A preview of Chapters 1 and 2 of Rogue Gods, Second Edition:
1. THE BLISTERING BOAT
The sun roared above the massive ship and the rest of the famously all-knowing Pacific Ocean. It really was a lovely time for the journey, the way the sun was hitting, and how the cool wind helped taper down the immense heat of a few hours earlier. A gentle gust swept along the deck and through the many windows of the super-yacht, rustling tablecloths and swaying chandeliers. An outside observer might have found the rather impressionist scene in a Claude Monet painting.
A total of forty-eight visitors and thirty-two staff lingered about the ship, which the visitors had boarded the day prior. They were all very interested in their destination, and in each other. The visitors swapped accounts of the arduous application process, schmoozed, and otherwise lounged about with their cocktails. They mingled free from the strain of the smartphones they weren’t allowed to bring.
The vessel itself was in pristine condition. The length of a football field, it supported ample room for activity above and below-deck. Elegant silver drapes shone through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and the external decks were a glazed white wood. There were brilliantly furnished tables, couches, and a well-staffed open bar. The delicate design touches throughout the ship betrayed an opulence oft shielded by the few.
Just the sheer number of forms they had to sign before the voyage was unappetizing, let alone the imposing restrictions contained within. Signing meant forfeiting rights such as to take photos, to phone home, or bring back any mementos from their stay. Along every step of the way, the hosts’ insistence on compliance was obvious, but those onboard had found the chance for the opportunity worth it, even while releasing a good deal of liberties expected anywhere else.
The visitors were getting along rather nicely, even among their vast differences. Some were old and some young, rich and not very, some well-accomplished and others, seemingly ordinary. They had departed from the U.S., but many were international, from the likes of Japan, India, Ethiopia, Brazil, and more. Those who weren’t comfortable with English used seamless high-tech translation earbuds to communicate (or with any language, for that matter). With such crystal-clear translation, even the Americans proved tolerant.
They all had plenty of talking to do. Among those across the world who applied to visit Regis every year, most weren’t accepted even after a lifetime of trying. A few onboard looked like they had waited damn near that.
The secretive island, for which they were bound, owned the rights to the specific waterway they were taking. It controlled the rights to the skies too, and to the space and satellites above that. When the super-yacht was docked in Eugene, Oregon (as it does to ferry visitors once a quarter), it hid within a hollowed-out bluff on private property.
Although they hadn’t been certain of it, the visiting parties had all been driven to the bluff in autonomous cars, behind opaque screens separating the driver’s cabin from passengers. The car’s voice companion (posing as a driver) had made such realistic and decent conversation that most couldn’t quite tell.
Due to the island’s notorious, daresay indecent exclusivity, the sorts of niceties which follow prestige were more or less expected. The fancy drinks, the food, the service: it was all top-notch and in-keeping with the experience, even down to the looks of those supplying the bottle service and lying towels down on the deck chairs.
The yacht made the island's cultural and financial clout apparent, and with regards to the accommodations, most visitors proved willing to partake. They embraced the journey fully and vibrantly, with little-to-no reflection on the tolls this trip might take on the rest of their lives.
—
Colton woke up on a comfortable couch under a large umbrella. He’d somehow found his way back there from the railing, where he'd daydreamed for twenty minutes in relative serenity. Through fluttered eyelids, he met his surreal environment once again and gathered his thoughts. He felt warmed by the sun.
His girlfriend, Diane, was beside him on the couch, holding a fiction novel with one hand and his leg with the other. She smiled when he stirred next, which was quite a lovely visage to wake up to. Diane took another sip from her constantly-refilling cocktail.
The staff bustled about the decks with an efficiency and sharpness which echoed formidable training routines. They wore all-white, with no tags for names, but responded gracefully with them when asked. Diane liked asking them, because they had strange names, and were all perfect teenagers. They looked at home on the sea, and opposed to the idea of an empty glass.
Earlier, by the railing, Colton had enjoyed looking out onto the ocean and down below, to the unique way the ship was pulling them along. He hadn’t felt anything quite like it, the way it was almost propelling them through the water, churning the waves yet smoothly, as if on some sort of magnetic track.
Sunset was approaching, which was to make their destination (this being heir second day aboard). The captain had announced as much over speakerphone, followed by a rambling and rather humorous dissertation on wind patterns.
Colton thought it wasn’t as good as his deserted island story from yesterday, but still laughed at the ludicrous punchline.
They had met the grey-bearded captain upon boarding. He was surely a catch, greeting the young couple with the same charm and inner confidence as he had the rest of the visitors. His long beard, covering his mouth, may have moved up and down consistently with every word he spoke, but his observant eyes were restless, always darting back and forth as if searching for something in them.
The captain had also been hosting a virtual livestream in his cabin throughout their voyage, which Colton had tuned into intermittently.
He certainly had plenty of octopus stories…
Colton recalled first learning about the Regents in elementary school, when his class had gone around the globe identifying prominent continents, countries, and islands. His teacher had mentioned that many of the islands in the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans were Territories of the U.S. (which the American students had found emboldening). His teacher had mentioned the Pacific Island of Regis in this bit, and that it was not a Territory… but remembered she had said it with a bit of confused intrigue before skipping past, deeming it either too inconsequential or mysterious, Colton couldn’t tell. He hadn’t heard all too much of it (besides from his uncle and in his research) since then.
Far off the coast of California, southwest of the Hawaiian Islands, it wasn’t close enough to Polynesia to be grouped alongside those chains. There wasn’t much public information about the island, other than it being an independent nation-state bent on seclusion, and not seemingly too big, advanced, or noteworthy.
Meanwhile, while Colton was lost in thought, Diane had made her way back to their spot. Colton removed one of his earbuds. Her blurred figure motioned towards him against the glint of the sun. She had returned with a different drink in hand, and with a new colored drink umbrella to match this libation.
“Oh my God babe, you’ve got to try this” Diane spoke excitedly. “It may be the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”
“Didn’t you say that about the last one?” Colton replied.
He reached over and took a sip from the straw, but couldn’t make sense of it either.
“Ginger?”
Diane shrugged. “It’s not anything... that's what’s so crazy! It's probably some exotic fruit or sugar we don’t even know about yet. These damn people and their recipe-hoarding!!"
Colton smiled, but gave her the same patient look as yesterday, when she’d remarked to other visitors (over a few glasses of wine) her views on the strict application process, primarily the prohibitive rules attached to their visit such as the stipulations concerning no pictures or mementos to bring home.
“I hear you babe… I agree with you. But we’re visiting and… they’re strict about this stuff. Just try not to offend them in any way, right?”
“It was just to you!” Diane scoffed. “Besides, I thought you said they'd be cool anyway… I don’t want to have to keep watching everything I say, Colt. I’ve been respectful…”
“I didn’t say you haven’t, just to look out is all.”
He tried a reassuring smile.
Diane took back her glass from the table and laid back in a languid motion, as she often did after getting scrupulous. She snatched her latest beach read and put it to her face.
She resembled an Edward Hopper painting, with the ocean and the sun behind her, and the lines of her body made sharp and apparent by streaking rays of light. She had a thin face and shining strawberry blonde hair tied up in a ponytail. Tall and lean, accentuated by a fashionable pair of heeled sandals, she wore a short, flattering linen coverup dotted by tiny purple flowers. She was pretty, to say the least, and her makeup was still impeccable, as she’d remained in the shade while Colton wandered around the ship, chatting with others and sweating his balls off.
Maybe Diane knew how to keep her usual demeanor throughout new experiences, but Colton was still trying to get past the provocation of it all. He’d been anticipating this trip for a long time, and during the upcoming sunset he would see the island, that he’d only ever read about, for the first time…
“When I was getting another drink, I ran into the playboy again...” Diane said after a few pages. “He was going on about a hidden waterfall on the island this time.”
She was talking about Evian, the one they had nicknamed ‘the playboy’ since meeting him the day prior. He was younger, like them, and could certainly entertain… Evian was from southern Italy, spoke Italian, French, and English, and was practically dressed for the club already, sporting slicked-back hair and a thick gold chain overtop his expensive-looking silk shirt. Colton’s first impression was of generational wealth, the same sort of diagnosis which had proved useful, socially and professionally, working in Silicon Valley for a defense-tech startup a few years back.
The eccentric, storytelling Evian had drawn a bit of an audience, telling visitors of the famed Jewel Caverns, allegedly a mythical underground nightclub on the island.
Evian said it was at the top of his list, and that it might even be one of the most exclusive clubs in the world (primarily due to its location on Regis, but also for the singular nature of the scene itself).
Diane had asked a few questions, but Colton was skeptical.
Evian spoke with ease, as if he was more comfortable in front of an audience, and in what had to be the slickest Italian accent Colton had ever heard.
“Of course, the club is very exclusive, so I’m not sure we’ll be able to get in, especially as visitors… My vecchio went a few years back, but only by a stroke of luck...! Because a local was able to sneak him in… Oh, he said it was wicked, a never-ending party with ridiculous DJ’s, huge caverns, and loads of secret rooms. Gorgeous, ‘otherworldly’ women! Plenty of psychoactives, of course… which is what they call them. Apparently, some real spiritual experiences…”
Evian punched the air a few times in anticipation.
“I’m telling you… this trip is going to be fucking incredible!”
He drew a few muted murmurs and shy smiles from this monologue. Diane smiled at Colton, who kept it eye-level.
Colton thought Evian could certainly entertain, and the group listening was obviously interested. However, had everyone aboard not just signed all those restrictive forms about limiting communications about the island? Evian’s vecchiohad certainly thought those rules didn’t apply to him, and the suave young Italian was already chatting up a storm.
Colton hadn’t come across any Jewel Caverns in his research, but hadn’t really come across many individual establishments at all. With all the island’s secrecy, Colton doubted the Regents would even allow visitors on a two-week stay to such an exclusive spot (or whether or not they were even that indulgent in the first place). In his mind, the Regents were the sporting champs, the diplomats, the sophisticated journalists. They weren’t druggies with a penchant for excess…
Colton closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He wondered how much longer it would be until sunset. He hadn’t put his watch back on after dipping in the pool earlier.
His yellow-blonde hair was even blonder in the summer, approaching white, and even he could appreciate he looked in the best shape of his life. The recent promotion didn’t hurt, but at this point, he looked the part too (stature, clothes, jawline, etc.) and was proud of it.
The trip had come at a good time.
At least that’s what his uncle had said.
The last time Colton had spoken with his uncle, he had been very adamant about that sort of spirit (like he was apt to do). His uncle was always invoking oracles, about how it’s ‘the right time’ for things and such, even if it wasn’t necessarily true. He’d been very excited that Colton was invited to visit Regis. For all his interest in the island (and success/connections otherwise) Colton’s uncle had never been accepted to visit.
Colton knew there were hidden mysteries on the island which were beyond his privileges, pay-grade, whatever you’d want to call it. He'd grown more convinced by the year that the island successfully censored its global image, both in print and online. The inhabitants of the Pacific Island of Regis (as it’s officially known) were not well-acquainted with the outside world. Conversely, their important events were not followed by foreign news media, and there was so little online.
The Regents (as its people were called) were estimated by the BBC at 200,000, but there was no official census data. They largely keep to themselves in the middle of the vast Pacific, not showing up in global trade data or via records of state-level diplomacy.
Given the small sample of Regents who traveled abroad, they were a gifted people. Both wary of the spotlight and born for it. Their athletes did well competing against far more populous nations, from track to golf to beach volleyball. Never the Olympics though, and never under their home flag (a white flag with a black circle). Their few public-facing journalists were sophisticated, riveting to read, and institutionally well-regarded, especially pertaining to global trends in trade and international development. Over the years, some of them were nominated for the Pulitzer and other top prizes… nominations always left unaccepted. Their government was rumored a direct democracy, but as a nation, they remained publicly uninvolved in international affairs, with no official allies or treaties. Regent diplomats, who (it could only be rumored), cautiously exercised their soft power around the world, weren’t pining for notoriety.
It was rumored by some online that the Regents operated financially behind an off-the-books shadow economy, a complicated global tax-haven rivaling notoriously neutral Switzerland, or the Cayman Islands. The funds behind the funds.The type where you wouldn’t know names if you didn’t need to.
Colton had entertained an unabashed fandom with their people and secluded prosperity since his junior year of high school, when he’d watched a Regent tennis player named Lykandros (playing under the Luxembourg flag) sweep a minor tournament in Germany with more dominance than anyone he’d ever seen play the sport. His uncle had told him he was Regent, or else, he wouldn’t have known. Since the protégé had retired shortly thereafter, in classic Regent fashion, not much was made of him in the long run…
More to this point, and only two years ago… a Regent journalist, prominent in international development circles which Colton followed, had called it quits on reporting at just twenty-eight years of age, the same as Colton was now. With all their talent, whether by racquet or by pen, they didn’t seem to desire global glory in the way Olympians or other top professionals do.
“Colton… Helloooo…” Diane poked him, freeing him from his thoughts again. He smiled, and she crawled toward him with her hands across the couch. He opened his arms so she could rest her head on his chest and held her head in place, gently stroking her hair.
“If mister bushy beard captain doesn’t get us there soon, it would be a most sensational waste of a sunset” she said in a cute whiny voice.
Colton adjusted a bit so he could look at her.
“From what we’ve seen so far, I’m sure they’ve timed it out by the second.”
He rolled her over on the couch and they laughed eye-to-eye, with Diane giggling as he eventually nestled into her, this time. With their arms fully embraced around each other, Colton closed his eyes and let his mind drift peacefully, with the reverence of a movie-goer about to experience the latest blockbuster in theater, but perhaps not yet realizing what film was about to start rolling.
—
An hour later, having showered and changed into nice outfits for the expansive welcome party to be held on the beach that evening, Colton was expecting the island to materialize any moment.
They’d been chatting with a middle-aged Quebecois couple who’d stopped by their spread. Together, they toasted Prosecco to the impending sunset, island-sighting, and two-week stay.
Meanwhile, the oil painting in the sky (which was their horizon) had exploded into color, practically begging the artist to paint an island into the foreground. Diane remained deep in conversation with the Quebecois, practicing her passable French with the help of the earbuds’ translation feature, seamlessly assisting with the different languages (even recognizing she was attempting to speak the French herself, and gently nudging her in the right direction).
Colton, who couldn’t take his eyes off the horizon at this point, figured they still had a few more minutes at least. He knew Diane didn’t take as much interest in the island itself as he did, but that was fine. To her credit, he had become somewhat obsessed after finally being accepted to visit… Not to the point of conspiracy theories, per say… but enough curious research to keep the incessant ‘what-if’ questions floating top of mind.
Sure, Diane was keen on such a marvelous and exclusive vacation, but not as much into what their education system might be like, or what the role they might’ve had in developing the Internet (far-fetched, but rational enough, Colton thought).
He did hope she’d be on her best behavior though, on behalf at least of all the forms they’d agreed to…
Colton had tried stressing to Diane that Regis was a Hellenic city-state unlike anywhere else in the world… but the pair of dolphins swimming beside the yacht that morning had captured her attention far better than he ever could.
The burning sky provided stark contrast against the water. A sparkling orange streak hovered above the horizon, champagne-like fizzles spread across the sky, among the sparse clouds in the foreground. A view of single-consumption, just as soon to be destroyed by the dusk and never seen again. The sun had sunken to a mere half-circle over the endless horizon, the same one which breathes life into all living things, even deep into the Pacific... That ultimate creator which sets and disappears, just to roar back again the next day... Its eternal recurrence dawned anew to Colton. The sun had been in the peak of its powers earlier, and now, it was time to dance.
As the swirling colors wrapped the sky, the excitement on board evolved into palpable chatter and cheers as the island appeared before them. Beckoning over the horizon was an entire coast and skyline to go with it. There were shining, towering buildings at first, and then, massive skyscrapers further inland, which, when followed vertically, led toward an enormous singular mountain peak which marked the island’s apex in the clouds. Horizontally, too, were what appeared to be bridges, linking much smaller nearby (manmade?) islands to the main coastline. The island certainly looked bigger and more advanced than any records had let on…
The ship approached locking systems in the shallowing water, featuring tide-barriers that could be raised up and down, which the captain explained over the intercom helped to protect against tsunamis and better regulate ocean currents, if need-be. There were clearly more-manufactured islands immediately nearby, which supported the foundations of the tide-barrier systems (and which Colton thought had to be quite dense to provide actual tsunami support). The sprawling aquatic engineering, of which they could now see the full scope, funneled them through to the port, where they saw other ships of all different sizes. The tide barrier systems, featuring walls, nets, and seeming ‘wave pools’ were intricate and layered, as if the island had long-ago harnessed the unruly Pacific to their own end.
The feats of immense and novel engineering almost resembled a dreamscape, and it was more stunning than even Colton had expected. A kingdom on the coast, built up by generations, impressing the very nature of their civilization with a glance…
However the trip turned out, Colton knew it would be one for a lifetime, but he couldn’t help thinking how or why they’d even gotten there in the first place… Most of the other visitors were older folks, and from all over the world (and, of course, most applicants weren’t accepted anyway). Aside from him, Diane, and Evian, there were only a handful under the age of forty.
Diane had gotten the invite on her first try, but Colton had put in an application every year since he was eligible at twenty-one... What had he, or any others aboard for that matter, done special to gain acceptance? Further, why might they have been chosen for this specific visit?
Diane forgot her drink on the table as she stared at the coast and accompanying skyline. Colton wrapped his elbows around her neck as they looked out at the island together. He kissed her once on each cheek as the buildings got taller and the beach grew closer.
“Oh my fucking goodness… this place is insane!” she whispered, and then looked up at him. “I can’t wait, Colt!”
He kept his gaze on the horizon, but took note of her excitement, perfectly cute and smiley. She turned back towards the view and squeezed his arms. Colton’s eyes tracked up the distant mountain, growing by the second. Its peak was invisible through the clouds, as though competing for supremacy of the sky itself.
“Yes” he finally responded. “It’s magical, isn’t it?”
–
I watched the waves twinkle in the moonlight.
This time, as most of the visitors went to bed after the welcome party on the beach, I piloted a different ship onto the water. I had only three of my top mates with me now, my prized pupils and trusted confidants.
I felt energized as we sped toward The Cove, my favorite spot (other than my oceanfront palace, of course).
It was always great pulling up to The Cove on arrival day for new visitors. To head there on the eve of a new season is like when the top producers in an industry drive their new sports cars to the seasonal awards convention, hosted at a hidden-away resort outside a financial hub like New York or Shanghai. Associates from across various oceanic industries pull up on new boats and jet-skis, even fashionable houseboats (but nowhere near the size of my vessel from earlier).
I have many ships, naturally, but this speeder I helmed now felt right for the evening. Much easier to steer than the Titan, that’s for sure, but it’s always fun telling some old stories to a new batch of visitors (and especially when they interact with my livestream, which a few of them did). The Titan isn’t one-tenth as big as some of the gaudy cruise ships I’ve seen around the world, but it is twenty times more beautiful… When it comes to cruise ships, I of course have various stakes in such companies…
Oh, The Cove will be an extravaganza tonight. I always endeavor to make it so before the ancient storm.
I am 60 years-old, and one of the world’s most successful shipping magnates. I am a generational oceanographer with extensive knowledge of sea-life and rip currents, as well as being one of the most outspoken experts on the direction of climate change efforts, with such drastic long-term effects on ocean biodiversity, jet stream corridors, coral reef formations, and fluctuating water temperatures (triggering icebergs to melt, significantly raise sea-levels, yada-yada), among a plethora of other matters. I’ve promoted efforts to limit damage to our waterways, wildlife, and atmosphere. I’ve funded efforts to control sea levels in select locations, via spamming magnetic wave formations and outfitting tide barriers, on grander scales than ever seen before (enabling more efficient shipping, and… safer flooding protections!). I’m an advocate for sustainable fishing, naturally, and wield an outsized influence on global markets.
I could go on, but am tired of all that anyhow…
Really, I look forward to the weeks ahead, and how we barnacles might make a bit of a splash this season. There were some viable seafarers onboard today, whom I looked in the eye again and dropped onto the shore this evening. Perhaps, after our voyage and maybe even one or two of my shanties, they might have a renewed interest in Oceanics… We’ll see…
I prefer the more primal personalities, those resembling the rough open sea, perhaps with a push-pull foundation, or a moon-like gravitation… Some I met even felt stormy with electricity, and these days, I’ve kind of grown to like that…
Bahhh!! The sky… the earth… that blasted ball of fire, the grapevines, the hearth… What’s life but finding that finest bout of courage to jump back in the ocean, from where we all came! The real source of life on earth! (I tell you, that DutchIceman was onto something big, re-popularizing cold plunges!!).
But what I really crave, mulling into my seventh decade in this world, with out-of-date tastes and nostalgic tendencies, are the most ancient tales. Those of the planets and the stars… and how such gravitational, eternal bodies have willed us all together! Stories long done being told… but the stories that unite us the most! Those which challenge us, generation after generation!
Stories to which I wasn’t privy (at first) and could never hope to rewrite… but among whose dreamlike entities and namesakes I’ll stay swimming next to, diving into the deep, and treading water beside until the day I die.
2. ON THE ISLAND
A young woman stood on the beach, white sand between her toes. There were a fair number of others around, all hoping for just a peek at the visitors as they approached the sold-out welcome party on the beachfront. However, the young woman was alone in-thought… a completely different wavelength than, what she considered, the younger divas and stuck-up old people around her.
The gossiping girls were talking just a bit too loud for her liking, meanwhile the Titan had just passed through the main gates. The brats were stirring up an absolute storm over ‘who’s who’ and ‘what’s what’ this season… But their chatter wouldn’t distract her anymore, nothing anybody could do or say mattered…
She had been waiting for this moment since last year, when she had gotten such precious little attention, even with some objectively good moments. Though, perhaps that might turn out to be in her favor, her lack of notice…
She’d still been feeling everything out, and too scared.
This year, the young woman had even bigger plans. This summer would be different. She felt ready.
Her ecstatic dreams, dating back as far as nine months ago, had foretold her path… This season, someone thisseason, would give her the chance she had prayed for nightly for years. For notoriety, to finally prove she was something special. A chance to draw attention from those in their high pedestals, whose main objectives are control and entertainment… The Board she’d grown more morbid about recently… the lot of them, really, except for her favorites of course.
As the ship made its way to the port, the young woman thought of something she’d told herself over-and-over, but didn’t fully believe until that very moment: that the time was now. Staring at the miniscule specks on the deck of the boat, her vision felt clearer than ever, as though adjusted on a microscope and all the finer details made abundantly more obvious.
The young woman was tired of watching the visitors’ livestream out of the corner of her eye on her phone. She thought, if she looked hard enough, that she could even make out his figure on the deck, draped across the girl he brought along…
She whispered to herself, inaudible to the others.
“Oh, how they’ll think of me then...”
—
In fact, a good 71% of the citizens were awaiting the visitors' arrival across all-platforms, a three-year high among the latest metrics. They’d been following their journey onboard the Titan, of course, but now the visitors, who Regent citizens had been learning about via primer segments for months, would finally be among them.
It had been a lot of fun getting to know this season’s new batch of visitors, what with all the quality deep-dives that the producers put on… but watching them in real-time aboard the Titan over the last day-and-a-half always made for rewarding viewing. The initial stages of any season made for exciting fanfare: seeing the visitors meet their fellows aboard the ship, gossiping over their perceptions of Regis, and otherwise living it up on the Titan… but this was the summer season, and with a massive storm thrown in next week as a bonus…
Regents followed the ship’s approach on television screens in cafés, restaurants, and pubs; on computers and in breakrooms at the office; and, especially, on mobile devices while out-and-about with their days (that respective figure was up a whopping 12% from last summer’s edition).
There were, of course, hidden cameras and microphones all over the ship. This type of surveillance wasn't unusual for Regis, at least in its public spaces, but the visitors made for great viewing.
Today’s segments would be the last public feeds of the visitors aired until after their two weeks were up, as per custom, leaving only prior-edited clips for the airwaves. Live-viewing rights were harshly restricted while visitors were still on the island, to ensure average citizens wouldn’t be watching at the wrong time, and, crucially, that mischievous or rogue actors wouldn’t mess with any of the plots…
A very small percentage of the Regent population had tickets to this season’s welcome party, which was taking place at one of the island’s premier beachfront restaurants, spilling onto the sand and all the way up to the red carpets laid out for the visitors departing the ship.
Upon the visitors’ sunset arrival, the live-feed had flipped around to display how the island appeared to the visitors aboard the ship. Instant feedback (provided by in-time viewer surveys) had found the camera flip a ‘nice touch.’ It had been a gorgeous sunset, with the sun setting in the west above the island towards which the ship gently hummed, the Titanmaking like a great egret returning home for the summertime.
For seasonal visitors, the island’s leadership liked to get the full scoop… and that, for better or worse, required top-notch broadcasting rigor. Regent leadership employed surveillance technology all over the island, technology which was usually put to more ethical uses than say, Peter Thiel or the Chinese Communist Party, but which was nonetheless accepted by this point as a mostly benevolent public good by residents.
So, yes, there was deceit, on part of the visitors, but by wholly intentional and rather intricate design. In all the strenuous forms provided after acceptance, public recording was alluded to only slightly, to which visitors didn’t have to agree but merely obey (much in the same way that governments around the world maintain security cameras for public safety). In the forms, expected privacy guarantees were not rendered, but (to be fair), most visitors would not have expected their near 24/7 coverage to be used for plot in an unsuspecting reality show.
For most visitors, they wouldn’t know for certain after leaving the island, nor for the rest of their lives…
The show’s dual-purpose, The Board holds (as of this past spring, for 36 years-running), is to maintain visitors’ accountability during their stay, and to provide an unfiltered glance into the lives of people from around the world. All-in-all… the island’s leadership contends that the months-long, primetime public spectacle brings on-the-fly entertainment value, unbiased insight into the lives of foreigners (although, this topic is still hotly debated), and, perhaps most of all, fosters an unmatched sense of cultural unity among the two-million citizens of the secretive and isolated Pacific Island of Regis.
—
Far above sea-level, with the Titan still yet to make landfall, the tallest alcove on the mountaintop was grumbling with anticipation... The enchanting ballroom was in full attendance.
All was in order among its rank and file.
A chaotic atmosphere ensued as revelers discussed the various personalities on the screens surrounding them; the aesthetically pleasing and well-employed wide-camera angles from the ship and on the shore this season; the glittery signoffs from studio panelists, guest collaborators, and social reporters… for the time being, at least.
The ship was fast approaching the wharf. A few in the revelrous mountaintop ballroom would soon make their way down via helicopter to the welcome party, set to commence within the next forty-five minutes or so. The rest would feast on their own accord.
The revelers too gathered to commemorate the visitors’ arrival, snacking lavishly on the various delicacies on display. There were fresh fish and meat and fruits and cakes and champagne and ambrosia and nectar, all displayed beautifully and ravaged thoroughly by hungry attendees, only to be reproduced at once from the bustling kitchen.
There was certainly a lot at stake this season, especially with the recent publicity over power struggles atop the leadership… Bickering and bickering, they spoke in littered prose in search of ‘hope and loss and renewal and novelty,’ so as to not say anything of their true feelings, of course. Especially, not among this gossiping crowd…
How preoccupied they all were... and excited! Not one among this rather raucous crowd could sit still, as there was so much to discuss! Plots would unravel, and prayers would be answered. Victories would be won, and glorious dramas would unfold, well, in one way or another…
A loud bell dinged, signaling the feasting crowd to hush. The figure at the head of the table stood, and all immediately turned eyes and attention. He was a large man, but his physical stature alone was nothing compared to allthat he represented. He was larger-than-life, both in reality and to the bards who colored his many exploits.
The large man at the crux of the room raised a toast, and spoke most eloquently, addressing both elephants and mice in the crowd with diplomatic feel-goods but also, cutting exposition. Oh, it would be ‘grand,’ he said. Hectic, competitive, untamed…
“I understand how much everyone is looking forward to this next edition…” he bellowed, unshakingly. “But, as always, there will be consequences for anyone who dares overstep their lines…”
The room quivered. The occasion of hosting visitors was not infrequent, but there were many reasons this season might be more than business-as-usual. There was hint of an edge to the formidable energy in the room, but to his credit, the man looked every bit confident in his grip over even the proudest of the bunch.
Some had speculated this to be the most exciting season yet, especially with the expected landfall of Typhon next week… the ‘father of all storms’ so they called it… The recurring superstorm hits the island once every ten years on average (and almost always at the peak of El Niño).
It had been fifteen years since Typhon last danced…
The figure at the helm drew his speech to a close, and, in usual crowd-rearing fashion, declared that this season would be one for all-time. He raised his glass once again with a well-measured pause, smiling at even the lesser-knowns who made it to the feast this season, and allowing his definitive word to linger over every single one of their fully-attentive heads—for no one dared to move a muscle before…
Zeus finally drank.
And sent the raucous crowd into a frenzy.
