Dawnwind 1: Last Man Standing (34 page)

John thought he had a good idea as to what a Junian city was like, based upon his experiences in Ted Dov.
 
Seven Lakes, however, was much older and much bigger.

The provincial transport hub was his first warning.
 
Travelers thronged the building’s concourses and galleries.
 
It was a noisy press of bodies.
 
As John stepped into it, he fought down an unfamiliar burst of panic.
 

He made his way to the transit station, where he caught a float-train heading toward the First Quarter.
 
As crowded as the transport hub had been, the float-train was worse.
 
In the lozenge-shaped cars, people were literally pressed belly to back.
 
The atmosphere was warm, fragrant and noisy.

John wiggled off the train in the First Quarter, and found a groundcar station.
 
He climbed into the back of a vehicle and gave the auto-driver the address of his hotel.
 
The groundcar shot away from the curb, merging seamlessly with the heavy, local traffic.
 

The First Quarter’s streets were narrow and winding.
 
The groundcar whizzed along them at breakneck speed.
 
John found himself clutching the armrest and double-checking his restraints.
 
Ten minutes later, the groundcar slid to a stop in front of a tall red tower with lavender balconies.
 
A bright yellow display around the main entrance identified the building as the Hotel Tako.

John climbed out of the groundcar, grateful to be there in one piece.
 
He stepped through the hotel doorway and, immediately, the street sounds vanished, negated by an antisonic field.

The lobby of the Hotel Tako was a haze of dark red.
 
Every surface was covered in red plush: the floors, the ceiling, the walls, the furnishings.
 
They all merged seamlessly.
 
The air had a spicy, pleasant scent.
 
Behind a semicircular desk stood a hotel clerk, an older man wearing a red tunic and slacks.
 
His bright yellow hair was a jarring contrast to the lobby’s color scheme.
 
He greeted John with a smile.

“Welcome to the Hotel Tako, sir.
 
Can I help you?”

“I have a reservation.
 
My name is John Epcott.”

The clerk’s fingers slid over a red-tinged infoscreen.
 
“You’re here for the Sufo Retirement Banquet?”

“Yes.”

The clerk gestured at an identification plate on the desk.
 
“If you’ll give us your biometrics for confirmation?”

John placed his hand on the plate, which pulsed red.
 
 

“Confirmed and registered, Mr. Epcott.
 
You’re in room 1-6-9.
 
The locks are keyed to your biometrics.
 
Elevators are to your right.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you need help with any luggage?”

“No, thank you.”
 
John tapped his shoulder bag.
 
“I travel light.”

The clerk nodded, his smile fixed.
 
“If there’s anything we can do to make your stay with us more pleasant, sir, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

The elevator made John feel as if he were riding in a round, red egg.
 
When the doors slid open on the sixteenth floor, he was relieved to see that the red color scheme didn’t extend throughout the entire hotel.
 
 
He stepped into a soft blue corridor, lined with pale green doors.
 
Their numbers glowed softly in the hallway’s dim light.

John’s room was all soft curves.
 
A section of the wall was set to display a real time image from the hotel’s exterior.
 
Beyond the lavender-colored balcony, John could see the white knot of buildings that made up the core of Seven Lakes.
 
The remaining walls and the carpeted floor were set to a velvety red.
 
A discreet door led to a small wastechamber, also red.
 
The only furniture present in the room was the circular bed, big enough for two people.
 
The bedclothes were red, yellow and blue.
 

As John shut the door behind him, a section of the wall began to flash. The room system began a prerecorded spiel, welcoming him to the hotel, displaying a map to the communal wetchamber on this floor, giving the room system’s specifics and then launching into a list of amenities available through the hotel.

John let the system ramble on, as he stripped.
 
When the system was finished, John ordered a new color scheme: buttery yellow for the bedroom walls, a darker yellow for the carpet, and frost white for the surfaces in the wastechamber.
 
Then, he studied the floor map, grabbed his shampoo and headed for the wetchamber.

* * * * *

 
The wetchamber was pleasantly traditional, although there were showers along one wall for people in a hurry.
 
The walls and floor were light blue.
 
Airy, fern-like plants had been placed around the space, making it surprisingly cozy.

There was no one else present when John stepped into the soaping pool.
 
The hygienic synthesizers were top of the line and John dialed up a spicy soap that he applied with a disposable dermal pad.
 
After he was finished with the pad, he slid it into a recycler port and shampooed his hair.
 
He did this briskly, efficiently, knowing that if any Junians stepped into the chamber they would think him some kind of masochist.
 

Dripping soap, he stepped into the rinsing pool.
 
Sitting on a waterproof stool, he sluiced away the soap and shampoo.

Finishing rinsing, John slid into the soaking pool.
 
This was a large, waist-high vessel, big enough for a dozen people.
 
The water here was warm, slightly salty.
 
He sank beneath it, letting the water close over him.
 
When he surfaced, black hair plastered to his skull, amused laughter rang in his ears.

“I’d recognize that hair anywhere.
 
Hello, John.”

Surprised, John turned, and found himself facing an old friend.

“Holy God!
 
Jata Fex!”

“That’s First Officer Fex to you, guardsman!”
 

Jata Fex was a pale, petite woman in her fourth decade with short red hair, so fair that it was almost pink.
 
Grinning, naked as a newborn, she crossed over to the soaking pool and squawked in false consternation as John stood, splashing her with the warm, briny water.
 
They hugged, laughing.
 
Fex pounded John’s back.

“It’s so good to see you!”

“You too!
 
When did you become a First?”

“That’s new,” said Fex.
 
“I just got the word two days ago.”

“Congratulations! I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more!”

“Flatterer!
 
No wonder you’re already an Eighth!”

John laughed and sank back into the tub.
 
“Is it my fault the Guard recognizes talent when they see it?”

Fex grinned, pinched her nose. “And I know shit when I smell it.”

Chuckling, John glanced past Jata, noticing the young man standing shyly by the soaping pool.
 
“Who’s your friend?”

She turned and waved the young man forward.
 
“John Epcott, I want you to meet Fel Ezep.”

Fel Ezep was young.
 
John would have guessed he was about seventeen, with short, dark blue hair and a skinny physique.
 
He smiled, shyly, and brushed John’s palms.
 
Jata wrapped an arm around the boy’s neck and grinned.

“Fel’s part of my crew.
 
One of old Homu’s prize students.”

John blinked in surprise.
 
“Is Homu still teaching?
 
I thought he would have retired by now.
 
Or died!”

“That old man will outlive us all,” said Jata.
 
“I brought Fel along to show the old bonegrinder that the Guard’s future is in good hands.
 
Despite what he may think.”

“Jata, you aren’t going to pick a fight with Sufo, are you?”

“Disagreements are how the good medic and I communicate, John.”

“Uh-huh.”
 
John splashed water over her.
 
 
“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on.”

“I have no idea what that means,” she said.
 
“And I don’t really care.
 
What are you doing after your bath?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Sufo’s banquet doesn’t officially start until 2000.
 
Let’s get it started unofficially.”

“Where?”

“The nearest bar.”

John laughed.
 
“Sounds like a plan.”
 
He grinned at Fel.
 
“Take notes, guardsman.
 
You can warn your new crewmates what your First is like when she gets drunk.”

“I,” said Jata, primly, “do not get drunk.
 
I just get very, very relaxed.”

“Yes, well, try not to get so relaxed you forget that a couple of Fleet Officers are probably going to be there tonight.
 
The last thing we need is for Sufo’s retirement to coincide with you getting bounced out of the Guard.”

She grinned.
 
“I’ll do my best.”

“That,” said John, laughing, “is what I’m afraid of.”

* * * * *

 
The retirement banquet was being held in the Hotel Tako’s special functions room.
 
Unfortunately, the room continued with the hotel’s scarlet color theme.

Jata winced as she stepped through the doorway.
 
“Merciful pantheon.
 
Who picked this color?
 
A sadist?”

“What I’d like to know is why the walls and floor are covered in plush?” said John.

“It was an accident,” said Fel Ezep.

They glanced at him and Fel ducked his head, curled his fingers.
 

“What do you mean?” said John.

“It was explained in the room system briefing,” said the young man.
 
“When they were opening the hotel, after they installed the nanotech, there was an accident in the lobby.
 
All the surfaces bled together and the red look was the result.”

“So we’re celebrating Sufo’s retirement at the site of a nanotech incident?” said Jata.
 
She looked scandalized.

“Oh, it’s perfectly safe, ma’am,” said Fel, quickly.
 
“That was thirty years ago and the hotel systems have all been ice-blue ever since.”

“Still, you’d think they’d want to change the color scheme every once in a while,” muttered John.
 
“All this red, it’s almost as bad as being back on the
Thunderbolt
.”

“I,” announced Jata, firmly, “need a drink.
 
Preferably something restorative.”

“No,” said John.
 
“Fel, would you go check with the bartender?
 
He’s probably got some health pills behind the bar.”

As Fel hurried away, John poked Jata in the side.
 
“We did warn you not to drink so much.”

“Don’t blame me.
 
I jiggered my implant.
 
It should have kept me much more sober than this.”

“Sure. Blame your implant.”

They moved deeper into the room.
 
It was already filled with celebrants.
 
Most were older men and women, gray or white haired, dressed in civilian attire.
 
Here and there, though, scattered through the crowd, were other members of the Guard.
 
All wore stiff formal robes in black and green.
 
John and Jata, as Ship Officers, wore blue sashes.
 
Across the room, John spotted a Fleet Officer, his red sash bedecked with colored ribbons.
 
And there, in the same group, was a woman wearing the yellow sash of a Guard Officer.