Herculanium, p.19
Herculanium, page 19
The winding hallways eventually led to a turned corner and a set of wooden, brass-handled doors. This entrance opened finally to a world of color and texture: a posh conference room made of ceiling-high windows, oak furniture and ornate rug carpeting. Rows upon rows of framed diplomas, medals and commendations lined the walls from end to end, top to bottom, while sculptures capped every table as a grand centerpiece. A scythe-shaped conference table sat at the far end of the room, just inside towering bay windows. For the first time since waking up, Preston could see blue skies and green gardens beyond the glass. But in front of the spectacular view, sitting at the conference table, were some familiar faces. Nurse Cole removed Preston from the wheelchair and sat him at a small table facing the waiting committee. Dr. Bentley and General Cube sat at the center, flanked by two people he had never seen before. They were all dressed formally, giving this meeting the feel of a ritual trial—or an execution.
“I see the gang’s all here,” said Preston with a smile. “This is a potluck, right?”
The group in front of him looked at each other and collectively thought out loud, “A what?”
The court reporter paused for a moment, unsure how to spell his reference.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Jones,” said Dr. Bentley. “I can only imagine what you’re going through. I sincerely hope this meeting will clarify most, if not all, your questions. You’ve already met General Cube. Allow me to present Corporal Jayna Rogers.”
Preston looked at her and nodded in acknowledgement.
“Equal pleasure, sir,” she said with a smile. Preston was immediately drawn to her voice, a flowing British accent he had only heard in movies. Corporal Rogers had the most engaging stare and demeanor, immediately piquing his curiosity. Although wrapped like a mummy beneath a formal uniform, Miss Rogers was obviously fit.
“Mr. Jones,” continued the doctor, “you are in a most peculiar predicament, perhaps deeper than you realize. There really isn’t an easy way to explain this to you…”
“Do you know what year it is?” interjected General Cube, not missing a beat.
“I’ve already been asked that question. Do you want to see the original finger I responded with, or should I use the opposite hand?”
“Answer the question. What year is it?”
“What year do you think it is?” said Preston in defiance. The panel was not amused, causing Preston to concede. “It’s 2032, last time I checked my calendar.”
“What do you recall doing last before waking up here?”
“I told you, I was flying in a space shuttle from the Olympus Space Station. We were shot down just as we re-entered the atmosphere.”
“And you swear that everything you’ve told us is the truth?”
“What reason would I have to lie?”
General Cube raised his hand, motioning for his corporal to speak.
“We tracked your descent into the atmosphere,” recalled Jayna. “Your ship came out of nowhere and was headed for the coast of Northern California. Narrowingly missing a few commercial airbuses, the ship crashed just above San Francisco Bay.
“Most of the wreckage was vaporized in the fireball. While there was some flotsam, there were no bodies, no survivors. That is, except you. We were able to verify your ship as an Isis-class TransAstra passenger shuttle. That’s all we’ve been able to recover at this point.”
Preston sat silent, struck down at the thought that his comrades didn’t survive. Micky, Dr. Gracie, his escort Kendra Adams, were all dead.
“But that’s only where the mystery begins,” continued General Cube. “Isis-class shuttles were retired from service over 200 years ago.”
“WHAT?” Preston’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“We ran checks on your clothing, the wreckage, your organ tissue…,” said the general, reading a memo he retrieved from Jayna.
Dr. Bentley quickly sensed that this meeting was about to spiral into a shouting match. Better the news come from him than a ranting general, he thought. “Mr. Jones, the year is not 2032. By your calendar, it is 2210. Our present, where you are right now…is your future.”
Preston’s heart throbbed hard in his chest, but he made sure to conceal his reaction. “What do you mean? I don’t feel any different, you guys don’t look any different. Why are you lying?”
“I don’t know what else to tell you, son. I’m sorry.” General Cube’s apology was as rehearsed and as stiff as the part in his hair.
“Sorry for what? For lying to me? Why don’t you tell me what’s really up and stop bull-shitting? Tell me the goddamned truth.”
“We’ve been easing you into our environment as best as we could,” said Dr. Bentley. “That’s why we’ve been keeping you in seclusion for as long as possible. But this is not the same world you know.”
“Fine,” said Preston with a mock smile. “I’ll play along. But I want proof. Show me some damn proof.”
“Oh, we’re not short on that, Mr. Jones,” said the general smugly. “We just want to make sure you can handle it.”
“This is not happening. I am Preston Jones. I am a professional basketball player,” he said out loud, reaffirming his identity and history to himself.
“We do know who you are, Mr. Jones” said General Cube. “It took a little digging, but we know you are who you claim to be. Hype and all, you really are…you.”
“How do I know all of this is real? You guys can just be in my head, something I dreamt up, right? I’m probably still at the crash site, hallucinating. All this can just be my imagination going nuts.”
“True, or you can be a figment of my own imagination, and we’re all still asleep dreaming about you. Do you see how far we can go with this line of reasoning?”
Preston kneeled on the floor and buried his face in his palms. “My wife, my friends, my career...”
“My condolences, Mr. Jones,” said Jayna with unexpected empathy, drawing a leer from the general.
Preston gathered himself and stood up. “So what happens to me now?”
“This is only the beginning, Mr. Jones,” said General Cube. “Many people want to talk to you. You represent a period in history we know very little about.”
“For what it’s worth,” said Dr. Bentley with reassurance, “I have a feeling you’re going to be very famous for all this. Who knows? You might have a new career in front of you. But in the meantime, we’ve made arrangements to have you stay at an off-site facility. This should help in your re-acclimation process.”
“Great. I just fucking joined the circus.”
“You’ve also been assigned a liaison.” General Cube nodded his head in her direction. “You’ve already met Corporal Rogers.”
Jayna smiled in acknowledgement.
“And I have a bodyguard, too.”
“Don’t let my corporal’s appearance fool you, Mr. Jones. She is quite a handful. She will fill you in as time goes by.”
“We will give you a day longer to recuperate. Then you’ll be off. We will chart your progress on a continuous basis.” Preston could tell Dr. Bentley was hiding his sadness behind his signature formality.
“Since when did I begin working for you guys?”
“Since we rescued you,” said the general in rebuttal. “All pillowing aside, you owe us for your survival. We can’t have you wandering about aimlessly in the streets now, can we?”
“I see two hundred years hasn’t changed people that much. There are still assholes like you around.” Preston picked up his chair and sat back down.
“I will be in tomorrow at 010:00 to escort you to your new home, Mr. Jones,” said Jayna with enthusiasm. “Is there anything I should know about? Any specific needs or requests?”
“He is very green, Ms. Rogers,” said General Cube with a half-smile. “He had a massive allergic reaction to plain drinking water.”
“I beg your pardon, general?”
“You’ll receive a detailed report on your desk tomorrow morning, corporal. Please study it before you proceed with your assignment.” General Cube stood up and motioned for the court reporter to stop recording.
“Pay close attention to our guest,” said Dr. Bentley to his colleagues, before turning his gaze to Preston. “There are things in this world you cannot possibly imagine in yours.”
“I’ll adapt,” said Preston as he looked into the eyes of everyone present. “I think you guys should be worried about me.”
Chapter Three
Preston held his thumb firmly on the channel advance button, shaking his head at the television shows flashing across the screen. In the half-hour he had spent in the waiting room expecting Corporal Rogers’ arrival, he had literally gone through thousands of channels of programming. There was a show for every possible subject; from the ridiculous to the sublime, the subtle and the gross, and nothing was taboo in this new world. It put the shock and reality TV of his century to shame, leaving little to the imagination and showing the shocking details of controversy with the lens of a Pointillist painting. The channels themselves were still numeric by title, but broken into fractions, decimals, and alphabetic prefixes. Every culture and language was represented, complemented by the overdose of gratuitous commercials and station identification.
Even the type of news had changed in the apparent two hundred years he was away. Hoping to catch an update of the weather, he caught another forecast instead:
“Expect localized tremors in the Peninsula this morning,” said the TV personality, “about 2.6 to 2.9 on the geo-scale. North Bay will be stable, while the East and parts of the South Bay will continue to feel minor aftershocks from last week’s quake. No need to worry though, as these tremblings will subside as the waves push further east, past the Sierra.
“Your outlook for the week is quite stable. Tremors today and tomorrow should subside by midnight to early morning, and we’ll have a flat line until Sunday, when the first waves from tsunami Barbara will hit the outer coast.
“That’s the earthquake forecast for this morning. Here’s Rick Claremont with your local weather.”
Preston finally shut the television off and sprawled on the couch, not knowing what to expect next. Jayna Rogers was military, so he knew she was going to be punctual. He had decided to arrive at the waiting room a little early, trying to glean any type of clue to the world outside the fogged windows. As imposing as the hospital and its personnel were, they all had been surprisingly accommodating, much more than he expected. But he still had questions that needed to be answered, and nothing short of a full explanation would allow him to fully cooperate. He still wasn’t fully convinced that he had been told the truth, and he had it in his mind to find a way to communicate with his wife and his agent.
As soon as he saw the wall clock digits morph to 10:00 am, Corporal Jayna Rogers entered the room with a confident stride. She was an impressive figure up-close; her uniform folded and creased perfectly around her form, and her demeanor of movement was a combination of grace and confidence. Her hair was so perfectly combed that it resembled a flowing sculpture that tucked neatly beneath her cap. Despite her intrinsic tensile strength, there was an apparent glow of joviality about her, making her all the more endearing.
Her accent didn’t hurt, either.
“Buenas días en la mañana, Mr. Jones. How are we today?”
“You’re much too happy this early in the morning,” said Preston, amused at her mixing accents.
“Please, call me Jayna. Lucky for me, you’re not military. I get tired of calling people’s ranks all the time, and it’s worse when they call me by mine.”
“Alright, Jayna. You call me Preston, then. I really don’t know what’s supposed to happen next, so you’ll have to guide me through it.”
“That’s me job, love. Everything’s going to be alright. We’ll muddle through this together. But first, have you had the chance to watch the tele today?”
“You mean the television? Too much of it, actually. I can’t believe the stuff you guys watch here.”
“You might want to turn it to Channel 765,843.6a. This might interest you.”
Jayna grabbed the remote from Preston and sat down beside him, tapping her lap as the television screen faded into the middle of a live news coverage.
“We are standing in front of Babel Clinic,” said the personality with exaggerated intensity, “where we are awaiting the release of a man who claims to be Preston Jones. If that name doesn’t immediately ring a bell, it’s because it is only known to a mere handful of historians. Hospital sources say the man inside claims to be the early 21st century’s most celebrated athlete, who was believed to have died in a plane crash 200 years ago while at the peak of his career. I am surrounded by a sea of reporters waiting for him to emerge. We’ll break into our normal programming as soon as there are new developments. Back to you at the studio.”
Jayna smiled at Preston. “You’re already a handful, even without lifting a bloody finger.”
“See?” he said with a smirk, “I told you I was famous. Are we going to hold a press conference?”
“At this time, no. Until we fully uncover your background, you’ll have to stay hidden a wee bit longer. We’re escorting you to a side garage entrance. We have guards posted at every juncture, just in case.”
“You guys don’t trust me in your brave new world?”
“It’s the other way around. We’re all dealing with the unknown here. As the combat saying goes, ‘When in doubt, assume the worst.’”
“I like you already,” he said, laughing out loud.
“Let’s be off, then. They’ve cleared this section of civvies, and I’ve already informed the guards outside we’re about to leave.”
Escorted by two armed guards, Jayna led Preston through a winding main artery whose sub-corridors veined the entire length of the floor. Unlike Preston’s first sojourn through the hospital and its bare walls, these corridors were heavily furnished and utilized. Guards were posted at every intersection, stone-faced and ready for action. The ambience was as sterile as it was sound-proofed, dead to the world and quiet as a tomb. Their walk terminated at an unassuming loading bay, where a running van was waiting.
Jayna and Preston were quickly secured in their seats, then spirited off through a building parking lot before emerging onto the street and blending in with the rest of hospital traffic. Two guards remained with them as a mobile escort. The windows of the van were heavily tinted, preventing him from seeing the outside world. He could only see the events around him through an overhead monitor mounted down from the ceiling. Preston stared deep into the black glass to see any shred of detail, but to no avail.
“I thought you guys wanted to reveal everything to me. Why can’t I see the outside?”
“It’s for our security,” she said. “Look what’s happening in front of the Clinic’s main entrance. I’m switching to Angle Four.”
Preston looked up at the monitor as Jayna quickly changed viewing channels. A large crowd of journalists and fans had congregated around the front entrance, setting up equipment and chanting for their anomaly to come out. An armed barricade of guards stood in front of the main ward, just in case the mob decided to storm the building.
“If you could do this without even showing your face to the public,” she said, “imagine what it would be like if they actually saw you up close?”
“I’ve had my share of this before. Nothing new.”
“Have you now, love?” Jayna smiled in amusement. “Are you sure all this talk of glory isn’t just wishful thinking?”
“Honey, this ain’t nothing compared to the reception I get overseas. If this is the best you got, I’m not impressed.”
She barely had time to respond before the van came to a lurching halt.
“What is it, Private?” Jayna said with authority. “Why are we stopping?”
“There is a large group of photogs waiting by the lot entrance, ma’am,” said the driver. “They’re taking pictures at every passing vehicle with x-ray flashes.”
“Notify Clinic security, on the double. Transport personnel, Code Two.” Jayna quickly retrieved a pistol strapped around her belt and held it at a ready position. “Mr. Jones, get on the floor, please.”
“Are we under attack? Who’s out there?” Preston was directed to quickly sprawl on the floor.
“We have some overzealous reporters using illegal x-ray flashes for their story.”
“And that’s bad?”
“These photo-flashes can penetrate through lead-lined steel, leaving cancer-causing residue on any organic tissue it touches. Stay down, please. We’ll handle this.”
Their mobile bodyguards quickly took position fore and aft, with Jayna staying close to the supine Preston.
Although he was lying face-down on the van floor, Preston turned his head sideways and looked up. Sections of the tinted windows began to disappear in bright pulses, revealing the outside world in its full color, only to return solid again a few moments later. The pulses came from both sides of the van in scattered splatters, at times seemingly erasing the entire frame of the vehicle itself. Preston could glimpse the attacking photographers with their cameras in hand, snapping pictures at all the cars passing through their gauntlet. Jayna and their armed escorts crouched ready to fire, covering their eyes and barking strategies at each other.
Preston buried his face in his cupped hands, attempting to shield himself. In a startling instant, he saw the bones in his hands through his closed eyelids. With his eyes closed, he heard the van doors swing wide open, then felt the shake of several people jumping out. After a crisp volley of staggered ticks and pops, the van shook to life and again proceeded away from the hospital. Jayna and her guards smiled with glee as they resumed their original seating positions and replaced their firearms in their respective holsters.
“What the hell happened?” asked Preston as he sat up. “Where are the reporters?”
