6. L.Bear-Deep-Dive

It was one of those nice “keep-in-touch” emails you sometimes get from old-friends. This time it was from Squeaker and Squawker, our intergalactic, giant-crow pals from planet Corvid-3. They said they had completed their PhD’s in exo-anthropology and had secured funding for another research-project, this time on Earth’s capitalism. They said the project was in its initial stages, and asked us as successful-business-people whether they could pop-round and discuss some ideas with us on how best to do this. As they say, flattery gets you everywhere, so we agreed to meet-up at our flat. They parked their space-ship in the grave-yard opposite, put it on hide-mode, then fluttered across the Water-of-Leith River and rang our bell. We let them-in and after beer-and-biscuits, they started to talk.

They had decided to set-up their own company so they could examine capitalism from the inside. They said they would focus on a high-end, physical-product – things they might understand amongst the mysteries of cosmetics, clothing fashions etc. I said this was a bit risky, but the whole thing was – “had they got finance?” – they had, they said emphatically. They were also very interested in Little-Bear’s pod-cast he did on gold. Could they advertise on that? Bear was very flattered, but being-the-bear he is (greedy), he suggested a small fee – to be discussed. Squeaker and Squawker readily agreed.

They were also interested in gold, Bear’s speciality. They weren’t interested from an investment stance, or a hedge, or anything like that. They said their critical material suppliers might want payment in gold, and wondered how easy it was to get. Bear reassured them you could exchange cash for gold at certain, well monitored locations. Also, because of its value, there tended to be a lot of documentation involved, but for upright-citizens this was a formality, but for giant crows from the planet Corvid-3 this may be a problem. They didn’t seem one-hundred percent reassured, but Bear suggested he look at other ways to secure the metal. They were thankful for this and greatly appreciated bear’s continuing help.

I and Marvella didn’t have much contact with the lads (Squeaker and Squawker) during the next few weeks leaving things to Bear. Then we all got an email from them that they had just finished setting-up their operation and there would be a proper launch when the time was right. What was important they said was to get things moving, and this seemed to make sense. And what had they set-up? Well, it was a bit of a surprise to us all, but thinking it through, it might work. This is where drive-and-determination play a key-roll in success.

They had started a company distributing high-end diving-equipment, especially concerning the mixing of gasses. It was based on their expertise in breathing Earth’s thin atmosphere and the extra “oomph” required for them to get enough oxygen from it. If it worked for them, then why not for humans? Why should divers suffer because our air is of such low quality? They now had the solution, and they were ready to share it with humanity for a “trivial” amount, depending on economies-of-scale.

They had adapted the kit needed to keep them going for human use, with special attention to the gas “anti-narc” that “controlled” narcosis due to Earth’s nitrogen. One sniff of anti-narc and you stayed clear-headed for minutes, depending on the depth. Their initial product, a micro-cylinder of pressurised “anti-narc”, would be sold to professional-divers and serious hobby-divers around the world. We were all impressed – this might work, depending on warehousing, distribution, marketing, and all the other things they were investigating. The consumer-name they had chosen for this cannister and the business itself was “Deep-Dive”. Brilliant!

They had also constructed a passable video for Bear’s podcast platform. Bear (and we) were again impressed, and the small monthly fee agreed. I felt the intended market may be too small even for a niche product, but this is the great sieve of capitalism – for example, umbrellas are the worlds most idiotic invention, unless you need one! Also, I was a little sceptical about the video itself as it seemed to target young, good looking lads and lasses in swish looking clubs and bars, not where I thought grizzled-old rig-divers hung out, but what-the-hell do I know about the diving sub-culture? By this time, I was sure they knew what they were doing – it might not be succeed, but they seem to have done their research well (how right I was). We wished them well, they left us two boxes of sample Deep-Dive, and we waved as they fluttered back towards their space-craft.

We kept in-touch with the lads (Squeaker and Squawker) via email. They reported a steady rise in sales of Deep-Dive, with particular interest coming from Las-Vegas and the desert-states in the US (those states like Arizona you never actually visit, but fly-over from the East-Coast to the West-Coast (or vice-versa). I vaguely wondered where you would dive in Arizona, but I assumed there must be lots of lakes there. Meanwhile I did try some Deep-Dive myself, ignoring the instructions only to use underwater. The experience was pretty underwhelming.  

That was pretty-much-it for six months, the occasional contact, sales of Deep-Dive increasingly logarithmically, and the lads getting more ecstatic about profits. We did suggest it was a good idea to register anything-and-everything, especially for tax, but they were quite relaxed about this side of running a business. This was always dangerous, the taxman kills-off more businesses than anyone else, but they didn’t seem too worried about it. Bear was happy and the monthly fee for advertising on his podcast channel was going “gang-busters”. I just had this sense of foreboding.

Then it happened. There we were watching the evening news for Scotland when the channel was interrupted by a “breaking news alert”. They immediately switched to a live camera-shot where we were told a very significant drug-raid was taking-place in Leith. The screen was then filled with the face of chief-superintendent “Tosser” McKenzie explaining the two main suspects had been cornered at an address on the industrial-estate, and the police were going-in. The suspects with the criminal aliases of “Squeaker and “Squawker”, were going to be arrested on live-tv, together with a significant quantity of "Deep-Dive", the street-name of a new deadly narcotic, cash and gold.

Now, “Tosser” McKenzie was a theatrical and dodgy-cop, who loved tipping-off the press about upcoming arrests and busts where he would be seen to be “cracking-down” on crime, and playing to the crowd. He got his soubriquet “Tosser” while aggressively arresting a suspect. A reporter asked him if he cared about human rights, to which he replied “I don’t give a toss to human rights while these scum-bags are at large”. Now the press can be a fickle bunch, and soon he was referred to not as chief-superintendent Jock-McKenzie, but as “Tosser” McKenzie, and finally to the pure-form of “Tossa” (to save type-face). Always be careful what you say to the reptile-press.

He then sent in his troops. First the battering-rams that shredded the front-door, then the dogs, then the armed-police, then himself and his hangers-on, then the reptile-press. As they all charged-in, the tv-feed picked-up an upstairs-window being opened in the late-evening-darkness, and a shape, then two shapes making a spectacular jump to the ground below. It was definitely Squeaker and Squawker, who were now skipping/running/fluttering down the road of the industrial-estate, this time closely pursued by the dogs, with the armed-police desperately trying to keep-up, followed by “Tossa” and his entourage, with the press far behind. Now remember, although Squeaker and Squawker couldn’t fly due to Earth’s low-pressure atmosphere, they were fit, young birds. It would be a close thing – could they get back to the safety of their spacecraft before the dogs got them?

It was like a take from the Key-Stone cops. Squeaker and Squawker made it to the old railway-path twenty-metres ahead of the dogs, forty-metres ahead of the armed-cops, sixty ahead of “Tossa” and his fan-club, and eighty ahead of the press. They still had two-hundred metres to go before the graveyard and the safety of their space-ship. At one-hundred metres from safety, and five-metres behind the two escapees, the lead-dog made a great leap and sunk its jaws into Squawker’s tail. Feathers – not at all what it was expecting. At fifty metres from safety, the second dog struck. More feathers. Then at ten metres all five dogs seemed to attack at once, feathers everywhere, but there was the cemetery-wall and the lads were over it. The wall was three metres high, nothing much for two fit-young-birds from Corvid-3, but borderline for gnasher and his friends. They hesitated and waited for the armed-police to help them over. Only about ten-seconds added, but it was enough.

This was all on live-tv, which then broke transmission to play the headlines. “Bear”, I whispered, “take down the Deep-Dive video from your podcast immediately, no explanation or anything”. “Do it tomorrow morning not to raise suspicions, and say nothing – if anyone contacts us our line is that we are too trusting of people”. It’s funny how adrenalin hits your arms-and-legs – not a pleasant experience. We had to hope Squeaker and Squawker had made it to their space-ship, gone-back to Corvid-3, and things would eventually calm-down.

I was also genuinely surprised as I had tested Deep-Dive and found it did zilch to me. I got-up, found the box of samples and took one out, and read the instructions. Now being from an IT background reading the instructions is for wimps, Theres even an IT saying, “if all-else fails, read the instructions”, which I was now doing. There, on the opposite-side to the highly coloured pictures of bright-young-things using Deep-Dive was a single sentence; “Do not inhale more than two sniffs of “Deep-Dive” in any ten-minute window.”. 

This immediately led me to breathe it in three-times, and as I exhaled the third sniff, things started happening. My attention became laser-focused, like I was on speed (which I don’t really like), but this was far more controlled. I had no urges to count to one-hundred, but I could now clearly understand how the universe was constructed. Of course I couldn’t, but it felt that way. I also noticed that my vision was likewise focussed on details, and things looked “rosy” in general. I could even hear my neighbours playing rap-music from a block-away, and most strangely, it sounded rather good! Deep-Dive was obviously a most-intriguing drug as it had avoided the downsides of speed and was massively enjoyable!

The news resumed after the headlines. “Tossa” was on top-form saying the suspects would be arrested in minutes as the graveyard had been surrounded and search-squads dispatched. Meanwhile the feed cut-back to the industrial-estate a correspondent was being shown the “finds”. Rolls-and-rolls of cash held together by elastic-bands, a significant amount of cheap-gold-jewellery, and of course boxes-and-boxes of Deep-Dive, with quite a lot of individual cannisters strewn around. All laid-out in such a way as to make things look damming.

The effects of the Deep-Dive I had taken ten-minutes earlier began to wear-off. I took another three-sniffs, well, it was an emergency! The tv-news switched to the sports section, so I turned-down the volume and we talked. “We should be OK – even in they find the lads there’s no criminal link – just play the innocent bystander thing and keep a low profile”. I then thought about our weakest link - “Bear, there’s nothing else I need to know is there? Apart from telling them how to launder cash to gold by buying cheap jewellery?”. “No, that was it,” said Bear.

  Well, it should have been it but for the email I received five-days later from the lads. It was simple and to the point. In the rush and turmoil of escaping from the police they couldn’t start their space-ship. Worse than that, the whole thing had begun to shut-down – the heating was off, the food dispenser had stopped dispensing, and they hadn’t eaten for days. It was a plea for help, and only Bear, Marvella and I were in I any position to help. But how do you repair or start a space-ship? There was just one thing we could do – take with us anything that might help-with the situation. Their email finished with instructions on how to find them; enter the graveyard from the main gate and keep walking randomly. The space-ship would then find us.

Marvella quickly gathered all the biscuits and beer we had so we could feed them. I took my toolkit, though I was uncertain whether a ball-hammer or Phillips-screwdriver was entirely the answer. Bear took his calculator, then thinking this might not be enough he scurried away under the sink and emerged with a plunger. I think you will agree with me this was a pretty sophisticated response, and we should be able to get them on their way pronto. Well at least that’s what I told myself – all that interstellar engineering stuff we could probably mug-up on once we were inside the space-ship, but in-my-bones, I knew a single well aimed hammer-blow was God’s own intervention.

It was a ten-minute walk to the entrance of the disused-graveyard (or “wild-life” park as the council called it). Through the gates, walk randomly as instructed, and don’t look suspicious (though there was bugger-all people around). Then, impossibly, right in-front of us was an open, shiny lift. This was it. In we went, the doors closed, and after a short ascent they opened to reveal a very-sorry-situation. It was darkish as it was on emergency lighting, it smelt like chicken-shit, and Squeaker and Squawker were in a very shabby state with large-missing tail feathers as the dogs had got them. It’s important in these situations to take control, “Hi, how’s things you-two?” I said, then added “soon get you back-on-the-road” with an astonishing self-confidence.

The lads took us to the main control-panel while simultaneously munching on the biscuits and downing whole cans of beer. The panel was a wide-screen made-up of over one-hundred-squares, most of which were flashing in green or red. “What do you usually do?” I asked, and got the reply that previously all they had t do was to click all the flashing-squares in-turn and they would stop flashing. Then they’d click the top-left square, and off they’d go back-home – all automatic. “Mmmmm” – bloody useful reply that was I thought! There had to be an order to it. Each square must be a sub-system of some sort, and presumably if was offline of would flash. Progress. This would take some time though.

Meanwhile Bear had wandered-off with his calculator and plunger. In the background I could hear him climbing over stuff. At that point there was a pause, followed by the most horrendous suction-sound I had ever heard. Bear had used his plunger on something. “Whatever you’re doing, stop”, I shouted. The suction-sound finished abruptly, followed by an almost imperceptible gurgling. We rushed to investigate. Bear had just unblocked the space-ship’s toilet. This wasn’t a small thing hidden-away in a cupboard, no, it was a free-standing fountain-like object in the middle of an adjacent room.

We all watched and listened as the gurgling got deeper, the smell of chicken-shit intensified, followed by a huge squirt of water that erupted from the bowl of the toilet forming a fountain that reached a metre into the air. After thirty-seconds the water-jet slowly subsided, the gurgling-stopped, and then something magical happened. The emergency-lighting switched-off followed by the intense-light of the restored mains-power. This was followed by the space-ship making clicks and rumbles – the ship was coming alive – Bear had done it. Of course, no-one would design a space-ship that let you take-off with a broken-toilet spewing “unimaginables” into the cabin-atmosphere? The flashing sub-systems preventing take-off now made sense.

Then there was a crackle from the shop’s Tannoy, in course Crow. “What was that?” I asked and Squawker, the less mathematically incompetent of the two, who replied “Lift off in…”. There was a pause while he converted from Corvid-3 to Earth seconds, then said “ninety”, followed by “we must have forgotten to abort after a previous attempt”. We had ninety-seconds to get-off the ship. Squeaker then intervened and said “no-one was going anywhere until we accepted a little thank you. - Bear and Marvella take anything you see in the gold-pile”, then looking at me added “and I think you would like another box of Deep-Dive”.

Now, what would you do under these circumstances? Turn-down the gifts out of principal and so demonstrating our separation of friendship and the greater societal good as represented by “Tossa” and his acolytes, or cave-in to selfish peer-pressure? With the clock on sixty-seconds, we made our decision. Bear said he wanted the bar of pirate-gold he had seen, with wonderful copper impurities that sparkled alongside the underlying gold, Marvella chose two matching rings, one with a sapphire an the other an opal, and me? “I’ll have a box of that new formula Deep-Dive I can see – Deep-Dive-Super-Strength. What would you do under the same circumstances?

With thirty-seconds to go Bear, Marvella and I were in the lift. Another fifteen and we were outside. The lift-doors closed behind us then disappeared altogether, followed by a whooshing sound as the engines engaged. We’d done it. Common-sense said we would never see them again, but there was nothing common or sensible about our friends. It might just take a little time for them to find a capitalist formula to make money without annoying the locals. In the mean-time the five-million or so in gold they had repatriated to Corvid-3 would keep them ticking-over.