On one of his rare tours of the capital city, Prince Hadrian noticed the homemade blasters that the young Chiang rode skulking from plaza to plaza. Wanting one for himself, he ordered his man to purchase a native model off the streets. Soon the young nobles filled the palace garage with them. For Hadrian and his little friends, this toy represented the last vestige of a boy’s life. But Quan Chung knew that a prince’s inclination for a ghetto boy’s machine was only a frivolous indulgence compared to the other privileges that come with membership to one of the great families. City urchins like he could never have access to famous schools, perfectly bred animals or entrance to the pristine state forest. Quan Chung fully understood enough about the way things were to vehemently rage for change. The aristocracy claimed a life of honor but in reality Teramar’s royal junta was the purveyor of a bad fraud. The king had improved things. “Maybe yes?” Peace among the families had helped. “But none of the liberal reforms were enough.”
Willfully ignoring the designated causeways, Chung illegally flew above the authorized flow coordinates at dangerous speeds. While the newly installed Uriah regime successfully projected their power onto the battlefield, local law and order was less of a priority in places like pleb city. Ordinary merchants bitterly complained about the noise and confusion created by the high-speed mobs. Wary parents kept their children off the streets, so the little ones wouldn’t catch sight of the blaster gangs and an imprudent way of life. Encouraging all forms of truancy, Quan Chung boasted, “We’ll never live in an ant line, eh? Never us, boys.” And then to emphasize this point, he would angle his ass off the seat and loudly pass gas in a disgusting vibrato. Outwardly, they acted like fools. Nobody took them seriously and that was the way he liked it.
Quan Chung was the youngest but tallest of his brothers. To accommodate a large frame, he rigged his blaster with imperial-grade thrusters. Dialing up the throttle, Quan Chung easily surged to the head of his posse. The other boys followed their leader in a coordinated rumble. As he happily bounced in the half-moon seat, Chung sucked down more liquor from a tube that attached to his coat. He needed to build confidence for the task ahead. All of them hid behind dark glasses.
Lurching to the right, Chung veered onto a smaller street that forced the pack to single file. The alley ended in a dirty neighborhood that led to a subterranean bar. They followed Chung in an exaggerated circle when they pulled up to the unremarkable entrance.
Well off Main Street, the nightclub lived in rebellious contrast to the bright afternoon. Diving into the cool darkness, Chung pushed through the early crowd with his gang in tow. When the others recognized the baby face floating above the din, they quickly made space. He nodded at some. A whisper followed from others, “Yes, that is him, the Quan Chung.” There was a widely accepted rumor that it was his family that aided Prince Hadrian and that he, Quan Chung, actually met and spoke with the prince royal. Coming from an unsavory, but long-lived stock, Chung’s father was a well-known trader – some officials might have called him a gangster. His father had numerous prior dealings with the former king who often required a quiet means to achieve important, but clandestine errands.
Eagerly taking a glass of the roughest liquor, Chung led a boisterous toast to their ancestors. Nervous yellow smiles flashed in the dingy light. When the electronic music became loud and conversation difficult, Chung barked orders that it was time to finally leave for their appointment. As quickly as they rolled into the joint, they roared out. With a rebel cry, all ten blasters rode gravity back up onto a dusky sky. A pretty girl stood in the door and watched them file out. Chung noticed her and made a quick backward glance as they turned toward the palace.
Lord Charles North, eldest in the Uriah clan, brother to her majesty the queen, decided to venture out that evening. “Why bother to rule a people, if one can never go out and see what one rules?”
To escape the predictable routine of court, Lord North favored the elegant and exotic clubs that were scattered about the better parts of the capital. These were stylish establishments - halls with gardens and sun-kissed staffs that catered to esoteric needs. That evening, the queen’s brother traveled with two dinner companions, near peers from the clan. Naturally, the security detail had cleared the entire route. As a gesture of confidence, Lord North opted to ride in an open-air hover. The night’s ambiance delivered a fresh, bracing feel. Rarely smiling and engaging in society, he was in high spirits that evening. “It feels good to get out of Livia’s mausoleum.”
With most of the thirty-six planets finally coming to heel, Lord North’s great eye diligently swung homeward where he ordered a cruel justice upon the Teramarian capital. Of course, he knew about these flying packs of children that tormented the businesses around the vast spaceport. In time, he would deal with all of it. But that was not for tonight. Tonight, Quan Chung’s pack of ruffians was free to roar up the manicured avenues that pointed toward the palace’s great outer wall.
In an orbiting frigate far above the planet, Quan Chung’s father carefully monitored his son’s mission unfold. Ostensibly, the grand old vessel looked quite harmless, a proven, safe haven that was rarely raided due to ample bribery. The barge also carried very modern equipment - chiefly a military grade cloaking device. Following the Chiang roundups after the prince’s escape off world, many of his people scrambled like roaches for all the dark corners. A sophisticated piece of technology like an imperial cloaking device offered a very dark corner.
The old man rasped to yet another son, “Have you timed it?”
“Yes, honored father. We know precisely when the Uriah usurper will arrive. We see him and we have him.” The young man sat emotionless, while slited eyes simmered with veiled excitement.
“Relay the precise time and location. Make sure Chung confirms the detail back to you. Have him say it twice! We paid a king’s ransom for the access.”
Roaring into the early evening, Quan Chung and the others swooped low over the rooftops, now avoiding the commercial thoroughfares. Portions of Chung’s gang peeled off. A smaller group would not attract suspicion. Chung knew the monarchy’s computer could see all of them in the blink of an eye. Smaller was indeed safer.
In minutes, they abandoned their blasters and took the designated positions. Quietly, the troop put down the inconveniently positioned imperial guard that were scattered about the site. Due to their close proximity to the palace wall, the sentries were predictably light in number. Today’s mission infiltrated a well-known Uriah neighborhood.
The stylish plaza bustled with activity as Lord North’s entourage parked at the elaborate entrance. They could clearly see the protective sheen, given off by the hover’s shield. Suddenly, a monstrous scream was heard above. The sound resembled a falcon or other bird of prey diving on her quarry. The noise came from a blaster that screeched to an abrupt stop directly above Lord North’s vehicle. All of them could hear the rumble and strain of laboring engines. This blaster, piloted by another Chiang youth, struggled to maintain altitude. At a glance, everyone could see the boy carried something heavy. Lord North looked up in concern and confusion. Chung knew his friend’s machine was fitted with a starship’s weapon, another contraband device that was normally impossible to obtain. The weapon only carried two charges. Boom. Boom. The blaster violently recoiled after each detonation. A temporary hole appeared in the shield’s shimmer. Immediately, an attending hover that was high in orbit fired in retaliation. The young attacker’s physical form instantly dispersed into a million pieces of flesh and metal.
Chung and his team anticipated a deadly response from the sky. This boy’s blaster run was a suicide mission. With the shield now breached, they had to make sure the young man’s life was not thrown away in vain. Immediately, his group fired a dozen rounds into the shield’s fast closing hole. The Chiang marksmen pounded the coordinate. Lord North’s chest erupted in red meat. The Uriah lords sitting adjacent looked on in horror, then diving for cover themselves. The queen’s brother slumped forward wi
th a final bang of a blown head. With the deed now complete, Chung mindlessly ran from the scene. They each had their own route. Blood poured from his ears.
In a mass of confusion, the Uriah honor guard began to shoot at everyone and everything. Also witnessing the bloody chaos, Cataline quickly took operational control of all the machines in the sector and proceeded to firebomb the site, killing enemy and innocent alike. All witnesses would need to be permanently removed. Word could not get out about yet another assassination.
Within minutes, the official video report was relayed to the Uriah high command on Remus. When Catlaine finished this briefing, the real Lord Charles North chuckled to himself. He never thought this scheme to create identical clones would ever amount to much. He thought, “My fool sister’s first good idea. Unfortunately, they got the best one of me today.” Lord North then loudly bellowed at his own good fortune. All the other commanders in the room awkwardly followed suit. The clone still carried an aristocrat’s DNA.
He spoke over the sycophants, “That poor clone certainly did a wonderful impersonation of me. Although short lived, he enjoyed a most pleasant existence at the palace, breeding with my women.” The joke abruptly ended there.
He spoke to the computer, “Did you apprehend any of these… What are they?”
“Chiang, my lord.”
“Yes, that is the name.” For this interview, Cataline actually presented a holographic image of his face. The computer had to prove he was still competent. “We killed some, my lord, and some escaped. We are flooding the area with security forces to cut off all means of escape.
Although Lord North pretended to take the news lightly, these endless scenes of terrorism disturbed him. The king’s allies were a tenacious lot and obviously willing to sacrifice their own. “They nearly got Livia.”
Before dismissing the machine, he gravely ordered, “Bring me their leaders. I have a feeling the Chiang will know where we can find our prince.”
Night Out
The young men pulled up to the club in a standard black SUV. Their vehicle fell in line behind a bright yellow taxi. Each held a fresh cocktail from the apartment. “Let’s toast,” slurred the sports star. Clink went the glasses. “Wow, that was loud.” Shayne giggled. During their short friendship, Hadrian had never witnessed the conservative athlete in even a slightly inebriated condition. Tonight, however, it was obvious Shayne was making a break from responsibility. Hadrian knew the playoffs pulled on Shayne’s neck with a heavy yoke. Everyone looked at him. Measured him. The star athlete had to prove his worth beyond any doubt. But tonight, Shayne seemed to have forgotten all about the high-octane drama of his professional life.
Over the past few months, the two men struck up an easy camaraderie. Hadrian’s natural inclinations as a prince fit well with what Shayne expected of his closest associates. Moreover, the big Norwegian was also a superb athlete at almost any game. Shayne saw in the boy a talent for sports that rivaled his own. He and his teammates were always rummaging for substitutes for their frequent pick-up games. Simultaneously, the prince’s dreams to compete at a professional level were coming true. The two also experimented with the erudite games of golf and tennis where the famous country clubs surrounding the city gladly welcomed Shayne Wright and his blond companion with open arms.
That evening, the chauffeured truck carried them to a grandiose charity event at one of New York’s famous and flamboyant nightclubs. Without a real date, Shayne invited Hadrian. He also asked if Ben wanted to join, hoping to assemble more of a posse. Ben declined the invitation, reminding Shayne that he despised “bullshit events.”
Abruptly the driver slammed on the breaks before the rope line. The prince fell forward, spilling his drink. Someone opened the door. Comfortable in the glare, Shayne stepped into the flashing cameras. This club was a new hot spot frequented by the younger hoi polloi. When Hadrian exited the car, he could barely see his friend through the pandemonium. The prince heard, “Let him through.” Shayne had to actually return and pull the prince to the door.
“Welcome to Foxy’s.” The bouncer pushed aside a heavy black curtain. The security people immediately recognized Shayne and clicked to attention. Everyone knew the star athlete. “That was my old life,” Hadrian thought. “Known by all and always surrounded by toadies.” Once past the neanderthal gatekeepers, the two plunged through the warm darkness. Inside, a gargantuan honeycomb loomed from a hive-like bar with a tiered dance floor lurking about.
“We have nothing like this back home,” Hadrian thought with eyes wide. The music was fantastic yielding up a dark, serious beat. Immediately, the prince’s head moved to the big bass that vibrated throughout the cavernous room.
“Hadrian. Pssssst. I’m over here, fool!” Hadrian barely heard his friend’s call over the club’s sound system. “Over here!” The prince turned. There, stood Shayne, casually leaning against the bar, looking smooth and easy. He held out two icy drinks. Shayne flashed one of his grandest of show-biz smiles.
Hadrian made a face. “You know that - that smile is trouble.” Hadrian enjoyed this thing earthling’s called humor. Teramarians took themselves far too seriously. Ironically, his mother was the only one who really exhibited any talent for making jokes although they were usually in poor taste.
“You’re commenting on my Hollywood stage smile,” said the athlete?
Shayne gave his friend a playful push. The prince was about to reciprocate when the athlete put up his hand. He knew Hadrian carried a myriad of devious tricks that inflicted small amounts of pain. The two nodded a truce and sunk against the bar to assess the multifarious crowd. Shayne then ordered another round. The inaugural cocktails quenched early evening jitters.
A group of young Wall Street types soon identified Shayne Wright. Autographs on cocktail napkins began to flow while Hadrian found himself pushed to the back row of a growing entourage. One of the club’s security people finally noticed the melee and loudly interrupted the worship, “Yoooo people, move along! Give the man some space.” He then guided Shayne by the elbow and away from the main bar. “Jesus, Mista Wright, sorry about that. This way, sir, where we have a VIP area right awwwfe the dance flawaaa.”
Shayne handed the man a bill. In moments a beaded pitcher with lemonade and white alcohol appeared. Admiring their new neighbors with the fresh drinks, two Japanese girls in the adjacent sectional - two cousins, in fact - introduced themselves. The girls were also VIPs. Their uncle or someone in the family was the CEO of a Japanese conglomerate. Hadrian could speak some Japanese thanks to the program Jessica implanted months ago. The girls laughed at how this fancy boy smashed-up their language. Shayne was impressed the prince could even speak the few words.
Most casually, the girl sitting closest to Hadrian slid her hand onto the prince’s thigh. The prince hardly noticed the gesture. Hadrian had to admit she was beautiful. Shayne gave him an encouraging nod. The sweet drinks worked their magic as the large, impersonal club transformed into a warm, cozy bar. Everyone was a friend now.
One of the girls stuck something under Hadrian’s nose and urged him to sniff. The prince complied. In a rush of moving senses, Hadrian found himself suddenly enraptured by this woman. She was instantaneously the most beautiful person in the world. The prince stole a look at Shayne and saw his friend pushing an enormous tongue into the other’s mouth. The combination of his dark skin touching the porcelain Japanese easily stirred his highness.
Rising with a mighty gust of warm air, Hadrian felt like a great hawk gazing down upon a field of rabbits. He marveled at the effect of this white powder. His brain could focus clearly on ten thousand ideas at once. “Have more, son,” he thought she said in a haze of music and flashing lights. The foursome eventually rose from the couches and hit the dance floor with happy and satisfied smiles. The songs never ended, moving from one beat into another. The DJ had saved her best for prime time. As the hours rolled by, Hadrian and Shayne switched partners, danced with each other and generally strutted around wit
h the other hundred or so that made it onto the vast space. Shayne was determined to show the prince how to “really move.” On Teramar, a warrior didn’t dance for pleasure except around a war drum. “Hadrian, you dance like a white-guy from Norway. Follow me…” Shayne proudly flaunted hips that moved with a snake’s slither - beckoning for Hadrian to follow suit. “That’s it,” Shayne encouraged. “Right. Like you’re having sex.” The girls imitated the move as well.
After bright lights finally revealed the club’s tired walls along with an evening’s worth of garbage, the group of young people found Shayne’s driver and returned to U.N. Plaza where the girls served more of the white powder. Shayne poured drinks. His housekeeper always had the apartment well stocked for guests. With freshly chafed noses, a new wave of trust and understanding broke ground. Accompanying the warm feelings, the prince also noticed an edgy wave of nervousness that possessed him. The room itself was getting warm - verging on hot. “Or, is the drug making me feel this way?” His heartbeat had even quickened. Feeling confined in earth clothes, the prince pulled off a damp shirt. Shayne then joked with the girls that Hadrian was a nudist. After that comment or encouragement, Hadrian removed all of his clothes and stood there smiling.
Resistance was futile. Hands with fingers quickly got lose and the boys grew like hurricanes. The foursome moved to Shayne’s enormous bed where the friends roughly made love to the two girls. With heavily lidded eyes, Shayne dabbed some of the cocaine on his finger and rubbed the girl. The prince stole glances of the priapic figure and tried to mimic his friend.
Rounding to mid-morning, the two Japanese were officially spent, now wearing the soft witless masks of sleep. Quietly alone, the two boys replayed the evening, as they lay opposite each other in the enormous bed. Shayne’s brown skin was luminescent in the low light. He appeared relaxed and assured. The prince whispered, “Never have I had sex lying next to other couple. In my life, I barely have chance to even fuck woman in first place.”
Teramar: The Gathering Night Page 15
