After a quick conference with his manager, Shayne followed the murmuring voices and saw two silhouettes against the evening skyline. Their heads quickly pulled apart with a guilty person’s speed. Shayne walked out. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” said Ben.
Angela looked up, “Are we all set?” She gave him a warm chardonnay smile.
“We are.” Shayne then crouched into another whisper, “Angela, we’ll have to escape the notice of those people outside, which requires special arrangements. Ben and I can explain what else this is all about when we are in route. Can you two return home, pack over-night bags and meet at my manger’s building?”
They both murmured “yes.” Another blast of air kicked at the building. Shayne beckoned them closer, “My manager is very good at getting me in and out of places without much notice, especially with all the crazy attention I’ve been calling upon myself.”
Ben interrupted, “Aren’t you worried they heard your phone conversation with Mark?” He inclined his head to the men on the sidewalk.
“Let’s say I didn’t have to spell it out. With the New York papers on my tail, we already have a standing plan. I simply tell him I’m coming over for dinner, and he makes the necessary arrangements. Once we assemble at his place, we’ll leave in a car from his garage and head toward the heli-pad down by the east river. If we move quickly, they can only try to follow. Our helicopter will then ferry us to the Islip airport, where there will be a plane waiting to take us to Indy.”
Ben asked the obvious, “Can’t the cops follow us with their own helicopter?”
“The helicopter that Mark has hired will be faster than theirs. And, if our pilot turns the lights off and flies low to the ground, they’ll never find us. I’m paying top dollar for this children.”
Bumps In The Night
Alian, first princess and daughter of the living throne, slowly connected to consciousness. She hadn’t recalled thinking for quite some time. The princess carried a vague memory of eyes forced open and a bright flashing light that was followed by blackness. Today however, a softer grey seeped under her lids. “A harbinger that men will come.” She couldn’t recall why she thought that.
Vulnerably nude, they had strapped Alian to a cold table that resembled a medical station. An antiseptic smell greeted her senses. She knew what happened in this room. “What have they done to me?” Carefully, she tested her appendages and fingers. Even the newly attached foot responded to her command. The princess cautiously surveyed the austere space. Metal walls crowded the metal table. On the ceiling, she saw the delicate instruments used in holographic recording.
Alian’s lord uncle was convinced that his niece’s rebellious mind continued to hold valuable secrets. He required a sensible interrogator for this delicate assignment. Someone naturally cruel, but not stupid. Someone he could implicitly trust. Like her father, Alian Capet was not just any Capet prisoner. After interviewing a core group of devious aspirants, the worst of them was ultimately imported from the chaos on Remus and sent to the great Teramarian prison to “work on” the brave princess.
As a child, the notorious gulag played a prominent roll in their games. Her brother enjoyed detaining them in an improvised cellblock. “Maybe a little too much.” But the truth behind the fairy tale was what she really feared. The princess worried she would not be able to withstand real torture. She knew much about the resistance. A word here or a slip there could hurt many Capets. “The interrogators will be clever.” Suddenly with a sharp click, the magnetic bolts slid with precision. The whole door moved loudly to the right. Alian twisted to see who this was.
Miandar and Cornelius Uriah, the queen’s nephews, cousins to the princess and former exiles, entered the room. One marched as a soldier and the other sauntered like a playboy. They were handsome except for the severe expressions that made the young men appear cruel. With an evil smile, Miandar meticulously surveyed her condition. She could easily smell him. Pheromones rolled off the man. There was something rancid and over ripe there. An irrational fear swept through the princess. She pushed it off. “That’s what they want,” she thought. “Hysteria. They must be applying their hallucinogens now. Always strive to remember that.”
“Your highness, good to see that you are up. I hope the last session didn’t tire you out too much.”
Alian’s parched mouth croaked, “Is this the best Uncle Charles could do? You two?”
“Listen to her - the haughty girl. How ungracious she is to the man who fathered the child she now carries. You will be one of my women now, cousin.” Seedy laughter made her cringe. The brothers were well known as malcontents within the Uriah hierarchy. Reading her mood, Miandar coldly added, “Alian, you always looked down upon us when we were children. Cornelius and I have never forgotten that.” Turning from him, she couldn’t stand breathing same air.
“You can’t hide from me, princessss.” Miandar pulled at her chin. Cornelius held Alian’s head with two meaty hands.
Vaguely, she remembered a rocking motion. Her cousin’s face had many faces. A raft of memories rose with the voice. “These are the same Uriah pigs who attacked Hadrian in the arena. Uncle has installed them on Teramar!”
Lying prostrate, Alian summoned her only asset, her voice. Imperiously, she barked two words, “Release me.” The pitch was perfect.
While the simpleton jerked to attention, Miandar remained politely unaffected. Her command ineffectually broke over him like water on a sea wall. He growled impatiently, “Alian, why must you continually resist us? It will go better for you if you at least give the appearance of cooperation.” He gave her a disapproving look as Cornelius reflexively moved like an automaton. The older brother gently steadied his sibling with a thick arm.
Leaning close, Miandar’s head hovered. Eyes were as big as moons. Although the room had a distinct chill, he dripped with perspiration. “While you were sleeping princess, you said something about some woman. A Jessica. Who is this spy?” He then waved his hand and a halo-screen presented a sleeping princess, fitfully mumbling the computer’s name. Alian remained silent. She was horrified by this lack of self-control. Even precious sleep was a dangerous activity. The princess knew Uriah narcotics had scuttled her brain.
Miandar clucked at the rolling video and continued his sarcastic performance, “Can Jessica help you now? Where is this traitor?” His voice carried an elastic, singsong quality. Uncontrollably, she felt compelled to respond. Miandar softly spoke again, “You see, Alian. Cornelius is weary of these questions. He would rather move onto the real business at hand - especially after our last session, when we administered your mother’s aphrodisiac. Afterwards, you really ‘put your back into it,’ as the plebs say. I had always thought you were a terrible prude. I was terribly wrong. You really do have the same instincts as the queen. I guess we’re helping you get in touch with your true genetics. Haaaa Ha.”
A jittery, wet Miandar moved close - almost touching. He appeared to be on some form of accelerant. He now lay his swollen manhood out on the cold table next to Alian’s head. She could feel the heat radiate off her cousin. A clammy thigh pressed against her. Alian tried to stretch away from what looked like a red cluster of veins. Miandar saw her struggle and smiled sweetly, blowing a soft air on her neck. Casually, he waved for a second halo-screen to drop just above the table. He put his hands around the screen’s edges and moved it directly over the princess. Ghost-like images flew across.
“Ah yes, they are getting clearer. You’ll see shortly what a great service you have provided to many of our clansmen.” Miandar’s head blurred with her mother’s face. They had the same features. Confused, She wanted to call him, “Mother.” A large dark braid tickled. He was very close. Alian felt nauseous. The screen grew bigger and its edges merged with the rest of the room.
“Focussssss. Yes, there you are, child. On the left is your royal hole before you came to us.” Miandar paused dramatically. “You see. Right there. We shaved you.” He po
inted in a small fancy gesture. “Look, princess. I find this very interesting. The human body is such a flexible instrument. So malleable whereas the human mind can be so rigid.” An armless hand with fat fingers pushed open whatever was on that screen. “Cornelius, are those your hands? I think, yes. Or, maybe someone else? There were so many.” Returning his attention to the prostrate princess, he continued in the most coaxing manner, “Yes dear, that wasss the virginal entrance to your womb. The photo documents your natural state.” Another image floated near. “Where is Jessica? Who is Jessica? Tell me, princess.” His soothing questions pulled at her. “Yes, where is Jessica? Save me. Someone please,” Alian frantically thought. Her mind panicked about the small room. The normally proud and stoic girl began to whimper.
“Oh please, princess. Stop with the theatrics. So what if I could drive a hover between your legs right now. Cornelius, how many different seeds did the princess receive?”
“Forty-two, I count,” mumbled the other in a low and eager growl. Cornelius mindlessly pulled at the screen like wet clay. The room was turning impossibly warm now – almost hot. Like her cousin, perspiration began to roll off the princess, pooling on the metal table. “Was it the drugs?” The place was too bright. She lost track of why she was here. “Where do I look?” She focused on his words.
“Forty-two, Cornelius? I think we had more than that. Of course, I had the honor of going first, before they stretched the royal gate. Now, I can honestly say I’ve lain with both mother and daughter. Ha haaaa haaa haaaaa,” he laughed grotesquely. “Rest assured, princess, I preferred you.”
Beady-eyed Cornelius pushed the screen closer. Feigning disappointment, Miandar continued, “Ohhhh. Look how it sags now.” The image was then superimposed by another – a blurry footage of many men, all of them moving in the same primordial rhythm.
Like a palace docent, Miandar continued to describe each participant, “There’s that foxy palace gardener. I guess you and he shared a few long looks when you wandered the royal grounds prior to your current situation. Look. He cries with remorse. What a pathetic example of a man. Oh, and here is the queen’s fifth cousin who is only fourteen. Quite large for his age, don’t you think?”
Consciousness tittered in and out of her mind’s cortex. He pressed against her. “Do you remember this, princess?” Recollection. Revulsion. Rage. Alian was horrified. An intense anger reared on hind legs. Seething, she whipped her head toward her cousin and then snapped down like an animal trap. Warm blood filled the mouth as Alian ground on him. Miandar screamed violently and used his large hands to pry her open. Milky red ran off the table. His brother instantly slammed a truncheon. Her nose cracked and she went dark. The damage was done. Miandar dangled by only a few threads of flesh.
Hilbert Circle Theatre
Indianapolis, Indiana
The third night of the Gingold competition was an unseasonably warm evening. And with a capacity crowd radiating it’s own heat like a living furnace, the temperature inside the great hall was quite uncomfortable. Many flocked to the bar for something cool and the coat-check was doing a brisk business as patrons deposited unwanted layers.
For tonight’s event, the remaining finalists performed before a live audience. Afterwards, the judges would announce gold, sliver and bronze. While nervous contestants avoided one another backstage, retreating to their dressing rooms, a confident prince roamed the hallways exploring the historic building. The prince fully understood that this was his last hurrah as a private earth citizen and he wanted to enjoy these remaining moments of anonymity.
When the stage manager rang the chimes for the audience to take their seats, the concert hall grew louder with a rush of excited voices. Hadrian stood inside the stage door and observed the lively migration. The prince hadn’t felt the physical edge of an audience in many months. He relished the old sensations, and was determined to deliver a performance these people would never forget.
The conductor for the evening was first a great musician before he ever aspired to become a famous maestro. A decadent and philandering Frenchman, who had a penchant for the young girls at the back of the orchestra, this celebrated Lothario was also a veteran competitor, having taken first prize at the Van Cliburn many years prior. Hadrian greeted the famous figure with a deferential nod. The prince caught mild amusement on the distinctive profile. The expression was a mix of confidence and disdain for the grubbiness of contest ambition. After the orchestra tuned, the hall quickly settled to a simmering hush.
With a haughty shift in posture, Hadrian deduced the conductor was ready. The smaller man clicked his heels together and leaned his short frame forward, politely gesturing to the door like a Viennese butler. With the Stradivarius tucked under one arm, Hadrian strode upon the bright stage as if he was entering the arena gate on Teramar. The lamps caught the black silk in his jacket, presenting the prince in a most dashing light. Jessica had assisted with tonight’s wardrobe. Earlier, she offered the prince an assortment of black suits in varying fashion. This final choice certainly flattered the young man’s physique, while the coat also afforded freedom of movement to play the violin. In her complex mind of overlapping programs and algorithms, Jessica was unable to repress what she cautiously described as“affection” for her young ward. But she simultaneously admonished herself, “Don’t be ridiculous. I am mixing familiarity with affection.” And yet, an ever-evolving, all-seeing, artificial-mind defied her own logic supporting and even nurturing “her Hadrian” as only a parent might.
Nodding to each of the section leaders in the orchestra, the prince assumed his stance next to the maestro at the front. He towered above the smaller man although the conductor stood on a tall podium. Hadrian then bowed to the judges. From above, Shayne, Ben and Angela had barely made it to their box in time. Excitedly, they watched Hadrian take the stage and inappropriately urged him on with hoots and hollers. Nervous for their young friend, the three New Yorkers sat at the edge of their seats. All of them heard the talk in the lobby that a previous finalist had delivered “the performance” and had probably locked up the gold.
Hadrian caught the conductor’s eye as he placed the Stradivarius under his chin. Unlike most violin concertos, Samuel Barber didn’t write an introduction to this piece. Rather, the solo violin and orchestra simultaneously start together – right on the first note. Down came the beat. Immediately, Hadrian’s produced a rich, sinuous sound that cascaded to the back of the hall. The violin grew like a tree floating over everyone extending lush flowery branches to every cornice. The audience was pin-drop silent while Hadrian and the maestro kept a close watch on each other through the lush opening. Reverentially, the milky violin tucked a mother’s blanket around everyone in the illustrious hall.
The hairs on Shayne’s forearm nervously stood at attention. He had never seen his Hadrian perform before a full symphony orchestra with an audience of a thousand people. The athlete looked over at his companions. With sad eyes, Ben and Angela held hands and also held their breath. The contest’s uncertain result kept the blood running hot in all three of them.
Rising through the laconic second movement, Hadrian carefully returned the audience to a hushed ending and bleak silence. The conductor artfully let the quiet spread throughout the room. When he felt the moment was most uncomfortable, the maestro raised an important eye addressing Hadrian with, “Are you ready, sir?” The presto would be the great physical challenge. This is where the technical evaluations would be made or undone.
At the dress rehearsal that same afternoon, Hadrian pushed the orchestra on this last part. His warrior’s command of the body could easily deliver faster than human speed. For the other, real musicians, the prince’s tempo was near too much. “You’re going to make them suspicious,” Jessica complained. Separately and for different reasons, the conductor agreed with the computer, dismissively shaking his head at the young man. “You’re playing this too fast. The movement is already at the brink,” he complained in his light French accent.
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br /> Catching the maestro’s eye, Hadrian nodded readiness. The baton was up. With the slash of a downbeat, the timpani leapt to action with driving triplets. Hadrian engaged at exactly the right moment, riding the beat with a blistering precision. The sensation was euphoric. Many in the audience nodded their heads as if to a popular song. Carefully, Hadrian pushed the triplets to the edge. The conductor glanced sharply with an expression that said, “I told you not to.”
Jessica couldn’t help but compulsively analyze for probable outcomes and she easily concluded that Hadrian’s performance was vastly superior to the other musicians and for many reasons. Simultaneously, she also reviewed the careers of the contest judges to identify a predictive pattern in their biographies and therefore forecast the final vote. Jessica fully understood the concept of politics. The great computer nervously watched her charge with an odd feeling of pride and anxiety.
Pushing faster and faster, the soloist and orchestra blazed onto the arch of the primordial beat. The closing measures then brought all hundred musicians to a whisper. With a kick from Hadrian, he swept them up and rushed to the finish. In one last gasp, he pulled at the violin’s great bowels and drove to a final, ringing note at the instrument’s height.
Immediately, the audience roared to their feet covering the brilliant ring of music with their own noise. The maestro turned and gave Hadrian the smile of genuine accomplishment. In a grand gesture, he then put his arm around the prince. Hadrian had to stoop to hear the man’s words as the applause crashed around them. With a smile, the maestro shouted, “Hadrian Capet, you play for my orchestra this year. You will go far, my young friend. You will go far.” The older man then physically pointed the prince at the thundering audience.
Following protocol, the soloist and conductor both exited the stage to return again. The conductor motioned with his arms and the orchestra stood with them. Hadrian shook everyone’s hands, respecting earth’s customs. After a final round of bows and applause, the prince finally left the stage. In the darkened alcove where the pulleys and lifts lived, Hadrian received light applause from the stagehands and backstage officials. The maestro’s elegant explanation of the tabulations now boomed over the public address.
Teramar: The Gathering Night Page 24
