The black and gray Krystal 72 Lincoln limousine pulled to a slowing halt outside the palatial, contemporary estate. A noticeable contrast to the surrounding environment given that the neighboring houses existed since early the previous century. The relative cool of this morning came as a welcomed relief to those that resided just north of Country Music, U.S.A. after the monotonous mini heat wave that gripped the area for the past week.
The driver’s door opened as the entry driveway electronic gate clanged to a close some hundred yards back. The gentleman, whose true age would prove hard for anyone to divine but dressed in a durable utilitarian black suit, stepped into the morning light. He assumed a stance of alert vigilance beside the vehicle as its door slowly shut and latched. He stood patiently. At that moment two thin but obviously healthy Doberman Pinchers silently rounded the far corner of the house in full stride. They did not bark but one would not misread the intent in their eyes. Suddenly they halted, looked at the Driver for a moment, and turned about.
A series of distinct “pops” fired about the grounds as tiny metallic devices emerged from their subterranean housings. Soon, an even and thoroughly fine shower of water covered the outlying grass – all except where the dogs trotted. Each succeeding emitter would pause as the canines entered their field of fire only to resume as the dogs cleared each area. The Driver leaned back against the limo and unfolded a newspaper he had under his arm as the dogs continued their patrol out of site. Security cameras lined the outlying wall, which stood some twenty feet into the air. Cameras also protruded from the corners of each building, covered the hidden walkways. They kept vigilance 24 hours a day every day.
Five out of seven days each week, sometimes six, the limousine arrived promptly at 5:05 am. Two of those five days, the automatic sprinklers fired at precisely 5:07 am. At 5:10, the entire kitchen came to life: the stove preheated, the coffee pot began to brew, the cleaning bots returned to their stations.
At 5:15 am, an athletic looking bald gentleman with a sharply trimmed goatee emerged from the front door, immaculate in his suit, attaché case gripped firmly in his left hand. He would hop down the steps as the Driver would fold his newspaper, work his way around the car while the rear door opened. The man handed his attaché case to the Driver as he entered the vehicle. The Lincoln sped off no later than 5:17 am. At 5:20 am, the house intercom system sounded soft music throughout the dwelling, the blinds withdrew and the tint that shaded the main windows began to fade permitting sunlight to enter. A small staff moved into action, grabbing this, moving that – breakfast only moments away.
Twice weekly the landscaping bots came to life. They trimmed bushes, mowed grass, serviced the pool. Every morning the main fountain sprang to life and an American Flag came to rise up the one hundred foot pole that rested squarely in the center of the front lawn, its thirteen red and white stripes and fifty-two stars on a field of blue shining in the sun’s light.
Richard Daniel Holst groaned as he pulled a pillow over his head, the music playing throughout his room. He rolled over, pushing sheets of paper that littered his bed off onto the floor. Paper also blanketed his desk and dresser, spotted with newspaper clippings, magazine articles and hand written notes.
“Woa!” Richard exclaimed. He had run out of mattress and now lied on top of the paper he just inadvertently tossed to the floor.
“Are you alright sir?” A distinctly artificial female voice asked, interrupting the music.
“It must be the first day of school,” Richard muttered to himself. “I’m fine Mother,” he then said forcefully as he struggled to remove himself from the bed sheet that now wrapped his legs. “Oh Jesus Christ,” he snapped, kicking wildly. Once freed, he leaped-up, reached down, wadding the bed sheet in overly exaggerated arm motions and faux anger and threw it down on the bed. “Don’t get-up,” he hissed, pointing at it.
He had stayed-up far too long last night. Then again, he wanted this day to mark a perfect beginning and that meant preparation, so he dotted all the i’s and crossed the t’s. Richard walked over to his main window and the blinds withdrew revealing the rear grounds. He gazed across the second largest Estate in Hendersonville though his thoughts lied elsewhere. He ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair.
He had always taken his lifestyle for granted; he simply assumed everyone lived this way. As he grew older, however, he started noticing that his life was, shall we say, somewhat unique. Not everyone had “estates” nor servants or bodyguards. He then became aware of just how hard his father worked to build the company. This labor had tested his parents’ marriage; it had tested the family; it had at times tested their entire lives, but it held together – just like his father’s company, it held together.
Richard turned back to his room and collected the papers strewn about the floor. After placing them on his desk, he slid on a dark robe and headed down the long highway his bare feet slapping the marble. He hopped down the main staircase, ignoring the family portraits that adorned the massive curved wall. He proceeded across the main lobby and through the short entry hallway. He knocked on the suit of armor that stood at the hallway’s end with a couple of rapid taps as he passed it and then moved briskly across the great room into the kitchen.
He nodded to the staff as he entered, pausing only to grab his cup of coffee. “Cream. Sugar,” he said and watched as they dispensed into the cup. He then turned to the television in the far wall, interested, at least somewhat, in the news. It showed a view of what appeared to be highlights from a recent Congressional debate. The streaming text indicated a full docket revolving around international aid: the United Earth Oceans Organization’s current Secretary General had just suffered impeachment, and now the UEO’s founding members (United States, Canada, United Kingdom, and France) appeared to question the purpose and effectiveness; the International Lunar Finance Commission had just declared completion of the Plato crater moon base, coined “Alpha” though it was the second lunar facility built, and turned operations over to the World Space Commission. The United States Astronautics Agency’s own Clavius crater base reported the successful testing of the final Ares booster in the CLV development program, which now marks the official beginning of the Mars Capricorn Program.
Richard took a sip of his coffee, a nasty habit he had picked-up from his father who drank the stuff like water. He could not, however, bring himself to drink it black. He found the news topics fortuitous, since his father’s company had several dealings in the aerospace industry. A beep from one of the myriad of devices in the kitchen intruded. He had stopped longer than he intended and now headed for his father’s study. He walked to the rear of the room to an inconspicuous keypad located by a door sandwiched between two enormous bookshelves. After keying the combination he entered the dark room after the door slid aside.
It closed and a noticeable hum remained. Almost immediately, a series of lights began to illuminate, imbedded in the walls -- hundreds, thousands of tiny little stars came to life. The room stood no larger than ten feet in every direction, octagonal with walls angled at both the ceiling and floor. They reflected solid white, looking almost like a padded cell with each light serving as a button. A singular overhead light snapped on, shining directly on a lone computer console resting in the room’s center. It had an old styled keyboard and practically ancient monochrome monitor. Richard sat and began to type. Good Morning Mother.
His father’s company bought the prototype mainframe from a British competitor, Weyland Industries, just prior to its merger with the Japanese corporation Yutani. The computer yielded interesting fruit his father would joke as he had it installed in the house. Bulky, difficult to cool, and designed to run a space station, Weyland pulled the plug before President Santos had announced the Ares program.
“Let’s see,” Richard said absently to himself as he set down his coffee mug. He typed some more. Connect CS Hawkins Terminal 1.
Interface 2067 Ready for Inquiry.
Tai Pan.
Access student class schedule. Junior.
At times he still found it hard to believe that the title had become his the past summer, even though he felt strongly that he had indeed earned the privilege to take the reigns – despite the criticism he remained but a legacy. Yes, his brother had run the O successfully for two years, but, after the secret ballot, no doubts should have remained with anyone. His brother smiled as he handed Richard the ring, then, true to form, rubbed the top of his head furiously. Every Tai Pan must nominate a sophomore his senior year, groom him (or her), offer the ballot by spring break, and then resign upon graduation. Richard wasted no time: he applied himself to the task from the moment he placed the ring upon his finger. His brother raised an eyebrow, when Richard immediately rescinded the call for a special election to fill the fourth seat of the circle – a seat left vacant upon the accidental death of its member. Richard would fill the seat himself, as was his prerogative now crowned the new Tai Pan.
For the second time in the O’s history, it faced a school year without a full officer’s corps. In addition, he hadn’t made clear contact within the Knox Doss or Klein Forest provinces – not to mention they had yet to make inroads with the city’s newest high school Hendersonville High. Curious, the city had existed for over two centuries yet did not have a “central” high school until last year. Busy times ahead, it seems.
“No, no, no,” Richard said as he shook his head. “That will not do. That will not do at all.” He sat upright and typed with more force this time. No one’s schedule matched.
One item, however, seemed to haunt his expectations: the stabbing during last year’s great Hawkins / Knox Doss football game. It indicated, at least to a select few, a much broader scope of events with farther reaching consequences than appreciated. Richard’s brother used inordinate resources to follow the various leads, indicators, rumors to no avail. No one would listen to a kid, and the specter still remained.
End of Line.
”Thank-you Mother,” he quipped as he grabbed his coffee and exited the alcove. All of his officers shared second, fourth periods, lunch and breaks together – more for convenience than outright necessity but something Richard wanted nonetheless.
“Lights,” he barked as he entered his bathroom, dropping his robe. “Water, Hot,” he added as the room came to life. “It’s going to be a great year,” he tried to convince himself as he dropped his pajama pants and jumped into the shower.
“JESUS CHRIST MOTHER!”
It was cold. No, it was beyond cold.
“It has got to be the first day of school,” he stammered leaping back out. “I said hot, Mother.”
“Adjusting.”
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