Finding Space
Following the encounter with Derek Mint, Jessica immediately transported her charge to the starship. Hadrian hadn’t been aboard in months. When the hover door shushed open, he eagerly ran into the apartment and threw himself onto the first royal bed that came into view. There was mild comfort in the familiar, grand surroundings. Still roiling from the experience, the prince didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. For a brief moment, he lay there gazing at the extravagant ceiling when real exhaustion quickly trundled him off to a sugary but restless sleep.
Awaking in the late morning, the prince groggily pulled himself from the bed and headed for the ship’s halo-suites. The prince required something arrantly physical to settle his thoughts. He was also nostalgic for what he did love about Teramar. In the cold anteroom, the prince ripped off his earth undergarments, and walked nude through the door, stepping into a deep forest lodge under a canopy of skyscraper arbors. Hadrian inhaled the familiar smell of the stables. Around him, a royal retinue prepared for the day’s hunt. The grooms rushed about in anticipation of the imminent hunter’s horn. Today, the nobles would ride upon their massive runions, volatile, one-horned beasts that resembled the earth rhinoceros. Wild creatures, runions resented domestication and perennially searched for opportunities to throw or trample a rider. An inexperienced groom could be easily crushed if he wasn’t mindful when attending the clever and temperamental animals.
The sun bounced its way through a filter of swirling foliage and dust. Commencement of the opening charge was near. In a sad, lone wail of a sound, the prince heard the great horns begin their call to the families. Minutes remained before young and old took to their mounts to test a warrior’s mettle. Hadrian’s attendants presented the prince’s armor. Sineas was also at hand, fully dressed in his huntsman’s gear. “My lord, we need to hurry. Everyone is waiting for you. Why are you in a state of undress?”
“Fuck. Errr, over slept?”
“You look tired and out of sorts. What is this word ‘fuck,’ my lord?”
Hadrian superbly applied voice upon the servants. “Prepare me.” The men bristled to attention and surrounded him. The prince stood with arms and legs outstretched in an earth letter X. The old routine was automatic for him. The prince hadn’t forgotten what it meant to be a prince. Like robots, the attendants then snapped the forest green armor to his body. The prospect of a hard ride through a dangerous wood was the perfect anecdote to banish the damp Chicago chill.
Hadrian carefully appraised the familiar setting. After these many months on earth, he smiled in appreciation of forgotten Teramarian technology. Sineas appeared so very real in the halo-suite. Jessica did an admirable job replicating him. Even the smell was authentic. Hadrian greeted those kind eyes with his own shy smile.
“Sire, they are waiting for us,” urged his finicky best man.
Two handlers, also in woodmen’s gear, brought forward the runion. Light on its feet, the beast pranced into the paddock. The proud animal recognized his master and snorted in pleasure, nuzzling the prince. “You miss me, old man?” His father had given him the prize runion at age twelve. After countless tumbles to the ground, the prince was able to eventually master the giant beast. For a time, however, he carried a perpetual bruise on the royal bum. Hadrian came to love the unpredictable runion. As he was about to mount the giant animal, Sineas put a hand on the prince’s bare shoulder.
“Hadrian. Please listen to me.”
“Not my lord.” The prince turned.
“Yes, I’m calling you by your given name.” Sineas had completely lost the fictional hue of a halo-suite. “Where have you been Hadrian? Only two messages from you after all this time?”
Immediately, the prince went on alert. Halo-rooms normally flowed from the users preferences. “This make-believe-Sineas sounded disturbingly like the real Sineas.”
“Look at me,” his friend ordered! “I knew you would need to actually see me. This isn’t the halo-room speaking.”
Hadrian removed his foot from the stirrup to face whatever this was. The animal impatiently kicked and pawed as the grooms strained to keep the beast in place. The runion sensed the prince was ready to ride.
“Listen to me now. A Uriah fleet will be on earth’s door in two months by your local calendar. Now is the time to return home to Teramar. Rescue your father.”
Sineas flinched as if he heard something or someone approach. “I must go, my lord.” The prince’s friend looked right and left and then froze. The drabber version of Sineas Alimar returned. The visceral intimacy was gone. Hadrian shook his head in confusion and walked away from the pageant.
“Jess, show me the way out.”
The forest scene faded when the door shushed behind him.
Speaking to his computer, Hadrian said in weary voice, “Do you know what just happened?”
“Sire, that image in the halo-room certainly was not me. It is possible young Sineas Alimar had the necessary codes to access this ship’s network without my knowledge. These many months, he and his father have been quietly assisting the king’s brother on behalf of the Capets. Your uncle had a copy of the codes. I’m analyzing all of this now. In any event, the young lord seems to be correct in his assertion. My long-range sensors recently registered the outline of an approaching cluster of ships. Due to the vagaries of hyperspace, however, I cannot conclusively corroborate if this is indeed the Uriah armada that he speaks of. Yet there is more, my lord. While this disturbance in the halo-suite occurred, I also received a synchronous communiqué from Teramar. The identity of the sender is a shock. I suppose I should just say who it is...”
“Then say it!” the prince had never heard her stumble on protocol – an odd coincidence to this visceral Sineas from the halo-room.
“The message is from your father, the king.” A translucent screen fell before Hadrian and his father’s distinctive handwriting lay before him. There was an odd inconsistency in the curves of the script as if a weaker hand had written it. He forced himself to read the words:
“My son, I am writing to you from prison. Our people have gone to great lengths to afford this brief opportunity to communicate, albeit through primitive means. Your mother has sent a fleet to earth to retrieve you. Once you are captured, they will kill me and use you as leverage with the rest of the family. To fully support their objective, the Uriah high command has authorized a significant draw down of military assets on Teramar. The defenses around the capital are therefore thin. We need to exploit this weakness, which requires your immediate return to Teramar.”
Hadrian stopped reading. This was finally the call for his return home. “A hand written order from father!” There was more:
“You should also know that your Jessica can take control of many of the empire’s operations, which is easier now that Cataline has poured his attention into the fleet bound for earth. Unfortunately, your current location is at too great a distance for the computer to have any affect. Again, return to Teramar immediately. Son, I trust this letter finds you in good health.”
The king signed the note, “Father.” Hadrian closed his eyes. This was happening much too quickly. He had hoped for more time. “Jessica, have you told them I might not return?”
“No your highness. You have not made a formal decision as of yet.”
A muscle on his neck moved in and out. Hadrian had quietly considered all of the potential scenarios. The array of choices was a very short list. Thoughtfully, he whispered, “And truly, what of earth? Once the Uriah see all of her resources, they will leave their own colony.” The prince’s voice got louder.
“Your highness, we need to decisively put an end to this war between the families. Your father is correct. The queen pulled military assets from front line positions to support this intergalactic adventure of theirs. The result is Uriah vulnerability at home.”
“Earthlings are humans just like Teramarians. There are billions of them. Who are you and I to personally change a world’s dest
iny for the worse,” the prince asked in perfect English?
Jessica interrupted, “You have no choice in this matter. You must return to Teramar. You received a direct order from the king, your lord father. I have already explored the logistics of a return journey and I believe I can skirt past their fleet without notice.”
The prince winced. Assuming the rebellion could be crushed and the true throne restored, his homecoming would be to an old life of privileged pageantry with all the trappings of a man’s world. “A straight man’s world.” Hadrian now had the earth words to properly describe these thoughts. Slowly and reluctantly, the young prince finally admitted, “Jess, I can never go back. I am not the same person.”
Of course, she knew what he meant by that. Carefully, she challenged him, “Your highness, I have observed you with many women. You always seem to enjoy yourself. I am not a biological organism, but sire, can’t you control your primal feelings?”
“I can’t.” His body slumped as he spoke the truth.
“The king, your father needs you. That handwritten document is a direct order and that message from Sineas Alimar was no coincidence.”
Hadrian shook his head. “We can still deliver to the intent of their wishes without consciously throwing billions of earthlings into the Uriah colonial system. Sacrificing an entire planet to save one family is certainly not honorable. There are other ways we can prevail here.” Jessica didn’t answer. Even her own programming was confused as to where the morality lay. “But we have orders.”
That same evening, the prince watched his favorite basketball team from an immense halo-screen at the foot of his palatial bed. Shayne Wright played a solid game that night, but the prince saw a troubled face. Hadrian knew that look and it made him feel glad.
Madison Avenue
Angela wore her favorite suit. When the other women on the subway glanced her way, she knew she looked her best. Alas, the très-chic was all for naught today. Due to the unseasonably warm weather, not one customer lurked amongst the racks of Bond Street couture. Most of the city was actively running to the parks to soak up the first glimmer of a summer sun. Joining this exodus, Angela opted to leave for an early lunch herself. Walking carefully in taller than normal pumps, she daintily crossed the street to the famous coffee chain where she ordered one of those clever plastic boxes with cheese and fruit. The boy behind the counter had given his phone number to her on a prior visit. He had asked for hers, but she smiled and politely ignored the question. Today, the boy’s hair was cut very short which made the young man appear more handsome than cute. Angela thought his new mien was a sincere improvement over a normally shabby appearance.
After a brief courtship and an initial flurry of dating, Angela had not heard from Hadrian Capet in many weeks. Initially, she chalked the affair up to just that - another one of life’s hapless escapades. But shades of disappointment still lingered proving that her affections went beyond the usual gold digging. There was something substantial about the young man. Even with all his absurd naiveté and youthful inexperience, a durable surface remained underneath. She vividly recalled how he dispatched the three muggers near Thirty Third Street. Hadrian had brushed off the whole affair as nothing.
She timed his loss of interest to the evening at the Village Gate. Afterwards, his calls became less frequent. What made it worse was that Angela didn’t have to actually speak with Hadrian to learn what was happening. She read about it in all the newspapers. Hadrian and Shayne Wright had become a tabloid treasure. Angela’s brother, Victor, with whom she shared their Brooklyn apartment, had never seen her wallow with such enthusiasm. He was used to his sister breaking her paramour’s hearts, and not the other way around. These days, she lay in bed for hours in an implacable nerve fever.
When Angela first met Shayne Wright, she genuinely noted the young athlete’s reluctant interest in her Hadrian, although he was well rehearsed at feigning a cool veneer. Now that she knew where that friendship led, Angela felt very cheated. “Hadrian could not be gay,” she said to herself although Angela now ended the sentence with a question mark? She still carried blushing memories that refuted these charges.
At twenty-four, Angela Munoza had completed two years at NYU. While working part time at the Madison Avenue boutique, she diligently amassed school credits toward a management degree. During a second Christmas at the store, Angela received an enormous holiday commission due to brisk business that year. She found she had a knack selling to the finicky rich. Following the money trail, Angela then agreed to take on additional hours. Quickly, her total compensation exceeded any amount that she could earn with a degree – at least in the near future. A pair of gloves at the boutique cost as much as a week’s worth of groceries. As the months marched onward, Angela quickly became inured to the plodding existence of work and more work. The job was no longer a means to an end, as the great promise of youth started to fade and quickly.
Angela absently paid for her lunch and left without a word. She needed to join the other New Yorkers, out in the fresh grass and newly leafed trees. On the way to Central Park, she also procured a New York newspaper. Although the park was crowded, Angela managed to find a quiet bench. She could tell by quick eyes that she disappointed the advertising executive opposite who wanted her closer.
Indifferently eating the dry cheese, Angela perused the tabloid. A genuine sports fan, she carefully read the news for yesterday’s games. Although Angela had mixed feelings about Shayne Wright, she was sincerely happy that her New York team had finally made it to the playoffs this year. The paper showed the whole cast: Shayne, Coach Radcliff and even Big Ben. She always thought that Ben Smith had a handsome face, although his height was certainly monstrous. “Where does that guy get his clothes made?”
Angela then turned to Page Six, and to her horror, the tabloid presented the entire episode with Derek Mint with all the campy callouts and photographs. The newspaper devoted half the day’s column to the story with printed photos of Derek Mint leaving his building in a stretcher. Furious, she crunched the tabloid together and then pulled it apart again to finish the embarrassing piece. Angela couldn’t quite grasp Shayne Wright’s fascination with her Hadrian. “Rich and famous, the guy can have whomever he wants.” Angela breathed deeply in a flash of panic. As the promise of spring rose up around her, she sat there cringing before these ridiculous events. “Am I really this pathetic,” she gulped? A miniature tear welled up. She was so tired of it all. Angela shook her head to clear the regrets. Violating all of her self-imposed rules for the cat-and-mouse of courtship, she impulsively grabbed the mobile and called Hadrian.
As the prince’s com was tethered to a real earth phone number, Angela’s call traveled along the regular telecommunication bijous to an account the phone company didn’t know it had. Jessica then quietly routed the call into her own system, ultimately delivering Angela to the prince’s com up on ship.
Someone else was carefully watching every call to the mysterious number. The investigation started with a comprehensive set of search warrants. With the sincerest of apologies, however, the huge telecommunications utility had to admit to having no information for this one account. Thereafter, a patient FBI carefully studied the list of people who had called the number. Within days, they were able to logically tie all the parties together. Little did Angela know that the advertising executive sitting opposite was none other than Eddie Dyson. While it was an easy matter for Kurt Huber and his team to spy upon fellow earthlings, finding Hadrian Capet was another matter. The boy remained a shadow to them.
The Julliard School
The great pedagogue, Dorothy Delay, successfully entered her new pupil into the famous International Violin Competition of Indianapolis, an event that was founded by the great performer and teacher, Joseph Gingold. Once every three years, the renowned music school at Indiana University awarded six generous prizes that attracted the best young musicians throughout the world. Every participant understood that a good performance here could eas
ily launch a career as a concert artist. In addition to the prize money, the final three medalists also enjoyed Carnegie Hall debuts and a trip to the White House.
Throughout a long tenure at Julliard, Dorothy Delay nurtured a renowned stable of talented students who ultimately went on to achieve great fame and fortune. Even today, facing the end of this storied career, legions of young people continued to clog Julliard’s rigorous audition process, hoping for an opportunity to study with the great lady. Her current studio therefore collectively shook their heads when Hadrian Capet confidently strode through the door. The rumor was that his family had given an immense amount of money to the school and that the donation was contingent upon his joining the pedagogue’s master class. “What was one more student,” was Dorothy Delay’s initial reaction?” The school’s president had even dropped by to discuss the matter. Within five minutes of hearing the boy play Bach, she was duly impressed. Dorothy Delay then listened to the young man’s odd story for how he taught himself to play the violin and she believed him. “It’s quite obvious things come easily to this Hadrian Capet.” By the third lesson, the young man advanced with a bird’s ear, albeit, from his own admission, he did not spend the proper amount of time practicing the instrument. His teacher expected six hours daily. The prince admitted to half of that. And for some reason, she knew three was enough for the boy.
“Even I get spun by his charm,” she chuckled. “And, the other students certainly go easy with him at my master classes. Usually, they can’t wait to tear each other apart.”
After Ms. Delay dismissed the accompanist, she gestured for Hadrian to take a seat in the elegant sitting room. Carefully, she reviewed the competition’s rules and the overall logistics surrounding the event. She emphasized how Hadrian had to ignore the sideshow and focus on the music. “There will be many distractions in Indianapolis,” Dorothy explained. “Everyone in the classical music world will be there. You must get beyond all that flimflam and focus.” The young man appeared almost bored by her little speech sporting a “Yes-yes, I’ve done this all before” demeanor. “I enjoy contests” was the three-word answer.
Teramar: The Gathering Night Page 22
