Herculanium (16 page)

“My anger here is not the matter in question. Since this project began, you’ve kept contact with me to a bare minimum, questioned my concerns about my client, and compromised my role with anything that has to do with Olympus. I don’t give a damn what happens to the station. All I care about is my client, my friend, our contract, and our money. Now what the fuck is going on here?”

Peryson loosened his tie and rubbed his temples in small circles. He then stared at Max with an almost blank look.

“We need to fly your client, and everyone on-board Olympus, back to earth. An issue has come up, and we feel, for cautionary reasons, that we should have them back on terra firma.”

“Are they in danger?”

“Oh, they’re not. Absolutely, they’re not. We need to have something fixed on Olympus, and we just need to have the station evacuated before we can begin.”

“What’s wrong with the station?”

“We have…an infestation problem.” Peryson looked away, trying not to look Max in the eyes.

“You mean like pests? Something bacterial? Is it a virus?”

“I’m not too clear on what it is,” said Peryson. “My scientists have advised me to remove all non-essential personnel from the station while we…fumigate. For lack of a better term.”

“For how long?”

“They’ve projected that the station should be clean and fully-operational in about a month. We would like for your client and the rest of the people to come back then.”

“And what about the grand opening? What about all the commercials and promotions that went into all this?”

“You would put a business contract in front of your client’s safety?”

“I thought you said he wasn’t in any danger? You mean to say all the negotiations and contracts we’ve made were for nothing? My client’s career is not something you can just arbitrarily pause and redirect on a whim, Peryson.”

“Nonetheless, we will be evacuating the personnel sometime tomorrow.”

Max stood up. “I need to speak to Preston about this.”

“You won’t be able to speak to him until he returns to earth. He will need to be debriefed first.”

“That’s bullshit. I demand to speak to him
now
.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. We are experiencing sunspot activity, making all direct orbital communications incomprehensible. You will be able to speak to him directly upon his return.”

“You will be hearing from my attorneys about this. Don’t be so sure you’ll still have my client when he returns. There will have to be some major re-negotiations first.”

“We can always get another celebrity. No one is inexpendable; not your client, and certainly not you.” Peryson stood up and opened the door for Max.

“You’d better put yourself on that list, asshole. I hope you have deep pockets. Either way, this will cost you a lot of money and your job. My client put his career on hold for this, and now you’re screwing us over with a delay and a defective station. I will not have my client represent something that could tarnish his good name and jeopardize his career.”

Max stormed out of the room, grabbing the door by its handle and slamming it shut.

“Reception,” said Peryson, sighing louder than he had ever done before, “please get Lieutenant Colonel Perry back on the line.”

Preston stood in silence, unable to describe the weight room in front of him. It was as if he stepped into the studio of an insane metal sculptor, where dreams and nightmares yet to be imagined were brought impossibly to life. Rows upon rows of exercise machines stretched in all directions, with each station a haunting masterpiece of metal gears, pulleys, weights and cushions, combined miraculously into a functional apparatus. Metal and rubber weights were suspended from every possible angle; some descended like a spiraling helix, others jutted out like the upturned legs of giant spider. Many of the weights were segmented, resembling flowing trilobites curled and twisted around chairs and benches. Free weights and their grip bars came in all colors, shapes and textures, defying all known convention of functionality. Some machines looked like miniature cockpits on motorized rotating bases and rail tracks, complete with color-tinted windshields.

Free from the constraints of gravity, the exercise machines were positioned not only on the floor, but also the length of the walls and ceilings. Preston shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the machines above him, workout stations that were fully sideways and even upside-down. He could only guess how to contort his body into the seats and work the weight bars in such awkward positions. Exercise cycles ran on tracks that followed the contour of the vertical walls, while mirrors lined the walls and ceiling from top to bottom, end to end.

“As you can see,” said Kendra from behind, “we’ve spared no expense when it comes to your comfort and regimen. As with everything here on Olympus, you will have first honors to try them out.”

Preston smiled without turning his head.

“But before you begin, I need for you to wear these.” Kendra directed his attention to a pair of shoes and exercise gloves placed neatly on the floor behind them.

“What are these for? I’m already wearing gloves and shoes.”

“But these are magnetized to help you get a better grip. This room is special, Mr. Jones. We can actually raise and lower the gravity pull. How do you think you’ll be able to get up to those machines on the ceiling and walls?”

Preston nodded and quickly replaced his gloves and shoes with those on the floor. Besides looking absolutely fashionable and high-tech, they were the most comfortable pieces of clothing he had ever worn. Kendra then handed him a squirt bottle filled with liquid.

“This should replenish your minerals and give you energy. It’s a little different working out up here than it is on earth.”

Preston took three deep gulps from the bottle and handed it back to her. “Hold it for me,” he said with a smile. “I’ll come back for it later.”

Each step he took felt lighter and lighter, until he found himself near floating to the first machine. Glancing at its operating diagram, he adjusted the weight and began exercising the specified muscle group. He found himself lifting weights otherwise too heavy had he lifted them on earth.

Based on his grimaced smile, Kendra knew he was thoroughly enjoying himself

Preston went from machine to machine in succession, experimenting and exercising each of its function, and at the same time improvising on some of the techniques. Depending on the contraption, he found himself in the most awkward of positions, feeling pain and strain from muscle groups that even he didn’t know existed. After an hour of grueling, near gymnastic-contorted workout, he returned to Kendra and finished off the rest of the squirt bottle. His muscles were tautly defined and glistened with bubbles of floating sweat.

“Holy shit,
that
was something else.” He took his towel and draped it on top of his head. “I haven’t felt that tired in a long time.” He smiled at Kendra, motioning for more water. “I can get used to this. You know how much this will improve my game? No one’s gonna have nothin’ on me now.”

She handed him a new squirt bottle and sat beside him. Preston drank deeply and began to walk to the opposite end of the room. “I think I’ll warm down on those punching bags down there. I’ll just pretend they’re Allan Henderson. That should give me motivation.”

“I’m afraid our pool and sauna are still under construction. I want to show you another room, though. It’s just over here.” Kendra pointed to a door located on the middle right wall.

“I just told you I’m not in the mood to work out anymore.”

“Trust me on this one, Mr. Jones. Please, walk with me?”

“Girl, you must be hard of hearing.”

Kendra took him by the arm and gently escorted him across the room, to the door. “Trust me, Mr. Jones. See what we have, and if you don’t like it, I’ll personally escort you back to your room.”

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head as he stood in front of the door. “Just remember what you said.”

Kendra opened the entrance using a control panel button, trying her best not to show her excitement. Preston entered the room with heavy steps and skepticism.

It was pitch black and silent, without the familiar scent of the weight room.

“This better not be an in-door track and field area. I sure as hell ain’t gonna run.”

He could hear the beeping of buttons behind him, the sound of Kendra activating something electrical. He was hoping it was the exit.

A lone spotlight slowly faded into a perfect cone across the room. As faint as it was, this light was clearly illuminating something on the floor—something familiar. Preston slowly walked towards the light to get a better view of the object on the floor. The footing here was different than the weight gym’s; this was firm and solid, painful to crash against.

But perfect for dribbling.

Preston’s slow walk quickly became a jog, then a sprint. With each step, the object the light was illuminating became crystal clear.

It was a basketball.

Just as Preston reached the basketball and picked it up, Kendra immediately turned on all the room lights simultaneously. Preston was standing at the half-court line of a professional-size basketball court, complete with hoops, backboards and bleachers. The roof was a retractable clear glass dome that showed the stars in their full splendor.

Preston dribbled the ball in place, ecstatic beyond words. He was testing its weight and recoil against the hard wooden floor, seeing if there was a difference between dribbling on a court back on earth and in the orbital environment. Sensing no such differential, he quickly switched to fancier dribbling patterns: pounding the ball around his body and between his legs alternately, reversing directions at will; even varying the metric tempo and force of his dribble from hard to soft, tall and short. He began to shuffle his feet that would put most boxers to shame, pretending that imaginary players were trying to box him in or steal the ball away.

Preston went into what he termed “battle mode,” dribbling and defending the ball towards the hoop until he was within range of firing his weapon. Should he be a master marksman today, or a point-blank bazooka?

Feinting several moves, he instinctively leapt into the air and slammed the ball in the net with a monstrous two-handed dunk. He paused for a moment to hear the faint clapping of Kendra in the background, then proceeded to shoot the ball from different ranges around the half-court. She couldn’t believe how deadly Preston was from both inside and outside the arc. Seeing him maneuver was like watching a ballet dancer competing in a gymnastics competition, taking grace and athleticism to its highest level.

As Preston turned a corner and raised his arms to shoot, Kendra coughed loudly. The ball fell short of the rim, landing awkwardly on the floor from being released at such a bad angle. He glared in her direction, fuming that someone would dare interrupt his concentration.

He retrieved the ball and attempted the same shot from the other side of the room. There was another cough again, this time even louder and more intrusive. Preston stood in his spot and placed both of his hands on his hips. He stomped his right leg on the basketball, announcing that he was the king of this court. Kendra stood by the door, seemingly amused by his frustration.

“Well?” Preston picked up the ball and raised it to her. “Did you want to take a shot or something?”

She raised her hand in a dramatic fashion and slowly pushed a button on the control panel. A resonant hum came from behind the walls, then the room fell completely silent. Preston felt his clothes flutter for a second before settling back on his form. His jaw dropped as the ball slowly floated off his palm and hovered a few inches over his hand.

Kendra had lightened the gravity in the room.

Preston slowly palmed the ball down to his shooting hand and watched it levitate again. Laughing out loud, he repeated the motion several more times before gripping the ball tightly. His first attempted dribble bounced the ball twenty feet into the air in an obtuse angle. It wasn’t even a hard dribble, but an average, casual bounce. He tried dribbling with it again, this time controlling the return angle of the ball to his hand. The ball seemed to have a life of its own, hitting and ricocheting at will with anything it came in contact with.

Kendra laughed at seeing the best basketball player in the world unable to control his own ball. Preston didn’t see her amusement as an insult, but more as a challenge. Nodding his head in her direction, he palmed the ball tighter and slowly began to execute a simple dribbling pattern. Once he felt he had control of the ball’s reactions, he then advanced to more complicated movements, eventually coming close to his regular speed and dazzle. Because of the lighter gravity, he had exaggerated his techniques a bit more. He misfired the ball several times, but he quickly adjusted to the ball’s various trajectories.

Then came the acid test. He stared at the runway in front of the hoop and smiled. Controlling the speed and force of his dribble, he sprinted towards the net and leapt from the free-throw line for another monstrous dunk. Instead of slamming the ball through and hanging on the rim, he leapt above it and slammed flush into the backboard at full speed.

Preston’s body rolled off the rim and floated to the floor in slow motion. It seemed that dribbling the ball was the least of his problems.

He quickly stood up and shook his head to clear his mind. Retrieving the ball, he slowly walked to the center of the court and stared at the net. Realizing that he needed to control his own body while in motion, he began bouncing in place, trying to gauge the gravity’s leap-to-height ratio. Preston felt like he was on a trampoline, jumping up to heights he had never attained before. He also noticed the extended hang time with each jump. After several minutes of adjustments and re-calculations to his game, he was ready to try again.

Starting from behind the half-court line, he took two powerful strides and leapt toward the net, this time successfully dunking the ball from the proper distance. Preston shot his fist in the air in triumph. He was again the king of the zero-gravity court. He proceeded to experiment with new dunks never done before, from varying distances: spirals, somersaults, cartwheels, bounce-passes to himself, even ones he couldn’t describe. He took full advantage of the increased ascent and suspension in mid-air, a master artist imposing his will on a canvass.

Once satisfied with his dunks, he sped across the room and began firing jump shots to the opposite rim. Motioning for Kendra to help retrieve his shots, he fired one bomb after another with deadly accuracy, at distances otherwise impossible anywhere else.

The hostile crowd rose to its collective feet and screamed in joy and agony. This was the last possession of the game and the opposing team was up by two points. The winner would become the world champion, and the loser would go home as the disgraced second-best.

Preston caught the in-bound pass and was immediately stalked by two opposing players. The clock began to wind down in ominous heartbeats, like the death-knell of a cathedral bell. Shuffling his feet and swirling the ball around his frame, he took advantage of a pick his teammate had set and positioned himself in front of the rim, just in front of the half-court line. His teammates were completely guarded, and he found himself in a one-on-one situation with less than five seconds to shoot. With a hand in his face and fire in his heart, he faked left and cross-dribbled to the right, then took two monstrous strides towards the net. From well beyond the free-throw line, his body floated across and above the court as if he was on suspension wires, as if he was flying. With barely a second left, he dunked the ball with a monstrous grimace and screamed as he landed on the floor. Half the crowd cheered in victory, while the other half stood in disbelief, stunned at the seemingly impossible victory. The opposing players crumpled in place, deflated in their defeat. Preston screamed until his throat burned beyond its limit.

He squinted his eyelids shut, forcing himself to tear and wake up from his fantasy. Kendra clapped her hands and yelled his name repeatedly in a chant. She had already reinstated normal gravity in the room, and Preston found himself under the net in his mock victory. The ball sat quietly on the floor against the bleachers, right where it rolled to after he dunked it.

He sat down on the half-court line and stared at the hoop. He began to dream again, of things that may very well could be. Kendra began shutting down the lights in the room, except for the one light above Preston. He sat with the ball inside the original cone of light. The rim disappeared in the shadows, but it didn’t matter.

Preston preferred to dream in the dark. He didn’t need the light to see.