Seven
My films, television appearances, Internet videos, interviews, songs and memes began to have an effect. For a few months there was no major violence as we concentrated all our campaign focus on convincing people to refuse to buy goods or food in plastic wrapping or bottles, and to my surprise it worked – or seemed to. Millions complied. Surely this would change things. The big corporations and supermarkets had to listen to the people … didn’t they?
One day during that lull in the anarchy, a suppressed number contacted my mobile, and without thinking I answered it.
‘Yeah. Hello?’
The voice was clearly disguised. ‘Watch your back, Luke. Watch Ala’s back too.’
There was a pause but I let the voice continue.
‘How are your parents, Luke? Both in good health, I trust? Wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.’
I should have just ended the call and laughed it off, or contacted Security, but my patience had suddenly worn thin. ‘Who the bloody hell do you think you’re talking to? You think you can talk to me like that? Do you know who I am? I’m not scared of you.’
‘Fear is irrelevant. This is much bigger than any one person. Neither my feelings nor yours are of any consequence.’
‘So is it money you want?’
These people were all the same. They claimed some kind of belief or ideal, but in the end it was all about money.
‘We want you to stop your present campaign.’
We …? The faceless corporations and businessmen – more likely to be men than women – who profit from the sale of plastics?
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Tell Ala and your parents how much you care about them before it’s too late.’
The call ended there.
I contacted my security team then; they tried to trace the call without success. If this was someone representing big business and serious money then they owned the carriers, networks and broadband servers that worked the damn phones in the first place. People beyond the police, courts and governments. The truly scary ones, and we had very little idea who they really were. Untraceable and using others to do their dirty work – presumably to remain anonymous and free of suspicion.
Was this just an empty threat, or to be taken seriously? I had to believe the latter.
And I was left with one question: were the lives and health of Ala and my parents more important than risking the end of our civilisation and our planet?
I realised then how I’d been so busy that I’d practically forgotten my own parents. My parents, who’d given me life and love, and so much more. What kind of a son was I?
Dad opened the door. It had been a while, and my neglectful behaviour had already silenced me into a guilty depression. He shook my hand very formally.
‘Hiya, son.’
‘You OK, Dad?’
‘Been worse.’ He patted my back as I passed him into their main living room. Their mansion was far too big for them and they confined most of their time to the two largest rooms. I kept telling them to get a maid and a cook, but their pride wouldn’t allow them to. Mum said that was ‘lazy’.
I expected her to be there, but the room was empty.
‘Your mum isn’t well, son. I was going to ring you today as it happens.’
‘What’s wrong?’
He started at my unexpectedly urgent tone of voice. ‘She’s getting very forgetful. Some days are worse than others.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘A few months now—’
‘So why haven’t you mentioned this before?’
‘You’ve got a lot on your plate already, son.’
Now I felt really guilty. What a crap son …
‘But if I’d known, I’d have done something about it. We can get the best doctors who will put her on the best treatment.’
‘We’re already doing that. It’s all under control.’
‘She’s been to see a doctor?’
‘One in Harley Street. Now we have the money and all that. Goes against my principles a little, but …’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘You’ve been busy. We’re fine, really.’
I felt truly crushed now. I’d let down my dear old Mum. I hadn’t been there for her; that sounded familiar.
‘Can I see her now?’
‘She’s asleep. Needs her rest. How long can you stay?’
‘I’ll stay until she wakes up.’
I heard a scraping sound from upstairs and a voice.
‘Is that Luke?’
I got up, walked out into the hallway and dashed up the stairs.
‘Hi, Mum.’
She stood at the top of the stairs in a satin dressing gown. I gave her a hug, relieved that she knew who I was.
‘I hear you’re not a hundred per cent.’
‘Load of nonsense. Your dad is a right fusspot and that doctor is just incompetent.’
‘If it’s Harley Street, then you’re paying for the best.’
‘We should demand the money back and put it towards your foundation.’
I smiled and hugged her again. ‘I’ll get us a takeaway and we’ll open a nice bottle of wine.’
She held me at arm’s length and stared at me curiously.‘What’s happened to my little boy? You’ve grown up too fast, Luke. All this saving the planet stuff – it’s all very well and we support you all the way. But I can’t help thinking it’s taking away your childhood. You should be out playing and having fun.’
We had a lovely evening together but those words continued to echo around my mind for a long time afterwards. Parents have an annoying habit of stating things, every now and then, that truly resonate.
I confided in Gene the next evening.
‘I had a tricky relationship with my parents,’ he told me as we ate a delivered extra-large pepperoni stuffed crust. ‘My dad was a headmaster at a grammar school. Like the school, he was very old-fashioned and formal. He and my mum were very strict, with no time for affection or sympathy for me or my brother. They had very clear rules about
everything: eating; washing; sleeping; homework – all with no time for relaxing or playing. If we were caught not following the house rules then we’d be punished. I never understood why Mum and Dad were so distant and unsympathetic to my needs; I suppose it made me grow up quickly and become independent at a young age. Then my mum died when I was about eleven. Dad brought us up and even though he busied himself with work and we lived as much with cousins, grandparents and friends as we did with him, I began to see a kind and softer side to him, and wondered if he’d just been so hard and serious when we were younger because he wanted to prove something to Mum. Then, without her there, we saw more of his true character – even a sense of humour and silliness. But then he was taken from us too, and Frankie and I went into care for a few years. Silly, eh? Sorry … I’m waffling now.’
‘No, no. It’s important to you. Made you who you are.’ I waved my hand as if to dismiss his apology. ‘I’m lucky to still have both my parents. Hearing that Mum’s not well is a bit worrying. I used to be close to them but in the last year I’ve had so much on; although I just know that if … when … the inevitable happens then I’ll be a right mess.’
Gene put a hand on my shoulder. ‘You have lots of friends, Luke, and people who care. I’m here if you ever need someone to talk to or to scream at.’
‘Thanks, Gene. I appreciate it.’
‘My advice is to visit them as often as you can and just let them know exactly how you feel.’
‘You’re right.’
‘And don’t worry about all this stuff, there’s me and others who are more than happy to step in and take it off your shoulders. It’s not you against the world – it’s us. We’re all in it together. Never be afraid to ask me to help out. You know I’m here and I’m willing.’
I was lucky to have such good friends as Gene … and Ala.
Those small green companies working on alternatives – glass, paper and goods with no packaging – started getting more business. We gave huge grants to engineering firms creating biodegradable plastics made from starch, milk or wood pulp. We always had the technology but some companies monopolised the markets, of course. In this way, we were starting to change things and have the effect we were hoping for. I preferred these methods to the attacks, although, to be fair, both ways probably complemented each other. Perhaps both methods were required. It takes a large group of people to work together to force change. That’s what I mean about indifference and apathy being part of the problem. You can’t sit there and do nothing then complain that you don’t like things. Be active. Be pro-active. If nobody else is doing it, you have to lead the way. My mission in a nutshell.
Then, of course, news cameras caught numens using their powers to their advantage. Innocent shoppers transforming into lions and rhinos rampaged through stores, smashing up the shelves and products, with streams of screaming members of the public scared witless and running out in panicky streams into the roads.
Insects and burrowing creatures damaged foundations to buildings – including those owned by giant tech firms and world-renowned fashion brands – and chomped through wires and cables to ruin communications and cut all electricity. The damage must have cost these companies millions – if not, billions.
It was then that I realised we had no way of controlling people. If you want free will then you have to accept the bad with the good.
Chapter Eight
The music was deafening. Made worse because I had the hearing of a cat. Even as a human, I retained the partially enhanced senses of both my numens. I couldn’t identify any discernible notes of music. It was screeching, clanging and explosions in my head. And then the flashing lights slashed my raptor eyes like laser beams. But I remained calm and swayed my body as best I could with the thumping vibrations that shook my innards.
Everyone else in the club was dancing and grinning inanely. I copied their expressions. I couldn’t just move about freely because I was too well-known. A celebrity. That was the only reason I was in here – as I was under age. But they let me in because I’m famous and that attracts other people in, while also being good publicity. I’d been photographed coming in.
Everyone wanted to talk to me, get a selfie with me or grab me and I certainly never minded the constant attention I got from the ladies. A few always brushed past provocatively. On many occasions I responded by smiling politely or even putting a hand on a shoulder or hip. Very often, the chosen lady stopped, gestured to her friends to go, to take me in a tight embrace. Our bodies would touch and it felt warm. I loved the warm tongues that reached urgently inside my mouth, as if those women were searching for my secrets in there.
At one famous night club in London after a film première, one particular lady danced with me and whispered that she wanted to make love to me right there and then. She caught me in a provocative mood. Even in the flickering coloured lights, I could see she wore too much make-up. Still, she was pretty enough, and curvaceous. She leaned in to kiss me and, like so many others, prodded her tongue right inside my mouth without warning. She put her hands behind my head and kissed me lingeringly with soft, warm lips. It felt nice and part of me wanted to respond. I considered lowering my hands onto her buttocks, but just couldn’t do it.
There was nothing wrong with her. She wiggled and wobbled in all the right places. Her eyes seemed intelligent and sensitive. But … she wasn’t Ala.
When I stopped responding to her generous kisses, she gave me a questioning look and pulled away slightly.
I twisted my mouth and looked away.
She put her lips right up to my ear. ‘You wanna go somewhere quieter?’
Was this only because I was famous? It did seem to make people act weird and go a little gaga.
For a moment, I felt tempted. She was certainly good-looking with a great figure – even if she was about ten years older than me – but I shook my head and moved off.
She scowled and screamed a word at me that I didn’t recognise: a term of abuse going by her expression. A fleck of her saliva hit my left cheek. This was like being at school again. Getting abused by Connor … he’d have called me a ‘poof’ or some such. This girl was gesturing with her little finger that I wasn’t man enough for her. Maybe I wasn’t.
She just wasn’t Ala.
For the rest of that night, girls kept brushing against me. Some of them thought it appropriate to clasp my bum as they shimmied past. I couldn’t help thinking that if I did that to them, I’d be called a sexist pig. All this frustrated me, somewhat, as it constantly reminded me of my own naivety and childishness.
Where was Ala anyway? She’d abandoned me for a much higher cause. After I’d spent so much time with her, she’d gone off to help with tribes and politicians around the world again. Maybe she was taking the work more seriously than me?
Serious? That’s what I’d become … boring. I had no fun any more. What I really needed was a laugh. Laughter … that was something I’d been missing for a long time. Everything I did was so serious and meaningful that I’d forgotten how to giggle and relax.
So, on the night of my eighteenth birthday, I hired out a nightclub so I didn’t have to put up with fans and members of the public harassing me. Once I’d had photoshoots with the celebs, I wandered off to the bar, slightly away from the intense volume of the music. A pretty, leggy blonde walked up confidently, and I recognised her at once as Tia, the fund-raising manager from the Croydon office. We’d often chatted and flirted, but always within the safe boundaries of the working environment, surrounded by others. I loved her confident, sensual ways. She spoke and communicated with a tactile familiarity that greatly appealed, and which I genuinely encouraged. In fact, she knew that I couldn’t resist her.
Now I found her subtle writhing dance movements most distracting, as she wiggled inside her loose-fitting crop top which revealed her figure alluringly, and confirmed that she wore nothing beneath it.
She became aware of me staring, and gave me a smile as she shimmied closer to me. I
remembered hoping that my gaze hadn’t been too gormless.
‘Hope you’re enjoying the party, sir.’
‘I am, thanks, Tia. Call me Falco.’
‘OK, Falco.’
She brushed up against me and I felt the soft warmth of her bodily curves press against my chest. She remained close to me and, without thinking, I placed my hands either side of her slim waist.
‘I hope you’re having fun tonight,’ I said, for want of anything else sensible to say. ‘Are you with friends? Boyfriend? Husband?’
‘With some friends, but they’ll be fine without me. Would you like to dance? Properly, I mean?’ She nodded towards the frenzied, lurid dance floor.
‘Yeah, could do.’ I tried not to sound too disappointed. I couldn’t dance and the music was already ripping into my eardrums.
She must have sensed my uncertainty. ‘Or should we go somewhere quieter? More relaxing.’
‘That sounds better to me.’
‘Where do you suggest, Mr Falco?’
‘Just Falco. How about my hotel room?’
‘Perfect.’
Part of me wanted to change my mind and tell her we’d go our separate ways, but that sounded wimpy. It was time I grew up.
I grabbed her hand and we ran off like two naughty schoolchildren skipping the next class. Outside, the air was wondrously refreshing and the relative quiet allowed me to enjoy the anticipation and the sensual images gushing into my mind. Still hand in hand we dashed around the corner towards the seafront and the pier, now closed to the public.
We stopped as the sea breeze hit us and kissed each other hungrily, hands gripping clothing and flesh.
So … before it went further, we headed to the hotel, where we ran through the revolving entrance and collected my key card from the jolly, welcoming receptionist, before striding towards the elevator. We snogged non-stop the whole way up to my floor, and clung on to each other as we trotted down the corridor to my room. I fumbled with the key card a few times, but eventually got the door open. Inside, we began fumbling with each other’s clothing only two steps into the room, edging slowly in tandem until we fell upon the bed in another fit of giggles.
Gaia Page 4
