The Trillionth

“I still don’t feel safe with the new girl. The gilded ones performed for years and one of them disappeared last year.” Colette said as the others remained placid.

Em allowed a trench of silence, then shot out, “Complacency.”

“She sneezed! It was a common mistake.” Colette

“Viral warfare has stripped the Marv of billions of subjects and subsequently trillions of capital. His paranoia is forgivable.” Em

“A sneeze is not bio — ” Colette started to state, while staring at Jenaveve.

Em’s annoyed response severed Colette’s ramblings. “And a hand is not a weapon, but it can be. When you run your own Solary you can take chances.”

Colette continued to glare at Jenaveve, who remained still, ignoring the eyes.

She could feel Colette’s fear. Would she ever relax? Why was she trying to scare me? Jenaveve wondered. She assumed Colette would chill when she saw Jenaveve’s fluent trial performance, but that only agitated her.

A standard terra-week ago, Jenaveve purposely displayed fear and drank in Colette’s concerns. That only pissed Colette off more. Jenaveve dwelled on the response she received. “I know you’re just patronizing me. You’re not smart enough to understand the danger,” Colette.

I understand more than you, Jenaveve thought while looking to the other performers. She noted their expressions. There was fear, similar to Colette’s but internal.

Colette’s fear was different; it mixed with her ego, that convergence channelled it anywhere but home. The others seemed to be pragmatists, focussing on the only thing they could control: themselves.

“My queens, we’ve achieved orbit. I’m opening the observation decks if you care for a peek.” A male’s voice softly filled their cabin from the many ceiling speakers.

“Thank you Charles,” Em responded with courtesy.

Jenaveve turned her seat to the side. Light broke in as the hatches split apart. The entire room of dainty performers shielded their eyes as bands of light bounced off their shimmering clothing.

“Sorry queens, that moon of theirs is more reflective than we thought. I’ve applied more tint, you should be able to see now,” Charles.

Jenaveve slowly let her arm down, allowing the planet’s purples and blues to dominate her vision. Black mountains pierced the lush mauve forests. She had seen pictures of Orah’s fauna, but her mind still had trouble making sense of it. Where the sea licked the woods, there was no beach to be seen. Only the occasional golden square dotted the prime galactic real estate.

A large blue circle overlaid their viewport and zoomed a portion of the window to one of the golden squares. As the image became clearer, Charles began to narrate. His favourite part of the job, Jenaveve thought.

“That is the great Pyramid of Noz, home of the Marv and capital of this Solary. How can the Marv govern so much from such a detached location? He can’t!” Charles said.

“Charles! No insolence, do we have to leave you on the ship?” Em.

“No, I will gladly stay on the ship. But please send me a virtual invitation to your performance. It’s the only decadence I can appreciate on this rock. I’ll watch it from this comfy chair while dreaming of my dank abode,” Charles said in contempt.

“What would he know of decadence?” Colette said while searching the room for a laugh.

The speakers barked again with the pilot’s voice, “I know everything has a price, and some are too high, Colette.”

Jenaveve snickered with some fellow performers while others shook their heads.

Jena had won in her eyes. She made it here. She convinced the hardest court — her colleagues — she was a dancer, the audience would be easy.

The job was stressful, but the hours were minimal relative to soldiering, mining, or even engineering. Space had given her many choices, but she always wanted the risky one, the one where the boss had to trust you. She trusts me to do my duty, she thought.

Their craft lurched and the zoomed-in picture transformed to nauseating colours as the camera struggled to track.

“Let me turn that off. It seems we’re important enough for tether-entry,” Charles said as the viewport blinked back to the cold-hued surface of Orah.

“They don’t trust your flying Charles,” Jenaveve said, feeling uncomfortable as eyes looked at her.

“They don’t trust anyone Jena,” Charles sneered.

“Charles!” Em chided him.

“Sorry ma’am,” he said with regret.

“They may hear us now; shut it!” Em said with legible fear she poorly disguised as anger.

“Everyone buckle up for plummet,” Charles said.

Jenaveve buckled quickly, forgetting her place and pinning part of her gown in the process. After unbuckling the fabric, she looked around at her meticulous colleagues as they flattened all their frills and buckled, caring more for their dress than their safety. She chided herself. I must look the part, this is my job, I am one of them, slow down Jena.

Jena glanced at the planet once more before the shutters closed. Shortly after, the craft began to fall. Jenaveve’s colleagues remained still but relaxed on the descent. For them it was more than routine; men and women were conversing, others even laughing.

No matter the job, Jena always felt like an alien. She always felt most comfortable on completion. At least she got to hide, and hiding was honest solitary work, unlike this.

This job was hardly chosen, but chosen for her. There was no bidding, no application, no college, just acceptance. She knew she was one of few who could perform, and that pissed her off, but she swallowed it.

Perfection, that was the Queens’ business, emulating life through perfect dance and predictable tune. A smokescreen for the rich and powerful. Distractions they unconsciously used to withdraw their attention from the immoral decisions they made daily.

Instructors of the past told her it was about expression of the soul, yet Jena saw a mother’s garden as more expressive than a person following a script. The scriptwriter was expressive, yet once written, the actors could deviate little when it came to the choreographed dance demanded of them. Jena wondered at which point this art form transformed from highlighting life to hiding all its surprises.

Mistakes, deviations, chaos: they were Jena’s passion. A chance meeting at the docks or an incredible meal in an unlikely setting. As far as she was concerned, their performance left out everything that adjuvanted love, ecstasy, and fulfillment. The possibility of failure in life was what made moments sweet. Yet, while performing, they weren’t allowed to express even so much as a notion.

The gentle vibration turned violent in seconds. Jenaveve grabbed to her sides, palming the knees of her fellow performers and quickly pulling away. They both turned to her while one asked, “How many drops have you been on?”

“Um-m, se-ve-ral,” Jenaveve said as the craft shook the sounds from her mouth.

The ship finally won its battle against gravity and began to hover. Viewports slid open, and their vessel felt more like a luxury ship than a cargo hold again. Gold light beamed in as it kicked off the massive pyramid to their side. They all briefly shielded their eyes while the windows tinted.

Click ching clunk. Everyone unbuckled to get a better glimpse. The majesty of the structure gilded everything around. Jewelled bands outlined doorways and landing pads. Jenaveve felt like she was dreaming as her brain struggled to comprehend the purple trees behind the triumphant structure.

Decadence, she thought as she got out of her seat — not for a better look, but to avoid suspicion. How many underpaid workers laboured here? How much material was stolen from the outlying planets?

They stepped onto the jewelled walkway. Jena stared at her feet. Has a speck of dirt ever touched this path? She wondered as she stepped elegantly with the others.

“Can we see the Marv from our stage?” An excited performer asked.

“No,” Em said with forced patience. “There is a distorter to bend our view. Security has become — Thorough.”

Jenaveve winced at the thought. If you can’t even show yourself to performers, not only the public, but performers, Isn’t it obvious your rule is solely tyrannical? The despotism dwarfed her as she glided down the walkway. There were soldiers everywhere, their weapons hidden from sight but acutely ready for any meagre attempt on the Marv’s life.

As they approached the check-in desk, Jena admired all the seams in the ceiling. She knew they hid weapons, absurd amounts. Every angle was covered, and the room was carefully designed to give unlimited firing arcs to the hidden turrets. The rotunda was guaranteed death for anyone forcing their way into the pyramid.

All these workers, compelled to build up their captor’s power. Thanks to millennia of complacent workers, soldiers, and slaves, the Marv was more invincible than ever.

The Marv’s power had become another constant of life. Citizens of this Solary ate, breathed, and paid all their excess to the top. There was no other way in their eyes, no choice.

The time to fight was long gone. The people failed to notice when the technocrats bought the power companies, water, and communication. Now they owned planets, battlecruisers, and the whole solar system.

Jena hoped things could change, but she was reluctant to assume. Yet, she still had a job to do. It’s not my place to hope.

After a routine security check, the Queens were shown to their quarters. Jena rubbed a thick cream all over her body. Her body boiled as it tried to sweat through the coating. The paste covered everything but her back. It gave her body a flawless appearance, free from blemishes and surprises, hiding undesirable implants she didn’t want the scanners to find. All the freckles and pigment that made Jena disappeared as she smeared it in her pores.

Before they got access to the stage, they all walked through the bone scanner. Half a millennia ago, a Marv’s palace was detonated by a walking bomb; performers were fully scanned since.

Sweat poured down Jena’s back as she walked through the device. The thrumming seemed to pierce her skin as she maintained a confident pace through the scanner.

“Stop!” A royal servant bellowed.

They all froze. Em looked around with her worried but professional scowl.

“They are all very nervous. This one is sweating like a slove,” the decadent man motioned to Jena.

“She is new but perfect, my lord,” Em spoke for her crew while her compliance disgusted Jena.

“She is very new and young,” the regal pawn said as he caressed Jena’s cheek.

Jena maintained her poise, frozen, professional, perfect. As sweat dripped down her spine, fear shot up. Keep still; you’re a Queen.

“They are all perfect,” Em said as she scolded them all with her eyes.

“Good,” the servant said with a cheery facade.

On stage, they all prepped equipment, checked footing, practiced twirls, and gave each other confident nods. Colette and Jena were the only two donning a mask of doubt.

To their front was a large sphere. It distorted the seating beyond. The royal seat could be anywhere behind that fog, and the performers had to look where they were trained to, never knowing if they were looking at the Marv or one of his highly decorated emperors.

After hours of rehearsal, Em signalled them all to their starting places. Runners ran on stage, touching up make-up and pinning dresses as armed security glared from the sidelines. The foggy sphere went dim, signalling the entry of the Marv and his complacent lords.

Jena could picture the Marv’s entourage of sycophants, agreeing and laughing with every diluted remark, taking their seats to sup more examples of obedience.

Jena walked to the back of the stage and entered the elevator room. She held position in her lift, awaiting her imperial debut. She looked to the right, no one; left, not a soul; behind, still, no one had a view of her in her private lift room. She reached to the side and grabbed an exposed hydraulic. She began to twist it. It rotated with a faint grinding sound as it lifted out of the housing.

Turning it sideways, she pushed on the ends cracking glass that separated two chemical compounds. The fluids flowed into each other, producing a reactive iridescence.

Jena adjusted her cybernetic vision using a series of blinks. Her colleagues danced around in her peripheral as the sphere’s blur was defeated by her implant. The globe was now clear as glass, displaying the Marv in his massive chair flanked by his dogs — a group of men and women, all emperors, clearly devoid of compassion or opinion.

Jena smiled when she thought of the power she held. The canister vibrated in her hands as she pulled out a spout on its tip.

Do your duty. Jenaveve thought as her elevator began to rise. Her colleagues stopped dead when they saw her out of character and holding a strange tube between her legs.

What! Colette thought as her greatest fears unfolded.

Before any more thoughts could materialize, Jena yanked back at a trigger, and a violent blue light shrieked into the sphere. Jenaveve watched in glee as the Marv, and his flock’s faces transitioned from intrigue to terror. The globe blasted away, casting large portions toward the audience. The airborne shards surrounded a now violet tongue of pure energy as it collided with the Marv and his dumbfounded expression. His body disappeared instantly, followed by an explosion that threw his emperors around the auditorium.

The room flickered as purple fire subsided. Some of the audience stirred, while others lied bent over hard surfaces with blank looks of terror frozen on their enriched faces.

As the Queens and guards lowered their arms, they beheld a smouldering gorge sizzling amidst the seating, where only moments ago, galactic power reclined. The flabbergasted innocents turned back to the stage, only finding a discharged weapon in place of their supposed colleague.