himself, had ultimately been sympathetic to her, despite the deceit.
Living with her husband on the orbital gambling facility for some time now, she had become a mysterious, glamorous figure, occasionally seen out on the gaming floor, but more often she frequented the back corridors and glittering chambers of the facility, where she spent time with a most unusual group of friends.…
One evening, Lorenzo invited Meghina and these friends to dinner in his elegant dining hall. Months earlier, he had been forced to abdicate as doge, in part because of the revelations about Meghina, which his political enemies used to their advantage. Now the nobleman was essentially an outcast on the orbiter, living in a velvet-lined cocoon.
At the appointed hour, Princess Meghina sat on one end of the gleaming wooden banquet table, opposite Lorenzo on the other. With her golden hair secured by a jeweled headband, she wore a long black velveen dress, trimmed in precious gemstones. She smiled down the long table at her husband, and sipped from a large silver goblet of red wine, a fine Canopan vintage.
Along the sides sat her five extraordinary companions—three men on one side and two women on the other. They formed an exclusive little club, often getting together socially in Meghina’s royal apartments on the Pleasure Palace orbiter. All the while, the six of them were under continuing medical supervision.
This was because they had apparently become immortal.
Under a research program established by the medical division of CorpOne, a remarkable elixir had been developed from the DNA of the purportedly indestructible Noah Watanabe. The new solution (dubbed the Elixir of Life) had been injected into two hundred thousand persons from all of the galactic races, and had resulted in immortality for a scant six of them, including Meghina. It had been like winning a lottery, and initially they had all considered themselves lucky.
Then they had heard that Noah’s insane sister had injected herself with the elixir, and had suffered a rapid cellular decline—an artificial form of progeria that caused the rapid aging of her cells, and her premature death. There had even been rumors that Francella, shortly before dying, had injected her own tainted blood back into her brother, trying to harm him. The attempt had apparently been unsuccessful, because he didn’t seem to have experienced any associated medical problems.
So far, neither had Princess Meghina or the other Elixir of Life “winners.”
* * * * *
In a chair on Meghina’s immediate left sat a small black-and-tan pet that she had recently taken a liking to, a rare Bernjack dagg from her private animal collection. Once it had been owned by a very old woman, but she had gone into a rest home and had been unable to care for the dagg any longer. The shaggy animal was very special to Meghina now, and she called it Orga, because the old lady had been Mrs. Orga. Using the solitary bulbous eye above its snout, it peered around the shaggy fur overhanging its face.
At the other end of the table, on Lorenzo’s right, sat what looked like another pet but really wasn’t. Rather, it was her husband’s furry little attaché, the feisty Hibbil, Pimyt. Meghina had never liked the graying, black-and-white alien, but had gracefully concealed her feelings from him.
Raising his own goblet, Lorenzo said, “A toast to the good life.”
He and his guests quaffed their drinks, then set the goblets down with thumps that were almost in synchronization.
Just then, the dagg leaned its long snout over the table, and gripped its water bowl in its mouth. Lifting the bowl high, the animal leaned back and slurped from it, before losing its grip. The bowl crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling the water.
Several guests tittered, but Lorenzo scowled at the animal, as he often did. He only tolerated the dagg. A servant hurried over to clean up the mess.
“Perhaps we should put wine in Orga’s bowl!”
Living with her husband on the orbital gambling facility for some time now, she had become a mysterious, glamorous figure, occasionally seen out on the gaming floor, but more often she frequented the back corridors and glittering chambers of the facility, where she spent time with a most unusual group of friends.…
One evening, Lorenzo invited Meghina and these friends to dinner in his elegant dining hall. Months earlier, he had been forced to abdicate as doge, in part because of the revelations about Meghina, which his political enemies used to their advantage. Now the nobleman was essentially an outcast on the orbiter, living in a velvet-lined cocoon.
At the appointed hour, Princess Meghina sat on one end of the gleaming wooden banquet table, opposite Lorenzo on the other. With her golden hair secured by a jeweled headband, she wore a long black velveen dress, trimmed in precious gemstones. She smiled down the long table at her husband, and sipped from a large silver goblet of red wine, a fine Canopan vintage.
Along the sides sat her five extraordinary companions—three men on one side and two women on the other. They formed an exclusive little club, often getting together socially in Meghina’s royal apartments on the Pleasure Palace orbiter. All the while, the six of them were under continuing medical supervision.
This was because they had apparently become immortal.
Under a research program established by the medical division of CorpOne, a remarkable elixir had been developed from the DNA of the purportedly indestructible Noah Watanabe. The new solution (dubbed the Elixir of Life) had been injected into two hundred thousand persons from all of the galactic races, and had resulted in immortality for a scant six of them, including Meghina. It had been like winning a lottery, and initially they had all considered themselves lucky.
Then they had heard that Noah’s insane sister had injected herself with the elixir, and had suffered a rapid cellular decline—an artificial form of progeria that caused the rapid aging of her cells, and her premature death. There had even been rumors that Francella, shortly before dying, had injected her own tainted blood back into her brother, trying to harm him. The attempt had apparently been unsuccessful, because he didn’t seem to have experienced any associated medical problems.
So far, neither had Princess Meghina or the other Elixir of Life “winners.”
* * * * *
In a chair on Meghina’s immediate left sat a small black-and-tan pet that she had recently taken a liking to, a rare Bernjack dagg from her private animal collection. Once it had been owned by a very old woman, but she had gone into a rest home and had been unable to care for the dagg any longer. The shaggy animal was very special to Meghina now, and she called it Orga, because the old lady had been Mrs. Orga. Using the solitary bulbous eye above its snout, it peered around the shaggy fur overhanging its face.
At the other end of the table, on Lorenzo’s right, sat what looked like another pet but really wasn’t. Rather, it was her husband’s furry little attaché, the feisty Hibbil, Pimyt. Meghina had never liked the graying, black-and-white alien, but had gracefully concealed her feelings from him.
Raising his own goblet, Lorenzo said, “A toast to the good life.”
He and his guests quaffed their drinks, then set the goblets down with thumps that were almost in synchronization.
Just then, the dagg leaned its long snout over the table, and gripped its water bowl in its mouth. Lifting the bowl high, the animal leaned back and slurped from it, before losing its grip. The bowl crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling the water.
Several guests tittered, but Lorenzo scowled at the animal, as he often did. He only tolerated the dagg. A servant hurried over to clean up the mess.
“Perhaps we should put wine in Orga’s bowl!”
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