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Chapter [1]
"Truth is what
one believes at the moment."
- Lady
Caroline Lamb.
Dear Les,
I
think you’ll like this. First, sit down and make yourself comfortable. Now
lay the little metal card on any flat surface. Place your hand on top of it
and wait. Keep an open mind, and be ready for a big surprise.
As
always, your uncle,
Jim Mathers.
Les held the
card gingerly between finger and thumb. It had a uniform silvery finish and
was slightly bigger and thicker than a credit card. Knowing his uncle’s
fondness for practical jokes, it would probably snap apart with a loud bang.
He placed it on his uncle’s prized roll-top desk and sat on the desk’s
matching swivel chair. Pausing, he glanced up at the ceiling. “OK, you old
rascal, here we go.”
Cautiously he lowered his hand onto the
card. He waited, anticipating the sudden something that would give
his uncle one last
laugh
from beyond the grave.
Nothing happened and he let out a derisory
snort, whatever it was supposed to do wasn't working. He was about to give
up when the traffic noise in the street outside faded away to an eerie
silence. Then the light in the
room grew dimmer, quickly becoming too dark to be cloud obscuring the late
afternoon sun.
Fighting the
growing anxiety in his chest he forced himself to continue as his uncle’s
room dwindled to a murky blackness.
A new scene formed around him. At first
ghostly and indistinct, it gradually took on depth and colour until he
appeared to be on the pavement of a busy street in bright sunshine. There
was an odd smell, which he suddenly realised was the distinctive pine air
freshener lingering in his uncle's room—it was strangely reassuring.
He still sat on the swivel chair, but in
this new world he stood upright. It might have been a familiar scene,
except that the cars floated along without wheels, and the pedestrians wore
such a diverse kaleidoscope of fashions and colours it felt like standing in
the middle of a movie lot filming everything from costume drama to space
opera. One swirl of movement resolved into a breathtaking blonde wearing a
skin-tight silver and gold cat-suit, another to a gorgeous redhead in an
elegant ball gown. These were the kinds of women he never had the courage to
approach.
“Toto,” he mumbled self-consciously, “I've
a feeling we're not in Kansas.”
He wanted to look in a shop window. As the
thought formed, his virtual body started towards it. He worried about
bumping into the other pedestrians, but they avoided him, always staying
just out of reach.
The shop sold a range of complex and
baffling electrical goods, few of them recognisable, but one looked a little
like a kettle. He pressed his hand against the window and it passed
effortlessly through. He knew of nothing as convincing as this virtual
experience. The card was either some cutting-edge technology or an alien
artefact. How had it come into his uncle’s possession?
He willed himself to move along the street,
pausing in front of other shops: one that sold shoes, another cakes and
fancy pastries, and another women’s fashion. His eager explorations took him
further from his starting point, but he didn’t worry about getting lost. He
still felt the reassuring pressure of the chair under him.
Les spotted a taller pedestrian walking
with greater purpose, a dark haired muscular man in his fifties, wearing an
immaculately tailored black suit. His approach filled Les with growing
trepidation. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might be sharing this fantasy
world with anyone else. Was he even supposed to be here?
The man strode up and stopped. “Hello,
Les,” he said, “my name is Titus. Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you.”
Les yanked his hand off the card. The scene
disappeared and his senses reeled as a wave of nausea swept over him. For a
terrifying moment a murky blackness surrounded him, and then his uncle’s
room swam back into view.
What had he just experienced? Was it an
elaborate hoax or had he actually made contact with a being from another
planet, or maybe even the future?
He strode to the window and tugged it open.
Leaning on the sill he took deep, calming breaths of the cool air. During
his time in the other scene thick cloud had gathered over the city of
Newcastle, bringing with it a fine drizzle of rain. In the street below
several pale orange streetlights flickered on, and the first of the
rush-hour traffic crept by.
Les had found the card and note in a
lacquered vanity box, nestled beside an automatic handgun made entirely from
black glass. Something about the gun’s firm trigger pressure had stopped him
pulling it. Could it be more than a fancy paperweight?
He went over to the desk and picked it up.
There were no obvious moving parts other than the trigger. He held it up in
a two handed grip and squinted down the barrel. Panning around the room he
caught sight of himself in a tall dressing mirror fixed to the wall. The
face looking back was a pathetic stranger. His dark hair needed a trim, and
a shadow of stubble lingered on his narrow chin. For too long he’d been
losing interest in his appearance.
A small cross of green light appeared on
the reflection of his forehead. Startled, he dropped the gun and it thudded
onto the threadbare carpet. He stared at it, his breath coming in short,
quick bursts.
A loud knock rattled the door and he jumped
again.
Mrs Cartwright, his uncle’s landlady,
called from the hall, “Are you all right in there, pet?”
Before he could answer, the door swung open
and she swept in.
“Sorry to disturb you,” she said, a
cigarette wagging at the edge of her mouth, “but I need a quick word about
the room.” She folded her arms, drawing a thick maroon cardigan tight across
her chest, and eyed the few cardboard boxes and black plastic sacks Les had
filled with his uncle’s belongings.
Her eyes went wide and the cigarette almost
fell from her mouth. “That’s not real is it?” she said, pointing at the gun.
“No, it’s glass. I think it’s a
paperweight.”
She bent over and picked it up. “Oh, it’s
heavier than it looks. What an odd thing. Think it’s worth anything?”
“No idea,” said Les. He spotted the green
cross tracking across the wall like a laser pointer and quickly took the gun
back. He put his hand over the muzzle, wondering if the itch in his palm was
real or imaginary. “What was it about the room?” he said.
Mrs Cartwright’s face became a picture of
sympathy. “I know this is a difficult time for you, and Mr Mathers was a
nice old gent, but the room’s only paid for until today. I’ve got someone
coming to look at it in about twenty minutes, I’ll need to give it a quick
clean before showing it. I’m sorry if that doesn’t give you much time to
move things out.”
“That’ll be fine,” said Les, “but I’ll have
to organise a van for the desk. Would a pick-up tomorrow be OK?”
“Of course, pet.” Mrs Cartwright took the
cigarette from her mouth and looked around for an ashtray. Seeing none, she
tapped the ash into her cardigan pocket. “Is five minutes enough time to
finish up?” she said.
Les nodded, glad she was leaving. Then he
had a sudden awful thought. His uncle wanted him to meet the man in the
virtual world, but what if the card didn’t work anywhere else? “Mrs
Cartwright,” he said quickly, “I was wondering, could I take the room?”
She narrowed her eyes and remained silent.
Les took the hint. “It’s more central than
my place, bigger, nicer room, much nicer area.”
“Well—I don’t just take anybody.”
Les waved at his face. “I should really
have shaved today, I forgot, Uncle Jim’s death has been a bit of a blow.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Have you got a
job?”
“Taxi driver.”
“You not married? Lad your age should be
married. How about kids? I don’t allow kids.”
“No kids, no wife.”
Satisfied, Mrs Cartwright reeled out a list
of terms and conditions finishing with, “...and I’ll need two weeks in
advance, I’ll need that tomorrow.”
As soon as she was out of the room Les
replaced the gun in the vanity box. The card sat innocuous on the desk,
starkly modern against the rich green leather of the desk’s writing pad. He
had to try it again.
He settled in the chair, took several deep
breaths, and lowered his hand onto it. Nothing happened. Although he knew it
hadn’t worked straight away the first time, disappointment grew by the
second. What if the card only worked once or had limited life. Had he
already used up his chance? Then, with a strange mixture of fear and relief,
his persistence paid off. The room faded away, replaced by the sunny street
scene.
A shadow flickered by and Les flinched. A
flying car passed overhead, level with the rooftops. He peered through the
surge of pedestrians, searching for the man in the dark suit. He had gone.
All Les could do was wait and hope he would reappear.
A flash of greenery about a block away
caught his attention and his virtual body gave him a fright when it
immediately stepped into the busy road towards it. With a high-pitched whine
the nearest vehicle slewed to a halt, the traffic behind it stopping as
quickly. The expected blare of horns and shouting would have been a relief
from the strange silence that followed. Unnerved by the expressionless stare
from the vehicle’s driver, Les willed himself across the road.
The park gardens were too perfect. Though
the flowers were spectacular and unusual, they were too evenly planted, and
the grass impossibly short and fine. Les quickly lost interest. He walked
on, heading for a line of hills on the edge of the city.
The thrill of crossing the roads and
stopping the traffic would probably fade with time, but seeing these
futuristic vehicles pull to a sudden halt became a perverse and exciting
entertainment. He became so engrossed in his game of virtual jaywalking he
didn’t notice the man in the dark suit waiting on the pavement opposite
until he walked right up to him. Unlike all the other pedestrians, he held
his ground.
“Glad to see you again, Les,” he said. “In
case you missed it first time, my name is Titus.”
Les couldn’t reply, his throat felt
painfully tight.
“You can answer. I will hear you.”
“Right,” croaked Les.
“I’ve not got much time,” said Titus, “so
I’ll get right down to it. My government has a proposition for you. We’d
like you to work for us returning items that occasionally get misplaced.”
“...misplaced items,” said Les, vacantly.
Titus held up a glass gun identical to the
one Les had found. “This is a tuning device. It allows us to target the
items and bring them back. It serves no other function, and will not affect
anything other than a target object.”
Les nodded numbly. “Got it—tuning
device—brings stuff back.”
“It’s difficult for us to recover the items
ourselves, so we find it simpler to employ a local agent on your planet.”
The reality came like a slap to Les’s face.
Titus was an alien. “You’re not from Earth?” he said.
“No.”
Les felt his heart rate increase. “Then
where are you from?”
“A little background might help,” said
Titus. “Your uncle did the job for us for a long time.”
Titus had ignored Les’s question. “My
uncle, I never guessed.”
“Yes, a very capable man in his day.”
“And you paid him?”
“Of course. We arranged for him to win
prizes in competitions. We alter the computer records and replace the actual
winner’s name with yours. With our technology, it’s not that difficult.”
“What did Uncle Jim do?”
“I would tell him where to find a target
object. He located it and triggered its recovery by shooting it.”
“It sounds easy.”
“Not always. It requires a certain
creativity to get close enough to an object if it’s not easily accessible.
It was your uncle’s suggestion that we approach you. He spoke well on your
behalf.”
“The old rascal.”
Titus smiled. “So you’ll consider taking
the job?”
“I suppose, yes, I’ll consider it.”
“Excellent. I’ll leave you for a few days
to make your decision. Use the communicator card to contact me with your
answer. I guarantee this is a real opportunity to better yourself.” Titus
checked his watch. “About this time of day will do.”
“Fine, but your world,” Les motioned to the
scene around them, “where is it?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t say. That rule is part
of our terms of employment.” Titus glanced at his watch again. “I’m afraid
I’ve run out of time. Do contact me with your answer. Goodbye for now.”
Before Les could speak, the scene faded
with his hand still on the card. A less intense wave of nausea swept over
him, passing quickly.
Les took the gun from the desk and aimed it
at an old wardrobe. When the green cross appeared he cautiously pulled the
trigger. The cross pulsed brighter for a moment. He inspected the wood
around the target area, and found it reassuringly undamaged.
Was it a genuine offer of work or an
elaborate con. Had his Uncle Jim really been working for Titus? It would
explain his uncle’s sporadic business trips. At one time his uncle had
appeared to be quite prosperous, something he shared with Les and maybe too
many others. His fondness for easy living and his failure to plan for
retirement had brought him to this single room in a run-down boarding house.
Les did not need to follow the same path.
#
Two days later
a letter arrived at Les’s new address. He collected it from a long sideboard
in the entrance hall next to Mrs Cartwright’s apartment. It contained a
money order for £400.00, second prize in a competition to create an
advertising slogan for a popular cat food. Fortunately the cash option had
been selected, saving Les the problem of explaining the arrival of a small
mountain of Kitty-Delicious cat food to Mrs Cartwright.
Les took the money order to his bank and
cashed it immediately. He stared as the teller counted the crisp, new ten
pound notes into a neat pile. This was clearly an advance, a show of good
faith and proof of the method of payment.
How hard could it be? Definitely easier
than driving taxis, especially considering the hours he normally worked to
earn this amount of money. Unlike the fanciful tales of adventure and
intrigue that he loved to read, this was real. He would be a fool to let
such an amazing opportunity pass.
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