This is technically not a work in progress. I've unofficially shelved this while I finish...other things. I'll probably get back to it at some point, though. I'm just not certain when that point is. Eventually.
However, I've had this stuff sitting idle for a couple months. So I figure I might as well share. It's an origin story for the Island and its crew, and a bit of a writing experiment. Think heist or caper movie, based mostly around dialogue. I was trying for a quick, breezy style...dunno if it works, but...
Land Theft Auto
* * *
It's a rule of the universe. Or if it ain't, it should be:
The best ideas are always hatched in the wee hours of the morning. Marinate in alcohol for better results. Add cigarette fumes for taste.
Oh, and paper napkins. Can't forget the paper napkins. Need something to doodle on, after all.
Eric Zhu was doodling, drawing on a napkin with thick, bold strokes. It was something he did almost instinctively, as natural as breathing. He thought - and he drew.
The lines were formless, abstract, but he was on the cusp of something. He wasn't sure what, but he could feel it. Then the tip of his pen stabbed through the napkin, ink soaking through the thin paper.
"Overseas," Eric said, "overseas."
The others at the table turned to look at him.
Will raised his glass, holding it up in salute. "What's this," he asked, "some kind of new greeting?" He grinned, matching the Cheshire Cat emblazoned across his t-shirt, except with a scraggly beard instead of whiskers. His teeth flashed in the dim light.
"Catchy," Matthew quipped, hefting his own drink, "a merry overseas to you too."
Eric snorted. He balled up the ruined napkin, tossing it aside. Grabbing a fresh one, he resumed his doodling, this time at a more leisurely pace. "No, no. Overseas. That's the solution. Look, all the big governments are cracking down on goo mods, right?"
"Ri-ight," Matt drawled. He puffed on what was left of his cigarette, then arched a brow. "Your point?"
"Point is," Eric continued, "it's damn near impossible to do any 'wavium projects anymore. Nothing large-scale. Not in the States, anyway. Or the UK, or Europe, or even Singapore. Most developed nations have a stick up their...well. You know."
"Can you blame them? They're afraid," Will replied.
"Of what? There isn't..." Eric shook his head, "...forget it, we've gone over this. But that means to do anything, you need to go elsewhere. Overseas."
"Hmmm," muttered Matt, "somewhere the handwave paranoia hasn't hit yet. I guess..."
Will shrugged. "China?"
Matt laughed. "You're kidding. Sooner or later, they're gonna have a communist cow."
"Yeah," Will said, "but corruption. There's so much corruption. Once you get out of the cities, in the rural areas..."
"Nah," Eric interjected, "too risky. But corruption's right. Inefficiency, bureaucracy, somewhere the government can't get its act together."
Matt frowned, grinding his cigarette stub into the ashtray. "South America?"
"Africa," Eric murmured, "Kenya. Nigeria. I don't know. No anti-wave legislation, cheaper labour, low property prices..."
Will recoiled, nearly dropping his drink. He set the glass down firmly on the table, then gave his friend a strange look. "Property? What do you wanna do, build a condo in space?"
Eric flicked his fingers, spinning the pen around,. With his other hand, he took a sip of beer. "Close," he said, "a shopping centre."
Matt folded his arms, his expression one of disbelief. "A mall?"
"And hotel too, I suppose," Eric mused, "there's demand. Or there will be."
Ignoring their stares, Eric went back to his drawing. A few moments later, he clicked the pen shut and slid the napkin across the table.
The other two leaned over, studying the crude picture.
"An island," Will said.
Eric corrected him. "A floating island."
Matt rolled his eyes. "How drunk are you?"
"Obviously not enough," Will proclaimed. He stood up, waving grandly. "BARTENDER!"
* * *
"I'm telling you," Eric insisted, "it'll work."
He winced, holding the phone away from his ear. Once the tirade died down, he put it back in place, though not without a certain amount of hesitation.
"I take it," Eric replied, dryly, "you disagree."
The voice on the line let him know just how much otherwise, in excruciating detail.
Eric closed his eyes. He cupped a hand over the receiver, so his partner-in-conversation couldn't hear him sigh. Or count, quietly, to ten.
"Look, Ginnette," he pleaded, "I'm serious, okay? I'm not kidding, let's get that clear. I've really thought about this."
He listened, as she gave a critical analysis of his thoughts. A very critical analysis.
Finally, he managed to get a word in edgewise, cutting in when she paused for breath. A brilliant move of verbal ju-jitsu, perfected by long practice.
"There's a niche," he said, talking quickly, "it'll work. There's an opening. There's need. There's demand. It'll work. There's already God knows how many people out there, and there'll be more. Anti-wavium laws won't stop it. Hell, have you seen the forums? There's a bunch of folks planning to colonise Mars! MARS!"
Eric kicked his shoes off. He sat cross-legged on the sofa. Wincing, he endured the harsh rebuttal. He gripped the phone tighter, his voice rising a notch.
"Gin, Gin, no, no. Don't you see? They're heading into space in all these small craft. SMALL craft. Small. That's the point. Limited room, cramped quarters, not much food or water. You see the problem? People'll need somewhere to resupply. Or just get out and unwind. That's why I---"
Annoyed, he shook his head, not caring that Ginette couldn't see him.
"Because it's something I can do," Eric told her, "something WE can do. Besides..."
He hesitated, then flipped a mental coin and went for it.
"Besides, it'll be fun."
Eric smirked, as Ginette made a particularly cutting remark. She'd stopped with the protests - she was now into mere sarcasm, which meant he had her, totally and utterly.
"Uh-huh, the guys are on board. Will thinks it's cool. Matt thinks it'll turn a profit. I don't know about that, but hey. That's his thing. And yours, I guess. But do you WANT to be an office drone for the rest of your life?"
Pause.
"Mm-hm, your mother probably WOULD have a heart attack if you followed me into space. So...isn't that a good enough reason?"
Eric grinned.
"Yeah, I am. Like a fox."
* * *
"Obviously," Eric said, a week later, "the first thing we need is money."
Will rubbed his chin. "Not handwavium?"
"With enough cash, that's no problem. But we NEED money. If we pool what we've got, it's a fair sum, but..." Eric trailed off, then sighed, shoulders slumping. "No. Construction costs. Officials to bribe. We need more."
Will smiled. "Didn't you say it'll be cheaper in Nigeria?"
"Well, yeah," Eric answered, "but still expensive. I ran the numbers..."
"Didn't you fail math?"
Eric gave his friend a nasty glare. "So did you."
Will held his hands up, in a gesture of appeasement. "Ancient history."
"No," Eric retorted, "you aced history."
Will chuckled. "Always loved the humanities."
His muscles tense, Eric continued to pace. Will's office wasn't very big, meaning he had to keep turning every couple of seconds...or risk ramming face-first into a wall. That said, he was vaguely considering just that - slamming his had into a solid object.
"Money," Eric grumbled, "that's the problem."
"Aren't you rich?"
"I'm a freelance consultant," Eric snapped, "what do YOU think?"
Will shrugged. He seemed calm, in contrast to his restless friend. Patient, composed, and not hyperventilating. "Isn't that the world's largest growth industry?"
"Ha-ha," Eric groused, "funny."
"Thanks," Will said, "I thought so."
Breathing a sigh, Eric flopped into a chair, one of the two Will kept for visitors. He curled up, hooking his ankles round the chair legs, bowing his head.
Then he froze.
Slowly, Eric looked up, eyes narrowing. "Alright, talk."
Will blinked twice, meeting Eric's suspicion with a look of pure innocence. He held that look for a few long moments...before breaking into laughter.
"Well," Eric complained, "I'm glad you're having fun at my expense. Now, share the joke, please?"
"Sorry," Will apologised, "you're just so...intense."
"It's a skill."
"I bet. But you can relax. Doctor William Kao has the cure for what ails you."
Eric gave him a nasty glare. "You're not a medical doctor."
"Ehhh," Will replied, his manner that of a man far above such mundane facts, "mere technicalities, technicalities. What I am...is a man...with connections."
"You're a freaking TEACHER."
"True," Will acknowledged, "but that means I have students. And one of mine...might have the solution to our problem. You'll like it. It involves 'wavetech."
Eric frowned. "You trust this guy?"
"Sure, he's one of my best students."
"Really. What's his major?"
"Law. Takes a thief to be a thief."
"What's he doing in YOUR class, then?"
"I'm a cool professor."
"And that's why you'll never get tenure."
-- Acyl
However, I've had this stuff sitting idle for a couple months. So I figure I might as well share. It's an origin story for the Island and its crew, and a bit of a writing experiment. Think heist or caper movie, based mostly around dialogue. I was trying for a quick, breezy style...dunno if it works, but...
Land Theft Auto
* * *
It's a rule of the universe. Or if it ain't, it should be:
The best ideas are always hatched in the wee hours of the morning. Marinate in alcohol for better results. Add cigarette fumes for taste.
Oh, and paper napkins. Can't forget the paper napkins. Need something to doodle on, after all.
Eric Zhu was doodling, drawing on a napkin with thick, bold strokes. It was something he did almost instinctively, as natural as breathing. He thought - and he drew.
The lines were formless, abstract, but he was on the cusp of something. He wasn't sure what, but he could feel it. Then the tip of his pen stabbed through the napkin, ink soaking through the thin paper.
"Overseas," Eric said, "overseas."
The others at the table turned to look at him.
Will raised his glass, holding it up in salute. "What's this," he asked, "some kind of new greeting?" He grinned, matching the Cheshire Cat emblazoned across his t-shirt, except with a scraggly beard instead of whiskers. His teeth flashed in the dim light.
"Catchy," Matthew quipped, hefting his own drink, "a merry overseas to you too."
Eric snorted. He balled up the ruined napkin, tossing it aside. Grabbing a fresh one, he resumed his doodling, this time at a more leisurely pace. "No, no. Overseas. That's the solution. Look, all the big governments are cracking down on goo mods, right?"
"Ri-ight," Matt drawled. He puffed on what was left of his cigarette, then arched a brow. "Your point?"
"Point is," Eric continued, "it's damn near impossible to do any 'wavium projects anymore. Nothing large-scale. Not in the States, anyway. Or the UK, or Europe, or even Singapore. Most developed nations have a stick up their...well. You know."
"Can you blame them? They're afraid," Will replied.
"Of what? There isn't..." Eric shook his head, "...forget it, we've gone over this. But that means to do anything, you need to go elsewhere. Overseas."
"Hmmm," muttered Matt, "somewhere the handwave paranoia hasn't hit yet. I guess..."
Will shrugged. "China?"
Matt laughed. "You're kidding. Sooner or later, they're gonna have a communist cow."
"Yeah," Will said, "but corruption. There's so much corruption. Once you get out of the cities, in the rural areas..."
"Nah," Eric interjected, "too risky. But corruption's right. Inefficiency, bureaucracy, somewhere the government can't get its act together."
Matt frowned, grinding his cigarette stub into the ashtray. "South America?"
"Africa," Eric murmured, "Kenya. Nigeria. I don't know. No anti-wave legislation, cheaper labour, low property prices..."
Will recoiled, nearly dropping his drink. He set the glass down firmly on the table, then gave his friend a strange look. "Property? What do you wanna do, build a condo in space?"
Eric flicked his fingers, spinning the pen around,. With his other hand, he took a sip of beer. "Close," he said, "a shopping centre."
Matt folded his arms, his expression one of disbelief. "A mall?"
"And hotel too, I suppose," Eric mused, "there's demand. Or there will be."
Ignoring their stares, Eric went back to his drawing. A few moments later, he clicked the pen shut and slid the napkin across the table.
The other two leaned over, studying the crude picture.
"An island," Will said.
Eric corrected him. "A floating island."
Matt rolled his eyes. "How drunk are you?"
"Obviously not enough," Will proclaimed. He stood up, waving grandly. "BARTENDER!"
* * *
"I'm telling you," Eric insisted, "it'll work."
He winced, holding the phone away from his ear. Once the tirade died down, he put it back in place, though not without a certain amount of hesitation.
"I take it," Eric replied, dryly, "you disagree."
The voice on the line let him know just how much otherwise, in excruciating detail.
Eric closed his eyes. He cupped a hand over the receiver, so his partner-in-conversation couldn't hear him sigh. Or count, quietly, to ten.
"Look, Ginnette," he pleaded, "I'm serious, okay? I'm not kidding, let's get that clear. I've really thought about this."
He listened, as she gave a critical analysis of his thoughts. A very critical analysis.
Finally, he managed to get a word in edgewise, cutting in when she paused for breath. A brilliant move of verbal ju-jitsu, perfected by long practice.
"There's a niche," he said, talking quickly, "it'll work. There's an opening. There's need. There's demand. It'll work. There's already God knows how many people out there, and there'll be more. Anti-wavium laws won't stop it. Hell, have you seen the forums? There's a bunch of folks planning to colonise Mars! MARS!"
Eric kicked his shoes off. He sat cross-legged on the sofa. Wincing, he endured the harsh rebuttal. He gripped the phone tighter, his voice rising a notch.
"Gin, Gin, no, no. Don't you see? They're heading into space in all these small craft. SMALL craft. Small. That's the point. Limited room, cramped quarters, not much food or water. You see the problem? People'll need somewhere to resupply. Or just get out and unwind. That's why I---"
Annoyed, he shook his head, not caring that Ginette couldn't see him.
"Because it's something I can do," Eric told her, "something WE can do. Besides..."
He hesitated, then flipped a mental coin and went for it.
"Besides, it'll be fun."
Eric smirked, as Ginette made a particularly cutting remark. She'd stopped with the protests - she was now into mere sarcasm, which meant he had her, totally and utterly.
"Uh-huh, the guys are on board. Will thinks it's cool. Matt thinks it'll turn a profit. I don't know about that, but hey. That's his thing. And yours, I guess. But do you WANT to be an office drone for the rest of your life?"
Pause.
"Mm-hm, your mother probably WOULD have a heart attack if you followed me into space. So...isn't that a good enough reason?"
Eric grinned.
"Yeah, I am. Like a fox."
* * *
"Obviously," Eric said, a week later, "the first thing we need is money."
Will rubbed his chin. "Not handwavium?"
"With enough cash, that's no problem. But we NEED money. If we pool what we've got, it's a fair sum, but..." Eric trailed off, then sighed, shoulders slumping. "No. Construction costs. Officials to bribe. We need more."
Will smiled. "Didn't you say it'll be cheaper in Nigeria?"
"Well, yeah," Eric answered, "but still expensive. I ran the numbers..."
"Didn't you fail math?"
Eric gave his friend a nasty glare. "So did you."
Will held his hands up, in a gesture of appeasement. "Ancient history."
"No," Eric retorted, "you aced history."
Will chuckled. "Always loved the humanities."
His muscles tense, Eric continued to pace. Will's office wasn't very big, meaning he had to keep turning every couple of seconds...or risk ramming face-first into a wall. That said, he was vaguely considering just that - slamming his had into a solid object.
"Money," Eric grumbled, "that's the problem."
"Aren't you rich?"
"I'm a freelance consultant," Eric snapped, "what do YOU think?"
Will shrugged. He seemed calm, in contrast to his restless friend. Patient, composed, and not hyperventilating. "Isn't that the world's largest growth industry?"
"Ha-ha," Eric groused, "funny."
"Thanks," Will said, "I thought so."
Breathing a sigh, Eric flopped into a chair, one of the two Will kept for visitors. He curled up, hooking his ankles round the chair legs, bowing his head.
Then he froze.
Slowly, Eric looked up, eyes narrowing. "Alright, talk."
Will blinked twice, meeting Eric's suspicion with a look of pure innocence. He held that look for a few long moments...before breaking into laughter.
"Well," Eric complained, "I'm glad you're having fun at my expense. Now, share the joke, please?"
"Sorry," Will apologised, "you're just so...intense."
"It's a skill."
"I bet. But you can relax. Doctor William Kao has the cure for what ails you."
Eric gave him a nasty glare. "You're not a medical doctor."
"Ehhh," Will replied, his manner that of a man far above such mundane facts, "mere technicalities, technicalities. What I am...is a man...with connections."
"You're a freaking TEACHER."
"True," Will acknowledged, "but that means I have students. And one of mine...might have the solution to our problem. You'll like it. It involves 'wavetech."
Eric frowned. "You trust this guy?"
"Sure, he's one of my best students."
"Really. What's his major?"
"Law. Takes a thief to be a thief."
"What's he doing in YOUR class, then?"
"I'm a cool professor."
"And that's why you'll never get tenure."
-- Acyl