“...and Duvall Enterprises’ research bore fruit. They solved the final issues plaguing the hydrofoil making floating cities a viable option. With sea levels rising and New Orleans of the State of Louisiana being the latest city to be completely submerged, Roderick Duvall took a stand and went against the company board’s decision investing a hefty amount of personal finances into building the World’s first hydrofoil city or as we call it The Sphere. Though calling it a floating city is a gross misnomer, as the average sphere is around 5000 square miles, roughly the size of the former State of Connecticut...” Mr Walters our History teacher droned.
He was a gangly wisp of a man with tufts of grey hair clinging dearly to his balding head. His monotonous voice was mildly hypnotic as he drawled on about the history of The Habitat. Which is the name ‘Our Lord and Saviour’ Roderick Duvall gave to his floating nation. I mentally sneered.
My attention had long left this thinly disguised nationalist propaganda as I stared out the window. The sun was high in the sky leaning westward as it grew later in the day.
Grade school had finished not long ago and the gleeful bubbly screams of children travelled from the grassy yard below. I smiled as I found myself yearning for a simpler time when I was less cynical.
The yard was mostly empty, most having left for home by taking public or private drones, the ones left behind were the upper middle class, too affluent to slum it out on public drones, yet not rich enough for their personal private drones and were likely waiting for their families shared drone. Such was life on a capitalist floating man-made island.
Bored with seeking sociological enlightenment by starting at 9-year-olds which I freely admit was more than a little creepy, I turn my attention to the very important Holo in front of me 16.48:32. A little over 11 minutes to freedom from this federalized penitentiary called a school.
Suddenly, I felt a jab in my ribs and turn to see Rebecca Rachmore nudging her nose at the front. I follow her eyes to see a Mr Walters looking at me expectantly.
Cursing my luck, I mentally request AiirA to repeat the salient points of the last 30s. Hmm… Explain the current status of The Habitat from the perception of the International community. Easy enough, but first to butter him up so I don’t get in shit, always a good idea since I’m playing the honors student role might as well go all in.
Giving a placating smile I start “Apologies, Mr Myers, your question was so profound it drove me to introspection. Since The Habitat was established in international waters of the Atlantic Ocean, the United Nations legally is forced to consider us an independent nation, however prior to their dissolution the United States of America vehemently claimed that we were the 51st state of the country despite The Habitat not acknowledging that claim nor paying any federal taxes. Many countries treat us as an independent nation but are of the opinion that we should vassalize to one of the other ‘proper’ nations. In my opinion a century ago there were 23 independent countries in North America, half a century ago there were 15 and this year there are 72. Fracturing and merging of nations happened out of necessity due to rising ocean levels and differing political and social ideologies. The international community at large should reevaluate their opinion on what constitutes a nation due to volatile nature of our world’s geological and political climate before any discussion of sovereignty can take place.”
A Textbook answer derived from extrapolation of possible answers to possible questions based on this year’s curriculum done by yours truly at the start of the term. It pays to be prepared so I can stare at grade school kids run around. No. Stop. Creepy.
“As expected from someone of your pedigree Mr Vaneshan. A very enlightening answer, we all can learn a lot from this.” Mr Walters gives me an approving look. Bless his soul, he was too naive.
“Hmph!” I hear a disapproving snort from beside me and see as Rebecca’s face morphs into a scowl.
I loll onto my desk and whisper “You know, you’d be so much more beautiful if you got that stick out of your ass. Though I can’t blame you I hear anal sex is very pleasing.”
I see her face shocked as crimson rushes up her neck. Before she can answer though…
BRRRINGGG!
The school bell rings and I nestle my head in my arms, not eager to slog it out with the rest of the class to rush out the door.
“Schooling Hours are Over. As per Education Bureau's Guidelines, All Deck Limiters are Removed excepting Parental Controlled Functions. Please Have a Good day.” AiirA chimed in as my tassel bell jingled.
I hear Rebecca’s chair scrape against the floor beside me, showing no indication of being perturbed by my words. Though a whiff of jalapenos and sugar cubes tell me otherwise. Oops, maybe I shouldn’t have been so mean to her, but she’s so fun to tease.
My Deck pings as Ethan sends me a message.
Ethan: Stop sleeping you wanker and come on down, we’re by the tree.
Ryan: Yeah man stop wanking you sleeper. See I’m all edumacated and shit.
Ethan: Fuck you, Ryan.
Rajan: Fuck you, Ryan.
Sighing I get up dragging my chair against the floor, too lazy to make a graceful exit. The sun was low now nearing 5 in the evening. I stare out and admire it and for all my cynicism, watching the Sun setting against a flat blue ocean every day has a sense of wonder as to how far we’ve come as a species.
My steps are lighter now after a full day at school. Exercise and positive reinforcement of my intellectual superiority after a day of lessons I’ve memorised months ago lifts the cloud over my heart of the morning's happenings.
I skip down the empty stairs and deserted hallways with only janitors for company in companionable silence. They committed to their work as to not get fired and me just enjoying some quiet after a day of socializing. It’s a pain being socially apt.
I walk over the perfectly manicured lawn and swerve to the left instead of heading to the parking lot. ‘The Tree’ as we call it was just a pine tree surrounding the school compound. It’s only significance being a permanent reminder that even the best of us were idiots at one point.
When we were 12 Ethan, Ryan and I watched some of my mum’s old Holovids during a sleepover, we marathoned through Oriental Asian Kung Fu flicks, John Claude van Damme B-movies and Chuck Norris classics.
Naturally the next day we decided to test our martial prowess by attempting to run up a tree. Ethan and Ryan went first and failed to find purchase and it was my turn next. Convinced that inadequate speed and lack of momentum was the answer to their failure to walk up trees, I gained some distance and started my sprint, 5 meters to the tree my feet slipped on a wet patch of soil, previously unseen and careened me into the trunk face first. It felt like making out with a truck going at 60 miles/hr. My nose broke and streamed a font of blood all over my designer labelled shirt. My parents had to be called in and needless to say, they were less than pleased.
Once again, I reiterate it was a good lesson to remind us that even the most perfect of beings can folly in their youth.
Nearing the tree, I see Ryan spread on the grass like he’s drawing snow angels only in summer, while curiously Ethan was studying the tree.
Noticing me approach, Ethan’s face lit up while Ryan was still trying to burn a hole in the sky with his stare. Against my better judgement, I ask Ethan what he’s doing.
“Mate you gotta see this, there's a fair resemblance to your face on the tree knot, I’ve read the bark rubbings and the due date’s not far off. Congrats you’re gonna be a daddy! What do you think we should name it?”
Yep definitely regretting it.
I promptly ignore Ethan’s bullshit and walk up to Ryan, my body blocked the sun and stretched a long shadow across him.
Without looking up Ryan said in a reverent voice “Hey dude you know, Mr Walters got me thinking. The world’s been changing at an unbelievable pace, we have Nanomachines in our bodies, an AI that hooks up into our brain and we live on the fucking ocean! Where do you think we’re gonna be when we’re older? Do you think the Europa Terraforming Project is gonna finish then? Or are we gonna find a wormhole? Holy crap dude this shit is deep, I’m scaring myself with my genius here.” He looks at me shocked, genuine or not I can’t tell.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Shaking my head I smile and bend down to offer him an elbow. With a heave, I pull Ryan off the ground.
“That’s the problem with you thinking man, it’s dangerous. First of all who the hell wants to live on Europa? The whole planet is an ocean so it’ll be like living on a Sphere, only colder, with less gravity and fucked up day-night cycles. But I bet the view is bitching and rather than something awesome we’d be lucky if a century from now we’ve not nuked ourselves into the apocalypse.” I replied with good humour. Ryan looks like I kicked his puppy.
“Don’t mind him, Ryan, Rajan’s an eternal pessimist. I’m sure we’ll discover some hot Twi’lek race that’ll need you to be their ambassador to show them our ways. Then we’ll see who has the last laugh!” Ethan slung an arm round Ryan’s shoulder cheering him up.
“It’s not pessimism it’s called being a realist.”
“It’s called being a boring asshole. Let’s be honest Rajan other than shitting on everyone else's dreams what ambitions do you have for yourself? We’re living in one of the greatest ages for humanity and you’re the son of one of the greatest family dynasty ever and you’re a coaster!” Ryan reprimanding hazel eyes bore into me.
I flinch and go quiet. He’s right in a way, I am a coaster. I bet even Drake has a dream of being the best Pyramid Square player or beating the Guinness Record for most protein shakes drunk and here I am unambitious, but no way in hell am I ever going to admit that!
The atmosphere turns a bit awkward after that, Ethan and I have a silence off as we walk towards the parking lot. Ryan keeps looking in between us worried, but it’s a fight we have had a dozen times before and will have again. Sigh.
The manicured lawn gave way to an organo-concrete slab or as it’s misnamed, the parking lot. Unlike our forefathers and some communities on the mainland, The Habitat does not use much land-based transportation, so parking lot was not appropriate, it was more akin to a landing pad for self-piloted Drones hovering above us. But traditions tend to stick around the name landing pad never gained traction and instead, the monicker parking lot became entrenched into our lingo.
Stepping on the parking lot, one of the other seniors shouts “Hey babe, you want a ride on my Vans?” He offered the girl by his side.
“Ughh.” I groan and all three of us stare at each other and just like that the bubble burst.
We start out in giggles but soon reach full blown laughter as people around us stare at us like we’re crazy.
Wiping a tear from his eye Ethan says “Your dad sure has a great naming sense.”
Yes, see those automated passenger Drones in the sky? They’re called Vaneshicles or more colloquially known as Vans. While actually an incredible feat of aeronautical engineering, software programming and some world-changing breakthroughs in renewable energy they had the unfortunate fate of being a product of my father, one Mr Vaneshan and his company, Vaneshan Aerospace, back when he didn’t have shareholders to be beholden to and hence the name Vaneshicle.
And I’ll let you imagine the colourful childhood I had with that.
And so here it comes full circle to me, Rajan Vaneshan a possible heir to the only company with any significant market share in aerial transportation the world over. Filthy rich, envy of all men, star of wet dreams of many women and all I wanna do is shoot the shit with my friends and not think about the future.
I look up as my private drone nears, magnetic propulsion engine blaring with an iridescent violet hue. Sleek and painted steel blue it looks like a late 21st century F-11 Nighthawk Stealth Bomber. Truly the best money can buy, or in this model’s case, money can’t buy, at least not for a civilian.
My Deck chimes almost instantly and the door slides open seamlessly without so much as a hiss. The smell of new leather greets me as I slip in, how Gerome manages to keep it smelling like this is beyond me and surely some secret of the Covenant of Butlerdom. One that I swear to one day uncover.
I turn around and give a mock salute with a click of my tongue to my friends before retiring to the cockpit.
The drone reconfirms my Nanocode and the red light illuminating the interior switches off. It then smoothly cranes into the sky and sets a course for home.
Rajan: Sorry guys. Same story as always security protocol needs to reconfirm my Nanocode to avoid turning the whole Hex into slag.
Ryan: Get me one too!
Ethan: No worries mate and no don’t get the overgrown 8-year-old a Drone capable of levelling Scotland... Catch ya tomorrow in game if you get your stuff sorted. Later.
The perils of being a Quadrillionaire’s son, my after-school activities always came with the assurance of military grade hardware shadowing my every move. Threats of kidnapping, murder and capture arrive at the mansion almost weekly at this point. If you ask me, rather than the monetary gain I suspect various parties are aiming to harvest my seed stock.
Personally, I wish they’d forgo their efforts and just add me on Tinder, would save all of us a lot of trouble.
As I stare out I see the Hex rapidly shrinking in front of me into a green Hexagon. Leaving the Sphere of the Education Bureau I stare out at the 79 other interconnected hexes, each as big as the Isle of Manhattan. These form one of 99 other Spheres that make up the Habitat.
Suddenly feel very very small.
I queried my Deck and the flight home would take 42 minutes 31 seconds. Traffic was unheard of as AiirA automated all transport within The Habitat. I could select from a million Holovids in the database, join a Holochat or play a Hologame but I decided against all that and swipe the console closed. I flip on my workout playlist of experimental Icelandic music losing myself in thoughts as the music fills the ship.
Despite my best efforts, the conversation with Ethan comes back to me. I know he’s right but some part of me just can’t seem to care. As I stare out of the window seeing the blue ocean race by, my eyes grew heavy and I fall asleep drinking in the aroma of new leather.
The justle of the drone shakes me out of my slumber, feeling a wet patch against my neck I claw at it annoyed but still could not find the source. I unwillingly open my eyes and find to my chagrin that I’m drooling. I swipe at a strand of saliva from the corner of my mouth as I chew on my tongue to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth. Evaluating the damp collar of my jacket, I sigh. I must have been more tired than I realised. Looking out the window I see that I am home and take a moment to compose myself. Wouldn’t do to have the local help see their master flustered and unkempt.
Exiting I marvel at the opulence in front of me. My home is a brownstone building so common to 20th Century Manhattan and in that sense, it may even seem humble, but the Vaneshans did things in style. It is not a mere unit but rather the whole 200m block that had been procured. Apparently, holding fond memories for my parents, they airlifted the whole city block, dirt and all onto our hex. The multitude of french windows framed by vine patterned grills reflected the evening sun looking like thousands of shining topaz’s in the orange light, once home to over 20 families, now merely a testament to the power of capitalism.
Despite my chastisement, it was a beautiful, warm home. Rockery framed the main doorway with pink dianthus, purple thyme and aubrieta with geometrically pleasing sempervivum interspersed under stone cherubs. I breathe in and revel in the sight and scents.
Finally, I turn to Gerome in a well-tailored suit pressed to perfection, his greying hair and a well-groomed full beard only adding to the impression that he was plucked out of a Butlers Illustrated magazine, I hear that's a thing in Japan.
“Welcome home, Young Master. The Master has regrettably informed that he won’t be home for dinner tonight.” Gerome says in full professionalism his face a mask but not before I catch him narrowing his eyes upon spotting my damp jacket collar. Damn, thought I got away with that one.
“Very well Gerome, I shall dine with mother tonight.” I say, hiding my disappointment. I walk up to the front door with practised grace as is expected of one of my station, trailed by Gerome and two rows of maids and servants garbed in traditional 1800 English attire, another quirk of mother. Though as I glanced at a blushing maid I have to admit to come to appreciate it.
Opening the door, the house feels empty despite the veritable army of servants already present skulking with clockwork precision to their respective duties around the house. It smelled of quiet marble and incense, the air cool against his skin. Of course, my father isn't home but God forbid if he doesn’t ask one of his many underlings to light an incense daily.
After two measured breaths, I decide it’s time to go see mother. I walk through the empty hall and the servants take that as their queue to be dismissed melding seamlessly into the nooks and crannies like they were born to it. My heels clicked against the marble floor as I turn into the west wing where cold roman stone gave way to warm oriental wood. At the far end of the wing, I stop and run my palm against the wooden grain of a thick-framed wooden panelled door, one I spent much of my childhood just beyond.
I remove my shoes and kowtow once at the door. Rising I grab the cold metal handle, once long ago warm and inviting now distant and repulsive, I steel myself as I press down and lean my weight against the door. It creaks open just loud enough not to be distracting but not quiet enough to be silent, another one of my mother’s quirky demands as to not be surprised. She claims she hates surprises but always pouts when we don't give her one on her birthday.
She’s adorable like that.
I cross the wooden floor and take mother in my hand, she was cold now despite the warm glow of the waning sun.
“Hello mother, today was a good day at school…” I began telling her of Ernest and my thoughts on the matter, praying she isn’t disappointed in my inaction. Then I tell her of my Track training and how good I am getting hoping she’d be proud of me. And I finish by apologizing for being mean to Rebecca Rachmore, I know how much mother despises misogynism.
And I tell her how much I miss her with every beating of my heart.
My hand slips from her urn and I light an incense stick placing it to mother’s left opposite the one lit by father. I slip to my knees and give a deep formal kowtow, arms crossed with each palm spread eagle on each breast. My breath catches in my throat as I choke back tears.
I raise my head to stare at her photo through blurry eyes. There was a mousy-looking fair skinned woman more cute than beautiful with curly brown hair, heart-shaped face, well-sculpted eyebrows and a beaming smile. Her eyes were brown, the same shade of my own, only the crows feet crinkling at the sides betraying her age. We also shared the same aquiline nose, though hers was perfect and mine slightly crooked telling the tale of a misspent youth.
My eyes trace the engraving on her urn.
‘Here lies Athena Duvall-Vaneshan beloved mother, sister and daughter, 2121 - 2176’.
Yes if you’re wondering, that Duvall. I am the grandson of Roderick Duvall, The Sphere Builder, The Saviour of Humanity, The Most Powerful Man in the World...
and also, the man who killed my mother.