Compete (75 page)

Aeson Kassiopei swiftly nears us and barely motions with the palm of his hand to all of us. “Let’s go,” he says in a hard voice, and keeps moving. He barely even glances at me.

Immediately we follow. I offer to help Gennio and Anu with the CCO crates, but they tell me there’s no need, those will be loaded separately after we board.

We approach the transport shuttle and climb up the ladder. The interior looks familiar.

“Sit down anywhere and buckle up,” the CP tells us, and he proceeds directly to the back where the Pilot’s area is located.

After stowing my bags in the side panel storage compartments at the entrance, as directed by the guards, I grab one of the first row seats next to the two Aides.

Consul Denu takes a seat next to us, followed by Kem. The guards position themselves in various seats around the transport.

“Will the CP be Piloting this transport?” I ask.

“Of course,” Anu says in a superior tone. “When you have the best Pilot in the Fleet, is that even a question?”

I shrug. We all engage the harnesses and make ourselves comfortable.

And then, moments later we hear Kassiopei’s low voice over the amplifier. “We are departing now. Be prepared.”

And in the next moment the shuttle’s hull comes alive with vibration, while the hair-fine lines of golden light start racing around the etchings in the panels.

There are no observation windows here, so I have no idea what’s going on outside. I can only feel the motion as we must be moving off the platform, and then, a smooth minor lurch, as we blast through the launch channel and outside. . . .

And then, we plummet. . . .

I feel the sickening lurch of transitioning gravity, and am temporarily reminded of the Zero-G Dances. At least it’s something to think about as we fall, fall, fall, through the layers of atmosphere of Atlantis.

About ten minutes later the falling sensation stabilizes, while a slightly peculiar new feeling of
weight
settles in. And we come to a hover stop.

Anu makes a satisfied noise.

“And, here we are, Gwen.” Gennio says mildly, looking at me. And then he smiles. “Welcome to Atlantis, your new home!”

“Thanks,” I mutter.
This is just so weird.

Moments later the hum in the walls ends and the hull lights disappear. Aeson Kassiopei comes out from the Pilot control section in the back and he looks at us with a sweeping glance. “We’re here,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Again, his glance at me is very brief. No other reaction or acknowledgement. I feel an instant pang of disappointment in my heart, as though I’ve been expecting something from him, maybe something a little more profound? Why was it Gennio and not
he
, who welcomed me?

I know these thoughts are crazy-irrational and bitter, so I try to put them down.

In that moment however, Kassiopei turns to Consul Denu, and momentarily glances at me. “Take her with you to the Palace Blue Wing residential quarters,” he says. “Have her put in a guest room near you. Then, make sure you have her ready by six o’clock, properly attired for Court. Make all necessary arrangements in my name.”

The Consul stands up and then bows elegantly before Kassiopei, speaking in a smooth pleasing voice. “Of course, my Imperial Lord, it shall all be done as you require. One small question—what should her attire reflect? Does my Imperial Lord need her to be dressed as High Court, Middle Court or Low Court?”

Okay, I have only a vague idea of what this all means, from my Court Protocol lessons with the Consul. . . . But I watch with growing trepidation as Aeson glances at me again with a look that’s almost disdainful. “Low Court, of course,” he says icily. “I need her to look sufficient to be presented before my Father, but nothing more. She will be standing with the Low Court during the presentation. I expect you to remain at her side for this particular event, Consul. Make sure she does nothing out of line. Is that clear? There must be nothing out of order. I do not want any problems, not tonight.”

“As my Imperial Lord wishes, all will be done to your satisfaction.” Consul Denu smiles and bows elegantly once again. And then he glances at me and nods graciously.

Okay. . . . There’s nothing worse than being spoken about in third person when you are standing right there. I take a step forward and address Kassiopei, looking directly at him. “Command Pilot, what’s this exactly? How am I being dressed, and what should I be doing?”

But Aeson glances at me coldly and his lapis blue eyes meet my gaze with what again seems to be disdain. “Gwen Lark, you are never to speak to me again without permission. We are on Atlantis now, and I am no longer your commanding officer but the Imperial Prince of Kassiopei. As of this moment you must follow proper Imperial Protocol. Do not address me unless permitted to do so, do not question me or initiate a conversation unless I ask you. You may not approach me again. Stand back, and follow the Consul. You are dismissed!”

And with these terrible words that strike me like knife blows, he turns his back on me and goes to the hatch opening of the transport shuttle.

Moments later the hatch opens, and there’s a blast of warmth, clear pure wonderful air, and blinding white sunlight. Two of the guards exit first, followed by Aeson Kassiopei, and then the rest of the security detail.

I remain standing, thunderstruck, heartbroken yet
again
.

“Here you go, Gwen,” Gennio says softly, handing me a pair of large wrap-around black sunglasses. “You must wear these before you go outside. Keep them with you from now on.”

“Yes, yes, good that you remembered, she will definitely need these,” Consul Denu says in that moment. “Now, come along, my dear, and you too, Kem.”

I nod and take the protective sunglasses from Gennio. I put them on, and pick up my two duffel bags.

It’s a good thing my eyes are now heavily obscured—both from the bright light of Hel, and from their curious, or sympathetic, or pitying eyes.

Because, as I take my first step outside and down the ladder, and then put my right foot down on the ground of the planet Atlantis,
my new permanent home
, my vision is blurred and I am openly crying.

Chapter Forty-Eight

S
lightly warm, fresh, oxygen-rich Atlantean air surrounds me as I look outside and walk down the ladder. Even through the super-dark sunglasses, I can see that the sky is so bright that it looks white, with a hint of blue. There are no clouds, and Hel sits up near zenith, so I immediately squint and look away.

Our transport shuttle appears to have landed in the middle of a small airfield. It almost looks like a large and empty Earth parking lot, except it’s paved with some other material, slightly reddish-mauve, a little like river clay, a little like European cobblestones. I am momentarily reminded of the iconic image of the Red Square in Moscow, Russia, that I’ve seen on TV—a similar expanse in tones of brick and mauve.

Except, on a far smaller scale.

Because only about three hundred feet ahead I see grand buildings inside a sprawling complex of what looks like a formally structured, landscaped park or garden, with amazing greenery and trees.

In contrast to this small landing field, the buildings are huge—and I don’t mean merely tall skyscrapers in the style of New York or Chicago—but unbelievable wide-sprawling massive structures that resemble temples or palaces, reminiscent in style to the Karnak Temple in Egypt, but
bigger
. And, unlike the ancient and dilapidated Karnak with its crumbling stone, this is all
new
looking and very sharp and modern.

And oh my lord, the gold trim!
Gold
, gold is everywhere! The distant facades glisten yellow-white in the sun, and the fine ornamentation is stunning, with varicolored stone, in ebony black, river clay red, all shades of brick, rose, and cream. . . . Unbelievable!

If I didn’t have my sunglasses on, I don’t think I could look at it, it’s that overwhelming.

As I stop and stare around me in perfect amazement, with my mouth open, I notice in the distance the retreating figures of Aeson Kassiopei and his guards, as they walk swiftly into the park area along a path and soon disappear out of sight as they enter the nearest building. I also notice all kinds of other people moving around the park grounds, dressed in distinctive clothing that looks far more colorful and flowing than what I’m used to seeing back in the United States. The closest to it on Earth would probably be the Middle Eastern or Far Eastern fashions.

“Hey, keep going, Earth girl!” I hear the brash voice of Anu behind me, as apparently I’ve frozen in place right before the ladder and now I’m blocking everyone’s way.

“Sorry! It’s just so amazing!” I mutter, and take a few steps away, letting Anu pass, followed by Gennio.

About that
gravity
—okay, now that I’ve taken a few steps on the surface of Atlantis, I can definitely feel it. . . .

Or at least, I can feel
something
being off. My limbs, my body, everything feels a little heavy, a little not quite right. Just lifting my hand up feels a little weird. I have no way to even describe it—maybe it’s like the feeling you get after a long excruciating workout and all your limbs are “weak” and feel like noodles.

And my duffel bags! Oh wow, they are suddenly
heavy!
Like an extra five pounds each!

Gennio turns back and glances at me. “Are you okay, Gwen?”

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to smile. “My bags suddenly got very heavy!”

“Oh yes, the stronger gravity—sorry about that,” Gennio says.”Do you need some help carrying them?”

I look at him, overloaded with his own baggage and decide that he’s got enough to carry on his own. “Thanks, but I think I’ll manage,” I say.

And then I begin walking. . . .

After a few steps I realize I’ve no idea where to go, so I glance back at the shuttle and see that Consul Denu is the last person out, walking carefully down the ladder, and Kem is with him, carrying many, many things. . . . I recall that I’m supposed to be going somewhere with the Consul, so I wait as they draw near.

“Come along with me, my dear,” the Consul tells me mildly as he starts walking toward the buildings. “How do you like it so far? This is the Imperial Palace complex in Poseidon. We’ve landed in the private airfield.”

“It’s stunning,” I say, following with some effort due to my heavy bags.

“Not too far now,” the Consul tells me, noticing my plight, but he does not make any offer to help. I realize it is beneath him, or at least beneath the persona he is playing so carefully.

W
e walk through the landscaped area with a vast overwhelming array of green flowering plants, shrubs, and trees which I barely notice because of my growing discomfort with the bags that now feel like evil anvils. . . . And we go inside the first structure.

A grand hall interior with tall ceilings and what seems to be marble everywhere, greets us. Several people in light-colored uniforms, with golden metallic hair, kohl-lined eyes, and typical bronzed or river-red skin—who remind me of fancy hotel employees or servants—approach the Consul and he talks to them in Atlantean. I can recognize enough of the language now to know that he tells them to take my bags. Immediately, a porter comes up to me with a polite smile and takes my horrible bags, giving my arms instant relief.

Now that my hands are free, and we’re indoors, I can take off my sunglasses—and I do. At that point I notice quite a few curious glances in my direction from the Palace personnel. It occurs to me,
they have probably never seen an Earth person before
. . . . And now I’m the alien, so no wonder they stare at me, despite their impeccable service training.

We start walking deep into the grand hall lobby to an area near the back that branches off into smaller corridors with lower ceilings.

Here we get into the Atlantean version of elevators. Except these are faster moving and more smooth, with ornate paneling.

“Fifth floor is our destination, Gwen,” the Consul tells me. “Then, on to the Blue Wing, where we’ll be staying for now.”

I nod, and follow him and Kem tiredly, dragging my limbs with difficulty. We emerge from the elevator into another long hallway trimmed in glorious red wood and more gold, and fascinating wall paneling that looks like embroidered silk squares under glass encrusted with expensive stained glass and stone mosaics. Wow. . . . If I weren’t so tired, I’d take a closer look.

At some point in the maze of corridors, we stop before a specific door, and the porter opens it.

“This is your guest room, my dear,” Consul Denu tells me, and we go inside.

The room is an airy bedroom suite decorated in an exotic and somehow old-world fashion. I have no other way to describe the rich deep rust and earthy colors of the fabric hangings, the heavy brocade-like curtains over the large windows, and the grand rectangle bed in the middle, vaguely comparable to a king-sized bed on Earth, the kind you might find in fine estates in United Hindustan or Europe. The bed is strewn with pillows and fine fabrics, and is upraised on a dais.