We Happy Few: The Leviathan Universe 2138 Read online

  Robert tried his best to look transparent. Townsend said I would be arrested on the morrow, why would they wait? What if my warrant was already issued? He tried in vain to push such thoughts to the back of his mind. He had to focus. His very life depended on it.

  “Excuse me, sir.” The words came from one of the black clad officers. Robert kept walking, not wanting to look. Maybe he was talking to someone else.

  “Sir?” The word was more forceful, not quite a warning. It would be better to comply now; they were certainly talking to him. The guard pushed through the crowd, making a beeline to him. Robert stopped and turned toward the approaching officer with a mild questioning smile.

  “May I see your boarding pass, sir?” the guard asked. Robert made a gesture with his hand and his boarding pass appeared, visible in front of the guard’s unnerving insect-like helmet.

  “No luggage to check, then?”

  Robert looked at the officer’s helmet. The shiny black visor completely obscured his face. Robert found it disconcerting to talk to someone and not be able to look them in the eye, or see any facial expressions.

  “No, officer. My luggage has already been sent. It awaits aboard my ship,” Robert lied.

  The officer simply nodded.

  The menacing beetle paused. He looked at something just past Robert’s left ear, or that’s where his helmet was pointed in any case, a screen he couldn’t see, no doubt. Had the warrant issued? Had the warrant issued? Don’t panic. Amateurs panic and amateur is something that you are not. Another guard stepped up. Robert could feel the sweat forming on his back. Steady, now.

  The other officer took another step. Neither spoke. It looked like they were reading something. Is the game up?

  “Hey Mert, check this out.” The guard said on his internal comm. He pulled up a holo-screen with a black and red hover bike. It was the latest model. A Kincaid SRV-1. Its sleek and aggressive curves were sexy as hell.

  “Nice. Too bad your old lady will never let you get one,” the second guard joked.

  The shiny black helmets faced each other. Then looked back at the holo-screen. It was clear they were talking, though he heard nothing through their closed helmets. Seconds stretched into a full minute and kept going. One guard gestured toward the unseen holo-screen. The other guard shrugged. Robert ran his thumb over an eyebrow, feigning boredom. What he was actually doing was hiding his nervousness.

  “Very funny. It’s my money, I’ll buy whatever the hell I want.” Mert said a bit too defensively.

  The other guard laughed. “Righty-o, mate. Whatever you say. I’m sure she’ll let you spend ten months of wages for your shiny trinket.”

  “It’s not a shiny trinket.” Mert pointed at the holo- screen. “That is a finely crafted piece of machinery… It’s not a trinket,” he said again.

  “Very well, it’s not a trinket. And I’m sure your old lady won’t mind you making payments on it for the next twenty years.” The guard looked towards Robert then back at Mert. He gave a curt nod and walked away.

  “All right, sir. Sorry for the delay. Enjoy your trip,” the intimidating insectoid said in a toneless monotone. He made a hand gesture and Robert’s boarding pass disappeared.

  Robert nodded and proceeded into the terminal. As he strode towards the security kiosk, his relief was almost visible. He took a deep breath and blew it out. That was close. Don’t get cocky, I still must get past the security screen.

  CHAPTER 3

  The security station was a simple dull gray archway. The queue moved along at a decent pace. The archway would check dozens of biomarkers to detect the identity of the person and cross-checked the ship line databases for a ticket. The arch also checked for weapons and banned substances. There were bio-sniffers at all entrances and again at the security station. If a passenger was carrying Red Plague, Green Flux, HXZ, or any other dangerous virus, they would be sniffed out and taken into medical quarantine. There were different security arches based on your class of travel. Security’s patience and understanding declined as the ticket price fell.

  Robert stepped into the first class arch and gave a bored half smile to the guard on the other side. She had angled features that made her look like a bird of prey, and hair pulled into a bun so tight, Robert thought it must cause her pain. She eyed him, then directed her stern gaze to yet another holo-screen that Robert could not see. I wonder what’s on these screens they look at. games perhaps? Robert chuckled nervously. The guard’s eyes shot to his face and squinted even harder. Robert cleared his throat and looked sheepish by way of apology.

  “You’re cleared to proceed. Directions to your gate will appear on your holo-screen. Have a nice flight,” she said for the umpteenth time that day without a trace of humanity in her voice. Robert stepped out of the security arch to a holo-screen, which showed a top-down map of the terminal. A flashing ant trail gave him the most direct route to his gate. There were also tabs on the side marked: Food & Beverages, Duty Free Shopping, Spaceport Services. He toggled the Duty Free tab. He had left all his possessions behind and needed to pick up some sundry items, a few changes of clothes, and perhaps a new data pad. A new flashing line directed him to a shop up in the first class level.

  The terminal was an enormous multilevel ring. Everyone entered at the ground level then cleared security, regardless of social class and rank. This level also held the various kiosks of each of the starline companies. The architectural style and décor was simple and clean. Robert followed his holo map, pushing through the crowd of travelers. A massive bank of escalators lay off to his left, crowned by a large holo sign. It read ‘Economy/Steerage’ with large, green arrows pointing down.

  Robert’s holo map directed him to a bank of elevators on his right. There were two men in dark suits with their hands folded in front of them, standing on either side of the elevator doors. Security? Robert thought. He took the elevator up to the first-class level.

  Robert took in his surroundings. Opulence is the word I would choose. The gleaming marble floors had intricate geometric patterns. The ceiling was tall and bright with many types of chandeliers hovering a few meters from the top. They dimmed and brightened in accordance with the local day/night cycle. Finely dressed people strode confidently about. Concierges and the waitstaff moved with purpose.

  Robert continued to follow his holo map to the duty-free store. The suited security guard watched him. The guard’s face was emotionless, obscured by black, wraparound sunglasses. Robert felt increasingly uneasy. He picked up the items he needed and went to the checkout kiosk. He glanced over his shoulder, pretending to look to see if he forgot anything. The guard had shifted his gaze to someone else. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He was pleased to note his main credit account had not locked yet. I owe much to the good constable. His holo map now directed him to the lounge attached to his docking bay.

  Robert paused. The outer ring walls had large bay windows that looked down into the rest of the spaceport. He watched as the crowds bumped and jostled each other as they each tried to move about their business. From this height, it was hard to make out individuals, but he noticed several aliens. A few Reznoonian porters maneuvered hover pallets full of crates, and several Ooman workers had a wall panel open, and were performing some sort of maintenance.

  Robert looked at a seating area directly beneath him. The economy and steerage passengers packed the holding area. Even from this height they looked weary. People slumped in uncomfortable hard plastic chairs, waiting to board their uncomfortable ship, then after a long journey, they would start their menial job on some uncomfortable colony world. Robert sighed. His first thought was that he was glad he wasn’t with them. His second thought was to wish these poor people well. Robert realized that he might find himself among those masses if he ran out of money, and suddenly he felt a bit more empathy towards them.

  He passed through the doors into the first class lounge. Rich mahogany panels with finely detailed carvings covered the walls and spotless brass fi
xtures gleamed. Robert looked for a corner, or an out of the way place to hide. He sank into a soft leather couch and let out a long sigh. One of the almost invisible, but ever present and attentive waiters approached from the side, his hands clasped in front of him.

  “May I get you a drink, sir?” he said politely.

  “Double Scotch with ice, please.”

  “May I suggest the Royal Flag single malt aged 64 years?” the server asked.

  Robert smiled. “Yes, thank you.”

  He brought the drink to his lips and closed his eyes. He inhaled. The nose was sweet with hints of currants, brown sugar, and coffee. The taste mimicked the sweetness of the nose, almost a cinnamon flavor, then the spicy heat washed down his throat.

  “Excuse me sir, would you mind if I joined you?” said a baritone voice that yanked him out of his reverie.

  He bolted upright, and gestured to the open spot on the couch next to him. “Yes, of course, please do.” Robert didn’t want company. His mind was reeling from the day’s events, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by telling this man to bugger off.

  The other man was of middle age, he sported a moustache and chin beard. Gray hairs were just starting to make their appearance. He looked like he was in reasonably good shape and he wore a fashionable brown suit and cravat.

  “Dr. John Drake,” he said, hand extended.

  “Robert Ford,” he offered back. He stood and took his hand.

  The lounge had filled up while he was lost in thought.

  “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “Not at all,” Robert lied.

  The good doctor had not remarked on his name. Perhaps he’s not fond of Shakespeare. All the better at this point. He gestured to the waiter with his empty glass. “Another, please.”

  Many people from the upper echelon of society had a love for live theater. It had survived for many thousands of years. The invention of radio and television, then VR and holovids may have made live theater less relevant to much of humanity, but live theater had never disappeared as some predicted it would.

  Drake looked at Robert’s scotch glass and glanced up to the waiter. “I’ll have one as well… neat.”

  The waiter returned so promptly they had not yet had the chance to strike up any small talk. The waiter bowed his departure.

  “Dr. Drake. What kind of medicine do you practice?” Robert asked to break the ice.

  “Trauma surgery is my primary field. However, from time to time when the E.R. weighs on me, I take a sabbatical and work in the research labs at the Imperial College of Medicine… This is excellent scotch.”

  A chime sounded. A holo-screen popped up. Now Boarding.

  The passengers strolled into the long corridor leading to Pegasus’ airlock. The corridor was a transparent tube, not glass, something much stronger. Ornate scrollwork etched into the lower side of the tube morphed into elegant shapes and swirls. Robert and Dr. Drake took in the majesty of the ship. It was smooth and elegant. An elongated tear drop shape that tapered into massive shiny, cylindrical engines. The hull was a shiny, dark blue. Animated flowers, Celtic knot work and artistic floral patterns ran down the side of the ship. The patterns interweaved with each other and were pleasing to the eye. No windows were visible. A nano capable ship could put a window anywhere a passenger wanted, except it wasn’t exactly a window. It was an interactive view screen that did not compromise the structural integrity of the ship.

  Robert and the doctor approached the airlock. Polished metal and lead crystal glass were omnipresent. They passed through the airlock. It was a marvelous sight. The floors were granite, the walls covered in artwork, and the teakwood trim was finely detailed. Greek columns grew out of each corner, blending seamlessly with the trim work and décor.

  Captain Fenwick and his bridge crew stood near the entrance in their black dress uniforms. They glad-handed the swells as they passed through. Porters and concierges hustled about trying to get the passengers boarded and settled in a timely manner.

  “Welcome aboard the Pegasus, Mister Ford,” The captain said. Robert wondered how he knew his name, then realized that the captain would have the ship’s manifest available. In fact, he heard that all the passenger’s names hovered over their heads in displays that only the crew could see.

  He understood it was normal for the crew to know his name and have access to his vital stats. A feeling of dread grew in the pit of his stomach. Will they know I’m a wanted man tomorrow? Should I try to hide? Or use my nano-cloak to change my face? No, again, the ship’s AI might make note of my new face.

  I hope these people are not theatergoers. If they aren’t, I should pass unnoticed.

  Robert and Captain Fenwick shook hands. “Thank you, Captain. This ship is a sight to behold.”

  “Thank you kindly, sir,” the captain said, waving his hand towards the man next to him. “I would like to introduce my first officer, William McAndrews, my chief engineer, Colin Burton, and our pilot, Peter O’Brien.” They exchanged handshakes and pleasantries.

  A suave looking man with slicked back hair and a pencil-thin moustache approached. He stopped just over an arm’s length away with military precision and offered a slight bow. “This is my chief purser, Dimitri Borikov. He will see you to your staterooms,” said the captain.

  Borikov crisply gestured down the hall. Robert and the doctor followed behind him as he stepped out in military fashion.

  Robert watched out of the window next to his couch, sipping his scotch. His stomach slowly started to unknot at the prospect of being caught. The private cabin was not large, but it was very well appointed. A lush carpet covered the floor and fine artwork hung on the walls. He could see the Pegasus was lifting off from the King Henry I spaceport. He tried to sense any movement or vibration, there was only the slightest hum. He saw the blue-white reflection below as her repulsors flared and she gained altitude and achieved escape velocity. Robert listened for the roar of the engines, he could hear nothing. He looked at his scotch, there was barely a ripple across the amber liquid.

  He watched the Imperial Metroplex grow smaller and smaller. The glimmer of city lights appeared as the suns disappeared over the western horizon. Everything seemed peaceful from this altitude. The trouble and strife of the city was not apparent. He could see Winchester Palace and all the various buildings in the palace complex gleaming. The bright lights beamed and strobed into space.

  Years ago, he was summoned to the palace to give a command performance of Henry V for the King. His Majesty had given him a standing ovation. It was the proudest moment of his life, and now he fled Capella Major as a wanted man.

  The day’s events weighed on him. He had successfully pretended none of this pain and sadness existed for the better part of the day. It had truly been one of his finest performances. His drama school training had let him compartmentalize his fear and grief. And now, alone in his cabin, the planet slipped further and further behind him.

  Sorrow threatened to envelop him. He dropped the facade. Tears rolled from his cheeks. He could still see her golden hair spill over her shoulders, still smell her jasmine perfume, still feel her smooth skin, and he could still hear her musical laughter.

  CHAPTER 4

  The New Globe Theater was a magnificent piece of architecture. It was built sixty-four years ago, at the dawn of the Capellan Empire, when Capitol City was still technically the first colony and seat of government, founded by King Henry I.

  The multitiered, circular structure was handcrafted with the finest materials by the most skilled artisans. Carved dark oak and mahogany woodwork covered the inside of the theater. The seats were red velvet, and the fixtures were handcrafted gold leaf. It could seat three thousand people, if they could afford the price of the ticket.

  The New Globe Theater was well known for its exclusive patrons. The King had a private box in the center of the first ring. The best seat in the house. He would show up from time to time, or loan the use of his box to some worthy fell
ow in his cabinet, or some lord as a show of favor.

  Robert Taylor Ford strode down the aisle. His understudy, Armand Rousseau, followed at a respectful distance just behind and to the right of him. The pair passed a janitorial worker on his hands and knees between the aisles. He was diligently scraping some pink, sticky substance from the tiled floor. Robert quickly averted his eyes from the lowly serf. Better you than me, ‘ol chum.

  They stopped at the first row. A group of actors stood on stage. They rehearsed their lines and practiced standing on their marks. The director, a distinguished old thespian in his own right, sat on a stool at the right hand side of the stage. He watched them intently, as he silently mouthed the words along with the actors.

  Robert and Armand stood silently, taking in the performance. Robert’s attention was immediately seized by a beautiful young woman in the center of the stage. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her features were like fine porcelain, and her piercing blue eyes blazed as she recited her lines in a songbird voice.

  Robert turned to his apprentice. “Who is that woman?”

  Armand had also been studying her intently, but his mentor had not noticed. “Sir, that’s Marissa St. Thomas. She recently graduated from the Imperial Academy of Arts. As I understand it, she is to be understudy to Ms. Anna Folstreet.”

  “Ah, my Cleopatra. Well, Ms. Folstreet had best stay at the top of her game, or she may find herself replaced by this young siren.”

  “Yes, sir.” Armand said obediently, his eyes still fixed on the starlet.

  The actors on stage were in full costume, rehearsing a scene from the first act. Their voices rang throughout the large theater.

  “She certainly has one hell of a stage presence,” Robert said absently. The two men stood watching for several minutes.

  The director took notice of Robert’s presence. He turned and hobbled down the side stairs, his walking stick thumping on each oak riser. As he approached Robert, he kept turning his head towards Marissa. He smiled like a proud father. The company’s senior director, Edmund Houston, had been there for forty years. He had made many dreams come true, and dashed many hopes.