Herculanium, p.22
Herculanium, page 22
The van began a slow descent as the stoplight blazed green. Preston felt like he was riding an open-air elevator, passing strata upon strata of a mountain he had seen from a distance just moments before. The details of the city slowly came into focus, where obscure textures, patterns and shapes revealed themselves to be the humanity living within it walls. As the van cleared the hill and blended with the traffic, life exploded around them. Beneath the canopy of mile-high overpasses, automobiles, trucks and motorcycles grinded and scraped against each other while jockeying for position. The monstrous traffic overflowed into the sidewalks, occupying twice the number of lanes than the road could accommodate. Grotesquely-shaped street lamps hung and stood at each intersection and street corner, flickering a dozen colors to direct as many lines of traffic. Heavily armed policemen sat in elevated checkpoints at alternating junctures, scanning the streets below as if it were a prison yard. Panoramic street signs formed yet another layer of life above the crowds, displaying numerous languages in both script and hieroglyphic forms.
Humanity swarmed the landscape like ants in a colony, streaming and occupying every possible crevice of space and motion. Street vendors mingled freely in traffic, selling their goods and instinctively dodging the shifting vehicles in their path. While some pedestrians walked, others used street-wide conveyor platforms that transported the masses from block to block. Some open-air escalators rose hundreds of feet in the air, elevating workers to their shops and offices. Ferris wheels and transport lifts doubled as elevators, casting moving shadows on the vehicles below.
Jayna looked upon Preston with sympathetic eye. He sat quietly in his chair, overwhelmed and almost cringing away from the window. The shifting mass outside was overflowing beyond its limits, a Malthusian nightmare of biblical proportions.
The van moved forward in stops and starts, continuously bumping and drawing sparks from the other vehicles. By just placing his palm squarely against the window, Preston could feel the myriad textures of the world outside.
From ground level, the city wasn’t as complete and solid as it appeared from the distance. Construction zones stretched for blocks in staggered frequency, wreaking havoc with the traffic. Insect-like machines were busy at work, lifting, crushing and attaching material with surprising agility. Some of the vehicles were large and armored, while others were light and agile, actually skittering across their compounds. Equipped with futuristic claws, shovels, pincers, drills and pile-drivers, the machines toiled feverishly at all levels of construction; from the top of skyscraper cranes, to the deep structural foundation.
Massive trains rumbled above them every few seconds, snaking along tracks affixed on the sides of buildings. The elevated railway avoided the traffic chaos below, defying gravity and orientation as it used the building walls themselves as roads to travel to their many passenger stops.
Vulture-sized crows patrolled the rooftops and skyways, gliding at all heights like omniscient caretakers of the city. Perching on anything that could support their weight, they were living gargoyles that changed the landscape with every landing. Their resonant cawing could even be heard above the static of the streets below.
As the tour progressed, Preston found himself looking more away from the windows than staring through it. He occasionally glanced up at the mile-high structures lapping the clouds above them, a more pleasing vista than the overpopulated mess that swirled around him.
Jayna gently tapped the driver again. “Mac, I think we’re getting hungry. Can you kindly take us to a nice restaurant? Preferably somewhere quiet?”
“You like anything specific?”
“Anywhere generic,” answered Jayna on Preston’s behalf. “Keep it simple and out of the way.”
Preston sat back in his chair and gently caressed his palms together. It was the only thing he could do that made any sense. He was a man out of time, alone in a world that could blind him simply by being. Lost in the deep shadow of the progress he helped introduce, he felt helpless and alone. For the first time in his career—in his life—the entire world didn’t revolve solely around him.
* * *
Dr. Julius Bentley stared out into the darkness from his office window. An attractive glow floated over the city, a combination of pollution and lamplight reflecting from below. It had been a relatively slow workday, slow enough to enjoy a glass of brandy at shift’s end. It had scarcely been two days since his most famous patient had left Babel Clinic. It seemed innocent enough as a chance encounter, never to be repeated again. He preferred life to be normal and uneventful; it maintained his reputation as an invincible physician.
There had been numerous rumors and inquiries about Preston Jones since he left. Military secrets seldom remained unspoken, especially inside a military hospital. As hard as he tried, he could not distance himself from his concern regarding the young player. Dr. Bentley couldn’t imagine the loneliness Preston must’ve felt.
He sat down behind his desk and rocked back and forth, trying to rub off the squeak that’s been plaguing his chair all week. As professional as he was, there were still things he preferred to avoid until the last minute: staff meetings, employee evaluations, meaningless minutia that took him away from enjoying life. The most dreadful of all distractions was bad news. He didn’t like to hear it, and he didn’t want to tell it to somebody else. Tonight was one such night.
“Bentley speaking,” he said, speaking into the beeping desktop intercom. “Oh, hello, Ms. Fiona. Yes, I did receive your call earlier. Yes, I knew it was urgent.”
He picked up his glass and took another sip of brandy. “I’m up to my ears right now with administration, and…look, I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to a lab technician. I’ve instructed Dr. Schaefer to handle the light cases.”
A lone envelope marked “Confidential” sat in the middle of a slush pile on his desk. He had been playing with the open flap for hours, rubbing on the crease to get it as flat as possible.
“An envelope? What envelope? Wait a minute, let me check.” He rustled through the slush pile, lifting and slamming down small clumps of paper. “Yes, it’s right here. No, I haven’t opened it yet. No, I’m not going to open this right now. I’m too damned busy. I will get to it when I can.”
Dr. Bentley had to dim the volume quickly, as the lab technician ranted through the intercom with near-hysterics. “Damn it, what’s it about? I know you read my mail, or you wouldn’t be calling. What about his biopsy?”
The intercom tirade continued.
“You’re going to do what? No, you will do no such thing. The man is my patient, and no one is going to do anything unless it’s approved by me. Yes, I will take full responsibility.”
The lab technician fell silent.
“You better not give me the runaround on this. I know the system well enough that they can never fire me. Do you understand? Is there any part of that you don’t comprehend?”
More hesitant silence.
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. I will be in touch soon. Bentley out.”
He carefully re-opened the envelope and read through the envelope’s contents again, confirming the lab technician’s conclusion.
Dr. Bentley stood up and paced across the room a few times, only to end up back at the same window. He took a sip of brandy and admired the horizon. The glow grew more beautiful as the day wore on. Surely, he thought, more phone calls will follow.
* * *
Preston felt ridiculous in his new outfit. Jayna had given him a jacket, a hat, and a pair of sunglasses to conceal his identity while they walked about the streets. Dressing undercover was nothing new to him, having to duck the media in-between games and public engagements. But he always thought fashion of any time period maintained an appropriate sense of style and dignity.
His new disguise made him look like a wartime casualty between a discount clothing store and a franchise fast-food clothier. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t believe Jayna’s assertion that it was the latest in style.
They were headed to a small diner two blocks down the street from where they parked. They both agreed that walking around a bit might help him acclimate to the new environment better. From the moment he donned his disguise and exited the van, he immediately cupped his ears. Although they were in a supposedly more quiet part of town, the ambient sound of the future was unforgiving. Horns, screeches, roars and conversation layered the air like an orchestral piece, swirling with other sounds he couldn’t begin to describe. It was as thick as the pollution encircling the city, as unpalatable to the taste and as abrasive to the touch.
As he was about to enter the diner behind Jayna, a large blur ran between his legs and darted to the sidewalk. It was the most playful dog Preston had ever seen, jumping and barking with its ears and tongue flapping wildly. Turning and kneeling to pet the animal, he immediately retracted his hand when he saw the animal up-close. From nose to tail, the dog was pierced with rings, studs, chains and plugs. It was virtually a walking pin-cushion, clanging like a change purse as it wagged its tail with joy. Preston cautiously rubbed its nape, staring at the studs bejeweling its nose, tongue, brow and ears. Beneath the fur, he could see the dog’s face and legs were intricately tattooed.
Preston stood up and looked at the animal with pity. The dog’s owner came up behind it, smiling as he retrieved his pet with a hand-held remote that controlled the animal’s movement through its collar. As quickly as it came, the dog bound towards the next block and disappeared.
Jayna held the door open for him. “They didn’t do pet-piercing in your time?”
“Hell no,” he said. “That was probably the cruelest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“I’ve dismissed the driver,” she said. “He’ll be back here in an hour to pick us up.”
A hostess led them to a window-side booth across the room. Jayna looked a little weary from playing tour guide, while Preston sat quietly across from her in a seemingly blank stupor.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said while gently nudging his shoulder with her fist. He just stared back and pursed his lips.
“I know how you must feel. Now you know why we’ve had to keep you in the dark until we felt you were ready.”
He nodded. She continued to stare at him, as if mentally willing him to speak.
“What do you want me to say?” he said, straining not to yell. “How do you put into words things you can’t even explain?”
Jayna stopped her prodding and immediately looked away.
“I’m way out of my league here, girl. I don’t know if I can handle all this.” He puffed his cheeks full of air and slowly exhaled.
“You can’t give up this easily,” she said with reassuring rap on his shoulder. “You’ll cope, you’ll adapt. It’s like playing a match; you strategize your…”
“Spare me the sports analogy,” he interrupted. “I already know what you’re going to say next, and it’s not going to help.”
“I don’t have magic words to make your pains go away. I’m a history major, not a writer. But whatever it is you’re feeling, I’m here to help you.”
Preston briefly looked into her eyes, then shifted his gaze to the rest of the diner. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor; he was only a few blinks away from tearing.
“This might cheer you up,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Tell me what you think.”
Jayna leaned forward on the table and grimaced, ripping the most horrendous and ear-splitting fart he had ever heard come from a woman. She then fanned her emission towards Preston, paddling her hands forward with glee. Preston quickly held his breath and shielded his eyes with his hands.
“That is, without a doubt, the absolute most nastiest thing I have ever heard in my whole life,” he said with a pained grimace. “Not even my guy friends rip bombs like that. Couldn’t you hold it in, for Christ’s sake?” His face shriveled in disgust while he fanned his hand in front of his face.
“Take a whiff, love,” she said. “What do you think?”
“I ain’t smelling nothin.’ You a nasty-ass freak. There’s people eating around us, you know.”
“I’m deadly serious. You don’t like it? Come on, smell me fart and tell me what you think.”
Preston was about to cup his hands over his nose and mouth tighter when he smelled a pleasant fragrance wafting in the air. Reluctantly, he inhaled in small sniffs before giving in to the guilty pleasure.
“Is that coconut? Or is it curry?” His eyes widened in fascination.
“Right on both counts. It’s called Bombay Nights, the newest scent in the line. It’s supposed to be guaranteed to put your man in the mood, if you know what I mean.”
“It’s not bad,” he said, but then he shook his head in bewilderment. “What am I saying? I just smelled ass juice! That is not normal.”
“Maybe not in your time, but it is here. Scented flatulence came in vogue about twenty years ago. They have over 600 wonderful scents for both men and women. Would you like a try?” Jayna retrieved her purse and pulled out two colored pills.
Preston smiled but shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I like my farts stanky and wet. Making them smell good kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a smug smile. Another quick volley squeaked behind her before she visibly felt satisfied enough to stop.
“My name is Angel, and I will be your server,” said the waitress as she came up and stood in front of their table. “Would you like an appetizer before ordering?”
She was an attractive server, Preston thought, but he was still too embarrassed by Jayna’s outburst to comfortably flirt with meaningless conversation.
“Is that Malaysian Moonrise you just expelled?” the waitress asked as she inhaled deeply.
“Nope,” Jayna said, “but close. It’s Bombay Nights. I think it just came out.”
“That smells wonderful. I usually take Singapore Sway. It drives my boyfriend crazy. Would you like to smell?”
The waitress was in the middle of turning around and expelling when Preston reached out his hands and declared an authoritative “NO! Miss, can we have a few more minutes to decide, please?”
“Surely,” she said as she placed two glasses of ice water on their table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Our special today is Mother’s Milk Soup.”
Preston looked at Jayna and shook his head with a smile.
“I swear, you people eat a lot of fucked-up food up in here. There better be a hamburger on the menu, just don’t tell me what the meat is.”
Jayna smiled and sipped her water. She was quite intuitive, Preston realized. She could read people by not only how they acted, but also how they didn’t act. It no doubt came from her military training, making her the best possible friend, or the worst kind of enemy. He realized that he had to always keep his guard up around her.
As he raised his own glass to drink, small black pellets fell into the water from the ceiling. He slowly looked up, dreading to see where they really came from. Several flesh-colored geckos hung upside-down from the light fixture, crawling and hunting for food. He returned his gaze to his glass, where the feces were now encrusted with bubbles and floating on the surface like wingless flies.
“Don’t mind them,” she dismissed. “They’re harmless. Some genius thought he could make a quick buck by importing geckos from Asia to eat the cockroaches in New York. It worked; now the roaches are the endangered species and the geckos are the pests.”
Preston pushed his glass away and sighed. “Are we going home soon?”
“We’ll head back after we get a bite to eat. What’s the rush?” Jayna raised her hand and motioned for the waitress to bring another glass of water.
“Let’s just say that seeing an overpopulated city, body-pierced dogs, scented designer farts and pooping lizards takes a lot out of a guy.”
“It’s a bit overwhelming, no doubt. It affects me sometimes, and I live here. But that’s alright, because things will get easier as we go.”
“Is this what my life boils down to? What’s going to happen to me when the touring stops?”
“I’m glad you asked,” she said with enthusiasm. “It seems both Combattra and the World Sports Tribunal has taken quite a shine to you. They want to use you to promote world sports from a different angle. You’re going to be part of a massive marketing campaign to instill pride and value into sports again. We actually do a campaign like this every dozen years or so, to keep the promotion angle fresh.”
“I feel like I’m being taken advantage of,” he said with disappointment. “Do I have a say in this? How much am I going to get paid?”
“You will be rewarded handsomely, although about three-fourths of your salary will unfortunately go back to the two organizations. Still, it’s infinitely more than the pittance I’m receiving.”
“And what if I say ‘No’?”
“Then chances are, you’ll be released and let out in the streets. Alone, by yourself. At least this way, it might lead to bigger and better things down the line.”
“It sounds like I’m only valuable to you for as long as you can use me.”
Jayna looked down with unexpected regret. “I received notice this morning that you are to meet Judge Thorne and General Cube tomorrow at a mid-afternoon press conference. They’re going to be announcing a major event, with you as a participant.”
“You’re asking me to join the circus, aren’t you?”
“I’m not privy to the details, but I heard it’s quite fantastic.”
“I’ve met General Cube; who is Judge…Thorne, is it?”
“He’s the highest ranking sports official in the world. He heads the World Sports Tribunal, which oversees all sporting events, organizations, and results. He’s even higher than General Cube on the rung. I think he used to be a controversial referee who somehow rose through the ranks and became successful. He’s one chap you don’t want to piss off. He’s been known to overturn clear-cut victories because someone on the winning team crossed him.”
