by Jack Castle
Lisa had never actually been topside during any of the eruptions, as all rehearsals had been conducted behind closed walls and were strictly off limits. Her understanding was that the special FX were quite good and most convincing, but since the new section had opened, she had stayed away and wanted nothing to do with it for her own personal reasons.
“You there!”
Lisa lifted her gaze from the polygonal stoned street to an oafish merchant whose robes did little to conceal his girth. “Whence thou came?”
Lisa didn’t need the optic scanners built into her glasses to know that the portly man before her was a human guest and not an engineered denizen of the city; his horrible Atlantean accent was more than proof enough for that. Lisa also didn’t need her optical-identifiers to know that the extremely beautiful and well-endowed servant girl hanging off his arm was a biological. 5th Generation. Hmmm… That’s pretty low given that this is our newest park, she thought. Must’ve been in a rush job to meet the demand.
In perfect, classic Atlantean the woman asked, “What strange attire is it that you are wearing?”
Lisa gazed down and examined her own clothes. Oh, Farven-nuggen. I forgot to change into a costume down in the tunnels. As if she weren’t in enough trouble already. Walking around a themed land not in costume was about as serious offense as any employee could make.
“Excuse me,” she said pushing past them, and then remembered the word for excuse me in Atlantean too late. Talking out of character was also equally frowned upon. All employees were strictly forbidden from entering any land that they didn’t have at least a rudimentary grasp of the language, even made up ones.
Checking her holographic map out in front of her glasses she saw Mark’s location. Naturally he’d be at the town's most important building, The Temple of Poseidon.
In a fusion of Greek and Atlantean architectural ideas, the temple itself was on a high podium surrounded on all four sides by a wide series of grooved columns. To gain entrance one had to ascend an imposing set of steps that ensnared a white marble altar on a travertine base that supported a pretty impressive sundial.
Checking the time Lisa thought, Is it really 4 pm? Why did it take me so long to get here?
As she climbed the steps she heard herself huffing and puffing with exertion and thought, I really need to work out more than three times a week.
Reaching the top, she was forced to slide to a stop because a biological dressed as an Atlantean guard blocked the entrance. Spotting her, he commanded, “You there, halt!”
According to the script in such cases, Lisa had three choices before her: Bribe the guards with earned coinage, outwit them (which took too much time), or fight them.
Short on time, and checking to see no one was watching, Lisa field kicked the Atlantean sentry between the legs, and the man went down. Two other Atlantean guards stepped from the shadows, already drawing their swords.
Lisa immediately recognized the soldier’s advance as stunt choreography programed by Billy Colter (the stunt coordinator assigned to Atlantis, who also had an office up on fourth). Billy used to let her spar with the biologicals to work out any bugs in the fight scenes. For someone who had trouble making time to hit the gym, it was not only a great exercise, but it was also a wonderful diversion from work.
Remembering the fight choreography, and without even gazing up from her data pad, she easily stepped to the side of the guard’s thrusting sword. She then squatted down and ducked under a second brigand’s sword swinging over her head from behind. When the first solider went to shove his sword through her stomach a second time, she dodged nimbly out of the way, again without even looking up, and the first guard skewered his fellow soldier.
The optics in her glasses for the safety protocols were in place, but for some weird reason, they were set at the highest level (meaning the guards could still break her arm, or stab her in a non-vital area of the body; all of which could be fixed in minutes with modern medical technology.) Lisa knew each guest could select their preferred threat level, which ranged from a rated yellow experience (no pain or physical injury), all the way to a rated black experience (intense pain, and susceptible to an injury that could put a guest in the hospital for weeks).
Despite the higher combat level, Lisa wasn’t afraid. She started to circle around the mortally wounded guard, when to her surprise, the stabbing soldier planted one foot on his dead companion’s pelvic bone and pulled his sword out of his abdomen. Blood now painting his blade, he came at her again.
That’s new, she thought, but dodged a series of sword swipes that were another familiar combination. As she did so, she noticed the first sentry she had dispatched with a field kick was now climbing to his feet. I really don’t have time for this.
As both soldiers encircled her again, she uttered the word, “Turducken,” and both soldiers immediately froze into place. This was a stop-command the technicians had decided amongst themselves to program. More than any other reason it was more for saving time when moving across the parks. The stop-word only lasted a few minutes so she quickly squeezed past them.
As she ducked under the angry-faced guard’s outstretched sword, she said politely, “Excuse me,” even though they couldn’t hear her and she remembered the words in Atlantean too late. The guard, a bulbous-nosed fellow with a wicked glare, seemed none too happy about not being able to move more than his eyes.
Shuddering involuntarily, she thought, Wow. That’s a little too real, even for me. Spotting the entrance to the temple, Now, to find Mr. McCormick.
She wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. Unlike Mark McCormick, her last boss had been a great man, and an even greater mentor. He had personally taken her under his wing for the first seven years of her employment and helped her initiate the Leftenant Program when no one else believed a young, intern like her could accomplish such a daunting task. But like all the other good men, he had been drafted, and like all good soldiers, he had been killed in the stupid, stupid war that had already claimed over thirty-million lives worldwide.
Chapter 2
Temple of Mark
Inside the Temple of Poseidon, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the light. When they finally did, Lisa beheld an elongated courtyard with peristyle gardens, open to the sky. The sound of a gurgling ornate fountain drew her eyes to the marble and bronze statues set amongst the plants.
Her clicking heels echoed off the stone walls as she traversed the long, deserted corridor. With the throngs of people outside, it was weird not seeing anybody. About halfway to the inner chamber, she heard a splashing sound. This was followed by the sound of a man moaning. She rounded another grooved pillar and located its source.
Just shy of the reception room, a bubbling pool of excrement was being used as some kind of torture device. A man in a non-themed business suit was tied to a great disc about the size of a wagon wheel. As the Atlantean slaves turned the handle, the wheel would dunk under the sewage, cycle under, and then pop out again on the other side of the pool. In Latin, above the man, she saw words written, Computantis Monitum, and if memory served, it was Latin for Accountants Be Warned. Lisa didn’t see a designator above the victim’s head indicating what level biological he was. Huh, my glasses must be malfunctioning.
She had a hard time puzzling out the purpose of the scene. Is this something Mark added? It doesn’t exactly match the whole Atlantis motif. A large, beefy Centurion, much bigger than the others outside, spotted her and commanded gruffly, “Andare avanti.”
Lisa needed no translation to ‘move along.’
As she turned on her heel to do just that, the accountant groaned once more, took a quick breath and went under for another dunking.
Lisa quickened her pace to her meeting.
Stepping inside the lavishly decorated throne room, enhanced by colorful murals and intricate mosaics, it didn’t take Lisa long to find Mark. He was sitting on a white marble couch in front of a giant golden statue of the Greek god, Poseidon,
who was riding a chariot pulled by six winged horses.
Mark was dressed in traditional Atlantean garb (a violet tunic) and was surrounded by scantily dressed slave women who were attending to his every need. One woman was pouring a pitcher of steaming water into the atrium pool at his sandaled feet, while two others sponged his bare shoulders and legs. A fifth woman was fanning him with an oversized feather that belonged to a peacock that probably never existed. By the pool, a trio of woman, all as beautiful as they were exotic, played soothing music on their lyres. Lisa’s optics scanned all the occupants. There wasn’t a single human within.
Save Mark.
One of Mark’s eyes lazily opened. He drank her in, and before speaking, he sighed with content. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a warm sponge bath.” Another slave girl poured steaming water over his head and Mark exhaled with even greater pleasure.
Mark was what the other park cast members liked to call a Full-Timer, meaning he never actually went home. The parks were his home now. Besides, why would you want to drive home in rush hour traffic (even in the most luxurious limo) just to be another regular Joe? When instead, you could stay here and be worshiped as a living god, twenty-four hours a day, seven-days a week. For some managers, turning Full-Time was too much for them to handle, but Mark made the transition easily because prior to making V.P., he already thought of himself as a god.
As his eyes washed over her, she thought she detected a lingering glance, but Lisa knew there was nothing to it. It was well known amongst cast members that Mark preferred the company of flawless bioengineered women to the real thing.
It wasn’t enough for him to be a high-ranking Atlantean senator either, or even the Emperor himself. No. Mark McCormick had to be the sun god, Apollo, the ladies’ man of all deities. To look the part, he had chest, calf and bi-cep implants surgically installed. Of course, not a single muscle on him had been earned in a gym. Unfortunately for Mark, it was obvious to everyone but him. The human tissue between the muscles was as fleshy and lumpy as before. Mark’s physique in its entirety reminded Lisa of a late Van Gogh painting.
“Ah,” he said snapping his fingers two times. “Uhmm… Lisa… uh, Burton, isn’t it?”
He hadn’t forgotten her name. They had started with the company roughly the same time; he had gone into sales, and she, engineering. It was all part of how he made everyone feel inferior.
“Hello, sir. I came as soon as I was summoned.”
He held up his chin and gazed down his nose at her. Holding up three fingers he said, “Three things… there are three things I, the sun god Apollo, wish to discuss with you.”
Lisa was fairly certain Mark didn’t really believe he was an actual deity; he thought much higher of himself than that. Unsure of what to say, she only nodded that she understood.
“The first, is… excellent work.”
Whew. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she let it out.
“To be more precise, excellent work on The Leftenant Project.” Mark put his fingers to his lips, kissed them and pulled them away like a French Chef who just created a masterpiece. “Absolutely first-rate work on the A.I.. the egg heads tell me that it is the most advanced state-of-the-art artificial intelligence they’d ever seen.”
He frowned, leaned forward, and squinting his eyes down at her, he quickly changed the subject and asked, “Who put you in holographics, anyway? Who did that?” Sitting back up, he said, “No. We need to put your skills to better use and put you on the biologicals.” Waving his hand, “Holograms are a thing of the past.” Mark noticed the young pitcher-girl proactively staring at him with a slender finger touching her pouting lips. “People want things they can feel…” he gently caressed the girl’s cheek, “and touch.”
Well, touch and feel are actually the same thing, she thought inwardly. What she said was, “Sir, I’m actually perfectly happy working on The Dauntless Project.”
This got his attention. “Oh, right. The Dauntless Project. Man, are we ever over-budget on that monster.” Mark stopped and studied her as though seeing her for the first time. Frowning, he asked, “Wait a second. Why aren’t you in costume?”
Before she could answer he said, “Larissa, what’s our job here?” Again, not giving her time to answer he answered for her, “To create fantasies. Right? And, those fantasies break down when some dunder-head walks around ancient Atlantis in a white lab coat, glasses and high-heels.”
She didn’t bring up the fact the tunnels were collapsed and still being remodeled. Mark flashed a sidelong glance at the scribe, who also doubled as Mark’s administrative assistant in real life. The scribe, a high-functioning TK-11, immediately understood his master’s look.
Seeing the brief exchange, Lisa thought, My paycheck’s going to be a little short this week. Not that she needed it. She never went anywhere. She had more than enough money. Stranger World was her life.
Oh, fudder-dudder, does that make me a Full-Timer too?
“Now what was I saying?” Mark asked the scribe. The scribe opened his mouth to speak and Mark waved him off, “Never mind, I got it-I got it.”
“So, number two, we do love everything you’re doing. However, with the Leftenant Program, I want you to replicate it and put it on every Exploratory Air Ship in the park. And, it is my understanding that you already refused this request.
“Sir?” Lisa asked.
Mark crisply shook his head. “What part didn’t you understand?”
If we replicate The Leftenant, it will only cheapen her, she thought. What she ended up saying however was, “I was told that each airship would have its own unique-signature crew, thereby making everyone’s experience unique from everyone else’s.”
“Yeah-yeah-yeah. That’s all well and good. And, it’s a great idea, but I’m the poor shmuck who has to worry about crunching the numbers.”
Under his breath, and yet loud enough for her to hear, he mumbled, “I’m beginning to see why you’re still in holographics.” He went to rise from his throne but feeling it would take more energy than he wished to expel at the moment, he sat back down. Realizing she was still in the room, he added, “Look, don’t blame me. Thanks to the war. Thanks to the military constantly stealing our best engineers, biologicals and technology, we are overworked and over budget.”
Lisa thought this last bit might have had more impact if a slave girl hadn’t been feeding him grapes while he said it.
The irony was lost on Mark.
Mouth still full with grapes, he managed, “So, instead of having a different crew on every air ship in the park, I want the same crew, with the your Leftenant, on every air ship.
“Yes sir,” is what she said. Over my dead body is what she thought.
Mark sighed. “Ah, great then. Good.” He cast a sidelong glance at the scribe and muttered, “And, you said she was going to be difficult.” He then clapped his hands together and exhaled, “Oh, wonderful, just wonderful.”
Lisa thought Mark was referring to their conversation, but then realized he was gazing past her at three, tall, provocatively-dressed women gliding into the room. Lisa didn’t need her optics. They were far too beautiful to be human. In fact, they were probably the most beautiful women she had seen in her life. Technically, park cast members fraternizing with biologicals was strictly against S.0.P., but company policy never seemed to deter Mark. It was well known that, Mark gets what Mark wants.
His attention was obviously divided between the three women and their meeting. Still gazing upon them, he snapped his fingers to his scribe and asked, “What was the other thing?”
The scribe opened his mouth to speak again, but he waved him off, “No, no, no. I got it-I got it. The last thing. No more joy rides in The Dauntless.” He tore his eyes from the beautiful slave girls and leered down at her, “And, don’t raise your little Bambi eyebrows at me and say, ‘Sir?’ You know exactly what I’m talking about. I read your time card. In fact, I read all of your reports. The joyrides ar
e not for research and development. Just because the prototype can still go up and down and isn’t locked onto its fixed track yet, doesn’t mean you can go joy riding whenever the mood strikes you. No. No… More… joyrides. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”
One of the beautiful slave women walked up behind him, leaned over and put her lips to his ear lobe while the other began fondling his hair. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important meeting I must to attend to.” As the slave women helped him to his feet and led him away, he said over his shoulder, “I feel like we got a lot done here today. When you leave, make sure you use the tunnels. Or, for Neptune’s sake, get a costume. I don’t care which.” He was speaking faster and faster now. “Remember, Fulfilling Fantasies is our Mission.” As the beautiful slave woman led him off to a private chamber, he said over his shoulder, “Thank you, Teresa, good talk.”
The scribe raised a hand toward a side entrance and under his watchful gaze; she was forced to retreat through it. To the outside observer, it actually appeared as though she had walked through a wall and vanished.
‘What a Farven-nuggin’.
“…afterwards there occurred violent earthquakes and floods; and in a single day and night of misfortune all your warlike men in a body sank into the earth, and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared in the depths of the sea.”
-Plato, 360 B.C.
Chapter 3
Day of Reckoning
Great.
To Lisa’s dismay, the side door didn’t lead to the tunnels or even backstage. Instead, she found herself back outside, on the streets, amongst the throngs of people milling about and going on with their daily lives. A brief rumbling under her feet was a harsh reminder that the end was nigh. I best get downstairs before the big show starts.
