Podric Moon and the Corsican Tyrant

by Barney Broom

  “Get out of it, Dog – wretched animal. Did I hear your friend call you ‘Pod’?”

  “Uhuh.” Podric nodded.

  “What’ll that be short for then? Would it be Podric by any chance?”

  The boy winced as the housekeeper applied some disinfectant.

  “That’s deep and nasty.”

  Alannah continued with her work.

  “Are you part of the family I heard about, the one that recently moved here?”

  For the first time, Podric looked up.

  “If you mean we’ve come here ’cos my dad was killed in an RAF flying accident, then yes.”

  He sipped his Coke.

  “I was sorry to hear it. You’ll be Podric Moon then?”

  An electronic voice came to life. ‘You are inside the world of Krimon. Welcome to the game.’

  “Did you just get into that?”

  Podric nodded.

  “But it’s barred. Locked.”

  Surprised, Alannah took out a plaster.

  “It’s an okay game, Krimon. Anyway, getting in wasn’t too difficult.”

  Alannah smiled.

  “Guess you don’t know whose house you’re in, young man? The person whose Coke you’re drinking invented that game.”

  Podric didn’t reply.

  “Aren’t you impressed?”

  “Well… it’s not bad, but the latest Death Raider’s better.”

  Dog licked Podric.

  “You’ve made a friend.”

  The phone rang and Alannah turned around to pick up an extension on the desk. For several seconds, she listened intently.

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

  There was a pause.

  “Alright then, see you shortly. You have the address.”

  Alannah replaced the receiver.

  “It’s the police. They’re on their way. When the garda’s finished with you, I’m going to call the doctor. We’d also better speak to your mum. You should have been back from your round by now.”

  Sergeant Paxman was attentive. In truth, Podric couldn’t really describe the accident in detail. He’d been pedaling fast and the car had come up behind him. Reacting instinctively, he’d gone up the bank, but the vehicle, which was quite big (Podric thought it was a dark colour, blue or black), clipped his rear wheel.

  “You were lucky. Another few inches and you could have been a goner.” Sergeant Paxman stood up.

  “We’ll have to take your bike with us – do some paint tests. Probably not much chance of finding the driver, but we’ll check the camera at the Wendbury intersection. It might turn up something. You never know.”

  After the police had gone, Alannah checked Podric’s mobility. With his leg and head dressed, he didn’t look too bright but he could move.

  “I think we can get you to the surgery.”

  On their way to the housekeeper’s car, an electronic voice barked from an intercom. Dog howled.

  “Brodie, what’s going on? Police. Blasted interruptions!”

  Alannah spoke into the device. “A lad met with a hit and run – came off his bike. He’s cut and bruised, I’m taking him to the doctor.”

  “You know I need an overnight.”

  “It’ll be ready. You’re not leaving till six.”

  “Make sure it is.”

  With these petulantly disembodied words, the speaker rang off. Archie Light looked down at his housekeeper helping a limping youth into her car. His studio vantage point located on top of a Gothic Victorian tower, he had actually spied the whole scenario, from Podric’s arrival to the police visit, via the internal closed-circuit television system.

  In his late forties and good-looking, Light had lived in Drinkwell for five years and had never quite figured out why he’d gone there. It wasn’t near anywhere relevant to his life – London or the coast – but in some particular way, he’d fallen for the place – not least because of where he now stood. The turret being linked to the main house by a glass bridge, it was this unique feature that had influenced him when deciding to buy. He sat there for hours. It was in this lab that he’d created Marvin the Destroyer and Guns of Orion, both smash hits in the video games market in their time.

  Archie had largely been the brains behind the computer giant Secorni’s position in games entertainment – attacking Pasaro and other leading suppliers with innovative and challenging products. Krimon and the Undersea Invaders had left all rivals standing, as did Petra’s Universe. These two games, when launched, won a large percentage of the global business. British and American management had often deferred to him in their boardrooms – both in London and New York. He’d even been entertained in Hollywood when Secorni signed a movie deal for Knights of the Avenger.

  The head of Paramount Studios had told him that the game was bigger than the movie and was a taste of things to come. But that was three years ago and Archie hadn’t had a major hit since. In fact, the company hadn’t marketed any of his recent efforts, and there were rumours that ‘the old man’ had lost his touch. Now, clad in his silk dressing gown, looking down at the stream running through his garden below, Archie reflected on the shortness of people’s memories. Those games had been so successful they’d netted Secorni millions, but the company, having made its money, had rapidly forgotten how it happened or who had created them. Short-term thinking in a selfish world.

  3

  Mind Dreams

  Barbara Moon met Alannah Brodie and Podric at Drinkwell’s surgery. The local GP advised that because of Podric’s head injury, he should have a brain scan. ‘It’s run of the mill, Mrs. Moon, but it is recommended just to be on the safe side.’ A couple of hours later, Barbara took her son to Wendbury hospital where he was admitted as an outpatient at the MRI unit.

  Whilst Barbara was concerned at the procedure Podric was to experience, the boy himself wasn’t afraid of going into the tube. To Podric, it was more a feeling of complete relaxation. As he lay there staring at monitors, out of the corner of his eye he could see angles of his brain on screens, the neuro-imaged patterns moving as the computed axial tomography recorded the activity of his various lobes and cerebellum. This sent Podric into a dream-like state, the patterns of data having a mesmeric effect on him.

  His mother was on the phone when Podric entered Dr. Martens’ consulting room after the scan. A bandage wrapped round his head, he sat quietly as the doctor played back the recorded images, explaining various sequences.

  “You having had an accident where your head took a knock, we look for any sign of cognitive impairment – headaches, concussion or clotting between the skull and subdural haematoma.”

  The doctor indicated one of the screens beside him.

  “Plus, we ensure that there is no subarachnoid haemorrhage – er, bleeding in and around the brain.”

  “What are those?” Podric pointed to a particular image and data.

  “The precuneus, posterior parietal, frontoparietal, occipital and dorsolateral prefrontal regions – in other words, your imagination.”

  Dr. Martens eyed Podric.

  “If there’s anything unusual in your scan, it’s the level of activity.”

  Martens paused.

  “Yours is heightened to a remarkable degree, young man.”

  Podric studied the image.

  “So these regions control my creative thoughts.”

  Martens nodded.

  “Does it interest you?”

  Podric didn’t reply immediately.

  “I was just thinking… instead of my thoughts controlling me, what if I could manipulate them?”

  Martens laughed.

  “Ha! You mean… live the dream. Then you really would be revolutionising ‘studio in cerebro’.”

  Barbara completed her call and entered the doctor’s consulting room.
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  “Sorry about that. Is he alright?”

  Martens smiled.

  “He’s certainly alright.” The doctor glanced back at a screen.

  “Do I need to check on anything else, any follow-up?”

  “Just keep an eye on him. Make sure he’s calm. There’s plenty going on in that brain of his… huh, Podric?”

  Martens smiled and tapped some information into his computer.

  “I’ll print a full report for you.”

  The consultation concluded, the doctor, patient and his mother stood up.

  “That idea of yours, Podric – dissimulating one’s imagination…” Dr. Martens removed several sheets of paper from his printer, “… a pamphlet was published a while back talking about adjusting the synapse.”

  Clipping the printed sheets together, he slipped them into a file.

  “Pretty off the wall stuff, it theorised about somehow reversing the process and creating a kind of receptive gateway.”

  Seeing the doctor might be going down some transcendental alley and unsure where it might lead, Barbara took the file from him.

  “Thanks for everything, doctor. Your professional assistance is very much appreciated.”

  Barbara smiled at Martens.

  “You may have noticed, my son has a particular intelligence and an enquiring mind.”

  She put the file in her bag.

  “You wouldn’t be the first to fall victim to his innovative ideas.”

  A twinkle in his eye, Dr. Martens opened the door and the patient and his mother departed. For a moment Martens remained where he was. A buzzer on his desk advised him of his next patient.

  “Receptive gateway. Mind dreams…”

  ***

  Leaving Wendbury, Podric was a little pale as he sat beside his mum in her battered Beetle. She’d called Tweeney’s and told them she wouldn’t be in that day because of his accident and now they were headed for home.

  “I’m only so glad you were taken to that house. Alannah – whatever her name is – was very sensible. She’s coming by later. Wants to know how you are.”

  Barbara and Alannah got along famously. Before either could say ‘four-leaved clover’, an affinity between Podric’s mother, the Emerald Isle and her guest’s Irish origins gave flood to a babble of conversation. At least an hour went by before the two women stopped to draw breath. Alannah asked about Podric’s talent for computer games. His mother burst out laughing.

  “Forgive me… talent? Does Podric have talent with computer games? Is the pope a Catholic?”

  “Well, they say he might be.”

  Walking into the living room from the conservatory where they’d been talking, Barbara went to check on Podric. Seeing him asleep, she adjusted the quilt covering him and tiptoed away. Indicating to Alannah to follow her upstairs, Barbara led the way to her son’s bedroom.

  “Don’t touch anything – it’s his domain.”

  She opened the door to reveal an unusually tidy but cramped bedroom. The walls were covered with pictures of planes – each featuring his father, either in flight or standing beside an aircraft. Thirty or so trophies were crammed on top of a dressing table. Other bigger and more ornate ones stood on the floor beside some virtual reality visors.

  “My G—!”

  “He’s won more competitions than you can shake a stick at. At the last event he took part in just before Sean died, he beat the adult European champion. It was out of competition, but he’s brilliant.”

  “Wait till I tell… My boss, the family I work for – he’s a games creator. He’s really successful – or was, but recently the ideas he’s produced haven’t been so good and between you and me, Secorni are thinking of dropping him.”

  “Well, I’m not sure what Podric could do, but he has a lot of experience and he knows every game there is.”

  “He’s also young, Barbara – he’ll have his finger on the pulse. The type of games that would sell – what people want.”

  Moving into the room, Alannah took a closer look at the trophies.

  “It really is amazing. Podric might just be the answer. Would you have any objection if I set up a meeting between him and Doctor Light?”

  “Doctor?”

  “Engineering, electronics. He’s a clever man.”

  “No, well, I’m sure that’s fine. Be good for Podric; he’s taken the loss of his dad very hard.”

  Emerging from Podric’s bedroom, Alannah’s mood changed.

  “Hmm… It’s only fair to tell you that the doctor’s also taken the rejection of his recent efforts badly. His failures coincided with his wife leaving him. He’s become petulant. Right now, he’s on something of a downward spiral.”

  “Drinking?”

  “And other stuff. Maybe my idea’s not such a good one…”

  “Does he have kids?

  “One. Cosima – the most spoilt young madam you ever laid eyes on.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Seventeen going on twenty-three. She’s away at school most of the time but comes home on sufferance in the holidays. Sometimes. She runs rings around her father, who idolises her.”

  Barbara looked at her new friend.

  “Sean and I have never been overprotective of Podric and I wouldn’t want to start being now. Sean wouldn’t thank me for that. If I keep an eye out my end and you yours, I can’t see much harm coming from it. Who knows… maybe it’ll be mutually beneficial – for the doctor of computers and my young games whizz!”

  ***

  “You say he just got into it?”

  Standing in the Lighthouse (the name Archie gave to his loft space), Brodie hung her boss’s travel hanging cover on the back of a chair.

  “Yup. I’d only been gone a minute or two.”

  “Could have been a fluke…”

  “You said it was secure to me – not that it matters. I don’t play games.”

  “Huh. And he didn’t think much of Krimon, you say?”

  “Well, he wasn’t entirely dismissive but he said it wasn’t very difficult.”

  “Little upstart.”

  “I’d say he’s far from that. To be the best in your age group three years in a row and beating the adult European champion hardly suggests a lack of skill.”

  “Out of competition doesn’t count.”

  Archie dropped the document he was reading on the table and walked over to a bookcase full of files.

  “You should meet him.”

  “Why on Earth would I want to do that?”

  “Two reasons – because he’s a computer games champion and because he’s young.”

  Alannah dusted a leather designer swing chair.

  “This having what bearing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Your last three submissions haven’t been picked up and the latest one’s just been rejected. Podric’s the right age; his finger is on the pulse. He knows which games have appeal and why.”

  “And I don’t?”

  The two looked at each other then resumed their tasks.

  “I think it was fate that brought him here.”

  “Unfortunate for him then.”

  Alannah looked around at Archie, who studied some papers.

  “Came a cropper on his bike, didn’t he?”

  “The victim of a hit and run!”

  The housekeeper was vehement. Approaching her boss, she spoke to him directly.

  “You should do yourself a favour and see Podric. Even if you think it’s a waste of time, what’s half an hour? It might actually help you.”

  “Podric? What kind of a name is that?”

  “An Irish one!”

  Leaving the room, Alannah was cross.

  A couple of hours later, watching Archie’s vintage Facel Vega coupé head down the driveway, Alan
nah picked up a note lying on the kitchen counter. ‘Ar mhaithe le do temperament Éireannach – Will see the boy 5.00pm Wednesday.’ Knowing his housekeeper’s love for her native tongue, Archie often used Gaelic when communicating with her.

  “I’ll give him the sake of my temperament – it’s his bloody future, for heaven’s sake!”

  4

  The First Step

  Being off school for a week to recover from his accident, it was during Podric’s convalescence that the fateful encounter between the games creator and young champion took place. Walking up the stairs in Archie’s house, Podric couldn’t help noticing a large black and white photograph of a young woman. The housekeeper caught his glance.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she, Podric? She’s the doctor’s daughter. I don’t do the tarot but I’ve always felt there’s danger there for whoever is chosen. We go this way.”

  They walked along the gallery with its glass-covered walkway. About thirty feet from the ground, it crossed part of the garden and connected to the tall Gothic tower which was otherwise completely separated from the main house. At the far end, Alannah pushed open a door into the lobby and pressed the lift button.

  “You’ll find him either in his den or the lab. I’ve put some Coke in the fridge.”

  Podric entered the glass-panelled elevator.

  “Have fun and, er, don’t let his rudeness put you off. It just hides his inadequacies.”

  Podric began to ascend. Arriving at the top of the building, the lift door slid back and he stepped into Archie Light’s study. Podric looked about. No one appeared to be around, and glancing at some awards on the mantelpiece, he noticed an arch at the end of the room, leading to a spiral staircase.

  Walking down a floor, the room configuration on this level was different. A little kitchen had been created and two other rooms were positioned either side of the lift shaft. Peering into one, the room seemed to be a mini computer museum. The equivalent of a personalised Smithsonian Institute’s history of the computer, it contained a model of every key development type in the product’s evolution. Podric looked at some of the antiquated styles and sizes – was anything ever that big?

  “I wasn’t aware we were meeting in here.”