Herculanium (27 page)

“Well, bloody hell, give the man a Nobel Prize. Of course I am. You are my friend, and I will always be there for you. The least you can do is appreciate this tour for what it is. If you don’t like it, grit your teeth and chisel a smile on your lips so my superiors think I’m doing me job.”

Preston nodded his head and leaned forward, returning his attention to the game. “I feel you. I guess I just got caught up in the whole ‘woe is me’ mentality. All of this is still brand new to me, you know.”

“I realize that, but don’t give these people reason to see you as anything less than what you are. This isn’t your world, but at least try to keep an open mind. I will take whatever you can give me. That’s not asking too much, is it?”

“Course not,” he said. “Let’s watch the game.”

From a distance, the teams resembled slim football players running up and down the field. Individual player numbers flickered on the back of their uniforms, changing colors along with the team possession. Fully-clad in padded skull caps and ribbed shoulder, forearm and shin pads, they maneuvered the ball as if engaged in mortal combat. Leg-smashes, roundhouse and spinning hook kicks came in contact with human bodies as much as the ball, sending players sprawling to the ground maimed or unconscious. Scissor-leg takedowns and ankle-breaking leg sweeps within ball clinches kept the game at a fever-pitch pace, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Draped in full body armor, the goalie paced his zone back and forth like a cornered animal. The goal was no longer a wide rectangle frame, but a sprawling netted arch that lit-up every time a point was scored.

Through the course of the game, various players, referees and fans were carried off the field and placed inside waiting ambulances. Despite the carnage and the chaos, the game played through to its end. Fans and hooligans continued to chant and interrupt the game, eventually breaking down the barbed-wire fence and attacking the opposing players.

Preston continued to smile at Jayna and the crowds, keeping his promise. He found out the day after that dozens of fans and security personnel were killed, and a rematch was already set for the following week.

Ayers Rock Arena

Sydney, Australia

“Quiet, please,” commanded the chair umpire, trying to restore order in the set. A deafening hush fell over the audience, still eager for the match to continue while screaming their support.

The coral sand court glittered in the sunlight, a perfect complement to the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. A seaside tennis court provided unique challenges to its competitors, the least of which were the roaring wind, a sun-bleached surface, and the open sky. It was also the perfect setting for a championship match, pitting two world-class athletes competing for the coveted Pacific women’s middleweight title. The gladiators stood ready in their respective corners, bouncing in place while anticipating each other’s move. Each player was covered in a skin-tight body suit, undulating with ribbed cushion stripes and layered with knee and elbow pads. A crested helmet and visor completed their uniform, along with a shoulder pad protruding over their striking arm.

They held their tennis racquets as if they were swords, and for all intents and purposes, they were. A razor-thin blade encircled the curved teardrop frame of the instrument, while a textured cloth replaced the traditional netting in its center. Overlapping finger-guards capped off the racquet’s padded grip, truly making it a formidable weapon.

The champion repeatedly bounced the tennis ball in place before finally posing to serve. Taking a few steps back, she threw the ball up in the air, took a running start and then leapt high to smash it across the court.

Preston gritted his teeth as he smiled. “Are we watching tennis, or is this a beach volleyball tournament? What kind of serve was that?” He made sure to comment under his breath, not within earshot of anyone observing or recording.

“Quiet, please,” said Jayna, mimicking the chair umpire’s earlier admonition. “If you just watch, you might learn something.”

The challenger returned the serve with her own forehand smash, igniting a slugfest exchange that lasted for several minutes. Using every conventional and unorthodox stroke imaginable, both competitors were locked in a stalemate duel. It wasn’t until the ball impaled itself on the champion’s racquet from the challenger’s return that the match was stopped.

“Reset, please,” said the chair umpire. Almost immediately, the ground lines delineating the court’s boundaries shifted into a new configuration, moving on coordinated floor plates that composed the court itself.

The match quickly resumed to its ferocity, drawing gasps and cheers from the audience. As the set went on, the players seemingly began to shift their strategy. Not only were they using the ground to ricochet their ball into play, but the opponent’s body, as well. Each attack and return quickly became a deadly game of tag, as the ball spun and cracked itself on the opponent’s head, body and legs. Racquets often spun into the crowds, sent reeling as the opponent willfully targeted the other player’s wrists.

Preston kept silent in his seat, still unsure of how the game was scored. With the continual shifting of boundaries and the targeting of players, the entire contest seemed nothing more than an excuse for hurting the opponent. He thought of asking Jayna for explanations, but she was too busy pumping her fist high in the air and rooting for the champion. An exotic scent bloomed in the wind, coming not just from Jayna, but from other women fans, as well. In this arena, beneath a canopy of windswept clouds, the gladiators and their blood-lust supporters reigned supreme.

The Odinsphere

Montreal, Canada

It was like watching an auto race held inside a massive elongated aquarium, with its competitors speeding back and forth like disembodied wraiths gliding eerily on the ice. What were blurs in motion became armored vehicles in stillness, imposing automatons built specifically for combat. But the competitors were neither machines, nor vehicles. Lost beneath layers of textured padding and a helmet molded in a grimace of pain and anger, these hockey players resembled horrific samurai on ice blades.

Preston looked up from his rink-side seat and stared at the Odinsphere's architecture. He had never seen an entire sports arena made entirely of ice. From the air, the revered Mecca of world hockey resembled a giant crystal snowflake sprawled across the intersection of a dozen roads and freeways. Inside, it was an intricately-carved, solid frame of ice, translucently blue and smooth as polished marble. The rink itself was undulating, tilted like the waves of a frozen ocean. The clear barrier separating the rink and the audience rose a dozen meters above the floor, making the entire playing area resemble a giant aquarium. The goals weren’t stationary, but moved laterally back and forth throughout the match, making it doubly hard for the teams to score. The goalie had to make sure he was in front of the netted arch at all times, gliding feverishly up and down to protect his nest.

Jockeying for both position and the puck, both teams swung their sticks with wild abandon, slashing into each other’s padding as if beheading or disemboweling an animal. Referees and players unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a melee were quickly removed from the game, replaced with substitutes eager to play. Fist-scuffles were replaced with stick duels, with the game allowed to continue around it. More dangerous than the sharp-edged sticks was the puck itself, which was shaped like a throwing star. It wasn’t uncommon for it to imbed itself deep against the clear partition, or into an unfortunate player.

Preston marveled at the swirls of color as the players passed by, almost graceful and hypnotic while accelerating and then turning a corner. The eruption of violence complemented this grace like a lion beginning a chase, and then finishing with a kill. Streamline and metallic, players truly resembled anthropomorphic vehicles, racing cars in a demolition cage match. Preston tried to suppress the welling blood-lust within him, the almost perverse addiction of seeing the competitors emerge victorious through punishment. It was an easy emotion to submit to, conforming to the audience and cheering every spill of blood. Jayna herself became a different person while attending the games, cheering the violence while watching, but denouncing it when away.

He clenched his fists and screamed at the top of his lungs, raking the burn from his lungs across his throat and face. Jayna turned and gave him a curious smile, unsure if he was just pretending or if he was actually enjoying the game. He became one with the crowd, blending his scream with the mob inside the deafening Odinsphere.

Deep down inside, however, far and away from the crowd and cameras, he was sobbing.

St. Peregrine’s Cathedral Arena

San Francisco, California

From his earliest childhood recollection of crossing San Francisco Bay on a field trip, Preston had always wondered what lay beneath its waves. Beyond the immediate gray-green surface of ripples and seaweed, he always pictured himself seeing an unknown creature, of being that one lucky passenger to see a passing giant when everyone else had turned away. It was hard not to imagine what could possibly lay beneath the water; such a foreboding body of cold water that yawned to the Pacific Ocean. His yearning to explore extended well into his adulthood, continuously looking at the ocean through the eyes of a child.

He gripped the banister tightly as the passenger lift eased into the water. What had been a daylight view of downtown San Francisco had quickly turned into a rippling canopy of light above him, growing dimmer as the lift descended into the bubbling depths. From end to end, he couldn’t see where the transport cabling began or ended, giving him the illusion that all the cars within view were simply floating down. The underground monorail snaked below them, slowly winding its way into the arena on lit tracks. He was glad Jayna coerced him into taking the lift to the game, as opposed to the rail system; this view was much more spectacular.

“You’re about to see the Golden Gate Tower Bridge from underwater, from its foundation up,” she kidded him. “Now you can die a happy man.”

He gently pressed his hand against the window pane and held it there for a few seconds, trying to absorb the coolness and texture of the olive-green abyss around him. The sway of the current gently rocked the cabin back and forth, adding yet another dimension to the descent. The muffled burp of bubbles and lapping water broke the otherwise deafening silence.

“This isn’t real,” he said, unblinking. “Since when has Man taken to the sea?”

“You mean to tell you’ve been all over the world, seen all sorts of cities and attractions, and only now are beginning to disbelieve? Preston Jones, you’re simply incorrigible.”

Jayna bit her lip and playfully pinched his ear. “Don’t mind him, folks,” she said to the other passengers, “he’s from out of town.”

St. Peregrine’s Cathedral slowly came into view through the murk, just beyond the Golden Gate’s foundation. Enclosed in a clouded glass dome and resting on a blur of kelp, fish, and leopard sharks, it almost seemed to float in place. It was how the mythical city of Atlantis would’ve looked in Preston’s imagination, a comic book illustration or novel cover come to life.

Jayna and Preston broke away from the milling crowd upon disembarking, taking their own tour around the complex. Beyond its bustling concession stands and overburdened ushers, the cathedral did not resemble any other sports complex they had visited throughout the world. Greek-style columns supported the arches and entryways that ran the length of its structure, while undulating walls of stained glass and candle altars broke the space into decorated compartments. Statuary and crosses loomed above each walkway, reminding all spectators that, despite its sports team, this was indeed a structure for prayer.

“Since when do religions promote professional sports teams? Isn’t that contradictory to keeping the church humble? I can just see Jesus kicking everyone out of this place.”

Preston and Jayna stood at a balcony overlooking the stadium’s main breezeway, observing the crowd from in-between inanimate saints.

“Denominations have to make a profit, too, you know,” said Jayna. “You can’t just preach to the people from a pulpit anymore; you have to entertain them. Religion has always been about a sales pitch. Why do you think the Bible’s lasted for so long?”

“You mean religions have become corporate? What happened to the days of contributing ten percent of your yearly income for the local fundraiser?”

Jayna smiled. “And how many fundraisers do you think it would take to build a complex like this? Different denominations run different colleges, with their own sports programs. Everyone wants to be as rich as the Vatican, so here we are.”

“Do people really come here and worship?” Preston motioned for Jayna to begin walking towards an entrance.

“Absolutely, and the correct term for St. Peregrine’s is ‘aquathedral.’ The actual cathedral is located on the western corner of the stadium, used for special occasions and dedications only. This place has the distinct honor of being the first habitable underwater city in the world, beating the closest competitor by two years.”

Preston took a deep breath and sighed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s too good to be true.”

“Well, if you can’t go up, then you go down. If you can’t come in from the front, then go at it through the rear.” Jayna smiled. “That’s how I like it.”

Preston paused, unsure of what she meant. Jayna placed her hands over her face and erupted with laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know where the hell that came from.”

“I see,” he said with mock sarcasm. “Why don’t we just watch the game? I think being underwater this long is making you a little silly.”

Stairs and escalators led to coded entrances to the great dome, where designated seating and sections were clearly marked in bright displays. Upon entering the arena from an obscure entrance, Preston looked up and was suddenly paralyzed with awe. Jayna gently grabbed his hand and proceeded to walk down the steep steps, but Preston clenched his hand into a fist and stood his ground, almost afraid to move. Jayna looked up, and understood why.