Could someone please pick her up from the skyport at Hadrian’s Island?
Rarely have I seen such urgency from Magnus. Following his initial excitement he managed to control himself and got dressed. Then he spent some time rehearsing lines, while he paced back and forth in the atrium, waiting for me to bring the horses around the front. He preferred tradition and insisted on horses to greet her.
Because we needed to move with urgency, I brought the horses into the atrium and moved them over what would normally have been the impluvium, a slightly sunken rectangle in the centre of the room. We couldn’t make the skies rain on this moon, despite Magnus’ best efforts, so such drains were useless. Magnus merely used the impluvium to disguise our fastmat. He thumbed in the precise co-ordinates of the skyport on Hadrian’s Island, booked us in with the receivers, and we mounted our horses.
Moments later, reality flickered, and a new and expensive kind of physics opened up space like a network of aqueducts.
We slipped into a new locale.
We rode our horses out of a large metal cylinder at Hadrian Island Skyport, a structure built in the classical style, but from toughened glass. The gathered throng◦– some in period dress, others in contemporary clothing as was the curious mix of citizens on Orbis Romanus◦– gawped as we rode our splendid mares through the chrome-lined port building, the vast windows looking out across the partial sunset.
We waited, of course.
Magnus grew impatient.
Then Cornelia’s ship arrived, the screen above flickered with the image of the passengers disembarking.
I knew it must be she from Magnus’ response◦– a woman with long, chestnut hair that seemed to bounce lightly with every step. In fact, she took each step cautiously, which surprised me, as her figure suggested she may have possessed a certain level of athletic skill. Her light blue dress clung to her frame, and a delicately laced white shawl covered her shoulders. She was not alone: a tall man walked beside her, dressed smartly in a black shirt, trousers and grey waistcoat◦– a style that contrasted harshly with her soft fashion. He possessed a broad and weathered face, though his expression was mild.
Magnus’ countenance grew sterner upon seeing him, but he need not have worried: this other man, we soon learned, was no suitor, but her protector. Mind you, one could tell that by the way he moved around her, never touching her.
Moments later the two of them were standing before us.
“Magnus,” she exhaled.
“Cornelia.”
As I may have discussed before, I am not one for understanding emotions, but even I could recognise that something passed between them with that exchange. Perhaps time unbuckled itself in their eyes, the years falling apart… but who can say?
I merely helped bring her luggage from the conveyor belt.
Later that night, the bodyguard and I watched Magnus make love to Cornelia.
The bodyguard ate a bowl of olives. He seemed a pleasant if quiet individual, not that the opportunity for conversation really presented itself.
The next few days, Magnus took Cornelia and her bodyguard around Orbis Romanus. He showed her his moon and what life was like here.
I rarely accompanied them, as I was an interloper. I prepared their evening meals and enjoyed the opportunity to refine my culinary skills in peace.
Repeatedly, the bodyguard and myself would sit through their evening lovemaking, for he would not leave her side and I had nowhere else to go.
“It’s really for me?” Cornelia’s eyes glittered in the sunlight.
“Of course,” Magnus replied. “Remember those days we spent in the library? You loved that era◦– you were besotted with it, and so was I◦– and I remembered those days. I remember your affection for it. So I built it all. Just for you.”
“But… really, just for me?”
Magnus gave a nod.
“What’s the catch?” she gave an awkward laugh.
“None. Just stay here with me.”
“You know,” she continued, “it was really only my father who stopped us. He said you were–”
“‘An insignificant nobody who would never amount to anything.’ Well, he’s wrong. Consider this a display of my wealth, if you like. Something to show your father I’m a success. And only occasionally a layabout…”
“So, you honestly mean to give it to me?”
A pause. “Why not?”
“You’re not serious!” Her excited squeal nearly short-circuited my sensors. “It it valuable?”
“Sure,” Magnus replied. “Everyone wants a piece of it. So take it. This moon is yours◦– I created it for you◦– just as long as you really want to stay here with me.”
“Do I!”
“Show your father, too,” Magnus muttered with a grin. “Honestly, tell him I gave it to you.”
“Don’t joke, Magnus.”
“I’m not◦– I’ll sign it over to you right now. Hang on a few moments. Felix!”
“Dominus?”
“Oh, Magnus…”
Magnus asked me to draw up the contracts immediately. I hastily sketched them out, a basic transfer of ownership, in only a few minutes. Magnus didn’t even seem to care about the precision◦– he wanted to seal the moment, to act on a whim. I felt certain a proposal of marriage would follow.
Magnus and Cornelia stood before an open window, their arms around each other. I laid the contracts transferring ownership of Orbis Romanus on a table before them. Magnus signed his name and stepped back, beaming.
Cornelia beckoned over her bodyguard with a briefcase. “I’ll used my cherished pen,” she whispered to Magnus, “the gift you once gave me.”
“You kept it?” He smiled as if recalling those days. In the momentary silence, birdsong could be heard from the gardens.
“Of course I did.” Cornelia reached into the case, pulled out a gun◦– and fired.
The back of Magnus’ head erupted, and blood and bone spat out.
He collapsed on the floor.
I do not experience anything near to shock, as humans do. But I did love Magnus Lucretious in my way. And I struggled to comprehend the logic of what had happened.
Cornelia signed the contract with Magnus’ own pen and placed the papers in the briefcase. The bodyguard placed his arms around her and whispered, “It was disgusting, watching him make love to you.”
“It was worse having him do it, darling.” They kissed. “I’m so glad it’s over now.”
“What next?” he asked.
“For the moon or for us?”
“The moon,” he replied.
“Call in the company right away◦– send them a scan of the contracts. We get rid of the Roman crap, for a start. We need hotels◦– more hotels, and a bigger spaceport. This place can be the biggest stop-off point in the galaxy. Pull down the temples, sack the centurions, and let’s make some money. We should probably get rid of the body as well…”
I stared at Cornelia.
“Don’t look at me like that, Felix. I just did you a favour. You’re free now.”
“I… do not know what you mean.”
“You’ve earned your freedom.”
“How so?”
“Tell him, Claude.”
The bodyguard turned to me. “You may have observed that Cornelia was not, in fact, in love with your master.”
“Oh, he was a beast,” Cornelia added. “Bombarding me with subliminal and overt advertising techniques, attempting to navigate the system defenses in my head. In realspace he sent salesmen round hawking his wares◦– this moon, this resort. For years!”
“Quite,” Claude concluded. “You were planted. Felix, you were our eyes and ears◦– literally. You may feel that your eye-lenses don’t quite work correctly, but that’s because we have cameras installed alongside them. We have been watching everything through your eyes. Magnus bought this moon a long time ago, when it was worthless, but he could certainly spot an investment. Pretty soon it became clear this place was worth a fortune. And he was still besotted with Cornelia. Still intent on wooing her back. When we learned of his search for a slave, we snuck you into the auction.”