Chapter 2 – Desiderium
January 13th, 2552 - (12:09 Hours - Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Eposz, New Alexandria
Csillagos éj Hotel
:********:
Even though her husband was an ODST, and a veteran at that, Erica found it hard not to envy his job. It was risky and full of trouble. However, it certainly wasn't boring, unlike her current board meeting.
Despite the chatter, most of her attention was directed towards the sheen of the mahogany table that spanned the length of the conference room. The wider conversation of the dozen or so associates sitting around her was far from her mind. The same went for the dozens more on the screen projecting above the end of the table.
She occasionally snuck glances out the room's glass walls. Outside, the numerous skyscrapers of New Alexandria sparkled in the noon-light of Epsilon Eridani like a city of white gems. The low altitude clouds brought in by the south winds had covered the lower areas, shrouding them in an air of mystique.
It was mysterious to anyone who knew no better. She knew well enough what lay beneath those clouds: traffic. Lots and lots of noontime traffic. Things probably were not anywhere near as bad as they would be later. Evening was when everything tended to calm down. It was one of the reasons she was thankful for her job, one that kept her busy so long that she could only leave in the evening. The downside was that it kept her from leaving at any time before, even long after those further down the job scale went home.
She lay her head in her hands and fought to keep her eyes open. The only times she found anything interesting enough to keep her awake was when she observed the skyline. When she wondered what it would be like to fall through the clouds in an HEV pod. Hot probably. Maybe cramped? She would be screaming, that was for sure. Things would definitely be less dull than they were nowadays.
"Mrs. Iris?"
She stared out at the city.
"Mrs. Iris?"
Erica snapped out of her imaginations and found the eyes of the entire board meeting centered on her. They were men and women dressed in suits like herself though more alert. She honed in on the speaker, the one at the head of the table. He was a tall man with slicked hair and attentive eyes. Such features contrasted against the thick beard that stole away half his face. Adam Schaefer, a representative of the largest stakeholders in the Csillagos éj hotel line on Reach. To everyone else in the room, he was functionally the representative of the Gods. To her, he was her boss. Her mildly impatient, easily aggravated boss.
Schaefer raised a questioning brow. "Are you with us, Mrs. Iris?"
Erica nodded, and murmured; "When am I not?"
"What was that?"
"I'm listening, Mr. Schaefer."
"Thank you." Schaefer pointed back to the holographic presentation projected side by side with the conference call. Illustrations of bar graphs and pie charts organized by dates, percentage increases and decreases comprised the whole of the display.
"Back to what I was saying, the last topic for today is the demographic targeting of our customer base, or rather its failure. Our reservations are rising across the planet much to the good work of everyone in this room and on this call. The main hotbed seems to be here in Eposz. However, we're still not getting our preferred patrons." He waved a hand and new graphs appeared, displaying a general upward trend overlaid upon a downward trend. "More than 98% of our customers earn incomes between 50,000 to 150,000 credits. Basically, middle class. That's not a problem in itself but what it shows is a massive discrepancy. It shows that our marketing model might be too highly skewed towards the middle of the road. Less than 2% of our clientele are in the upper 1% of income owners we're aiming for. That's down from 3% last year. If we lose out on our main patrons, we run the risk of falling to second place behind the High Octavia line. Or worse, we go the route of Reach hotels during the Insurrection or following the start of the most recent war. That's not what we need folks. We need to show that we're open to everyone, not just the middleman but the topman as well. And-"
"What about the bottom man?" The question came from none other than Erica herself and drew eyes her way.
"Pardon?"
"What about the man at the bottom? That's how everyone starts, right? We're focusing a lot on amenities for those who can afford it and then sum, but what about the ones who can't? The ones who are working here for salaries not even on par with the work they do. Couldn't they use the hand-up as well?"
"Mrs. Iris." Schaefer coughed. "This is a bit of a deviation from our topics for today, don't you think?"
"I'm only bringing it up because it's something that doesn't get talked about otherwise."
The air between the two intensified as they engaged in a silent contest of wills, a stare-down.
"Are you...being held hostage by unionizing workers, Mrs. Iris?"
"No, sir. Yet as a manager, it's my place to take care of the people who are too busy taking care of others. I apologize for disrupting the flow of your presentation. However, it needs to be addressed that the company's fixed salary system is sadly subpar. People who are putting in the extra work, people I work with, are barely able to get by on what they earn. They're willing to work harder and longer. Many of them already do. Yet they're getting disheartened. They don't like that, no matter what they do, they're going to get paid the same as someone with the same job who barely does anything at all. We need to show them that we appreciate what they do for us."
The air in the room was growing colder than the AC flowing from the ceiling vents. The expressions of her associates changed from mild intrigue to a range of shock, pretended horror and quiet approval.
Schaefer exhibited more impatience than shock or horror. "That is not the place of a single hotel manager to decide."
"No, but it seems I've found a consensus." She looked around to those who nodded in agreement.
Anger boiled behind Schaefer's gaze. "It isn't the place of hotel managers to decide that, period."
"Then make it our place. Give the authority to the people actually working on the ground. That way, we won't risk running this company into it."
"What? What're you-"
"What I'm saying, sir, is that if we're to increase the profitability of our hotel line, we need to also increase the amount going into our employees' bank accounts. Believe me when I say the last thing an employee should ever see is their company skyrocketing while they're still struggling to get by. In my experience, that tends to lead to three things stakeholders don't like to see: disillusioned workers, proselytizing unions and rival firms opening their doors to the mass exodus of talent about to follow. These go hand in hand. You want to avoid that, right? Well, sadly a lot of them are already disillusioned. If you want to maintain their loyalty and not see a huge number jump ship to High Octavia, I'd suggest a few things. Namely, an introduction of open-door management policies along with a reintroduction of competitive pay and benefits..."
"I-"
"Regardless of position. That way we make work seem more hospitable, kill the unions in the crib and stay ahead of our competitors. Anything less and our success will be our downfall...sir."
Schaefer, hands on his hips, sized her up. She refused to back down, calmly awaiting his answer.
"I find it strange that someone with your background, Mrs. Iris, is such a champion of the workers. Might I remind you of that background and the strings attached to it. Might I also remind you that those strings can be cut if they become an entanglement for our stakeholders?"
Erica felt a vein pulse at her temple. The comment, a threat veiled beneath an insult, struck a nerve. Her mouth slipped out of her control and she found herself speaking her mind fully. "If they wanted to fire me, they could have cut the cord years ago. They haven't. Want to know why that is?"
"Please, enlighten me."
"Because they need me. People like me who are on this board, doing our best to make sure everyone's taken care of on our side, all while trying to make money for people whose faces we barely get to see. That's why they haven't cut the cord."
Schaefer's stare turned to a hardened glare. "You seem a bit too comfortable for your own good, Mrs. Iris. That comment was uncalled for."
With an impudent smile, Erica shrugged. "Military brat, remember. It comes naturally to me."
"And one would think that would make you more compliant."
"Respectfully, sir, one would think wrong."
Schaefer's eye twitched. He forcefully oriented himself back to the presentation. "Back to what I was saying, we'll need to do more to prioritize offers to the highest bidders. Penthouses, private pools, diners and other accommodations are a must for upgrading. You've been authorized to develop and improve on these parts of your hotels. We're aiming to raise the number of top-earner clientele to 5% by the end of the fiscal year. Those are our markers people. Hit them with all you've got. That'll be all."
The gathering of hotel managers arose from their seats.
"And Mrs. Iris?"
Everyone stopped.
"Yes?" Erica asked, undaunted.
Schaefer looked increasingly uncomfortable. "I'll...bring your recommendations to the Board of Directors. We'll say what they say."
For the first time since the meeting began, she smiled. "Thank you."
:********:
As Schaefer mercifully released them, Erica managed to escape in time to evade his scrutiny. She wanted to avoid getting trapped in one of his talks about respect for one's superiors. For her, respect was a two-way street. Until the Board of Directors was interested in walking the other way, she was content to pay them the same non-courtesy.
While her fellow managers departed for their personal transports on her hotel's executive landing pad, she found one of the stairwells and commenced the long journey down.
The day's tasks came to mind. First of all was the main event later in the evening: the Kabord-AMG project exposé. Having been in the reservations for the last two years, the conference was going to unveil the results of the initiative between the two titans of industry.
AMG Transport Dynamics, the Luna based vehicle manufacturing giant almost entirely reserved to the UNSC, was now dipping its toes back into civilian manufacturing. She sensed the upper management in Crisium city were trying to retake the foothold they had left behind in the free-market. They all but abandoned their prized place among the top private production entities when they started taking more government contracts for the war. They probably suspected that it would be over soon, one way or another. So they would get ahead of the industrial bust period that always followed on the heels of a conflict. But as she descended the stairs, the thought of it made her shake her head. Not just at AMG but also at Kabord.
Kabord was their competitor in those same free markets. And here they were trying to get back into it by using them as a partner. However, Kabord wasn't in as strong a position as the news was suggesting. Following what happened on Ballast, she suspected the Vallejo-based company was now dispersed across several systems. There was no telling what that dispersion would do to their organization over time, if there was any time left.
In some ways the partnership was smart. Both companies were in dire straits in the long-term. One was dependent on a war that was soon to end. Another was potentially facing involuntary dissolution, death by a thousand disorganized cuts, because of that same war.
This little conference was practical, and at the same time it didn't really make any sense at all. Not to someone who was paying attention.
The stairwell, one of many, offered views of the cityscape through windows set above each landing. She stopped at one to catch a glimpse of the outside.
The southern winds had finally shifted east, lifting the veil of mist from New Alexandria. The lower levels were rediscovered by the rays of Epsilon Eridani. The veins of its streets pulsed with cars, vans, jeeps and public transports. The commuting masses flowed along the sidewalks. Traffic stopped, allowing those on foot to cross before the arrival of the green light, heralding another flux of people into another chamber of the city. Another heartbeat.
The streets were deceptively calm. The mist always hid how hectic they could be during the early rush hour. Around then, Alexandria was a city in cardiac arrest. A mess that Erica ritualistically struggled through on her way to work. Things only calmed down once most others reached theirs, making those she saw below the last dregs of a regular clog.
For a moment, she wondered how many of them knew. She wondered if even what she knew was anything at all compared to what was actually going on out there. Then her eyes betrayed her and she turned skyward.
There was nothing there. Nothing other than clouds coasting along a sea of blue. Why then had she expected to see anything different from what was always there? Yet every so often she thought she saw something new. It was usually a bird or a distant ship on its way to the starport.
Still, she wondered...
A small fire ignited in her gut. She breathed in to extinguish it, exhaling her worries. Doing what every colonist had to these days, she redoubled her determination to keep her eyes on the ground. Or more accurately, as far away from the sky as her sanity would permit.
She continued her trek to Floor 71, a section closer to the middle of the hotel. She hoped the housekeeping department were finished with the preparations she requested. That would be one less thing on her plate. The only job left at that point would be making her final checks. Everything needed to run smoothly. For such a huge event, the press was bound to get involved, putting not only her reputation but that of the entire brand on the line. Not that she wasn't used to it.
When she came here years ago, she landed a job as a receptionist. While she applied, her father helped maneuver in the background to get her from Sol to Epsilon Eridani. After that, he promised her he would do nothing else for her...because she made him promise. Everywhere else she went was of her own merit, something Schaefer would probably disagree with but was nonetheless true. She earned her promotions. With the gradual changes came a gradual need for thicker skin, especially in the shark tank of upper management she found herself swimming in. More level-headedness was required for the promotions that took her closer to the top. It kept her balanced since becoming the hotel manager. Two years on and she was going strong, or so her supervisees told her. Superiors like Schaefer were much more divided on the topic. The cause of their doubt in her was her dissent. The cause of her dissent was her doubt in them: a vicious cycle.
Regardless, she needed to get her work done for all their sakes.
Her legs were growing tired from the perpetual steps. She could have very well taken the elevator if she wanted. Then again, she preferred to walk. It was the closest thing she had to exercise when she wasn't bound behind her desk.
She passed a handful of familiar and unfamiliar faces on the way down. The former were usually hotel maids. Dressed in their black and white uniforms, the attendants also sported smiles whenever they saw her coming. They were the genuine kind, not the ones they wore towards hotel clientele 24/7. It made her feel that much better knowing it was real, as it was from the clients who spotted her. The beige suit she wore was enough to distinguish her rank and they respected it, nodding off or saying good afternoon as they stepped by. Courtesy for the woman who devoted almost every day of her life to making sure they enjoyed theirs at the Csillagos éj.
Finally, she found the door she was looking for. The painted number '71' on its face was reassuring. She had descended nearly an equal number of stories just to grasp the handle. She slipped inside.
The first thing to greet her was the scent of lavender. It wasn't too overbearing or too faint, just right to catch the delicate sensibilities of a stealthy hotel connoisseur. The same applied to the overall aesthetic of the corridor in which she walked. The floor, carpeted from end to end, followed a lightly browned floral pattern with interweaving vines, providing a sense of decorum. From the smooth walls of coffee-brown plaster to the darker rosewood of the individual room doors, everything here she had requested for every other hallway in the hotel. It was an expensive renovation compared to what came before but it ultimately paid off in the travel reviews.
She moved under the light of the glass chandeliers towards an open intersection. She could see that the doors to the banquet hall were right ahead.
Before she crossed over, she heard a scream. The sound stopped her cold. She turned down the passage on her left.
A ways down the corridor there was an open door. A supply cart packed with bedsheets and cleaning supplies lay unattended. There was someone standing just past the threshold. A thick sludge was draining down from them to the floor, joining a pool of the fluid seeping from a fallen bucket.
Suspicion and irritation drew her over. A dozen quick strides felt like an instant for her as she rounded on the door.
Standing there was one of her maids, Ms. Turner. She was about a decade ahead of Erica, but could be mistaken for twice that thanks to the numerous strands of silver running through her hair, not that anyone could see them. The baptism of dark brown sludge that covered her from head to toe made sure of that.
Ms. Turner fell on her hands and knees, a towel in either hand, and immediately tried to wipe up the squalor.
"Hey, you alright?" Erica asked as she came in. She stopped to keep her high heels away from the sludge.
Ms. Turner stuttered through each swipe of the towels. "Mrs. Iris, I-, I'm so sorry, I-, I didn't know. I didn't see it in time."
Erica pulled off her heels and lay them aside. "Didn't see wha-?" She remembered the bucket. Her attention shifted to the room door; a kind that hinged inward. The perfect setup for a precariously placed bucket.
She scrutinized the angle from which it had to have fallen. "When you arrived, was the door already open?"
"Just a crack, yes."
Erica nodded. She tiptoed around the sludge, picked up the bucket and examined it. It was relatively light. She imagined it wouldn't be too heavy with the liquid inside either.
Light enough even for a couple of kids to lift.
She sniffed it. The sharp odor of bleach mixed with water and other cleaning chemicals stung her nose. So did the faint scent of the artificial coloring liquid, something added for the nasty effect.
Thank God. It wasn't what she thought, but was it who she thought?
Then a giggle.
It was quick but not so quick for her not to notice where it came from. She singled out one of the ceiling vents on the far side of the room. There was a slapping sound, a hand clasping a mouth.
Erica sighed, shaking her head as only a disappointed mother could.
She went further in, maneuvering through a pair of king-sized beds left unmade after their most recent occupants had checked out. She reached the point where the floor shifted from tile to carpet. Almost confirming her theory, she noticed the shallow impressions of shoeprints left in the soft surface. Three distinct pairs all pointed in the direction of a vent near the center of the ceiling. The same one she heard the giggling from.
At least they hadn't tracked any dirt inside.
"Mrs. Iris?" Ms. Turner called.
Erica held up a finger. She halted short of the vent. A nearby desk was close enough for a trio of adventurous boys to leap onto, but not to get back into the ceiling. That height would be too much for them. And there were no signs of prints on the surface. So how had they gotten down? In any event, she needed to get up.
Erica grabbed hold of the desk and pulled. She drew it directly beneath the vent. She climbed on top, took out her personal key-ring and aimed the sharpest key for the first of four screws. Only it was already loose. Far too loose to have been professionally secured. She smirked at the hack-job her culprits had left behind. They were less thorough than usual.
She undid the last screws and pocketed them. As she did, she heard a panicked gasp on the other side. She pulled down the vent and poked her head in.
Amidst the shadows of galvanized steel, she spotted a cluster of silhouettes, big enough altogether to be a man but fidgeting too much to be a single person. She turned on the flashlight on her key-ring.
Three pairs of eyes stared back: two ashamed browns, one unrepentant light green. She honed in on the latter. Those were her eyes. She knew that bright, toothy and unashamed smile of his. It was his father's smile. Despite the dirt falling into his dark hair, it was still somehow just as curly as it was when she finished washing it the other night.
She stared, unamused. "Noah."
Noah's smile deepened. "Mom."
She glanced at the boys on his left and right. "Daniel, Tommy."
Both returned shaky smiles. "Mrs. Iris."
She nodded and pointed down. She slid her head out, allowing the first boy, Daniel, to crawl towards the exit. Helping him down onto the desk, he hopped onto the floor and quickly turned for the door. Except Ms. Turner stood in his way, arms crossed, face still dripping with sludge. He let out a nervous laugh.
Tommy came down next. He made no moves to escape once he hit the floor. His timidity got the better of him and he stayed put, looking anxiously between Ms. Turner and Erica.
Noah was the last to come down. She helped him out of the vent only to keep him in the air, holding him up in front of her by his underarms. For a healthy seven-year-old, he was still light enough for her to pick-up and carry around, though he didn't like it as much as he used to. His face flushed red.
"Mom, you could put me down now." He whispered, wiggling his feet, eyeing his friends.
She kept him there, intent on wiping the smirk off his face. It took a few more seconds for him to finally give up. With a sigh, he relented. "I'm sorry."
Erica put him down next to his friends. He was the shortest of them, a few centimeters shy of Tommy and twice that to Daniel. They were both a year older than him after all so it was to be expected.
"I'm not the one you dumped sludge on." She pointed to Ms. Turner. "I believe you three owe her an apology."
The troublesome trio turned their full attention to the other adult in the room. Ms. Turner looked less than impressed with them. Each gave his apology, Daniel reluctantly, Tommy abashedly, Noah neutrally.
"Sorry, Ms. Turner."
"And?" Erica pressed.
"We won't do it again."
"Probably anyway." Daniel quipped, earning him an elbow to the ribs from Noah.
Erica stepped down and pushed the desk back into place. Rounding on the boys, she caught sight of an object that Daniel held behind his back.
"What you got there, Dan?"
Daniel flinched and tried hiding it more. Too late. Erica got behind him and pulled free from his grasp a bundle of rope.
"How'd you get this?"
He shrugged. "I found it."
She arched a brow. "Where?"
"Ugh, well, the janitor's closet."
"Floor?"
"This one."
"Good." She bunched it up. That explained how they managed to climb down. "Now how did you boys know where to go this time?"
"Oh." Tommy piped up, whipping out a small notebook. He held out a page for her to see. Written all over it was a diagram. An extensive one at that, one that captured the layout of a complex maze. "It's the vents. I drew them myself. It's of the whole floor."
She nodded. "Can I see that?"
"Sure." He handed it over against the palpable frustration of the other two.
She ripped out the page, tore it to pieces over a trash bin then gave back the notebook. By then, Noah and Daniel were staring down their third member. Tommy, horrified at his mistake, avoided their eyes.
Having torn out the page she needed; she noticed a dozen double-digit addition questions on the one behind it. That reminded her. She checked her watch. It was well past noon.
"Come with me boys. I'll take you back to school." She turned to Ms. Turner. "I'm so sorry about this."
"It's no problem, Mrs. Iris. I can handle it. I might need some back-up though."
"No worries. I'll send someone."
Erica slipped back into her heels and ushered the boys out into the corridor, leaving Ms. Turner behind to clean up their mess. That fact irritated her. She would have left them to clean it up themselves were it not for the time.
The three of them trailed behind her. She always kept them in sight, warning them to hurry up whenever she saw them trying to saunter.
They righted down the passageway she came from and beelined for the elevator at the very end.
"By the way, who made the sludge?" She asked.
No one answered. While she already knew who, she wanted him to admit it outright.
After a moment, Noah spoke up, sounding reluctant. "Me."
"Mhm, and where'd you get the cleaning stuff you used for it?"
Several seconds of reluctant silence passed before he answered: "I took them from home."
Erica peered over her shoulder to catch him in her gaze. He stiffened at her anger and looked away.
"Mind telling me where they are now?"
"...Still in my bag back at school."
Reluctance turned to the first inklings of genuine shame on her son's face. Her anger subsided. "I don't have any time right now to get them out so I'm going to trust you to do the right thing and bring them back home, without doing anything else with them. Do you understand me?"
"...Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes mam."
"Good."
The rest of the journey to the elevator went in a silence that followed them down to the hotel's 60th floor. Just past the middle floors, the Csillagos éj became a livelier place. The bulk of customer reservations were cashed in at the lower floors. The higher the room, the more luxurious the space, the higher the price. They passed through corridors filled with residents moving here and there, checking in or out of their rooms, suitcases always in hand or rolling just behind their heels. Everyone paid her a courteous comment, a good morning or a curt nod. She made sure to return the gestures whenever possible. Courtesy was her policy. Yet there were so many people that she could hardly help missing a few. Plus, she was on a tight schedule, especially thanks to the boys.
They reached an open lobby area, a central concourse connecting the other corridors on Floor 60 to the heart of the hotel. While not the main atrium, its central location just so happened to make it the perfect place for a school.
A set of tall, tinted glass doors lay on the wall opposite the way they came in. A decorative obsidian mantle framed them. Above the frame was a sign made of the same material but sparkling for its namesake: 'Starry Night Elementary'.
The walls of the school, at least the outer walls, also happened to be glass. One could easily see several classes of dozens of children each. They were either focusing on their teacher as they taught from projected learning boards or busying themselves with personal learning programs that hovered over their desks. A few turned to watch the group approaching the entrance.
Erica casually hailed the two security guards standing at the doors, mostly to calm one of them down. "Morning Chuck, Hailey, enjoying your shift?"
Chuck, a brawny security veteran, held up his hands defensively. "So sorry mam, so-so sorry. Where'd you-, where'd you-, um..."
The woman on the other side of the entrance, Hailey, was slenderer than her partner but armed with the seriousness that betrayed her status as a former Marine. She tapped her ear piece. "This is Gate-control to Patrol Team, Mrs. Iris is bringing them in. Come on back." She examined them. "Sorry we lost these three, boss, but where did you find them?"
"In a vent, dumping less than savory fluids on some less than deserving people." Erica shot the three a look.
Chuck took Daniel and Tommy by the shoulders. "Again, so-so sorry about that, Mrs. Iris. We'll be sure to get them back to class ASAP."
"Relax, it's no problem. But by all means. Oh, and Daniel, Tommy, I'm going to have a chat with your parents about this later."
The two shivered a bit as Chuck guided them towards the doors. They automatically opened and the three disappeared inside.
Erica held onto the last one. "Noah Iris?"
"Noah Eric Iris." He corrected.
"Pardon?"
"You always say the whole thing when you're mad at me."
"...So you want me to be mad at you?"
"Aren't you already?"
"No." She clasped his shoulders. "I'm disappointed. Which is why I'm going to need to talk to you when we get back home, okay Noah 'Eric' Iris?"
"...Okay."
"Alright, go on, get to class."
Noah headed inside. Erica turned to leave. A realization crossed her mind. She had forgotten to ask the boys exactly how they got out of the school this time. She looked back.
Noah was looking back as well, having stopped at the threshold. Only there wasn't any of the shame or jokiness in his eyes that she saw before. There was something hidden within them, a strange heaviness.
Her question got lost in the back of her mind.
At length, Noah turned away and carried on inside.
Erica stood in place a while longer. She was almost tempted to go in and ask him what was wrong. Remembering that she had somewhere to be swiped away that idea. And yet something deep down told her to stay. She ignored it and strode into a nearby corridor. There would be time to deal with it later. There would be time to ask.
:********:
In a manner of minutes, Floor 71's banquet hall was transformed into an ocean of faces and photographs. In the span of an hour, the conference was in full swing with its main event well underway. Beneath the light of the crystalline chandeliers, the wide-open space below was made into an array of dozens of fully furnished tables. Those who sat at them were men and women of nearly every financial persuasion. So long as that persuasion was clearly in the one-percent. From tuxedoed bankers to fanciful financiers sporting the newest inner colony dress trends, everyone looked to belong in the hall.
Erica counted herself as an exception. Never minding the professionalism of her business suit, she felt it ill-suited for the occasion. There were better things she could have worn. She could have pulled out her asymmetrical dress, or maybe her floral midi, a nice open shoulder or perhaps her red qipao. All she would need then would be to put her hair in a neat bun, slip a pin through it and...
"You look fine to me."
While no one said it out loud, the face her memory brought to mind was no stranger. Duncan said it to her on more than one of their dates in the city. In fact, he loved reminding her of it whenever she asked him the same question in a different way. It was simple. Too simple for her taste. There was virtually no such thing as personal fashion for an ODST so she expected that much from him. All the same, he probably had a point. She did have a habit of overthinking her looks, particularly for occasions like these. So she tried to relax. She tried to settle for what she had now, to be thankful for it, to ignore the thoughts that told her to do otherwise. It was a task made easier by the greater worries rushing to her attention.
Sitting at a round table near the back of the room granted her one of the best views of her surroundings. That also made it the best place to torture herself with every little detail.
Floor 71's banquet hall was a large rectangular space. It was carpeted, filled to bursting with dining tables made of the smoothest wood Reach's forests had to offer. On one of its longer sides lay the main stage. Its elevation gave the guest speakers the best elevation they needed to gauge the crowd and chat them up, to joke and to discuss. Simultaneously, the plentiful news crews on the opposite side of the room were able to get the angles they wanted.
The last half-dozen speakers were mainly mutual fund reps, the top dogs that helped negotiate the relationship between Kabord and AMG. The latest speaker to surrender the mic to the podium was a mutual fund A-lister from Sol, one who mostly joked about how he was critical to the first meetings. He left on the note that they would now get to enjoy the 'bounty' of that deal, with him to thank of course.
While he returned to his seat, Erica checked her watch. She simultaneously observed the waiters and waitresses moving about the tables. She knew them all by name along with their individual speed and proficiencies. Sheila reached Table-4 with the requested platter of margaritas and at least twelve seconds to spare since the initial order, her personal best. Tyler delivered fresh plates of Iberian paella to Table-12 with three seconds to spare, a bit too close for comfort. Three minutes past his deadline and Mike was nowhere to be seen with the dinner order for Table-1. It was the closest to the stage. He was well overdue and it could not have been for a worst table. Its position was intentional. The proximity gave the banquet hall's most important guests the least difficulty in going up to speak. Two couples sat there around whom the entire night revolved.
Asashi Cassowari, CEO and President of AMG Transport Dynamics, was a businessman of Asian descent with a strategizing mind and a quick wit. He was chatting with his wife Hina. They were an easy-going couple. They were laughing even. That was good. They weren't ready to complain yet. Erica took notice of the dark qipao dress on Ms. Cassowari and how good it looked on her. She felt a surge of envy.
"You look fine to me."
Her concern shifted to Yomaris Vista. The CEO and President of Kabord, he was a corporate mastermind proud of his Tunisian heritage, going so far as to wear a golden sash fashioned after the culture. He was looking around, checking his watch. Erica's primary concern was that he might be searching for his food.
At length, Vista leaned over to Cassowari and whispered something. The former nodded and arose.
Erica felt her stomach tense as Cassowari trotted up onto the front stage and took the podium. After a quick tap of the mic, he began: "Good evening all. Hope you're enjoying yourselves at this classy establishment. Don't worry though. I'm not long-winded. I won't go on for an eternity and a half like our last speaker, mainly because I actually want to get to the point."
A few laughs flickered through the audience. Many made jovial glances at the last speaker who readily laughed alongside them.
"First off, on behalf of both myself and Mr. Vista, we'd like to thank our patrons who made all of this possible. Without your investments and faith that we would put them to good use, we would not have been gathered here tonight to celebrate our latest success story. What we've achieved here is thanks to your good will as well as your good credit. And tonight, you will be pleased to know that we are fully prepared to show you the fruits of our labor."
There was a round of applause from the audience.
"But before we do that, I would also like for you to give a round of applause to the Csillagos éj hotel for allowing us to host our project debut right here in New Alexandria." He nodded in Erica's direction. "You sure have prepared a wonderful venue for us tonight, Mrs. Iris, and for all that sweat and toil you have our full gratitude."
Erica was caught off guard by the many eyes and cameras that suddenly turned her way. The thunder of the applause was almost overwhelming. She blushed and waved a humble thanks to Cassowari.
"Now let's get right to it. I know you all came expecting to see it, a recording of our work. A projection of the fleet we've prepared. Sadly, I've come to tell you that we don't have any of that."
The room went quiet. Everyone looked around, confused. Cassowari waited.
The moment of silence was ended when Erica started to hear it; a low thrum.
Engines.
The sound grew louder at a rapid rate. Eyes in the room started turning towards the dome of the ceiling. The sound drew so close that Erica started to panic, thinking something big was about to come crashing through.
Then just as quickly as it began, the commotion ceased.
"No." Cassowari declared, drawing everyone's attention back to himself. "We have something else in mind." He shared a knowing grin with Vista. "Follow me please. Camera crews, feel free."
Cassowari dismounted the stage and headed for a set of exit doors. Ahead of him, they were pushed open by two men of his personal security detail. Vista, his wife and Cassowari's wife followed.
The entire night's festivities quickly boiled down to a game of follow the leader as the venture's patrons looked amongst themselves before getting up. Couples and groups filtered through the tables, commencing a general exodus.
Erica nervously came on the heels of the procession. Questions flooded her thoughts as her guests drained down a long corridor. What were the two business heads planning? When had they planned it? And why had they decided to leave her and the rest of the hotel leadership out of the loop? She didn't like being kept in the dark. However, no answers yielded themselves up yet, forcing her to walk on.
Amidst the curious whispers of the crowd, she eventually got a solid idea of where they were going. She pressed her ear-piece and thumbed the number for the hotel's chief of security.
"Mr. Corseaga? Mr. Corseaga, are you there?"
A raspy male voice replied. "Here mam. Something wrong?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Cassowari and Vista decided to up and leave the hall. Looks like they're leading everyone to the northern pad on Floor 71. Do you have eyes on that location?"
"Sure do, mam."
"And?"
"They've got a starship hovering over it."
Erica gawked at how simply he was able to phrase the unexpected. "And your reason for not telling me about it before this was?"
"Actually, it just showed up. It slipped right out of the sky, cleanest descent I've ever seen. I was about to comm you but you beat me to the punch."
"You're sticking with that explanation?"
"It wouldn't change even in the electric chair mam. However, I wouldn't worry. Like I said, the ship is just hovering over it. It's not actually landed. I think they know it's too big."
That last part worried her. "How big is it?"
"Respectfully, I recommend you see it for yourself. It's a nice ship though."
"Hmph, why spoil the surprise right? Okay, I'll see what they do."
"Roger. My guys will keep eyes-on while you go aboard."
"Yeah, not so sure about that yet." Erica hung up. She focused on covering the last of the distance to the pad. She decided she would need to talk about the disruption in the schedule after everything wrapped up.
The next set of exit doors came within sight. They were being held open by more of Cassowari's security detail.
The gathering slipped out onto the northern landing pad. Customarily reserved well in advance, it seemed someone was taking liberties with the hotel's property.
The night air washed over them in waves. It blew through the dresses of onlookers who clutched them tight, shaking the mobile camera drones that accompanied the media crews.
The air waves vacillated from the rear engines of a starship hovering mere meters overhead. The spacecraft was so close that it blocked out the night sky. Erica had trouble making out its sheer size. Wide at the rear, it narrowed down into a main fuselage that extended well beyond the pad. The entire craft was much like a classic private jet, only enlarged to numerous times its original magnitude. It possessed a sleeker, more aerodynamic body, making it narrower closer to the front than most civilian starships. A new model perhaps?
Beneath the rear wings, she saw a name painted in blocky white letters: 'Haven Airlines'. Cassowari and Vista stopped directly beneath it.
Vista took over. He managed to speak above the constrained scream of the engines. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow us to introduce you to the fruits of our labor." He pointed up. "This is the Mercury-class starship. It's the first of many transports we'll be bringing to the inner colonies this year. We've equipped it with improved translight drives, a wider cargo hold and enlarged passenger sections that will enable it to outperform and out-transport the average airline in the industry. Not only will it help you to reach your summer homes on Beta Gabriel faster, it will help colonial refugees to reach worlds where they can be safe. We've already got a number at the ready with several times as many in production. Not only will we save time but we'll also be saving lives. Your investments have allowed us to accomplish this. And now, we are paying it forward to the people of Earth and all her colonies."
Erica marveled at their creation. The plan made a good deal of sense. Kabord and AMG, two companies on the verge of hard times, were tip-toeing into a market that was once cornered by another corporation: SinoViet Heavy Machinery. Their hands were tied with making frigates for the UNSC, opening the way for such competition as this.
Among the patrons and the media, Erica spotted expressions ranging from sympathy and adoration to satisfaction and intrigue. Vista was hitting all the right buttons for their investors. Altruism mixed with personal interest could make an unbeatable combination.
A groan of hydraulics drew the crowd's collective attention to the midship area. There, a compartment was slowly opening up. A ramp extended down to the ground right behind the two company heads.
"As for stocks, Haven Airline's IPO launch begins in early June." Cassowari proudly declared. "Before that, as our patrons, we will be giving you each a stake proportional to your initial support as promised. You'll be thoroughly compensated I assure you. So, in the meantime," He excitedly clasped his hands. "Who wants to take the first cruise around the city?"
:********:
With the end of the conference, the Csillagos' continued five-star status was in the bag, or so Erica hoped as she helped clean up the banquet hall. It was empty now save for the teams of janitors and waiters sweeping about or removing dirty dishes. Like a sniper, she zoomed in on a gaunt-cheeked waiter with a five-o'clock shadow. Seeing him removing the dishes from Table-1, trying his best not to be noticed, she called out to him.
"Mike."
He shuddered and turned to face her. "Yes mam?"
"Come here please."
"Yes mam."
Mike stumbled over. "I-, i-, is this about Table-1?"
"It's about Table-1. What was with the delay? The most important people in this room needed to be waited on and the one thing I didn't see was you with their dinner. Mind explaining that for me?"
Mike fidgeted with his pockets. "We-, well, you see, um. I didn't...the food wasn't ready in time."
"How? I checked with Mr. Mitchell in the kitchen. He said the food was ready at the expected time, except the waiter wasn't. You were a no-show for a while. Those platters didn't even arrive until everyone got back from the test flight. That's about half an hour unaccounted for."
Mike's fidgeting only increased. It was almost painful to see how awkward he was under pressure.
"You see, I was..." He slowly deflated. "Okay, I was actually on the john. Took me longer than I thought to get back. It was an emergency, I swear."
Erica felt momentarily grossed out at the answer, but she had asked for it. "Alright, understand this. The next time we have high-priority clientele here and you feel the need to let it rip, hold it in until you've done your job. That's what we're paying you top dollar for."
"More like slightly average dollar." Mike murmured. He winced, recognizing his mistake too late. "W-, wait. What I meant to say was-…"
Erica looked him over. "Soon."
"P-, pardon?"
She slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Just help with the clean-up."
"Y-, yes-, yes mam. On it." Mike turned away, red as a tomato. He speedily went over to help a waiter remove the sheet off a table.
The off-handed comment wasn't lost on his boss. Erica knew exactly where it was coming from. Watching the others moving about, tucking in chairs and replacing table sheets, she thought on their exhausted stares. She remembered what it was like to be in their shoes. Time spent in high-heels hadn't made her forget them. She was thankful for it too. It helped keep her grounded enough to ask listening ears for what others wouldn't dare whisper about.
Erica gathered a couple of used plates from Table-5 and piled them up. She set out for the side of the hall opposite the stage. The metal doors of the kitchen were there and a constant influx of waiters ladened with the night's leftovers were passing through.
Her thoughts drifted back to the unexpected test flight that all but threw her schedule into the wind. The passenger section was air-conditioned, the chairs cushioned and the flight smooth. She had no complaints there. Her actual complaints were only made known after they came back to the pad. She brought them straight to the two men of the hour. Though she was polite, she let them know the protocols they so happened to overlook for events such as these. They apologized of course, profusely in the case of Cassowari. After a conversation about her experience on the flight, they cordially bowed out. And with their departure, the night's events ebbed and the hall's guests followed shortly thereafter.
Then heavy eyes. She saw them as clear as day. Noah's eyes looking back at her.
A shock of worry ran through her. She had forgotten to pick-up Noah from his after-school care. He would probably be the last one there too.
Like always.
She decided to get him once she was finished closing up shop. As she got closer to the doors, the scent of foods and spices wafted into her nose. It was fresh. Someone was still cooking. She knew Mr. Mitchell would be settling things down in the kitchen, not starting anything up. So who was it?
She shouldered her way inside. She wished she'd closed her eyes. The overhead lights combined with so many reflective surfaces nearly blinded her.
Row after row of stainless-steel tables, stoves, grills and utensil racks comprised the setup of the kitchen. The staff were cleaning dishes in the sinks or putting away their aprons to leave for the night.
Except for one.
Near the middle of the kitchen, a pot boiled. A hand of segmented digits and metal joints turned off the gas, grabbed a spoon and began to stir. When it was done, it lifted the spoon to a bearded face. Lips parted and sipped. Graying eyes lighted in approval of their own handiwork. Putting the spoon aside, the Chef de Cuisine grabbed a plate and started pulling out noodles from the pot with a trusty tong.
The man was Mr. Mitchell, the kitchen's head honcho. A man of middling age and stature, bearing more hair on his face than on the thinning flatlands of his head, he was strong nevertheless. It showed in his muscular arms which only served as a rebuke to the pot-belly he'd gained over the years. Whereas age had taken away what might have otherwise been a strapping figure, what force had taken away his right hand was more of a mystery. The robotic prosthetic that took its place was something the other chefs wondered about as well. But no one dared ask about it. Such topics tended to carry an air of tension whenever it came to retired vets like himself.
Erica watched him lean over to a pan. He took up the cheese-coated chicken breast frying inside and lay it atop the plate of noodles. A small pot steamed nearby. Without any need to worry about burns, Mr. Mitchell grabbed it with his robot hand. From it poured out a fresh stream of spaghetti sauce onto the dish. He sprinkled on some parmesan cheese and basil to finish things off and walked off with the plate.
As he moved aside, Erica saw her son. Noah was sitting at a table not too far off. Behind him stood Ms. Turner who helped him tie a handkerchief around his neck.
Erica was relieved. At least she knew he was somewhere that she could keep an eye on him. Plus he was getting a free meal, meaning she wouldn't have to cook tonight. Two birds, one stone.
She handed over her pile of dishes to a helping hand. She was about to walk over when something stopped her. She felt the need to watch.
Mr. Mitchell smiled as he brought the food. "Ready?"
Noah nodded emphatically, watching the plate descend before him with a stayed hunger. And more. There was something more behind his gaze. A thing that was absent back at the doors of the school.
Ms. Turner handed him a fork and a small knife. "Make sure to give it a minute to cool, okay?"
"Aw, do I have to?" Noah whined.
"Well, no, not if you want it to burn your mouth."
Noah gave her a rebellious glare. "What if I want it to burn my mou-"
Mr. Mitchell's robotic hand gently clasped the boy's head and rolled it around like a basketball. "Just blow on it, okay? The last thing I need is your mom saying I burned your tongue so bad that you can't eat anything anymore. Alright kiddo?"
He let him go. Noah still swayed like a bobble-head. "Don't worry, I won't tell on you or anything."
"Noah." Ms. Turner warned. "Blow."
Noah shook his head clear. "Fine." He sighed, feigning annoyance. But as he took a forkful of noodles up to his lips, he stopped to peek at the two adults. They waited. He grinned back. Letting out a laugh, he blew on it.
Erica watched the scene play out from a distance. The way Noah pretended to struggle as he cut a piece of the chicken breast, the way Mr. Mitchell and Ms. Turner looked on with exhausted smiles as he ate, as though he were an honored guest at tonight's banquet. It was beautiful. She even smiled herself.
Yet something about it made her feel guilty.
She remembered the heaviness behind Noah's gaze and how all of it seemed to have gone away now, replaced with giggling mouthfuls of spaghetti sauce.
Slowly, her smile faltered and faded.
Desiderium – Longing
