Strange Bedfellows
The cool darkness had not yet given up its nightlong grip as the echoes of Racheal’s boots clicked through Rome’s empty streets. Rome. The name evoked the romance, elegance, and sophistication of an ancient city. Civilization, it seemed to pronounce. There was something incongruous about the city. It was at once an oasis and an oxymoron, an Omni-Tek city that held precious art and culture. It’s parks and fountains were unique on Rubi-Ka, a shrine to aesthetics in a world of harsh pragmatism and grim functionality.
Rome held a strange place in Rubi-Ka’s history. Fate and luck had placed the city on the periphery of the war that had dominated so much of the planet’s history. It remained remarkably untouched by the constant battles that had scarred and battered so many of the other population centers. It was no wonder then, that residents of Rome took a very protective view of their city. Development was rigidly regulated, and change came slowly. The addition of the whom-pah linking the city with Jobe had been controversial, to say the least, and only the economic reality that Rome Green had wholly insufficient foot traffic to support its businesses convinced a slim majority of residents to endorse the construction. Even now, there were petitions to the city’s administrator complaining about the regular parade of undesirable riff-raff that came freely through that dimensional tunnel like an unwanted relative on an unannounced visit.
Standing in the shadows, the lights of the huge gothic towers around her gave a preternatural pallor to Racheal’s already alabaster face. She shared a link to the city. She was a resident, but she was also the undesirable riff-raff, the unwanted relative. The tension of those two ideas was nothing new for Rome. It was founded on tension, between the past and the future, between the beauty of art and the ugliness of industry. It existed in tension, between war and peace, between wealth and poverty, between insularity and cosmopolitanism. Racheal shook her head at the contrasts. It was a wonder at times that the city didn’t simply collapse from its own internal contradictions, imploding under the weight of its own failure to reconcile with itself. Yet here was Rome, immutable, timeless – as much the heir apparent to the wonders, history and mythological grandeur of that ancient city as any place in the universe could still claim to be.
Racheal slipped past a guard sleepily wending his way through the city’s deserted streets. In another hour, the dawn would advance on the city and mercilessly burn away the night; life would return to every corner in a flurry as the engines of commerce and industry strove forward once again and people prowled the streets as they carried out their small roles. Racheal watched the guard stumble away and smiled. Let darkness linger, she thought, let humanity rest and forget its trials for a while longer, blissfully unaware of the ceaseless march of morning towards the horizon.
Racheal arrived finally at one of the towers and slipped silently through the door. The backyard was quiet. A gentle breeze whispered past, the cool air caressing her face and she closed her eyes, accepting nature’s final cool kiss before the heat of day set up its occupation. Already a red, warning glow was visible along the city’s skyline. With a sigh, Racheal pushed aside billowing fabric of her cloak, reached into a pocket at her belt and drew out a door key. In a single deft motion, she pushed up off the ground and gravity seemed momentarily to release it’s hold as she sailed over the railing to a line of apartments. Her door groaned with the reluctance of disuse but finally yielded and opened, and Racheal was home.
The studio was small, little more than a single room, yet the ceiling’s fluorescent lights, awakened from their long dormancy, struggled to illuminate the space. Dust covered the floor and the few scattered items left behind in the rush to escape. Here and there were traces of others come and gone – Omni-Pol, Omni InternOps and God-only-knew who else, all come looking for clues to the roots of their loyal employee’s treason. All had left disappointed, empty-handed and, perhaps, confused. Racheal herself felt that way sometimes, thinking back at the events of her departure, wondering at the miracle of her escape, the friends made and lost, the doors closed forever.
The past was behind now and the future, looming large and searing hot like the dawn was approaching faster than Racheal wanted. At last she found what she was looking for. It was a photograph, dusty, the frame damaged and the glass that had protected it broken. The young man in the picture smiled broadly and openly, maybe a little arrogantly, as if to challenge a future he knew was coming but didn’t fear. He wore the sharp uniform of a newly pressed Omni-Tek employee and Racheal was struck once again by the limitless potential that seemed to radiate from him. A tear ran down her cheek, but she brushed it aside and tried to smile.
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. I’ve found a new place for us. Maybe we can call it home...for a while.”
Racheal gently removed the photograph from its shattered frame and brushed a bit of dust away with a gloved finger. She tucked the picture carefully away and walked out of the room.
