Blood and tech, p.1
Blood and Tech, page 1
BLOOD AND TECH
Erik Hamre
Blood and Tech
a novel by Erik Hamre
This book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Copyright 2021 © Erik Hamre
Previously published as Tuna Life 2015 © Erik Hamre
Coverart by Books Covered 2021 ©
All rights reserved.
Edited by Sticks and Stones Editing (Mike Waitz).
www.erikhamre.com
This book is fiction. Characters, corporations, institutions and organizations in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, are used fictionally without any intent to describe their actual conduct.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Part II
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Part III
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Part IV
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Afterword
Also By Erik Hamre
Part I
1
Month 1
AN IDEA
Andrew Engels’ body was shaking violently as he fumbled for the car keys. The realities of his decision to resign from the job he had held for the last seven years had just hit him like a punch in the chest. It had been so different the day before. He had been strolling around, dishing out handshakes and farewell-hugs to his colleagues. Without exception they had all wished him the best. Said he would never regret his decision. Secretly, they had probably all wished they had the courage to do the same. But they had mortgages, they had kids, they had bills to pay.
Excuses, Andrew had thought. That’s what they had - excuses.
So he had paraded around the office floor on that glorious day, basking in the glow of his audacious decision.
He was finished with excuses.
Avensis Accounting had seemed like a sensible place to start a career after completing a Master in Finance at Griffith University. His original intention had been to stay for a year, max a year and a half. He would acquire some relevant work experience before he moved on to something bigger and better. That short year had turned into seven long ones. Incredible how quickly time flies, even when you don’t have any fun, he had thought as he gave Janine from the reception a hug. She had held on a bit too long. He had sensed the tension. He had been almost certain that, if he had wanted to, he could have had her right there and then. Right in front of all the other staff. So ridiculously great had the admiration for Andrew Engels been on that fabulous last day of work.
He had been the fearless.
The one they all looked up to.
The one who had managed to break out of the rat race.
Then suddenly his moment in the sun had been over. One of the partners had entered the lunch room and told everyone to pack away their toys and get back to work. Andrew’s colleagues had obediently jumped to their feet, and then slowly made their way back to their desks, sulky faces and all. Janine hadn’t even turned around to steal a glimpse of Andrew as she left. She wasn’t interested anymore. The thrill was gone. She was probably already thinking about an early Friday knock-off with a bottle of Shiraz to numb the feeling of being unappreciated at work.
With a trembling hand, Andrew again attempted to find the ignition. Reality had just hit him too. Why had he done it? Why had he quit a perfectly good job without having a plan, without having any safety net? He couldn’t come up with any good reason. It was as if someone else had made the decision for him; a crazy person, a person who didn’t think about consequences.
Could he return and ask for his job back? Beg for his job back? No. He had burnt the bridges in his farewell speech, scorched them.
He hadn’t been rude. Just honest. When he had started his career in Avensis, it had been a small accounting firm with a friendly work environment. Everybody worked hard, especially coming up to the end of financial year and other accounting deadlines. But they always had fun. After the merger with the established accounting firm Dinamo, everything had changed though. Andrew wasn’t sure whether the changes had been caused by the different culture in the new company, or if it was a natural progression of the company now being bigger and more professional. The fact that the financial state of the Gold Coast was, well to put it in one word: fucked, didn’t help of course. Business was harder, and productivity had to be increased.
The partners had implemented a new standard in micromanagement to solve the problem. You were measured on everything you did. How many minutes you used on a client conversation. How many clients you met with each day. How many phone calls you made. He reckoned it would only be a matter of time before they started timing the accountants’ toilet visits. Couldn’t bloody well invoice anyone when you were on the crapper, could you?
Nevertheless, he shouldn’t have said what he said in his farewell speech. It was normal etiquette to never say what you really meant when you left a job. It didn’t matter how much you hated your job. You always parted on good terms. But what was done was done. He couldn’t retract his comment about the greedy partners who would never be satisfied. They had after all been the reason he had stayed for as long as seven years; their continuous promises of promotion to partner status. He just had to work a little bit harder, increase his fees, take some additional education.
Education my ass. Andrew had so many titles that he could hardly fit the phone number on his business card. He was the white Indian in the company, overqualified and underpaid. But he had finally had enough. The cup wasn’t just full. It was overflowing. Of anger, hate and pain. He felt that the company had robbed him of all those years. What did he have to show after seven years in Avensis Accounting? A cheap Mazda 3, and a mortgage that exceeded the value of his apartment. He had of course bought when the market peaked in 2007. He had missed out on that boom too.
Andrew wiped a tear away from his cheek. This wasn’t how he had envisioned his first week without a job. Only seconds earlier he had hung up after having spoken to Janine. Andrew couldn’t understand why there was so little money in his account. Janine had conveyed the bad news; as he had resigned just shy of being employed for a full seven years he wouldn’t be paid the six weeks of long service leave he had accrued. If he had waited two months to resign, the story would have been different. Andrew swore. He had counted on that money. He hadn’t saved up a big pile of cash for a rainy day. All those years he had slaved away to attain the “impressive” title of Senior Account Manager at Avensis Accounting had been a waste. He had lived from hand to mouth for years. From fortnight to fortnight. Paycheck to paycheck. Every time he thought he was about to get a little bit on top of things, something unexpected had happened. His car had broken down, he had bee n required to take a new course, or a family member had died. His miniscule raises had been eaten up by the surge in power bills and living costs. Truth be told, Andrew had enough money to keep going for three weeks. That was it.
What in hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t admit defeat and go on the dole. With the full force of his hands he rammed the steering wheel. As the horn let out a beep, Andrew let out a scream. He wished he could curl up and hide. Just disappear without anyone noticing. Move somewhere else, where no one knew him.
A fresh new start.
Life was of course not that simple. Nothing was simple.
He wiped away his tears and started the engine. A yellow light appeared on the fuel gauge.
As he drove down Scottsdale Drive he thought back on why he had quit his job. He shook his head in disbelief of his own naivety. He had been a participant at a tax seminar at the new Hilton Hotel in Surfers Paradise four weeks earlier. After having been sitting on his ass for three hours, he had finally had enough and decided to go for a walk around the hotel. He had needed to clear his head and rest his eyes. Near one of the coffee stations, he had found something to rest them on; a beautiful brunette, balancing on high heels and chatting on her fancy smartphone, all while elegantly sipping to a glass of champagne. Multitasking in action, he had thought. The brunette’s high heels and long legs made the young teenager in a hoodie standing next to her look like a hobbit. Andrew made his move and approached the coffee station. As he poured himself a cup, the beautiful woman wandered off in the direction of the elevators. It was just as well. Andrew hadn’t planned to talk to her. Just to stand as close as possible. Hoping she would approach him.
“What’s happening here?” he asked the pimply teenager with the hoodie instead, pointing at the nearest conference room.
“It’s the new economy,” the teenager answered, his braces brown from the cake he was eating.
“Say what?”
“It’s bus-pres day. It’s like a free mic day. If you’ve got a business idea, or need money to grow your business, you can present it here today. If the suits like it, they may invest. If they don’t like it, well, it’s probably not a good idea.” The hobbit giggled of his own joke as he wandered back into the conference room, one of his untied shoelaces dragging behind him like a tail.
Andrew shook his head. The new economy. What a load of bullshit. Who the hell would want to invest in a company led by a pimply teenager with braces? All these idiots. From time to time a new fad seemed to pop up out of nowhere. And without exception people started to say that regular business rules had ceased to apply. The new companies didn’t need to make money. If they acquired enough customers, or users as they preferred to call them, then they could always find ways to monetize those users later. Idiots. Andrew Engels had worked for seven years in accounting. He had been studying business for another five. And there was one thing that was as certain as death, taxes and reporting deadlines. If you didn’t make money – you didn’t survive in the long run. Cash flow and profits, they were the only things that mattered. Andrew Engels stuck his head into the conference room. There were a lot of empty seats. Casually he wandered in and sat down on one of the chairs in the back. Nobody attempted to stop him.
What he witnessed the next half an hour changed him as a person. It changed everything. It opened his eyes. He felt like one of those guys who had accidentally stumbled into a church, or some other religious place, and walked out with a purpose in his life.
Immediately after the conference had finished, he drove back to his office and handed in his resignation.
Now, sitting in his car, tears streaming down his cheeks, he realised that he hadn’t thought that decision through. He, he who had always been so sensible, so rational and logical, he who had always waited so long to make decisions that all his girlfriends had ended up making them for him.
Now he had made a decision he couldn’t undo.
He had screwed up his life.
2
The editorial office of The Gold Coast Times was buzzing. One of the journalists had overheard a rumour that the mayor, Eddie Molan, had an interest in the investor group that had just put forward a proposal to invest four billion dollars in a new cruise ship terminal and two new casinos south of Surfers Paradise. Everyone in the room agreed that something had to be done to attract more tourists to the Gold Coast. The high Aussie dollar, and cheap airfares to Asia, had put the tourist industry in a squeeze.
Vesna Connor coughed “It’s not a question about choosing sides. Every single one in this room knows that something has to be done to get the Gold Coast out of this rut it’s stuck in. For the last ten years I’ve lived in Burleigh Heads. My morning ritual has always been the same. Every single morning I go for a walk at the beach, from Burleigh Heads to Miami, and back. On this short stretch of sand I used to see hundreds of utes, and hundreds of locals on surfboards. In fact, this has always been the lifestyle of the typical Gold Coast tradie; to catch a few waves before the workday begins. When I walked this route yesterday I barely counted ten people out in the water. And that was under ideal conditions. Does anyone here know why there were so few surfers out there?” she asked.
Nobody answered. The room was silent.
“Because they are all stuck in traffic on the M1. They are all on the motorway, heading to their jobs in Ipswich, Brisbane and the sunny coast,” she answered rhetorically. “They don’t have time to go for a surf when they’ve got to jump in the car at four thirty in the morning, just so they can make it to where the jobs are before the day starts. This is the reality of the Gold Coast at the moment. Nothing is happening. There are fewer building cranes on the Surfers Paradise skyline than there were during the recession in the early 1990s. Nobody is building anything – and nobody is buying anything. It is therefore I believe we have a responsibility, a responsibility to create some positivity. To pull people out of this cloud of doom and gloom they are living under. But we can’t afford to take any shortcuts, we can’t afford to present anything one-sided. I want an unbiased presentation of this Tugun project. It doesn’t matter that we really need it. I don’t care that we all have seen our house prices drop over the last few years. You are journalists, and you have a professional duty to present all sides of the cases we cover. That is why we will investigate the rumours that our mayor has an economic interest in this latest proposal for a cruise ship terminal. We will give the tree-huggers and every other minority interest a voice, but we will let our audience make their own decision. We only present the facts. Am I making myself clear?”
The small team, consisting of five business journalists, nodded. It was quite obvious that they weren’t overly excited about being taken to task by the young editor. Who did she think she was? Hardly dry behind the ears. Twenty-five years old and devoid of any real journalistic background. Barging into the morning meeting on her first day in office, talking to them like they were children.
