hosts’ gaze fixed upon himself. Snapping out of it he turns to find them—
Music starts playing.
A string quartet on the stage. Four young women in Edwardian dress. Three violins and a cello.
“Who the bloody hell are they?” Robert asks, startled by their sudden appearance.
He doesn’t wait for a response, but heads off toward them, trailed by Ril and Ramani, Lucy quickly bringing up the rear.
Robert arrives at the stage to gawp at the performers, the four players appearing oblivious to his presence.
“They’re not real,” Ril says.
“They’re androids?” Robert says, looking the four over. “Like Lucy?”
A deeply wounded expression washes onto Lucy’s face, Robert’s preoccupied gaze missing it, but Ramani having quickly turned to see Lucy’s reaction, making no comment on the all too evident hurt that Robert’s casual remark has inflicted.
Ril sweeps an outstretched hand through the cello.
“Autonomous projections, much like your own avatar technology,” Ril explains. “It’s an entertainment system.”
“They seem so real.” Robert says.
“They do, don’t they. Drink?”
Ril motions Robert to a waiter holding a tray of champagne flutes.
Robert can’t help but jump at the second sudden appearance. “ Jesus! ”
Ril and Ramani politely laugh at his reaction, the waiter remaining unfazed as Lucy passes her hand through his chest. Another projection.
“Try some, Lucy.” Ramani says to her.
Lucy takes a flute, with a furtive glance at Robert, who follows suit, only to then tap the tray with the side of his glass. Both are solid, something Robert finds perplexing.
“A little parlor trick,” Ril admits. “Ah, guests!”
Couples dressed in eveningwear drift in from the terrace, Robert unable to make out the exact point of their manifestation. One couple passes close to them with a polite, if silent, acknowledgment.
“Okay…getting a little weird now.”
“It will help lend an ambience to the evening,” Ramani says to him, taking a glass of champagne for herself. “You’ll get used to it. Now drink, Robert. It’s Pol Roger, your favorite.”
Both Ril and Ramani take a generous sip from their flutes, prompting Robert to take a large swig from his own. Lucy, having observed carefully, does likewise.
With a sidewise glance at his hosts, Robert steps away into the gathering, while Lucy finds her own distractions. Mesmerized, he wanders among the projections, who skillfully avoid him so as to preserve the illusion. None talk—not to him or each other. Nor do they exhibit any particular interest—only when he makes a point of making eye contact does he get some form of polite response. One of the women he finds particularly attractive. She makes it clear that his interest is far too forward.
Robert soon finds himself at the French windows, from where he surveys the scene, projection people circulating, the string quartet playing and Lucy chasing waiters carrying trays of canapés under the ever-watchful eye of Ramani.
He slips out onto the terrace.
* * *
A refreshing chill to the evening accentuates the woodland scents, punctuated by the occasional heady waft of honeysuckle and azalea, though it is not cool enough to be uncomfortable. It is, as it has thus far shown to be, perfect. Robert’s gaze quickly finds the night sky and its profusion of stars.
“Is it real or another projection?” he asks.
Ril has quietly joined him.
“The dome is open to starlight. You see the night sky as it is.”
“How much life is out there?”
“It is everywhere,” Ril says, shifting his gaze to match Robert’s.
“After a century of looking we have found nothing.”
“A veil has been drawn over these worlds to obscure what lies beyond,” Ril says.
“What lies beyond?”
Robert lowers his gaze to confront Ril.
“All of creation.”
“Why hide that?”
“To deliver mankind from temptation. Industrialization, war, technological advancement. It is a common
Music starts playing.
A string quartet on the stage. Four young women in Edwardian dress. Three violins and a cello.
“Who the bloody hell are they?” Robert asks, startled by their sudden appearance.
He doesn’t wait for a response, but heads off toward them, trailed by Ril and Ramani, Lucy quickly bringing up the rear.
Robert arrives at the stage to gawp at the performers, the four players appearing oblivious to his presence.
“They’re not real,” Ril says.
“They’re androids?” Robert says, looking the four over. “Like Lucy?”
A deeply wounded expression washes onto Lucy’s face, Robert’s preoccupied gaze missing it, but Ramani having quickly turned to see Lucy’s reaction, making no comment on the all too evident hurt that Robert’s casual remark has inflicted.
Ril sweeps an outstretched hand through the cello.
“Autonomous projections, much like your own avatar technology,” Ril explains. “It’s an entertainment system.”
“They seem so real.” Robert says.
“They do, don’t they. Drink?”
Ril motions Robert to a waiter holding a tray of champagne flutes.
Robert can’t help but jump at the second sudden appearance. “ Jesus! ”
Ril and Ramani politely laugh at his reaction, the waiter remaining unfazed as Lucy passes her hand through his chest. Another projection.
“Try some, Lucy.” Ramani says to her.
Lucy takes a flute, with a furtive glance at Robert, who follows suit, only to then tap the tray with the side of his glass. Both are solid, something Robert finds perplexing.
“A little parlor trick,” Ril admits. “Ah, guests!”
Couples dressed in eveningwear drift in from the terrace, Robert unable to make out the exact point of their manifestation. One couple passes close to them with a polite, if silent, acknowledgment.
“Okay…getting a little weird now.”
“It will help lend an ambience to the evening,” Ramani says to him, taking a glass of champagne for herself. “You’ll get used to it. Now drink, Robert. It’s Pol Roger, your favorite.”
Both Ril and Ramani take a generous sip from their flutes, prompting Robert to take a large swig from his own. Lucy, having observed carefully, does likewise.
With a sidewise glance at his hosts, Robert steps away into the gathering, while Lucy finds her own distractions. Mesmerized, he wanders among the projections, who skillfully avoid him so as to preserve the illusion. None talk—not to him or each other. Nor do they exhibit any particular interest—only when he makes a point of making eye contact does he get some form of polite response. One of the women he finds particularly attractive. She makes it clear that his interest is far too forward.
Robert soon finds himself at the French windows, from where he surveys the scene, projection people circulating, the string quartet playing and Lucy chasing waiters carrying trays of canapés under the ever-watchful eye of Ramani.
He slips out onto the terrace.
* * *
A refreshing chill to the evening accentuates the woodland scents, punctuated by the occasional heady waft of honeysuckle and azalea, though it is not cool enough to be uncomfortable. It is, as it has thus far shown to be, perfect. Robert’s gaze quickly finds the night sky and its profusion of stars.
“Is it real or another projection?” he asks.
Ril has quietly joined him.
“The dome is open to starlight. You see the night sky as it is.”
“How much life is out there?”
“It is everywhere,” Ril says, shifting his gaze to match Robert’s.
“After a century of looking we have found nothing.”
“A veil has been drawn over these worlds to obscure what lies beyond,” Ril says.
“What lies beyond?”
Robert lowers his gaze to confront Ril.
“All of creation.”
“Why hide that?”
“To deliver mankind from temptation. Industrialization, war, technological advancement. It is a common
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