Neo-Odyssey

Chapter One

"North Pacific Ocean Flight 119, boarding in one hour..."

The announcement blared through the airport PDA system with a static overtone. An unwelcome reminder to those running late, or trapped in lineups, or otherwise inconvenienced to catching the upcoming flight.

Collin Merriweather wasn't too worried. He'd booked his tickets in advanced and had first class reservations on top of that. His manager had insisted on more theatrical accommodations, however, Collin had always been a frugal soul. First class was already a bit rich for his blood, any more and he'd start to get the urge to punch himself in the face the next time he looked into a mirror.

He walked through the spacious building at a bisque pace, more than eager to get this trip over and done with. Too many sounds, too many people, he felt like he was a hair trigger away from his fight of flight instincts kicking in. One loud object smashing to the ground, some careless stranger brushing against his body, the longer he was here the worse it would get, and the more likely something somehow would set him off.

Just breathe he told himself breathing is the key. Stay calm, stay focused, and stay breathing.

By the time he got in line for the security checkpoint he felt more wound up than a wind-up toy soldier. Being subject to the inane caustic complaints of the other people in line felt like acid being poured into his skull. Whining and moaning about the most harmless of inconveniences. Acting as if some mild interruption by the security personnel around them to take a few concerned questions, or having to wait an extra minute or two for an old man barely supported by a cane to struggle through his turn being checked, was the literal end of the world.

He started rapping his knuckles against his suitcase, focused only on breathing. He zoned out of the world, only shuffling forwards when he felt movement in front of him. Drowning out everything else, he concentrated on himself, only himself. The most subtle movements of his body, his breathing, the sounds of his knuckles against plastic, the feeling of the floor sliding underneath his shoes with every new shuffle forwards, his heart beating as it pumped vitality through every faucet of his being. He was calmed. He was focused. He was content.

And then, like a great wave crashing into a beach after the water receded back, his phone rang, and he felt all those stresses rushing back to him.

Well, at least I didn't flip out this time, he thought as he answered the call.

"Hey, Merry! How's it been!" 

Collin heard the heavy, booming voice on the other end clearly enough, despite the shoddy microphone quality of his device. It was the old weathered tones of a lifelong substance abuser aged to decrepitness, filtered through an irksome electrical static'y tang. Bothersome to be sure, yet, Collin Merriweather was more bothered by who the voice belonged to than anything else. 

"Hello Uncle," he answered, pitching his voice as calmly as he could. "I have been well."

"Ey, that's great Merry!" he hear the man on the other end answer, "glad to hear ya going up in the world!"

No thanks to you, he thought, taking in a deep, soothing breath. "Why are you calling me?"

"What, an old man can't check in with his favorite slugger?" He heard him reply, "I'm happy for ya. Really. Not many folks from our neck of the woods get to go on TV!"

What's his angle, Collin considered, pausing long enough for the man on the other end to clear his throat in exaggerated manner.

"Err, your connection's good, ain't it? Got no idea how good them cell towers in the airports are these days."