Herculanium (24 page)

“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.”

Preston smiled. “I’ve known commissioners and referees like that.”

“At any rate, you’ll have to be in your Sunday best at the press conference tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll be right by you.”

“It’s a big media event?” Preston could immediately picture the past press conferences he had attended.

“Very big,” she said, emphasizing each syllable. “The entire world will be watching.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready for all this yet,” he said with feigned humility.

“You coping with all this is already a given. This is your chance to conquer the world again. If you were as big as you bragged about earlier, then this is the way to reclaim your throne. Maybe you can even teach all of us here in the future a thing or two. You owe it to yourself to find out.”

“Not to mention to you guys too, right?” He was all too familiar with his role in the arrangement. “I’m doing this because you guys have some use to me right now. Don’t ever lose sight of that.”

Jayna looked at him with a tinge of worry.

“Now,” he said while opening the menu, “what’s there to eat in this joint?”

Jayna stared at Preston and tried reading through his eyes, determining what he was truly hungry for.

Dr. Schaeffer stood in the middle of the room and scanned it from corner to corner. This was the first time he had any contact—direct or indirect—with the Preston Jones enigma. It was yet another distraction from his regular routine, more of an irritant sidebar than patient obligation. Dr. Bentley was in charge of the matter, but he apparently has been ducking questions and responsibility. When hospital administration assigned him to oversee the inspection, Dr. Schaeffer had little choice. Dr. Bentley was the top physician in his wing, and it was highly irregular for him to behave this way.

“These were his quarters?” he asked. “This was his bed with the original linen?”

“No, Dr. Schaeffer,” said Nurse Fiona. “They were changed immediately after the patient left. A nurse from the afternoon shift had them sterilized and rotated to another station.”

“Retrieve them, please. What of the instruments used to examine him? Where are they?”

“Level 4 sterilization, Doctor. They’ve been rotated, as well.”

“Retrieve them, please,” Dr. Schaeffer repeated. “Waste products? Napkins, combs, toilet paper, cotton swabs, slippers? Are they all being retrieved?”

“Yes, sir. They’re on their way back here from the refuse center.” Nurse Fiona tried to muffle her sigh of irritation. The doctor had always been known to be repetitive and overly-meticulous.

“I want everything he touched brought back here for examination. I also need a list of personnel who’s come into contact with him. If he’s even looked at someone, I want to know who, how long and why.”

Dr. Schaeffer adjusted his gloves, pulling them higher up his wrists and stretching his fingers deep into their holes. “You’ve informed Doctor Bentley regarding this, correct?”

“Yes, sir. He was less than receptive to my report. I feel at odds informing you of the matter.”

“This is just a routine inspection, nurse. This is standard procedure for any ‘curious’ patient.”

Dr. Schaeffer grabbed a small towel from his pocket and wiped the condensation off his hood visor. He had almost forgotten how uncomfortable it was to be wearing anti-contamination suits. Nurse Fiona looked more relaxed, writing notes down on her clipboard with thick mitten gloves.

“I needn’t remind you that this is all classified.” A dozen hoods turned around and acknowledged the doctor’s statement with a nod and a thumbs-up. His squad of bio-detectives scoured the room, extracting samples from the floor and ceiling, tables and chairs. Elaborate vacuums and microscopes were wheeled in and utilized. Even the room’s air-filters and light fixtures were under scrutiny. With all the anti-contamination suits walking about in the room, it looked more like the site of a nuclear meltdown in the middle of cleanup.

“Is this exercise classified from Dr. Bentley?” asked the nurse.

“Of course not, Ms. Fiona. But I believe his priorities may have been compromised. I will call him myself.”

* * *

Preston stared out the hotel window, still marveling at the sights and sounds unfolding every day. He had been pressed and prodded by the media since he arrived in the future, but unlike the press conferences of his day, he didn’t quite know how to read the crowd or its comments. Gadgets and lights were thrust in his face, things he assumed were cameras and microphones. Jayna stood a shadow’s length behind him, giving colorful advice and commentary to the people vying for his attention.

He used the walls, stairwells and partitions to move around the room, ducking unnecessary attention until he was ready to react comfortably. The window he found was the one spot in the lobby where he could smell and feel open air and space. As humble a portal as it was, it was enough to remind him that freedom extended beyond its walls.

The rain had increased steadily over the past hour, toning the air in a mild sepia mist. Pollution took its toll on the atmosphere, Jayna explained, and it changed the color of the rain from clear to rust. The raindrops themselves looked larger than normal, falling from the clouds and buildings in small explosions on the people and pavement below. Sidewalks became shimmering puddles of art, expanding and contracting in concentric circles. People outside walked under colossal dome and tube umbrellas, visually more fitting in a tropical hurricane than in a bustling street corner. The rain patter sounded like the monstrous applause of a satisfied symphony audience, resonant and permeating. Had it not been for the window’s thick glass plating, it would’ve easily swallowed the noise of the press conference set to begin.

Preston observed the proceedings through an overhead monitor. It seemed the crowd in his room had extended well into the next, encircling a stage that was flanked by numerous cameras. This stage sat under a lone spotlight, occupied by uniformed men and women who, in turn, encircled a lone podium at its center.

General Mason Cube emerged from this crowd and approached the podium, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Members of the Press, friends, esteemed colleagues, and fans the world over; on behalf of the World Sports Tribunal and the United States Combattra Federation, I would like to welcome you all to our first joint press conference of the season.”

Preston smirked at seeing the general again, still as pompous and transparent as when they first met.

“Without further ado,” the General continued, “I give you the most honorable Reverend Moses McEvilly. Let us all please join hands and receive the Lord’s blessing.”

The reverend appeared from off-stage left and swaggered to the podium, raising his right hand high in the air as if drawing power from the sky. Under designer sun glasses, a cassock and a short-sleeved shirt, his muscles rippled through the outfit with every subtle gesture. Despite having salt and pepper hair, he had the physique and charisma of a specimen body-building general set to lead his troops into battle. Jayna bowed her head in prayer, while Preston rolled his eyes with skepticism. His dramatic antics almost made him look like a cartoon character come to life.

“Oh heavenly father, it is in your divine wisdom that we are gathered here today. In your holy providence do we welcome this day as not just any other day, but a day of destiny.” The reverend took care to exaggerate every syllable, accentuating his speech by gesticulating wildly with his arms, shoulders and head.

“Your prodigal son has returned, and you have blessed us with the glory of his mystery. May he follow in the footsteps of your righteousness, so that he too, will embrace the Light. God bless our corporate sponsors, particularly Metropoulis Software, providing the world with the most holiest of computers; and the Miami Paladins Airways, official airline of last year’s world basketball championships.

“Now I stand before you, o Lord, and in front of the world, not as a perfect man, not as a holy man, and not even as a righteous man.” His every declaration was quickly followed by resonant and spiritual “amens” from the bowed audience. “I am but a lowly servant unfit to lace another man’s shoes, nor adjust his jock-strap. But I will perform my duty to the best of my abilities, under your divine guidance. Ladies and gentlemen, I present unto you…”

The reverend threw his arm back and forward, as if pitching a baseball, pointed straight to the closest camera and screamed, “…Preston Jones!”

As if on cue, a path quickly rippled open from the conference hall to Preston and Jayna. Several security guards vigorously motioned the two to come forward and enter the spotlight. Muffled murmurs gave way to abject applause as the two walked across the room and stood on the stage. A cacophony of flashes, clicks and whirs swirled around them from all angles, almost probing them from a short distance. Jayna took a step back behind Preston, who finally took his spot on the podium across the reverend. With the wall of cameras in front of the stage, he wasn’t sure if the cheering audience could even see him live.

“Welcome home, my long lost brother,” said Reverend McEvilly with an embracing smile, “our MIA, our soldier of fortune. The Lord has raised you from the dead and brought you to our dinner table. What say you?”

“I’m just happy to be here, happy to be alive,” said Preston with modesty. A dozen cameras clicked, flashed and panned forward with his every word.

“I bless you,” screamed the reverend, grabbing Preston with one hand and slamming his palm on his forehead with the other. “In the name of everything righteous and holy, I banish the demons of your past, so that you may begin anew in our present your future. The power of God commands you.”

Another wave of amens swept across the audience from behind the cameras.

The reverend stepped back, seemingly teetering on the brink of exhaustion. Preston stood ready, anticipating another righteous attack from the reverend. If he had grabbed Preston just a half-second slower, he would’ve quickly been sprawled on the floor unconscious from a right cross.

General Cube returned to the podium, tapping Reverend McEvilly on his shoulder and sending him quickly to the background.

“Mr. Jones,” said the general with mock admiration, “I think it’s pretty fair to say that you’ve had one hell of a journey. You represent a period of time that’s alien to us. We would like very much if you could take us back, so to speak; take us back to our roots. We in Combattra are very curious about what you think of our sports today.”

Preston strained to keep smiling, for he knew the general’s true intent was just commercialization and exploitation. He was definitely a seasoned actor, and a professional liar. Jayna coughed silently behind Preston, signaling to him that she, too, was aware of the general’s antics.

“No one from the labs and sciences know how you got here exactly, but that’s not important at this time. What is important is that you’re here
now
.” General Cube lifted a small box from beneath the podium and opened it. A gleaming large key sparkled in the spotlight, mounted against a velvet backing.

“As a gesture of good will,” he continued, “and as a token of our sincere appreciation, we would like to extend to you a key to the future. Here to present this key to our newest citizen is his eminence of the World Sports Tribunal, the most honorable Judge Silas Thorne.”

An entire row of snow-white wigs and flowing black robes steadily marched onto the stage behind the podium, firmly stomping the ground in coordinated cadence. Both camera and crew shook in place from the passing of the human train, causing the stage crowd to take one step back and give them space. Led by Reverend McEvilly, the audience broke out in applause as the last robe capped the black arc occupying the stage. Preston slowly backed himself in front of Jayna, unsure of what was to happen next. General Cube raised his arms in triumph and joined the applause, clapping loudly as he turned his back to the audience and almost bowed to the judges in obeisance.

Cloaked in black robes from the neck down, the judges formed a single mass on the stage. They wore heavy make-up, capped with grotesque white wigs that resembled British court headdresses of the Parliamentary past. Preston cupped his hand over his mouth to hide his smile and laughter; he had never seen so many men layered with eye-liner, lipstick and blush. He was either at the circus, or the latest Broadway musical.

Jayna nudged him from behind, unsure of the cause of his amusement. Preston looked at her with disbelief and whispered beneath his breath, “You’re kidding me, right?”

General Cube took his position behind the podium and raised his hand in presentation. “Preston Jones, I present to you the honorable Judge Silas Thorne.”

Judge Thorne stepped forward from the center of the mass and stood next to the podium. With an elaborate wig that towered four feet high above his brow, he was the most imposing of all the judges. Thick eyeliner and gaudy makeup made him look like a cross between a Maori warrior and a Kabuki stage actor, both amusing and terrifying at the same time.

He lifted the key box from the General’s hands and presented it to Preston.

“We have heard a great deal about you, Mr. Jones,” said Judge Thorne. “This key doesn’t only give you access to the community, but to the entire world of sports. Before you can preach to us about your world of the past, allow us the privilege of showing you our progress. As of today, I declare that Preston Jones and his companion will be given full access to the world’s competitions.”

A roar of applause erupted from the crowd, followed by a volley of flashes and clicks.

“You will see first-hand the savage majesty our world has to offer,” Judge Thorne continued, “and how it moved the carnage and bloodshed of the battlefield to the strength and competition of the playing field. Are you ready for our world, Mr. Jones?”

Preston could sense Judge Thorne was trying to intimidate him in public. His show of numbers and his eloquent speech insured him a perceptual advantage. If this culture worshipped strength and competition, Preston surmised, then any sign of weakness from his part would be unforgivable. His prescribed role to the press conference was that of a pawn; controversy and rebuttal would have been the last thing they expected.

“From what I’ve seen of your world, it
is
quite exciting,” said Preston. “Whether or not it impresses me...that remains to be seen.”

“What my guest meant to convey, sir,” interjected Jayna, rushing in front of Preston and speaking into the microphone, “is that he is up to the challenge of learning about this future. Yes, he is very excited about getting to know us better.”

Preston stared at her, astonished at her gall for speaking on his behalf. But the damage had already been done; Judge Thorne pursed his lips, sensing and accepting Preston’s last comment as a covered challenge to his establishment. General Cube just looked down, small beads of sweat glistening under his hat. The bright lights nearly covered his flushed reaction, and if they weren’t in a public forum, he would have surely exploded into rage.

“There are more things in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy,” said the Judge. “Shakespeare, Mr. Jones. Evolution; survival of the fittest; natural selection; may you find our world as curious as we find yours.”