Weary Traveler

A pearl-white, electric limousine rolled to a stop outside of Blue Sky. The automated, back door flung open and Mitch stepped out in a pair of laceless, black loafers. They glimmered beneath the cold, blue floodlights that illuminated the dome encasing the inner sector of Rotech District.

He shrugged his shoulders, adjusted his tweed, charcoal gray suit jacket, smoothed out the wrinkles over his electric-blue shirt, pulled at the knot of his black tie, then reached his right hand into the limousine and guided Nova out of the vehicle.

Her high heels matched her little black dress that hugged her curves up to her slender shoulders, covered in a soft, fur coat to compliment Mitch’s suit.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, arms wrapped around each other’s backs, and gazed up at the length of the enormous tower of glass and metal that stretched high into the air, disappeared beyond the dome into the murky sky.

“Here we go,” Mitch asked, squeezing around Nova’s waist.

They kicked forward, his dress shoes and her heels clicking across the white marble floors dotted with flakes of gold and swirls of silver.

A man in a velvet, maroon suit with spiky, purple hair stood motionless, stone-faced, behind an elevated marble podium. His leering, gray eyes glared down upon the approaching couple with a fierce scowl spread across his face like he was a troll guarding a magical tunnel into a fantasy world.

“Name,” the host said in a squeaky voice. It sounded more like a demand than a question.

“Mitch Henderson.”

The host pressed his right temple with the thumb and index finger, waved the fingers on his left hand through the air, scrolling through a hidden, augmented window projected from the tech implanted in his eyes.

“Nothing under that name. You may leave.”

“Excuse me?” Mitch said, stepping closer to the base of the podium. “Check again, please, in the executive section.”

Nova wrapped both of her arms around Mitch’s left arm, squeezed, and leaned her head onto his shoulder.

The host spewed a long sigh, clicked his temple a second time, swiped from right to left like he swatted dust in front of his face, and scrolled down, down, down…

He gasped, slack jaw hung from his face as his eyelids peeled backwards, unmasking his gray eyes, spinning in a tight spiral. Then he cleared his throat, tried to swallow the visceral embarrassment.

“Pardon me, Mr. Henderson, I wasn’t aware that Rotech added a new board member,” he said, placing a hand over his heart and lowering his ghostly eyes in a sociopathic effort at sincerity. “Please accept my apology and allow me to escort you and Mrs. Henderson to one of Blue Sky’s exclusive tables.”

Mitch and Nova glanced at each other, turned back towards the host.

“It’s fine, Mr…?” Mitch said.

“Call me Darwin. Please…” he said, disappearing behind the podium, reappearing on the ground a second later, “follow me.”

He swung his arm out from his chest and prostrated into a deep bow. Mitch and Nova strolled past him, arm in arm, through the open, glass, double doors and into a vast lobby.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, shined down upon marble floors. Gold-framed paintings of ancient landscapes hung from the white walls between long, black Rotech banners with white trim and luminous letters of the company logo.

A soft, instrumental melody chimed from an electro-jazz band nestled into the right corner next to the elevators. Mitch reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his credit disk, swiped it across the band’s credit counter sitting on a short pedestal in front. They nodded, raised the tone of their instruments for a thankful crescendo, and then dropped back down to their regular tune as Mitch and Nova shuffled by.

Darwin pressed his palm into a panel on the wall, stood at attention until the elevator doors slid open.

“Please,” Darwin said, “after you.”

Mitch and Nova stepped on, turned around, and watched Darwin press the only button on the panel. He entered an additional passcode and stepped to the right, back flush against the wall, dead eyes focused forward.

“How’s business today, Darwin?” Mitch asked, breaking through the elevator’s humming silence.

“Busy day, Mr. Henderson, with the convention tomorrow.”

“How is the visibility?” Nova asked.

“Oh, it is incredibly clear today, Mrs. Henderson. A quite rare occurrence, truly magical,” Darwin said. “You arrived just in time for the sunset. This does not happen often during Rosenfell’s winter. You two must have brought some good fortune along with you.”

“Let’s hope that holds true the entire weekend,” Mitch said.

“Will you be presenting with the rest of the board?” Darwin asked.

“Presenting, yes. But I am solely responsible for unveiling Rotech’s newest tech, so any screw-up will be on me.”

“Oh?” Darwin asked in an even higher pitched voice. “I’m sure the other members will be there should you need assistance.”

“Yeah,” Mitch muttered behind pursed lips, “we’ll see about that.”

The smooth, upward ascent of the elevator glided to a stop, chiming a melodic ding.

“Mr. And Mrs. Henderson,” Darwin said, as the doors slid open, “I welcome you to... Blue Sky.”

A brilliant, yellow blaze burst through the crack, stung Mitch’s eyes. He blinked as his hand shot towards his face, eased the aching sensation that shot through his optical nerve and ignited his brain in a blanket of radiant light. He waited for the white dots to dance out of his vision, then opened his eyes and stepped forward into the warm glow that wrapped around him, invigorating his skin.

They stepped into an expansive halo spotted with circular tables and booths, each one filled with groups and couples adorned in opulent, tech-dresses and modified suits. Their chattering voices filled the cool air sprinkled with a potent scent of roses. Tall windows lined the entire perimeter. Beyond that, powder blue sky stretched further than biological eyes could see. Puffy white clouds swirled in the wind, flowed through the atmosphere like mystical chariots through the heavens.

Darwin scurried over to a woman in tall heels wearing a sleek, maroon dress fashioned from shiny silk and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and they both parted.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson,” Darwin said as he hurried past them.

The woman strut towards them with a charming smile across her face.

“Mr. And Mrs. Henderson… welcome to Blue Sky. My name is Viola. May I take your coat and jacket?”

“Yes, please,” Nova said, shrugging her coat off of her shoulders with Mitch’s assistance. “Thank you, Viola.”

“Certainly,” she said, bowing her head. “Mr. Henderson?”

“I’ll hang onto mine.”

“Very well. Please, follow me to your table.”

Viola turned and marched down the path between the tables at the center of the restaurant. People continued their discussions in the room’s middle section, but as Mitch and Nova were led further, patrons stopped their conversations, pushed away their posh meals. Their soulless eyes followed them all the way to their table behind a barrier of ruby, velvet rope strung through gold posts.

Mitch assisted Nova onto a hand-carved, wooden seat, pushed her forward. Then walked to the other side, grabbed the back of his own seat, listened to the silence.

He looked up. The entire restaurant had halted their vapid conversations, stopped nibbling on their meals, to stare at the newly arrived couple. He turned his head without making direct eye contact with any of the corpo creatures, peered around the other empty tables of the executive section, pretending not to notice the eyes and ears that watched his every move, listened to every spoken word from the other side of the powerful rope.

“Shall I start you off with a bottle of red? Perhaps our Signature Cuvée Pinot Noir harvested nearby in Willamette Valley?”

“What year?” Nova asked.

“2020, Mrs. Henderson. A fantastic year, before the CyberTech fallout. One of the finest wines on the planet.”

Mitch gazed at Nova, grinned at the confidence of her question. A bum and a nomad in the midst of narcissistic corpos at their luxurious restaurant high in the breathable sky.

“Wonderful, thank you, Viola,” Nova said.

“And a bottle of sparkling water, please,” Mitch said.

“Certainly,” Viola said, bowing. “Just one moment, please.”

Viola scurried away, disappeared behind a swinging double door on the other side of the restaurant. A gentleman in pleated, black slacks and a velvet, maroon suit burst from behind the door and hustled to their table. He placed at the center of the table an ornate plate filled with an assortment of rustic bread and a bowl of inky black and translucent green liquid.

“Enjoy, sir and madam,” the man said, backing away before Mitch could ask what was in the bowl.

They leaned forward, studied the contents. Mitch reached across the table, pinched, and wriggled the bowl. The two liquids rolled around each other without mixing together like an opposing magnetic force. He raised his eyebrows.

“Do you-”

“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson.”

Mitch and Nova turned, looked into the brown eyes of a muscular man with mahogany skin, dressed in black slacks and a long, black tunic.

“My name is Marcellus, Blue Sky’s sommelier. I welcome you both to Rosenfell’s finest restaurant. Your bottle of Pinot Noir, 2020,” he said, displaying the bottle in front of their eyes. He held it there in silence, waiting…

“Please,” Mitch said, waving his approval.

Marcellus placed two crystal glasses on the white tablecloth, poured the shadowy, burgundy liquid into Nova’s glass until it was about a quarter full, then poured Mitch’s.

He placed the ebony bottle on a small stool off to the side of the main table and placed the bottle of sparkling water next to the plate of bread.

“Please, enjoy,” Marcellus said, backing away. He turned and disappeared into the commotion of the restaurant.

“Quite a show,” Nova said.

“At least we’ve got some privacy,” Mitch said, peeking at the hungry eyes still staring at them.

“It’s almost like they can smell the streets of Rosenfell squeezing out of our pores,” Nova said. “How do you stand it?”

“Stand what?”

Nova leaned closer.

“Living as a bum in the skin of a corpo,” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” Mitch said, pouring the sparkling water into an empty crystalline glass.

“You’re trapped in a den of venomous synth-snakes.”

“I guess I just got used to it.”

“How did you ascend the ranks so quickly?”

“I helped secure the tech that I’ll be unveiling tomorrow.”

“You don’t find it suspicious?”

Mitch leaned back in his chair, inhaled through his nostrils, exhaled out of his mouth.

“It could be,” Mitch said, leaning closer, speaking in a hushed voice. “But all these rich corpos care about is tech and the power and control that it gives them. I brought them some of the most powerful tech seen on this side of Rosenfell.”

“What other side is there?”

“The Crawlers.”

Nova looked down her nose at Mitch.

“And who are your colleagues that have bestowed this great power upon you?” Nova asked in a sarcastic tone.

“There’s my boss, Vincent Walker. And five others.”

“Do you trust them?”

“I trust Vincent,” Mitch said. “But the others not so much.”

“Why is that?”

“I had a brain injury and fell into a coma. They tried to take me off life support, but Vincent prevented it.”

“You were in a coma?”

“I had a bad reaction to the tech, but it’s all sorted out now. Everything will go according to my plan tomorrow. Just as long as-”

“Look who it is,” a voice said, “the star of the show.”

Mitch turned his head, stared into Vincent’s soul-piercing eyes approaching from the center of the restaurant. He grabbed the arm rests, pushed off and rose to his feet.

“It’s great to see you, Vincent,” Mitch said, stretching out his hand, shaking Vincent’s firm grip. “I’d like you to meet, Nova Zion. Nova, this is my boss, Vincent Walker.”

Vincent turned towards Nova sitting motionless on the other side of the table.

“What a ravishing name,” Vincent said. He reached and held Nova’s curled fingers, kissed the top of her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Walker,” Nova said, tucking her hand onto her lap.

“Please, call me Vincent. And the pleasure is all mine. Whoops, pardon my manners,” he said, opening up his body to the blonde model lingering behind him. She stepped into the nook of his arm. “Allow me to introduce you to Bridgett. Bridgett, this is my colleague, Mitch Henderson and his lady, Nova.”

“Hello, Bridgett,” Mitch said.

Nova smiled up at Bridgett but kept her hands tucked in her lap.

Bridgett stood with a straight back as her eyes quickly glossed over Mitch and Nova and settled on something more interesting going in within the growing commotion of Blue Sky.

“Since we are here, we might as well join our tables and enjoy this stunning restaurant together,” Vincent said. “What do you say?”

Mitch and Nova glanced at each other, tried to read each other’s faces. He shrugged his left shoulder and tilted his head slightly towards it like they were pushed together.

“Excellent,” Vincent said. He motioned for Viola to combine their tables so that Bridgett sat on Mitch’s right, Vincent on Nova’s left.

Vincent settled into the seat with a lengthy sigh.

“That’s much better,” he said. “Have you ordered?”

“Just the wine and water,” Mitch said, pulling on his tight shirt and tie, airing out his sweaty chest and releasing pressure on his throat.

“Bridgett and I would like your most expensive bottle of champagne, four glasses, please,” Vincent said to Viola. “If I may ask, what is the chef’s special today?”

“It is lamb with mint sauce and a side of asparagus, Mr. Walker,” Viola said.

“I will take that and a Caesar salad for the beautiful Bridgett.”

Mitch and Nova lifted their arms, looked around for the menu, but there was none.

Viola reached underneath the table.

A beam of light projected up from the center, shined a holographic image of the menu into the air. It was filled with strange names of steaks and pastas Mitch had never heard of before. Single items priced higher than entire menus of restaurants downtown.

“I’ll have the Spaghetti al cartoccio,” Nova said.

“The Spaghetti al cartoccio,” Viola repeated, correcting her pronunciation.

Mitch scanned the rest of the menu, found a dish that was easier to pronounce.

“And I’ll have the twenty-two ounce Wagyu Tomahawk Steak,” he said.

“The Wagyu,” Viola said, “excellent choice, Mr. Henderson. Will that be all?”

“Yes, Viola,” Vincent said. “Thank you.”

Viola turned and hurried to the double doors, disappeared into the kitchen. Marcellus appeared from the same door a few seconds later as if she had transformed into the sommelier. He strode up to the table carrying a tray with a black bottle with a golden label and four, slender, crystal glasses.

“Mr. Walker,” Marcellus said, placing the glasses on the table, “it is great to see you once again at Blue Sky.”

“Good evening, Marcellus.”

“Your Argyle, 2021,” Marcellus said, displaying the vintage bottle.

“Perfect,” Vincent said, waving for the sommelier to continue his routine. “Thank you, Marcellus.”

Marcellus poured the bubbly liquid into the each of the glasses.

“We are celebrating,” Vincent said.

“What is the occasion, Mr. Walker?”

“This man right here,” Vincent said, motioning towards Mitch, “is Rotech’s newest executive. And he is already our most important asset in the tech race against CorpoMax.”

“That is wonderful news, sir,” Marcellus said, placing the bottle of champagne on a second stand next to the other.

“This tech will change the world,” Vincent said. “Isn’t that right, Mitch Henderson?”

Mitch was about to bring his glass of sparkling water to his lips, stopped, looked into Vincent’s fierce eyes, leering over his wide grin that flashed his chiseled teeth.

“If you say so, Vincent,” Mitch said before sipping the water.

“Oh, don’t be so humble. You are a corpo now, aren’t you? No more risking your life in that corrupt mercenary business. Now you have the opportunity to make a difference in this city. Show Rosenfell and the rest of the world just what Rotech is capable of. Show the nomads, and Crawlers, and disgusting bums what it means to be a corpo. Someone who takes what he wants without following the rules of this ignorant society.”

“You’re right,” Mitch said, peering deep into Nova’s anxious eyes. “And tomorrow, when I unveil our new tech, Rosenfell will see, will know, what real power looks like.”

“That’s the spirit… I propose a toast,” Vincent said, raising his champagne glass, pausing until the others raised theirs. “To Mitch Henderson… may he restore power and balance to Rotech for many lifetimes to come and be saved from the death and destruction wrought by the terrifying annals of time.”

“To Mitch,” Nova and Bridgett said, hoisting and then sipping their champagne.

“So, Nova, my dear,” Vincent said, setting his glass down, “how did you come across this fine gentleman? Did he sweep you off of your feet?”

“He stumbled into my bar about a year ago,” Nova said, smiling. “He looked pretty beat up after a…” she flicked a nearly imperceptible glance at Mitch, “mercenary mission. And I served him a couple of beers-”

“Served him?” Bridgett asked from behind a scrunched face, twisted into a knot.

“Yes, served him. I’m a bartender at Reggie’s Saloon in the Twilight.”

“Oh,” Bridgett said, looking Nova up and down, “how… appropriate.”

Nova shifted her body so that her torso squared with Bridgett, glared across the table like sharp nails flung from her eyes.

“Did you meet Vincent while you were working?” she asked.

Bridgett scoffed, raised her pointy chin.

“I am a luxury escort. Ladies do not demean themselves with manual labor.”

Nova jabbed her tongue into her lower lip.

“Demean?” she asked, eyebrows aloft. “As in doing something beneath ones dignity and morality?”

“It is unbecoming of a woman to subject themselves to such horrendous conditions when they have a man in their life.”

“Or many men,” Nova spat.

“Now, now, ladies, no need to squabble over trifles,” Vincent said. “We all do what must be done to survive. It’s a dangerous world out there. And Rosenfell is not a place where we can just throw caution to the wind now, is it?”

“Any word of what CorpoMax may bring to the convention, Vincent?” Mitch asked.

“They have been unusually quiet this season,” he said. He propped his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. “I can’t imagine that they will have much more to showcase to differentiate themselves from the tech that we have acquired and perfected. It is only a matter of time before Rotech becomes the world leader in both tech and weaponry. And it starts right here at Rotech Headquarters.”

“Then there will be nothing to stop you all from world domination, correct?” Nova asked.

“It should have happened by now, but those creeps down below absorb all of their profits from their fucking bonzos,” Vincent said.

“Why not produce our own, dahling?” Bridgett asked.

“You think we haven’t tried?” Vincent said, waving away her suggestion. “Maybe we will send Mitch back down there to steal their recipe.”

“Not happening,” Mitch said. “One trip is more than enough.”

“What’s wrong?” Bridgett asked. “Afraid of what a few Crawlers might do to you?”

“I’m sure they would be happy with a luxurious escort like yourself,” Nova said.

Mitch glanced over his right shoulder, followed Viola leading a procession of waiters carrying their entrees to their table. She called out the name of each dish and directed them into their correct positions.

“Bon appétit,” Viola said, before turning and shuffling back beyond the velvet rope.

Mitch grabbed his fork and steak knife, sliced through the tender tomahawk like it was a slab of synthetic butter. He brought the fork to his mouth, bit down and chewed. The savory, juicy taste of authentic meat soaked in ethnic spice and smoky sauce dissolved on his tongue. Enzymes melted the tomahawk and filled his bloodstream with a fiery, euphoric sensation that rushed through his body like a runaway bonzo train. An unlikely ascension from digging through dumpsters searching for rotten scraps of artificial, rubber meat.

He switched over to the steaming baked potato soaked in melted cheese, sour cream, and bacon bits and then finished off the tomahawk, waited for the others to finish their meals.

“That hit the spot now, didn’t it?” Vincent asked, leaning back in his chair, expelling a gust of minty, lamb breath.

Viola marched to the table with the group of waiters, cleared the empty plates.

“How about dessert?” she asked.

“Oh, no, none for me. Thank you, Viola,” Vincent said. “How about you three?”

They shook their heads.

“Just the check, then,” Vincent said.

“Right away, Mr. Walker,” Viola said, hurrying away.

“Any advice you can give me for my presentation tomorrow, Vincent?” Mitch asked.

“Present with confidence. Know that everyone is there to hear you speak and unveil Rotech’s latest tech and weaponry. They want to see you succeed. So put on a good show and let the people know just how powerful our tech and company have become.”

“Your bill,” Viola said, placing a clear sheet of luminous fiberglass on the edge of the table.

Mitch reached into his jacket pocket for his credit disk.

“Nope,” Vincent said, holding up his hand.

“Please, Vincent, allow me,” Mitch said.

“Keep your credits. My treat tonight. It’s the least I could do for all that you have brought to Rotech,” Vincent said.

“Thank you, Mr. Walker,” Nova said.

Vincent swiped his crystal wrist band over the bill until it chimed. Then he turned his head and gazed out of the window into the pale blue sky as the setting Sun was about to drop beneath the ghostly horizon. Streaking rays of yellow light crawled like sinewy veins over the dark clouds below, igniting the restaurant within a dimming veil of natural illumination.

“My, my, would you look at that… what a sight to see,” Vincent said. “How about we step out onto the balcony and get a few photos to remember this day?”

Mitch glanced at Nova, raised his eyebrows to ask a silent question.

She nodded.

“That’s a great idea,” Mitch said, rising from his seat.

Vincent stood and walked around to the other side of the table, guided Bridgett onto her feet. Mitch did the same, held out his hand towards Nova.

“Muh lady,” he said, kissing the top of her perfumed hand.

“My prince charming.”

Vincent peered into the restaurant, waved Viola over.

“Viola, dear, will you be a doll and snap a few photos of us?”

“Certainly, Mr. Walker.”

The five of them shuffled to the sliding glass door, squeezed through one at a time.

The atmosphere was frigid, sharp. Wild winds whipped like invisible rope ripped the sky from every direction. It swirled through the women’s hair and kicked up the men’s coats.

Mitch looked out across the darkening sky. Yellow-orange rays of the setting Sun warmed his face, seeped through his suit into his pale skin.

Vincent and Bridgett strutted up to the side railing, took several photos in a variety of extravagant poses as if they engaged in a popup photoshoot for an elite fashion magazine.

“You two lovebirds are up,” Vincent said, guiding Bridgett behind Viola.

Mitch wrapped his left arm around Nova’s back, led her to the side railing. They peeked over the edge for a moment, watched the graveyard of clouds swirl beneath them, followed it out until their eyes gazed into the fading blue sky and magenta clouds above. Then turned around and nestled into each other’s chests, smiled at Viola in the typical fashion with regular, forward-facing poses.

“How about a nice, big smooch?” Vincent shouted over the wind.

They both laughed as a warm blush filled their cheeks.

Mitch’s thumping heart pounded against his chest, seeking an immediate breath of oxygen for itself…. fighting against his lungs… jumping through bones and flesh… trying to escape from its protective cage. He turned towards Nova, returned her smile, leaned in, and kissed her soft lips.

A spark rippled out from his mouth, wriggled down his body as a vision of distinct light burst behind his closed eyes. Nova manifested at the end of a dark tunnel misted with fog. She labored behind the bar at Reggie’s Saloon. Her auburn hair was pulled back, away from her face, and tied in a ponytail. She wore a low-cut, black tank top and a washed, rustic jean jacket. A pink bellybutton ring dangled from her stomach like a flame of fluorescence.

Mitch pulled away from Nova’s lips, opened his eyes.

“Whoa…” he said, staring deep into her eyes.

“I saw you,” she said.

“I saw you, too.”

“You looked like…” she glanced over towards Vincent and Bridgett. They were staring at them so Nova leaned in, whispered into Mitch’s ear, “a bum.”

“What are you two whispering over there?” Vincent asked.

Mitch kissed Nova on the cheek, squeezed her hand and pulled her towards Vincent and Bridgett.

“I just remembered something that I need to do before the convention,” Mitch said, stretching out his hand, gripping Vincent’s palm. “Thank you for dinner, Vincent. We had a great time.”

“As did we,” Vincent said, a short smirk creeping across his lips. “Sleep well,” he shouted as the bum and nomad fled.