Sky Parlor: A NOVEL

by Stephen Perkins

  “Though I may have mentioned it before,” Icarus replied, “our investigation has unearthed significant evidence that Doctor Zoe’s monthly tributes to the council are in arrears, and as I’m sure you’re aware, Sir, his Paramount gaming complex is not only the most popular MU-based business in Sky Parlor but also the most profitable. Apparently, news of this is spreading to other MU businesses located across every borough of the city. In my opinion, this sets a negative precedent for commerce in the city, Sir. The techs should be ordered to perform an immediate audit and Zoe should be publicly called to task and arrested for tribute evasion. If he still refuses to pay, Mister President, the public could be told that our ongoing investigation into the Cassiopeia Craft case revealed Zoe may have been the suspect’s co-conspirator.”

  “Yes, this is an unfortunate scenario that cannot be allowed to persist,” Ulysses agreed. “However, due to his eminent position as head of SAGAN, Sky Parlor’s space agency, and in consideration of the scheduled high-profile mission to Enceladus, it is my considered opinion the audit and his arrest should be performed quietly. In circumstances such as these, some form of subtlety becomes necessary. As I’m sure you’re aware, Chief Blythe, Doctor Zoe is a rich man, and he can call upon a considerable private security force filled with saints who are as well armed as your praetorians, Icarus. In the meantime, we shall send him a formal summons informing him his tribute to the council is in considerable arrears.”

  Ulysses saw Plato begin to rub his wedge-shaped chin, a mannerism with which the president was most familiar, indicating his Chief Sustainability Councilor wished to express misgivings, but was thinking precisely as to how to phrase them. Ulysses always acknowledged, though his loyal servant would often take the liberty of being critical, it was also Plato’s wish to never sacrifice the liberty of cultivating his master’s good graces.

  “Forgive me, Mister President,” Plato began as his fingers raked the nubs of his chin’s trimmed and graying stubble for a final time, “but what is your plan in terms of the end game for Doctor Zoe’s…SAGAN’s newly announced mission? From what I understand, the purpose of the last mission was to test the viability and social conditioning factors – under controlled conditions while in isolation – of the growing relations and social assimilation between breeders and saints.”

  Plato’s eyes narrowed as he observed a fiendish grin spread across the plane of Ulysses’ face.

  “I would be very happy to explain, and it is quite elementary, Plato,” Ulysses said. “For it has to do with the very subject you alluded to from Doctor Zoe’s psychological and social conditioning studies conducted from the last such mission. In fact,” Ulysses continued to relate, “this experiment has very much to do with the future of Sky Parlor, and what species shall ultimately prevail to predominate its population – whether breeders or saints.”

  “May I ask, Mister President,” Plato wondered, “to what effect?”

  “To observe, in an isolated setting and under somewhat controlled scientific conditions,” Ulysses replied, “the possible mating habits of saints and breeders. Since statistics from Doctor Zoe’s Paramount Gaming parlor have shown a growing number of breeders prefer sexual congress with saints, the intent is to observe if this would not be a feasible method – covertly of course – of breeding out purely biological humans going forward.”

  Plato attempted to stifle his trembling lips, while Icarus’s face remained blank as a stone monument, thinking that in order to subvert Ulysses and take his place in the presidential palace, he would have to hone greater cunning, and even ruthlessness.

  “That is stunning news, Mister President; a brilliant strategy, no doubt,” Plato exclaimed, stifling his stammer.

  “Is it indeed, Plato?” Ulysses replied in an icy whisper. “Regarding this meddlesome Michael Lee Tepper and his son, the football star from Columbia Prep, Icarus – there may be a better way to dispense of these…problems. You do recall the unfortunate accident that befell the loved ones of Desmond Starr, yes?”

  Icarus felt his mind stricken with an involuntary twitch, awed at Ulysses’ uncanny aptitude for cunning intrigue.

  “As your loyal servant, Mister President,” he replied, “I shall do as you command.”

  “SAGAN’s mission to Enceladus has been fast tracked forward a few days,” the president divulged. “Therefore, bring Tepper’s son to me at the palace,” Ulysses ordered Icarus. “And I expect, Chief Blythe,” the president added, vaguely warning, “you won’t say anything to alarm the young man. As you’re both aware, Tepper’s father is scheduled to testify – at the behest of Alderman Starr – before the city trade and transportation committee regarding his nonsensical claims he’s discovered foreign ingredients in the food packages the very same afternoon. I’m relying on you, Chief Blythe, to make sure that once again the monorail algorithms have been properly reprogrammed for our desired outcome. Meanwhile – thanks to our techs at SAGAN who’ve prepared in advance an epic and dramatic narrative production about our intrepid space adventurers – Tepper’s widowed wife along with everyone else in Sky Parlor, shall assume Bobby Lee Tepper has been teleported to Enceladus ahead of the other four.”

  “I shall certainly do all that you require, Mister President,” Icarus replied.

  Before responding, the president summoned forth the holo-screen’s virtual keyboard, curious as to who may be the mother and wife in the Tepper family. As a slew of pedigree and employment information spread across the screen, Ulysses’ jutted his chin closer to study the high-definition image of Eileen Lee Tepper, and he became intrigued with a certain familiarity reflected in the vibrant glow of her eyes.

  “Very well gentlemen,” Ulysses’ salutation dropped like a heavy stone, “a good evening to you both.”

  With the president’s last word, the pair of wide holo-screens faded into black mirrors and vanished into the slim ivory octagonal unit placed atop a pinewood tripoded table. Reaching for a nearby silver service filled with trayed carafes of fine liquors, Ulysses’ thoughts became disturbed when the virtual entrance to his private chambers yawned open with a faint whoosh.

  “Ah Marissa, my faithful executive secretary,” Ulysses charmed. turning his head away from the wide holo-screen. “What good timing, as usual – please come in, my dear,” he added a complimentary welcome.

  Tastefully donned in tight-knit black leggings and a green cotton sweater, with her dark hair swept into a long cascading mane fastened with a jade butterfly broach, Ulysses’ keen gaze detected that her mind was still preoccupied, perhaps with memories of her encounter with the increasingly meddlesome but charismatic alderman from Columbia. If so, all the better, he decided. Darting his eyes away from her slender and pleasing figure, a small concern stuck in his mind like an annoying pin prick as to whether there was a small but not insignificant chance Marissa may have been eavesdropping. Deciding she was not likely to be that cagey, he adopted a warm smile and motioned to her with a sweep of his hand as he observed her reticent steps away from the soaring aperture of his private chamber’s virtual entrance.

  As she entered the spacious room, Marissa’s curious eyes scanned the vaulting stone archways and grand arrays of hand-crafted wooden furniture, wondering with growing doubt as her steps tapped upon the white marbled floor more assertively if any of the millions populating Sky Parlor’s thirteen borough regions could imagine living so splendidly.

  Though it had been several days since the night of the gala when she last saw him and, as she contemplated settling into one of the many silk embroidered wooden chairs, Marissa found herself still stricken with the image of the intrepid and chivalrous alderman who not only saved her life as well as the life of the Chief Praetorian, Icarus Blythe. Before she crouched into one of the comfortable chairs and folded her dove-white hands across her lap, her delicate features posed with a prim smile. The memory of Desmond’s last words to her before leaving the palace on the evening of the gala now replayed in her mind like a haunting loop, and she
began to wonder if that was why Ulysses had summoned her.

  “As I’m certain you’re aware,” Marissa heard the president begin in a soft tone, “Doctor Zoe, the executive director of SAGAN, is ready to officially announce to the public those among the masses of Sky Parlor who have been chosen for the next mission to Enceladus.”

  Marissa nodded while she tried to keep her hands from fidgeting.

  “Of course, you recall from the palace gala several evening’s ago, Alderman Desmond Starr has already been chosen as one of the five to make this historic journey.”

  “Yes, Mister President,” Marissa gulped. “I do recall.”

  Ulysses rose red tinged lips flashed a curt smile.

  “I’ve just finished conferring with Plato Charlemagne and some of the other sustainability councilors,” the president said as Marissa’s brain began to buzz, “and we thought it might be intriguing, if I were to enquire of your interest in accompanying Alderman Starr and three other deserving young people to explore another world,” Ulysses’ soothing, paternal tone cajoled her. “You would become a hero to those counted among the growing pockets of saints populating Sky Parlor, and you would be the first woman chosen by SAGAN to make such an historic journey.”

  Marissa’s brain felt as if it had been infused with electric shocks. Ulysses imagined the flood of half-formed words trembling on her fulsome lips as at first, she struggled for a suitable response. As she rubbed her well-manicured but still fidgeting hands together, Marissa recalled how often she had peered at the plethora of stars blazing across the soaring ink black sky on those nights when she would wander outside to the lush palace grounds, unleashing her inspired imagination to roam free.

  With a relieving exhalation of breath Marissa finally gathered her wits.

  “Yes, Mister President,” she said, feeling her skin begin to wildly tingle. “This would be such an honor and, I humbly accept your gracious invitation.”

  Beaming as if in paternal pride, Ulysses leaned forward and affectionately tapped her knee. Overcome with giddiness, Marissa’s ivory white neck tilted back, and a mellifluous guffaw flew from her gaping mouth.

  Long after Marissa had left his private chambers, Ulysses retrieved a vile of his favorite sweet elixir from a closeted refrigeration unit guarded by a black wrought iron door. As he entered the unit and retrieved a sample of his treasured supply to pour the contents into a scalloped snifter, and parted his hungering lips to gorge himself with the blood’s rich adrenochrome, he became haunted with the distorted features of a strange and yet familiar face reflected from within the contours of the glass.

  “Though you’ve done your best to expunge my memory,” Ulysses heard the echo of the chiming voice, “yet still, here I am.”

  Though he found his mind recoiling from the possibility his ancient lover and spiritual nemesis had chosen this moment to appear, Ulysses’ senses could not deny the reality of the voice emanating from the distorted but comely reflection. His fingers felt jolted with quakes, and as he turned to face the invading vision, the snifter began to tilt from his hand and falling, crashed to the marbled floor in a crimson pool inundated with shards of shattered glass.

  “Yes, you’ve returned Apollonia, and although the image before me is no doubt a modified creation of your material invention, the silver light cube, I had a notion you may have chosen to become the matriarch of the Tepper household, a family filled with potentially rebellious and troublesome agitators.” Ulysses began to snarl while struggling to recover his startled composure. “But do you really think you’ll succeed in fomenting a rebellion against me – do you really think the youth of Sky Parlor fell for that theatrical spectacle of yours at Colombia’s school auditorium?”

  Ulysses’ mind recoiled as he began to flinch, observing the luminous figure draw closer.

  “Did you really think I would sit idly by,” Apollonia said, “while you succeed in forever trapping the immortal soul of humanity within the bodies of programmable machines, making them eternally subject to the whims of your evil bidding, Artemis?”

  “What is it you intend to do, Apollonia,” he scorned, “do you intend on restoring to them their free will to direct their own affairs, when their wretched history exists as evidence, they have long been content in forfeiting the capability?”

  While he imagined her sparkling eyes concealing sinister plots, he felt his limbs jangle with alarm as she drew closer still with a disarming smile spread across her angelic face. Ulysses further recoiled while having to mind his retreating steps over the calamity of glass and blood staining the marbled floor.

  “And what of this family of yours you’ve chosen to align yourself with during this incarnation, Apollonia,” Ulysses barbed, “I see you’ve infected both your son and your husband with this intransigent, insufferable and rebellious nature of yours. I must warn you, Apollonia, if your husband, Michael Lee Tepper, persists with these foolish notions of his, and chooses to go before the city’s trade commission, I can promise you by the time he is called to testify, he will no longer have a head from which to speak.”

  Deliberately, Apollonia moved closer. The dark warrens of her pupils began to flame with the fury of a funeral pyre and Ulysses, while gulping for breath, tried to retreat, but he found the mysterious force of her gaze holding him captive.

  “I will warn you that if any harm comes to either my husband or my son, very soon, Artemis, to persuade you in relenting from your perilous course, this time, I will make you feel the full and torturous brunt of the centuries of pain you have caused, and the pain of your latest victims.” she portended. “Very soon, they shall haunt your dreams as you slumber and your every waking hour, until finally and forever, you relent of your evil nature and set humanity free from a millennium of bondage.”

  As his features etched with scorn, Ulysses felt his veins boil with viscous serum and yet, though his lips formed to reply with scornful rebuke, he found a spring of enchantment welling within, for she appeared more radiant and beautiful than he had ever recalled. Though he tried to prevent it, he could not resist the urge, and as he found himself reaching out to grasp the glowing vision of her tender hand she began to vanish, leaving in her wake the soft tone of an echoing mantra: “Very soon Artemis…Very soon.”

  *

  While from a distance, the empty dark shell of Achilles stadium and its surrounding towers of dimmed lights appeared crouched in a smoky haze tinged with sparkles of gold, Michael Lee Tepper waited for his son to emerge from the victorious home team’s buzzing locker room.

  “You see; I told you Lucius would come through and become the star of the game, Boudica. That kick will go down in history as the greatest game winning play in the history of Columbia prep. I guarantee it.”

  Tepper’s face creased with a wide grin as he heard the unmistakable booming voice and saw his smiling son emerge from the locker room with his strong arms slung around Boudica and Lucius.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, Bobby,” Boudica said, “Lucius would never have had the chance the make the game winning kick, and our team wouldn’t have had the chance to win the game if you hadn’t caused Arcadia to fumble the ball with only seconds remaining.”

  “Well, well, can you believe this Lucius?” Bobby joked as he again threw his arms around the shoulders of his pair of new friends. “The very girl who is always claiming she absolutely hates me is finally throwing some praise my way – will miracles never cease?”

  “Bobby, you were fantastic tonight, son,” Mister Tepper strode forth while spreading out his arms to enclose Bobby in a bear hug.

  “Thanks Dad. I guess I was almost as good as you were when you were in an Eagles uniform.”

  “And Lucius; that was a great kick,” Mister Tepper proclaimed, slapping Lucius on the shoulder. “You know, since Mister Hammond knows you’re a freshman, he’s going to be chasing you around the halls of the school just to make sure you come out for the varsity squad next year.”

  Bobby’s enthusia
stic demeanor dampened and Lucius, Boudica and Mister Tepper noticed his infectious smile begin to dwindle.

  “You know, Dad,” Bobby began.

  His shuffling hands rubbed together, and his head slowly began to droop.

  “I don’t exactly know how to tell you this, but, well,” he paused.

  Mister Tepper could see his son’s features twisting into uncomfortable contortions.

  “Is there something wrong, Son?” Mister Tepper wondered. “I mean, tonight, you guys became the champs of Sky Parlor, what could possibly be…”

  “You know that pact we sort of made, about me promising not to say anything to either Lucius or Boudica about Greenview – well, I might as well tell you, I sort of told them the other day in the cafeteria about what you saw and…I’m sorry if I disappointed you in not keeping my promise to be a man of my word.”

  Boudica and Lucius gave each other uncertain glances as they saw Mister Tepper’s rock textured features begin to sculpt into angered vexation.

  “It’s okay Bobby,” he replied as his stony features spread into a joyous grin. “Alderman Starr came to the game tonight and I told him everything and besides, which of any of us in life is ever perfect? But just remember,” Tepper added, affectionately clasping his hands about Bobby’s shoulders. “Both me and your mother couldn’t have wished for a better child to call our son, and we both love you very much. And Lucius,” Tepper said while sticking out his oak strong hand, “Congratulations kid, you did a great job out there and, in the clutch, too – a real test of a man’s character and you came through. Maybe, well, don’t take this the wrong way, kid,” Tepper hesitantly related as Lucius once again felt the soft caress of Boudica’s fingers, “but maybe everyone in Columbia, and even in all Sky Parlor, has been wrong about saints all along.”

  ACT III