Teramar: The Gathering Night

by Thomas Michael Murray

  As hyber-sleep’s fog slowly dissipated, the distant memory for why he was on this cold berg returned. The attack on his person and Cox’s horrible death flooded his thoughts. The last words from the weapons master were clearly seared in his mind. “Live to avenge your father.” And now, he was light years away. Banished.

  Hadrian collected himself. He had to establish authority over the machine. This Jessica was acting as if it was in command of him. With the ease of someone who has given orders his entire life, the prince issued two more, “For the future, machine, I will always dress as if I am on a hunt. Please adjust the temperature throughout the ship. I would also appreciate a strict obedience from you. My wishes are not open to interpretation. Now please, where are my quarters?”

  While Jessica was not a trained psychotherapist – actually that part of the medical world did not formerly exist on Teramar – the great and curious computer easily wore the mantle of an innovative biologist. Measuring and monitoring the human physiology with its infinite changes in chemistry was always part of her daily regimen. She knew about this odd sub-segment of the species – the petulant teenager. The prince was in his last year and continued to exhibit some of the main traits – a penchant to be unreasonable and in men a loud bearing and speaking voice.

  She succinctly responded, “Your highness, I made the adjustment to warm everywhere. Please advise me of any other unusual requirements. I also took the liberty of loading earth’s main language, English, into your subconscious. I encourage you to spend time with their media. They enjoy a rich athletic tradition. Something called sports.” She used the English word.

  A small cherry sized, hover alighted before the prince.

  “Please follow the miniature to your quarters.”

  “Please follow the miniature…,” mimicked the prince. He already hated her voice and thought to ask her to change it to a male’s. The prince restrained himself.

  After a few paces down the cavernous and lonely hall, Hadrian shouted, “Jessica, I am changing my mind. I don’t want to go directly to my quarters now.” A cranky body yearned for more of the fresh blood that was beginning to slowly move through his arms and legs, reviving cold fingers and toes. The last thing the prince wanted was his bed. “Where are these halo-rooms about which you’ve been bragging,” he asked?

  “Highness, after all you have been through, should we rush to the halo-room?”

  “Computer, I am not used to a machine questioning my wishes. Obey me and we will get along fine.” The prince coughed with impatience.

  Acknowledging this new order, the cherry hover changed color and moved in the opposite direction. “One small victory there,” he smiled. Hadrian followed the device, his step already lighter.

  On Teramar, the prince rarely used the halo-rooms. The heir to an empire couldn’t possibly be bored with all the rounds of life that they thrust on him. But, bored didn’t quite describe how the young man currently felt. For the first time in his short life, the prince thought his future looked rather bleak. He missed his father. He missed Cox. He missed having a purpose. The halo-room could return him to Teramar.

  Years ago, Cox had trained Hadrian for how to operate these machines. In reality, the prince had only used the halo-room a handful of times. Appearing confident, he stepped into the machine and shouted, “On!” Green woods instantly appeared. Lush and thick as he remembered. The trees smelled wonderful excreting a familiar peppery scent.

  “Sineas, is that you?”

  “Yes, sire.” They jousted with smiles. “We miss you back home. We’ve become very sad and boring.” Like the prince, Sineas was a large boy. For centuries, the families bred for size and strength. Hadrian’s friend wore an amused expression, until he caught a whiff of the hyber-stank. “Whew! Your highness! That smell! Straight from the tank?” He waved his hand in front of his nose.

  “That bad?” The prince sniffed under his arms. “I’ll take a bath at first water?”

  “You had better.” They both laughed like boys.

  Hadrian added, “You lost weight, friend? You’re thin.”

  “This is true. Since your mother took over, we’ve been training morning, noon and night. Your uncle is a relentless bastard.”

  Hadrian reminded himself, “None of this is real.”

  “Nobody speaks of your absence, my lord. The situation at the palace is surreal. You and the king have vanished when I used to see you everyday.”

  Hadrian wanted to change the subject. He came here to escape recent events, not to discuss them. “The wood is green,” he moved the conversation back to the forest. “There must have been days of rain. The trail will be slippery.” A warrior knows his terrain. “I think we are near the West gate?”

  “We are.” Sineas pointed, “And, look at these tracks. He’s big.” Hadrian got close and examined them as well. The markings were fresh. Prior to entering the halo-room, the prince had donned a hunting sarong and threw a set of weapons across his back – a bow, his long spear and the long knife.

  The two friends then proceeded to relentlessly chase the beast for hours. Although they pressed him deep into the forest, eager hunters couldn’t get close enough for a clean kill. The creature was young and fast, and the prince moved slowly. His body creaked like dried wood. Frustrated by a lack of spilled blood, they took a breather by one of the lakes that decorated the western lodge.

  “Ah that feels good,” exclaimed the prince. The water was cold mercury, rinsing away all the sweat, dirt and blood.

  Hadrian noticed his friend on the shoreline and thought, “Sineas does look different. He carries himself like a real man.” Of course, the halo-room moved with these thoughts. As if on cue, Sineas dove deep and surfaced right in front. Water sprayed the prince.

  Both eyes were huge now.

  “Ok, Jessica, turn this off. I’m not interested.”

  “Are you sure, my lord,” asked a polite computer?

  “Yes.”

  “But sire, you were beginning to enjoy yourself.”

  “I don’t want to enjoy myself! Please, stop speaking to me in such a familiar tone. Turn the thing off.”

  The large room went to white walls.

  Wet from the lake, Hadrian dripped to a cold bedroom. “Doesn’t she see I’m freezing,” he complained. The prince tiptoed over a grand floor, near slipping. The surface was highly polished from lack of use. The royal apartment felt vast and lonely. Normally, these same chambers would be filled with people. He slid into a wet bed and proceeded to stare at the great ceiling. “I’ve only been here a few hours and I already hate this place.”

  The prince sighed and said softly, “Lights out.”

  Fortunately, the time spent in the halo-room burned off the pent up energy from the long journey, releasing Hadrian into a restless sleep. For a few short, choppy hours, he lay on the sleeping pallet where he unconsciously mumbled to the grand ceiling. The dreams were a blur of glimpses. His mother’s face flitted through this projector. “Aghhhhh!” Abruptly, the prince sat up. Like many before him, insomnia was another symptom from a long stint in the tank.

  Ever attentive the computer spoke, “Sire, I am sorry to intrude, but you might have an interest in earth’s system of entertainment - something called television. Running at this very moment is a live event where the entire planet simultaneously watches. They call it a “Super Bowl.” Considering your highness’s interest in arena competition, I thought you might want to view this.”

  “The whole planet? Alright, put it on,” he said sullenly. A glimmer of interest yawned inside. The Super Bowl then slid across a large halo-screen, at the foot of his enormous bed. Thanks to the language program Jessica imprinted, Hadrian could understand most of what was being said. The computer also ran a translation underneath. The prince had tuned-in at half time. American football experts lounged on screen, reviewing the strengths and weaknesses of each team. Hadrian thought this was mildly amusing. On Teramar, the only person allowed to comment publically on th
e game was the noble who hosted the event or the king. Following the prognosticators and the discussion, there was an enormous and almost embarrassing musical display. Filling up the frequent breaks in play, the television network also ran short scripts that sold earth’s products and services. Many of these were very amusing involving other young men in foolish situations. Hadrian found himself actually laughing. He smiled at the themes that were common to his pack of friends.

  The remaining two quarters of game were exhilarating to watch. American football was akin to a military operation. The players ran coordinated routes, deploying all forms of strategies as they battled for ground. The athletes were impressive specimens of size and strength with many specialized body types in this winner-take-all event. After the game ended, Hadrian continued to roll through the other earth channels. “This is indeed an interesting place,” the prince reluctantly agreed.

  As the days passed, Jessica was pleased to see her charge regularly get out of bed. He even went to the gymnasium. But this endless consumption of earth television concerned her. Often, the prince ran four to six screens at the same time – viewing multiple sporting events simultaneously. Quickly, the prince learned the rules for the most popular leagues and began to compare his own strength and agility to the athletes he saw on their television. “I could play that sport. Throwing a spear and killing a running animal is more difficult than shooting a basketball into a basket.”

  In time, Jessica noticed one athlete had captured the prince’s imagination above the others. America had their basketball season in full swing and New York’s Shayne Wright was indeed the talk of the town. Within a week, Hadrian began to seriously nag Jessica about a trip to the surface. He wanted to go to New York City.

  The Queen’s Watch

  Livia walked slowly through an empty stateroom toward the royal apartments. Her brain ached from endless toil. More and more responsibility was falling upon her in an avalanche of raw sewage. This coup she led had become the trial of a lifetime. Since that fateful day of full commitment, when they seized her husband and threw him into irons, the queen had to decisively press the whole movement forward and finish the job. The worst of it was the people she knew – personally, begging for mercy in those blubbering voices. Too often she had to actually gaze upon their weak, hysterical faces. Sleep was now difficult if not impossible. Exercise was also impracticable but for a particular kind. After a long day of public hearings and eulogies for the dead, Livia would invariably titivate toward wine parties and the vain pleasures of the flesh.

  A month had past since they took the king. The ensuing, brutal events went much too far to ever consider a return journey. Of course, any remorse she felt had to remain her own private affair. Livia didn’t tolerate sniveling so how could she engage in the same. Not even her brother suspected she secretly bore any regret. Instead, Livia pretended to bask in the family’s newfound glory, along with the rest of the tribe.

  The only solace was her lovely home. With the king and his people gone, she could do whatever she wanted with the great building. Her first order as sole proprietor was to insist on a strict adherence to the queen’s peace. Gone was the noise of men. Through the open windows, the royal ear could only hear nature’s quiet call: the birds, the wind and the lonely splash of water. This serene beauty was a heavy counter weight to the new duties of a heavy hand. With each passing day, however, Livia was disturbed at how easily she requisitioned fresh executions. Self-preservation in its purest form.

  The primordial forces pushing the politics of the kingdom were powerful. Her family had always demanded justice from the ancient slight. With the true king firmly ensconced in that dark prison, there was a great clamor from the Uriah clansmen to finish him off. Her hand was the only real power that kept the king’s executioner at bay and she adamantly refused to give the order. The queen pointed to her son, who was still very much at large. “Hadrian would never agree to any final peace between the families if we murder his father.”

  A servant rushed past Livia. The young girl had not realized it was her queen standing there, quietly thinking. When she saw that this person was indeed “the queen” and not one of the other aristocrats that roamed the grounds, the young woman came to an abrupt stop to make a full curtsey. Livia nodded at the girl. She was getting used to the new faces.

  Arriving at her bedchamber, Livia stood before the mirror and dropped her shift. She was still a beautiful woman. Special medical procedures were occasionally applied to her skin to reverse the effects of age. Her many lovers couldn’t quite call her young but she certainly did not look old. Looking closely, Livia wasn’t sure she recognized this new face in the royal frame. Her skin’s hard-earned radiance only camouflaged a real decay. The queen had aged a hundred years these dreadful few weeks.

  Their greatest blunder was allowing her son to slip through their fingers. She watched and re-watched the video. Livia saw the pod jettison from the hover and the ensuing detonation. Afterwards, Cataline positively confirmed the prince had survived. “Cox ruined everything that day.” Because of him, Hadrian was now somewhere in deep space with a rogue warship and state-of-the-art computer. Certainly, he could not be allowed to join with the king’s family on Remus.

  A reluctant parent, the queen was normally quite proud of her nascent instincts as a mother. Men like Cox took responsibility for raising the male progeny. Cloying sympathies therefore surprised her. “My son is an innocent in all of this. He’s just a boy.” She feared the Uriah blood lust that was at a fever pitch. Many called for a complete purge of all close relations to the king. The queen would have none of it. Her son and two daughters would forever by shielded by her own hand.

  In the hunt for the prince, where they conscripted hundreds of ships for the effort, the Uriah high command was frustrated by the empty progress reports. The vast expanse of space was its own impossible camouflage. Still, her people were a very patient people. They had waited a generation for their day of reckoning and they could easily remain patient in this hunt for one boy.

  A Rebel Stirs

  “Jessica, you can’t keep me cooped up on this ship for months on end. You don’t have the authority. We are cut off from the regular channels of command. I am your senior here and require obedience.”

  “Sire, what you suggest is far too dangerous. And as to authority, I am acting upon your father’s orders.”

  “There must be an expiration date on that.”

  Hadrian purposely spoke in earth’s English. He was practicing now. In addition to this obsession with learning their language, Jessica saw the prince absorb many new ideas from their incessant media. The computer now regretted pushing him toward this television. “Fool that I was,” she grumbled. Yes, earth’s great polity certainly entertained the bored young man, but it also exposed him to some very un-Teramarian ideas. Their music featured radical lyrics. Their comedies ridiculed the establishment. And of course a competitive population disgorged an enormous and varied sports culture. All of this bated the prince’s imagination, pulling him to the planet’s surface like a magnet.

  In his heavily accented English, he complained, “Computer, I lose mind here. Let me go to game?”

  The words came out as a question and he meant to present the request as an order. Hadrian caught himself. He was near whining. The prince switched back to his own tongue. “Your own analysis shows highest probability for my safety on the surface. Jessica, I can take care of myself.”

  “That is what I am afraid of. Showing your person to these earth people. Getting into a physical altercation. They live by very different rules.”

  Red faced, he roared, “In the absence of father, I am in command now and I am going to the surface tomorrow. I want you to prepare a flight package which will include tickets to the evening’s basketball game in New York City!”

  Jessica didn’t reply. The prince took that as a yes. He required her help. Hadrian could easily pilot a hover and make the jump. He needed the computer for the d
etails – appropriate clothing, access to their system of money, this thing called a “driver’s license” and of course he needed something called “tickets.” She would ultimately deliver all of it. The young prince usually got what he wanted.

  After a long hot bath, Hadrian went to bed with a smile on his face and for once forgot about Teramar.

  Unanswered Questions

  His majesty, lord of all planets and their peoples, a lifetime occupant of the living throne, King Hadrian V, raised his consciousness above the perpetual half sleep he normally employed to survive the box. This meager space forced the lord of all worlds to endure a perpetual half crouch. The king could have easily committed suicide by commanding his heart to stop. All the warriors learned how to control even their involuntary muscles. His death, however, would have augured a blood bath across the planets. Prudently, his majesty pushed the discomfort aside and forced infinite patience. His one consolation was the knowledge that his beloved son escaped the planet and safely reached the fleet’s most advanced warship. The king learned of this from none other than his traitorous wife. Early in this affair, she visited him here. “She came looking for our son.”

  A fresh boisterous “clang” woke him. He could hear the vague sound of boots. They were getting louder - approaching his cell. The door slammed open jarring him to full consciousness. A retinue of giants jerked him up, dragging his majesty to a waiting hover.

  The king awoke in his own throne room - face pressed against the cold stone. He sensed his wife. Without moving, he could vaguely see her sitting on his living throne.

  Livia said with concern in her voice, “Hadrian, you look positively awful. To think the father of my children is an outlaw. How has it come to this?” The king ignored her.