by Alec Merta
My mother had secured a “plus one” to her invitation, and I had been subjected to much washing and the removal of various layers of grime that eleven-year-olds customarily wear. That done, I had been given instructions to be on my very best behavior, and we were off.
The luxury of that ship had left a long-lasting mark on my young imagination. It had been the physical manifestation of all my crude notions of how rich people spend their days. Teak and mahogany had been poured onto every possible space. She had been well provisioned with gourmet food and drink. Some of the latter, my mother may now be shocked to learn, was easily obtained from the quite distracted bartender. It was the first time I had ever sipped Champaign, and the taste of that illicit intoxicant cemented into one of my fondness memories.
I tell you about Doubloon now because I want you to grasp just how much that icon of luxury had impressed me. Knowing that, you will understand just how significant it is for me to say that Doubloon, in comparison to just a glimpse of the foyer on the Near Distance, now looked less like a luxury yacht and more like the boardroom of an insurance company. Not ugly in the least, but hardly worth dedicating any brain cells to remembering.
Not only was what I beheld impressive for a ship, I would have been stopped in my tracks and filled with gawking admiration had I encountered the foyer in a stately mansion or posh metropolitan apartment. Indeed, to see it on a spaceship was utterly incongruous and made the opulence all the more amazing.
All that said, I have to bring you into my confidence about something. Had I sat down that very night and attempted to describe the interior of the Near Distance to you, I would have failed. In many ways, I still fail to do it the justice it deserves. What modest ability I possess has come about as the fruit of much laboring over many sources. Trust me, on that night terms like pietra dura and Fin-de-Siècle were not to be found in my vocabulary.
Now, let us venture inside the super yacht Near Distance.
I took a tentative first step out of the lift and gawked at the resplendent interior. The walls were a mixture of dark wood with white inlaid paneling. These contrasting surfaces coordinated surprisingly well with a floor that appeared clad in dark walnut.
Above me hung a crystal chandelier. It was two-tiered and gilded with sparkling baguettes and octagon chains. The latter wound their way through the piece, and many were weighted-down by facetted balls and prisms that caught pristine white beams of recessed lights and threw rainbows along the walls.
Because it was designed with only artificial light in mind, the lights were strategically placed so that some of those prisms also fell upon a crystal decanter set that perfectly matched the chandelier. The effect was lovely and surprisingly subtle. This was no gaudy display of wealth and power. Rather, it was a discreet touch of art laid in place by an obviously gifted designer.
The decanter itself rested upon a small buffet table that was vaguely Georgian in style, although this had to be impossible. It looked to have been hand carved out of mahogany. Its front displayed a masterfully crafted serpentine shape, and its body was decorated with motifs that could have been designed by an alien Hepplewhite or Chippendale.
Most impressive of all was the artwork. Even in this small space, which measured only a few square feet, there was a collection of gilded frames that each contained works of art entirely unknown to me.
Though their contents were alien, they appeared to be wrought in styles that had analogs on Earth. A few were by realists (one looked much like a Courbet) and the rest were lovely examples from some impressionist school.
I could go on. Indeed, I long to go on and on describing each and every inch of the décor; the paintings and the furniture and the objects. This book is not, however, meant to be a catalog. So I will restrain myself somewhat as I go on to tell you about this fantastic spaceship.
Allie and I stood for a long minute. I looked at the room, and she looked at me. It was obvious that she was enjoying this very much. That was understandable, and I did not deprive her of the vicarious joy. I took it all in mutely until a voice broke the silence.
It said, “Hello.” My reverie broken, I turned to look at this new speaker. It was a woman. She stood in the passageway that ran to the left of the foyer. She had silver hair that seemed oddly out of place. I say this because I gauged her age to be roughly fifty (although I am notoriously awful at estimating the ages of women), and in my experience women of that age tend to rush to the colorist so that any hint of grey or silver can be banished away. Upon further reflection, I found myself viewing the affected un-affectation as quite pleasant. It was an honest coif that did her no disservice, for she retained considerable good looks.
Allie replied to the ‘hello’ and then said, “Nadia, this is Nicholas Carver. Just call him Carver.”
“Please don’t.”
“Ignore him, he’s very tired.”
She said, “Of course, Allison,” but winked at me as she did. I knew two things immediately. The first was that she would make it a point to call me ‘Nicholas,’ which I much preferred, whenever Allie was not around. The second was that I liked her instantly.
“Nadia is the stewardess.”
“Stewardess?” I asked. To me, that word described people who served drinks on airplanes.
“She runs the ship.”
“Don’t let the Captain hear you say that. He labors under the conviction that he is in charge. Will Mr. Carver be joining us for dinner?”
Allie laughed that short, “Oh you have no idea,” laugh of hers. She said, “He’s joining us for the trip home. Would you see that he’s settled?”
“Of course,” she said without missing a beat. “But, we hadn’t planned on setting sail for another week. Is there a problem?” There was a subtle non-stewardess tone in that last sentence.
“Yes, but I can fill you and Lars in on that later. Is he upstairs?”
“On the bridge. He spent the last two days whispering sweet nothings to the engine. Now he’s moved on to the navigation computer.”
“I’ll meet him there. Would you show Carver the rest of the ship?”
“Certainly, when would you care to eat?”
“We’re leaving in eight hours. Sandwiches will do whenever we can find time. Get Carver a room and then join us on the bridge deck. Carver, grab some shut-eye.”
“Of course,” Nadia said.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I said.
Allie ignored me and exited via the staircase. I shall describe that feature in appropriate, albeit restrained, detail in a moment. Nadia watched her go and then turned to me.
“Nicholas, would you care to follow me? Or would you rather I find you something to eat straight away?” Yes, this woman was going to grow on me.
“I have to see the rest of this ship,” I said. The statement elicited a look of pride and pleasure from her. I had just told her that her baby was adorable and asked to see all the photos. Can you think of a better way to make a friend?
As I said, there was a passageway that ran to the left of the gangway entrance. Nadia motioned for me to follow her, and I dutifully obeyed. I was so enthralled with the ship that I would have dumbly followed her for hours, despite my crushing weariness.
The passageway was a mixture of stately home and first class hotel. That combination represented a trend, I soon realized, that was carried on throughout the Near Distance. The passage was almost entirely lined with a dark wood a few shades lighter than ebony. Everywhere, I saw subtle gilding and decoration. It was a real compliment to the designer that he or she or they had managed to put so much accent into their work without ever becoming gaudy. The decoration was never crowded, merely full and complete.
It was sumptuously simple. Everywhere that a detail could demonstrate some level of thought and design, that is what you saw. Even so, the wealth of purposeful touches never overshadowed or took away from the focal point of the passageway: the wood paneling. That paneling comprised the melody that tied all the other notes
together.
The sum was a room that (again, like the rest of the ship) came off as the fruit of a collaboration between a truly gifted classical architect and an equally gifted modernist designer. It was a synthesis of old and new. It would have been a triumph of European design, had it been not been built by people from an entirely different planet.
Nadia led me down the passage. This gracefully transitioned from a hardwood floor to an off-white carpet that was luxuriously plush. The room we entered should have been the living room in the home of a millionaire. Roughly rectangular, one half was devoted to a pair of couches and four club chairs. These were arrayed around a wooden table painted so as to evoke thoughts of marble wrought in an Italianesque style.
On that table rested a pair of vases made from crystal and silver. They differed from each other but were clearly meant to be paired together. Had you seen them, you would have thought the name Fabergé.
Small wooden boxes surrounded the vases. These looked like humidors, only a bit smaller. As it happened, I was to learn that one actually was a humidor, after a fashion. Instead of tobacco cigars, it was kept stocked with several bejeweled examples of a sort of vaporizing machine that had long ago replaced the cigar on Rhedel. One of the other boxes, I would also learn, contained redundant controls for the room’s various electronics.
The other half of the room was split into two roughly equal portions. The one nearest the entrance contained, I am happy to say, a bar. It was appropriately stately and a bit restrained. Numerous bottles stood on shelves at its back. I was pleasantly surprised to note that whoever stocked the bar had allowed for the inclusion of some locally sourced liquors. Had they run low on the trip from Rhedel to Earth?
The other half of that portion of the room was dedicated to a slightly subordinate seating area. What stood there was a superb example of the wizardry that the designers of the Near Distance had employed in the discipline of spacial economy. Somehow they had managed to find room to comfortably, if a tad snuggly, fit a baby grand piano into the aft-most corner.
In case you missed that, I said ‘piano.’ On a spaceship. I gaped at it, marveling at how the other half live. That set me to considering just how wealthy this Rhedel must be. More important, I wondered how much of that wealth Allie commanded. Whether she did so directly or indirectly, it had to be significant.
Great cities and works of architecture feature focal points and themes. Focal Points, like the Eiffel Tower or the Baldacchino di San Pietr, provide centerpieces that instantly orientate on-lookers and visitors. These go a long way in defining works of art played out on the scale of human habitation. Themes like the canals of Venice provide constant reminders of the unique singularity of the places they help to define.
On the Near Distance, both of these concepts were combined into an omnipresent theme that also served as the focal point of every room I entered. I speak, of course, about the windows.
They were, in a word, everywhere. There may as well have been no walls at all. Instead, glass (I presumed) rose from the floor to the ceiling on all three exterior walls. While the ship was hidden underground in some hollowed-out rock, the windows presented no remarkable view. They promised, however, to deliver stunning vistas of Earth and, I nearly shuddered to think, far beyond.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“This is the salon,” Nadia said.
“No, I mean the ship. What is it? What’s its purpose?”
“Oh, I think she was originally designed to convey power and wealth. That’s why the Duke, Allison’s grandfather, wanted her built.”
“Her grandfather?”
“Yes, on her mother’s side. Ex-Navy. An old admiral who was just old enough to remember when going out into space was always new, dangerous, and exciting. It still is, of course, but you have to go looking for it harder than you used to.”
“Is he still alive? I mean, is this his ship?”
“No, he died before it was finished. Now it’s owned by the family trust. Technically it is on loan at present, as am I.”
“What,” I asked, “does the stewardess do?”
“Most everything. I am butler and housekeeper and chef. I am also footman and scullery maid, although the real drudge work is done by machines. This ship can do nearly everything without me, but it hasn’t been taught how to do such things with style. That’s normally most of my job.”
“Normally,” I said.
“Yes, things at present are hardly normal. I am accustomed to having a crew helping me out. But, I am also accustomed to having a guest compliment of twenty or so. Keeping Allison well-kippered isn’t too much of a chore.”
“I get the idea that she’s the only person who says ‘Allie’ instead of ‘Allison.’”
“She is. And now you, of course.”
“How long have you known her?”
“Ages. Something like eighteen years now. I was first employed as a nanny, if you can believe that.”
“You were her nanny?”
“Mostly. I also had certain other duties that I feel she would prefer to tell you about. She’s quite fond of this room, you know.”
It was a seamless segue away from what I gathered to be a sensitive subject. I played along.
“I can see why. It’s marvelous.”
“Would you care to see more?”
I said that I would, and we went back the way we had entered.
We returned down the passage and just past the gangway. From there we climbed the stairs up one deck.
This was the stairway I mentioned earlier and about which I am compelled to write more now. Pause and think of the grandest lobby that you have ever been in. I do not ask you to imagine the nicest house you have ever been in because you have almost certainly never been in a house that contains such a marvelous edifice. Well, maybe a house of state or parliament, but almost certainly not a private home.
The stairs themselves were airy and floating. A shallow filigree was carved on the top of its handrail. The designs were hard to see at first, and I only looked down to discover them when I felt them underhand.
The stairs wound in the air from the bowels of the ship (such as they were) to the very top deck. Around them stood a foyer of dark, shiny wood that gave the appearance of being polished hourly. All around stood discreet decorations that politely asked for attention without begging. Oil paintings adorned the walls. Exquisite furniture stood unobtrusively and supported ornate glassworks and statues of, I assumed, ancient gods.
Nadia lead me up one deck. This took us, I would learn, from the so-called main deck to the owner’s deck. As it was met by the sumptuously wrought stairs, so was it gilded with a foyer like the deck below.
We turned left and entered what was obviously the formal dining room. This was a quick conclusion to reach, as the room was dominated by a table that could easily seat twenty people. The same number of chairs, all in something like a Klismos style, stood around the table. Even with that number present, it was clear that diners would not be short of elbowroom.
They would also not be short on flowers. The table’s centerpiece contained an array of flowers that overflowed from crystal vases. These included several varieties of ivy, orchid, lily, Nephthytis, and Kalanchöe plants. There were some I had not seen before. I silently wondered if these might be entirely alien to Earth. Whatever would the man from Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs have said?
Immediately forward of the table lay another lounge area. These people obviously gave lounging its just due, and I saluted them for it. There was no bar, which guaranteed that I would do little more than eat in the room. I was impressed regardless.
We dallied there only briefly. Nadia summoned me once more, and we climbed to the highest full deck. This was known as the bridge deck for obvious reasons.
It is fitting that we saved the bridge deck for last, as this would quickly become my favorite haunt while I was aboard.
I should explain that, as a man of relatively modest means (o
f course we are all paupers when compared to the type of people accustomed to sailing aboard interstellar super yachts), I had already started to feel slightly overwhelmed by the wealth that was on display. I am no more jealous of the super rich than the average person, but frankly the average person is pretty damn jealous of the super rich. I started to hope that we would pass a by fin de siècle table or pietra dura fresco only to discovery a comfy couch and large television. A little humanity in the midst of this stratospheric finery would have been nice.
That was how I had begun to feel when we reached the bridge deck and walked into a room I now know to be called the sky lounge.
The lounge was opulent and luxurious, as you would expect, but it was somehow less composed. While it maintained the thorough and thoughtful design that I had seen throughout the ship, the lounge had less in common with an upscale estate and more in common with a Las Vegas casino.
The walls were clad in thick wood with deep-set grooves and rails. This much I had expected. The carpet, however, was a thick purple shag that screamed Atlantic City instead of whispering Mayfair. Added to this was a dense scattering of furniture that was composed of no two entirely matching pieces.
The large sectional that took up the back corner of the room was clearly different than the club chairs that stood staring at it. Each of these was in a different style than the cocktail table they surrounded. That table was somewhat unusual, as it seemed to be blended with an ottoman. By that, I mean that it was just padded enough to serve as redundant seating.
There was a lot of purple. I do not know how the designer had made it work, but work it did.
And the bar, my beloved bar. If there is a brothel in heaven, it has a bar like this. Every surface was decorated with polished and reflective bits of metal. Some of these were long plates, and others were small, round bolts that glittered in the available light. The barstools continued the theme by replicating the speckled pattern in white and black cloth. All of this instantly put me in mind of a disco ball that served drinks. It was divine.