by RD Hale
I have more in common with these guys than my fellow bottom levellers and every indirect reminder of my old life is starkly depressing. In this social environment, beauty and intellect are not mutually incompatible concepts and anyone who suggests the dark side is the place to visit for thrills has never experienced both ends of this spectrum.
At midnight we end up in a place called Seryn which is adorned with silver palm trees and reflective surfaces. The dancefloor rotates and Mila should be kept away from this potential hazard because she is using my elbow as a crutch. Our generous new friends buy yet another round of drinks and as we down shots and laugh and joke, it feels like we have known each other in past lives. The initially composed Eyris is now as drunk and excitable as Mila and in contrast to the vibe of our previous location, as well as its own name, the Seryn crowds are equally uninhibited.
An evocative playlist arouses sexual desire and expressive limbs let loose in the ultracool playground for young adults determined to have the time of their lives before true pressures of adulthood emerge. For many this is a hunting ground, for those driven by the primeval urge to seek out the perfect him or her, but I have already found her and I just have the problem of persuading her she has found him.
'Everyone in here is so beautiful. Do you think we're the ugly ones?' Mila yells over the blaring music.
'You could never be the ugly one,' I yell back, barely able to hear my own voice. Extroverts frolic as I watch from the edge of the spinning dancefloor because my two left feet would embarrass even my drunken self. Mila bashes into her fellow dancers, twice falls over and at one point loses her impractically healed shoe, before locating it next to a pole, removing the other and placing both at my feet. Every optimistically approaching male receives a glare as I drink alcoholic lemonade to rest my belly from the stronger stuff. When I finish the fourth bottle the perspiring trio return and we sit at a silver table.
'You two seem so nice, I thought all Level One Citizens were rude but not you,' Mila shouts with arms spread across the back of a couch.
'Level One? No, we're Level Two like you guys. I still have my fingertip. Look.' Vytali wriggles the little finger of his left hand.
'But you two are so pretty! You look too perfect,' Mila responds.
'Pretty? I'll have you know that I am a man. I am not pretty!'
'Come on, this way,' Eyris interrupts the blatant flirtation, climbing from her chair. Hips swaying, she leads up a winding staircase onto a black carpet where two bored-looking doormen stand against a wall of spiral galaxies.
'No puking mind,' a bouncer says as a portal swirls open to reveal clubbers floating in a scene reminiscent of the alternative reality conjured by imagination when I am stoned.
Eyris and Vytali squeeze our wrists, leaping as the floor ends and we soar towards a fiery star which looks set to incinerate us on contact. Replicas of rocky planets and gas giants orbit the sun and shooting stars whizz past zero gravity dancers. Drifting through the corona the four of us touchdown on a solid core and watch shadowy figures through the rippling plasma.
When we are done admiring this system from our heliocentric perspective, we leap towards a spherical sapphire with white wisps. As we approach the atmosphere the others have the presence of mind to reorient themselves, but I react a moment too late and my shoulder blades splash into an inch deep ocean. Ensuing laughter is not helpful as I clamber to my feet with a damp t-shirt but my humiliation is quickly forgotten. We trample entire continents like gods and goddesses, imagining puny mortals scurrying at our ankles as their fate is decided on a whim.
'Look, here's Anatolia.' Mila steps onto the continental shelf.
'And here's Nyberu,' I yell from half-way across the planet.
'Crush the terrorist scum!' Eyris guffaws as she crosses from day to night and stamps on glowing representations of foreign cities. We join the destruction and it is suddenly so easy to see why the goddess would relish this planetary game with her omniscient self chuckling at the ensuing mayhem since the moment of creation.
Leaping towards a red planet, we land with a thud and patrol the equator, loosely held by the celestial body's gravitational pull. As we take floating strides over a mega-volcano my drunken eyes struggle to identify where the Space Room ends because blackness is punctuated by an almost infinite number of stars and disbelief is nearly suspended.
'So what are the other planets called then?' Mila asks, failing to consider that a six year old Level Two Citizen could answer the question.
'You see the little yellow one back there? That's Fredi. And the other blue one over there, the one that looks like Eryx? That's Eos. There's rumours it's inhabited, but the Elites deny it,' Vytali replies.
'Whoa, imagine that. Aliens!' Mila says.
'Sounds cool, but the authorities say it's just a conspiracy theory. Anyway, the huge beige one with the rings around it, that's Tartarus,' Eyris advises.
'And the even bigger one is Juno. And way over there is Sirus. And the blue, ringed one, that's Rektem,' I add.
Our band of galactic explorers continue our voyage through asteroid belts, hitching rides on musical currents a long way from the tiny rock humans inhabit. Mila is set adrift as she disregards the advice to keep a grip my hand, floundering until a laughing Vytali says, 'Pull Ana towards us please.' Mila squeezes my palm tight as we are reunited by an invisible force.
'What are you two doing tomorrow? We're going to the hover race if you wanna come,' Eyris offers.
'The hover race? We'll definitely come!' I grin with the bubbling enthusiasm of a true racing fan.
'Meet us at Rewana Coffee Shop on Plateau Three tomorrow at 9.00am. Okay pull us out,' Eyris says and a tractor beam hauls us towards the barely visible exit in the distance. Gravity sends blood rushing back to our unused feet as we leave the dazzling planetarium, exchanging online IDs and the night I did not want to end does just that. It feels nice to be accepted as equals but I wonder how these loyal Citizens would react if they knew our real identities.
'Good byee guyysss, n-nice meeeting yooouu,' Mila howls.
A Dream Becomes Reality
Worse for indulgence, Mila clutches my elbow all the way to back to Zobe hotel and as we sit on silk sheets, the lonely single bed to our side has zero appeal. Despite her dishevelled hair and slightly smudged makeup, every part of me wants to curl up with her but it would be wrong to take advantage. Mila wraps her fumbling arm around my neck and unintentionally claws my lip.
'Kiss me,' Mila says and willpower turns my shoulder but such chivalry is self-detrimental.
'You're drunk.' I grab a glass from the side table to fill with water at the sink. 'Drink this, it'll help you sober up.'
Mila snatches the receptacle from my grasp and drinks in big gulps, spilling half the contents onto already damp covers. Shoving the quilt to the side, I lie at the edge of the mattress and face away from her for a whole hour as she sings songs in between ramblings of her one-sided conversation, occasionally howling, 'Whaattt isss wronngg withhh yoouu?'
Eventually I drift into slumber but my imagination refuses to switch off, formulating a fantasy of the future with a no longer unattainable companion at my side. Laughter rings through verdant hills as Mila and I take our first steps of true freedom in a post war land but my dream is disrupted as my body shakes. I feel something on my shoulder, a hand maybe and I cannot respond due to aching tiredness. The persistent shaking brings an end to my delta sleep pattern as I rub blurry eyes and face the culprit.
'What do you want?' I clear thickened saliva from my throat. 'You're disturbing my dream.'
'Hey, I just wanted to talk to you. You're not too ill, are you?' Mila adopts a sulky tone and flops onto the mattress.
'Me? You're the one who should be...' Still half asleep, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. 'I'm fine, but are you okay now?'
'I'm still a bit drunk, but my head's cleared. I think their alcohol is better than our alcohol!' Mila's mouth gestures a silent laugh.
/> 'I know what you mean, everything has stopped spinning. I feel like I could get out of bed and party all over again.'
'Let's order some more wine!' Mila bounces on her backside as a list of wines materialises.
'Actually forget it. We're fine thanks.'
Propped up by pillows we talk and laugh as female trickery dissipates into naturalness and at no other point has Mila ever seemed so wondrous. She is more coherent than earlier so I cannot be accused of exploitation; this is the perfect moment to disentangle our emotional web. All I want is the unrestrained truth so I take a calculated gamble now we are alone because she will be the only witness to my improbable humiliation. My heightened level of confidence compels my arm to reach across her midriff.
'I wanna say something and for once you're not gonna laugh or change the topic because I need to get this off… off...' I take a couple of sharp breaths and continue: 'When you first walked into our school I thought you were the prettiest thing and you made misery fade with a single smile.
You carry a light and it's weird because I only feel like myself when I am in it, even though I lose the ability to be myself. Every risk I take is with the intention of making you happy and even if you reject me again, it won't make a difference. I'll still be your best friend and I'll still look after you, no matter what.
You're the person I'm closest to, but you don't trust me. You won't tell me what happened in your past but I don't care about that any more, that's your choice. All I'm saying is I'll try to make sure nothing bad happens ever again... I'm in love with you. I always have been and I always will be.'
Mila's forehead presses against mine and our lips touch for the briefest of moments. During my condition of beclouded paralysis, she whispers:
'You wanna know the truth? You are my best friend, I don't love anyone more than you and I do trust you... H-have you never thought if I can't tell you, it's c-cause I can't tell anyone?' Mila's whispering voice trembles as if every syllable requires an effort and I am suddenly unsure whether it was a good idea to ask. 'Remember when I said both of my parents were killed in accident? Well they weren't. I had to sleep at the school because my... my mother killed my father. And she was sent to prison for it.'
'But I thought you said your mother was a good person? You always said nice things about her, I don't understand.'
Pressing her body tight against mine, Mila blurs out of focus and panic fills her every whispering word: 'I... I... You won't understand.' Her breathing switches from quick and sharp to slow and heavy as though she has plucked up the courage to further divulge but instantly changed her mind. She holds me in affecting silence as minutes pass, until her whimpering voice asks: 'Are you sure you wanna know?'
'Just tell me, I don't care.' I touch Mila's face with the back of my fingers. 'Whatever it is, I'll help you through it.'
'We... we never had much. But my mother... she was the most kind-hearted woman in the world. My father would come home drunk and my mother would send me to bed so I wouldn't see it, but I would hear them shouting. One night my mother wasn't home; she'd left a note to say she'd gone to her sister's. I searched the cupboards and made my own tea and sat alone for hours. It was cold.
My dad arrived home drunk and yelled: Where's your mother? Where's my tea? I didn't know what to say. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and ordered me to sit on his knee. He kept drinking and telling me how much he hated my mother, then he touched me. I struggled free and he slapped my face so hard that he knocked me to the ground. He sat back down, drinking as I crawled to my room to hide from him. I was only nine years old.'
My eyes flood with tears as I squeeze Mila tight and she seems numbed by the terror of suppressed memories which I feel guilty to have selfishly awoken, but I had to know.
'My girl... My girl... How could anybody hurt my girl?'
I just want to help, to put things right, but I cannot reverse time and any words I can muster will be insufficient so I continue to hold her in quiescence, before finally gathering the courage to speak: 'I promise you. I swear to you. No-one will ever hurt you again.'
As Mila climbs onto my lap, our lips again touch and there is no feeling within my limited scope of experience which is more intensely beautiful. The flood of emotion leads to a state of delirium as she offers everything I ever wanted, but not like this. Our legs entangle as my heart pounds; she must be able to feel every palpitation and I freeze disbelievingly as intercostals constrict. My voice trembles as I struggle to say the hardest words: 'We can't. Not now. After what you jus-'
'Shhh.' Mila places her finger across my murmuring lips, before rapturously kissing me and as neophytic instinct presses softness against the rough, a dream finally becomes reality.
Chapter Seven
Public Arena
I turn to my sleeping lover, her peacefulness out of sync with our seditious obligation, our defiance of the serpentine symbol; her flawless beauty a far cry from the debris strewn habitat of thieves with bony ribcages. Her eyelids open and she stretches her arms to spin out of silk sheets like a ballerina. I hear a rush of water as she drinks from a tap and my chest tightens with each flashback of intimacy as again I feel her against my tingling skin, but as usual she is casual.
'You know what's amazing? I don't feel hungover, not the slightest bit! I had fun last night, what about you?' Mila glances over her shoulder.
'I'm glad you had a good time, it was a pretty amazing night.'
As Mila dives onto the queen bed her elbow thumps against my shoulder and she taunts my sleepy head with a grin. She plants her lips onto mine but my heart-fluttering delight is intermingled with uncertainty, given the circumstances, given what I have been told, I suspect her chirpiness is another mask.
'Room service, can you please come and wash our clothes?' Mila yells.
'I'm gonna get myself cleaned up.' I jump off the bed and enter the bathroom, stepping into a sleek tub with sliding glass doors and rows of twinkling bulbs. 'How does this thing start?' I ask and shower nozzles blast my unsuspecting body with foamy water from various angles. My jolting reaction is followed by a strangely relaxing sensation as blood flows to the surface of my skin. The water is warm.
A message appears: Zain Gilfoid, you can select the temperature of the water by saying hotter or colder. You can select any colour of water you like. If you would like a bath, say: 'Bath'.
'Rainbow bath.' I smirk at the idea of confusing the artificial intelligence. But then a vibrant cascade fills the tub in a matter of seconds with a mixture of water colour paints which swirl, but remain distinct. Arms rest on the sides as bubbling liquid softens skin and warms me through like gooey bread mixture. I laze blissfully as another message appears: If you would like music, say: 'Music'. If you would like...
'Music, any type. Then stop suggesting stuff!'
Piano notes bounce off shimmering droplets and caress every hair follicle as they reverberate. I feel a joyous feeling around my mouth, a smile, as steam rises and I drift away to bury all thoughts of our mission. My every urge tells me to become carefree, to remain. I can be Zain Gilfoid forever, no-one will know. Only they will sooner or later and I need our fleeting castle in the air to somehow last a lifetime. I intend to savour every second but what seems like moments later Mila bursts through the door.
'You've been ages, time to get out.'
Standing shamelessly naked I look over my shoulder as Mila's commanding stare brings a premature end to hot water bathing which I never imagined would be so reinvigorating. 'Ready to get out now.' Rainbow water drains, even though there is no plug hole and a blast of warm air vaporises droplets on my skin.
Another message appears: Bathing time 19 minutes and 4 seconds. 99.87% of hostile parasites eliminated.
'Really, how many parasites did I have?'
A message replies: Approximately 300,154,000.
'Over three hundred million? Oh my goddess!'
'Arturo, you're a tramp!'
A towel is automatically posted th
rough a slit in the wall, which I wrap around my waist for no other reason than modesty because I am bone dry with nothing clean to wear. Strolling back and forth along the balcony, I soak up our private view of the mountains on the horizon until Mila finishes pampering herself. She emerges wrapped in a towel to once again order me into the bathroom whilst she changes into yet another outfit. There is a knock at the main door which I presume is room service.
'Please place your clothes in this basket. I'll have them back to you spotlessly clean within ten minutes,' a voice says.
Mila kindly permits me to leave the bathroom now she is fully dressed in brand new Citizen-wear. Six minutes later the waiter arrives with our clothes neatly piled and spotlessly clean. I get dressed in the outfit I wore last night, thinking it would have been a good idea to purchase additional garments and I hope Vytali and Eyris fail to notice when we rendezvous on Plateau Three.
Giddy with anticipation, Mila and I head off to meet our friends and fulfil a lifelong ambition at the barbaric races - the lads at home are going to be so envious. 'Lead us to Plateau Three,' I say as we depart Zobe hotel and laser signs guide us to an open air section of Sky City.
A portal reveals an almost two mile high locus of icy sculptures where children skip past statues of swans, faeries and unicorns. Tourists drift through stratocumulus clouds on a crystalline ferris wheel and rainbows emerge from palaces as light waves diffract. The frozen beauty seems illogical in the autumnal warmth and as I step onto the semi-transparent plateau I half expect the ground to melt away beneath my feet.
'It's like we've stepped into the Lofoten circle... It's... so... magical...' Mila gasps.
'The transparency reduces the shadow on the plateaus below, but I suppose it looks pretty nice too,' I reply as we pass two ragged criminals with ankles pilloried. A gaunt male gently plays a pipe as a female with a haunting voice sings in the language of the ancients.