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  • #7912

    “Sweaty hazel eyes… like coffee cup saucers,” muttered Carob discreetly into her phone. “Good grief. Sounds like something that dreadful Elizabeth Tattler might have written.”

    Privately, she was shaken to see Ricardo. To her credit, though, she had done a splendid job of disguising her unease.

    What if he gave her game away?

    #7910

    “Well, I’ll give you a point for that, Thiram,” Amy said, wondering, not for the first time, about his unusual name. Was it a play on the word theorem? I must ask him about it.  “But if Florida doesn’t exist anymore, which I am willing to admit it does not, then what is it doing on that map?”

    “What was the population of Florida before it was submerged? Twenty four million or so?” asked Chico, appearing from behind a trumpet tree. “That’s 24 million less people drinking coffee, anyway, 144 million cups saved per day (assuming they drank 6 cups per day), which is a whopping 54.5 billion cups a year.”

    “Chico! How long have you been hiding behind that trumpet tree?” asked Amy, but Chico ignored her.  Nettled, Amy continued, “That would be true if all the people in Florida were submerged along with the land, but most of them were resettled in Alabama.  There was plenty of room in Alabama, because the population of Alabama was relocated.”

    “Yes but the people of Alabama were relocated to a holding camp in Rwanda, and they’re not allowed any coffee,” replied Chico crossly, making it up on the spot.

    “Yeah I heard about that,” said Carob, which made Chico wonder if he had actually made it up on the spot, or perhaps he’d heard it somewhere too.

    “I’m going back behind the trumpet tree,” announced Chico, flouncing off in high dudgeon.

    “Now look what you’ve done!” exclaimed Carob.

    “Why is it always my fault?” Amy was exasperated.

    “Maybe because it usually is,” Carob replied, “But not to worry, at least we know where to find Chico now.”

    #7908

    “Look, don’t get upset, ok?” Amy felt she had to nip this in the bud.  “There’s something glaringly wrong with the map.  I mean, yes, it does make a nice picture. A very nice picture,” she added, and then stopped.  Does it really matter? she asked herself. Am I always causing trouble?

    Amy sighed. Would life be easier for everyone if she stopped pointing things out and just went along with things?  Was there any stopping it anyway? It’s like a runaway train.

    “You were saying?” Ricardo asked.

    “Pray, continue,” added Carob with a mischeivous gleam in her eye.  She knew where this was leading.

    “Who is he?” Amy whispered to Carob. “Well never mind that now, you can tell me later.”

    Amy cleared her throat and faced Ricardo (noting that he was dark complexioned and and of medium height and wiry build, dressed  in a crumpled off white linen suit and a battered Panama hat, and likely to be of Latino heritage)  noticing out of the corner of her eye a smirk on Thiram’s face who was leaning against a tree with his arms folded, looking as if he might start whistling Yankee Doodle any moment.

    “According to your map, my good man, nice map that it is, in fact it’s so nice one could make a flag out of it, the colours are great and….”   Amy realised she was waffling.  She cleared her throat and braced her shoulders, glaring at Carob over her shoulder who had started to titter.

    Speak your mind even if your voice shakes, and keep the waffling to a minimum.

    “My dear Ricardo,” Amy began again, pushing her long light brown hair out of her sweaty hazel eyes, and pushing the sleeves of her old grey sweatshirt up over her elbows and glancing down at her short thin but shapely denim clad legs. “My dear man, as you can see I’m a slightly underweight middle aged woman eminently capable of trudging up and down coffee growing mountains, with a particular flair for maps, and this map of yours begs a few questions.”

    “Coffee beans don’t grow in Florida,” Carob interjected, in an attempt to move the discourse along.

    “Nor in Morocco,” added Amy quickly, shooting a grateful glance at Carob.

    #7904

    “What were you saying already?” Thiram asked “I must have zoned out, it happens at times.” He chuckled looking embarrassed. “Not to worry.”

    As the silence settled, Thiram started to blink vigorously to get things back into focus —a trick he’d seen in the Lucid Dreamer 101 manual for beginners. You could never be too sure if this was all a dream. And if it was, then you’d better pay attention to your thoughts in case they’d attract trouble – generally your thoughts were the trouble-makers, but in some cases, also other Lucid Dreamers were.

    Here and now, trouble wasn’t coming, to the contrary. It was all unusually foggy.

    “Well, by the look of it, Amy is not biting into the whole father drama, and prefers to have a self-induced personality crisis…” Carob shrugged. “We can all clearly see what she looks like, obviously. Whether she likes it or not, and I won’t comment further despite how tempting it is.”

    “You’re one to speak.” Amy replied. “Should I give you some drama? Would certainly make things more interesting.”

    Thiram had a thought he needed to share “And I just remember that Chico isn’t probably coming – he still wasn’t over our last fight with Amy bossying and messing the team’s plans because she can’t keep up with modern tech, had to dig a hole, or overcome a ratmaggeddon; something he’d said that had seemed quite final at the time: ‘I’d rather be turned into a donkey than follow you guys around.’ I wouldn’t count on him showing up just yet.”

    “Me? bossying?” Amy did feel enticed to catch that bait this time, and like a familiar trope see it reel out, or like a burning match in front of a dry hay bale, she could almost see the old patterns of getting incensed, and were it would lead.

    “Can we at least agree on a few things about the where, what, why, or shall we all play this one by ear?”

    “Obviously we know. But all the observing essences, do they?” Carob was doing a great impersonation of Chico.

    #7903

    “So, what are we even doing here?” asked Carob. She tilted her head to look down at Amy. “You said we had to protect the coffee…?”

    “From the rain,” said Amy. She folded her arms and stood up as tall as she could — which, to be fair, wasn’t very tall.

    “Could be the least of our worries,” muttered Thiram, who had been checking his messages. “AI’s having an emotional meltdown and the plantation irrigation system’s gone haywire.”

    He frowned at his screen. “And if that’s not enough, a group of rogue Lucid Dreamers have started sleep-parachuting onto the plantation and creating havoc.”

    “Wow,” said Carob. She pulled up the hood of her coat, then tugged it forward until it nearly covered her eyes. “That’s a lot.”

    #7902

    To Whom It May Concern

     

    I am the new character called Amy, and my physical characteristics, which once bestowed are largely irreversible, are in the hands of impetuous maniacs. In the unseemly headlong rush, dangers abound. 

    Let it be known that I the character called Amy, given the opportunity to choose, hereby select a height considerably less imposing than Carob.

    #7898

    “Sorry I’m late,” said Carob as she crouched down to fuss over Fanella. “I have excuses, but they’re not interesting. I’m feeling a little underdeveloped as a character, so I’m not sure what to say yet.”

    “That’s okay,” said Amy. “Just remember … if you don’t tell us who you are early on…” She squinted and glanced around suspiciously. “Others will create you.”

    “I’d rather just slowly percolate.” Carob screwed up her face. “Get it? Percolate?”

    She stood up and slapped a hand to her head as Amy rolled her eyes. “Sorry … ” She patted her head curiously. “Oh wait—do I have curls?”

    “I’d say more like frizzes than curls,” answered Amy.

    Thiram nodded. “Totally frizzled.”

    “Cool … must be the damp weather,” said Carob. She brushed a twig from her coat. The coat was blue-green and only reached her thighs. Many things were too small when you were six foot two.

    “Oh—and I’ve been lucid dreaming in reverse,” she added. “Last night I watched myself un-make and un-drink a cup of coffee.” She gave a quick snort-laugh. “Weirdo”.

    “Was it raining in the dream?” asked Thiram.

    Carob frowned. “Probably… You know how in scary movies they always leave the curtains open, like they want the bad guys to see in? It felt like that.” She shuddered and then smiled brightly. “Anyway, just a dream. Also, I bumped into your father, Amy. He said to tell you: Remember what happened last time.”

    She regarded Amy intently. “What did happen last time?”

    “He worries too much,” said Amy, waving a hand dismissively. “Also, I didn’t even write that in, so how should I know?” She looked out toward the trees. “Where’s Chico?”

    #7895

    “It’s the rain,” explained Amy when she’d caught her breath. “Too much of it. They’re very particular about how much rain they like, not too little, and not too much. And there’s been too much. The Padre says unless we can come up with a plan to keep the rain off them, the whole crop is doomed.”

    Thiram frowned. “We could buy thousands of golf umbrellas from China, do a deal with El Salvador, and use deportees to hold umbrellas over the coffee plants?”

    Amy gave him a playful punch in the arm. “How about we wait and see if Carob and Chico have any better ideas.  We don’t have time to wait for the umbrellas and deportees to get here.”  Amy smiled, picturing the scene, and then sighed as the rain started again.

    #7893

    “Where are they again?” Thiram was straining as he waited for his friends, or rather colleagues.

    “Typical of them to get us all excited, and then bailing out to some mundane excuses.”

    He started to pace around the shed where they were supposed to meet. He wasn’t clear about all the details, Amy, or Carob would have them. Chico would be here for the ride, but the master plan this time was for the girls to come up with.

    What was happening at the plantation? Something unusual for sure; the Lucid Luddite Dreamers and their Silly Intelligence devices were always looking to disrupt the flows of coffee of the remaining parts where they still grew. That was why their mission was so important. Or so he was told.

    “Bugger… they could at least answer their damn phones… AI might well be everywhere, but you can’t just be all cavemen about it.”

    A rush of ruffled dried leaves and a happy bleating caught his attention at the moment he was about to leave. A panting Amy arrived, with her cream goat “Fanella” in tow —the bleating was from her, obviously. She didn’t take “Finnley”, the black one, she was too unpredictable; Amy would only keep her around for life or death situations that required a fair deal of rude practicality, and a good horn’s ramming.

    “Sorry, sorry!” Amy blurted out in hushed tones. “I couldn’t get away from the Padre. He’s too worried about stuff…”

    Thiram shrugged “at least there’s one. And what about the others?”

    “Oh, what? I’m not the last to arrive? That’s new.”

    Thiram rolled his eyes and gave a twig with fresh leaves to Fanella to eat.

    #3263

    “But we’re on vacation!” exclaimed the fellow with the bright orange wig. “You can’t send us on a timedraggling mission while we’re on holiday!”
    “I’m sorry but there really is no option. The other team is fully occupied in 2222. I did send them a message but they completely ignored it, they seem to be engrossed in a sub aquatic adventure,” replied the one in the blonde wig. “You will receive extra timetravel over timeslip, though” she added.
    “And an extra wig and clothes allowance?” asked the cheeky one in the top hat.
    “Oh, alright then! Now, here’s the situation. You’re to track down the Belen portal tile, stolen by Frank and Molly ~ last seen stuck in a carob tree down a goat track not far from Tavira. You will have to get there before Lisa and Mirabelle, which might not be difficult as they seem to have become sidetracked in the pursuit of Frank and Molly. If they get too close to the tile, send them on a wild goose chase somehow. I will leave the details to you ~ they are not hard to distract. Once you have located the tile, you’ll have to cloak it in the blue of longing, otherwise Lisa will pick up the trail again. Any questions?”

    #3257

    “You look just like your father” was Lisa’s mother’s only remark when Lisa had thoughtfully sent her a couple of photos from Portugal. No compliment coming from her, thought Lisa, rolling her eyes. And it wasn’t even true ~ she looked nothing like her father, something else must have triggered her mothers comment, some other association.
    “Remember your new policy, dear, don’t take it personally” Mirabelle reminded her. “Just another cranky old crone stewing on an old trigger. Besides,” she added, “What about Frank and Molly? Can you get a more specific remote view? Stuck in a carob tree could be almost anywhere.”
    “You’re rather sweet for such a bossy tart” replied Lisa with a grateful smile. “Shush now then while I access their location.”
    Lisa closed her eyes and waited for the images to appear. There was an explosion of purple and a great deal of static before an image began to appear of carob pods on a car windscreen. As Lisa viewed the glass a strange thing began to happen and she started to focus on the reflections. There were dozens of people approaching, all wearing brilliant white robes trimmed with gold. The robes were short, and revealed a considerable amount of tanned muscled leg, and a murmur of appreciation escaped her lips. What handsome fellows, she thought, but there’s something odd about them. Either this is a fancy dress party on a dry dusty hill, or another time zone.

Viewing 11 results - 21 through 31 (of 31 total)