Moonliner: No Stone Unturned (10 page)

Moonliner
2:08

              “I really don’t wanna go,” Beau tells Kendra as he stands in front of his bathroom mirror looking depressed.

              “You should,” she answers; “you’ve always said that NeoTech is your best shot at landing a job,” Kendra reminds him.

              “I have said that,” Beau responds, glancing off into the distance to recall.

              “Besides, it’ll give you a chance to leave a message under the stone in the park for the man in the future to find,” Kendra says with a smile.

              “I’m not gonna do that,” Beau replies.

              “Oh c’mon,” Kendra pleads; “why not?” she asks.

              “Because it could be some dangerous freak setting us up,” Beau answers.

              “You know you can leave an anonymous message,” Kendra points out; “and what if he really is from the future?” she asks.

              “Oh please!” Beau responds.  “What am I supposed to put under the stone anyway?  Remember it has to last fifty-five years,” he sarcastically adds.

              “Fine, be that way,” Kendra says light heartedly; “sometimes you’re no fun.”

Beau shakes his head, hoping to drop the topic.  He has a tradeshow to attend and a lot more on his mind.

              “I’ll be back Saturday,” he says to her. 

              “I’ll miss you,” she tells him as a brief look of sorrow overtakes her face.

              “I’ll miss you too,” he answers.

They hug for a moment before Beau turns and walks out the door.

Moonliner
2:09

Beau catches the 7:10 Amtrak Cascades to Vancouver from Seattle’s King Street Station; a route that epitomizes low-speed rail.  It is, however, the most comfortable public means of getting there, and though a little slower than an average bus, more predictable.  Best of all, when you catch an early morning train north out of Seattle, you get the most scenic mode of transportation, hugging the Puget Sound shoreline for a large part of the ride.

Beau couldn’t have picked a more picturesque morning either; a low lying fog with fleeting patches of light makes it feel like the train is slithering through a painting.  He stares out over the shimmering, silvery water looking for Orcas.  It’s a less common place for them to swim, but could happen just the same.  The train winds through patches of heavy fog, past an abandoned, wrecked fishing boat, two old piers supported with shell-covered, decaying posts, then finally breaks away from the shoreline.  Once away from the water’s edge, the fog dissipates and the train picks up some speed.

Soon, the train slows down considerably as it crosses a small swamp before reaching the mouth of the Snohomish River, which it crosses over a few long, rickety, old steel bridges.  Beau can see the engine car for a minute as it winds left, toward his side.  He can’t help but stare out the window, watching the world go by field by field, town by town.  He hears the train’s horn sound as it nears Everett Station. 

The Olympic mountain range can be seen to the west out of the train’s windows.  Perched on an aging post in the middle of a patch of willows sits some kind of crane, most likely a blue heron, balanced high on its two skinny legs, wrapped and well nestled within its own wings.  Though beautiful beyond words under a blue sky, it’s preferable to see it in silver, at least along the water.  Most of the trees are evergreens and hold their color year round.

Beau checks the clock on his phone; it’s eight-seventeen.  He opens his email and reads through a message from NeoTech with attached files containing copies of his tradeshow schedule, registration confirmation, and all relevant information.  He thumbs through them.

Bored stiff with trivial tradeshow info, he makes his way to car seven; the café car.  There he grabs a cup of coffee and a microwaved breakfast sandwich.  He takes a seat at a petite, one seat table next to the window.  With the weight of the world on his shoulder, his mind is moving faster than the train itself, processing a parade of thoughts, questions, and doubts that won’t stop until he lands a job.  Beau’s being reminded that the world is a jungle and our survival is based on competition.  It’s become a complex game in contemporary society; a delicate dance of sorts, but competitively based just the same.  It’s what has drawn him to this tradeshow.  It’s what has put him on this train.

Three hours into the ride and the novelty has long worn off.  Back in his seat, Beau fidgets to get some blood back into his legs during an unscheduled stop at a drawbridge, drawn to allow a tug to pull a disabled trawler to dry-dock.  The train powers down during the stop to conserve energy.  Sitting silently, Beau looks out of the window at a line of pine trees on a distant ridge.  It triggers something deep within him; a feeling that he’s been here before, not just in the train car but in the moment, or in the situation.

The delay leads to another delay as the train makes another unscheduled stop to allow a Burlington Northern freight train to pass.  Eventually, it does get on its way again, crossing the Canadian border and through the seaside town of White Rock.  The sky has darkened considerably and rain looks more likely by the minute.  Though a short distance, the train takes forever to wind into Vancouver.  The last hour seems longer than the first three combined.

The train pulls into the station and Beau grabs a Skytrain into the downtown, getting off at Burrard Street Station.  He walks to his hotel, which towers over Robson Street right in the heart of the city. 

Slinging a shoulder bag, Beau steps out of the elevator and into a long hallway, where he makes his way to his room.  He opens the door with a key-card, tosses his bag onto one of his two twin beds, and steps onto his balcony.  He takes a long look at the bustling downtown from his ninth floor balcony.  Robson Street is a river of happy faces, flowing between trendy shops, restaurants, and bars.  It’s Thursday and the weekend energy is building.  Behind an endless group of west end office towers and condos, in silence, lies the park. 

Tired from his travels, Beau sits on his bead with his back against the headboard.  He picks the phone up and dials the front desk.

              “Guest services,” a young woman answers.

              “Has Sidell Holden checked in yet?” Beau asks.

              “Let me check for you sir,” the woman answers, followed by several seconds of audible keyboard strokes.  “Not yet I’m afraid,” she says after a moment of silence.

              “Could you give him a message when he does?” Beau asks.

              “Sure,” the woman answers.

              “Could you tell him Beau is in room #917?” he requests of her.

              “I’d be glad to let him know as soon as he checks in,” she warmly responds.

              “Thank you,” Beau says before hanging up.

Beau then slides down the bed onto his back and lies in pure silence, staring at the ceiling.  The building is a little older but in good condition.  He found the room online at a great rate, just ahead of the tourist season.

After a few more minutes of silence, he grabs the TV remote, turns on the tube, and begins thumbing through channels.

“The power of Christ is in us.  It’s in everything; the air we breathe; the sunlight; the snow…!” Beau changes the channel.

“Tens of thousands of people marched in Venezuela on Wednesday to mark the one-year anniversary of the death of President Hugo Chávez. The commemorations were disrupted by government opponents, who have staged a series of protests against Chávez’s successor, Nicolás Maduro. Thousands of people rallied against Maduro on the eve of the anniversary,” a news station reports.

Fading out, Beau turns the TV off.

              “Do you have a passport,” the immigration official asks.

              “What do you mean?” Beau asks in return; “I’ve already entered the country.”

              “What is your occupation?” the officer asks.

              “I don’t have one,” Beau replies; “I was an IT manager before I got laid off.  That’s why I’m here, for a job fair.”

              “You have no job and no passport,” the officer says.

              “I have a passport,” Beau answers; “I’ll show it to you again.”

The phone rings, snapping Beau out of his bad dream.

              “Hello,” he answers the phone with, still in a minor state of shock.

              “Hey Beau!  Sid Holden,” a voice says over the phone; “I just checked in.”

              “Hey Sid, how was your bus ride?” Beau asks.

              “Not bad, except for a long delay at the border,” Sidell answers.  “I wanna grab a nap, but I’m up for something a little later if you’re game,” he tells Beau.

              “Yeah, sure.  What did you have in mind?” Beau asks.

              “I don’t know.  Anything.” Sidell answers; “we could stroll around and see what we like.  We’re in the heart of the action here.”

              “Sounds good.  How does seven sound?” Beau asks.

              “Perfect,” Sidell answers.  “How about meeting in the lobby at seven?”

              “I’ll be there,” Beau responds, then hangs up the phone.

Seconds later, the phone rings again.

              “Hello,” Beau answers.

              “Hey Beau it’s me,” Kendra says; “I take it you got in safe.”

              “I did,” he says.

              “I’m still at work and bored.  I’m too tired to really get much done,” Kendra says.

              “That train ride is seriously scenic,” Beau tells her; “and I forgot how lively this city is.  We’ve got to come up here for fun again sometime soon.  It’s so close.”

              “Sounds good,” Kendra says smiling.  “Have a good time!  I’ve gotta get back to work.”

              “Will do,” Beau says.  “Do you really think I’m no fun?” he asks her.

              “I was just joking,” she answers; “you’re fun!”

              “I should let you go,” he tells her.

              “Okay goodbye, I’ll call you later,” she says before hanging up.

              “Goodbye,” Beau replies, not even sure she held the line long enough to hear it.

Moonliner
2:10

As agreed, Beau and Sidell meet in the lobby of their hotel at seven sharp, both rested from their travels and anxious to snoop around the town.  They make their way down Robson Street, tapping into its energy, taking in the atmosphere. 

Their aimless drifting lands them in a restaurant on the water’s edge in Gastown, with a spectacular backdrop of North Vancouver.  A freight-liner slowly glides across the backdrop as the men take a seat at a table near the window, enjoying the amazing view.  They both watch a float plane circle high in the sky with a mountain backdrop before coming in for a landing in Coal Harbour.