The Last Horizon (14 page)

  He walked up to a young woman wearing a silver gown with a plunging neckline.
A choker made of blue Serenian pearls accented the curve of her neck and gave her an air of nobility. She was about eighteen years old and stood at a Black Jack table with a well-dressed man that was at least twice her age.

  She was just fourteen years old when Charon found her. A runaway from Southern Icarus
wandering the streets of Fluture; lost, confused, and desperate, she stood outside his casino spanging the customers when he saw her and took her under his protection from the nickel and dime urchins.

  S
he was a petite 5’-4”, with long brown hair and a dark complexion that brought out the color of her light blue eyes. Exotic. Her birth name was irrelevant now, to Charon and his clients, she was known only as Summer, and her time was worth a fortune.

“I want you at my table.” Charon whispered in her ear as he put his hand on her shoulder.

“Now?” Summer asked demurely.

“Be ready in thirty minutes.”

 
“Yes Mr. Charon.” Summer smiled as she dismissed herself and headed up to her room.

 
Charon’s bodyguards watched her disappear into the crowd then looked at each other deviously.

  Summer was well cared for and her apartment was luxurious. She bought everything with her own money, and it was her sanctuary from her job--it was the one place they couldn’t touch her, the only place she knew as home.

  Her only wish was that one day she could leave this place and go far away from Fluture. Far away enough to forget this life and find herself peace and happiness. She could barely remember her old life before Charon; all there was were broken memories of an abusive step-father that used to beat her mother.

  She remembered the blood-stained aprons and the blackened eyes on her mother when she got home from school…the falling down the stairs excuse was never a convincing story. Especially when
he
would be passed-out on the living room couch from another alcohol-induced coma. She hated him for what he did, and she often tried to persuade her mom to leave before she ended up dead.

  But it was Summer
that ran, under the cover of night, she packed a small bag, stole the cash out of his billfold, and hitched out of the house without looking back. She would never look back.

   She turned heads as she glided through the hotel lobby and stepped into the glass ele
vator that would take her to the fourteenth floor apartment. Summer turned around and clutched her small purse as she watched the glimmering city lights below as the elevator rose.

  She surveyed her studio as she walked in
and turn on some music. Summer sat in front of her vanity and reapplied her lipstick as she checked her hair and eye shadow. She sat quietly and opened a drawer where she pulled out a small mirror and razorblade and set them on the counter.

  She reached into her purse, took out a small glass vile, and emptied some of its contents on the mirror where she started chopping-up the
white powder with the razor. It was a regrettable ritual. Summer pushed the Crunch into a line, took a short glass tube, leaned down, and inhaled it quickly. When she looked at her reflection again, she was crying.

 
“J
esus Christ this bird’s been through some shit!” The mechanic cussed as a half-chewed cigar dangled from his lips. He rubbed the back of his head as he looked over the fuselage of the Zephyr. “Look at the farking hole in this panel!” He pointed. “What the hell did that?”

 
“Nevermind what did that, can you fix this within four days or not? I’m looking to head back to Earth by then.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s doable
, girlie.” The mechanic exhaled. “I’m going to have to purge the cryogen system in order to cut out and replace the punctured section of that twenty inch main.”

  “But it’s got a bypass.”

  “Oh yeah. I can see it now,” he gestured as he pulled the stogie out of his mouth, “I strike an arc, it ignites residual cryogen gas, and blows my ass up to the back of my neck.”

  “But you’ve got hair on the back of your neck.”

  “Then I guess I’m gonna have a hairy ass after the explosion.”

  I looked away trying not to laugh. “What do you think?”

  “Don’t worry young lady, the guys and I will have your ship tooled and fueled in three days.”

   “Hey, where can a girl go to have some fun around here?”

  “You plan on going to the city?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Ya got a way to get there?”

  “Not at the moment.”

   He squinted at me and shook his head. “Space jockey.” He smirked. “Follow me.” He led me down a corridor to another part of the hanger. “What’s your name anyway, girlie?”

  “Nikki.”

“Pleased to meet’cha. I’m Doolie. I’m the master mechanic in this facility. The boss said to take care of you, so here we are.” He turned on the bay lights in a workshop and there were six cars parked tightly in a garage. “Take your pick. They’re all loaners reserved for special guests.”

  “How about that one?” I pointed at a
black racing bike sitting in the corner.

  “That’s a
Neko A3 Cyclone.”

  “Yeah, it sure is.” I smiled.
“Otherwise known as The Cat.”

 
Doolie rolled his eyes as he pulled the keys off a pegboard mounted on the wall and tossed them to me. “Space jockey.” He grinned. “Have fun in Fluture.”

“Meow!” I winked
as I slipped on the helmet.

Chapter 9

  F
luture was truly the city of lights on Nexus; beautiful, overpowering, and restless, I could almost feel the pulse of the city as I watched the sidewalks swarming with people prowling through the lights in the nightly hunt for the next thrill in their lives in the concrete jungle.

 
The boulevard was lined with clubs, casinos, and luxury highrises that towered over the mass of activity. Brightly decorated banners with tiny blue and white lights were strung overhead and declared this year as “The Year of the Butterfly”. Scotty was right, the migration of the Didius was an event not to be missed in Fluture.

  The neon lights of the main drag flashed in a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors as I cruised along with stretch-limousines, taxi cabs, and flashy status symbols of the ultra-rich.
This was the city where fortunes were made and lost in seconds, and lives hinged on fate and luck.

  The
casino I was looking for was just up ahead--The Orchid was the largest and most lavish structure there; it was the diamond of Fluture nightlife. There were huge fountains with waterfalls in the center of the porte cochère where guests pulled up and were greeted by smartly dressed valets constantly hustling to park their cars or open the doors of the limos to usher in the highrollers and celebrities.

  This was the place where the rich and famous came to be seen, adored, and envied. The Orchid was where money worshipped the face of youth with extravagance and excess.

  I pulled in on the Cyclone and idled in front of the main entrance when a valet in a red jacket jogged up to me. “Excuse me sir, you’ll have to park over there.” He pointed to a gated area where about forty motorcycles were grouped for the evening. “I can take your personal items and helmet after you find a spot.” He smiled warmly.

 
I nodded silently at the valet and gunned the Cat to the designated space and shut it off. I opened the small storage compartment behind the seat and grabbed my silver clutch bag and headed toward the lobby.

 
My bomber jacket was zipped up, and I was wearing the HUD helmet with a reflective face shield that came with the Cyclone along with black leather pants, gloves, and cowboy boots.

 
I walked up to the podium to the left of the grand entryway where the valets gathered and tracked guest keys and personal belongings. The one that greeted me smiled as he approached. I removed the helmet and shook my hair loose so that it fell to my shoulders. He looked at me with surprised embarrassment when he realized I was female.

  “Gosh, I
’m so sorry I called you sir!” He blushed.

  “No worries.” I handed him my helmet
and gloves. “Do you mind?” I asked as I reached over and positioned his arms higher so that I could see my reflection on the helmet visor. I opened my clutch, pulled out my lipstick, and leaned forward to reapply it. When I finished, I put it back and patted the valet on his blushing cheek. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” I smiled, “take good care of my stuff, okay?”

  “Yes ma’am!”
He bowed.

  A re
d carpet led through the entrance to the lobby, and once inside, I was awed by three crystal chandeliers that spiraled from the cathedral ceilings and centered over a huge, blue orchid that was designed into the white terrazzo floor. The orchid itself was a marvel to look at; it was at least thirty feet in diameter, and the petals and sepals were composed of five different shades of blue. It was a breathtaking centerpiece.

 
The blue and white marble walls were complimented by thousands of silver and white butterfly ornaments that cascaded from the ceiling between the split staircases that curved up to the mezzanine.

 
Flower arrangements made of the different species of orchids that grew in Fluture were everywhere, and visitors and guests milled around and mingled as servers circulated with bottles of campaign and silver platters of carefully arranged hors d'oeuvres. This place was gorgeous and aimed to overindulge Fluture’s power players with its luxurious atmosphere.

  I wove casually through the groups of p
eople until I spotted a crowd gathered at the main entrance of a nite club called the Electric Gypsy. There were a couple of huge doormen in black suits that stood in front pointing at certain patrons and waved them in past the velvet ropes when I edged forward to take a closer look.

  “You, you, and you, may come in.” One of th
em bellowed as he unhitched a chain that symbolically divided people by their appearance.

  “Aw come on!” A man in his early thirties whined. “What’s it going to take to gain admission? Is it money you want? Credits?”

  A bouncer glared at him. “It’s not about money, it’s about the energy. Only people with the groove get in.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” The man demanded in an
incensed tone.

  “
Those who know don’t tell, those who tell don’t know. If you have to ask, then you don’t need to know.” The bouncer stepped forward and pushed him back into the crowd. “You and you,” he gestured at two girls standing in front of me, “may enter.”

  They looked at each other and squealed in delight as they clapped their hands and went down the stairs that led
to the underground club.

  T
he bouncer looked at me and a blonde girl wearing a short white cocktail dress standing to my right, “You and you,” he pointed, “may enter.” He said gruffly as he unhitched the chain and ushered us toward the brightly lit stairwell where another man stood at the bottom in front of a second entrance.

  I could hear the beat of techno-trance pounding through the heavy doors and the cheering of hundreds of voices.

  “Welcome to the Electric Gypsy.” The doorman nodded as he let us into a vast, darkened ballroom. The party was packed and in full swing. The center of the room had an elevated circular platform that was twenty feet in diameter, where the DJ and technicians controlled everything that created the hypnotic atmosphere of flashing lights and lasers.

  I started moving my shoulders instinctively to the seductive beat of the bass drum and synthesiz
ers as I melted into the mob. I was automatically drawn to the platform, and people rubbed against me as I danced through the bodies moving rhythmically with the beat.

  The DJ
wore a red and white striped stovepipe hat and a head-mic, and he moved over a large console flipping switches to create electronic sounds that kept the music going. His face and body were chalk-white, and red theatrical make-up was applied in a wild design on his face that accented his mouth and eyes and made him look like an evil clown.