Chapter 1
Will Cooper could swear that every clink of every coffee cup in the shop vibrated through his very brain. It was true he hadn’t been sleeping well. Too many late nights, too much caffeine and enough stress to fuel a small combustion engine, if such a thing were possible. But then, to Will, a whole lot of the impossible seemed to be coming to fruition at the moment. The woman in front of him was apparently ordering beverages for the entire postal code district, and the barista seemed in no rush. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and tried not to fidget as life-changing decisions between caramel and chocolate muffins were discussed.
In his faux tweed three-piece suit, Will was quite aware that he had been middle-aged forever. It wasn’t a look he particularly minded. From virtually his teens, he had realised that being cool was something that happened to other people. With his slightly rounded physique, smart side parting and precise nature, Will had nurtured an excessively grown-up air that others failed to achieve long past his tender thirty years.
‘Oh, come along, woman! Just take a bloody muffin and be done with it; it’s not as though you need the calories. And yes, you pasty-faced waste of space. I am sure that she will be able to remember who had an extra shot and who had the cinnamon. No, no, you do not need to write it on the cups. Oh, wait you do.’ And so, Will’s thought process went on.
Seven minutes into his impatient internal rant, it was finally his turn to be served. The girl behind the counter barely glanced at him, preferring instead to chat to her colleague. Will felt his teeth begin to grind. He coughed politely. The girl flicked an escaped piece of hair out of her eyes and looked at him questioningly. ‘I would like two coffees to take away, please. One full-fat double mocha with an extra shot, whipped cream and sprinkles, and one latte.’
She turned away without a word and began the process of pressing buttons on machines to make them spit and hiss and whisk and whatever else they did. Will wondered how so much hype could be produced by the simple act of adding milk and water to ground up coffee beans. ‘Full fat double mocha, shot, cream, sprinkles and… a latte.’ The last two words dripped with disdain. ‘Eight pounds seventy-nine.’
Will felt his left eye twitch ever so slightly. ‘Nearly nine pounds for two cups of coffee?’
‘Eight pounds seventy-nine. You do get a free muffin? It’s organic.’
Will glanced at the bite-sized muffin neatly wrapped in its cellophane jacket. ‘How much is it without the muffin?’
The girl held out her hand. ‘Eight pounds seventy-nine. The muffin is free.’ Still holding her stare, Will reached into his pocket and reluctantly handed over a ten-pound note. Awkwardly collecting his change and his coffees Will was just about to go when the girl called out. ‘Don’t forget your muffin.’ Will turned back, and she balanced it carefully on top of the cups. ‘You have a nice day now!’
The little pink chicken on the muffin’s label wobbled dangerously as Will stomped back to the car park. He was still muttering to himself as he turned the car into the neat drive of the semi-detached house, nearly hitting an unfamiliar bright-red mini. ‘Typical.’ He growled before reversing and parking on the road.
Juggling the coffee, muffin and car keys, Will shoved the car door shut with his hip causing the muffin to make a final lurch for freedom. As he twisted to catch it, the motion dislodged some of the molten cream sprinkle, which slopped angrily onto his shirt. Will hung his head and sighed. Crushing the now escaped muffin into the pavement with his heel, he stomped towards the house.
Voices were coming from just behind the door: one male, one female, and both, in Will’s present mood, incredibly nauseating.
‘I have to go. I’ll be late for work.’ A feminine voice cooed, clearly making no move to leave.
‘Yeah, I know… Will will be here any minute… just five minutes.’
Will saw shadows moving behind the glass of the front door.
‘Nooo, I really do have to go.’ The smaller figure disentangled herself only to be drawn back straight away.
Will rolled his eyes and attempted to press the doorbell with his nose just as the door was flung open. He stood unnoticed as a small dark-haired girl was trying, without too much conviction, to escape, while being smothered by a shock of dirty blonde dreadlocks.
Will coughed. The girl looked around, startled, but the man only grinned. ‘Right on time. Will this is Louise, Louise, this is Will.’
The girl smiled sheepishly. ‘Hello,’ she said, looking at her feet.
‘Morning.’ Will replied without much warmth. ‘And morning Adam, nice to see you up and about so early.’
His friend ignored the comment completely as the newly introduced Louise bolted to the mini. ‘I’ll call you later, yeah?’ Adam called after her. She waved in reply, dived into the car, and, seconds later, was reversing down the drive.
‘Will you?’ Will asked.
‘Possibly.’ Adam shrugged as he took the exploding coffee and ushered Will inside. ‘I think you embarrassed her.’ He added with a laugh.
‘Who was that?’ Will asked. ‘Louise. I just introduced you. Met her at a gig last night. Isn’t she hot?’
‘I’m sure she’s lovely. But what were you thinking?’ Will asked in exasperation.
Adam looked confused. ‘I was thinking she’s hot.’ He waved his cup vaguely. ‘You know you’ve got a brown mark on your shirt?’
‘Yes, I know.’ Will said irritably, scrubbing at the offending stain with his fingernail. ‘I don’t suppose you have any stain remover?’
Adam got up and lazily reached under the sink before handing him a tube.’ ‘So that’s why you’re in a shitty mood?’
‘Is a stained shirt why I’m in a shitty mood?’ Will snapped. ‘Or is it possibly because it’s eight-thirty in the morning, we have a meeting at nine o’clock with a man from one of the greatest promoters of computer games, REMCORP no less, who is hopefully going to write us the biggest cheque we have ever seen; and you look like you haven’t slept for a week, smell like a brewery and haven’t even got your trousers on yet.’ He finished with his voice an octave higher.
‘I have trousers on.’ Will rubbed his forehead as he looked down to the creased combat pants he wore.
‘Technically, perhaps they are trousers. If we were about to complete an assault on a Columbian drug baron’s jungle lair, then I do not doubt that they would be the perfect attire. To meet a man like Murray Leibowitz, who only thinks in dollars, I am thinking something a little more formal, more… I know where the washing machine is?’
‘Ok, ok, you should try and chill out.’ Adam held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I will go and get changed.’ He moved towards the door got halfway then turned back. ‘Oh, man, though. You should have been at this gig last night. It was awesome!’
‘Clothes!’ Will almost screamed. Adam winced. ‘Relax,’ He said soothingly, ‘I’m going…’ Almost out of the door, Adam stopped again. ‘You remember that gig at the Uni bar where that girl… oh no, wait. You didn’t go, did you, some final or other? Anyway…’
‘Will you please for the love of all things holy, go and put some clothes on!’ Will pleaded.
Adam pretended to be hurt. ‘All right, all right, but you’ll give yourself an ulcer at this rate, mark my words.’
Almost twenty minutes later, Will was still pacing the floor of Adam’s kitchen. His shirt was passably clean. He’d listened to the shower. He’d heard many doors banging, which suggested activity, but the finished product had yet to arrive.
Will tried to breath and resisted the urge to shout up the stairs. Just as he was about to lose the battle, a half-naked Adam arrived with a crumpled shirt in one hand.
‘You haven’t even ironed a shirt!’ Will said through gritted teeth. He could feel a small vein pulsating in his temple.
‘It won’t take a second,’ said Adam moving Will out of the way to pull out the ironing board. ‘And, by the way, you are turning into my mother.’ He complained, pulling his hair back into a band.
‘Your mother lives five thousand miles away, lets you live here rent-free, pays all of your bills and as far as I am aware, probably irons your shirts too when she’s home. If she had ever occasionally asked you to put on some clothes, I suggest we would not be having this conversation now. Your mother is a Saint.’
‘Last time I checked you couldn’t be beatified if you have been living in sin with a sixty-seven-year-old Spanish vintner called Philippe.’
Despite himself, Will felt the corners of his mouth turning up. ‘What and you disapprove?’
Adam shrugged. ‘Am I detecting a note of bitterness in you this morning?’ He said, changing the subject.
‘Not bitterness. I had to deal with the world’s slowest coffee waitress this morning behind the representatives of the English coffee drinking association who were getting their practice beverages in. We have to present to some American, who is going to be looking at his watch the whole time and probably won’t believe us anyway, and you are not helping my nerves!’
‘Hello! Who put the thing together in the first place? I think I’m helping.’
‘All I am saying is you don’t have bills to pay…’ Will continued.
‘I have to pay for things,’ Adam countered petulantly. ‘Beer tokens do not grow on trees, you know.’ The iron hissed.
‘I know that.’ Will softened. ‘But you don’t have a mortgage or utilities. I mean the credit card bill alone.’
‘AHA!’ Adam pointed the iron accusingly. ‘How is your lovely wifey?’
‘This is not about Cassandra,’ said Will wearily. ‘This is about our chance to make our names as well as more money than we have ever dreamed of, it could set us both up for life, and you don’t seem to be taking it very seriously!’
‘I see new wifey is turning the screws and making sure that you are going to keep her in the manner to which she will quickly become accustomed?’ Adam said buttoning the still steaming shirt.
‘She wants a decent life; what is so wrong with that?’
‘Nothing.’ Adam replied, slipping on his suit jacket. ‘How do I look Mum, is this grown-up enough for you?’
Will looked him up and down and had to admit when he chose to, Adam could look like he just stepped out of one of those magazines Cassandra read avidly. ‘I hate you!’
Adam slapped Will on the back. ‘That was the look I was going for. So, let’s go charm Mr Money.’
~~
If money were a person, in this case, it would be short, bald, round, and incredibly American. ‘Mr Leibowitz, it’s really good to see you again.’ Will said as his hand was pumped up and down.
Murray Leibowitz smiled expansively. ‘My father is Mr Leibowitz; you can call me Leibowitz. Otherwise, I am looking over my shoulder for the old man... eh?’ Leibowitz slapped Will hard on the back. ‘I can’t tell you how excited I am fellas. This is an amazing opportunity. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I am very excited, very excited indeed!’
‘Shall we sit down?’ Adam asked. He showed the American through to what they grandly called the conference area.
Technically, of course, this was Adam’s garage, or more accurately his mother’s garage, which, up until only a few days ago was a space exclusively reserved for sprawling bits of dissected radios, half mobile phones, plastic thingies, brackets, pizza boxes, coke cans and possibly some primitive forms of life. However, that was before Cassandra had been allowed in and taken over the décor. The workshop had been tidied to the point that they now couldn’t find anything. With the addition of a few essential pot plants, some outlandishly modern furniture and the small corner was transformed.
Murray settled into a seat designed clearly for a lesser man. Opening a file in front of him, he made great plays of taking the lid off a solid gold pen and stopped with it paused above the page. ‘So, fellas,’ he said, ‘Time is money, and if you want either from me, you’d better sell me your idea.’
~~
‘You were at university together, discovered your mutual love of computer games and decided to take it one step further?’ Leibowitz said, looking up from his notes.
‘It wasn’t quite as simple as that.’ Will snorted. ‘It began as an idea.’
‘Most things do fellas, but as my old great-granny used to say, if wishes were horses, beggars would ride, the same goes for ideas.’
Will continued. ‘It did seem impossible at the time. We’d come up with some games, ARPG’s, they were good, but it wasn’t enough.’
Murray raised an eyebrow in question.
‘Action role-playing games.’ Adam supplied. ‘They were pretty sweet, but we wanted something more interactive.’
‘We wanted to really be in the heart of the action.’ Will added enthusiastically. ‘We’d developed this game based on Australia. Adam had been there while he was travelling, and it seemed a great basis for a very exciting scenario…’
‘While we were working on it, things were getting pretty intense, ramping up the graphics, sound, even trying to work out a smell.’ Adam continued.
‘It got so crazy that I found I was dreaming about the game…’ Will said, looking at his friend.
‘That was when the idea began to take shape…’ Adam supplied.
‘How completely awesome would it be if you could play a game while you were asleep?’
‘And remember the whole experience with no sleep deprivation.’ Will said. ‘Cognitive sleep; dreams you can control and remember. You can’t get any more interactive than that.’ The two inventors sat back in their seats.
‘You truly can’t.’ Murray agreed. He tapped his pen on the notepad. ‘And you set about working out how it could be done?’
‘Remember there was once a time when the idea of making a phone call without being wired up to the grid seemed impossible.’ Adam leaned in.
‘Wireless technology and computers the size of a matchbox?’ added Will. ‘It was only a matter of time before we found out how to tap into the dream centre; the part of the brain that we only use when we’re asleep.’
‘After that, it was simply a case of making the module and creating the stories to go with it.’ Adam finished.
‘And you have managed to do all of that?’ Murray said with some disbelief.
‘Well, it wasn’t overnight…’ Will started.
‘Yes, we have managed to do all of that.’ Adam cut him off mid-sentence.
Will placed his closed fist upon the table and opened it slowly. He removed his hand to reveal two small electronic devices. ‘Introducing the Vio spelt V10,’ he said.
The American gawked at the little black earpieces. Each had a thin silver wire ending in a rubber pad. Will and Adam stared back at the American.
‘That’s it?’ Murray breathed.
‘That’s it.’ The pair said together.
‘So how does it work?’ He asked eventually.
Will opened his mouth to speak, but Adam beat him to it. ‘How're your advanced electronics?’
Murray looked confused for a moment. ‘Huh? My what?’
‘In layman’s terms, the black plugs go into the ears. The diodes are then placed next to the temples, like so.’ Will held one of the devices to the side of his head. ‘A wave is then transmitted between the two diodes corresponding with the current frequency of brain waves. Alpha waves occur when a person is relaxed but awake. These have a frequency of between eight and thirteen Hertz. When we sleep, these waves are replaced by beta waves at a lower frequency of nought point five Hertz. The device modulates and alters these waves to fool the brain into…’
‘What we mean,’ interrupted Adam, ‘is that we could go into a long and complicated explanation about how it works, but ultimately what you need to know is it manipulates the brain’s activity to produce cognitive dreams.’
‘And you can do that?’ Murray said slowly.
‘It’s not only what we can do; it’s what we’ve done. This here is a working model. We have been testing it, and it is amazing!’ Adam said.
‘You’ve tested it? Murray’s eyes were shining now. ‘You’re telling me that I could put those… those things on my head, and I could be part of my very own dream?’
‘Well, you could be part of a dream that we have devised for the machine.’ Will said. ‘You simply download the scenario to the machine via any laptop or home P.C.’
If this were a cartoon, the pound signs would have been kerchinging in Murray’s eyes like a fruit machine. ‘So you are telling me, you have complete control over what is downloaded, and also the licence for those dreams. All of which have to be purchased?’ The American licked his lips.
‘Exactly.’ Adam said, leaning back in his chair. Murray did the same. He linked his fingers and looked pointedly at both inventors. ‘You wouldn’t be shittin’ me now, would you? You’re not trying to take this good ‘ole boy for a ride?’
Again, Will tried to speak, but Adam got in first. ‘The only way we’re going to prove it to you is for you to try it.’
‘What!’ Will spluttered.
‘If Leibowitz wants to know it works. He had better try it then.’
Will began to go red in the face. ‘He’s not taking it away with him.’ He hissed to Adam. ‘We developed this, all that work, how do you know he’s not going to take it apart and steal our idea?’ Adam turned to Murray.
‘It’s not that my colleague here does not trust you; it’s just he has a more naturally suspicious nature. Obviously, you wouldn’t be expecting to take the device out of this building?’
Murray’s attention was entirely on this potential goldmine. He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t expect my boys to trust anyone, not yet anyway. Do you know what you’ve got here boys if this works? You have a licence to print money. You will not be able to spend it as fast as you are earning it. You will be retiring before your time, and you will be millionaires!’ Murray reached out to touch the probe and then changed his mind. ‘And there are no side effects? It’s safe?’
‘Safe as a big fluffy pillow.’ Adam stood up. ‘What about now; fancy a little nap, Leibowitz? We have programmed a medieval scenario into this one; it should give you a good idea of how it feels for the consumer.
‘Merry old England, huh? Well, that would be something to see and no mistake,’ said Murray, his voice a little high.
‘That’s settled then,’ replied Adam. He gestured towards the door adjoining the house. ‘Shall we?’
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