Teramar: The Gathering Night

by Thomas Michael Murray

  “Was that sarcasm,” he heard?

  For Jessica, the prince was deluding himself if he thought that she was going to blindly follow his orders. She carried a complex set of programming and protocols that the king himself designed. Prior to her endorsement of this trip to the surface, the computer carefully reviewed all the potential scenarios, assigning probabilities for what he might encounter. She firmly concluded the risk was indeed minimal. The prince would assimilate. Physically, the two peoples were near identical - Termarian aristocrats and Earth Caucasians. In the alternate scenario, she saw a depressed and unhappy young man languish in dark rooms with halo-screens – up on ship. Jessica was convinced her charge had to make a firm break from the events on Teramar and from Cox’s death. Therefore, she permitted this distraction. Jessica further concluded that the prince’s “television habit” yielded a relatively solid education for how to navigate modern American society. Earth’s television provided realistic demonstrations for most of it - that elevators took people from floor to floor or that you leave a tip after personal service. She was certain Hadrian knew how to hail a taxicab and order a hamburger.

  Noting that the better part of the day had already passed, Hadrian hurriedly dressed and headed for the elevator. When the earth machine appeared in a ding, the prince confidently strode into the little room. He reviewed the control panel. “Press the number one or an L?” Hadrian pressed L. He smiled. “Three dimensional buttons.” The machine silently moved on an unseen cable.

  After the early morning walk through Central Park, Hadrian had a keen respect for the cold weather and realized he hadn’t brought appropriate clothing for the climate. To better provision the prince, Jessica identified four clothing shops near the hotel. Hadrian set off for the farthest one. Following a blustery walk, the prince strode into an expensive, London-based chain that was right off Madison Avenue. Cynical sales people simultaneously turned their heads to look at the new comer. A security guard stood at attention by the entrance. “Can I help you,” asked the pretty, brown haired girl in an elegant suit? Her colleague looked disappointed that he hadn’t jumped at this customer. To Hadrian, these earth people seemed aggressive and overly familiar. In his short life as heir to the living throne, the prince did not have many opportunities to meet regular people on Teramar.

  Hadrian addressed the sales person in halting English, “I. I…I look for warmer cloak.”

  “You mean coat?”

  “Yes. Yes. Coat.”

  The prince’s teeth chattered due to winter’s unfamiliar bite. His clothing was damp and hadn’t properly dried after the jump. Gratefully, the warmth of the store rushed round. “Yes, sir. Please follow me. Coats are on the third floor.”

  The two of them entered a glass elevator in the center of the building. They stood face-to-face as the machine slowly climbed upward. Hadrian felt claustrophobic standing so close to this woman. He could feel her light breath on his face. Blood raced.

  “Are you looking for something short or long? We have a new line of down filled shorter coats.”

  The door opened.

  “This way please.”

  The saleswoman smiled and led him to a section of the store that looked upon the traffic on Fifty Seventh Street. The sales person took stock of his size. She then pulled out a short black coat and helped slip it through the prince’s arms from behind.

  “What do they call you,” Hadrian asked? The prince spoke as if addressing a servant.

  “My name is Angela, sir.”

  Hadrian assessed himself in the mirror. Given that the prince thought earthlings unnecessarily swaddled themselves in “too much clothing,” he didn’t quite have an opinion on earth couture when it was on his frame. The coat certainly had more personality than what any man would wear on Teramar.

  “I think it suits you, sir. And the goose down will keep you nice and warm.”

  Normally, the prince didn’t think much about his personal appearance. By Teramarian standards, Hadrian was an unimportant looking boy. His fair hair and body were unique compared to the common genetics. As his schoolmates lavished time and attention developing neat little beards, Hadrian could barely grow downy whiskers on his chin. Slowly, the prince gauged himself in the mirror. “Not bad,” he thought? “I think I just might blend with the local population.”

  “Do you need accessories - gloves or a scarf, warmer slacks perhaps?”

  Angela Munoza steered him over and causally picked out the most expensive of everything.

  “How long are you in New York, sir?” The girl had a serious but friendly face.

  Hadrian pushed himself to meet her gaze and then furtively looked away. He wasn’t used to direct eye contact from servants. He stiffly replied, “I here in New York... Vacation… See basketball tonight.”

  “American sports” was what the prince knew best and he stuck to it. The sales girl said with an honest smile, “Lucky you, sir. Tickets are difficult to obtain. Shayne Wright was actually in the store the other day.”

  Hadrian was impressed. “Knowledge and interest?”

  Since his courtside seats came as a pair, Hadrian had an extra ticket and he thought there would be something lonely about sitting next to an open seat. The prince eyed her efficiently pack his purchases. Quietly, she glanced at him noting a curious interest. She was indeed lovely to look at.

  “Your total is just under five thousand, sir.”

  Hadrian impulsively said, “I have extra ticket.”

  “Highness, what are you doing,” Jessica hissed into his ear?

  Angela noticed how his head tilted and attention briefly shifted. Hadrian ignored the machine. He then turned his next statement into a bona fide question, “Would you be interested to come tonight?” The prince was lonely for the company of a real person.

  “Highness, please...”

  “Quiet,” Hadrian hissed.

  Angela heard that.

  “Sir, I need your credit card?”

  The girl was formal again. She was making a big show for how she wrapped a sweater. Hadrian woke up. “Credit card, oh yes.”

  “Commerce and money.” Hadrian pulled out the wallet Jessica created and handed over one of his cards.

  “Will you want to wear the jacket now?”

  “Yes, thank you. I saw you wrap pants and shirt. You pull out? I wear.”

  Hadrian walked to the dressing room and carefully put on the new clothes. Again, he admired himself in the mirror. Afterwards, he stuffed the costume Jessica had made into the store shopping bag. Compared to Jessica’s creation, these earth products were softer – more comfortable. “Cashmere and cotton” the girl had said.

  When the prince emerged in his new outfit, Angela said with satisfaction, “Very handsome, sir.” She then walked him to the door. The sun illuminated the entrance. They stood briefly in the warm light. As he was about to exit, the girl deliberately turned to him. “Sir, I mean Hadrian. I didn’t answer your question. Yes, I would love to see the game tonight.” An upturned mouth showed an amused appreciation for the invitation.

  “Good,” the prince replied with heavy enunciation. He provided a shy smile. His English embarrassed him. “Start at seven thirty?”

  Her eyes flashed a warm reply. “Tell me the name of your hotel and I will meet you in the lobby an hour before. I can get out of the shop in plenty of time.”

  Once outside, a furious prince lashed at Jessica, “Please do not speak to me when I am interacting with the earth people. I am in command here, machine. Disobey me again and I will deactivate your voice.”

  Jessica said nothing, taken aback by the virulence. She had obviously become the parent of an unruly teenager. If a computer could get close to frustration, she was there now.

  Party Time

  “Charles dear, after reviewing the most recent set of reports, it appears we have the Capet rabble fairly well contained. Only Remus is taking longer than forecast,” she said with the assurance of a queen. “I know you’ll eventua
lly tame their little backwater fiefdom.”

  Livia was sipping a cool drink on a blond veranda. She positioned the glass for a refill. Behind her, water splashed in the soft light. Birds chirped their songs. The quiet garden appeared glorious in the setting sun. And on this day, a sea of white tents crept across the western half of the royal grounds as an army of servers prepared for the queen’s fete.

  It had been a long time since the palace saw a real party. The queen was too busy visiting all thirty-six planets offering congratulations and building morale. Tonight however, Livia hoped to demonstrate a return to routine. “Parties convey civilization.” Gratifying her hopes, the sound of lazy conversation grew in confidence, wafting to the marble nest.

  Bored by his sister’s optimistic commendations, the dark brother answered in a dark voice, “Livia, I agree things have settled down and overall quicker than planned. However, we still have much to do. Your son is at large. He is a very popular figure among the families. And of course, the king’s brother still has a firm grip on Carpinia. But what concerns me most, sister, is your behavior as of late. We need to be setting an example across the empire. Instead, you openly carry on like a mindless whore. You need to learn to control yourself and behave as a queen. We need to be respected and feared. Not laughed at.” His voice ended dead.

  Instantly responding to the insolence, the queen’s ever-present, guard surrounded her majesty and rushed Lord North. Halting the immediate bloodshed, Livia quickly raised a hand. Her men jerked to a standstill and waited. Not a muscle moved on the aquiline face. “Charles, what annoys me most is your overall lack of respect. Please brother. Who do you think you are?”

  Livia was tiring of the endless ambition. The endless comments. She could easily give the word and thereafter he would exist as two pieces, not one. The queen was tempted to give that order but she needed him. He was the cruel one in the family. The one who inspired the true fear. The one who kept everyone in line.

  Coldly, she stared at him and continued, “One, stop using my given name in front of others. I am your queen. You say majesty in public.” The sparkle of real murder left those green eyes. Calming herself, the queen finished, “And number two, I never meant our little experiment to really go this far. I’m talking about the killings, Charles. I know there is no going back on our bold revolution, but can we restrain ourselves for the future? I find myself ordering the death of people we know and sincerely like. The enemies list seems unnecessarily long.”

  When the hand came down and her shoulders relaxed, Charles North gave his sister a crooked smile. He was in no danger here. He never was. She needed him. With exaggeration and emphasis, he said, “Your majesty, I am sorry to have offended you.” He took a slight pause, organizing his thoughts. “And yes, I know we’ve traveled far upon a river of blood, but I assure you we won’t sail on it forever. In the end, we either will have won the day or we will both be dead. I don’t see why you bother about these supposed Capet friends. They should be a disgusting vermin to you.”

  Livia of course knew she had a tenuous grip on the levers of power. In Teramarian society, women did not traditionally assume the role of head of state. She needed Charles for more than his hard heart.

  Soft music began to float to the royal veranda. A soothing blanket settled around both of them. A lifetime of sibling camaraderie slowly returned. Livia took another long draught from her glass. A smooth white throat moved to eagerly accept the beverage. After finishing the entire glass, the queen waived for more. A perfectly formed male attended her with a chilled bottle from the royal cellars. This time, Lord North hid the contempt. “These womanish favorites of hers do not put us in a good light with the real men who fight for us.”

  Dressed in a flowing black gown of mourning, the queen rose. Her lovely appearance was truly miraculous with golden hair tumbling down the back. Livia’s brother indicated proper respect and bowed his head. “That’s better,” she thought.

  The couple descended a grand stair that flowed from her terrace. Hundreds of guests raised their heads and then simultaneously bowed to show respect for their queen. The music stopped. In the silence, black trellises hissed against the marble. Slowly, the queen moved through the crowd smiling and bestowing her beneficence. Livia commented on this fashion, that new baby and the latest bravery in the field. Quietly, the crowd spread before her as she moved to an elegant, golden chair that sat upon a modest dais at the center of the great tent. The queen spotted Sineas and his father. She gestured for them to approach.

  “My dear Alimar and young Sineas. These past few weeks have been such a challenge for us. I thank you for your loyalty throughout the ordeal. Our rightful ascent is near complete,” she said triumphantly.

  The older Alimar replied, “Yes, majesty. The Capet tyrant was always a pretender to the living throne. We’ve finally restored our family’s honor.”

  Graciously, the queen responded, “I’m not sure we can call my husband a tyrant, but you are correct. Having the family honor restored after all these years was tantamount.” A servant presented bubbling wine to the queen. She nodded her approval to distribute fresh drinks to the others.

  Her brother counted this glass as number four in his presence. Still, Livia seemed to be in good form. He could tell she missed the doting attention from these gatherings. The queen turned to her son’s good friend and brought up an awkward subject. “Sineas my dear, I’m sure you miss our Hadrian.”

  “I do, majesty.”

  A breeze blew through the pavilion pushing the loose hair from his face. Sineas wore it around the shoulders. Black curls fell forward. The queen thought the look softened a hard exterior. She knew this boy could kill her without a thought.

  The queen asked, “I realize our security people have interviewed you on a number of occasions, but besides Archibald Cox, you did spend the most time with my son. Was there any mention of a secret ship? Has there been any effort to communicate with you? We need to find him and bring him home, Sineas.” Uncomfortable silence filled the space.

  Cautiously, he replied, “Mum, the prince and I - we discussed many things, including the long feud. But, I know nothing of an established escape plan. I have already pledged my life to you and Lord North.”

  As he spoke these few words, two of the young waiters, who were hovering in the corners, simultaneously pivoted and cocked their trays in one synchronous move. The fluted beverages they carried smashed to the ground, drawing all eyes. They then released the gleaming disks at the queen. Whirling metal raced toward Livia. On reflex, Sineas knocked one off course without injury and the other lodged itself into his father’s arm, almost severing it in half.

  In a blur of response, Sineas broke the neck of the nearest assassin as the queen’s brother incapacitated the second. He let that boy live. Military personal surrounded the unhurt but shaken monarch. The assassin who remained conscious screamed with malice, “Judgment day is coming, soulless Uriah bitch!” He then induced suicide turning into a lifeless ragdoll in Lord North’s grip.

  The queen immediately regained composure. She nodded at her two champions. “Thank you Sineas and Charles.” Then, above to Cataline, “Seal off the grounds. Please get medical assistance here for poor Alimar. We can’t have one of our great warrior’s lose an arm.” More of her guard flowed into the tent. She finished with, “And let’s move with haste to try and revive these two for questioning. Maybe one can still be saved.” The queen was of course no stranger to violence and knew how to manage events.

  Livia then rose from her elegant throne. She tore a piece of cloth from the hem of her gown and tied a tourniquet above the stump of the severed arm. Lord Alimar remained stoic through these ministrations.

  As the queen pulled tight the knot, slowing the flow of blood, she thought with horror, “How could they have infiltrated my personal staff? And this clever use of a serving tray?” Livia shivered, “When will one finally complete their mission? I’ll be a dead woman if we can’t find my son and fina
lly put an end to all of this nonsense.”

  Earth Latitude: 40.67797 and Longitude: -73.897605

  Built in the late sixties, “The Garden” has been New York City’s convergence of competition for decades now as the grubby building remains home to the city’s professional basketball and hockey teams. Pushing through a blustering wind, eager fans streamed into the arena. A half-hour before game time, the grand stand was packed with screaming people. The place was known for noise. A long-standing tradition demanded it.

  Early in his short career, Shayne Wright quickly learned to ignore the frenzied spectacle that was a live event. During a recent hometown rivalry, he could automatically soften the raucous distractions, easily shifting his mind into a Zen-like state. One or two troublemakers in the front were another matter. Those people could occasionally punch through his shields with the most disturbing and pejorative insults. “You suck dick nigger” was quite popular. Thankfully, these situations usually occurred when they were on the road. Ben Smith explained, “They want to shake you up. Fuck with your head.” Tonight, New York was down ten points and the audience was getting ugly. Although a home game, some freak hurled explicatives from section fifteen.

  While Coach Radcliff gave Shayne a pass his inaugural year, the team’s management maintained unwavering expectations that their star athlete would lead New York to the finals this second season. In his heart, Shayne believed he could at the very least deliver an appearance in the first bracket of the playoffs. He doubted they would actually win any championship. He hoped that a good showing would be enough to satisfy their ambitions. Everything always came down to the money. Championships delivered the big audiences. The coach never let him forget that.

  Before signing with New York, Shayne was well aware of Coach Michael Radcliff’s uncharitable personality. As it turned out, the real man was worse than the reputation. But armed with a division one championship, Shayne was confident he could navigate the volatile continuum of this man’s ego. He had worked with all the various shapes and sizes that coaches came in. There were the paternal, fatherly coaches who tried to inspire confidence in each athlete. And then, there were the assholes, those who used fear and a heavy hand to extract a best performance. Radcliff was at the nasty end of that spectrum.