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DESCRIPTION:

EDGE { novel } In the near future, a prolific inventor is close to burn out. Desperate for a break he grabs an opportunity to go snowboarding in New Zealand, thinking it will refresh his mind and spirit. But a malign and alien force is oozing back into our reality, older than humankind and growing strong as it emerges after centuries of absence. Zen Dow snowboarding and ski resort, perched in the foothills of the volcanic mountain Ruapehu, is about to experience mind-shredding consequences as one of the Great Old Ones returns. On the other side of the world, an unscrupulous concept scout scrambles onto the trail of a new technology that has vanished from the corporate R&D labs. Quickly out of his depth, it becomes a race to track down the missing components before competing corporate agents kill him. David J Rodger's trademark relentless narrative pace is here in palm-sweating abundance, delivered in a tense action-packed novel that blends corporate espionage, with a creeping, spine-chilling horror.

CUSTOMER REVIEWS:

The main characters are wonderfully described and you really get under their skin, by H Landsem (Trondheim, Norway). It's a wonderful story with the typical unexpected turns. It's not the usual pulpy Mythos story either, it's subtle and mature affair. I can really recommend this book for everyone, especially Stephen King, Cthulhu and cyberpunk fans.

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Freud used the term "unheimlich" to signify a sudden feeling of strangeness and discomfort, often in places where a person normally feels secure. Could this be a reaction to unseen forces at play? There are colours the human eye cannot see, and sounds we cannot hear. Have the gods left echoes of themselves that we can only feel with senses we barely comprehend? Clouds covering a mountain summit invoke thoughts of the unknown, what might lie hidden beyond? More potent are volcanoes, seen either as linked to the underworld and the evil spirits therein, or as points of contact with superhuman beings, ancestors using them in battles as, for instance, in Maori mythology.

- Hans Sabbioni, Misty Mountains and Indigenous Voices, TGI Press, 2021

 

 

1

 

"What is that state of mind when you sleep with a woman you don't even find attractive?" Halo Santana asked out loud, addressing his reflection in the rear-view mirror of the jeep. The jeep was parked on the side of a dirt road, near the edge of an impressive cliff overlooking the Atlantic; this was the area formerly known as New England.

He paused to survey his features in the mirror, then continued with his sensuous rolling American accent he'd spent years perfecting, "Is it the consequence of the primal man overriding all sense of discretion? Or is it purely female charm?"

Halo narrowed his eyes in a mock scowl and allowed his perfect smile to form.

He had perfect skin. Every woman he had ever met told him that. His Dad had been a white guy, his mother a Mexican, so his skin always had this 'white-guy with a glowing tan' thing going for it. At least that's how his first wife used to describe it.

Yes, he was definitely looking better-than-good today.

Throwing a glance through the windshield he checked nobody was watching him admire himself. The jeep was parked a little distance from the solitary building, halfway down an incline so he could only see the tip of the lighthouse tower. There was nothing outside but wild grass, the dirt road and the cliff edge.

Back to the mirror.

His eyes, tear-shaped, gave a clue to his Latin American blood, they were brown and usually alive with an inner energy - playful and sexually suggestive. Some people saw the predator in them, but that was usually after he'd slept with them, or after he'd hard-boiled a tech contract.

Lifting his face closer to the mirror Halo checked his teeth had no remains of breakfast stuck between them; all clear. He popped open the driver-side door and climbed out, forced to squint in the bare rays of the sun. There was a slight breeze, it was a good day for learning how to sail.

Halo pushed the jeep door closed rather than slam it and tempted fate by leaving it unlocked. The dirt road led off the coastal highway, he didn't imagine anybody would be coming up this way without a reason, and he was only stopping to pick up his instructor. This was where Kimberly lived but she ran her business in the sleepy tourist town further along the coast.

As he headed up the dirt track more of the lighthouse tower came into view; old stone, painted white. Kimberly had converted the bulb room into a lounge with a truly jaw-dropping view of the ocean. The crash of waves boomed with a regular rhythm as enchanting as the smell of brine carried up by the cool breeze. The breeze ruffled the heavy mop of his dark hair but it didn't bother him; there was enough product in his hair to keep the expensive cut back into shape.

There were no neighbours, nobody to disturb the isolated beauty of the location. Real estate in the Harbour Coast State was not cheap; this place must have cost a bomb.

His legs easily carried him up the moderate ascent of the track; he thought about the day ahead. Kimberly Aanerud was not what he would call a babe, indeed there was very little about her face to engage a man's libido, but her figure was good, lean from years of aggressive professional sailing and more recently teaching it.

In the beginning there had been no chemistry but by the end of his first lesson he knew she wanted him; most women did. He'd had two half-day lessons in the past three days; not that he needed them. Although he now lived in Paris, his boyhood years of growing up took place on the Gulf Coast of Mexico with a lot of boats occupying his childhood.

He had travelled to the Harbour Coast to conclude some business and had decided to stay on for a bit; the advance on the deal had given him enough money to live well for a couple of weeks. Halo felt he deserved some downtime before he threw himself into work again. Polishing up on his sailing skills and being seduced by his instructor was a good way to unwind.

Halo reached the crest of the short hill, bringing the entire lighthouse into view. Attached to the base of the tower was a small one-story building, old stone painted white and a steep red roof. The sea and wind had eaten into the cliffs here, bringing the edge precariously close to the structure. Boulders of smooth rock lay around like lumps of chocolate left out in the sun.

The breeze blew around his ears, filling them with a roaring sound punctuated by soft thunder of the waves far below. He felt the waves more than heard them. He slowed his stride to soak up the moment.

It was good to spend time here but he couldn't live here. North America held too many dark memories. Not even the exclusive status of the Harbour Coast could lure him back. The Collapse had left much of the former United States a place of nightmares.

Nearing the one-storey building attached to the tower his attention went to the line of dark green trees that came down from a slope to the left.

Something had glinted, catching his eye.

What was that? Something inside the tree line. He slowed his pace even further and tried to get a better view of what it was – some kind of vehicle maybe? Sunlight reflected off metal bodywork.

Strange that it would be parked in the trees.

He looked and saw Kimberly's station wagon parked under the extended eaves of the building. His mood dropped a little. Could it be that somebody else was joining them for the lesson? Damn. He'd counted on having her alone.

Halo came to a stop when he glimpsed the curved bulges of jet turbines either side of the vehicle out in the trees. It was an aerodyne. He knew Kimberly had wealthy clients but these things cost an absolute fortune: and he should know, he owned one; albeit his was currently behind on the payments. He'd hired the jeep because he figured he would enjoy driving the coastal road.

Halo stopped still. Why would somebody land an aerodyne inside the tree line? That required a skilled pilot or a damn good AI-emulator controlling the computerised navigation systems.

Something felt wrong.

Where was her dog? A golden Labrador, it usually came bounding out to greet any new arrival, too friendly to be an effective guard dog.

Glancing around him an uneasy feeling settled on his shoulders.

To his right the cylinder of the lighthouse tower rose up above the steep red roof. Behind him his jeep was concealed beyond the slope of the hill.

Halo looked at the front door, then at the station wagon protruding from the side of the building.

He knew there was another entrance around the side, through Kimberly's workshop-come-garage.

His eyes went back to the aerodyne squatting in the trees.

No seas pendejo, he told himself, and moved forward deciding to go in through the side entrance.

It was when he reached the corner that a sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

 

 

 

 

2

 

Eight o'clock in the morning and Ethan watched the sun setting.

He was tense. Stewing in his juices as his thoughts went round and round; always the same issue. Sweat clung to his plain white T-shirt. He was experiencing an acute lack of self-confidence. It was to be expected, he supposed; some kind of personality crash. He hadn't been out of the workshop in months; lost in the world of his technological creations; little contact with anybody other than his employees, and that was always by holopresence, none of them living in Copenhagen.

Now he was here: Incheon airport, South Korea. Waiting for a connecting flight to New Zealand.

Christ.

One hand trembled where he clutched a pair of disposable chopsticks, poised over a plate of anonymous meat and rice he'd barely touched. Ethan put the shakes down to a combination of nervous tension and lack of sleep. He was worrying about the impact being away for two weeks was going to have on the delivery of his latest project: he needed to get problems with the prototype ironed out; flesh out the product brochure, and nail down a thousand other irritatingly necessary tasks associated with launching a technological revolution.

His PA was on the table beside the plate, the wide rectangular hardscreen displaying a slowly rotating schematic of the prototype: an extended field generator, or XFG as he called it. There were issues with the accuracy of the manipulator function, and power surges to the tips when there were multiple fields which was creating havoc with their agility and dexterity.

The airport restaurant was cheap; the tables were formed from compressed recycled cardboard, the plates were bright coloured plastic; but it was the only place that had pictures to go with each item on the indecipherable menu.

His PA had a Babel application but the translations it churned out made no sense; and he didn't have an AI-emulator to decipher the cultural differences for things like “mushroom cow innards soya oyster”.

The issue with choosing somewhere to eat reinforced his sense of alienation from humanity, and brought back a sickly feeling of anxiety regarding the days ahead. He had two things making him uneasy: looking like an idiot whilst he tried to refresh his pathetic snowboarding skills; and the arrival of Robin, his ex-girlfriend.

No, three things. There was the presence of Samson, the man who had originally suggested Ethan come on this trip; and somebody who had been interested in Robin before Ethan stole his thunder, so to speak.

The anxiety he'd gone through, during the week leading up to departing, had almost made him cancel; but he'd got it into his head that was what Samson wanted, that Samson was counting on him dropping out, to show him up in some way. Ethan didn't know, and wasn't sure if he was just being unfairly paranoid towards Samson.

Ethan was conscious of the fact he'd barely said a word to the man sitting across the table from him. Samson was contentedly picking through a plate of thick noodles with stir-fried vegetables.

Robin lived in Vancouver, but had been travelling through Thailand for the last few weeks and was coming directly from there to meet them at the Zen Dow resort, in New Zealand. Samson had arranged everything. Why? He and Samson barely knew each other. They had only shared a few awkward encounters in Vancouver the previous year. Didn't Samson begrudge Ethan stealing the woman he'd been interested in?

To Ethan's left there was a large inwardly sloping window, one of many forming a glass wall along one length of the building. Through the window beyond the tarmac, scrubland and runways, rose a barren mountainous landscape wrapped in a dense haze, the colour of brown ash. The sun was a vast and dirty orange orb dropping out of sight in the background.

Ethan's body-clock was fixed on Copenhagen time and the sepia quality of the setting sunlight created a clash between his internal and external reality. In Denmark he would be eating breakfast right now, here he was technically eating dinner.

What if you injure yourself?

His imagination crept around the idea of him taking a tumble on the slopes. A serious injury would jeopardise his delivery schedule for getting a licence agreement for the prototype, and testing the market for investor interest. Yet the worry about business details paled in comparison to his horror at the idea of Robin watching him awkwardly attempt some simple manoeuvre. He visualised her laughing at him as he fumbled and fell with clumsy calamity. Samson would be there to show how it should be done.

Samson looked his way, as if sensing Ethan thinking about him.

"How you feeling, compadre?" Samson's voice encompassed a range of North American dialects within its back of the throat drawl.

"Getting excited," Ethan lied, not wanting to discuss his state of turmoil, "I, err…suppose we should start making our way to the departure gate."

"Leave it a while. Let the crush settle down. I mean, we got seat numbers so what's the rush?" Samson replied in a relaxed tone.

"I suppose."

"You suppose." Samson chuckled but was not being unkind. "You're one of those eager types who likes to get somewhere an hour early…just in case."

Ethan smiled self-consciously; of course he was right. Samson nodded knowingly and pulled a grin.

"Can I ask you something?" Ethan asked abruptly.

The pause in Samson's response said he'd noted the apprehensive tone. "Sure."

"Why did you ask me to come along?"

Samson looked genuinely amused. "Why wouldn't I?"

Ethan hesitated, "Well, I mean, wouldn't you have preferred it to be just you and Robin?"

"What?" Samson laughed, thumping the surface of the table with the palm of his hand.

"I mean-" Ethan could feel his face going red.

"Ethan, Ethan, please," Samson implored and leaned in over the table; large shoulders and biceps straining against the stretchy-fabric of his T-shirt.

Ethan sighed, resigning himself to the fact he'd just asked a stupid question, and leaned in to listen-up.

"Nothing happened between Robin and me, man."

"I know, well, I used to wonder but-"

"And nothing will."

"Okay. Yes. Okay. Errr, what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Samson retorted easily and sat back, leaving Ethan to think about it.

A notification – beep - sounded simultaneously from Ethan's PA and his ear-clip. Samson must have got the same notification because he reached a hand up to the band of plastic hooked around his right ear to pick up the message. Ethan looked at the hardscreen of his PA and saw the message advising them to go to the departure gate.

Samson was heaving his muscular figure from the chair.

Ethan stared at the hardscreen with unfocussed eyes. Did Robin still have feelings for him, is that why she'd agreed to come along? He wasn't sure what he thought about that. Ethan realised he'd been assuming she was coming for Samson…

"Shake a leg compadre," Samson prompted.

He'd just have to wait and find out.

 

 

 

 

3

 

Halo took an immediate step back away from the corner of the building and froze again, giving his brain time to review what he had just seen.

The extended eaves of the one-story building came down to a height just above his head. Kimberly's station wagon was parked beneath, alongside a roll-down shutter that had been left open. Beyond the open shutter was Kimberly's workshop and it was from inside there that he could see a thick trickle of blood; deep red against the pale concrete floor. The blood was following a subtle gradient, crossing the space between the open workshop and the station wagon.

For some reason he knew the blood was not a result of any accident. His eyes flicked to the aerodyne hulking within the trees less than fifty metres away.

Get away from here. No need to get involved.

He started to take a slow careful step, turning his body as he did so. Whatever had happened here it would involve the police. Any investigation would take up his time and he couldn't afford that. His current funds would evaporate within several weeks and he needed to go out and find more business.

“Is she dead?” A voice asked; not his own.

The voice had come from just around the corner…from inside the workshop. Hushed and chillingly calm, as if the question had been about the weather.

Halo's blood ran cold.

“No. Give me a moment.” Another male voice replied, more than irritated. Both had European accents.

Gulping rapidly, Halo lowered his foot to the ground and wondered what the hell to do. Run was the simple answer; get away from a situation that was evolving in danger with every moment. Yet curiosity had a hold of him.

The silence of the two men continued. What were they doing? Was it Kimberly's blood? Who else could it be but…?

The early morning sun was baking the side of his body. The sound of the surf pounding the nearby cliffs sounded out-of-place, too serene for this moment of drama.

Slowly twisting his shoulders he brought himself back to face the rear end of the station wagon and started moving towards it, taking each step one at a time. Reaching the corner of the building he placed his hands on the cold stonework, allowing his weight to shift onto his arms; then he began to lean forwards. The station wagon began to emerge into view again, as did the trickle of blood coming from inside the workshop.

Pausing for a moment, he calmed his breathing and strained to hear the two men but there was only silence, punctuated by the beating of his heart. He was sweating; he could feel his hands getting slippery against the painted stone.

He could smell turpentine and wood varnish. The same as the previous two times he'd come here to pick Kimberly up before a lesson.

The men started talking, exchanging brief sentences he couldn't pick up. They must have been from different countries, both using English as a common language. He heard the tear of Velcro being ripped open. What were they doing?

Leaning further he started to expand his view inside the workshop. In the corner opposite him by the entrance were gardening tools, then a stack of deep wooden drawers and the beginning of a wide workbench. Then he saw the dog. It was Kimberly's golden Labrador, motionless on the concrete floor in a pool of blood. It was impossible to miss the ragged gash of his neck – as if somebody had taken an axe to it, or a large knife.

That confirmed it. Something very bad was happening here. Did he want to risk getting involved?

His eyes never left the dog. The gore didn't bother him. It never had. Both men continued talking quietly, and he still couldn't make out what they were saying. His legs were quivering beneath him, his grip on the stone wall was starting to slip.

Just get back to the jeep and drive away. He knew that was the smart option to take right now, but he wanted to know what was happening.

His body refused to obey him. He couldn't lean any further, his legs and arms wouldn't take the burden. What would happen if he fell? What would the men do if they saw him?

This is insane. Just get away.

Halo started to ease away, the sun uncomfortably hot against his back.

My shadow.

Glancing quickly to his left he could clearly see his shadow leaning away from the black line that was the edge of the building. Fortunately the angle of the sun was throwing his shadow across the ground behind the station wagon. Then he saw something else. The long rear side window of the station wagon was reflecting a distorted version of what was happening inside the workshop.

Two men stood over a figure tied into a chair. He couldn't see the figure's face but it had to be Kimberly, long hair hung forward from the limp neck, thin shoulders slumped and resting against the bonds tying her to the chair. Both men were wearing jeans and plain T-shirts, and after a bit of working out Halo realised they were also wearing clear plastic aprons. So they didn't get blood on their clothes?

One of the men was holding something long and metal in his right hand. Halo shifted his head to overcome the distortion created by the vehicle window. It was a knife, the blade heavily soaked in blood.

They kill her dog and tie her to a chair? Were they interrogating her? Or just threatening her? What was Kimberly involved in?

Halo had to assume the aerodyne belonged to them, but what kind of thugs flew an aerodyne worth several hundred thousand dollars?

"She seems dead to me," the knife man said clearly enough for him to hear.

The other man retorted quickly, something about a lack of faith in his ability. Halo watched the same man abruptly lean toward the figure with something small poised in one hand, and do something to the figure's limp arm. An injection?

There was too much distortion to make out their faces. Injection man stepped back and said something.

Then Halo heard a sudden intake of air, not from either man, and made chilling by the gurgling quality to the sound and the edge of panic it contained. The figure in the chair stirred, the head lolled a couple of times, the long hair dangling like a curtain.

“Welcome back Kimberly,” injection man said, very loudly and very clearly, “I was worried I'd lost you. Now, again, where is Professor Komossa?”

Halo didn't know the name. He gripped the wall with sweaty hands and watched and listened.

Injection man continued, "Your loyalty to her is admirable, but also entirely misplaced. She has brought you into this for her own selfish gain. Kimberly? Can you hear me? You have the choice to walk away from this with your life, or not walk away at all. Kimberly? I know you can hear me. All I want to know is where she is. Professor Stefanie Komossa."

Silence.

Halo moved his head, tried to see more clearly how Kimberly was responding.

Without warning knife man stepped forward and stabbed the blade into Kimberly's abdomen.

She screamed and wailed, her head came up and she stared at her captors with an expression Halo couldn't make out.

He didn't want to find out. He'd seen enough. These men, whoever they were, were professionals. They handled violence like a job. Halo knew he wouldn't stand a chance if they spotted him.

Injection man was shouting at Kimberly now. Where was Professor Stefanie Komossa? What had she given Kimberly?

Kimberly was sobbing, squealing, gasping, sounding like somebody close to dying.

Halo retreated. Using every gram of concentration to make sure he moved away from the corner of the building without making a noise or tripping over.

Hurrying down the dirt road he reached the jeep. Thank God he didn't lock it, the alarm activation tone would have alerted the men, even above the pounding of the surf against the cliffs.

Just thinking about what might have happened if the men had caught him made his whole body tremble.

He yanked open the driver door and climbed inside, but only pulled the door-to. Looking through the windshield up the dirt track all he could see of Kimberly's home was the top of the lighthouse tower.

Too terrified to start the engine, he released the particle-brakes and allowed the jeep to gently roll backwards down the hill. If the men spotted him now they could easily catch up in that aerodyne of theirs. It was likely they would do anything to stop a witness from getting away. Not that he had any intention of going to the police. No way. Kimberly had gotten herself into some bad trouble. That was her problem. He couldn't afford to be held back by some investigation. Especially one that might make him the target of professionals like that, wanting to make sure he never got to give evidence.

Reaching the bottom of the short slope he could see where the road joined the Coastal Highway a hundred metres further on.

He started the engine, hauled on the steering wheel and pulled the jeep round to point the right way. Gunning the engine he braked long enough to make sure he wasn't going to ram anything coming down the Highway, then accelerated hard and tried to get as much distance as quickly as possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

4

 

They left Auckland around 4 o'clock in the morning. Three hours of driving along dark, wintery highways passed in relative silence; within moments of climbing into the hire car, Ethan had reached into the leather holdall between his feet, and pulled out the fat rectangle of his PA. It was an automatic reaction; he wasn't driving; he had free time: time to work.

In the back of his mind a voice nagged; reminding him that the main reason for coming to New Zealand was to relax. Yet sitting there and not working would have steadily wound him into a tight bundle of frustration.

Ethan focussed on fleshing out the latest version of the product brochure he'd been working on; he kept a softscreen bundled up in the leather holdall, which he could unroll across his lap and use as a touchboard if he needed to get into some heavy typing. So far, this journey, he hadn't needed it; most of his time was spent staring at the product brochure on the PA, mulling over what he wanted to say in it.

Most PAs were no bigger than a credit card, although the expensive ones came in unusual shapes or materials. Ethan's was the most recent 'Blue' model from SUB, a specialist manufacturer. Bigger than the palm of his hand, flat and rectangular with nice curved corners that were pleasing to rub the tips of his forefinger over; one face formed a hardscreen with a resolution good enough for him to run three-dimensional schematics and Eriksson-Miggs simulations.

Switching it on always produced a combined sense of delectation and professional anxiety; the familiar retreat into his work realm made him happy but as usual, tough challenges lay ahead.

The prototype of his Extended Field Generator would soon be working well enough to be able to start looking for a license agreement; once he got the bugs ironed out. The sooner he tested the market the quicker he'd know what his invention was worth. The product brochure would go to his agent back in London and then the fun and games would begin. Ethan hated dealing with the big corporate hotshots. He was glad to leave all the haggling to the agent; even if there were some outstanding issues with the man.

A sharp lurch by the rental car started him; shooting a glance up from the SUB's hardscreen he saw Samson's thick arms moving with the steering wheel as he took the narrow icy road at speed.

“Sorry.” Samson grunted, considerate of the fact he'd disturbed Ethan's thoughts.

Dense forest, dusted with fresh snow, flashed past the windows. Above them the darkness had rolled back; the sky was ablaze with vibrant colours: clouds of pink, purple and yellow in vivid contrast to the blend of pale blue and indigo of the firmament further ahead.

Ethan pictured the Earth in his mind's eye; he saw a globe, and himself traversing an invisible line near the bottom of the southern hemisphere.

I'm upside down.

He was underneath the planet. It was a surreal notion.

"I never imagined it would be so beautiful," Ethan stated, having to raise his voice above the revving of the engine.

"Sure is,” Samson replied in a level tone. “Kind of numbs the mind. This is what it's all about. All the stupid shit we think about vanishes when you come to a place like this."

Ethan smiled, appreciating the sentiment in Samson's words.

The trees either side of the road reminded him of his parents house in England, where he'd spent segments of his childhood growing up when he wasn't abroad. A tiny yet historical village called Bucklers Hard, not far from the great New Forest.

"Nothing like Yellowstone," Samson commented, interrupting his reflections, "But then I've not been there since the place fell apart."

"Yellowstone. I've never been." Ethan confessed.

"No? Well, I guess you've probably missed your chance now."

Ethan wasn't one hundred percent certain of the new geography of North America. "Is it still within the Union?"

"Yeah, damn shame too. Washington DC's still trying to run the place like a tourist reservation but last I heard, some renegade militia's gone and taken a bunch of Japanese hostage."

"I heard about that." Ethan remembered the media bulletin from a couple of weeks back.

"Wasn't pretty." Samson said grimly and seemed to go into his own thoughts for a moment, staring at the road ahead.

Ethan noted how few vehicles he'd seen when leaving Auckland, but now the road was starting to get busy with morning traffic. They were approaching a place called Taupo.

"That's a nice bit of kit you've got there." Samson tilted his head, indicating the SUB in Ethan's hands.

"It does the job," Ethan answered modestly.

"So what's got you so hooked you can ignore the beauty of Mother Nature around you?"

Ethan smiled at Samson's playful tone, "Have you ever used a Holographic Touch Matrix Display?"

Samson stared at the road, "Yeah, they make things out of light that you can touch like they're really there."

"That's right."

"I had a client last year,” Samson continued, “She had this fancy car, some kind of sports critter with a raised chassis. All the controls were made out of holograms you could touch."

"That's impressive." Ethan wondered what kind of person had the money to buy a vehicle with an HTMD control suite and the desire to live rough with Samson for a few days.

"So…” Samson began, grinning around the word; “We've determined I'm not so much of a back-to-nature neo-Luddite that I don't know what an H-T-M-D is. What have they got to do with what you're working on?”

"I invented them."

"You're shitting me." Samson turned his head and stared at him.

Ethan watched the road. "I shit you not."

Samon swung his eyes back to the view ahead. A few moments passed whilst he thought about it, then he laughed and let out a whoop of admiration. "Man, you must be totally loaded."

"Hmm. Not yet." Ethan answered truthfully.

"What? No way! How come?"

"Problems with getting paid what I'm owed," Ethan replied, sounding a little uncomfortable.

"Ah don't worry man, I won't stick my nose in your business. You seem like a smart guy. I'm sure you'll get it sorted."

"I hope you're right." Ethan did hope so, because he was still owed tens of millions.

 

 

 

They passed through Taupo without stopping, the busy road hugging the shore of a large lake on their right. A cold mist hung over the calm water; large sections of ice had formed around the edges, dusted with recent snow.

The mention of money-owed had spoiled Ethan's appetite for work. He went online and brought up a satellite view of their destination on the SUB's hardscreen. The Zen Dow resort occupied a basin shaped area on the slopes of Mount Ruapehu, one kilometre from the ski-fields. A cluster of thirty or so chalets was spread in a wide arc around a central building.

Ethan experienced another flutter of worry about what he'd let himself in for. He was not a confident snowboarder. In fact, when it came to physical activities he wasn't particularly adventurous. He didn't have great agility and he wasn't very strong. Unlike Samson whose stocky frame always appeared to move with the supple grace of an athlete. Whereas Ethan's white flesh was baby soft and faintly tanned, Samson was deeply tanned and weathered from years of teaching people outdoor activities. Samson's high cheekbones hinted at a racial heritage stemming from a time before European settlers spread across North America. Samson's eyes, narrow and penetrating, were as if made of dark and polished stone; and his hair fell past his ears in a cascade of muddy brown curls streaked with blonde highlights.

So what about Robin? Ethan's thoughts circled round again to what Samson had told him, back in Incheon airport. And what about Samson's motives for inviting Robin on the trip? And him for that matter?

Both he and Samson had met Robin around the same time, just over a year ago: Samson joining the martial arts group Robin taught at a Life Therapy centre in Vancouver; Ethan meeting her on-line in a chat-room used by film buffs.

Ethan and Robin swapped phone-tags and swiftly built a friendship and more beyond the fabrications of cyberspace. That marked the period when Ethan started living between his apartment and workshop in Denmark, and Robin's apartment in Canada.

He had met Samson a couple of times in this early period; Samson always came across as friendly but Ethan could sense how much he liked Robin. Ethan couldn't shake the feeling, paranoia perhaps, that his arrival on the scene as a 'boyfriend' had stepped on Samson's toes.

Samson had only stayed in Vancouver for a month after that; and then returned East, to the Harbour Coast, where he ran his own business taking people back to nature.

Ethan thought: if Samson hadn't returned East would my relationship with Robin have ever happened? If Ethan had to put a woman like Robin d'Valios with a man, it would be with a man like Samson.

Ethan was short in height with a slim build, a small head with tall and broad forehead distinctively speckled in freckles. Pale green eyes, almond shaped, bright and energetic. He used to believe he was somebody with frank eye contact, as if everybody and everything he came across could be considered interesting. He used to be able to talk to strangers like they were best friends. People had always commented on that rare talent. But somehow, at some point during the months of locking himself away in the workshop, he'd lost his social confidence: at least that's how he felt right now.

What if Robin fell for Samson this time? That was going to hurt.

Ethan and Robin had enjoyed six months together before ending the relationship. It had been good, and they were still friends...

He knew he missed spending time with her, and her four-year-old son. There had been e-mail contact, a lot of brief phone calls, but they hadn't seen each other since it ended.

It was Ethan's work that made them separate, or rather his growing irritation at how much of his time the relationship was taking up. Eventually he had come to a point where it felt he had to choose between his work and Robin.

Robin hadn't stood a chance.

Ethan shook his head slightly at the redundant nature of his thoughts. He focussed his attention on the SUB's hardscreen.

The satellite view was overlaid with several data-layers; tapping through the information boxes with his finger he picked up some interesting points.

"Zen Dow sounds like a lap of luxury," Ethan reckoned aloud.

"Beats the hell out of the other resorts on the mountain," Samson replied, eyes glued to the narrow road as he pushed the car at high speed around a broad sweeping bend.

"You've been before?" Ethan thought this was Samson's first time.

"Not Zen Dow. I couldn't justify the cost."

"And now?"

Samson laughed quietly, "Now I can justify the cost."

Ethan didn't pry any further into his finances, but running his own business in Harbour Coast had to mean good money.

"Zen Dow…they have an awesome hop to the Turoa ski-fields." Samson told him. Ethan glanced down at the map and saw Turoa was on the opposite side of Ruapehu Mountain. "Think I'll be finding it handier for checking out bars in Ohakune…if the local girls are nothing to get excited about."

Ethan laughed.

Samson grinned broadly. "Last time I came to Ruapehu I bribed the pilot to let me fly over the summit and drop me off there."

"On the summit?"

"Hell yeah. Ruapehu! The longest vertical drop in Australasia. Over seven-hundred metres. Pure adrenaline rush…right down to the car park."

"That won't be me," Ethan said a little glumly.

"Ahh it's nothing. Just put all your weight forward onto the front of the board and keep going." Samson was enthusiastic.

"That's where I always freak out, leaning forward down a mountain."

Samson chuckled. "Gotta conquer that fear, man. You might hurt yourself… but you won't die. Pain teaches you a lesson."

Ethan wasn't so sure. He wasn't a great fan of pain.

"There's a mighty more dangerous run than that one, compadre. They called it The Edge," Samson began to explain but a -beep - from Ethan's ear-clip announced an incoming call followed by a chip-voice stating who was calling: it was Robin d'Valios.

 

 

 

 

5

 

Ethan scanned the windshield for an option to route the call through the car but couldn't see one. He ran it through the SUB but there was no picture.

"Hi Robin. You there?"

"Hiii. How are you?" Robin's voice came through the SUB's speakers, sounding cheerful. Ethan smiled and settled into the seat. He had always loved the way she spoke. Her Philippine accent very distinctive. Even though they were no longer 'together' they still spoke once a week, although the past three weeks had been silent.

"I'm good, thanks. I'm with Samson. Still en-route to the resort. Where are you?"

"Hi Sammo." Robin's voice called out.

"Hello little lady," Samson replied, taking his eyes off the road to look at the SUB on Ethan's lap.

"I'm in Bangkok." Robin said.

"No video?” Ethan queried, “Do you look that bad?”

"Hah-hah wise-ass,” Robin rebuked, “I think the camera must be broken. I had to wait half an hour just to get this booth so I'm not changing to please you."

Samson made a wincing sound and glanced at him.

Ethan raised an eyebrow and smirked.

Robin had been travelling for the past three months. Some friends of his suggested she might be working through the pain of him leaving her, but he doubted that.

"So what's the plan?" Ethan asked.

"I'm flying out of here in a few hours. If it all goes to plan I'll be in Auckland sometime early tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?" Both Ethan and Samson exclaimed.

"Shit Robin, we could have stayed back a day and given you a lift." Ethan suggested.

"Like hell," Samson quickly followed up, "I'm going snowboarding!"

Robin made a happy sound, "I'm so looking forward to seeing you guys."

"Likewise," Ethan said. They'd not seen each other face to face since he walked out of her apartment in Vancouver half a year ago. "Looking forward to hearing all your adventures."

"How was it?" Samson asked.

"It's been three months since I left the familiar four walls of my flat and I've seen some crazy shit and survived some even crazier moments, but I guess that's what happens when you go further than Granville Island. At least my cat is still alive."

"Nothing could kill that critter anyway," Samson muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Robin challenged.

"He was asking who's looking after it," Ethan covered, smiling indulgently.

"Marina, the girl in the flat below," Robin answered, "I think she's been using my place for parties but I'll deal with that when I get back. No point pissing off the cat-sitter when you still need her."

"Sitter parties, my ass. Probably that cat raising hell with every flea-ball in the building." More low vocals from Samson.

"It's really hard to hear you Sammo," Robin complained.

"Sammo's driving," Ethan stated.

"Okay. Well I'll say goodbye here. See you both tomorrow."

They made their closing comments with good humour before the call ended.

Ethan went back to grappling with the product brochure.

 

 

 

Ethan was concentrating so hard on the SUB's hardscreen that he'd been completely unaware of the journey, or the change of scene. When he glanced up he saw they were driving through a town. A mixture of wooden and brick apartment buildings, interspersed with snow covered pine trees, lined a wide road that gradually snaked its way up a gentle rise. Deep snow.

Ethan's brow lifted as he tried to catch his bearings. Were they nearly there?

The snow was new. The car's heaters were on full blast. They must have ascended a good distance. It certainly looked cold outside.

A sign on the side of a building proclaimed Whakapapa Maori Museum.

"Wuh-aka-papa." Ethan tried to pronounce the word as they crawled past. The road was clogged with slow moving 4x4s bristling with skis and snowboards, their wheels churning up the fresh snow into twin channels of dirty slush.

Samson chuckled, "Fuh, you pronounce the 'W-H' as a 'Fuh' sound. So it's Fuhkapapa."

"Whakapapa," he said it correctly this time. It sounded almost rude.

"Should be there… in twenty minutes," Samson said. "We keep heading up here to the top of Bruce Road, past Iwikau Village where I stayed last time. Zen Dow is tucked away another kilometre after that. Very secluded."

Leaning forward in his seat Ethan peered upwards through the windshield. He went rigid with awe. Mount Ruapehu loomed ahead of them, a broad mass of rock and snow with the network of ski lifts fanning out like a crow's foot.

"Christ," he muttered. Ethan had seen much larger mountains in the Alps yet this one made a deep impression. Perhaps because it stood alone rather than shoulder to shoulder in a busy range.

There was something else though. A sense of… apprehension?

"Can you feel it?" Samson asked quietly.

"Eh? What?"

"Got quite a vibe, don't it," Samson replied mysteriously, leaning over the steering wheel and peering upwards.

Ethan said nothing. Unsettled by the moment.

"There's an essence in these mountains. Ruapehu particularly. The Maori's…they got a lot of spiritual values centred on them. Behind the beauty… there's a character you need to respect."

 

 

 

 

6

 

Getting settled in was swift and well organised. The security guards on the main gate knew who they were even before they pulled up. Wrapped in red ski jackets, the guards were friendly and full of the Kiwi charm. Pin-codes were seamlessly transferred to Ethan's and Samson's PAs for access to private areas. Directions to their chalet appeared on the rental car's windshield.

The thirty or so chalets were spread in a wide arc around a central facility building; there was a heavy emphasis on design management that Ethan found impressive. An eloquent balance between sturdy Alpine lodges and urban living space, heavy log facades merged into intersecting curves of composite stone material. Multilevel balconies of wood and stone, large and small windows worked to create interesting façades. Fresh snow covered every surface, softening the edges, cosseting the eye.

He was delighted to see the bristle of communication antenna on the roof of the central building: high bandwidth links, good enough to run the VR models of his prototype from the workshop computer back in Copenhagen. He smiled, relaxing further with every moment as his eyes took in his new home for the next two weeks.

The parking bay for their chalet had been cleared of snow, as had the path leading to the main entrance. Two chalet hosts stepped outside to greet them, introducing themselves as Heath and Tineke; a Kiwi couple in their early 20's, both had the easy good looks of youth. Dressed in baggy snowboard trousers and brightly coloured T-shirts that proclaimed the adrenaline virtues of 'batwinging'.

The preamble was quick and easy-going. Heath and Tineke carried in the bags; pointed both of them upstairs where there was a light lunch prepared. Ethan and Samson had been assigned separate rooms on the ground floor. A room on the middle floor had been assigned to Robin. Her name was drawn on a sheet of paper tacked to the door, the paper covered in hand-drawn flowers in happy colours.

Ethan climbed the stone staircase to explore the top floor, whilst the sounds of Samson and Heath talking enthusiastically drifted up from below.

The top floor was occupied entirely by an open plan lounge, kitchen and dining area. It was vast. Flat sofas spread out in two directions from one corner, swamped by an eclectic collection of cushions. Armchairs huddled around an open fireplace that was ready to light; chopped logs had been stacked up on either side. A rack on a wall held two dozen bottles of wine, a glance revealed a range of New Zealand labels.

On the dining table were several covered plates of cold meats, cheeses, bread and a selection of small delicious looking cakes.

Ethan turned as Tineke entered through the door from the staircase and went into the spotless kitchen area. Her small round face had clearly defined cheekbones and a small protruding chin that gave her a determined look.

"This place is amazing," he told her.

Tineke smiled easily, busying herself with taking some items from the freezer, "Is it your first time here?"

Ethan nodded then looked down through the large window beside him. Samson and Heath were outside pulling snowboards from the roof of the rental car.

"You're lucky you guys," Tineke said, "The Rockgarden Chair only opened an hour ago, had a really cold South-East this morning, too strong to open the lifts. The Valley won't be ready until tomorrow."

Shit. He'd read the Valley was ideal for beginners and was where he'd wanted to find his feet before tackling any of the bigger runs. "What about the rest of the mountain? Samson's down there getting ready like an excited kid at the moment."

"Higher up is good to go," Tineke replied, finger tapping through several screens on the chalet's management-interface. "We got here two weeks ago, it was half snow half rock around the chalets. Next day the sun was so hot it melted most of the snow away. We were gutted, eh? Then we had days of just wind and rain…and fog. Some snow then, at the start of the week RSC opened Centennial and Waterfall Express…but for sight seeing only. We were just gutted."

"Is Keith your boyfriend?"

Tineke nodded then said, "It's Heath, not Keith."

Ethan felt like slapping his forehead. "I'm sorry. I completely misheard..."

Tineke smiled, "No worries, he gets it all the time."

"Do you and Heath get any time to play on the slopes?"

Tineke's smile broadened, "Oh sure. We have to look after several chalets but we still get most of each day to ride. Are you and Samson skiers or boarders?"

"Boarders."

"Sweet as," Tineke bobbed up and down on the toes of her trainers.

"You don't like skiers?"

Tineke raised an eyebrow and dropped her gaze to the floor, "I can't say."

Ethan laughed. "Okay. What is it they say? Pricks on Sticks?"

"And Gays on Trays," Tineke completed the old-saying.

Ethan got a good vibe off her. He wondered if all the resort staff were this relaxed and easy to interact with.

Tineke explained that the central building was known as 'The Hub' and described its facilities as matching any top ranging hotel, including professional sports injury therapists, health spa and swimming pool. If guests wanted to avoid the harsh weather that often hit the mountain, all the chalets were connected to the Hub by a network of underground passageways. Enter the passageways via a security door situated at the bottom of the chalet stairwell.

Ethan remembered the stone staircase had a section descending from the entrance, he'd assumed it had just led to a basement.

"Are we cooking dinner or going to carve up some slopes?" Samson said as he appeared through the doorway. Ethan looked over and caught a humorous and excited look; “Come on compadre, quick as you like.”

 

 

 

The first lift was a bench and filled Ethan with dread. He'd been so preoccupied with getting here and battling with his anxieties he'd forgotten how much he hated these things.

Until now.

Ethan stood watching the throngs of skiers and snowboarders moving through the turnstiles; they lined up in clusters of two or three, preparing to move through the flimsy gates that flicked open when the previous group had been picked up by a bench. Skiers and boarders surreptitiously hassled each other in front of the gates. You didn't mix boarders and skiers on the same bench. Unspoken rule.

Samson was already locking his right foot into his board's front binding, bending over at the waist and making it look easy.

Ethan lifted his gaze and followed the twin row of benches dangling from thick cables supported at regular intervals by tall pylons. It was like watching a surreal production line. One row headed up packed with people, the other row came down empty.

"Come on lets hustle," Samson said brusquely, standing upright and ready to go. His face was hidden behind a rainbow-striped hat, black snood up to his nose and bug-eyed goggles with gleaming gold lenses.

I don't have to do this, Ethan thought, I can go back to the chalet, let Samson have his fun without me holding him back. He wished the Happy Valley run wasn't closed for the day.

"Too late to back out now, compadre," Samson prodded and Ethan imagined him smiling under his gear.

Shit.

Pulling off his armoured gloves and sitting down in the rubble of broken clumps of snow and ice, he got on with slotting his left foot into the bindings. The red proximity lights around the inside of the binding blinked green, then the binding expanded gripping his boot around the toes and ankle. Lifting his left leg he felt the weight of the board. He tested the grip of the bindings by shaking his leg before slamming one edge of the board down against the packed snow on the ground.

Samson shook his head and Ethan guessed he was holding back an impatient comment, although he didn't know him well enough to be certain.

Leaving his right foot free Ethan clambered up from the ground and followed Samson as they half hobbled and half-dragged their way to the throng of people waiting in line.

Why couldn't they just carry their boards in their arms when they went up the lifts? Already Ethan could feel the weight of the board straining his left knee where it dragged along the ground.

Muffled laughter followed by energised conversation caught his attention. Ethan looked round to find Samson talking to a group of women waiting in line behind them. He could only tell they were women by their voices, like everybody else they were cloaked in hats, goggles and snoods.

Ethan was nearly overwhelmed by a sudden desire to leave and return to the chalet. Problems with the Extended Field Generator swirled into his mind along with potential solutions. A glass of wine, the heat of an open fire somewhere… alone with his thoughts. No risk of snapping his limbs.

The giggling conversation of the girls kept him anchored in reality. With silent effort he pushed the Extended Field Generator from his thoughts. The whole point of this trip was to prise him out of his workshop and open him up to some 'fun' life experience and get through the fact his self-image had become a fragile thing. He'd come to dwell on the unhealthy notion that if people dug deep enough they would find him dull and empty. A worthless human being destined for a solitary old age, building machines to be his synthetic friends.

The line moved quickly.

Ethan pushed himself forward with his free foot. Whilst waiting to move again he lifted his left leg and brought the whole snowboard free of the ground. The weight of the board started to slowly rotate his kneecap. Feeling cartilage starting to twist and strain he plonked it back down, shuddering with a squirming sensation. That would be a horrible injury.

It was time.

Samson slid into position beside him as a group of skiers ahead of them got whisked away by the previous bench. Ethan could see their bench coming down towards them. His heart started hammering his chest. The gates popped open. Ethan pushed himself forward onto an area of hard packed snow, trying not to panic as the bench swept past him, then swung round and began to approach from behind. Awkwardly he lined himself up, trying to keep the toe of the snowboard pointing straight up the mountain whilst keeping his balance and his body slightly twisted to see the bench approach. It was difficult because of the angle his left binding was fixed to the board.

Ethan desperately tried, and failed, not to think what would happen if he fell over now; images of a fast moving object caving in his skull.

The bench slammed into the back of his thighs forcing him to fall backwards as it lunged forward.

The edge of his snowboard dragged along the dirty ice for a few moments and Ethan panicked, feeling his knee being yanked and twisted, but then the bench launched free of the loading-zone, gaining height, and began to accelerate up the mountain.

Samson pulled down the safety bar effortlessly lifting the snowboard attached to his right foot and hooking it on the footrest.

"You okay?" Samson asked, as Ethan struggled to lift his left leg and get the angle correct for his board to slide onto the tiny footrest.

"Yeah, yeah," he gasped, his left knee still taking the full weight of the board where it dangled below them.

Eventually he got the board stowed on the footrest and he could settle back into the embrace of the bench. He couldn't relax though. His eyes followed the thick cable above their heads to where it vanished over a ridge ahead of them. He was already dreading the moment they would have to get off again.

Samson was quietly gazing all around him, savouring the majestic beauty of the landscape. Ethan glanced briefly to his side and spotted the snow-covered volcanic cone of Mount Ngauruhoe a few kilometres away with a vast area of flat and featureless space between them.

It was strange not being surrounded by mountains.

He'd been snowboarding three times before, twice in Italy, once in Switzerland, all of them in the Alps.

Samson tapped his elbow and Ethan saw the end approaching. He lowered his snowboard from the footrest as Samson raised the safety rail.

The bench was hurtling toward the drop off point.

Ethan squinted through his goggles and was only mildly happy to see there was somebody standing by the emergency stop button. He hated these things.

As it was, he managed to push himself away on a straight board and get his rear foot in place without falling into a heap or getting struck on the back of the head as the bench swept round and continued back down the way it had come.

Samson shot off as if he'd been born with a board on his feet and was waiting for Ethan a few metres away, already bending forward and fastening his other boot into the binding.

Ethan suffered a pang of envy. Would he ever get the hang of it like Samson?

In this moment, all his intelligence and money counted for nothing. In the real world of men and survival - it would be somebody like Samson who came out on top.

Ethan manoeuvred, slowed, then dropped down onto his backside and spent a few moments locking his right boot into the binding.

Samson stood nearby, surveying the slopes.

Ethan hauled himself upright, feeling his knees complain, and with both feet locked into the bindings, used a swaying motion with his body to nudge the board forward.

He came to an unsteady stop beside Samson.

Samson pulled the snood from his face to reveal a broad grin, breath pluming in the freezing air as he spoke, "If we ride over to the next lift we can go higher."

Ethan shook his head, "I'm going to stick with this run for the afternoon."

Samson didn't hesitate to take the opportunity to cut free. "Sure no problemo. Go fly." He grinned again then pulled the snood back over his face, saluted, then leapt up in the air with both feet, snapping the board around ninety degrees before coming down. He launched off effortlessly, and Ethan watched him for a few moments, carving his way down the slope towards another lift as if it was the easiest thing to do.

A shadow appeared to cross the snowy slope ahead of him.

Ethan frowned, twisted at the waist to look above and behind him. There were no clouds in the sky.

His eyes focussed on the highest faces of the mountain, flanking a broad ridge at the top.

Without reason the hairs on the back of his neck prickled up.

 

 

 

 

 

7

 

Refreshed with hot showers and fresh clothes, Ethan headed down the chalet stairs with Samson intent on checking out the bar in the Hub.

This was when the ingenuity of the underground passages became apparent; rather than slinging on big cumbersome jackets just to hurry a couple hundred metres through freezing temperatures, they could get away with just jeans and T-shirts.

Samson was decked out in a faded army vest, and heavily bleached denim jeans with rips that seemed to be from general wear rather than from any sense of fashion. Not that Ethan had any sense of fashion. Like tonight he usually wore something cheap and casual from Matsamuti or I&J; he had a suitcase packed with similar cotton trousers, black shirts or plain white T-shirts. Less mental energy spent deciding what to wear meant more thought-space for work.

The security door at the base of the chalet stairwell swung shut and locked after they stepped through. On the other side, a dimly lit corridor stretched away, bare and functional, warm enough not to be called frigid. Both of them stopped and looked at this side of the security door. Red lettering stencilled on grey painted metal said this was the 'Montok' chalet. A standard scanner on the wall would read the pin-codes from their PAs.

"Did you bring yours?" Samson asked, apparently believing they might have locked themselves out.

"No, but I copied the security tags to this." Ethan held up his wrist strap for him to see.

"Good thinking compadre."

They turned and followed the corridor to where it joined a main thoroughfare, which Ethan guessed interconnected all of the chalets together. Despite the red stencilled lettering indicating the direction of the Hub and the other chalets, it was easy to imagine somebody getting disorientated down here.

“They wasted an opportunity down here,” Samson commented, his well-worn sandals clopping off the thin rubber matting that covered the concrete floor.

He guessed Samson was referring to the lack of decoration and concurred with a humming sound.

Samson started whistling tunelessly as they walked and for some reason Ethan found it amusing. He glanced at him with a fond smile. Samson caught the movement, looked sideways and winked.

The afternoon on the slopes had been a success. Ethan's first run reinstated his confidence. He'd gone from an initial heel edge straight into a linked turn, switching to toe and back again several times, picking up a reasonable amount of speed and feeling comfortable with it. He'd even managed to overcome his fear of the lift, although he'd stuck to going up and down the same run.

Samson had returned to the chalet almost an hour after him, drenched in sweat and grinning from ear to ear. They'd nibbled on the light lunch left for them earlier, not wanting to spoil their appetites for later: Tineke was promising a full home-cooked extravaganza.

"I hear life," Samson remarked. The muffled sound of multiple conversations was coming from an open doorway up ahead.

They passed through the doorway and emerged into a circular chamber with red upholstered walls and thick red carpet. There were no other exits. It was like being at the bottom of a deep well. A wide sweeping staircase followed the curve of the wall to emerge through the open ceiling above. It sounded like they were directly below the bar.

Climbing the staircase they reached the ground floor of the Hub in the midst of busy tables and huddles of huge leather sofas. The place was packed with people relaxing after a day on the mountain. The clothes, make-up and visible technology spoke of wealth, lots of it.

Several friendly faces turned to inspect the new arrivals and Ethan caught a number of quick smiles responding to Samson's ability to make a good impression.

They aimed for the island of the serving counter, made from heavy blocks of timber and thick sheets of glass.

The layout of the bar focussed on two converging walls of glass. It was dark outside but Ethan calculated the glass walls would give a panoramic view to the North and East, and probably a stunning view of Mount Ngauruhoe's volcanic cone during daylight.

Whilst Samson went to get drinks, Ethan grabbed seats at a large table void of people, picking up a number of friendly nods and how-do's. The table was varnished wood and shaped like a teardrop, the seats were fixed to it, like a bench, covered in soft leather padding.

He relaxed. The warmth and noise of the place washed over him.

A few moments passed. Glancing across he saw Samson waiting to get served. He swept his gaze casually over the people around him.

Normally, in situations like this, he would have used his SUB to scan the public broadcast tags that most people loaded onto their PAs. He'd left the SUB back in the chalet, part of a conscious effort to disengage from his tech-head antics.

There were very few young people. The majority were in their forties and fifties, looking like family units and friends. The remainder were like Samson and himself, professional, successful and independent.

Samson arrived clutching two empty glasses and a full bottle of what looked like whisky.

“Bloody hell." Ethan saw the label. Oban. Single Malt.

"That's what I said when they told me the price but tonight's a celebration.”

"Yeah?” Ethan queried as Samson swung his legs over the bench-like seats, moving with ease.

“Yeah!” Samson exclaimed grinning enthusiastically. He picked up the bottle, cracked it open and poured a liberal dose into each glass. “I hope you don't want to pollute this fine liquid with water or ice.” It wasn't a question.

"I guess I don't have a choice." Ethan said around a wry smile. He picked up one glass. Samson picked up the other. They stared at each other for a moment, pondering a toast. Then Samson nodded, indicating he was ready and proclaimed, “To good riding, to getting to know you, and…to beautiful barmaids.”

Clink of glasses connecting. Samson took a gulp and rolled it around his mouth. Ethan sipped, wincing at the burn. He normally added water to whisky, considered it to bring out the flavour but he didn't want to look soft.

"Is she?" Ethan asked.

"Is who?" Samson asked, leaning closer to hear him in the babble of other conversations.

"The barmaid. Is she beautiful?"

Samson nodded vigorously then turned in his seat and pointed, "Take a look. The one unloading glasses from the tray."

There were two girls working the bar, Ethan thought both were very attractive.

"Very sexy." Ethan stated, then sipped his whisky and grinned at Samson.

Samson guffawed, "You barely looked. Try again. Take your time. Cowboy hat. I've never seen a girl as good."

Ethan rolled his shoulders and grimaced. He took another look. Straw cowboy hat. Orange bikini top and cut-off denim shorts. She looked mixed-race, full lips, large dark eyes. From beneath the hat fell long strands of wavy hair, dark blonde streaked with red, copper and platinum.

Nice but he preferred her colleague. Ethan had noticed her when he first sat down. Taller and younger, her long blonde hair had a rock star look about it; different lengths and layers created an energetic cascade. Pink lipstick, pink and silver eye-shadow, tight pink T-shirt with a fashion logo and cropped to expose a slash of tanned and toned stomach.

At that moment Rock Star Blonde looked up from the bottle of wine she was opening and met his gaze.

Ethan froze.

She smiled. He looked away and took a gulp from his glass.

Samson laughed and thumped his shoulder, "Somebody's made a friend."

Ethan tried to breathe through the fire in his throat. He smiled bravely and looked back in her direction but she'd returned to the wine bottle.

Samson picked up the bottle of Oban and poured himself another generous shot. Tilting the end towards him, Ethan accepted the offer of a top-up.

Placing the bottle back on the table with deliberate care, Samson asked. “So are you looking forward to Robin arriving tomorrow?”

Ethan took a swig and exhaled breath that had an edge to it. His initial thought was to just say ‘yes', but he wanted to explore his real feelings. “I'm a bit uneasy about it, to be honest.”

“How long since you guys broke up?”

“We never really…” Ethan faltered, muddled by uncertainty, “We were never going out. It wasn't serious.”

Samson displayed an expression that said ‘it looked serious from my perspective' but didn't vocalise what he was thinking.

"About six months," Ethan answered glumly. "I was spending a lot of time in New Tokyo with the development team for my prototype.”

“Is this for the thing you're working on now?”

Ethan nodded, picked up his glass and held it below his jaw.

“I didn't realise you had already got it working,” Samson admitted.

"It needs a lot more tinkering.”

"What does it do?"

Ethan gave a very brief explanation of the Extended Field Generator. It was similar to his previous and very successful invention that created fields of energy that could be manipulated. The XFG produced fields or 'tendrils' of energy that could hold and manipulate other objects, such as scalpels or construction I-beams. Ethan described his desire to create surgical applications and a revolution in industrial construction.

Samson was visibly impressed but also seemed dubious. "Can I see it?”

Ethan paused – normally he kept exposure of a product in development to an essential minimum. Yet Samson seemed genuinely enthusiastic, and Ethan saw it as a way of strengthening the bond between them. He took a long swig of his drink, then replied, “Sure. Tomorrow maybe?”

Samson nodded. “So you were spread out across Europe, East Coast America and West Coast Canada.”

Ethan realised he was bringing the conversation back to Robin, “Yeah. That extra leg to Vancouver really took it out of me. Jet lag. Didn't matter what drugs I took. I was always a mess for a few days. Why, what did Robin say to you?”

Samson dropped his gaze to the table and looked thoughtful for a moment, “She was really upset about it at first.”

A long pause.

Have you slept with her? Ethan wondered again. Jealously, fuelled by alcohol began to flood through his mind. His emotions sank into a riot.

Samson was looking at him with his head sank down on muscle-rippled shoulders, the mane of curly muddy brown and blonde hair like a cobra's hood. And it did feel very much like he could be a snake ready to lunge forward, a sense of immense power coiled up within the relaxed frame. Yet most striking were his eyes. Dark, yet glittering within some inner luminance. Samson explained, “What pleases me is that you've both reached out to each other. You've let go of the negative feelings, and embraced the good.”

The deep humanity of the words pushed Ethan onto the back-foot. He recalled Samson in Incheon airport, telling him that nothing had happened with Robin.

His jealously evaporated. He shrugged and pondered Samson's comment. "She's a good friend."

"I think she's an amazing woman," Samson confessed and Ethan looked at him sharply, "But what I want from Robin is her friendship, not her body. That goes for you too, not your body though of course," and he laughed. "I remember meeting you in the Wing Chung centre where she was teaching. She introduced us, you talked about the ideas you were inventing, and I thought – what a great guy.”

Ethan smiled, grateful and flattered.

“Though I think you've got some issues.” Samson added.

Ethan shrugged a shoulder, gave a vague nod, accepting the point.

Samson grinned and held up his glass, "Here's to peace and harmony between people. Love is a wild animal that must be allowed to roam free. I hate zoo's man. All that life, caged up…controlled.”

They drank, and the conversation flowed.

Samson checked the time on a wall display, “We better get back or our hosts will have thrown dinner in the snow.”

Grabbing up the bottle of Oban, now one third empty, they walked – slightly unsteadily- back to their chalet via the underground tunnel.

 

 

 

 

 

8

 

Seattle. North West Alliance, formerly part of Washington State, and around three thousand miles from Kimberly's murder.

The reception lounge of the corporate headquarters of GABOR reminded Halo of the executive departure gate within Attica port, New Tokyo.

The only thing missing was the dressed-down professionals waiting to catch the uplift into orbit.

Halo guessed the reception doubled as a breakout area for ad-hoc meetings and somewhere Jo Public could come -via appointment - to ogle GABOR's latest technological sorcery.

Lots of grey leather armchairs huddled around low grey slate tables, stacked with paper-thin hardscreens for clients to browse through. Halo slid his gaze across the rows of heavily padded 'e-couches', with coiled interface cables dangling down like man-made umbilical cords. He squirmed in his seat at the thought; he didn't have sockets; he didn't do implants. Cosmetic surgery, regardless how insignificant, always hauled up grim memories for him. His mama's life ruined. Thirty-four years of guilt…

Move on, don't start thinking about this here, his inner voice pleaded.

He appeased the guilt-machine by making a mental note to call his mama when he finished his meeting. Let her know he cared.

His eyes refocused on the couches. A few well-dressed business people lost within some virtual world. His thoughts shifted forward and reformed around the meeting he was about to have. How could he use what he knew?

Yesterday had been a blur of frenetic activity.

Gunning the engine, blasting away from Kimberly's place he'd hurriedly called his hotel and arranged to check-out as soon as he returned; then he speed dialled his pilot and placed him on immediate stand-by with the aerodyne.

The drive back to Augusta, where he'd been staying, gave him time to form a rough plan. Returning the rental jeep he'd then walked some distance and found a public booth that didn't appear to be inside the city's surveillance zone. Call him paranoid but he knew people who could tap into the grid to find people. Using the booth he searched business directories for the name he'd heard the two men torture Kimberly about.

The search quickly yielded results: Professor Stefanie Komossa worked for GABOR.

And now here he was at the corporate HQ. Why? He'd asked himself the question several times whilst crossing from East Coast to West Coast. Each time his answer was the same:

Somebody tortured and killed Kimberly to find Professor Stefanie Komossa. Therefore it was his assumption the Professor would now be missing from GABOR.

He was here to find out what he could, if anything, about her disappearance: fishing for dirt was the trade-term.

GABOR was a massive player in the VR entertainment sector. According to his search Professor Komossa's role was in R&D. New technology was Halo's bread and butter.

Stumbling on Kimberly's murder was unpleasant, Halo reasoned, but he was shrewd enough to acknowledge he might have been given a useful head start on an industry development. That was supposing Komossa was not being hunted down for just personal reasons: a jealous husband, betrayed colleague...

Yet the calibre of the killers seemed to rule out such simple possibilities. The killers were professionals, not hired thugs. Halo's gut instinct was Komossa was involved in something big and business orientated. Getting in on the ‘what' and the ‘why' could mean a lot of money for somebody with the right connections.

Somebody like him.

The journey between Augusta and Seattle had taken less than ten hours, flying in four hops almost non-stop apart from refuelling and maintenance checks. It was a significant dent in his precarious finances, but certainly worth the investment considering the potential rewards.

He'd caught up on sleep and handled another tense conflab with his pilot who continued to complain about not yet receiving his full salary the past three months. These people could never appreciate the long-term arc.

Regardless of the actual expense of the trip, taking the aerodyne was a lot cheaper than a private jet, particularly with your own pilot, and when it came to landing arrangements, the aerodyne was king. Why worry about the hassle of airstrips (and getting to and from them) when you could drop into any major city, vertically?

The story of Kimberly's death had hit the global media feeds as he was halfway across the continent. Her body had been found at the base of the cliffs bordering her house. Police were not ruling out foul play and were not revealing the state of her body. They knew it was murder.

A glint of sunlight distracted him, briefly tugging him away from his thoughts. Turning his head Halo saw blue sky was starting to poke through the rush of grey clouds outside, rain spattering the thin strips of glass. It always seemed to rain in Seattle.

No sign of his appointment yet. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit, he extracted a smooth ellipsoid of light blue rock. A few of the faces in the lounge nonchalantly glanced his way and registered the object in his hand. His PA was the latest model from RoGong. The blue rock was mined from the core of some frozen lump of dead planet swinging through the Solar system. Glancing at the embedded hardscreen he checked the time. GABOR had kept him waiting fifteen minutes now.

Komossa is missing, he smiled without parting his lips, guessing the reaction his unannounced arrival was causing. What kind of hurried meetings were taking place between the R&D Division and GABOR's head of security?

Several eyes were still fixed on the RoGong.

Halo's reputation, albeit severely tarnished by the CIP scandal, was as a serious player in the new technology sector. He could connect big business with raw talent and the bold new ideas that became tomorrow's household name. Very few companies would risk turning him away. Parking his private aerodyne in GABOR's landing bay could only reinforce that serious image. It also served to send a message to any wolves that might have enjoyed Halo's downfall during the CIP scandal: I'm still here.

The current cash flow problems were a temporary inconvenience and a consequence of the fall-out from the CIP scandal. Thousands of people had died and several corporations had imploded under the pressure of the class actions. Halo could understand why people needed a scapegoat – he simply didn't accept it should be him.

Movement near the reception's internal security door drew his eye to a thin, middle-aged, smartly dressed and elegant looking corporate-type, who was smiling at him like a doctor might smile at a patient who's just been diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Halo returned the RoGong to his inside pocket; slow enough to ensure his host noticed it.

They shook hands. His host introduced himself as Michael Thackery, a senior public relations officer for GABOR.

Halo was ushered into a tiny conference room that had the smell of having been only recently vacated. Thackery and he exchanged obligatory small talk whilst they settled in with freshly made coffee and tall glasses of recycled water.

Halo always used these opening moments in any meeting to appraise the underlying attitude. Beneath Thackery's very competent professional veneer, he perceived deep discomfort

Komossa, it had to be.

Thackery got straight down to business, “I'm afraid Professor Komossa is unable to join us today, so I've been asked to step into the breach as they say, and facilitate your needs. What was it you wanted to discuss with the Professor?”

This was all spoken very quickly, and Halo sensed Thackery wanted to brush past the fact Komossa was not available. Halo decided to allow Thackery a false victory and follow the proscribed route of the conversation.

"That's very kind of you. I must apologise for the short notice. Things move quickly in this sector and I wanted to confirm some hot gossip I've picked up," Halo explained congenially.

A polite smile from Thackery, hard to see what he was really thinking. "You do know that Professor Komossa does not work from this office?"

"No I didn't," Halo answered truthfully, "Although I partially expected that would be the case. I'd hoped to utilise your internal conference facilities, bring her in on your own secure channels. I know how these things can be considered ultra sensitive."

"What things would that be, Mr Santana?" The smile remained.

Halo spent a few moments explaining the nature of his business, padding out his reply with references emphasising trust and discretion. "Loose lips sink ships, Michael," he asserted, then made a wild and speculative guess. "I've heard Komossa was working on a very exciting new product, something that might launch GABOR stock into the stratosphere."

"Really?" Thackery displayed cool surprise.

Halo paused and let the moment expand in silence. Thackery's body language was giving nothing away now; he was good. Halo masked his ploy by taking a long sip of coffee. Thackery remained poised, patiently waiting for further information.

Placing the coffee back on the table he launched into his pitch.

Halo explained he'd purchased information on Komossa's project. This was a blatant lie but was not untypical of the way he would approach a company, so he was confident Thackery's bullshit-detector would miss it.

He told Thackery he was willing to sign a legally binding non-disclosure agreement if he was given a demo of the new product. The benefit for GABOR would be a formal tie-off of their intelligence leak. The benefit for him would allow him to fully understand the product and so position himself in the market place for its arrival.

Thackery appeared to be listening and Halo didn't feel he was wasting his breath, but there was no indication whether he was right or wrong about Komossa being involved in a new product.

"I appreciate your candour Mr Santana, but to be quite honest about this, I feel out of my depth. I certainly don't feel qualified to continue this conversation. I'm sorry."

Polite but firm.

Halo could sense a door was being closed on him. He glanced at the iodised camera-blister in the ceiling.

"Might I ask," Halo pressed, "Who is GABOR's head of security?"

"Peter Sweeney."

"Would it be possible to meet with him?" A fraction of hesitation, Thackery had not expected this.

"I can pass on your request. Will you be staying in Seattle for long?"

"Pass on…come on sir, what do you think I am? Ring Sweeney now and ask him."

The politeness quickly faded from Thackery's demeanour, "Mr Sweeney and I have already spoken this morning, about you as a matter of fact. He does not want to speak with you."

Halo concealed the smile he felt inside. "So where is Komossa? Why can't I talk to her?"

"I'm not qualified to say anymore."

It was a small victory but he'd managed to confirm Komossa was missing and that GABOR's top security man was being briefed on people asking about her. Halo made a show of shaking his head with disappointment, "I'm offering you my silence for virtually nothing. One peek, that's all I'm asking."

"The new product is not yet ready to view."

Bingo.

A new product and Komossa is not available.

What's the story Thackery? Has she been kidnapped? Has she done a runner to a rival?

Halo did not get a chance to probe his ideas.

"I'm afraid there is nothing further to discuss." Thackery stood up abruptly, as if he'd had an electrical current zapped through his arse. Halo guessed who might be talking to him through his ear-bead.

Halo checked his messages on his way out. He got the one from his pilot at the same moment he walked out into the landing bay to see his aerodyne was gone.

The lease company had grown tired of chasing Halo for the outstanding payments, so they'd gone after his pilot instead. The lease company had made an offer. They'd pay the pilot his outstanding salary plus a bonus if he flew the aerodyne back to their representative.

The pilot explained all this on the message then added that the outstanding salary plus bonus would be added what Halo owed the lease company. If Halo didn't like it he could go fuck himself.

Without breaking stride, Halo swung away from the empty landing pad and went back inside the building.

He made his way back inside to an elevator that took him down to the lobby.

Taxi!

 

 

 

END OF EXCERPT

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