by John Graham
“Morning, daddy!” His children chorused as he squatted down to greet them.
They weren’t quite peas in a pod, but they all had their father’s distinctive electric green irises, and some of his features. The oldest, seven year old Orion, was already a few inches taller than his two sisters and, apart from his mother’s curly hair, almost resembled a clone of his father. Rose, the older of the two little girls managed to lift herself onto Gabriel’s knee before making an adventurous attempt to climb aboard her father’s shoulders.
“Sorry, sweethearts.” Gabriel plucked his five year-old daughter from her perch and placed her carefully back on the ground, “daddy has to go to work.”
Couldn’t his children just get up earlier and greet him before breakfast instead of when he was on his way out the door? As nice as this little morning ritual was, it was holding him up and could make him late. The director-general hated unpunctuality, and so did he. In fact being delayed at all was downright irritating.
Somewhere in the back of Gabriel’s mind it occurred to him what a cold train of thought this was to have about his own children. All they wanted to do was say good morning to him. Even so, was it too much to ask that they do it earlier in the morning?
His aspiring mountain-climber daughter reached up and irreverently poked her father in the nose with her tiny finger. Gabriel flinched in annoyance. He wanted to scold Rose, but he looked down and saw the cheeky grin on her face, and the shimmering emerald eyes she had inherited from him. He pursed his lips, then tapped her nose back in playful retaliation. She wrinkled her nose and giggled in response.
Why in Terra’s name did he expect his children to know or care about routine and schedule, or punctuality? They were just happy to see their father every morning. They knew even less about what he did when he was away than their mother. And unlike Aster, they wouldn’t understand what had happened if he never came back. Every morning they had together could be their last.
On an impulse, Gabriel pulled all three of them in for a group hug, squeezing them close. His children squeezed him back, happy for their father’s affection. This really could be the last time he saw or hugged them in person, and Gabriel’s annoyance melted away as he savoured the moment of familial closeness.
He looked up and saw Aster standing at the far end of the hall, their fourth and youngest child dozing her arms. Their eyes connected and Aster smiled at him. Gabriel smiled back as he squeezed their children close. Then he remembered.
“Their monthly check-up is today, by the way.” Gabriel reminded her.
“At eleven o’clock sharp, I know,” Aster responded, “I’ll get them fed and drop them off at the medical centre, then I’ll go to work.”
“So what are they having you build today?” Gabriel asked out of curiosity.
Aster’s warm expression turned into a frown.
“You’re not the only one with security clearance, you know.” She responded seriously.
Gabriel understood, and he dropped the issue.
* * *
It was standing room only this early in the morning, with over a hundred people huddled together in each carriage of the mag-train. Some were engaged in hushed conversation, others stood in silence as they watched the news on the holographic viewing screens or occupied themselves with their smartphones. A few passengers cast wary glances at the towering figure in their midst, dressed in a night-black military uniform, stern and motionless.
Gabriel stared out of the window, ignoring everyone. He didn’t mind the wary glances or the nervous stares directed at him, as long as they stayed out of his way. He did sort of mind having to be around so many people, especially the background din of frivolous chattering. But he had to take a detour before reporting for duty, and his destination was best reached via mag-train. He would just have to put up with it for now.
The magnetic rail was built as an extension from each skyscraper’s superstructure, snaking from tower to tower, occasionally splitting or converging at various junctions. The mag-train itself moved at incredibly high speeds, taking it to the centre of the city in very little time. Its path also took it several hundred stories above the ground, giving the passengers a view from the carriage window which never ceased to amaze.
Asgard was named after a heavenly realm from the legends of ancient Earth, and with its gleaming forest of Spires stretching far away into the distance, the city more than lived up to the moon’s mythical namesake. Asgard City was a megacity of over 80 million people, an urban nerve centre connected to countless smaller settlements across Asgard’s surface, and serving as the administrative and economic capital for the entire sector.
The gas giant Odin seemed to hover directly above, looming large through the artificial ozone haze, an enormous blue sphere beside the bright white orb in the sky. The local star bathed the moon of Asgard in a flattering radiance, with Asgard City as its crown jewel, beaming under the morning light. And to think that this was just one hub-world among many. One could only imagine what Terra itself must be like.
Looking down revealed a rather less glorious sight. Just visible in the shade, occupying the lower tiers of the city and woven in between the skyscrapers’ foundations, was a vast, multi-layered complex of warehouses, factories, and housing. It was called the Undercity, where most of the city’s industrial base was located; it was also the sprawling home of the vast majority of the city’s inhabitants, stretching deep underground and hiding most of it from view.
The Undercity was far less prosperous than the fabulously wealthy upper tiers of the city, an area known as the ‘Clouds’. Nor was it lost on anyone that the economic activity in the Undercity was what made the luxury of the Clouds possible, almost as if wealth were lighter than air. Most of those who lived in the Clouds had never been down to the Undercity, and the few that had didn’t care to return.
Gabriel had been down there many times.
* * *
The mag-train pulled into the central transport hub in the Ellipsis Commercial Tower. The enormous, shimmering monument of steel and glass was a marvel of engineering, reaching over a kilometre into the sky with foundations that reached at least that far underground. As well as one of the biggest mag-train stations in the city, it also housed the city’s main financial hub as well as the homes of most of its elite.
The doors opened and the passengers poured out onto the platform, dispersing down the various corridors and elevators of the enormous station. Heedless of his fellow passengers, Gabriel strode straight down the middle towards the main elevator, the crowds parting before him like a shoal of frightened fish.
Taking the elevator up to the top floor, Gabriel stepped out into the entrance hall of an exclusive, private club, perched at the top of the tower like a nest of luxury. An elaborate water feature, forged in the shape of a pair of mythical sea monsters, dominated the cavernous lobby. White and gold support beams arched over the entire complex, intertwining like the branches of a bird’s nest, with the natural light of the local star shining down through the glass in between the branching beams.
The super-elite came and went with their Human and android attendants, dressed in the latest and gaudiest fashions. Some of them paused briefly to stare at the intimidating figure marching down the hall towards the reception desk as if he belonged there. Gabriel knew how out of place he looked, and he didn’t care.
The Human receptionist was looking down at his desk, so Gabriel snapped his fingers to get his attention. The receptionist looked up, then flinched in shock.
“Um…only club members and their guests are allowed to pass beyond this point…sir.” the receptionist stammered.
“I am a guest.” Gabriel replied with an impatient scowl. “Scan me.”
The receptionist raised a trembling hand, pausing uncertainly between activating the biometric scanner or pressing the button under his desk.
“If you alert security, you’ll be dead before they can get here.” Gabriel said to the man dangerously, “now
stop wasting my time and scan me.”
The receptionist did as he was ordered and activated the biometric scanner, flash-scanning Gabriel’s eyes and bringing up a profile on the receptionist’s computer screen. The receptionist narrowed his eyes as the system denied him access to Gabriel’s biographical information, then he turned pale when he saw why.
“Am I cleared to enter?” Gabriel asked menacingly.
“Yes…please go in.” the terrified receptionist replied, buzzing open the doors.
Gabriel marched through the doors into Club Ellipsis without another word.
The receptionist must have been brand new to the job. Normally, non-member guests had to be screened before being allowed in – for reasons having less to do with security and more to do with maintaining the club’s ‘exclusiveness’ – but anyone else at the desk would have known to wave Gabriel straight in after seeing the uniform.
Come to think of it, why have a Human manning the reception desk at all? An android could handle the job with far more efficiency and courtesy than that dolt. Perhaps the club wanted to guarantee employment for a member’s son or grandson or nephew, or perhaps having an actual Human at the front desk enhanced the club’s prestige by providing a ‘Human’ touch. Or maybe it was both.
Club Ellipsis itself was an extravagant, multi-level palace in the Clouds, complete with a bar and restaurant as well as numerous open and private booths with crystalline-glass tables and chairs. Antigravity platters flitted back and forth overhead with food, drink, and stimulants to serve the guests and their scantily-clad ‘companions’.
The sheer decadence on display was eye watering. The carpet was blood red – no doubt woven from bioengineered fur – and every wall was covered with pieces of expensive art. Some of the paintings and sculpture had clearly required genuine skill to produce, but others were vapid ego-statements by the artist – one of these pieces of ‘art’ was just a blank canvass with the artist’s signature on it.
How original.
The most extravagant piece of decoration, however, was suspended from the ceiling: an actual chandelier made from thousands of custom-forged diamonds suspended from a carefully manufactured frame with innumerable arms. Each diamond had been polished to a smooth finish, and refracted the sunlight out across the club in a kaleidoscope of rainbow colours. It must have cost a fortune.
Gabriel ignored everyone and everything, moving with purpose past the tables and private booths. The tables’ decadently dressed occupants paused their frivolous conversation to gawp at the menacing-looking military officer, this visibly out-of-place interloper, marching through their private club.
Out of the corners of his eyes, Gabriel could see their expressions – ranging from curiosity to alarm, and everything in between – frozen on their stupid faces. But no one dared cause a fuss, let alone call security or the staff, and Gabriel ascended the stairs to the next level unmolested. He approached booth 39 and waved his hand across the scanner to open the door, walking straight into an argument.
“You slippery bitch!” one booth occupant bellowed as Gabriel entered.
The shouter was a stout man dressed in a smart blue suit with a frilled, white shirt and collar. He had a bushy black moustache and his finely combed, dark hair was styled with parallel streaks of white dye. His angry expression remained frozen on his face as he turned around to see a uniformed soldier walking into the booth.
“Gabriel!” the other booth occupant beamed, “good of you to join us, have a seat.”
The angry shouter turned back to face the ‘slippery bitch’, his anger now tinged with a mixture of outrage and disbelief.
“Jezebel…” the shouter’s bellowing voice had been reduced to a shocked murmur, as if she had just committed some unforgiveable faux pas, “I would have thought even you recognised that politics and security don’t mix.”
“Politics and security?” Jezebel scoffed derisively, “I thought we were just talking about business, your failing business, to be exact. And, by the way, it’s ‘Madam Jezebel’ to you, Mr Darius. We’re not that friendly.”
Mr Darius turned on his heel and confronted Gabriel, his eyes narrowed to suspicious beads. It was a brave thing to do, considering that Gabriel stood a head taller than he did. Gabriel could smell men’s perfume on the man, an overpowering scent of tropical flowers that made him want to gag.
“Gabriel, was it?” Darius asked, employing the tone of a lord disciplining a servant.
“Colonel.” Gabriel replied flatly, not inclined to give away his full name.
“How in Terra’s name did you get into Club Ellipsis?” Darius demanded imperiously.
“Through the front door.” Was the cool reply.
“Ah,” Darius sneered, disliking the sarcastic nature of the response, “so if I were to have a word with your commanding officer–”
Darius never got to the end of his sentence as Gabriel wrapped his fingers around the man’s neck, lifting him clear off the ground with one arm and squeezing the rest of his threat out of his throat in the form of a choking noise.
Darius struggled and gasped, tugging in vain at the ironclad grip on his throat. His previously narrow eyes were now bulging with surprise and panic, and his cheeks were turning red with effort as he hyperventilated.
“Mr Darius,” Gabriel said, his soft tone making him sound far more menacing than he could have done by shouting, “Believe me when I tell you that you should hope never to meet my commanding officer.”
With that said, Gabriel relinquished his grip on the man’s neck, dropping him to the floor. Darius fell to his knees, clutching his throat and gasping for air for a full minute. Once he had recovered his breath, he moved to salvage his dignity by making a swift exit. The booth door sealed behind him, leaving Gabriel alone with Madam Jezebel.
“Quite a performance!” Madam Jezebel smirked, sipping from an ornate glass.
“I’m leaving.” Gabriel informed her, turning towards the door.
“Oh, don’t be so antisocial,” Madam Jezebel said, waving him back over, “I hardly get to see you anymore. Sit down, have a drink with me.”
Gabriel’s normally impassive features were crinkled ever so slightly into a scowl. He didn’t want to spend a minute longer in this woman’s company than absolutely necessary; nonetheless, he did feel a sense of obligation that was strong enough to overcome his reluctance. Slowly, he turned away from the door and took a seat directly opposite his hostess.
Madam Jezebel was a slim, elegant woman dressed in a snow white fur coat – an item of clothing with no practical use in the temperature controlled booth, but no doubt very chic – whatever that meant. Her eyes were a hazel brown colour, looking somewhat dark compared to the luminescence of his eyes, and her dark hair was styled with parallel blonde stripes, and was tied into a cornbraid.
She exuded an aristocratic presence with traces of a superior smirk perpetually playing at the corners of her blood red lips. Her relaxed demeanour stood in stark contrast to Gabriel’s rigid posture and stone-faced expression.
“Why am I here?” Gabriel asked with an undertone of impatience.
“Is there something wrong with talking to my son?” Jezebel Thorn asked innocently.
“In principle, nothing.” Gabriel conceded out of respect for logic.
“Well then presumably that’s why you’re here.” Madam Jezebel replied, as she took another sip, “Now lighten up and talk to me.”
Mother and son shared the same grammatically flawless speech and cadence of the upper classes. But whereas Gabriel’s time in the military had rendered his accent and pronunciation textbook-standard, Madam Jezebel retained the flute-like pitch and inflections which her son had long since shed.
“So, you didn’t just double-cross yet another business partner and summon me here to send a signal that you have friends in high places?” Gabriel asked suspiciously.
“You know better than I do that interference in security matters is illegal,” Madam Jezebel brus
hed aside the accusation without explicitly denying it, “not that you spook-types seem to have a problem lording it over the rest of us.”
Gabriel eyed her distrustfully, dissatisfied with her answer.
“Although, if you must know,” Madam Jezebel continued, “a joint venture between Darius and myself recently fell through and he was unhappy that I shorted his stock.”
“I thought you no longer fleeced colonists for profit.” Gabriel said with disdain.
“I have indeed left the colonial investment business which paid for your expensive upbringing here amongst the Clouds – for which you’re welcome, by the way,” was his mother’s breezy riposte, “so stop projecting your dear wife’s bitter feelings onto me. Speaking of which, how are my grandchildren getting along?”
“Very happy and progressing well.” Gabriel replied as if delivering a field report, “Orion will have mastered elementary algebra before he turns eight.”
“Hmm, cramming several millennia worth of knowledge into such tiny little heads.” Said Grandma Jezebel pensively, “call me a Luddite, but I’m not sure sticking them in front of a holo-screen for seven hours a day is good for them.”
“Call me rude, but I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Gabriel retorted.
“You’re rude,” Jezebel countered smoothly, “unless you can tell me why my own grandchildren are none of my business. When are they next coming over to visit?”
“If Aster has anything to say about it, never.” Gabriel replied.
“Of course. You know, I could get them accepted into one of the top engineering academies.” Grandma Jezebel offered magnanimously.
“Their father and mother both succeeded without a nepotistic leg up,” Gabriel answered, flatly declining the offer, “they can as well.”
“Well, that first part isn’t strictly true,” Madam Jezebel answered, unfazed by her son’s brusque tone, “But the offer remains open, nonetheless.”
