Herculanium by Alex G. Paman Page B

Peryson was getting irritated with Max’s protests. “What do you say, buddy? Just a quickie to get this over with?”
    “Keep it brief, Pres.” Max knew he would have to make a few compromises, and unfortunately, this was just the first of many. “Just don’t lose yourself in the part, ‘know what I mean?”
    Preston nodded and turned to the crowd.
     
    “Holy shit! What happened to you?” The guard stared at him as if he was a ghost that just floated out from the sprinkler mist. Allan paused for a few seconds, then smiled as he understood why the guard reacted the way he did.
    “I got lost, man. I wandered into the sprinkler area and look what happened.” He ran his fingers through his soaked hair and shook the excess water off his fingers.
    “It’s fucking cold out here, mother fucker. You’d better get dry quick, or you’ll get pneumonia. Never mind the security jacket. That shit’s paid for.”
    The guard motioned for him to come forward. He was a big man, with wide shoulders matched only by his potbelly and putrid breath.
    “You must be one of the new guys here. Man, they hired so much last-minute security, I don’t think they can keep track of everybody. I’m Manny. You are?”
    “I’m…Al.”
    “Nice to meet you, Al. Listen, there’s a side-door next to the staircase, on the side to the right. Tell the guards that Manny said it’s okay for you to go in and get changed. Better hurry, boy. We don’t want any lawsuits on our hands.”
    “Appreciate it, partner. You’re alright.” Allan grinned. He didn’t need to kill this one.
    The guard slapped Allan on the back that was half push-off and half punch. Allan stumbled forward, but kept walking towards the crowd. “Holy shit, that hurt!” he thought to himself.
    He’ll get him back later, the same favor he did to his buddy back at his car.
     
    Clay raised three fingers high and counted down.
    Micky closed her eyes for a few seconds, then quickly opened them as Clay’s count reached one. “This evening can perhaps be best described as pure chaos. Just a few hours after being named the celebrity spokesperson for the new Olympus space station, superstar basketball player Preston Jones was to attend a meeting with event promoters. But, as you can see around me, this supposedly quiet get-together has turned into an impromptu block party, full of well-wishers and the media. Despite several false leaks to the press and the general public, we have all found ourselves here, at the 978th Veterans Hall in the South Bay, wondering along with Preston Jones himself: what will this new future bring, and what does it mean for humankind? This is Micky Suarez reporting for KMNL Evening News.”
    Preston tapped the microphone head. “Is this thing on?” Broken applause and whistles echoed from the crowd. Flashbulbs ignited sporadically like curbside fireworks.
    “I really don’t know what to say. You all weren’t invited to this party, at least not yet. The promoters and my people are meeting here tonight to discuss the details of what’s supposed to happen. As soon as I find out, you—all of you—will be the first to know.” He turned around and looked at Peryson.
    “Are we supposed to have a press conference soon?” he whispered.
    “Possibly within two weeks,” answered Peryson, ignoring Max’s sour face.
    “I’ve just been told that you all should get more information in about two weeks. Until then, sit tight, and we’ll all go through this together. Thank you for coming out. Peace.”
    A sea of flailing arms instantly erupted from the masses, followed by a visual crescendo of more flash pulses.
    Peryson grimaced as the sea of people seemed to overwhelm the surrounding area. Max Lee was right; if they’re not careful, this could turn into a localized riot.
    “Call the City Police,” he told a nearby assistant, cupping his hand over his mouth to hide the command. “Advise them that we need this area cleared as soon as possible, and