'Really? I'm glad. You look spectacular.' When I didn't reply, he said, 'Lulu, nothing's going to happen. You don't have to be afraid of me. I know it's been… incredibly difficult, but that's all over. You're safe now.'
'I've heard that before.' I refused to meet his eyes.
'I'm just making clear my intentions. I'm not your lord; you are not my chattel. You are part of my household, yes, but that's only so you can be spared the unpleasantness that some other men might have visited upon you. The world is poor enough without that. Wherever you go here, you are under my protection, which merely means you will be left alone. I'll certainly never lay a hand on you without your consent. All I ask is that you honor me with your company on such occasions as I may request it, purely as a friend.'
I must have been radiating cynicism and contempt. Smiling a little, he said, 'Your doubts prove your character. I hope you'll give me a chance to prove mine.'
'Do I have a choice?'
'Lulu, you've seen the other side. You've tested the waters. It's because you made a choice that you are here today, and I very much want you to succeed. To stay.' He reached for my hand.
I recoiled as if from a striking cobra, more violently than I intended.
He backed off. 'I know you're still in shock, but you have to understand that I do this out of caring, not because I want to torture you.'
'No, just my friends!'
'That was not my doing. The domes have their own hierarchy-we have a strict hands-off policy out here to keep the peace. Otherwise… too many cooks, you know?'
'You all suck.'
'Maybe so, but I'm your ticket out of there.' He lit a slim black cigarette and offered me one. I declined. Savoring the smoke, he said, 'Would your friends want you to throw away your chance at life? Weren't they willing to give up their lives to save yours? I'm sure you want to respect their wish.'
'Their final wish. Just shut up-we both know what this is about.'
'You're wrong. You want to know what it's about? Talk. A little innocent talk.'
'Bullshit. Talk is cheap.'
'That's where you're wrong. Talk is really all that matters, talk about real things. Believe me, I know. When you spend as much time in the realms of business and politics as I have, you learn the meaning of the term 'seats of power'-it's because they're full of the biggest asses on Earth! I'll tell you a secret: the Moguls? They're idiots.'
'Yeah, and you're one of them.'
'No I'm not. No I'm not. I didn't start out this way. I grew up in group homes and foster care, and never even knew who my father was until I received notice from a legal firm in Zurich that he had died.'
'Oh, boo-hoo.'
'I learned only then that he had been a silent partner in the global economy-one of these puppet masters of capitalism you see all around us. I also learned I was a secret billionaire, with fortunes buried like dog bones in tax havens around the world, safe from prying eyes. But he had left me more than money-he left me a manifesto, a battle plan. The means of waging war against an enemy he himself had created.'
'What enemy?' I sneered.
'All my father's interests: his corporations, his politicians, his offshore banks, his media holdings. Thousands of seemingly independent entities all owned by third parties under his invisible web of control. Except he felt he had lost control; everything had become corrupt and evil, an unstable kleptocracy that was dragging down mankind rather than bettering it. Then he found out he had HIV, and he experienced some kind of epiphany. Before he died, he wanted to overhaul everything, come clean, but he knew he was too compromised-the lawyers would bury him before he could scratch the surface. He needed someone spotless.
'Then he remembered some poor girl he had knocked up and abandoned back in his fraternity days. My dear mother. She was dead, but I wasn't, and in me he saw the opportunity to reduce the amount of bullshit in the world, to forge a nobler purpose for mankind than 'shop till you drop.' This was my inheritance, this mission.'
In spite of myself, I asked, 'What did you do?'
'Nothing. Not a thing. I had been through hell because of that asshole, had seen my mother die in poverty and been bounced all over kingdom come-I didn't care about his stupid crusade. I had my own life. I wanted to be a jazz musician. Life as a plutocrat didn't interest me, and I didn't realize how right my instincts were until I met some of those people. They're peasants, Lulu. Greedy, witless provincials to whom global power is an extension of their golf game. Amoral louts who dismiss art, nature, the whole universe, as socialist propaganda. Anything they can't win at is for suckers. They have no imagination, no humor beyond dirty limericks. They're boring. But I'll say this for them: They're survivors. There's nothing they won't do to ensure their survival.'
'So I've seen.'
'I guess you have. To them you're nothing but a status symbol. I'm risking a lot taking you under my wing-it stirs up trouble for me to have something none of them has, especially since I'm a Johnny-come-lately to begin with. My people here thought I was dead, and were about to start trading my assets for new alliances, when I showed up on that submarine. Now they all hate me. So you see, talk may be cheap, but you were expensive.'
'I never asked to be bought.'
'I know that. Come sit down. I won't touch you.'
'I'm fine here. What happens now?'
'Nothing at all. I'm at your service. Anything you'd like, just ask. We have a tremendous library on disc, as well as music, movies, games, you name it. There's also a hot shower or a sauna if that would help you relax. Or a drink.'
'No thanks.'
'You're also free to return to your quarters in the bubble at any time. You're not a prisoner here.'
'Quarters?' I had assumed I would be living in the plane with him.
'Yes, the private area you've just come from, that's yours. Of course, if you're not satisfied with that, other arrangements might be-'
'No, that's fine. I would like to head back, if it's okay with you.'
If he was angry or disappointed, he didn't show it. 'Absolutely. We'll talk again tomorrow. I have a little proposal I'd like to discuss with you. Purely business.' Stubbing out his cigarette, he said, 'We'll have lunch.'
Over the following week, I found Sandoval to be as good as his word, though I didn't let my guard down for a second. His business proposal was exactly that: a request for my services as a copy editor. Somehow he had gotten hold of my UNIX files from the boat and was very impressed with my sense of 'melodrama.' He wanted me to vet some kind of speech he had to deliver, touting the accomplishments of the Mogul Research Division. Out of relief that the proposal didn't involve fellatio, I said, 'Sure.'
Most of my time was my own, to be spent exploring the vast indoor facility of the domes or channel-surfing the even vaster quantity of recorded entertainment. At first I laughed to see a TV in my quarters, thinking of it as a silly relic, until I turned it on and discovered the interactive bonanza available. My mother and I had never had cable, except in motels. The Valhalla database was comprehensive to the point of absurdity-there seemed to be no book, magazine, movie, TV or radio program, video game, music, or hard-to-define other that was not included in the listing. Apparently it was what the elite did with their time there.
I wondered how they watched without becoming utterly depressed-there was something disturbing about all those images from the fallen world. Was this what we had to show for our civilization, this catalogue of trivia? Flintstones Chew ables and Apollo? It was. Like it or not, we were the new Essenes, and this mishmash of hype and nonsense and vanish ingly rare beauty was our Dead Sea Scrolls.
I found myself dwelling on news coverage taped during the last days, everything I and my mother had missed, from special bulletins intruding on painful-to-watch sitcom jollity to the final technical glitches, gaps in the broadcast, and dead air that presaged the end. I saw a crudely edited compilation of police dashboard cams showing officers arriving at the scene and being ambushed by Xombies. I saw aerial footage of city streets overrun with Xombies, and Xombies storming the White House. I saw the president, unshaven, as he wearily addressed the nation:
'In all the hysteria we must not forget that these unfortunates are victims as well, that they deserve
