by Jack Castle
Cliff was about to inhale another chip, froze, smiled and said, “Sure she does, she might be a little taller, a bit thinner, have perfect skin and cornsilk hair, but in the end, she’s still you.”
Cliff was being absurd, and judging by the Leftenant’s face, she thought so too. The Leftenant was 5’7,” she only a mere 5’3.” The Leftenant had long silk fibers of serene yellow hair, whereas she was a dirty blond.
Lisa and rose from her chair. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Cliff inhaled another handful of chips, and laughed, spewing crumbs everywhere. “Whatever you say, lab-ra-doodle.” He brushed the crumbs off his hoodie and onto the floor. Disappearing around the cubicle wall, she saw he left behind another trail of crumbs in his wake.
Ugh. Where’s my mini-vac?
Realizing she didn’t have time to clean up after Cliff until later, she finished powering down her lab. After verifying that she had saved her work, Lisa turned off her primary monitor and on cue, the Leftenant also vanished.
She was about to leave her station entirely when she noticed a framed black-and-white photograph hanging on her wall that was slightly out of place. The photo depicted the famous jungle explorer (and distant ancestor, thank you very much), Sir Richard Francis Burton. Sir Richard-Francis had been a member of Britain’s prestigious Royal Geographical Society. He had spoken no less than 29 languages, and was predominantly known for exploring Asia, Africa and the Americas in the mid-nineteenth century.
Straightening out the tilted photo with one forefinger, Lisa glanced below the frame at the antique knife displayed in a handsome glass case. The dull silver blade was about the size and length of a common English carving knife. It had a cylindrical-brown wood handle, with a metal cross-guard to protect the user’s hands.
“Better shake a leg, lab-monkey,” came Cliff’s disembodied voice from his workstation. “Hell hath no fury like a V.P. kept waiting.”
As much as she hated to admit it, Cliff was right; she needed to get moving. It wasn’t every day a senior manager wanted to have a little chat. Passing Cliff’s workstation on her way out, she noticed he was performing another touch up on one of the Fairy Maze monarchs. “Hey, didn’t you just give that model a refresh last week?”
Cliff snorted. “Yeah I did, but her Ladyship here thought she could use a little touch up. Can you imagine that? She actually found her way down here, and when security nabbed her on twelve, she demanded a,..” he changed his accent to a haughty woman with a Scottish accent, “…bit o’ sprucing up, post haste.”
Lisa studied the monarch sitting there poised and holding up one of those creepy porcelain masks at the end of a thin rod. The analytics in Lisa’s bi-optics displayed the biological’s designator in floating white letters over her head: LADY WELLINGTON. The way Cliff was always fawning all over her Ladyship, he might as well have been her personal manservant.
Still, Lisa was hardly surprised by her Ladyship’s behavior. Lady Wellington was a top-of-the-line TK-12 series, and by design, she was programmed to be as narcissistic as she was cunning. “Yep. Lady Wellington’s a wagonload of mischief-makers,” she managed.
See Lucifer, I can mix it up, she thought inwardly.
Lucifer was her cat.
He was so named for two reasons. The first being he seemed to go out of his way to make her life a living torment: peeing on (and subsequently killing) all of her plants, shredding the curtains, scratching up the sofa and anything else he could get his wrathful paws into. The second reason Lucifer was so named was because he didn’t even like her, only allowing himself to be petted on the rarest of occasions.
Snapping her out of her daydream, Cliff complained, “They say it won’t be long before these things are ruling the world. I say they’re practically doing it right now.”
At this, Lady Wellington’s eyes opened abruptly, flicked over Cliff for a moment, as though processing what he had just said, and then, realizing she was being watched, immediately screwed them shut tight again.
Cliff, busy with his paints, had been none the wiser.
Seeing Her Ladyship’s behavior, Lisa thought, That was kinda weird. Of course, she had bigger things to worry about than an eavesdropping biological. Maybe I’ll do a diagnostic on her learning behavior program when I get back.
Lisa realized she had no idea where she was going. The V.P. responsible for overseeing her work was well known for almost never being in his office. “Do you happen to know where he is?”
Cliff smiled. It didn’t look good on him, more like a dopey grin on an evil chimp. “I dunno. He didn’t say. The usual place I suspect.”
Why’d I even bother even asking? She tapped the control device placed inside the bracelet on her wrist. A map of all the park lands soon appeared in front of her. Of course, no one other than the wearer of her glasses could see the translucent map hovering before her. “Show me, Mark McCormick.”
The ear implant in her ear commanded, “Please specify title.”
Lisa pursed her lips. This automated request was obviously something Mark had programmed himself. He had been recently promoted to V.P. and no one could locate him by his name unless they specified his new title first. “Please locate Senior Vice-President, Mark McCormick.”
Even before she completed her sentence a flashing yellow star appeared on the map.
Of course, he’d be there.
As she departed, Cliff sang, “Good luck, Burton.”
Leaving Cliff, and his eavesdropping Ladyship behind, Lisa took the L-Tube beneath several lands, including Arctic Adventures, the town of Havenport, and the Zombie Apocalypse.
While traveling on the train, never once did she gaze up from her holographic data pad and notice any of the other passengers around her. The interior of the tube car could’ve been filled to the brim or totally empty, and she would have never been any the wiser. If the other passengers could see her holographic schematic (which they couldn’t), they would see she was busy working on integrating The Leftenant into the newly upgraded airship, The Dauntless.
Without actually hearing the stop announcement, she reflexively departed the tube car and headed for the elevators, which would take her topside. She would have preferred to take the tunnels all the way to Mark’s location, but after last week’s terrorist attack, a large section of subfloors was still under repair. So, she had to cross through at least some of the park and navigate through all the throngs of park guests.
Glancing up from her holographic display with only merest of glances, she reached the elevator just in time to see it to close on a bunch of suits inside. Before the elevator doors closed completely, a slender man out in front (who liked to give his hair a little flip over to one side) mouthed the word, ‘Sorry.’
“Thanks a lot, buddy,” she grumped aloud.
Spotting a stairwell nearby, she ascended it (in heels no less), and lightly pushed on the crash-bar that would transport her to the outside world.
The blinding daylight outside washed over her, melting her eyes out of their sockets and consumed her human flesh right down to her very soul.
Cliff’s right. I really need to get out more.
Chapter 1
Welcome to Atlantis
Oh, pooper-scooper.
Unfortunately, the particular door Lisa chose opened up into an Atlantean bathhouse. It was filled with elderly half-naked men in bath towels, having a good steamy soak. As she made her way through the sweltering baths, she averted her eyes from their unmentionables. Unfortunately, when she did, her eyes came to rest on the extremely inappropriate reliefs on the walls based on actual renderings found in the similarly ill-fated city of Santorini.
Gross.
One of the more hairy patrons (a sweaty middle-aged man sporting a roundish belly and ridiculous goat-tee) tapped his thigh loudly and bellowed, “Hey, slave girl, I think I need a massage.” As she passed him, he sluggishly reached out to grab her, but she simply increased her pace slightly and avoided his meaty grasp.
>
I really do loathe park guests, I absolutely do.
Of course, Corporate was always eager to point out that without them, she (along with everyone else) would be out of a job.
Laying a hand over her souring stomach, she briskly exited the disgusting bathhouse of elderly half-naked men, in dire need of an eye-wash station.
Fluroantimonic acid wouldn’t be enough.
Outside on the streets of Atlantis, Lisa’s eyes were still adjusting to the harsh sunlight when a wagon piled high with barrels of salt and fish nearly ran over her. As she leapt nimbly out of the way, the wagon’s driver cursed at her in Atlantean, “Make way for your betters.” The made-up language was a combination of Greek and Italian, only simplified phonetically so guests could learn and assimilate it more quickly.
Traveling in the opposite direction was a passing patrol of Atlantean soldiers, who nearly trampled her beneath their sandaled feet. Dodging out of the patrol’s way, she almost tripped over the brood of chickens that seemingly appeared out of nowhere clucking at her feet. Do chickens cluck when they’re not laying eggs?
Moving further into the street of the busy little seaside town, she encountered the smells of fresh bread and searing meats permeating the air. Her eyes drank in the vast array of richly-colored fabrics; brightly dyed togas, and cleverly-painted curtains hanging over merchants’ tables. Exquisite tapestries adorned every wall.
The last time she had been inside the new park was a week before its official grand opening. Lisa had purposely avoided the opening months, knowing full well it would be crowded with only the wealthiest and most influential people on the planet; all of whom acted as such and demanded only the highest level of service.
But now that she was completely immersed in this fully-functional world, brimming with the most cutting-edge biologicals (like the aged beggar on the street corner collecting alms or the dozens of merchants yelling for passing patrons to buy their wares), even she had to admit, it was easy to get caught up in the excitement of it all.
Atlantis, of all the places we could build. I guess Corporate is incapable of coming up with an original idea.
This was true. The creationeers had exhausted every mythology and fairy tale ever written. That’s what happens when you have a theme park littering every city, continent, and body of water. Point-of-fact, Stranger World owned more surface of the moon than all the other lunar property holders combined. So, it was no wonder they had to dig up the ancient story of the doomed city; pun intended. Lisa smiled at her own joke.
Contrary to myth, the town was laid out in a traditional Greco-Roman grid pattern, with the overall architecture being a mix of Mesoamerican and Greco-Roman. Themed houses, restaurants and shops lined both sides of the street and marble statues of Olympian deities decorated every street corner, with a lot of sea inspired motifs like seahorse fountains and dolphin statues thrown into the mix.
It was easy to get lost in, and because Atlantis was the newest Stranger World theme park on the planet, the streets were so crowded with park guests, she could barely see the polygonal stone paved streets beneath their feet.
Fortunately, she had seen it all long before the first guest arrived to Stranger World’s newest attraction. For she had personally known one of the senior architects (he always did loathe the designator “creationeer”). Even now, as she weaved her way through the town’s bustling streets, it was easy for her to imagine him walking by her side, as he often did; regaling her with the island’s infamous past. “According to the Greek philosopher, Plato, the fabled kingdom of Atlantis was supposedly a continent somewhere in the mid-Atlantic. It was home to an advanced civilization and struck by a cataclysmic event that sank the entire island beneath the sea in a single day and night.”
During those years of the Atlantis creation, Lisa didn’t mind all the scaffolding and busy work crews as they explored the large villas adorned with countless splendors and works of art. In a lot of ways, those years had been some of the happiest of her life; namely because of a certain handsome young architect.
Lisa slowed her walk as she passed the restaurant where they used to meet for lunch with their bagged lunches (as the restaurant had not opened yet). She then passed the Minotaur’s maze that he had personally designed; he had been so proud. The entrance was framed by two colossal statues of Minotaurs and the marquis overhead read, “The Minotaur’s Labyrinth of Death!” Lisa knew she was far too timid to attempt such an attraction.
Even backstage, during the testing phases, the Minotaur biological was beyond terrifying. She never did understand people’s need to have the beejezus scared out of them. She quickened her pace past the second Minotaur statue and saw something farther up ahead that made her heart ache. It was the big ornate fountain… where he had proposed.
Nope. Stop it! her inner voice chided her. Don’t do this to yourself, Lisa. This is why you don’t come up here anymore. This is why you’ve buried yourself in your work and haven’t walked these streets, not since…
Lisa shook herself free of the past. Besides, it’s not like you were every really interested in this place. She really wasn’t sure why so many people seemed to care so much about Atlantis. It was a fascinating legend, sure, but archeologists have never found any evidence of an actual city with this name. She chalked it up to being in the same category as Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster and Aliens crashing in Roswell, New Mexico. Atlantis wasn’t real. It was just a story told to a guy (named Solon she thinks), by a band of Egyptians, who told a guy, who told another guy, who happened to be a philosopher named Plato.
What Lisa did find fascinating, however, was facts. The fact was, many scientists now believed the source behind the legend was the remnants of a doomed little island named Santorini. In approximately 1620 BC, this tiny island in the Aegean Sea was devastated by the second largest volcano in history. Just like the Atlantis legend’s cataclysmic demise, the major seaport town on Santorini (home of an actual thriving Minoan civilization) succumbed to the most powerful explosive event ever witnessed. The eruption ejected up to four times as much ash fall as the well-recorded eruption by Krakatoa by in 1883.
As though reading her thoughts, a slight tremor rippled through the streets nearly knocking her off her feet.
Oh fudge. Is it Friday?
In the distance, a massive volcano loomed over the condemned city like an Atlantean Titan. The Creationeers had decided it was a Friday when the real Minoan eruption had spewed millions of tons of lava over the doomed denizens of Santorini, enveloping the bodies of nearly every last inhabitant, and forever petrifying them.
Lisa checked the courtyard calendar where the days of the week were listed: Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn and Sun. Yep. Today is Venus, The Day of Reckoning.
Her fiancée’s ghost reappeared beside her, and he told her, with that lopsided grin of his, “Better shake a leg, Lisa. You don’t want to be topside when that thing goes off.” She smiled inwardly at the recollection. He was always saying goofy-little colloquialisms like that. The ghost of her dead fiancée beside her soon vanished again. Funny how she had been seeing him around the different parks more-and-more lately. She had thought the worst of her grieving had been behind her.
Maybe not.
But the attraction of Atlantis was a great deal more than simply visiting and living amongst the doomed citizens of the Atlantean colony. No, it was much-much more.
For the maximum experience, guests paid for the entire week, and depending on how much they wanted to spend, influenced how high their station in their faux life would be. Lisa had to keep in mind this was the newest park, so prices were at an all-time record high. For example, for $42,000.00, a man or woman could spend their week as a slave, shop keeper or Atlantean soldier. They were expected to do menial chores and serve their masters, whether they were human guests or biologicals characters.
At the opposite end of the spectrum, for a quarter of a million dollars guests could spend the week as a senator, Atlantea
n General or some other high-ranking official. For a full million, a person could be worshipped as a god.
When she had first heard about the prices she thought surely no one would pay such ludicrous prices, but she was shocked to learn the waiting list had already surpassed five years.
Still, that wasn’t the main point of the experience that everybody was talking about. The original idea was based on Dr. Elizabeth Meadow’s famous theory that if you study a person for one week you can pretty much predict how they are going to live their entire lives. The goal was to examine your life in the six short days you have left to you in Atlantis and flourish and prosper as much as possible.
Those who did their best, (i.e. rose in rank, collected the most money, or saved the most lives, were awarded prizes in the form of credits that could be redeemed at any resort, restaurant or gift shop. Corporate had even come up with a nifty slogan: “Our Theme Parks aren’t just Themed. They’re Therapeutic!”
On the final day of each guest’s visit, instead of drowning park guests beneath a tsunami of waves, it was decided that a giant volcano would erupt and shroud the citizens of the entire town in hot molten lava and petrify them perfectly in place. This of course was an illusion created with special foam that hardened for only a few seconds. Before it dissolved, the guest’s petrified form was scanned by multiple camera angles, so each visitor could go home with an extremely detailed replica of their petrified corpse. Depending on their budget, they could purchase their petrified corpses in miniature, or all the way up to a life-size statue, or anywhere in-between. That way they could stare at their statue on their desk, or in the corner of their house or garden, and reflect on what they had learned.
After only being open for three weeks, rich moguls and movie stars were already telling the world how their guest experience at Atlantis had changed and impacted their lives forever. Of course, most of these claims were paid indorsements.
