Mausoleum 2069

by Rick Jones

  “Do whatever it is that you have to do, John. And make sure you get it right. I don’t want any mistakes on this. I want a thorough effort.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “And one other thing.” He reached inside of the governor’s pocketbook and retrieved the tablet, and then handed it to Eldridge. “I want every file on this tablet traced to its source of origin. I want everything deleted, and I want them deleted yesterday. I want you to hack into her systems, her data lines, anything that may hold a marginal trace as to my transactions since the day I took office, and get rid of them.”

  “You got it, Mr. President.”

  “Look, John, you do this one thing for me, I promise you a villa inside of an Elysium of your choice. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but I know you’ll do a bang up job.”

  Eldridge couldn’t hold back a smile “You know I won’t let you down, Mr. President. I never have. I never will.”

  President Michelin turned to the governor who leaned to one side, the life smashed out of her by a single gunshot. And then he examined the ceiling above her and watched the slow drip of gore fall and stain her blouse with macabre fascination.

  Yes, he thought. He would find a way to benefit from this.

  So in tandem, he and John Eldridge considered his options as the vehicle continued on to its final destination.

  Chapter Three

  Onboard Mausoleum 2069

  The Command Center

  Mausoleum 2069 is a self-sustaining facility floating approximately sixty miles from the Earth’s surface. It’s a ship that is in geosynchronous orbit stationed above Earth and moves with the rotation of the planet directly above New DC. For those who were either the super wealthy or people of renown such as celebrities or politicians, these people are the ones interred inside the ship's catacombs.

  The mausoleum is shaped like a trapezoid--wide at the bottom and thin at the top. The hull is made up of plates of tarnished steel that are pieced and riveted together. At the bottom of the mausoleum is a docking bay sizable enough to hold two airbuses, and at the top of the ship where it tapers to its thinnest point, sits an Observatory crafted from ballistic glass that provides a phenomenal view of the universe. It’s also an upgraded platform where the exclusive vaults are situated for those with the deepest pockets.

  On the level just beneath the Observatory is the ship’s command center, which is manned by a four-person crew appointed to maintain a ship that has the square footage of twenty football fields.

  Situated inside the comm center are banks of monitors that are set against the forward wall in an area that is tightly congested. Elbow and T-shaped pipes run throughout the chamber in seemingly random patterns across a low ceiling, and the grid-like panels of the modular flooring could be lifted to reach the thin conduits underneath.

  Jen Jacoby sat before a plasma TV with her feet on the console in leisure. Like all the members of Mausoleum 2069, she wore the required Navy blue jumpsuit that bore the company insignia on the left-side breast, the number 2069. She was sipping from a juice container as she watched the satellite feed of the Nightly News, which was coming out of New DC.

  In New Miami today, Governor Michelle Anderson committed suicide while traveling with the presidential envoy to downtown’s Free Haven Hotel, where President Michelin was to jumpstart his campaign trail with New Miami as his first scheduled Field in Elysium. Although details are still coming in, News Central Eight has confirmed that President Michelin, though present at the site of the tragedy, was unharmed. President Michelin went on to state that he will draw upon this and will champion Governor Anderson’s cause not only to better services for the elderly in New Miami, but for all the people in the Federation of the Fields of Elysium.

  In other news today . . .

  “Wow,” she remarked. “Did you hear that?”

  Jim Schott, the station’s chief engineer, hunkered by a toolbox shooting off a string of profanities because he couldn’t find a certain wrench he was looking for.

  “Did you hear that?” she repeated.

  “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

  “What? You can’t talk and search for something at the same time?”

  Jim dropped his head in surrender, then sighed through his nostrils as he fought for calm. “I can’t find the damn thing anyway,” he said, then he labored to a standing position with his knees popping and turned to Jen. “Did I hear what?”

  Jennifer “Jen” Jacoby was tall and leggy with a gym body and skin the color of light cocoa. Her raven hair was cut short, framing her pixie-like face and dazzling brown eyes that were the color of newly minted pennies. And she served as the ship’s communication’s officer. “They said that Governor Anderson capped herself today.”

  He shrugged. “Who’s Governor Anderson?”

  She gave him an incredulous stare. “You know, you really need to crawl out from under that rock that you’re so fond of and see the world beyond this mausoleum.”

  “I’m just fine with my world the way it is. If I wanted to know what was going on down there, then I’d be there, but this here mausoleum is my comfort zone. What happens down there is not my concern.” He then leaned forward at the waist to punctuate his point. “Nor will I ever care.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to the TV, raising the volume as Jim went back and continued his search for the wrench while venting with a string of profanities.

  But in two days’ time she would never have to listen to his tirades ever again. Not a single profanity-laced word.

  Because in two days she would be dead.

  Chapter Four

  Over the past four-plus billion years, the cloud of cosmic dust had grown exponentially. The mass was always shifting and reshaping itself as if alive, and forever growing as infinite as the universe.

  It moved on a steady course over the years, bringing life to planets with just a subtle brush of its wispy tendrils against their soils, and igniting life where there should be no life at all.

  It had no mind.

  It had no conscience.

  It had no understanding as to what its purpose was.

  It was simply one of the greater mysteries of the universe.

  And over the millennia it had expanded like a tall ship’s sail that ballooned against a strong wind, the cosmic dust stretching to its fullest capacity.

  Its route had been an orbital one, the mass returning to the third planet from the sun where it gave life to a singular cell on its first pass more than four billion years ago.

  Now it was returning, the planet more than just a pinhead dot from its point in space.

  But this time the cosmic dust was much larger, having grown to such massive proportions that it could now eclipse an entire planet in its passing like the spread of a blanket.

  Anything in its path would not escape its touch.

  And this included the third planet from the sun.

  Chapter Five

  The Presidential Suite

  The Free Haven Hotel

  New Miami

  President Michelin was standing before the mirror appraising himself so that he could get a clear assessment of his physical profile. He was lean and fit, and his features were strong and angular, the structures of a king. His hair was brown with touches of gray along the sideburns, giving him somewhat of a classical look. And with the laser treatments to wash away the fine wrinkles and lines, President Michelin looked much younger than fifty-eight.

  Today he was wearing his new Bertucci leisure suit that was custom designed to highlight the more pleasing aspects of his shape to give him a youthful edge, since the art of tailoring had become a science in itself.

  As he was in full appreciation of himself, John Eldridge’s reflection suddenly appeared in the mirror alongside the president. A tablet was in his hand.

  “So what have we got?” Michelin asked him, running his hands along the front of his suit as if to smooth it flat.

  “Good news,”
he said. “After your remark about championing the governor’s cause for a better healthcare system not only in New Miami, but in all the Fields of Elysium, your numbers shot up eleven percent.”

  “That’s a good jump for one day,” he said. “It seems that the bitch served a purpose after all.” President Michelin walked away from mirror. “And the back story?”

  Eldridge tapped a screen of his tablet, bringing up his notes. “It’s been leaked to the press that Governor Anderson was terminally ill, and by protocol, failed to notify her constituencies as required by law. All reports and documents have been doctored to reflect that she was not in the right frame of mind, but more importantly, you tried to neutralize the situation but was unable to do so despite your valiant attempt to save her life.” He lowered the tablet. “You’re a hero, Mr. President.”

  Michelin turned back to his reflection and allowed the corner of his lip to slide up into a wry grin. “You did well, John. I’m proud of you.”

  “As promised, Mr. President, I followed through. I spun this matter into your favor.”

  “Yes, you did, John. You did just that.”

  “There’s one matter left,” he told him. “There’s something that has to be done in order to maintain your high numbers in the polls.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Governor Anderson is to be buried with honors in Mausoleum Twenty Sixty-Nine in two days. Your presence would bolster your image.”

  President Michelin rolled his eyes. “There’s got to be another way?”

  “I’m afraid not, Mr. President. Right now developing your image is everything. We need to erase the accusations regarding corruption and the current crisis of confidence regarding your administration. This move would give us a solid foundation to build on, especially when the New Miami caucus meets in two months. You’d be seen as a man of compassion, a man of good intent. We need this.”

  Michelin reluctantly agreed. “All right,” he said. “Prepare the eulogy. Just make it short and to the point. I don’t want to draw this out anymore that I have to. Is that understood?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. President. I’ll have the writers get on it right away.”

  You do that, he thought, impressed with his own reflection.

  When Eldridge walked away, Michelin went to the balcony and stood overlooking the lights of New Miami. To him the city at night sparkled like a cache of diamonds spread over black velvet, a beautiful sight.

  Then he looked skyward at the pinprick lights, knowing that some weren’t stars at all, but glimmering rings of satellites and space junk. In seventy-two hours he would be circling high above the Earth and looking down at his kingdom through a porthole window.

  What he would see, however, was not a gleaming site as wondrous as New Miami at night, but a dying planet whose oceans had turned from blue to gray the moment the last of the ocean’s plankton died off, and a landscape that was turned the color of desert sand.

  But it was his empire to rule.

  And it was better than having no empire at all.

  President Michelin was pleased.

  Chapter Six

  Mausoleum 2069

  “All right, people. Listen up.” Eriq Wyman was the ship’s crew chief whose main responsibility was to see that the ship ran efficiently by smoothly running his team. He was tall at six-four with broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and a complexion the color of tanned leather, but the most outstanding feature about him were his heterochromia eyes, a condition leaving one eye so pale blue that it nearly matched the surrounding white of its cornea. The other eye was so black that it appeared without a pupil, the iris so dark, but despite the opposing colors, they were the perfect reflection of Wyman as a former commando who often canvassed the Wastelands for insurgents. The pale blue eye connoted him as a person of deep compassion and kindness, a person of light. The dark eye, however, represented the side of him as a man who was also capable of great violence when pushed beyond his limits.

  The balance of his team was sitting at a stainless-steel table situated in the center of the galley that was small and compressed.

  Jen Jacoby sat next to Sheena Tolbert, a brunette who served as Internment Director. She was small in a petite type of way, and more ‘cute’ than pretty with dimpled cheeks, ruler-straight teeth, and eyes the shade of soft gray.

  Schott sat across from them with his arms folded defensively and looked inconvenienced. His face was grizzled with minute loops of curly hair that always gave him a disheveled look, and he had the appearance of sour distaste.

  After grabbing everyone’s attention, Wyman referred to the information on his tablet. “We just received an order from the top brass in New DC. In two days, services for Governor Anderson will be held in New Miami and she will be transported here to Twenty Sixty-Nine for the final service with a full contingency of VIP guests, which includes President Michelin. This is high priority, people. So we have to make this as perfect as perfect gets.”

  “How many dignitaries are we talking about?” asked Sheena.

  Wyman checked his tablet. “Including Michelin, two Elysium senators, his chief advisor, the governor’s daughter, and Michelin’s detail which consists of four armed personnel, and of course, the priest. A total of ten. So you can see why we need to be at our best. And this means you, Jim.”

  Schott turned away and harrumphed.

  “I’ve been told that this is going to be a short service, in and out. No problems. The only thing left to do is to prepare the burial site.” He ran his finger over the screen, scrolling through the pages. “Governor Anderson will be interred in the Observatory level, section Six, lot 3478.”

  “High and mighty,” commented Schott.

  “All paid in full by the FFE, the Federation of the Fields of Elysium,” said Wyman. “Questions?”

  There were none.

  “All right, people. You know what to do. Time to get busy.”

  Jim Schott and Jen Jacoby took separate portals to different locations within the ship, but Sheena Tolbert remained seated.

  Wyman set the tablet aside, took the seat beside her, and gently brushed his fingers alongside her cheek.

  She reached up, grabbed his hand, and held it to the side of her face. “I missed you last night,” she said.

  “That’s because Jim and I were working late recalibrating the geospheres. We didn’t get through until three this morning. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  Geospheres were the ships tethering anchors. There were eight magnetically charged orbs that surrounded the mausoleum and were situated to provide maximum stability by using the magnetic field as mooring lines. If one or two orbs got out of sync, the ship would list and adjustments would have to be made, a time consuming affair.

  “I’ll be there tonight,” he told her softly.

  She smiled, then kissed the back of his hand. “You’d better be.”

  “I will. Promise.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Go help Jen prepare the governor’s tomb. I have to finish up on two other burial sites.” He gave her another kiss, a small peck on the tip of her nose, and winked at her with his pale-colored eye. “I’ll see you later.”

  He grabbed his tablet and departed the area.

  Before going to the governor's proposed site, Sheena went to visit her mother who had been interred on the mausoleum twenty years earlier.

  #

  When Sheena Tolbert was six years old, she watched her mother die.

  It was evening, about 9 p.m. in New Albuquerque. Her mother was driving the car with her uncle sitting in the passenger seat, and Sheena was in the back seat on the cusp of falling asleep. Her mother and uncle were talking about Sheena, and she was trying to stay awake enough to hear what they were saying about her.

  Her mother had told her brother about the pride she felt for her only child and of the indescribable love they shared. Her uncle then responded in a statement Sheena didn’t understand at the time. He said: She’s very close to you because �
��Mother’ is the word ‘God’ to children. She sees you as her champion, her protector, her guide, and her beacon of unconditional love. She gives back what she receives, he told her. It’s a love that neither one of you will ever forget no matter what.

  And just as the final word left his lips, she heard a warning, the automated voice coming from the vehicle’s console of a malfunction in the steering assemblage. The car then veered off the road and crashed into a street lamp. The next thing Sheena remembered was seeing a column of greasy black smoke rising from the heat of a nearby fire.

  As she lay there on the street littered with chips of tempered glass, she saw her mother lying in the road with a bloodied hand reaching out to her. Even as her mother stood along the precipice between life and death, she continued to act as her champion despite her entire body becoming a tabernacle of pain as ruined nerve endings forced her to cry out in agony. But she continued to extend her arm until she could reach no more, the light in her eyes finally fading until they were extinguished altogether. And then her hand fell to the ground, her mother having died as a final breath escaped her like the hiss of escaping steam.

  All Sheena could do was lay there as her mind grew numb, a child who was too scared to raise a helping hand, even if the attempt proved futile. And it was this moment of recollection on a night so long ago in New Albuquerque that would remain as a stain to her memory.

  And though she knew her mother would forgive her, she had yet to forgive herself.

  That was twenty years ago.