Herculanium (23 page)

A smile suddenly washed across her face. “Are you well enough to go on a tour of the city?”

“You bet I am! What city we talkin’ about?”

“Here, of course! San Francisco! I think you’ve waited long enough…”

“I’m all yours,” he said with relief. “Finally.”

“I will pick you up 9:00 am, sharp.” Jayna stared at the food Preston was lapping from his spoon. “What do you think of the meal?”

“It’s very good. Just don’t tell me I’m eating the crotch of some animal and I’ll be okay. Your sodas are tasty, too.” Preston smacked his lips with wild abandon.

“Dolphin hormones sure do wonders for the taste buds, don’t they?” she said.

Preston stopped his drinking in mid-swallow, blew his cheeks up in a ball and spat his drink over his shoulder.

Jayna gripped her stomach and threw her head back. It had been a while since she had a good laugh.

Preston shook his head again. “Even in the future, they’re still around,” he reminded himself.

* * *

General Mason Cube made sure to steer clear of errant sprinklers and the undulating pavement panels on the walkway. If he could help it, his shoes would remain perfect long after he had passed away, a testament to his obsession with military attire and appearance. The aid leading him through the garden was far less concerned with his footwear. Chalking and streak marks laced its surface, a misdemeanor Cube was definitely going to file with the young man’s superiors.

The Sports Tribunal’s Garden of Eden compound was a sprawling estate, fully equipped for matters of business, recreation, and, of course, law. General Cube had toured through most of the inner complex, but had only driven by its outdoor target-shooting range. After walking past three Olympic-sized pools and a mile of rolling lawns, he was almost ready to call it quits and return to base. His shoes deserved better.

“The honorable Judge Silas Thorne is just up those steps, General. He is expecting you.” The aid was green, an understandably nervous young recruit. He wasn’t accustomed to leading high-ranking generals around base.

“Lead the way, son,” said General Cube with a smile. It was a last minute reaction, as his patience was quickly spared from frustration.

The two men walked up a step cement stairway jutting against a tall earthen mound, carefully grasping the banister to maintain their balance. Upon reaching the top, General Cube silently gasped in awe at the green landscape before him. They were standing on an elevated wooden platform that overlooked manicured hills that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Judge Silas Thorne stood posed at the edge of the slanting dock, his every movement a seemingly perfect camera moment. He was an old man at first glance; his complexion was red and powdery, with the crevice lines of age bisecting every muscle group on his face. His clothes hung loosely on a solid, wiry frame, capped by heavily-veined hands that seemed to be carved by fishing lines and crab traps. Depending on the angle of light, his hair gleamed from silver to gold, and then in reverse.

Judge Thorne held the stinger missile launcher pointed down as he surveyed the landscape. The aid motioned for General Cube to remain silent until the exercise was over. Windswept silence gave way to a faint sputtering of engines high in the near horizon. An airplane slowly came into view, a thousand or so feet at an angle above their position. Raising the launcher quickly above his shoulder as if it was a rifle, Judge Thorne inhaled and aimed. With a controlled jerk and small plume of smoke, he launched a streaming missile skyward. The plane exploded into a fireball that quickly spiraled to the ground, joining the other wreckage he had accrued over the past three exercises. Judge Thorne blew on the launcher’s smoking nozzle as if he was cooling a cup of coffee, pleased with his aim.

“Excellent shooting, Judge Thorne,” said the aid with enthusiastic praise. “Kill-shot, right through the cockpit.”

The judge smiled in return, slowly releasing the weapon harness over his shoulder and around his waist.

“General Mason Cube to see you, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Horace. That will be all. Please hold all my appointments for an hour.” The aid quickly disappeared as he descended the steps.

“Thank you for seeing me, Judge Thorne,” said Cube with exaggerated humility, glancing over his shoulders for anyone who might be within earshot. “I know how busy your schedule is.”

“Not at all, General Cube. It’s always good to see you.” Thorne walked to the top edge of the steps and looked back towards the main base complex. Aid Horace was already several dozen yards away. A heavy curtain was suddenly lifted above their friendship.

“How goes it, Silas? How are they holding up?”

“You tell me, Mason. How is our guest? Is he a handful?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve assigned an escort to him, and she’s acclimating him to our…culture.”

“I hope your taste in escorts has changed since your last assignment, Mason. The last one blew himself up by accident.”

The two men walked towards a small table stand capped by a tray of drink and snacks.

“Jayna Rogers is top-notch,” said Cube in friendly defense. “She was the best candidate for this assignment.”

“I don’t know exactly what to think about our anomaly. How do we classify him?” Judge Thorne filled two cups with lemonade and handed one to Cube. “Misfit? Un-person? You’ve met him; tell me: what he’s like?”

“He’s not a soldier, but you can tell off the cuff that he’s a pain in the ‘nads. We’ve kept him in the dark for as long as we could, short of sedating him.”

“So do we keep him as is, or should we corrupt him to our ways? Collectible…or commodity?”

“Both. None. Let’s see where this goes. I’ll keep you updated.”

“That’s grand. I’m up to my hairline on indictments and settlements. My judges have been working around the clock. I have to overturn a championship finals decision in two hours. One of the team presidents pissed me off.”

General Cube squatted down on a chair and gently wiped his shoes down. He was glad to be able to finally sit down and enjoy the scenery.

“This shouldn’t be a worry, Mason,” said Thorne. “If he causes trouble, we’ll just strip him of his rank.”

“He’s not military, Silas.”

Thorne kept smiling, his eyes getting almost lost in his wrinkles.

“Oh,” realized Cube. “I understand.”

Judge Thorne walked to the edge of the platform, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet smell of victory smoldering from the wreckage. General Cube was too preoccupied with his shoes to notice.

“I don’t believe they’re closed,” said Jayna, squinting in front of Preston’s blindfold. “I think I can see the whites of your eyes.”

“My eyes are completely shut!” he insisted. “I’ve been blindfolded for how long now? Fine way to treat a black man.”

“Patience, love. Promise, you shan’t be disappointed.”

Despite the cloth tied snugly over his eyes and around his head, he could vaguely picture his immediate environment. It had already been 45 minutes since they picked him up from his home, blindfolded him, and then set out for the trip. Beyond the voice of Jayna and the framed movement of the car, what lay beyond was a mystery.

“I’m getting a little car sick, guys. Can we please do whatever it is we’re supposed to be doing?”

“Tell me, Preston,” asked Jayna, “what do you think the future looks like?”

“I thought I was supposed to find out right about now.”

“But how do you picture it?”

“I don’t know; robots, spaceships, flying cars, maybe? Why do you ask?”

“Do me a favor and remember what you just told me.”

Preston felt the gentle pressure of a palm cupping his eyes, while another hand loosening the knot behind his blindfold. Jayna continued to speak as the cloth fell on his lap, simultaneously keeping her hand in place.

“Trumpets, please,” she said. “Preston Jones, since travelling some 200-odd years to your future, you’ve been kept in seclusion. But the time has come to meet your destiny.

“I give you…are you ready?” She did her best to build the moment. “I give you… the future.”

Preston felt Jayna’s hand slowly lift off his eyes.

His dimmed vision strained slowly into crystal clarity. The once deeply-tinted van windows had all but vanished. Save the body frame of the vehicle itself, Preston was riding in a clear aquarium, with a 180-degree view of the world around him. A blue ocean of sky loomed above from one end of the horizon to the other, while a multi-lane freeway sprawled beneath them, stretching infinitely forward and back. Other vehicles sped by and fell behind like hummingbirds, almost teleporting as they lane-changed from actual sighting to fading after-image. Trees, shrubs and billboard signs all blended into undulating color scales, seemingly translucent to the touch. Towering street lamps and grid railing framed the edges of the freeway like an open cage.

Preston pressed his nose against the cold glass, speechless at the speed and precision of the cars and motorcycles jockeying for position around them.

“Sweet Jesus, how fast are we going? Are we on a racetrack?”

“Not at all,” said Jayna. “We are on the Zephyr, this hemisphere’s version of the old European Autobahn. It stretches from lower Alaska, all the way to the state of Argentina. It virtually runs through the entire country.”

“What’s our speed?!”

“Relax, love. We’re actually going below the speed limit. We’re only going…” Jayna said, leaning forward to check the dash speedometer, “We’re only going 180 miles an hour.”

“But what happens when we have to make a turn?” Preston quickly scanned the landscape for exits and off-ramps.

Jayna smiled, having to explain daily realities she took for granted. “The road and our tires are magnetized, my dear. We’re not going to fly off the track, if that’s what you mean. Besides, our brakes are so strong, it can stop a runaway missile in three seconds. Inertial dampeners built within the car’s frame insures we don’t get thrown around by centrifugal force.”

Preston finally cracked a smile at the wonder around him, sitting back in his chair and releasing his grip.

“That’s the spirit, mate,” she said. “Just sit back and enjoy the ride. A few more miles of this and you will be a pro passenger.”

Preston fought the urge to instinctively cringe the moment a car got too close. “You guys get accidents too, right? What happens to the victims?”

“We all go so fast; either the crash finishes them off, or the other cars do. I doubt they feel anything. The impact’s just too bloody powerful. One minute you’re off the family picnic, next minute you’re a speck of blood staining someone’s front bumper. Life’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

She gently tapped the driver by his shoulder. “Mac, we’ll be getting off Exposition Avenue.”

“Way ahead of you, Corporal,” said the driver, raising his hand with his thumb up. “Are we going anywhere special?”

“Nope, just a city-wide tour. My guest wants to be impressed. We can accommodate him, yes?”

“Is that all?” The Private smiled with enthusiasm, the only time he had shown any emotion during the drive. “Consider it done.”

“Exposition Avenue, 2:00,” observed Jayna. The van had been travelling on the Number 2 lane of a 10-lane freeway. Preston quickly realized they needed to drastically change lanes in order for them to make their exit.

“Hold up, bro,” he said. “I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”

But before Preston could even turn his head and signal when it was safe, the van had already slid across the lanes and speared into the exit in a devastating blink of an eye.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” he yelled in both fear and exhilaration. “How the hell did you do that?” He held his chest and felt his heartbeat. What was once a hundred yards-wide freeway had quickly become a narrow exit that seemed to spiral into several dizzying loops. Preston closed his eyes and fought the dry heaves punching holes in his chest.

“Impressed yet?” asked Jayna as she tapped his knee. Preston nodded in nauseated silence.

“Listen to my voice,” she said with a whisper. “We’re here. You can open your eyes now.”

The motion of the spiral had quickly slowed to a dead stop, leaving only the tremble of the car engine shaking his form. He took a deep swallow and slowly opened his eyes. They were perched on a hilltop awaiting for a red light to change green.

“What do you think?” Jayna repeated with a whisper.

Preston gasped.

Bodega Bay, California, 2032

Melinda Reed wrapped the blanket tightly around her body, gripping two of its corners and folding it over itself like a tight kimono. The cold has permeated through the doors and windows and settled in the living room, leaving her buried in a near-igloo of sheets and pillows. No wonder she slept in her nice and heated bedroom. The gray fog outside had taken on a pearl luster, slowly lightening as the clock and the dawn moved forward. It was only a matter of time before she would hear the swish of sparse traffic, and the clang of buoy bells swaying against the passing of a fishing boat. Melinda had seldom stayed up all night in her adult life, and she had almost forgotten the sounds and sensations of the coastal morning that welcomed her every day. It was as peaceful as it was beautiful, something she considered to experience more often.

Local forecast had predicted low tide in the morning, which meant another excursion of minor scavenging in front of her house. It also meant an easier time for the military to scour the area for its quarry. The beating of helicopter blades was already pronounced in the distance, and surely the marching steps of soldiers weren’t far behind. Melinda’s spontaneous all-nighter had all but made her forget of what was happening around her town of Bodega. The military was still there, and life was far from normal.

She wiped the condensation off her window in small palm circles, looking for the pale spotlight that was the sun. The hot water continued to simmer on the stove below the window, just waiting to whistle in another round of caffeine-drenched coffee.

Melinda carried her blanket shell to and from the kitchen and living room, her attention and thoughts still lost in the story. She hated to interrupt the flow of the storytelling, but she had to take breaks to continue. She blew the steam off the top of her cup with her own moisture-laden breath, and sipped deep. The television was silent in its corner, and she intended to keep it that way. Whatever news she was going to see broadcast was something she was going to experience firsthand anyway.

If the fog outside could make a sound, it would rumble by like an endlessly passing train.

She turned the page and resumed the story.

* * *

Preston leaned forward and held his breath, taking care not to disturb the majestic and fragile view outside his window. He had been all over the world in his career, and had seen many exotic cities, vistas and sunsets. But what he saw here scared him as much as it enchanted his senses.

Even from this precipice, Preston had to strain his neck up to see the monoliths towering nearly to the clouds. Against a backdrop of wind-scraped clouds, buildings and sculptures bloomed like a forest of glass, tile and concrete, undulating in height, texture and color. Multi-tiered freeways wove themselves around and through the city like a demonic rollercoaster, angling and spiraling as if in an amusement park. While some buildings were geometric in form, others were more anthropomorphic, taking the shape of heads, limbs and trunks, even full human figures. Some skyscrapers glistened from the waterfalls cascading down its sides, while others showcased entire forests growing on their floors and rooftops. Hundred-story animated billboard signs leapt from building to building, exchanging positions with other live commercials travelling in the opposite direction. Airplanes and helicopters flew freely throughout the city, using gaping airways carved through the structural frames themselves. Some rooftops were even airfields to commercial airlines, resting on buildings stacked like table legs beneath an extended roof platform. The bridges of the city weren’t used to span oceans and gorges, but the gaping chasms between the high-rises. Certain buildings seemed to rotate in place, while others had specific floors that rotated independently of the other, spinning in alternating directions.

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.