ALEC: An Action & Adventure Fantasy Novel (Alexander Trilogy)

by Stan I. S. Law

  It seemed to him that he’d done all that he could. After all, he’d done everything. He felt he had spread himself as far as he could. The presence of his ideas, of his concepts, of his desires was everywhere around him now. And he realized that he had to find a way to separate the ideas from himself. He had to give them a reality of their own. He wanted to look at himself in ideas outside himself. He knew that that was impossible, for he knew there was nothing outside himself, but he wanted to pretend. To play a little game. Just so that he could share his ideas with something which had its own power to generate more ideas. A sort of self-generating, and re-generating being. Instinctively, he knew that the only way he could do that was to give up parts of himself into his creations. The two, and the endless number of his parts, would forever remain indivisible. But it would be such a wonderful game. And he... he would no longer be lonely.

  In that precise moment, for the first time, he raised his heavy eyelids. And as he opened his eyes, the first ray of light formed and pierced the darkness. And the next instant there was light all around him.

  Alec woke up on the starboard berth in the cozy cabin of his boat. He was covered in sweat, shaking, and filled with utter, complete, unrestrained joy.

  He had never felt so grateful for being alive.

  18

  Alicia

  “Permission to come aboard?” asked his father.

  “You should have come with us, darling. The food was just marvelous. Just marvelous,” mother interrupted before Alec could answer. Her long legs descended from the cockpit into the cabin backwards.

  His mother was wearing shorts. Short shorts. If it were anyone but Alec, he would have probably remarked on their beautiful shape. If not aloud, then at least to himself. Alec did neither. He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty. He’d spent countless eons in the abysmal darkness before the Universe came into being in just under three hours. Was it Einstein who said that time was relative? Or was it aunt Bertha? Before she passed away, of course. She liked making profound statements.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it, mom,” he answered. She had completely forgotten that his stomach had not been disposed to take much food, regardless of quality. Anyway, he now knew why he’d had to stay behind. The time had been ripe for his final descent. Somehow he knew it was final. He could hardly go back to a time before time was even invented. And where he’d been, there was no time. No time at all.

  There was nothing else there, either.

  “Alicia’s shipshape?” father asked again.

  Alicia, Alec knew, although it took some time to get used to, was not only his mother’s name but also the name of the boat. O’Day was the manufacturer’s name. Not her proper name. Alec remembered when dad had first brought him and mom to the marina and mother had seen her own name painted in large letters across the transom. She’d jumped up and down, ending in father’s arms. He had looked as pleased as punch. Another of dad’s English expressions.

  Shipshape simply meant that everything was in order. That she, the boat that is, was ready to sail. Not that they ever sailed anywhere at night, although it would be fun to try. For Alec anything new was worth trying. Anything at all. Only they would first have to fix the navigation lights. They worked at the bow, but the mast light seemed disconnected. Dad would fix it, no doubt. He was good at that sort of thing. Just as mom was good at other things. Like making sure they had enough food and drink for three or four days’ sail. Somehow she knew how hungry they would all be before they cast off. Clever that, Alec thought.

  The next day they sailed to Malletts Bay. They had to negotiate a narrow entry, only to face what looked like a miniature inland sea. This was the Outer Bay, and it was just the beginning. Dad steered them through another strait into Malletts Bay proper. The western breeze of about thirteen knots kept them sailing at a decent pace until they turned into the lee of the Northern coves. Here the wind became so gentle that they didn’t have to switch on the engine to cast anchor. They decided to spend the night in a tiny cove named after Gail. Gail’s Cove was recognized as one of the most beautiful spots on the lake. The three- to four-story rocks descended right down and continued under the water. At the entry to the cove, the rock had been undercut by years of erosion, until the overhang created an arch over the water. The shore that rose away and up from the cove was thickly forested, with deciduous as well as coniferous trees. Today it was a little private haven. Very private. Tomorrow it would be full of people, but today was Thursday. Dad wanted to show them some places before the weekend armadas converted the secluded havens into parking lots. For dad, the purpose of having a boat was to get away from people, not to spend your time in each other’s shadows.

  After dropping sail and furling up the genie, they dropped anchor, about forty yards off shore. Dad tested it for holding while Alec changed into his swimming trunks. He and dad swam to the shore while mom, after only a quick dip, decided to rustle up some sandwiches. Dad offered help, but mom thought that taking Alec ashore would better serve them both. Alec didn’t have to be asked twice. He jumped into the water from the stern and was climbing the rocks before dad descended the ladder into the tepid bath. It was the warmest water ever noted on Lake Champlain. Dad claimed total credit for this statistic. Who knows? Alec didn’t really mind who took the credit, as long as he was on the receiving end.

  On the way back from a half-hour hike, Alec jumped into the water from one of the overhanging rocks. Since the experience on the Home planet, he liked the idea of jumping into anything that exhibited some semblance of a bottom. He would never volunteer to jump into the chasm again. He suspected he wouldn’t have to. Here, as his feet hit the water, he let himself sink down till he touched bottom, some twenty feet below. He almost miscalculated the capacity of his lungs. The next time he would spread his arms to slow his descent.

  He was glad there would be a next time.

  After the first night on board, his parents decided to sleep in the main cabin, while he was given the V berth in the fo’c’sle to himself. He had his own hatch through which he could look at the stars and let his imagination fly unrestrained.

  He lay there looking at the Milky Way. For a brief moment a cloud covered his field of vision. This brought him to the Void, where no stars, no light of any sort was discernible. He strongly suspected that he had witnessed the world before it was created. He had seen, in turn, how the world worked, how life, or at least biological life, began, and finally how It All began. He’d seen it but suspected that the real secret of the lessons lay elsewhere. As the stars framed by the square hatch reappeared again, he thought that it had to do not with what he saw, but with the vantage point from which he was observing his lessons.

  Assuming they had been lessons.

  If he was right, then the main lesson lay in making him aware that he had witnessed the world without having any awareness of his physical or even imaginary body. By some trick or guise, all his senses were in perfect working order, while the organs that controlled these senses were absent. Perhaps the organs don’t control my senses at all, he thought. Funny that! He knew that dreams could take all sorts of liberties, but he was also convinced that everything happened for a reason. If he was shown something in a certain way, there was a reason for it. And it was his job— his dad would call it duty—to discover what it was.

  He thought he had it, but... it would have to wait. He was getting very sleepy. All this fresh air, the water, the wind, the...

  ...he jumped from a rock a thousand feet high. He flew, not straight down but, as he spread his arms, descending in a gentle swoop towards the water. As he reached it, he continued uninterrupted into its cool embrace and explored the underwater caves, nooks and crevices. He didn’t have to move his arms or legs except to change direction. He was surprised to find the bottom of the lake full of variously shaped corals. Winding between their intricate arms, he admired an abundance of colorful tropical fish. There was no end of them. It was as though all the fish from the enti
re lake had come to Gail’s Cove to show off their regalia—to him alone.

  Sailing is great, he thought as he finally emerged from the festive depths. But this is even better. He had never seen such colors arranged in such complex and diverse forms before. Except, maybe, the mosaic patterns on the Home planet. Hard to tell. This is just great, he repeated as he turned on his other side.

  The next day he changed his mind.

  ***

  The seniors needed a rest. Alex took his wife home to get a really good night’s sleep. Also, Alicia had to pay a visit to her painting friends. At least, that’s how Alex thought of them. Paining was all they ever talked about. They promised Junior to be back early the next day.

  Alex Sr. was sipping his Black Label with obvious pleasure. They were going out this evening, his wife’s somewhat dotting—as in fatuous or silly—friends, and he felt he had to fortify his patience before they left. Alicia was still performing final touches in, what she liked to call, her boudoir. It always took longer than he imagined.

  He didn’t really mind Alicia’s painting friends, if it weren’t for the fact that they imagined each of their creations to be an immortal work of art. And some of them really did have talent, if not fully developed as yet. But, well, he was an engineer. His animals needed to have fronts and backs, or more precisely heads and tails. Except for apes, of course, which could look like humans.

  Or was it the other way round?

  The last time he’d tried to make this very point was when they went together to the studio. He had to keep his left hand in the pocket for an hour. He hadn’t been told the oil on the canvas was still wet, and was too embarrassed to admit his ignorance in “public”. In front of the ladies, that is. By the time they got home, the paint had set. It took him hours to wash it off, later, with turpentine.

  By now he could smile at the memory, but at the time he was livid.

  He sat back in his favourite armchair, reminiscing about that evening on board the Alicia, when Alicia had asked him a most peculiar question. They’ve been married for nearly fifteen years, and she still managed to set him back on his heals.

  “Darling…?” Her voice was sleepy; perhaps dreamy was a better word.

  In fact a week had passed since the Champagne feast, but he still recalled that evening as though it were yesterday. On that night they shared the v-berth in the fo’c’sle, leaving Alec the whole cabin and the quarter-berth to do with as he pleased. At least, if need be, the fo’c’sle had a door they could close.

  “Yes, dear, what is it?” His own voice had been slightly slurred. In fact after all the Champagne, he’d already dozed off.

  “Are you sure you can’t cook?” she’d asked.

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Just wondering…”

  “Well, I’d once put the cattle on. I waited for hours and hours and the water just wouldn’t boil…” he confessed.

  “Did you switch on the burner?”

  “Ooh…”

  “I love you.”

  “Me too.”

  He took another sip, this time a bigger one of his Scotch. Then he closed his eyes, trying to visualize Alicia’s face

  “Here’s to you, Blue Eyes,” he muttered and finished the rest of his drink in one gulp. Alicia’s eyes were never so blue, he mused, as when aboard a boat in the middle of a sunny day. He wished he didn’t have to go to see her friends tonight. It was fun just sitting back, reminiscing.

  I wonder if that’s why I love sailing so much, he mused. Those eyes… I wonder… And he got up to refill his glass.

  19

  The Gale

  This time he really was going to drown. Water was coming in through his mouth, nose, even ears. He could not even catch a single breath. Goodbye, mom, dad. Goodbye, world. Goodbye...

  SANDRA!

  Alec hit his head on the bulkhead as he sat up. He wasn’t sure if it was the noise of the water coming in through the open hatch that woke him up. He pulled the hatch shut even as the next wave splashed over the bow. After the previous night, Alec’s father decided that the main cabin would be more comfortable for Alicia and himself. Alec inherited the v-berth in the fo’c’sle. He didn’t mind at all. He could look straight up at the stars through the hatch in the ceiling.

  “Dad?”

  No response.

  “DAD!!!”

  The door to the main cabin was open and dangling on its hinges. His father was trying to sit up on the starboard berth. His eyes were still closed, though he seemed to be making a colossal effort to open them.

  “It’s still dark, son. What is it?”

  It wasn’t dark. It was the beginning of daybreak.

  “There’s water coming into my v-berth.”

  “What?”

  Alex Baldwin Sr. was instantly wide awake. The boat was performing an irregular dance of a jerky fandango, swirling and jostling like a cork in a bathtub. His dad was not amused.

  “The bloody wind changed. I wish they would give us a half-decent forecast.”

  During the night the westerly wind had swung towards the south, exposing them to the whole bay. Not a large bay, but large enough for a build-up of a three-foot wave. As the stern of the boat swung away from the wind, the bow took all the punishment, covering Alec’s hatch in spray. They were in no danger, or so it seemed, until dad looked up the companionway and saw sheer rock no more than ten feet away.

  In one smooth motion he leaned down to switch on the batteries, then reached over, stretching himself flat across the cockpit, to pull out the chock and start the engine. There was no time to check for possible gasoline vapors, which if present could turn their boat into a ball of fire. Or so they said.

  The regular purr of the engine gave dad a moment’s respite.

  “What is it, darling?” mom asked, carefully opening one eye. “Can’t you keep it down?” Then she sensed that something was definitely amiss, as Sherlock would say. “What is it?” she repeated, this time with both eyes open.

  By now dad and Alec were in the cockpit. Alec knew exactly what to do. They’d discussed just such a danger two days ago, still on the way to Valcour Island. Alec punched in the gear and eased the yacht gently forward, while dad made his wavy way towards the bow to lift anchor. As he raised the Danforth from the sandy bottom, Alec advanced them a bit more forward. They were now clear out of danger, and into an even wilder sea.

  Dad came back and took over the tiller.

  What had happened was quite simple. When they had dropped anchor, they were, according to the depth-finder, in twenty-two feet of water. This called for about one-hundred-ten feet of nylon rode, plus the chain, to give them a scope of at least five-to-one. As the boat drifted away from the anchor, towards the East, they ended up about forty yards from shore, in sheltered water. Perfectly safe.

  The wind was supposed to veer south by mid-morning. They had plenty of time to raise anchor and head into the sea, for a beautiful broad reach sail back towards Valcour Island. But the forecast had proved inaccurate. As the wind changed, presumably around five a.m., their stern swung round to back onto the North shore of Gail’s Cove. The forty-yard leeway shrank to a mere ten feet. Had they dragged the anchor, poor Alicia would have gotten her rear end splattered all over the rocks.

  “It’s awfully hard to sail a boat with its rear end missing, darling,” dad concluded as Alicia—the mother, not the boat—stopped looking nervous. “We’re all right now, thanks to our Number One. If it weren’t for you, son, we would have an awfully long swim home!”

  Alec knew that, but he would never admit that he’d called Sandra for help. He was sure his dream would have gone on for some time, and dragging an anchor on a mere 5:1 scope was all too common. With the wind from the south, they would have had to increase the scope to at least a 7:1 ratio, and even then they would not have been comfortable.

  “I suppose this means no breakfast?” he asked instead.

  “Oh, I am sorry, darling. Of course I’ll get you som
ething. You deserve it. You’ve saved our lives. All our lives!”

  Mother liked to jump from one extreme to another. Later, as it turned out, she proved to be pretty close to the truth.

  There would be no hot breakfast today, not even coffee. But within a few minutes mom pressed a sandwich into his hand, holding on to the grab-rails in the choppy sea. Apparently, the forecast was worse than even dad imagined. The wind was mounting, and on top of that there were sudden gusts; anyone who chose to remain in the cockpit was covered with a fine spray. Thank heavens it was warm. In autumn such conditions wouldn’t have been funny. Not that they were so hilarious even now.

  By the time Alicia cleared the second cove, dad pointed the bow westward, but not before they hoisted the main, albeit reefed down, and let out about 50% of the genie, while still facing into the wind. Finally he cut the engine. The relative silence was a delight to the ear. The waves, the swishing of the wind, even the bobbing up and down without any rhyme or rhythm wasn’t bad.

  But their problems had only just begun.

  As they reached the Outer Bay, much broader than the Malletts Bay they had just left, the wind seemed to double in force. The forecast was 10-15 knots, not bad for a boat Alicia’s size. Much more was not that comfortable. The wind was supposed to rise up to 15-25 knots by late afternoon, but by then they expected to be snugly tucked away in one of the many Valcour’s bays that offered excellent protection from the south. Obviously the forecast was off by about four to five hours.

  After hoisting the sails, dad again took over the helm. Not that the tiller needed physical strength to control it, at least not yet, but he felt responsible for his family. There was nothing Alec could do to make himself useful. He sat with his back to the bow on the starboard that was the lee side, the driest place in the cockpit. His mind wandered to Sandra’s words: “Your job is just to live...” or something like that. Although right now he was not actually doing anything, he felt very much alive. At any moment dad could call for his help. He was ready, willing, and hopefully able to face anything. He always was. This was the joy of living. To face the unknown.