The Last Horizon

by Anthony Hartig

  My bomber jacket was zipped up, and I was wearing the HUD helmet with a reflective face shield that came with the Cyclone along with black leather pants, gloves, and cowboy boots.

  I walked up to the podium to the left of the grand entryway where the valets gathered and tracked guest keys and personal belongings. The one that greeted me smiled as he approached. I removed the helmet and shook my hair loose so that it fell to my shoulders. He looked at me with surprised embarrassment when he realized I was female.

  “Gosh, I’m so sorry I called you sir!” He blushed.

  “No worries.” I handed him my helmet and gloves. “Do you mind?” I asked as I reached over and positioned his arms higher so that I could see my reflection on the helmet visor. I opened my clutch, pulled out my lipstick, and leaned forward to reapply it. When I finished, I put it back and patted the valet on his blushing cheek. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” I smiled, “take good care of my stuff, okay?”

  “Yes ma’am!” He bowed.

  A red carpet led through the entrance to the lobby, and once inside, I was awed by three crystal chandeliers that spiraled from the cathedral ceilings and centered over a huge, blue orchid that was designed into the white terrazzo floor. The orchid itself was a marvel to look at; it was at least thirty feet in diameter, and the petals and sepals were composed of five different shades of blue. It was a breathtaking centerpiece.

  The blue and white marble walls were complimented by thousands of silver and white butterfly ornaments that cascaded from the ceiling between the split staircases that curved up to the mezzanine.

  Flower arrangements made of the different species of orchids that grew in Fluture were everywhere, and visitors and guests milled around and mingled as servers circulated with bottles of campaign and silver platters of carefully arranged hors d'oeuvres. This place was gorgeous and aimed to overindulge Fluture’s power players with its luxurious atmosphere.

  I wove casually through the groups of people until I spotted a crowd gathered at the main entrance of a nite club called the Electric Gypsy. There were a couple of huge doormen in black suits that stood in front pointing at certain patrons and waved them in past the velvet ropes when I edged forward to take a closer look.

  “You, you, and you, may come in.” One of them bellowed as he unhitched a chain that symbolically divided people by their appearance.

  “Aw come on!” A man in his early thirties whined. “What’s it going to take to gain admission? Is it money you want? Credits?”

  A bouncer glared at him. “It’s not about money, it’s about the energy. Only people with the groove get in.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” The man demanded in an incensed tone.

  “Those who know don’t tell, those who tell don’t know. If you have to ask, then you don’t need to know.” The bouncer stepped forward and pushed him back into the crowd. “You and you,” he gestured at two girls standing in front of me, “may enter.”

  They looked at each other and squealed in delight as they clapped their hands and went down the stairs that led to the underground club.

  The bouncer looked at me and a blonde girl wearing a short white cocktail dress standing to my right, “You and you,” he pointed, “may enter.” He said gruffly as he unhitched the chain and ushered us toward the brightly lit stairwell where another man stood at the bottom in front of a second entrance.

  I could hear the beat of techno-trance pounding through the heavy doors and the cheering of hundreds of voices.

  “Welcome to the Electric Gypsy.” The doorman nodded as he let us into a vast, darkened ballroom. The party was packed and in full swing. The center of the room had an elevated circular platform that was twenty feet in diameter, where the DJ and technicians controlled everything that created the hypnotic atmosphere of flashing lights and lasers.

  I started moving my shoulders instinctively to the seductive beat of the bass drum and synthesizers as I melted into the mob. I was automatically drawn to the platform, and people rubbed against me as I danced through the bodies moving rhythmically with the beat.

  The DJ wore a red and white striped stovepipe hat and a head-mic, and he moved over a large console flipping switches to create electronic sounds that kept the music going. His face and body were chalk-white, and red theatrical make-up was applied in a wild design on his face that accented his mouth and eyes and made him look like an evil clown.

  His falsetto voice reverberated with the synthesizers and bass beat as he sang the club’s theme song:

  Ten thousand light years I've roamed the skies I’ve touched the rainbow and it feels like ice

  I move so fast, never touch the ground

  I live my life at the speed of sound…

  …the crowd danced wildly to the anthem and pumped their fists in the air as they sang along at the top of their lungs…

  Techno-Gypsy, Electric Gypsy The night is young, Gypsy, Oh Electric Gypsy All night long

  …the laser lights pulsed red and blue rays from the platform as the silhouettes of clubbers waved glow sticks, squirted water bottles, and jumped up and down in unison…screaming…

  I won't come down so don't make me try

  My sonic dream is never gonna die I’ll take my chances on chrome and steel Live fast die young is how I feel…

  Techno-Gypsy, Electric Gypsy The night is young, Gypsy, Oh, Electric Gypsy All night long

  The DJ came down from the platform and started dancing with a group of girls. He was wearing tight red vinyl pants and undulated with the music as the girls ran their hands over his pale shirtless body.

  The girl I came in with shrieked, “OH HERRON, YOU’RE GOD! I LOVE YOU!” And the DJ spun several times and floated to where we were dancing.

  “Trance is energy, baby.” He purred. “Are you here with anyone?”

  She shook her head and beamed.

  “Perfect!” He smiled widely. “Give yourself to me tonight.”

  He took her hand and led her to the platform. The group of girls he danced with clawed at him for attention, but a couple of bouncers stepped in and yanked them away. The DJ had made his choice and brought the girl to the stage and started manipulating the console again as she stood star-struck and watched her idol in fascination.

  Even through the chaos of strobe lights, and the echo of electronic voices inducing the frenzy of sweat and hypnotic lust, I saw the DJ hand the girl a small vile and encourage her to inhale its contents while she danced seductively to the music. Crunch dust.

  The ceiling burst with blinding white light and flickered back to darkness as the techno-trance engulfed the crowd and electrified the air. Someone handed me a bottle of water and motioned for me to drink it. I handed it back and moved through the mass of howling people indulging themselves in the scene as a giant blue butterfly appeared and floated gracefully over the horde of clubbers.

  I made my way to the side of the dance floor and looked for an empty seat at the tables that were set up for spectators on a raised floor. I moved through the mingling people watching the bash when I spotted a small, empty table by the handrail that bordered the floor perimeter. I sat down and exhaled and watched the butterfly glide over the party.

  “It’s a great scene isn’t it?” A man with long dark hair wearing a vest and dark glasses sat down and edged up next to me.

  “Yes it is.”

  “I’m Roscoe Brown, the ladies call me RB.” He said smoothly as he dropped his voice an octave.

  I recognized the approach. “I’m not really looking for any company, handsome.” I said politely.

  “Hey, you need to get hooked up? I can get you anything. You need some crunch? Psycho-dots? How about some Afterburner?”

  “No thanks, I’m not into getting chemically motivated to do something stupid.” I frowned as I turned my attention back to the dance floor.

  “How about me then?” He grinned.

  “Huh?”

  “Want to session?” He stood up and rubbed the
bulge in his crotch. “I can promise you a night you’ll never forget.”

  I rolled my eyes in disgust. “I’ve seen bigger balls on a kitten. Do yourself a favor and give those steamed clams the night off, handsome.”

  “You keep calling me handsome, so there’s obviously something about me you like.”

  “I call you handsome because you’re going home alone tonight and going to be using your hand-some.”

  Roscoe laughed and put his hand on my lap as he sat back down. “I bet you like it rough, am I right?” He squeezed my thigh and ran it a little higher. “I bet you can get real nasty with the right man.” He winked.

  I laughed along with him as I reached down, grabbed his hand, and set it flat on the table. “Oh Roscoe,” I smiled as I reached over and removed his sunglasses and put them on, “you definitely have a way about you, and you’re right, I can get real nasty.”

  He smiled confidently and tilted his head sideways and eyed my breasts.

  “I tell you what,” I said with a softer voice as I lightly stroked the wrist of his hand on the table, “I’m going to get you something to drink…” I leaned in and slipped my other hand into his vest without him noticing and removed the stiletto he had stashed in the right pocket.

  “…while you sit here and try to figure out…” I held the knife up in front of his face, flicked the switch that snapped the blade out, and watched his eyes widened as I drove it hard through the top of his hand and pegged it to the table, “…how this evening could have turned out better for you.”

  “SON-OF-A-BITCH! GET THIS OFF OF ME!” He screamed as he stared in shock at his impaled hand.

  “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.” I got up and went to the bar.

  Summer sat in a corner booth and watched Roscoe whimpering as the girl with the leather jacket stood up and calmly walked away. A crowd was gathering around him as he cringed and yelled for help.

  She got up to see what the commotion was all about; when she got to Roscoe’s table, she saw a growing pool of blood and a stiletto knife jammed through the top of his hand.

  “Don’t just stand there you idiots, get some help!” Roscoe screamed. “Summer! You little whore! Get me some help, damn it!” He demanded as he looked helplessly at his injury and pounded his fist on the tabletop in agony.

  Summer had a hard time concealing her smile. “Having a bad night, Roscoe?” She reached down and wiggled the handle of the knife.

  “YAAAAH! DON’T TOUCH IT! DON’T TOUCH IT!” He cried hysterically.

  “Excuse me. Pardon me. I’m sorry, I just need to get through for a second.” Nikki nudged her way politely through the crowd standing around Roscoe’s table. She had a pitcher of beer.

  “Hi honey, I brought you something to drink.” Nikki poured the beer on Roscoe’s head, set the pitcher next to his bleeding hand, then punched him in the face with a straight left jab that knocked him out cold. His body slumped forward and his face hit the table hard. The crowd gasped and parted as Nikki turned around and walked to the restroom wearing Roscoe’s sunglasses.

  Summer watched her walk away coolly and admired her confidence. She looked at the mess that was Roscoe and decided to follow her. When she got to the ladies room, she saw Nikki washing blood off her hands in the clam-shaped sink.

  Summer smiled coyly and nodded as they made eye contact, and took the spot next to Nikki and pretended to fix her hair. It took a few seconds to work up the courage to say something, and she tried not to be distracted by the bloody water spinning down the drain as she watched Nikki scrub her hands clean.

  She side-eyed Nikki in the mirror. “That guy you hammered back there…do you know who he is?”

  “He said his name was Roscoe.” Nikki shrugged as she reached for a towel.

  “Roscoe Brown is one of the biggest drug dealers in south Fluture.” Summer said dryly. “A real balloon knot that walks around here like the world owes him a living.”

  “He struck me as a pathetic turd-slurper.”

  “He is.”

  The girls burst out laughing as they looked at their reflections in the mirror. Summer put her hand over her mouth and blushed as she shook her head.

  “I’ve never heard that one before.”

  “Yeah, well, I have my moments.”

  “I’m Summer.” She held out her hand and smiled.

  “Nikki.” She shook Summer’s hand. “Is the Gypsy open every night?”

  “It closes for three days every month for maintenance. Are you new to Fluture?”

  “Just passing through.” Nikki looked at Summer. “Lovely dress.”

  “Thank you. Where are you from?”

  “Earth.”

  “I’ve heard of your planet, you’re a long way from home.”

  “I sure am. I’m here on business. Now I’m here to take in the nightlife. Are you from Nexus?”

  “Yes, I’m originally from Southern Icarus, but I live here in Fluture.”

  “You’re a long way from home too. So what do you do?”

  “I work here at the casino. How about you?”

  “I’m a pilot.”

  “Really? You must see a lot of places. What company do you work for?”

  “I’m on commission. I own my ship.”

  “Wow Nikki, if you don’t mind my saying so, you are by far the most interesting girl I’ve ever met. You sound like you have an exciting life, and what you did to Roscoe out there was epic.”

  “Like I said, I have my moments.” Nikki grinned.

  “Do you want to hang out? May be get something to eat?”

  “Sounds good. I’m famished.” Nikki threw Roscoe’s glasses in the trash bin as they stepped back out to the party.

  They were met by two hulking men in black uniforms--members of The Orchid’s security team. Roscoe stood between them cradling his wrapped up hand. “That’s her!” He scowled as he pointed at Nikki.

  The security guards looked at each other, then at Nikki, “Young lady,” one of them said calmly, “this man claims you assaulted him with a knife. Do you know him?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Nikki feigned a look of confusion. “I’ve never seen this gentleman before. What happened?” She asked innocently.

  “She’s lying!” Roscoe barked. “You little bi…”

  “She’s with me.” Summer intervened as she looked the security man square in the eyes. “She’s an old friend of mine.”

  “She’s lying too!” Roscoe spit venomously. His shirt was soaked with blood and his right eye was black.

  The security guards glared at Roscoe then looked at Summer. “Mr. Charon’s been wondering where you’ve been.”

  “I’m sorry, I lost track of time when I ran into Nikki. We haven’t seen each other in years.” Summer said apologetically as she hooked her left arm around Nikki’s right. “Can you tell Charon I’ll be up in a few minutes?”

  “You’ve got ten minutes.” The man said firmly. “Then you get your ass up there to join Charon for dinner. Don’t make me come looking for you.”

  “Hey wait a minute,” Roscoe contested, “what about her?” He pointed at Nikki.

  “Nikki’s been hanging with me all night,” Summer piped as she looked at the security guards, “I have no idea what Roscoe’s babbling about. He’s probably drunk and hitting the crunch again. Look at him, he even spilled his drink all over himself.”

  The security guard slapped Roscoe on the side of the head. “Shut up, yhamo,” the guard grunted in disgust, “I catch you in here with a knife again, I’m going to stick it up your ass. You hear me?” The guards turned and half dragged Roscoe away. “Now go put on your big boy pants and go upstairs and have a med-tech look at your hand.”

  Summer looked at Nikki. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  “Thanks for the cover story, Summer.”

  “May be I’ll see you around.”

  Nikki watched Summer disappear into the crowd. She couldn’t help but feel that the girl did her a big favor b
y standing up for her in front of the guards.

  She sensed a certain sadness in Summer’s eyes. Even though the girl was wearing a gown that probably cost thousands of dollars, there was an air of desperation about her. Especially when the guard told her she was late for some sort of dinner date.

  It was getting late and Nikki decided to get back to Cybelle and get some rest. She had taken in enough action for the night and didn’t want to push her luck.

  As she made her way through the mob and passed by the platform, she saw the DJ still spinning his magic and strutting around, but the girl she had come in with was gone.

  The next morning, Scott took a taxi to the business district of downtown Fluture from his hotel and left the SS-2 in the parking garage where the valet put it the night before. He got out and walked three blocks where he hailed another cab that took him to a mall. Scott walked around and settled into a crowded café where he ordered lunch and waited as he read his SCaT Pad.

  Ten minutes later, a man in a tan jacket sat at the table next to him and ordered a cup of coffee. They never made eye contact or acknowledged each other’s existence. The man read his newspaper as he casually sipped his beverage and regarded bypassers. When he was done, he folded his paper, stood up, and dropped it on Scott’s table as he walked away without looking back.

  Scott unfolded the paper to a set of car keys. There was also a hastily written address and a license plate number for a blue sedan. He got up, paid for his meal, and headed for the parking lot.

  It took him a few minutes to find the car, but once he did, he was pleased by the banality of the vehicle. It was the type of car that had no character and anyone seen driving it would never raise suspicion. He got in and drove south for a half hour until he arrived to an industrial area on the edge of Fluture.

  Scott made a right onto a desolate main street that ran between a series of buildings. He slowed down and leaned forward, hunting for the address as the afternoon shadows stretched across the potholed street and loose papers caught in a breeze blew across with wafts of dust.

  The area was packed with abandoned warehouses and factories. Some of the street numbers were clearly visible on the structures, but most of the buildings weren’t marked. Scott turned on his GPS and punched in the address as he cruised down the road. He spotted the building at the same time the GPS located it on a satellite map and started blinking. The structure was a dingy warehouse with broken windows, and the exterior walls were covered with graffiti.