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    Time and Tyde
    Time and Tyde
    Time and Tyde
    Ebook307 pages5 hours

    Time and Tyde

    By Graham Storrs

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Time and Tyde is the story of Vincent Demarco, a man whose life becomes increasingly bizarre after he meets Tony Tyde, an eccentric entrepreneur claiming to be a researcher who has come from the future to study him. As a result of Tony's persistent interference in his life, and his own weakness in resisting it, Vince is drawn into Tony's world of money, beautiful women, and events so extraordinary that he begins to doubt his own sanity.

    Nothing makes sense any more to Vincent. Yet, when he finally begins to assert his independence from Tony, things go from bad to much, much worse.

    It turns out that being insane and being visited by an amoral jerk from the future are not all that different. Whether he believes his troubles are down to one or the other, for Vince the outcome is just the same – and just as disastrous.

    There is plenty of comedy in this otherwise very dark drama. If Nick Hornby had written K-PAX, the result might have been something like this.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGraham Storrs
    Release dateSep 14, 2015
    ISBN9780992498863
    Time and Tyde
    Author

    Graham Storrs

    Graham Storrs is a science fiction writer who lives miles from anywhere in rural Australia with his wife and a Tonkinese cat. He has published many short stories in magazines and anthologies as well as three children's science books and a large number of academic and technical pieces in the fields of psychology, artificial intelligence and human-computer interaction.He has published a number of sci-fi novels, in four series; Timesplash (three books), the Rik Sylver sci-fi thriller series (three books), the Canta Libre space opera trilogy. and the Deep Fracture trilogy. He has also published an augmented reality thriller, "Heaven is a Place on Earth", a sci-fi comedy novel, "Cargo Cult", a dark comedy time travel novel, "Time and Tyde", and an urban sci-fi thriller, "Mindrider."

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      Book preview

      Time and Tyde - Graham Storrs

      TIME AND TYDE

      by

      Graham Storrs

      eBook Edition, Copyright © 2015, Graham Storrs

      ISBN: 978-0-9924988-6-3

      Book design by Graham Storrs. Cover design by Kate Strawbridge, Dwell Design & Press.

      Published by Canta Libre

      All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

      Foreword

      I would like to express my gratitude to all my future readers. In particular, to the mine manager who thought I was Vincent T. Demarco. Yes, I'm a fried dood, but maybe I'm not who they think I am.

      What am I saying? You guys are all great. Will all be great. Will all have been great. Whatever. I love each and every one of you. And if you think this book has anything to do with time travel or my mental breakdown, what can I tell you? In six-hundred-and-fifty years, no-one will even know what was in it.

      So why do I bother?

      For that mine manager, who will know the truth and everyone who comes after her who will not.

      Chapter 1

      A light appeared, right in the middle of the crowd. A bright light, but not a flash. It grew, paused and died in the course of a couple of seconds, like a door opening onto a bright room and then closing again. But, of course, there was no door, just a few fig-trees in concrete pots, the crowded plaza, and a small hubbub as people turned, smiling, to see what was going on. I supposed they thought they were about to be entertained. This was a party, after all.

      I peered into the dimly-lit space. Being up a couple of steps, near the drinks and buffet tables, I had a good view over the heads of the murmuring people. I saw a tall man in a bright T-shirt and calf-length shorts. In fact, he wasn't just a tall man, he was a giant! He must have been well over two metres tall and towered above everyone around him. It looked as if a basketball player had somehow materialised among the smartly-dressed guests. People were still smiling at him expectantly, waiting for the show to start. He smiled back at them as he examined their faces.

      He began to turn slowly and it was clear from where I stood that he was looking for someone. Having scanned those close to him, he was now widening his search. Silence spread over the assembly as everyone focused on the newcomer. He seemed oblivious for a while, but then it dawned on him that he was the centre of attention. He looked down at his clothes and then around at theirs and smiled again.

      My word, he said, cheerfully. The reports said this was a party.

      Out of the corner of my eye I saw the General Manager touch the Sales Manager on the shoulder and exchange words. This was a Seltzer Corporation marketing event after all, and gatecrashers were definitely not welcome. The two of them began working their way through the crowd towards the stranger. Even as they were excuse-meing themselves along, the stranger's search finally ended.

      With me.

      As soon as our eyes met, he became absolutely still. I could see that he recognised me – or thought he did. Yet, even though he had hoped to find me, he still seemed astonished to see me. His mouth actually dropped open.

      After a few seconds of this, his awestruck scrutiny began to grow embarrassing. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

      I was about to turn away when the GM reached him at last. The crowd of Seltzer customers, holding drinks and paper plates, went quiet again so they could hear what was said.

      I'm sorry but I think you might be at the wrong event, the GM said. His tone was calm and suave. He loved performing in public.

      The tall guy didn't take his eyes off mine. No, er, mate, these are the correct coordinates. Despite his token effort to sound like a local, his accent was a peculiar one, a little old-fashioned, a little too formal.

      The GM turned to see what the interloper was staring at and saw me. I shrugged helplessly back as his frown accused me. Perhaps I could see your invitation? The big guy had clearly annoyed him by refusing to look at him.

      The gatecrasher, still ignoring him, and much to my chagrin, simply stepped past my boss and began striding towards me. The crowd parted before him. I saw the GM turn purple with a sudden flush of anger, then he hissed some sotto voce orders to the Sales Manager and sent the poor man scurrying along in Tall Guy’s wake. The GM glared after them, remembering to spare a brief scowl for me as I stood, like a rabbit in the headlights, with the weird stranger bearing down on me.

      Our interloper walked right up to me, ending up so close that I had to bend my neck back to look into his face. He seemed young – early twenties – a couple of years younger than me. His fair hair was artfully dishevelled and his skin was smooth and healthy. For all that he was so tall, he was well built, wide shouldered and deep chested, slim and narrow-hipped, like a professional swimmer. His features had a slightly Asian cast which was at odds with his height and hair colour and his striking, multi-coloured irises.

      Vincent T. Demarco, he announced, in a tone that said he could hardly believe it was really me.

      Yes?

      He held out a large, shapely hand and I automatically raised my own and shook it.

      Vince? The Sales Manager came up beside us, looking insubstantial beside the tall stranger. Do you know this person?

      I dragged my gaze away from those weird eyes. Er, no. But he seems to know me. Glancing past him, I could see that we were still the centre of attention.

      The Sales Manager looked up at the stranger and then back at me. When he spoke, his tone was pointed. Why don’t you take this gentleman somewhere and have a quiet chat? We don’t really want any distractions tonight, do we?

      It took me a couple of seconds to realise that I had been handed the job of dealing with the matter. I swallowed the protest that this was nothing to do with me and nodded.

      Right. No worries.

      I turned to the stranger with a smile. OK, if you’d step this way...

      The marketing event was being conducted out of doors in a large plaza by the river. There were hedges in artificial stone planters to mark the boundary where our exclusive domain ended and the world of ordinary people began. I ushered the big guy away from the buffet and past the boundary shrubs into the relative darkness of the boardwalk. He seemed happy to follow me. It was like being adopted by an adoring Great Dane. So I led him away from the staring eyes and we walked along the river in silence for a couple of minutes.

      This is truly an honour, sir, my oversized puppy announced, breaking the silence.

      We stopped. Who are you?

      He smiled at me. That is... complicated.

      What was that trick you did with the light when you turned up?

      Sorry. It was supposed to be a party. One really cannot trust Ming’s data. I have always said so and now I have the proof. He seemed quite pleased about it and seemed ready to elaborate, but I stopped him with another question.

      How do you know me?

      This pulled him up short. Everyone knows you, he said simply. Then he seemed to remember himself. He stepped up to me. Too close, again. My apologies, sir. This must all seem rather strange. I merely desired to meet you. To make contact. I need to establish a presence here, a pretext by which I may grow to know you better. I was decidedly out of place at your social gathering. What would be the best way to be welcome here?

      I thought he was joking – in a weird, off-beat kind of way. The comic effect was bolstered by the fact that he sounded as if he’d learned English by reading old novels.

      Welcome? I said. With that lot? Just get filthy rich and say you might buy stuff from them. They’ll be your new best friends!

      He thought about it. In a capitalist epoch such as this, I could operate a business enterprise. What would you recommend?

      I laughed. It seemed the only possible response. Try the Web. Either you get rich quick or you bomb and have another go. It’s so cheap, you can keep bombing and not end up broke.

      The Web? he asked, as if he’d never heard of it, and I began to wonder how I'd been drawn into this ridiculous conversation. Never mind. I will consult a period specialist when I return. He suddenly seemed very pleased. I think your idea has merit. The times are right for such a venture.

      There’s a tide in the affairs of men, I quoted, distractedly. I had just realised he had said something about finding a pretext to get to know me better. What the hell did that mean?

      What? He looked baffled, as if I had suddenly started speaking Greek. He fixed me even more intently with his multi-coloured eyes and leaned in closer. It was a little unnerving and I began to wonder if I was safe out here, alone by the river with this nutcase. He was pretty damned big.

      You know, I said weakly.

      He seemed to be pondering what I had said with a disturbing intensity. A tide?

      Yes. You know. In the affairs of men. Suddenly, I felt quite silly. He was sending me up. Nevertheless, I put on a quoting voice and tried to remember the rest of it. Which taken at the flood, can, you know, give you a bit of a leg up.

      He considered this in silence while time stood still around us. Brilliant! he declared, at last. I will remember that. Is it original?

      More joking. A paraphrase. Shakespeare said it first, I think, but I like my version better. Look, I was serious now. This was all getting too weird and was going nowhere. Who are you and how do you know me?

      Abruptly, he stepped away. I really must be going now. This was just an initial contact, as I said. It has been a very great honour to meet you, sir. I will treasure this occasion all my life. Farewell. We shall meet again.

      The sudden change of tone took me by surprise and by the time I had spluttered, Wait a minute! he was striding off along the boardwalk, away from the party, towards the Botanical Gardens.

      -oOo-

      I went back to the party and grabbed a drink, downed it in one and grabbed another. The Sales Manager found me quickly and I told him what had happened.

      Some kind of weirdo, I concluded with a shrug.

      He seemed to know you, though.

      I know. It was creepy. I finished my drink and picked up another. Getting blitzed seemed like a good idea.

      You might want to think about calling the police. He might be some kind of stalker or something. You sure you don’t know him? He looked at me suspiciously, as if I was hiding a secret life in which I met creepy tall guys for nefarious purposes.

      After he’d gone, I hung around the drinks table and held court while loads more people came over and asked me who the tall guy was and what it was all about. They all went away unsatisfied.

      By the time Gracie Shapiro turned up, I was completely pissed and, no doubt, grinning like a loon. I leered at her appreciatively. She really did have a fantastic body, I realised. A great arse. Tall and slim. And the long sheath dress she wore clung seductively to her curves as she reached across and took a drink from one of the waiters. The fact that she was at least forty, one of our major customers, and my mate, Macca, referred to her as the bunny boiler, seemed totally irrelevant just then.

      She saw me looking at her and smiled at me.

      Hi, I said.

      Hello.

      She came and stood next to me and I went straight into drunken chat-up mode. I’ve been watching you all night, I lied. Well, I would have been, if I’d thought of it. In fact, I’d been watching one of the waitresses mostly but what the hell? You’re a very sexy woman.

      She looked at me for a long time with a small, speculative smile on her face. Not the usual sales talk. Seltzer must be sending you on more advanced courses these days.

      My name’s Vince, I said, holding out a hand.

      I know. She smiled, shaking my hand. Vincent T. Demarco. Everybody here knows your name. You’re famous. An autograph hunter was it?

      I waved a hand, airily, thwacking one of the waiters as they passed. Oh, you know, one has to humour the little people.

      She stared into my eyes, smiling all the while. I tried to hold her gaze but my eyes kept sliding away. She said, So you think I’m beautiful, do you?

      Ravishing, I assured her, stepping closer.

      She hesitated just a moment longer. I was so close I could see nothing else but her, and my head was spinning with desire – or with booze, anyway. At the point where I was about to lose all control and kiss her, she said, Why don’t we go somewhere quiet and talk about this?

      Somewhere quiet turned out to be her unit in Spring Hill. By then it was pretty clear that my role was not suave seducer but inexperienced drunken idiot. For the next hour or so, I did what I was told and tried not to embarrass myself as she led me through an erotic gymnastics routine which involved odd pieces of equipment and toured the apartment’s four rooms at least twice.

      I woke up in her bed, naked and confused, with Gracie nowhere in sight and sunlight flooding the room. I checked the other bedroom and the kitchen then got dressed and sat on a thickly-padded chair on the balcony, staring at blue sky and the tops of buildings. Slowly, it dawned on me that this was Gracie’s way of being discrete about getting rid of me. I got to my feet, took a last look around and left.

      Chapter 2

      A year later, I was made redundant, retrenched, surplus to requirements. Not just me, not just my team but the whole division we worked for. There had been a downturn in the market, a recession even. Seltzer wasn't losing money, of course, far from it, but the profits were down. The shareholders, people who might be quite reasonable, compassionate people if you knew them personally, demanded action. Seltzer responded by closing a dozen low-margin divisions in its remote sites. For a Sydney-based company, remote meant Adelaide, Perth and my own, dear Brisbane. The shareholders' demands for an extra percentage point on the profit margin meant that five hundred and fifty people lost their jobs. Five hundred and fifty families and individuals went from comfort and security to fear and uncertainty at the click of a mouse button.

      I was one of the lucky ones. I had no family to support and I had low overheads. I even had quite a bit in the bank. There was the statutory severance package too, although it didn't amount to much in my case. My friend, Macca, was one of the unlucky ones. His wife, Belle, had given up work a few months earlier when their son, Robert, was born. He had also bought himself a plot of land and an old Queenslander – a big, single-story wooden house, all verandas and decking – and was in the process of renovating it himself. This was all on a second mortgage, of course, so the sacking came as a bit of a blow.

      Macca – Iain McFarlane – was the only good friend I had in the whole company. He ran a small training group that lived two floors down from mine in the Seltzer Building and we’d got into the habit of taking the lift down to the coffee shop in the foyer now and then, to bitch about the company together. He was a stocky, dark-haired bloke in his mid-thirties. The dark suit and tie he wore hardly made a dent in the air of casual scruffiness that surrounded him.

      His wife, Belle, was short, curvy and cute as a button. She was sharp too. Much brighter than Macca. I often envied him his good luck in finding such a gem but then, I suppose it wasn’t really luck. He had a woman like Belle because he was a man like Macca. People liked to be around him. He was fun. Even after five years together, he could still make Belle laugh like a drain.

      But Macca was young still, and with all his contacts, would probably find himself another job soon enough.

      Isn't he a beauty? Macca wanted to know, holding out a picture of little Robbie for me to admire.

      In a bald, pink, squishy sort of way, I agreed.

      You'll see, when you have one of your own. I used to say stuff like that too. But when you hold the little ankle-biter in your arms and he looks up at you with that lopsided smile of his... He trailed off in misty clouds of recollected bliss.

      Does the lobotomy come with the delivery then? A sort of package deal? Belle gets whisked off to maternity while you go down to brain surgery?

      He grinned happily and put the photo away. You'll see, he crooned. You'll see.

      But, of course, I never would. Events were already in train to make sure the Demarco line ended with yours truly. No great loss perhaps, but then, remembering Macca's happy face, I sometimes wish things had been otherwise.

      For a man who's facing bankruptcy in... how long is it now? I asked.

      The funds run out three months after my last payslip.

      Three months, then. You seem very cheerful.

      He waved a dismissive hand. That's just the wrong way to look at it, Vince. We've got an opportunity here. All you see is that we've been pushed over the edge and we're falling. But that's how fledgling birds leave the nest, mate. All you have to do now is spread your wings and learn to fly!

      Before I hit the ground?

      Right.

      And Seltzer is like my kindly parents, nudging me out of the nest for my own good?

      Well, you can take an analogy too far...

      We attended to our coffee rituals for a while. I carefully sank the chocolate powder below the foam of my cappuccino with the back of a spoon and stirred it in while Macca lifted his espresso and sniffed it appreciatively before returning it to the table.

      Your problem is, you're not seeing it the right way, he went on, labouring his theme. The glass is always half empty for you, mate.

      I looked at him from under my brows. I want whatever it is you're taking. He grinned but said nothing. I don't know how you can be so upbeat about it. We're all out of work and, since every other company in town is laying off staff, the chances of a job somewhere else are next to zero.

      Macca was unfazed. No worries, mate. There will always be jobs for good people.

      His optimism was beginning to irritate me. So its just a case of I'm all right, Jack? For most people around here, this is a bloody tragedy.

      He leaned back in his chair, relaxed and comfortable. It's not my job to save the world, Vince. My mission in life is to make sure me and Belle and little Robbie are OK.

      For a moment indignation flared in me but it was quickly extinguished. Of course that was his mission. He'd be stupid for it not to be. In fact, it should be my mission too; get myself sorted out, stop fretting about the state of the market, stop dwelling on the fear in everyone's eyes. It wasn't doing them any good and it wasn't doing me any good either. In fact, it was distracting me from what I should be doing, which was to be out there talking to people, sniffing out the opportunities, creating some openings. Yet the thought of how dynamic and positive I needed to be weighed on me like a corpse draped across my back. I took a swig of coffee, not noticing it, and sighed.

      Yeah. You're right. I need to get all this in perspective or something.

      He smiled. You should give your friend Gracie a call.

      I thought he was being funny. After the party last year, he had teased me mercilessly for weeks. I've got enough trouble without that. Anyway, sex is the last thing on my mind right now.

      Sex? Who mentioned sex? I'm talking about working your network, mate. Gracie is a very well connected woman. A great asset in times like this.

      Jesus, a government job? I'd rather be unemployed, mate! Working with civil servants is bad enough. Working for them must be hell!

      He shook his head sadly. For someone who is so bright, you can be pretty dumb at times.

      What then? You think she'd set me up as her toy boy? Give me a nice apartment and an allowance?

      He seemed to consider it for a moment. Nah. You're too ugly. He took a second to smirk at his own wit. What I mean is, even though we're in a recession, the government is going to keep on spending. People like Gracie know where that money is going – and not just in her own department either. All those companies that will be picking up contracts have just retrenched half their workforce, but that won't stop them saying they can staff up any size project when they write proposals. So there'll be a frantic scrabble to get staff as soon as a contract is signed. And there you'll be, first in line. Someone like Gracie might even suggest you to the winning bidder.

      I looked at him in amazement. I always said you were a devious bastard. Not to your face, of course. He smiled happily but it hadn't cheered me up at all. I can't do anything like that. You know what I'm like. Can you see me grovelling 'round Gracie for scraps from her table? Or anybody for that matter?

      He shook his head again. Pride is a sin, my boy. Especially in times like these. In fact, it's a bloody luxury that the likes of us can't afford.

      Oh, you're just saying that to make me feel better.

      He downed his espresso in a single swallow and got up. You get on the phone this arvo, mate. No excuses. Work that network while you're still on Seltzer time. It'll be your own phone bill in a couple of weeks, remember. Then he set off for the lifts, leaving me staring at my coffee, feeling miserable.

      -oOo-

      I went out to see my mum and dad that weekend. They still lived in the house I’d grown up in. It was a small, single-story house on eight hectares out at Brookfield. When they first moved there, thirty years ago, Brookfield had seemed like the back end of nowhere. Land was cheap and they lived in a tiny caravan while they built their little place. Brookfield still felt like the back end of nowhere as I drove along its twisting roads but now it was full of rich commuters living in ridiculous and pretentious executive homes. The Seltzer Sales Manager lived there in a big, pink palace with pillars and a Palladian façade. I’d been to a party at his place once. He had a Rococo fountain in the front garden and his pool had statues of women with ewers behind it. It was hard not to laugh as he served his guests prawns from a gas-fired barbie big enough to cater a royal wedding.

      As a result of this gathering of the tastelessly wealthy, my parents' place was a goldmine. The local estate agents were practically camped at the front gate, begging them to sub-divide the plot and sell. But Mum and Dad liked it there. They had lots of trees, nice views over green hills, a paddock for Freeloader, Mum’s ageing donkey, and lots

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