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I have everything in the world, Keith mused, except the one thing I want.

The waves paw at the grey sand like some ravenous beast, slowly consuming the beach as it approaches his bare feet. Eyes fixed on the grey horizon, Keith does not notice this until the spray starts to chill his toes.

He is barefoot, Keith realises. He is never barefoot.

Hannah would have laughed at that one.

Keith’s attention travels down to the crumpled piece of paper in his left hand. Strange that in this day and age of instant wireless real-time communication, Aunty Rose still insists on hand writing letters to him. Still, if she had tried to contact him directly over the past year and a half, it is likely he would not have answered. Maybe she knew him better than he knew himself?

Something about the soft, tactile feel of the cream paper (how in all hells did she get something like that?) and the fine, spidery script flowing across the page commands his full attention like the insistent pulsing of the link indicator in his field of vision never would.

Keith, my darling -

I know these last few months have been hard – harder for you than I will ever know. Yes, I have lost a sister – but Kismet has stolen from you not only a mother, but the woman you were to marry. I can only imagine how your heart rails at its bower in the cold reaches of the night.

Despite this, Keith smiles. Rose always did go a bit overboard with the poetic phrases. Hannah used to say it was all those old period dramas she reads.

Firstly, I would like to humbly ask your forgiveness for not being there for you – this new project we are working on in Geneva is taking all of my time right now, and it really can’t do without my presence, even for a little while.

The board has asked me to extend their gratitude to you that you have decided to stay with Smith-Walton during this difficult time, especially given the amazing work your department has delivered in the past few weeks. Your work is set to return an astronomical profit in the next financial year, as well as the obvious benefits to mankind!

Scant comfort, I know, but the strides we are making today will ensure that other sons, husbands and sisters won’t lose their loved ones the way we have lost ours. It is a noble thing we are doing, never forget that.

When I can get away, I will contact you. Those of us left behind have to stick together in these difficult times.

Love always,

Rose.

PS Stop by the London office on your way through. I have a surprise for you!

Those of us left behind. Keith stared at that line until raindrops started to run down his chin, and onto the page. A coming thunderclap signaled that it was time to return to the beach house, and the rest of his life.

Chapter 2

London. Thick, soupy fog lazily swirls around the speeding ‘lev as it hurtles down the sidestreets at breakneck speeds. One slight calculation error in the GPS, one unanticipated obstruction that the vehicle doesn’t compensate for fast enough, and Keith will come to a crashing halt from speeds in excess of 200km/h.

Well, the days of automotive accidents are far behind us, Keith mused, but that doesn’t stop him feeling a bit suicidal this morning.

Keith is definitely not a morning person.

The ‘lev hits the expressway, bursting through the fog like a cork from a champagne bottle. The viscid polymers of the vehicle moulding itself into a more aerodynamic shape in order to handle the higher loads of the increase in speed. Keith has always thought that the lev lost a lot of its sex appeal when it went into high speed mode – it looked a bit like a duck. BMW-Bentley had commissioned famous designer and pianist Frederik Vierhoffen to design its new Gaspra line of maglevs, who had chosen the high front, tapering ovoid shape as a bold and brash statement of masculinity. Keith secretly thought that the gentle curve of the prow to be distinctly feminine, like the slope of a woman’s shoulder while lying in bed, staring out of a window.

Then again, who was he to argue with such a well respected and world famous designer?

The vista of the London skyline races forward as the ‘lev speeds towards the city, the once dominating majesty of Big Ben now dwarfed by the crowded arcologies surrounding it. Other motorists veer off on other exits while Keith decides to get down to business.

The hud on his ocular implant shows several waiting messages, an insistent reminder that although Keith might choose to drop off the grid, the world still turns around him and is full of the same demands and responsibilities that must be met regardless of his current disposition.

The first few messages were the typical sycophantic well-wishing he has come to expect from the Smith-Walton middle management, ranging from the standard “I’m sorry for your loss” to the unfathomable “If there is anything I can do” – as if he could trust these idiots with anything more strenuous than tying their own shoelaces!

Keith deletes these messages from memory, feeling a bit ashamed of himself and embarrassed at the way he has been behaving. While he concedes to himself that he is entitled to feel a bit sorry for himself after all that has happened, Keith has ever been a pragmatic man, and if his change in behaviour is starting to be noticed by his mid level employees then perhaps it is time he snapped himself out of it.

The next message was from Sally. Hey Boo, it reads, Sally still using the pet name even though they had been “just friends” for 10 years now, I know you aren’t exactly taking any calls right now, but please let me know if you are alright. I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now, but if you ever need to talk about it or need a shoulder to cry on, link me anytime. Love, Sally.

The ‘lev veers right, winding down the offramp like a chrome marble – the majestic view of the London skyline gradually obscured by the thick layer of fog that blankets the streets. Keith starts to feel a sense of apprehension building as he draws ever closer to the Smith-Walton building. Today, is going to be a long day. he thought.

Tags: chapter 1, edge of dreams