Gaia
Jeff Gardiner
Published by Accent Press Ltd 20XX
Octavo House
West Bute Street
Cardiff
CF10 5LJ
www.accentpress.co.uk
Copyright © Jeff Gardiner 2017
The right of Jeff Gardiner to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of Accent Press Ltd.
eISBN 9781682996300
This book is dedicated to all those students I have taught over many years, and also to Adrian and Rachel Clark for giving me the gifts of time and space in what was a difficult year for me.
I would like to thank my editors, Jade Craddock and David Powell, for their excellent suggestions that have certainly improved this novel.
Thanks also to Gail Ashton who has very quickly become a very special person in my life.
Part 1
LUKE
Chapter One
The boardroom was situated on a secret floor in the tower block. To get to it, individuals had to first climb up to the stone mezzanine balcony that led through a short colonnade to a single door, in front of which stood a burly bespoke-suited man. Once past him, a corridor wended its way to an elevator with only one other stop. It was difficult to tell if the lift went up or down as its motion was smooth and undetectable.
The boardroom was like the great hall of a country manor house, but with no windows. The longest wall was wainscoted with oak panelling, carved in geometric designs with small sections ornately, yet tastefully, gilded. The two shorter walls displayed William Morris tapestries: a peacock preening in a nest of leaves and flowers; a stag being hunted by men and hounds in a springtime meadow. The fourth wall was a bank of monitors, some watching sections of the building and the
world outside, others tuned into financial stock markets and flickering share prices, or showing silent television business news channels; one focussed on a report about protestors attempting to stop trees being cut down in some unidentified forest. The table in the middle of the room was antique, dark and sturdy. The chairs were black, leather, executive high-backs, ergonomically designed for good posture.
A suited figure sat alone with his back to the monitors, staring instead at the diamond-framed screen of his customised 24-carat gold MacBook Pro open before him on the edge of the perfectly polished table. A voice sounded from the laptop. It was the voice of a seventeen-year-old boy.
‘… need to watch these corporations, who are far more powerful than any government. I’ve found from my dealings with politicians that there are people out there we don’t know about, who are really in control. That’s a scary thought for us ordinary people. We think we’re in charge, and that we can elect a government to lead us and make life better for us. But I promise I’m not just making up conspiracies or being paranoid. There are people moving in a darker world that we’ll never fully understand. They let us think we’re in control of our own destinies, but we’re not. They’re the ones we should be scared of. If there’s an evil in our modern culture then maybe it’s with them and the enormous power they wield, all to their own advantage—’
The man used the cursor to click off the video and scraped his chair back before standing. He strode over to a 1920s Art Deco satinwood maple display cabinet and took out a crystal decanter of cognac and poured some into a frosted short-stemmed glass.
‘Get me Vespula.’
The voice-activated computer did exactly that, and within ten seconds the two men were speaking animatedly.
Chapter Two
An explosion of cheers from close to the stage caused a wave of sudden movement in the entire crowd, as thousands of people stood up to get a better look. Blurred movements, or perhaps shadows, swept across the proscenium arch.
‘Is it him?’
‘I can’t tell.’
‘Ooh, might be.’
‘No …’
‘Not yet. Soon though.’
‘I can’t believe we’re actually here.’
‘Squeeeeeeee …’
Hands clutched flags, banners and placards. Arms held high, revealed wristbands, bracelets and tattoos all branded with the same logo: an elongated ‘V’, with a downward-pointed wing either side. T-shirts, hoodies and scarves were all adorned with one word and symbol.
The lights dimmed as music blared from the speakers. The video screen flickered into life to reveal a blurred object moving in the distance, but which seemed to be getting closer.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this evening’s extravaganza sponsored by the Gaia Foundation. And here’s the one you’ve all been waiting for. I think you know his name …’
The filmed image on the video screen flew towards the camera, getting larger and slowly coming in to focus. At the very last moment a pair of wings spread out, a hooked beak opened with a shriek, then talons raised and opened out as the bird of prey smashed through the screen. Digitally animated pieces of shattered glass spun in slow motion.
‘Falco! Falco! Falco!’
That was when I set off in flight over the heads of my fans across the enormous arena. The poor old lighting technicians controlling the spotlights tried to keep up with me as I dived, swooped and rolled in circles then steered through tight figures of eight.
In my talons I clasped a bundle of fifty-pound notes which I released over the middle of the arena, watching them flutter down as people pushed and barged each other to claim one. It had become a bit of a tradition at my shows. They love it.
‘PLEASE JUST TAKE ONE EACH. SHARE WITH EACH OTHER,’ it said on the screen. Most people ignored this though.
I swerved round towards the stage where a man and a woman held up what was essentially a stretched-out onesie. The aim had to be perfect as I sped towards it. All in one second, I transformed; I slipped my feet into the waiting trouser legs on stage; guiding my arms into the sleeves in time helped to bind the flaps together over my chest as they wrapped round from the back. I expertly pressed the poppers into place, spun around to face my audience fully dressed as a human being.
Now that was one cool entrance. It worked a treat every time.
They always screamed, whooped, cheered and applauded, and it took nearly five whole minutes to quieten them down. It didn’t help that I was walking down the catwalk that led into the middle of the standing crowd in the stalls. Everybody wanted to high-five me, and who was I to shatter their dreams?
They’re mostly girls – adolescent girls. But there were boys there too. They can scream just as loudly. Adults also held out their hands. Do they do it just for their kids, or do they have a secret admiration for me?
I’ve been told girls love me; boys want to be me; adults see me as their perfect child.
I get lots of fan mail from older women too. Divorced and single ladies in their forties and fifties; married women who are sick of their husbands. But also girls – and boys – my age who send me gifts and proposals of marriage. Of course, students and some political activists love the environmental message. I get the lot.
But mostly it’s teenage girls. I say ‘teenage’, but they range from about seven to seventeen years old. And, bloody hell, they can scream loud! I’m told the noise is louder in decibels than a jumbo jet taking off. I can believe that.
&nbs
p; I could hardly hear the backing track with the opening chords to the current number one single: ‘With These Eyes’. It’d been number one for nearly three months. Finally, the clamorous din stopped as tens of thousands of voices joined in. I didn’t really need to sing at all. The truth is that I’m not usually singing live at these shows anyway: that voice isn’t mine. I lip-sync. But who cares?
With these wings I’m gonna fly down to ya
With these claws I’m gonna reach and grab ya
And with these eyes I’m gonna melt your heart
And burn myself into your soul.
The video screens showed close-up shots of a peregrine falcon swooping in on some bikini-clad beach babes. He turns human as he lands next to them, with the camera careful not to show anything inappropriate. One of the girls holds out a sarong for him to step into, leaving his chest bare, bronzed, slim but toned. Then he proceeds to dance with each of the bikini babes.
It’s the video that has had nearly a billion downloads.
I did work out a little in the gym for that video, but the cinematographer used a filter and the editor touched up the film. There’s an old saying: ‘The camera never lies’, but it’s certainly not true now. In fact, you can hardly trust anything on film. I knew this image of me with perfect bod, hair and singing voice was all fake. I really wasn’t bothered by these criticisms. It’s great, and it works for me. It’s the best way for me to get all those we need to listen. If we’re going to change the world then it’s going to take a lot of persuasion to convince millions of people that they have to get off their backsides and take some direct action.
The show, like all the others on the tour, went really well, with lots of top guests: singers; bands; comedians; magicians; street-dance crews; acrobats; and the big finale, with a selection of my friends known collectively as ‘The Numen Race’. Always a winner.
Gene transforms into a colony of wasps, making shapes on a screen to music. The silhouettes tell stories of love, loss, sacrifice and endeavour. His finale is awesome: the thousands of insects reassemble into the shape of a man on the screen, and then, as a pyrotechnic special effect fills the stage, the shape is instantly and magically replaced by Gene back as a human once more.
Then Kerry, who is also my most trusted legal advisor, explodes into a fireball, entirely surrounded by a halo of flame without singeing a single hair or cell of skin; Demi and Lexi become a Komodo dragon and grizzly bear respectively. The crowd scream a mixture of fear and wonder. Demi slathers his poisonous saliva over the edge of the stage to a frenzy of shoving and squealing. Lexi breaks away from her ‘trainer’ and into the crowd, joined by Demi, and between them they scatter the fans, herding them up and pinning them into corners in a well-choreographed move. It’s the same every night. As soon as the audience realise it’s all a stunt and part of the spectacle, everyone comes over to stroke them. It’s not often you get to stroke a Komodo dragon and a bear.
Disney have given us permission to play ‘Bare Necessities’ during this sequence, especially as they’ve optioned to make a film of my life.
Then we always ask for audience participation.
‘Who here is a numen? Let’s all change together.’
I love this part. The birds, bats and insects ascend and always spontaneously begin to swirl like a merry-go-round, circling together as if it’s been practised. The mammals, reptiles and other non-flying creatures assemble on or as close to the stage as they can. Numens – animals – have instincts and can read each other’s thought patterns.
Numens are the spirit animals within us; our link to the ancient mysteries of nature. Many centuries ago all people could shape-shift into their spirit animal. Over the ages we have forgotten our ties with the natural world and become a simplistic, selfish species who seem to think we have dominion over creation. What idiots we have become. Humans are animals – part of nature. Guy taught me that we can relearn this ancient magic once more. He showed me how to fly, how to attract animals to me, how to commune with trees and rocks and finally how to get in touch with the ‘numen’ inside me. First Felis, the cat, then Falco. Our mission was to help other to find their own numen, but we hadn’t prepared ourselves for how much it would change the balance of things … of everything …
Sometimes we also get plants and vegetation, or elementals who turn into rock, water or fire – but not often.
Once the numens are assembled we ask them to remain so that we can take their details. Gene is great at organising people and his natural charisma and personality make him a popular focus for the latest members of the ‘Numen Race’. It’s a kind of ‘meet and greet’ situation. Some uber-fans attend every single show, and we get to know those individuals well. Groupies. They’ve named themselves ‘Falco’s Freaks’. Not my choice. I kiss and hug those who so desire physical affection; let them take uncountable selfies with me, and I sign programmes, photos, T-shirts, CDs, toy falcons, and even bits of flesh that are exposed to me.
Once everyone has been high-fived or fist-bumped one last time, I find my way backstage, led by my security team and venue hosts.
I was starting to remove my stage make-up in my swivel chair, when a woman with a microphone entered my changing room, followed by a man with a camera who stepped up beside her. I remembered having agreed to this interview, so I pushed myself away from my mirror towards her and smiled.
‘Hi, Falco.’ She had a New York accent and big hair.
‘Hi, um …?’
‘Belinda Jarvis from Nickelodeon. It’s great to finally meet you. I’ve been following your career for so long now. You’re a very fascinating individual.’
‘Um, thanks.’ I shook her hand and she seemed to like the physical contact. Her eyes were gooey and her smile was flirtatious. I think.
‘Is it OK if I ask a few questions? A little bit about the personality behind the celebrity?’
‘Sounds good, Belinda.’
‘Shall we go straight for it?’
‘No point in hanging around,’ I said with a grin.
‘Hmm. My kinda guy. You’ve been touring this show on and off now for over a year and it’s been broadcast in every single country around the world. What do you enjoy most about it?’
I gave her a grin and thought for a second. ‘If each show just inspires one person to find their numen and to change their lifestyle to save the planet then I’m happy. I’ve made a lot of friends around the world and I hope we can all keep working together. It’s unity and friendship that brings about the greatest changes.’
This was one of my favourite answers; a practised response, but it was still from the heart. Gene was really good at writing these soundbites.
‘So you’re up for seven categories this year in the Kids’ Choice Awards. What do you think is the secret of your success?’
‘Uh, I dunno. You tell me, Belinda.’
I’d learnt how to play with interviewers, especially if I didn’t know the answer – or if I wanted to retain my modesty. Turning the question back on them usually revealed their hand.
‘I guess it could be because you’re so cute and talented.’
I had her in the palm of my hand and I was tempted to flirt back and play the game she wanted, but thoughts of Ala and Guy reminded me of my real purpose here: Guy had set me off on this whole crazy life-changing adventure, while Ala was the one I’d fallen for when I’d lived with the tribe in Nigeria. Those two, in their infinite and otherworldly wisdom, had taught me everything that made me who I am now. We were reaching out for Gaia.
‘Nice of you to say, but no, I think it’s the important message I bring about the planet—’
‘And the whole falcon thing you’ve got going there. That works.’
‘That’s good to know –we’ve all tried hard to make the show have maximum appeal.’
‘What is the main difference between being Falco and your secret identity as Luke?’
‘Well, I suppose I still think of Luke as just an ordinary kid,’ I lo
oked straight down the camera lens, ‘just like you out there. But Falco is my alter ego, with an agent, manager, PA, press officer, chauffeur, accountant, hair stylist, masseur, personal trainer, bodyguards … there are others but I’d need my PA here to remind me who they are.’
Belinda giggled, fluttering her hands.‘You’re so funny. And that English accent is so dreamy … will you marry me, Falco?’
I smile and give her a spontaneous hug. She feels warm as her breasts press against my chest – only two thin bits of material stop our flesh from touching. God, she’s lovely.
Disengaging from her sensual embrace, I reach out for a photo of me posing half-naked and scribble over my torso with a black Sharpie. Belinda’s expression betrays the beginning of a sneer, which quickly changes to a wry smile. She kisses it and starts to exit.
‘Hold that thought, Falco. I never give up on a challenge.’ And she actually stops in the doorway as if she’s a femme fatale in a 1950s film noir. ‘Ciao, for now, lover-boy.’
I get a lot of proposals, and believe me, some of them are extremely tempting, but I need to keep my focus, so I’m always the bringer of great disappointment. But I’ll always give away signed photos, DVDs, free ticket vouchers for future events – maybe a backstage pass, which can help to diffuse the frustration and anger.
What else can I do?
Chapter Three
I often wait for midnight until I leave the venue, but even at that late hour, hundreds of girls wait impatiently between me and the car. My security team clear a pathway just wide enough for me to stroll down, and for them to still be able to reach out for me. I amble casually, the earplugs save my hearing from the shrill and constant screaming.
‘I love you, Falco!’
‘Love you more.’
‘Over here, Falco.’
My picture is captured on hundreds of iPhones.
‘Marry me, Falco!’
I sign a few programmes and posters, then turn and wave on reaching my car.
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