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Preface.

'Ten Years On' is an 'Algy' story loosely set in 2024-ish. He's one of my favourite characters, and though you don't have to have read any of his previous stories I should say that 'Ten Years On' continues from 'Algy's Peril pt3', with an unfinished novella in-between.

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“Are you okay … sweetheart?”

I looked up from where I was sitting, on the edge of the bed. Our bed. Our bed that hadn’t seen any action in a month of Sundays. Looking at me quizzically, Jake was leaning against the door frame. Close enough to talk, but not close enough for anything else.

“Mmm,” I said, lying. “I surely am. Tickety-boo, that’s me, Jakey. Tickety-boo.” I wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Wanted to stomp around and demolish furniture and ask what the fuck I’d done to cause my world to implode in such a.... I patted the bed beside me. “Come and sit, love.”

“Um.” Looking ravishing, he stayed where he was, then tugged on his earlobe; a rather endearing tell that said ‘I’m nervous.’ “I would if I could, Algy, but I can’t. I’m late. Gotta pick up David from the station.”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” I said. If I sounded wintery it wasn’t surprising. Not long ago he’d have been sitting in my lap with his arms around my neck before I’d finished asking. Now, he gave me what looked like a grimace instead of a smile and turned to leave. “See ya,” I managed.

“Laters,” he said from somewhere down the corridor. I listened: heard him zip up his jacket and pick up his keys from the bowl on the hall table just before the front door opened, then closed. It sounded final, though what the sound of finality actually was I had no bloody idea. I almost chuckled, then decided I was far too depressed to bother and instead lay back on the bed for a good cry.

“Fuck!” I shouted at the gods a few seconds later and sat up again. I didn’t want to cry, be depressed or, for that matter, miserable. I wanted to fix whatever it was that had broken between us, but as I had no idea what the ‘it’ was I was stuffed. I touched my thumb nail and its haptics vibrated as it turned on the bedroom’s coms. “Coffee please, Lori,” I said. “I’ll be down in five.”

“Okay, Algy.” Lori said cheerfully.

For a near AI Lori was smart as hell, and on occasion I still tried to converse with her. When my parents had offered to kit us out for our fifth anniversary, we’d argued for weeks about the voice we wanted the AI to have.

David had demanded another teen but we’d put our foot down at that. One was quite enough. Besides, we pointed out, he was away at college a lot of the time. He rather magnanimously agreed and let us decide, which cost us a movie and dinner for him and his coterie.

Jake wanted a voice that reminded him of a early twentieth-century butler, so we rented one for a week and spent most of it laughing in hysterics. Finally we agreed on Lori. She came with free updates and a five year warranty, though what could go wrong with a AI’s voice we couldn’t imagine.

“Coffee’s ready, Algy,” she said.

“Thanks, Lori,” I said. I didn’t have to, but I felt better being polite. After all, I didn’t want her going all HAL 9000 on me. I keyed off the bedroom coms as I left and closed the door behind me. God knows what my parents paid for the system, but both Jake and I drew the line at those star trek sliding doors the salesman had waxed so lyrically about. No. We’d had the basic package. Retinal and cochlear implants and a single subcutaneous whoseyourdaddy chip that ran the lot. It was branded eYe-eAr, which at the time had pissed Apple off royally since they’d registered iEar.

The lighting came on as I walked to the kitchen and went out behind me: one of David’s money saving tweaks which helped keep the bills somewhere south of extortionate.

The coffee woke me up and pulled me together. I needed some relationship advice and I needed it sooner, rather than after whatever was brewing blew up in our faces. “Call Tricky,” I said.

“Algy! How are you. Long time no … well, no anything.”

“Sorry.”

“So you should be, mate. It’s been ages. Alan thought we’d done something to upset you.” There was a moment’s pause. “Well, what’s up? Tell me everything and tell me now!” He laughed and I immediately began to feel better. If I’d ever had a problem I’d always got help with it from Alan and Tricky.

“Hang on, I’m just going to bring Alan in … if that’s okay? You up for a threesome?” He roared with laughter again and the healing balm that was Tricky began to work its magic. The upshot was I went to see them.

***

Alan and Tricky lived in a detached house on Alan’s parents’ estate on the outskirts of Maidenhead. They’d designed and built it with their part of the money we’d made from the Sanataria Springs adventure. Modern to a T, the house was partially inset into a small hill and had stellar views over the river Thames. It had its own artesian well and was entirely constructed of the latest in solar materials.

The front door slid open as James, their AI, admitted me to the softly lit foyer. The lighting could be changed to reflect mood and at present it was a calming blue.

“Welcome Mister Catvern,” James said, his voice coming through my cochlear implants as if he was standing next to me.

“Hello James.”

“Master Tristran is in his studio.”

“Ah. Still master Tristran is he?”

“Just about,” James said in a bit of a sniffy voice, “though if I were corporeal he might not be.” I chuckled, the tension I’d been feeling at home melting away. I had no idea where Alan and Tricky had sourced James’ programme from, but he sounded a bit like a peeved cabana boy. “He says he’s waiting for you.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a pleasure to converse with an intelligent sentient, sir.”

“Um, yes,” I said, and beat a hasty retreat.

Having no need of work Tricky and Alan had taken a sabbatical from real life. This had proved interesting and had lasted, once they’d moved in to their house, less than a year. Four months of bliss; three months of bitter arguments; almost a week of separation followed by another month of bliss. Then they’d decided they really had to do something. So Alan had started working at his father’s gem dealership and on the board of a charity, whilst Tricky had started to paint.

I found the latter in his studio working on a huge touchscreen, a robotic arm in the corner translating his brush strokes onto canvas. He grinned in delight and wrapped me in his arms. I hugged him back and kissed him on his neck, content to stay like that for eternity until his scent started doing things to me that would have driven Alan to violence. I hurriedly extracted myself and took two paces back. He frowned at me, then looked horrified.

“Oh god. I am so sorry, Algy. I was trying out a new pheromone and completely forgot.

“A what?” I said.

He smiled. “I’m not just painting anymore. Look, it’s really exciting!” He waved his hand and the display on the touchscreen changed. “Have you got the virtual reality upgrade on your implant?”

“Yeah. Jake installed it for Warcraft.”

“Good. Right then,” he snapped his fingers, “welcome to my laboratory … bwahaha!” The evil laugh was one of Tricky’s specialities, but the place that appeared flummoxed me.

His studio changed - or rather our perception of his studio changed as the VR mod took us inside what looked to all intents and purposes like a chemist’s lab from the late nineteenth century. Stretching end to end along the facing wall was a beautifully made wooden chest with hundreds of little drawers and cupboards. On top, a long slab of rose-coloured marble was covered in glassware; retort stands held test tubes merrily bubbling over bunsen burners, whilst the biggest liebig condenser I’d ever seen dripped steadily into a beaker at the back. Behind us a large window looked out onto large lawns and a tree-lined path where people in top hats walked in deep discussion. Beside the window stood an antiquated fume cupboard, and next to that a drench.

“Tada!” Tricky said, doing a little soft shoe shuffle. “What do you think?”

I raised an eyebrow. “An explanation might help.”

“Ah yes, well. About a month ago Alan brought this chap back for dinner. He … oh, wait a tick.” He blinked his eye and a couple of old armchairs appeared. We sat down. “Drink?”

“No. Yes, alright. Seeing as we’re here, any chance of a cup of tea?”

”Tea for two, please, James.” Tricky grinned. “The little bugger wants to be able to transcend to a clone, but that’s still a bit of a pipe dream.”

“I thought transcendence was the other way around. Besides, he’s not truly a….”

“Shut up!” Tricky snapped. “He is what he is, and he’s sensitive. If you want drinkable tea, just, you know. Mind your Ps and Qs.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “You were saying?”

“What?”

“About the chap who came to dinner?”

“Oh, yes. He works for a startup in pheromone research. I say startup, but as it was our money that funded it he decided he could be candid. It’s fascinating stuff. Anyway, before he left he gave me a copy of their latest software, and with a few mods I created the scent that, umm … well, you know. Got you all excited when we hugged.” He grinned, leant forward and patted my knee. “And before you ask, no. A threesome is still off the cards.”

“Poop.” I said, blushing as a modern tripodal table appeared beside him with the tea things.

“Thanks James,” we both said.

“It is a pleasure.”

Tricky poured. It was Earl Gray, my favourite.

“Want to go skiing?” he asked as we sipped.

“Maybe later,” I said. “Now, I want to know about this pheromone stuff. If it’s your startup why not let them do the research?” I waved my arms around the room, “What’s the point of all this?”

Tricky squirmed in his chair, then changed it for a more comfortable Swedish leather one. “It’s complicated, Algy,” he said. “They want to corner the erotic market and the club scene, but I’m not so sure that’s either healthy or ethical. I mean, what’s the difference between slipping the one you fancy a roofie in their drink, or seducing them with pheromones? None that I can see. They both alter brain chemistry without the recipient being aware. You end up in the sack with them, and they don’t have a say in the matter.”

“Surely there’s a difference? With pheromones you can walk away.”

Tricky started chewing on his bottom lip. Then he linked his fingers behind his head, leant back and said, “No difference, mate. If I hadn’t turned it down I could have had you do anything.”

I began to feel lightheaded. Aroused. I could see a bead of sweat on Tricky’s upper lip and I wanted to lick it off and see where it would take us. I tried to find the menu for the VR and see if I could change the lab for a bedroom, but the security slapped me back—though oddly it didn’t ring any alarms. Now, I was rock hard and so goddamned horny I wanted to scream. The thought of leaping on one of my oldest friends and … and….”

“Tristran! Don’t fuck with Algy!” It was Alan’s voice. A second later the picture window shimmered as he walked through it into the VR. Simultaneously I felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over me and my erection slowly began to wilt.

“Spoil sport,” Tricky said, pouting, before jumping inelegantly out of the leather chair and wrapping his arms around his husband.

“Sorry Algy. I told him not to be bad, but it seems his chemical art has um, gone to your head.” He sniggered, pointing at my crotch.

I sighed. Though we’d all got older we hadn’t really changed one iota from the boys we’d been at school. That fact alone gave me faith. “That’s okay, Alan. Is it safe to hug you?”

He wasn’t listening. He had Tricky in a liplock that almost looked painful and was starting to grind. Tricky managed to disengage and winked at me. “I forgot to tell you I found out how to make them targetable,” he whispered. “Wait in the living room, we’ll be with you shortly. Or soon thereafter.”

Then I was flung out of the VR.

***

I was meandering around the garden thinking about Jake when they reappeared, Alan looking a little embarrassed and Tricky looking like a cat that had got the cream.

“Gits,” I said, smiling, as they split apart letting me walk between them. We linked arms and strolled on in companionable silence. Down by the river we sat on an old stone bench and watched the swans with their cygnets, and I remembered reading that swans partner for life.

Eventually, Alan cleared his throat.

“We’ve seen a lot of Jake, recently,” he said. “He’s worried.”

I huffed. “That’s bloody great. He talks to you, but whenever I try to talk to him, get close to him, he exits stage left faster than Snagglepuss.” I felt tears welling up behind my eyes and choked them back, but I couldn’t stop my lower lip from wobbling. “What have I done wrong?” I wailed.

Their arms slid around my back and for the first time in what seemed an age I felt safe, wanted, and loved. Alan passed me a hankie and I blew my nose.

“Remember when you two were best men at our wedding?” Alan said.

I sniffed and nodded. “Of course I do. It was marvellous. You two getting hitched and everyone there, supporting you.”

“Mmm,” Alan said. “And do you remember what the wedding photographer said when he took those shots of the four of us?”

“Um … no?” I said, blushing. Of course I did. The damn man had said Alan and Tricky were a great looking couple and so were their best men. He’d then said he’d be honoured to come and take photographs at our wedding, too.

“Liar!” Tricky said, digging his fingers into my ribs and making me giggle.

“Wait!” I said, batting Tricky’s hand away. “Jake wants to get married?” It sounded naive, even to my ears. How could I have been so stupid.

“Of course he bloody does, you idiot boy.” Alan said. “And so do you if I’m getting the gist of all the poetry you endlessly email us.”

“You don’t like my poetry?”

Alan rolled his eyes. “We love your poetry, Algy. We love your poetry and we love you, and so does Jake. But he thinks you don’t love him, or love him enough to want to get married. He’s confused. Certainly as confused as you are.”

“Word,” said Tricky, nodding sagely. “You’re both daft, and you’re an idiot to boot.”

“Talk of the devil,” Alan said, smiling, as a hand landed lightly on my shoulder.

I turned around. Jake was standing behind us looking at me, forlorn and lost. I leapt to my feet and almost tripped over the bench in my haste to hug him.

“Oh, Jake. I’m so stupid,” I said in his ear, “I had no idea. Please forgive me and….” Holding onto his hands I dropped to one knee and looked up into his beautiful eyes.

“Jake Smith-Green,” I said, and paused, my mouth starting to dry out from nervous tension. “Jake, I love you, and I always have. But you have to know by now that I’m a dunderhead. I had no idea you wanted to get married, ‘cause … well, ‘cause marriage is fairly heavy duty and I’m … frankly, I’m terrified. And probably babbling.” I saw his eyes crinkle in amusement and hoped I was on the right track.

“Nice,” Tricky said in a stage whisper, “but get to the point, padawan.”

“Shut up, Tricky!” Jake and Alan said in unison, whilst I just gave him my best glare.

“Um … where was I?” I mumbled.

“Terrified,” Jake said, smiling. “Me too.”

“You too?”

“Mmhmm. Yep. Utterly.”

“But you do want to?”

“Of course I do. I love you more than life itself, Algy. I was just … just worried you didn’t feel the same.”

Still holding my hands he dropped to his knees and shuffled closer, until we were nose to nose. Then he kissed me and I knew it was going to be alright.

I have no idea how long the kiss lasted, but Alan and Tricky were feeding the swans when we finally disentangled. We knelt back and grinned at each other. I raised my forefinger, ahemmed, took a deep breath, and asked the most important question I’d ever had the fortune to ask anyone.

“Will you marry me, Jake?”

Time seemed to stop. Peripherally I saw Alan and Tricky rushing back to the bench. Jake looked like a fish out of water. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he smiled beatifically.

“Yes. Yes! In a heartbeat, Algy. In a heartbeat.”

 

The End.

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'Ten Years On' was written for the 10th Anniversary of AwesomeDude.com: a site that I'm lucky enough to call home. When I heard it was coming up to ten years I almost didn't believe it. Then a date check told me I'd been here since 2006. Eight years ... colour me flabbergasted!

I've had my ups and downs, written a few shorts, though I've never yet managed to finish a novel. But AD, its denizens, and Mike have been there the whole time, supporting me. Helping me. Nurturing me.

One thing AD does well is nurturing authors, both established and new. If it hadn't been for Mike and AD 'Camy's Gaff' wouldn't exist, and I'd probably have become a far more serious couch potato than I am today.

The truly amazing thing is: there's no charge. Nada. Zip. And no upselling for a nattier design or more space. AwesomeDude exists as a free service for all, and it is vital it stays that way. Which is why I ask that if you visit the site regularly and enjoy the great fiction it provides, please do two things.

First: click on the donate button (on the home page) and shell out a few pounds, dollars, or whatever currency takes your fancy.

Second: drop an email to the author of the stories you enjoy. It won't take long and it keeps them from wilting. ;)

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