Herculanium (4 page)

Preston took a deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, Max. I love this game, and I’ve played it all my life. I’ll probably keep playing until I’m an old man too weak to even palm a basketball. But winning this thing tonight kind of put things in perspective. It’s bigger than basketball.”

“I don’t remember you being this much of a philosopher. Even in high school, you seemed like such an ass and a bully.”

“People change, man. With everything that’s happened in my career, all the ups and downs, I guess it’s my turn to step back and mellow out. I was afraid of this contest at first, because I didn’t want to be disappointed about not winning. But now that I have, it’s not so bad.”

“Pres, you’re not the first man in space. As fantastic as this has become for both of us, we have to keep it in perspective. You’ve just been selected to open a mall and an auditorium.”

“Yeah, but it’s up there in space.” Preston looked up past the moon roof and pointed. “It’s above the clouds.”

Max sat quietly in reflective silence.

“Have you seen the space station? Do you know what it looks like?”

“No. I’ve seen some artists’ conception, a few possible blueprints. It’s all been on the hush. It isn’t exactly public domain, even to us agents. I just hope that this is all real.”

“You’ve been pushing for me to win this for the past two years, now you’re having doubts? You think all of this is fake?”

“Part of the reason why I’ve done so well is because I’m a realist. I always consider all the possibilities. On the surface, this is all fame and glory. You’re going to be rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

“And you too, I’m sure.”

“But what if this fails? What if the station doesn’t work? Remember Disney Land when it first opened? What if this doesn’t draw the attention it needs to be successful? We’re going to push hard for this. I just want to make sure you and I see it for what it is…and what it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, Max, let’s just enjoy it. I’m going up in space, thanks to you. I’m supposed to be a symbol for launching humanity into a new space age. Today, Olympus. Tomorrow, the moon. The day after, it might be Mars. Don’t look ahead, just look down and see where we are and where we’ve come from.”

Max shook his head. “I can’t believe how big this thing is right now. It’s not going to be this quiet for a long time.”

“I know. But it already feels like we’re in space, doesn’t it?”

Preston pressed his face against the window again, staring at the car and house lights that peppered the roads and hills around them. The smell of salty air continued to flush through the car’s vents, while jazz music played softly in the background. Max closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep. Above them, the glimmering stars hung in silence.

* * *

Allan Henderson held on to the steering wheel for dear life. He stretched his right hand down into the darkness, groping and touching textures he didn’t recognize. He dragged his hands across the bottom repeatedly, trying in vain to keep his head and balance stable. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt something metallic and jagged near his ankle. He grabbed it by one corner and jiggled it in relief. Not only did he find his car keys just under his seat, they were also still dry. It was time to start the car again, this time with the keys in the ignition, and not the dead air two inches to its right.

He was surprised to find himself in his own car. He had a devil of a time staggering in between the masses of people leaving and partying after the press conference. The hallways were crowded with a sea of people pushing and shoving to get to wherever they were going. Not that he was the only drunk walking about, but he was one of the lucky few that wasn’t detained by security. Rumors of the after-party’s location were gossiped about openly, but it seemed that no one had any real clues as to where it was going to be. He wasn’t sure where his fellow scientists were; they were probably sound asleep in their comfortable rooms, or perhaps partying with the others inside the hotel.

Allan Henderson was done for this evening. He vomited his feelings with a great deal of eloquence before a captive audience, and now it was time to go home and call it a night. What would his high school students say if they saw him drunk out of his mind? He could picture his bed with warm clarity, his barren wife just waiting to nag him as he got home. Although he lived in a quaint suburb in the South Bay, it was still going to be a long drive home.

He pulled his sedan into the street, and came to a dead stop. The traffic around the hotel had grown from just a few moments before. Headlights filled his rear view, receding deep through a horizon of a half-dozen intersections. In order to get home, he had to occupy the right-most lane of this four-lane street, and this street had just become a parking lot. He was sure the symphony of car horns was just the beginning.

It was going to be a long night, and he was running on fumes.

“Mr. Clay, do you know where you’re going?” asked Lilian, expressing her impatience by loudly shifting her weight on her seat.

“Yes, ma’am, I do. We haven’t done a story in that area for quite some time, but I know where it is.”

“What kind of place is this ‘veterans’ hall’? Why haven’t I heard about this place?”

Clay laughed quietly to himself. “Because snotty-ass bitches like you wouldn’t go to a place like that unless it turned you a profit.”

“It’s a meeting hall where old pilots and other veterans used to hang out,” answered Micky. “It was built by some dead millionaire for his old World War II buddies. Since he passed away, people seldom used it, except for commemoration and anniversary events. I think it’s a landmark now.”

“Is that the 978th V-Hall?” Darienne leaned on Micky’s seat.

“Yes, it is. We went there on a fieldtrip back in fifth grade, remember?”

“That’s right. I remember the vintage planes hanging from the ceiling. It also had that steep staircase that led to the front doors. Remember? I almost fell over backwards, running up those steps too fast. Mrs. Cummings was so pissed!”

“I covered a story there a few years back, with another station,” said Clay. “It’s small, but pretty historic. I can see why they chose it.”

“Can you imagine where we are now?” asked Darienne in wonder. “I mean, we have a manned space station where we can now go for vacation. Before, it was ‘I’m going to Hawaii, or I’m going to Europe’. Now, it’s more like ‘I think I’ll go up in space.’ Imagine the view we’ll have out the window. Imagine the positions you can do!”

“We’re going too fast, if you asked me,” said Clay in rebuttal.

“Oh?” inquired Lillian. “You don’t approve of progress, Mr. Smith?”

“We’ve screwed-up this planet with our ‘progress.’ All we’re doing now is taking it into space. What makes you think we won’t do it again to where ever else we go?”

“But imagine all the money and endorsements we can make up there. Imagine the potential. It’s a totally unexplored market.”

“What about the world here? We’ve found the time to go up there; when are we going to find the time to clean up the mess we made here? Most of the stuff we have now won’t biodegrade for another 50,000 years! We’ve made chemicals and elements that don’t even exist in nature.”

“Survival of the strongest, Mr. Clay. The world is perfect the way it is, only
you
see it as flawed.”

“No, it’s survival of the
fittest
, not strongest. Strength isn’t the only factor in survival. And no, I’m not the only one who sees things as they really are.”

“Alright, guys,” interrupted Micky. “We are not here to debate the ethics of space travel, the future, or the malignant zit on my ass. We are here to cover a fucking story about a jock who’s going to play basketball in fucking outer space, okay? Can we get back in focus, please?”

Clay fell silent. There was more he wanted to say, to put this extra baggage in her place. But out of respect for Micky, he quietly assumed the role of navigator and pilot. “We should be there in about 45 minutes. This traffic is slowing us down. There’s so many rumors where the party’s going to be, I don’t think most people know where to go. Hopefully, we’ll get lucky and set-up first.”

Lilian looked away and shook her head in irritation. She felt she was right, and only her view mattered. Although she knew of Micky’s occasional swearing, she never got used to hearing it from such a strikingly beautiful woman.

“Let’s dream a little, here,” said Darienne. “Micky, what do you want to get out of this? If you can have anything you want, what would it be?” She pretended to have a microphone in her hand and placed it in front of Micky’s face.

“I thought
I
was the reporter here,” said Micky with a laugh. “Okay, I’ll play along. I’m really hoping that covering this story will somehow make this world a better place to live in. How’s that for an answer?”

“That would be a great answer if this was the Miss America Pageant. In which case, you would be the first runner-up to me. But this is about Michelle Suarez, my childhood pal who was a bitch to everyone except me. C’mon, Mick, you were always the go-getter in school. What does your career want? What do
you
want?”

“Honestly?” Micky’s voice dropped to a reflective, monotone mission statement. “I want a job that pays me well enough for me to be satisfied. I’m tired of working as a grunt field reporter that’s assigned to cover shit stories like mall openings and cultural events. I’ve paid my dues, at school and at work. I’ve been lucky so far not having to sleep with someone or kiss ass too deeply to get my job done. I want a cushy desk job with a network in a top-five market, and a salary that will allow me to afford a mortgage. I’m getting too old to be trying so hard all the time. I’m thirty-three and I want to settle down soon, but only after my career goes somewhere. If this interview doesn’t work out, if I don’t get something exclusive from tonight, then I’ll chuck it all and go back to school.”

“You’re putting your whole career on the line tonight by covering this story?”

“That’s right, Dar. It’s all or nothing.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Mick,” asserted Clay. “You’ve been around this market for a while now. It’s a feeding frenzy. Success means peaks and valleys.”

“I know. It’s just that I’m tired of having to wear mini-skirts in front of a cameraman to get attention. I’m a good reporter, damn it. I’m proud of my work, and the awards I’ve won with it. I just want to be recognized for being the best ‘me’ I can be.”

Micky reached her hand behind her seat, and it was grabbed by Lilian. “And that’s why Lilian’s here. She’s my ace in the hole.”

“That’s right, child. I will restart your career.”

“She’s my point-of-contact, my negotiator, even my damage control. We’ll see how far we go with her.”

Lilian shrugged her shoulders with a confident smile. Clay and Darienne simultaneously rolled their eyes in animated apathy.

“That’s why we’re all here,” added Lilian. “Because of me.”

Clay squinted his eyes, turning his gaze away from his rear-view mirror. The van was suddenly engulfed in a bright glow that came from the traffic behind them. This spotlight flashed off and on in erratic patterns, at times coming from more than one direction. Not even the news van’s tinted rear windows and bulky equipment could fully drown out its intensity.

“Where the hell is that light coming from?” Darienne raised her right peer through the glare.

“Some asshole’s got his high-beams on. Either he’s trying to tell us something, or he’s just looking to pass.” Clay leaned over to Micky. “Just say the word, and I’ll drop the antenna on his windshield. Just a love tap.”

Lilian’s baggy eyes widened into donuts.

“Can’t do that, partner,” said Micky with a smile. “Then
we’d
end up on the news. We’d be covering our own story, and missing the one we need to have.”

“Why doesn’t this jerk just pass us?” said Darienne, motioning to Clay.

“He can’t. No one’s going fast in this traffic. And it looks like we’re stuck behind this geezer who’s driving about 100 miles below the speed limit.” Clay slammed his palm into his car horn and stared at the shape in front of him. “Come on, damn it! Get your ass going, man! Everyone’s passing us up!”

“Can you see who’s driving? Is it an old man?” Darienne stuck her head in between the two front seats.

“No, the window’s all fogged up. I can’t tell who’s driving.”

Micky leaned over and slammed the horn herself, leaning her weight deep onto the button. Around the van, other horns rang in staggered unison. High beams flashed on and off repeatedly, as other drivers jockeyed for position in the adjacent lanes. This organized chaos seemed to work for the other drivers, except for the sedan in front of them. Moving in a measured pace, it would occasionally weave left and right, at times braking erratically, and then unexpectedly speed up.

“This fucker’s drunk or something,” fumed Clay. “We have to pass him. Everybody hold on; I’m going to boggart my way around him.”

Micky rolled her window down and peered outside. “You’re clear on the right.”

“You’re clear on the left,” echoed Darienne, her face flush against the window’s stationary glass.

“Everybody, hold on!” Clay gripped the steering wheel tight and swerved the van deep to the right, simultaneously checking his mirrors and praying that no one was speeding up in his blind spot. Micky and Darienne knew enough to hold on to something as the car swerved, but Lilian was caught unaware. Her arms and legs flailed in the air as she tried to both balance herself and catch her hat as it fell to the floor. She gave a short yelp as the news van swerved, sped up, and cut off the slower driver, all seemingly in one quick jerk motion. Clay yelled in triumph, and Micky and Darienne laughed as if riding a rollercoaster that just finished a loop. Lilian blinked her eyes repeatedly as she caught her breath.

Allan Henderson looked up in fright before instinctively slamming his foot on the brakes. He gritted his teeth as he prepared to feel the full impact of colliding with a van that rudely cut in front of him. He could just imagine seeing the screeching sparks from burning rubber that left its mark on the highway, exactly where he dug his heel onto the brake pedal.