“I know about it a little,” I say, raising my arms as directed by a servant who is taking a measurement of my torso. “Civilians competing in brutal contests to become Citizens. And yes, I’ve heard terrible things about the Games of the Atlantis Grail, about how cruel it is, and that so many people die.”
Consul Denu gives me his most serious expression. “It is extremely distasteful, yes, and rather barbaric and violent. But then one might say so are most major sports events, though not to this extent.”
In the meantime, Manala continues to swipe through channels. Unlike Earth smart wall TVs that use standard voice-controlled remotes with additional buttons that you press while sitting across the room, it seems Atlantis TV panels themselves come to you, and you make your selections on a live moving screen as it hangs in the air before you. Not sure which way is preferable. On the other hand, I still have no idea of the extent of their advanced technology—maybe here they also have remote control units similar to the ones back home.
Back home. . . .
I need to stop thinking about Earth that way and focus on Atlantis.
Easier said than done.
“Oh, look!” Manala exclaims suddenly, turning to me. “They are talking about you! I mean, not you specifically, but about the newly arrived Fleet ships filled with the people from Earth. They are showing the ark-ships still in orbit.”
I glance again, narrowing my eyes in an attempt to see, and Manala sings another brief command. Suddenly the TV panel floats across the room toward me and stops, levitating inches from where I stand. The silent servant continues measuring me as though nothing is going on.
I stare at the screen, broken up into six discrete windows, with different channels running on each. The larger one shows views of Atlantis from space, and spans around to various ark-ships and endless shuttles moving to and fro, like a hive of glowing violet plasma insects. Then there’s a close-up of Fleet Commander Manakteon Resoi, and he is giving an orbit-to-land interview to someone here on the surface. The familiar stern face of the Commander fills the largest window, and he is talking in Atlanteo about landing procedures.
“Commander, how would you say the Earth refugees are doing as a whole?” the journalist interviewer asks in a pleasant voice, as the camera flips briefly to the Atlantean studio. I see a handsome middle aged man with shoulder-length metallic gold hair and kohl-lined eyes, dressed stylishly in a fashion that I recognize as influenced by Low Court—in other words, simple but expensive elegance. The journalist wears a deep red robe with a white shirt underneath and a wide Egyptian-style gold collar. There is something vaguely familiar about his face, but I am not sure what. Behind him I see a golden sunburst logo that I recognize immediately from the Pharikoneon chamber in the Imperial Palace.
“That sun symbol,” I say. “I saw it in the throne room at Court. What does it mean?”
“The Imperial network,” Manala says. “They use the Hel-Ra symbol of Kassiopei.”
“The Helios-Ra Imperial Poseidon Network, to be precise,” Consul Denu adds. “The largest media conglomerate, of which you will come to know a great deal more, my dear. And the speaker is Desher Keigeri, the HRIPN chief commentator and what you would call on Earth a news anchor.”
I nod, my curiosity engaged. There is so much for me to learn here!
And then it occurs to me. . . . “Keigeri?” I say. “Is that the same Keigeri as Oalla Keigeri, by any chance?”
Consul Denu smiles. “Very good! Yes, it is. He is indeed Pilot Oalla Keigeri’s close relation—her father.”
“Oh, wow!” I say. “I can see the family resemblance. He looks very impressive. Oalla’s family must be important?”
“Oh, yes,” Consul Denu says.
Over at the desk, Anu makes a stifled snort, then coughs, followed by a pointed look from Gennio who frowns at him.
“. . . the Earth refugees are excited and eagerly waiting to land. They represent an excellent selection of the best and brightest, ready for their careers and new lives, as they have demonstrated repeatedly over the long months of our journey,” Commander Resoi says meanwhile, as the camera switches back to him up on ICS-1 in orbit. “The preparations for personnel landing are close to completion. By tomorrow we deliver the last of the freight cargo planet-wide, including the preserved wildlife animal species DNA and actual live animals, domesticated and wild. Then the first wave of Cadets and Civilians from the arks will start the surface deployment process.”
“Most of these early arrivals will have Poseidon as their destination,” Desher Keigeri says in his pleasant tone, interrupting the Commander’s somewhat droning speech gently. “This will necessarily create much activity in the local area airports and landing lots, and increased security. So as an aside, we advise our viewers to be ready for a heavy traffic day in addition to the usual Games Rage morning commute. . . .”
And then Desher Keigeri’s face grows into a close-up to fill the window, so that you can see the soulful deep blue color of his eyes, dramatically enhanced with kohl around the lids. “We can never thank you enough for your incalculable efforts, Commander Resoi, on behalf of our ancestral Earth and the future of Atlantis. Before I leave you to continue overseeing these essential final stages, I’d like to personally invite you here to our studios when you land. I will again speak with you early tomorrow, as we continue to bring our viewers this historical event as it unfolds, including highlights of the landings and exclusive interviews with some truly remarkable young people from Earth.”
“I will be honored to continue our conversation,” Commander Resoi replies with a dignified cool nod. And his face fades, while gentle music swells.
“We are bringing you the Journey from Earth, live,” the voice of Desher Keigeri says, as views of Atlantis from orbit again fill the screen. Fleet ships are seen against the rich backdrop of colorful stars. “And now we leave you with a look at some truly delightful Earth creatures as they are getting ready to be introduced to their new Atlantis home, in just a few hours from now. Enjoy this glimpse of a very special area on the Hydroponics Deck of Ark-Ship 1047!”
The screen is suddenly filled with cats. Ordinary wonderful Earth cats of all colors and breeds fill a large H-Deck habitat. Tabbies and Persian long-hairs, Siamese and marmalade, tortoise-shell, and patchwork short-hairs, sleek black kittens and fluffy grey fur-balls are everywhere. They perch on trees, and tumble, and jump, and roll around on artificial turf, and meow and act adorable for the camera, worthy of a classic early internet cat video. . . .
My mouth falls open and I laugh.
Manala makes a squeal noise of delight. “Cats! Oh, those are the original Earth cats! The little ones! Oh! Oh! Gwen, have you ever seen one in real life?”
“Of course,” I say. “They are everywhere on Earth. We even had two when I was a very little girl back in California. . . .”
“Oh, you did? How wonderful and amazing!” Manala exclaims again, and claps her hands.
“These are indeed domesticated felines, or felis silvestris catus,” Desher Keigeri’s voice continues from the TV. “Considered one of the two most popular domestic animal breeds together with dogs, or canis lupus familiaris, they are a very common feature on Earth. . . .”
But Manala sings a command that makes the TV panel fly back toward her, stopping before the sofa, and she is now staring at the screen up-close, leaning forward, her face enthralled with wonder.
I grin at her, continuing to watch her range of reactions to the cats, while the last of my measurements are recorded.
Moments later, the servants step back and put away the Book of Fashion.
Consul Denu motions to another pair of servants, and they start opening boxes filled with fabrics. Swatches of different colors and textures are brought up to me and I am asked which I prefer. There are rich deep earth tones, corals and scarlets, deep plums and violets, lapis blue and aqua, jade and emerald. Rich dark colors, seems to be the current fashion at Court.
“Oh, my goodne
ss . . .” I mumble. “These are all so beautiful. I don’t know how to do this. I’m sorry, on Earth my Mom used to help me with this kind of thing—”
The Consul smiles indulgently at me. “What is your favorite color, my dear?”
“Purple, I guess . . . and lavender. Blue is nice too.”
“We will present you with swatches in pairs, and you point to which one appeals to you more. Don’t try to overthink it, choose with your first impulse.”
“Oh wow, yes. . . . I tend to overthink things, I know.” I gaze at the colors, twirling my hair nervously.
The fabric parade begins.
And so, for several minutes I stare at what feels like dozens of combinations, and choose all kinds of colors and shades. Meanwhile the Consul watches my selections. I suspect that this is being done as much for his sake as for mine—the Consul is learning my personal taste.
“My Imperial Lady Gwen, your wardrobe will be ordered in the coming hour,” Consul Denu says, while the servants put the fabrics away. “You should have most of it available this week, starting with the urgently necessary Court Dress for your appearance at the Assembly tomorrow. It will be completed first, inspected and approved by me, and will arrive by morning.”
“Thank you so much, Consul Denu,” I say. And then I bite my lip nervously. “About that wardrobe—may I have a word with you in private?”
“Of course, my dear.” Consul Denu immediately rises from his seat, gives a nod to the servants, then follows me into my own bedroom, where I shut the door behind us.
“Consul Denu,” I say, starting to feel my pulse racing with nerves. “This is not really about the wardrobe, but I’m not sure how else to say this. Sorry if this is out of line, but I do have to ask, because I really need to know—yesterday, were you aware of what Aeson Kassiopei was planning for me? Did you know beforehand that he was going to choose me as his Bride?”
There, I’ve said it. . . .
Consul Denu looks at me with a gentle expression. “My dear Gwen,” he says, patting my arm lightly. I notice he simply calls me “Gwen” and not “My Imperial Lady”—which for Consul Denu is a serious breach of protocol and might mean that this is a very important genuine moment happening right now. “I knew as much as any good, observant servant would know. In other words, I knew for many, many months, that there was something profound and meaningful between you and the Imperial Crown Prince.”
“You did? Oh!” Now I’m having a genuine moment of my own.
He nods and smiles lightly, with subtle wisdom. “My dear, when I was called to tutor you in Court Protocol, I had to understand the nature of my pupil. As soon as I observed you and the Prince together in the same room, my suspicions were justified. The energy was there—a connection. And then, as I witnessed over the coming days, the affection and yes, love between you was apparent in the level of your mutual discomfort, in every small reaction and look. Even your motivations were proof—such as your eagerness to appear beautiful for the Red Zero Gravity Dance.”
“Good lord, was it that obvious?” I breathe deeply. “I was going on a date with Pilot Xelio Vekahat.”
“And yet you wanted to be noticed by the Command Pilot and Prince of Atlantis.”
I shake my head. “I am impressed by your ability to see through me—through both of us, Consul Denu.”
“It was a pleasure to observe you both,” he says. “Manifestation of love in others is always a pleasure. I just did not know what turn it would take in the end, joyful or tragic, because of the adverse complexity of the situation, and the wide discrepancy of status—his and yours—not until we arrived.”
“But—did Aeson actually talk to you about me, about his plans for me?”
Consul Denu allows his subtle smile to answer for him.
“Oh, please! Tell me!” I beg him.
“My dear girl, the Prince told me to be ready with you for certain events to unfold—not in so many words, but he used the diplomatic language of Court—in which he is as well versed as I am—where things are said between the lines, and things are read and interpreted through omissions as much as through what is spoken outright. In other words, he made sure I had a good idea of what to expect, and what was to come.”
“And you were not surprised?”
“A good servant is never surprised and always prepared,” Consul Denu tells me.
“Thank you . . .” I say after a thoughtful pause. “It really means a lot for me to know this.”
“Understandable, and a true pleasure to assist, always.” He inclines his head in a perfectly executed small bow.
I smile back at him.
“But—one small thing, and this time it is about the wardrobe,” he says. “In addition to the high fashions of the Imperial Court, to reflect your new station, there will also be a number of more familiar items. Rest assured—you will have several new sweaters, shirts, jeans, and some other casual items of Earth clothing that is dear and familiar to you, so that you can wear it in the comfort of your own Quarters, or if you would like casual Atlantean wear, it too will be provided if you want to venture into the city incognito.”
“Oh wow, thank you so much!” I exclaim, feeling an incredible welling of relief. I hadn’t even realized how much this whole fancy clothing thing was bothering me until now, running in the background, nagging me with additional stress.
In this moment I am so ridiculously happy that I feel like hugging the Consul.
But he merely inclines his head graciously, and we return to the workroom.
Because my preparations for this new Imperial lifestyle are just beginning.
Chapter 8
Consul Denu leaves, promising to return later so that we can discuss my duties at the Assembly tomorrow, and the Court Protocol involved. “Do not hesitate to call me any time if you need assistance with anything else, in the meantime,” he adds, as the servants carry away the boxes of fabrics. “I am entirely at your service.”
I thank him, and then Manala and I are left to fend for ourselves, with Gennio and Anu still working on the desk consoles and whispering occasionally.
I take a savory pastry stuffed with spicy vegetables, and settle down on the sofa next to her, to watch the flickering channels on the levitating TV. My mind goes into a weird restless state that’s a combination of a kind of scattered daze and high alert, all at the same time. I wonder where Aeson is. . . . I wonder where Gracie and Gordie are . . . and then my thoughts jump to Earth and my parents and George, filling my gut with pangs of distress and worry.
Manala points out various things and places on the multiple screens, names of people who are actors or celebrities, different shows and news events. There’s a colorful open-air market and Green Fair going on right now in Poseidon’s Agnios Park. . . . A high-speed boat chase just ended near the coast of the Golden Bay, with the Coastal Correctors apprehending a criminal smuggling operation, and the Coastal Nomarch in charge of the operation is giving an official report to the media about the stolen cargo. . . . Elsewhere, a popular celebrity has been caught in a scandal with the son of a member of the Poseidon Imperial Executive Council. . . . There’s an agricultural workers organized labor protest in the Northern Mithektet Province. . . .
I nod and look, but cannot seem to focus properly. Instead I want to jump out of my own skin, get up and run somewhere.
Suddenly Manala stops her light commentary and points to one lower channel window. “Oh, Gwen, look! They are talking about you! And this time, I really do mean, you!”
I look at the channel which she points out, and she swipes it to the center, and enlarges the window size so that it takes up the whole display panel. Then she turns up the volume.
To my utmost horror I recognize the last high school yearbook picture of me from junior year. It is horrendous. I am grinning like a dork, and the digital photograph shows me in a truly ugly knitted sweater with my shirt collar twisted on one side where I’d forgotten to fix it before posing for the school camera. Oh, a
nd there is something actually stuck between my two front teeth. On the bright side, at least I’d brushed my hair properly, unlike sophomore year’s picture.
Holy lord in heaven!
Where did the Atlanteans find this monstrosity? I put my hands up to my face. No, stupid question—of course they had it on file with my school records. But—why, lord, why? Why couldn’t it be any other picture of me?
Because underneath it, there is a large headline in Atlantean and in English: “Introducing Gwenevere Lark, Bride and Imperial Consort.”
At the same time an energetic commentator voice describes me as the Imperial Crown Prince’s “exciting, highly unprecedented, and unusual choice from Earth, at last night’s Imperial Court Assembly.”
“Oh my God . . .” I whisper, continuing to hold my cheeks, as they drain of all color.
“ . . . the Imperial Crown Prince Aeson Kassiopei stunned everyone when he selected this young Earth refugee as his Bride,” the commentator says. And then the screen changes to a glittering view of the Pharikoneon chamber from yesterday, filled with people, and there I am, looking alien and beautifully dressed and frightened, standing next to Aeson, before the Imperator. The camera shows us from a distance and then pans and zooms in to our faces. It shows Aeson leaning in for the kiss. Then it shows us seated next to the Imperator up on the dais in the Imperial Seats.
“And now all of Atlantida wants to know, who is she, this mysterious Bride who captured the heart of the most desirable, eligible bachelor of our generation? Who is Gwenevere Lark? So many of you ladies—and quite a few of the men—must be crying bitter tears tonight! Was it a conniving seduction or an innocent romance on board the Fleet ship, after a year of intimacy in space? Is she a political genius or a naïve innocent? We will bring you an exclusive profile and portrait of our future Imperatris, later this evening. . . .”
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