Sky Parlor: A NOVEL

by Stephen Perkins

  Plato pursed his gray lips and affirmatively nodded while he secretly entertained the reverberating echo of a single thought.

  Truly, the justification of every tyrant who has ever lived.

  “That is why, Plato,” the president said, toasting with his own flute of sparkling champagne, “the creation of heroes, martyrs and myths are always the most effective implements found in the ruler’s political toolbox.”

  The president exhaled a gust of gray cigar smoke and Plato cast his gaze toward Marissa, the president’s executive secretary, and Desmond melding together in a graceful waltz.

  “Tell me though, Ulysses,” Plato enquired, “is Marissa part of your plan to help turn this upstart from Columbia into a useful heroic figure?”

  *

  The music swelled to a rousing crescendo. Though awkward at first, Desmond soon found his feet shuffling in time to the music’s syncopated meter.

  “You seem to be doing pretty well, for someone who claims to never have become an accomplished dancer,” Marissa said.

  As their hands clasped tighter, and the rhythm of the waltz drew them closer together, Desmond secretly relished the emerald radiance of her eyes.

  “I notice you’re not bad either, Marissa, for someone claiming to be so rhythmically challenged. But I’ve always been a quick learner,” he replied. “Besides, I think it may have more to do with my skill at having chosen the best partner – you’ve obviously had more practice. I mean, you must have attended these sorts of gatherings at the palace before on so many occasions.”

  Drawing ever closer, they appeared as one organism while gliding across the dance floor’s mirror-like sheen of sparkling marble.

  “Now that you are the alderman of Columbia,” Marissa said, the soft plume of her voice became synced with the rhythmic sweep of the music, “you may find yourself attending more of these gatherings at the palace.”

  Desmond basked in the warmth of Marissa’s widening smile, thinking it resembled the unlocking of a glorious treasure chest and yet, as he watched the dimples forming at the curled corners of her sultry mouth, he thought he detected a latent slyness. What greater secrets or perhaps even splendid treasures, he wondered, remained still hidden beneath her comely exterior?

  “I’ll look forward to coming back to the palace,” Desmond replied, “but only if, you’ll agree to become my permanent dance partner to ensure that, I don’t embarrass myself. Besides,” he added, “I’ve heard that practice does indeed, make perfect.”

  The music, coaxed from the string quartet, surged and swelled, enveloping the entire palatial hall in a warm cocoon.

  “Perhaps you haven’t yet heard, but Doctor Zoe, who used to work for the council, has just been named the new head administrator of SAGAN, the space agency,” Marissa revealed. “He’s just announced that there may be evidence of water, and maybe even organic and microbial life forms on Enceladus, one of Saturn’s moons.”

  Marissa’s revelation coaxed memories of Desmond’s childhood, when he would look up at the stars on a clear evening, memories of how their strange luminescence from almost incomprehensible distances would stir such wild and imaginative contemplations.

  “Now that would be some trip, wouldn’t it,” Desmond exclaimed over the yearning strains of the music. “I remember, not long ago, SAGAN teleported three astronauts to Europa, near Jupiter. One of those astronauts was Leif McDaniel, from my home region of Columbia – seems so inconceivable, doesn’t it?” Desmond contemplated aloud. “I mean, teleported from Columbia to the presidential palace is one thing,” he said, “but that far, and to another planet? Well, I’ve always believed our horizons are only limited by the limitations which we choose to put on our imaginations. Have you ever looked at the stars and wondered what’s really up there, Marissa?”

  The waltz arrived at its final coda and with one final crescendo, ended on three successive staccato notes.

  “Maybe after dinner, we can venture out to the courtyard and wonder together,” Marissa suggested.

  The festive ballroom burst into applause and Desmond found President Garth Ulysses, with an outstretched hand, waiting at the apron of the dance floor to greet him.

  “Bravo; if I didn’t know any better,” Ulysses complimented, chuckling, “I’d say the both of you appear to have been born with dancing shoes intact.”

  “The credit belongs to Marissa, Mister President,” Desmond replied. “She was more than kind enough, with unfailing patience, to provide me with a tutorial on the rudiments of the waltz.”

  “Indeed,” the president beamed, “she certainly is capable of mastering various disciplines, of which the tradition of the waltz is but merely one.”

  “The president is too kind,” Marissa said, turning her smile upon Desmond, her eyes shone like spangled jewels. “But I think the future alderman has a few things he might wish to teach me too.”

  “Well, I believe dinner is about to be served,” the president said, gesturing towards the long dining table, “I’d be pleased to have you join us.”

  When they reached the table, Desmond pulled out a chair for Marissa before being seated.

  A servant with a freshly uncorked bottle of champagne leaned over Desmond’s shoulder and whispered.

  “Would you like some champagne, Sir,” the servant said.

  “No thank you,” Desmond declined, “I’m afraid I’ve never developed a taste for it. But – perhaps for my friend, Marissa?”

  “Yes, just a little, thank you,” Marissa said.

  Desmond looked around at the pale faces of the president’s sustainability councilmen seated at the long table. He noticed how the council chief, Plato Charlemagne, with lidded eyes like dark cones, peered at him in suspicion over the rim of his long-stemmed glass as he held it to his lips.

  The president rose with a frosted flute filled with effervescent champagne to propose a momentous toast.

  “Gentlemen, here’s to this special occasion, may we all begin to hope this will mark the beginning of a new era for our august republic of Sky Parlor.”

  Dinner began with porcelain plates of steamed farm fresh vegetables and blood rare prime rib smothered in au jus. For a moment, before lifting his gold vermes utensils, Desmond savored the wafting aroma, wondering how it was the president and his councilmembers could so blithely ignore the stark differences between what they were privileged to dine on with the meager and even dubious nutritional deficiencies of those millions of artificially produced ‘green’ food packages, distributed to the citizens of every borough of Sky Parlor. As his fork picked at the bright green vegetables marinated in an exotic sauce, he began to wonder too, from exactly where and from what source had this organic food arrived?

  “How do you find the cuisine, Alderman Starr?” a convivial president wondered while ensconced at the head of the table.

  “It’s very fine, Mister President, thank you,” Desmond replied while a shred of bloody meat dangled from the prongs of his shining vermes utensil. “Only, I wish all of my fellow citizens in Columbia could have a chance at consuming such a fine meal too.”

  Plato sipped his champagne then wished to raise an objection.

  “From what I’ve come to understand, Alderman Starr,” he began, sneering, “If you have your way, the citizens of Sky Parlor will soon be producing their own fresh produce and slaughtering their own herd of cattle on their own farms with unlimited supplies of water drawn from their own wells – a ghastly, dangerous and unsustainable idea. But perhaps, in future,” Plato went on, punctuated with a jocular chuckle, “Alderman Starr shall even wish to see every one of the sustainability councilors present at the table this evening, and even the president himself, drawn, quartered and slaughtered.”

  As he looked up and peered around the table, Desmond heard the abject clank of silver forks against the ornate porcelain array.

  “Well, it is my hope the council should develop a vested interest in advancing the profitable well-being and personal advancement of ev
ery citizen in Sky Parlor, not just in my region of Columbia,” he replied evenly. “However, Councilor Charlemagne, I quite frankly resent such an implication. And I find your notion I’m interested in fomenting violent revolt to be unfounded, and quite frankly, groundless.”

  With a strenuous shake of his head, the president interceded and began to wave his hands.

  “Now Plato,” the president chided, “Alderman Starr has personally assured me, though he may harbor philosophical differences with the council, he intends to operate in the full spirit of political compromise when expedient.”

  Plato gripped his champagne flute while attempting to stifle a scowl.

  “Of course, Mister President,” Plato acceded. “We can only hope that assessment, formulated from your infinite wisdom, indeed prevails.”

  The president exhaled a breath of relief. Dabbing his mouth with a white silk napkin, he turned his attentions to Desmond.

  “Forgive me for not mentioning it before this evening, Alderman Starr, but I was sorry to hear about your parents and their terrible accident,” he said, wobbling his chin. “Truly, terrible business. And I want you to know I made certain Commissioner Pembroke handled the matter with the utmost alacrity. After the investigation, the monorail fusion center’s operator was summarily punished, then replaced with one more dedicated and competent – a saint, I believe. From what I also understand, both of your parents faithfully served the commission and the borough of Columbia for many years. But it is a credit to your great capacity for resilience, you’ve been able to move on and honor their name with your recent success.”

  Desmond grew introspective and sipped from a crystal glass filled with ice water.

  “They were my whole world, Mister President,” Desmond said with a touch of sorrow while glancing at Marissa. “And, they were the most honest and forthright people I’ve ever known, and most likely, will ever know. I believe, Mister President, everything happens for a reason, to teach us lessons. After all, there wouldn’t be any chance for resilience, progress or personal growth, if life didn’t present struggles or even tragedy. But life is a great journey,” Desmond added, returning the gaze of each of the councilors, “and I don’t plan on missing out on any of life’s experiences, whether tragic or triumphant.”

  “Here and now then,” the president said, toasting with his champagne flute, “let us drink to the inherent value of life’s experiences.”

  A stirring aria swelled from the string quartet and filled the palatial dining hall with the strains of Bach’s Air in G minor. After dinner, the president took the liberty of personally introducing the newly appointed Alderman of Columbia to a host of dignitaries, administrators and other minor bureaucratic officials representing the other regions of Sky Parlor.

  “Pardon me, Mister President,” a portly administrator from the city’s sustainable waste management commission enquired, “but there are rumors that, in addition to your recent appointment of the distinguished Doctor Gregor Zoe as head administrator of SAGAN, there may be another deep space mission in the offing?”

  The president’s face remained tombstone blank, betraying nothing.

  “I happen to know, there once lived, long ago before the time of the ‘Great Rapture,’ a wise man named Samuel Clemens, who said,” Ulysses regaled.

  A smile slithered across his granite chin like a predatory snake sneaking through jungle wilds.

  “One should believe only half of what one hears,” the president quoted from keen memory, “and even less of what one happens to have read.”

  Desmond felt pricked by amusement, watching the portly man jostle with his black tie as it strained at the flabby folds of flesh draped over his lamb-white starched collar.

  “You see, Alderman Starr,” the administrator advised Desmond, while raising a raucous chuckle. Flabby folds of dough-pallid skin ballooned like the gills of a sea squab. “If you ever hope to advance your career to the lofty heights of the presidential palace,” he said, “you must master the art of saying one thing, while meaning quite another.”

  “Oh; alright,” the president joked. “Against my better judgement, I shall choose to humor you. But between now and the short interim the official announcement will be made this very evening, you must also realize, if what I’ve divulged is returned from another source,” a jocular Ulysses warned, “I shall positively deny it.”

  Desmond grew amused as the president sustained suspense, then, leaned forward to whisper just beneath the volume threshold of the background music.

  “Although his dedication in the pursuit of science prevented him from joining us this evening, Doctor Zoe has recently found evidence of an inhabitable moon orbiting a large planetary body in our own solar system.”

  The president held a single finger to his lips. The music swooned to an apex and the dance floor once again came alive with a colorful pastiche of whirling bodies. While the president ushered Desmond away from the administrator, he stifled laughter while noticing the man’s doubled chin quiver with utter intrigue.

  “Good evening, Mister President,” greeted a tall figure, clad in black formal wear.

  “Ah, good to see you’re enjoying yourself on this festive evening – Chief Icarus Blythe,” the amiable president gestured. “I assume you’re already familiar with Columbia’s new alderman from this afternoon?”

  Icarus settled his hands behind his back and nodding, looked askance.

  “Congratulations, Mister Starr,” Icarus replied, “I trust the people of your region will, in the future, benefit from your leadership.”

  Desmond saw the president lean closer toward Chief Blythe and heard him speak in a subdued tone that resembled the hiss of a viper.

  “Thank you for sending me those three precious gifts from headquarters earlier today – most thoughtful, Icarus,” the president whispered in confidence.

  Icarus’s brow wrinkled. While at first uncertain as to what the president meant, his lips quivered into a truncated grin, and his clefted chin nodded in affirmation.

  “I shall always do what I can to cultivate your good graces, Mister President.”

  “Though I may be acting against my own interests, Chief Blythe,” the president said in a more audible tone, while in his hands he clutched a smoldering cigar and a fresh flute of champagne, “I’m about to make an announcement of great importance. As soon as the music subsides,” the president nodded toward Desmond, “I would like you, and Alderman Starr to remain by my side.”

  While listening intently, Desmond felt charged with intuition’s lightning voltage as his curiosity simmered. Was the calculating president about to use Doctor Zoe’s revolutionary discovery to build for himself a monument of political capital? If so, he thought, the president possessed a unique sense of drama. And to what – a prick of curiosity prodded him to wonder – was the president referring when he mentioned ‘three precious gifts’?

  “The importance of my message, I feel, shall be greatly enhanced by a man of your respected stature at my side, Chief Blythe,” the president speculated as he held the smoldering cigar to his lips.

  The imposing Icarus thrust out his chest and straightened his shoulders.

  “I would never think of leaving your side, no matter the occasion, Mister President,” Icarus reassured in a grave baritone.

  The music dwindled to a hush.

  “Fellow citizens of Sky Parlor, members of the council and dear friends, and to all who have travelled from every region of our fair city to be with us tonight,” the president’s baritone boomed. “On this momentous occasion, I have an announcement which shall impact not only the future of Sky Parlor, but the future of humanity.”

  A pall of silence preceded a profound stillness that spread like an infective virus. Rays of cascading light from the vaulting ceiling’s chandelier like a crystalline waterfall washed over the president, and his audience was held in thrall. While Ulysses secretly delighted, suspense like an animating miracle grafted upon the stone edifice of each face
.

  “Though in the wake of the ‘Great Rapture’ most of our history was lost to the mists of time, mythical stories of rocket journeys to the moon and probes sent to investigate the mysteries of the stars still persisted. And they persist to this day,” the president’s pitch modulated like a melodic instrument, “because such myths serve to bring to the fore mankind’s greatest and noble virtues. Yes, tonight, it is not only of great virtues I speak, but great dreams. A great man from ages past once said, “I dream of things that never were, and ask, why not?”

  Desmond’s brain spun with tumult as he felt Marissa’s sweet exhalations of breath like soft rain upon the skin of his neck.

  “Recently, as some of you may be aware, Doctor Gregor Zoe – who has long-represented the most eminent scientific mind in all Sky Parlor, and who I recently confirmed as head administrator of SAGAN, our beloved space agency – was pleased to announce his discovery of an inhabitable moon orbiting the planet of Saturn, a celestial body that may possess the necessary natural resources to sustain the settlement of a human colony.”

  A slim column of gray smoke floated from the end of the president’s cigar, which gleamed with dusk’s lavender glow. Again, with an impeccable thespian’s grasp of suspense, the president’s speech truncated with a pregnant pause. Desmond felt a tingle of unease as he watched the sea of faces grow riven with agonizing eagerness.

  “I hereby proclaim that in a matter of no more than a month,” the president’s voice boomed with greater volume.

  Desmond sensed Marissa draw ever closer and he felt the inviting velvet of her fingers slowly interlock with his.

  “We will be ready to send a manned exploratory mission via modified teleportal, lasting a duration of two weeks to and from Saturn’s moon, Enceladus. The exploration crew shall consist of citizens especially selected from some of the finest of our youth throughout Sky Parlor. Though even now, there may be some among you, and even those among my closest advisors and councilors wondering: why have I chosen this moment to announce such a bold undertaking? Throughout his evolution on earth, mankind has always been a uniquely bold and adventurous breed, seeking new frontiers, no matter the boundaries, or the risk of mortal peril.”