"Welcome to Underveil." said the official-looking woman as she handed the Galaxy Note device to Barack.
Mr. Obama had just stepped inside the door from the tarmac having officially deplaned in, he couldn't believe it, Antarctica. He thumbed through the virtual brochure as he walked through the airport with a small crowd of other elites.
"Underveil," it read, "is a state-of-the-art facility that is the heart of the continent you know as Antarctica. What you don't know is that this place is the top destination for people of your stature worldwide. What you will see here will amaze you, and some of it may astound you. Congratulations, Mr. Obama, and welcome to your future. We call it Underveil."
"Wow," Barack thought, "a personalized brochure."
He slid the device into the pocket of his sports coat and stepped onto the moving sidewalk with the others. He looked around as he moved slowly through the airport. The walls were giant screens. Some of them had a sort of screensaver wallpaper pattern while others actively showed all kinds of information. There was a stock ticker, one for incoming and outgoing flights, a map of Underveil, and a world clock. What wasn't there was blatantly obvious. There were no advertisements or talking heads presenting the latest breaking news. The former president savored the quietness and peaceful ambience of the ethereal music that seemed to play out of thin air.
Barack stepped onto the elevator. Now that he was in closer quarters with the others in the group, they all chattered with excitement over what they'd seen so far. The elevator moved automatically having been programmed with a protocol for new arrivals. It seemed to move horizontally as well as vertically and the group arrived at their destination within 30 seconds.
The doors parted. Multiple gasps came from the passengers. Before them stood a tall, thin, light-skinned being. She was androgynous, but spoke in a soft feminine tone, "Welcome. I am Androdica, Ambassador of the Norse. Follow me."
Androdica walked with a smooth sashay along the narrow corridor almost like she was hovering. The group was quiet. She waved her hand in front of an access port and a shiny door slid open silently. All entered the small room. Inside were chairs with desks attached to them. The front of the room was a screen, and there were three people who looked to be nurses standing by a door on the opposite wall with a cart of medical supplies.
The screen blinked to life and a man appeared in the center. "Please have seat." He gestured toward the chairs.
Barack thought the man looked familiar, but as a former president, a lot of people looked familiar.
"Welcome. My name is George. I hope you are excited to be here. This is the Red Room so called because in it you will take a blood oath to never speak of Underveil off this continent. This blood oath is mandatory. You have two options: take the oath and move on to orientation or take it and leave...very simple.”
“This is deep.” Barack thought as he glanced around the room. The others sat fixed on the screen.
George continued, “As a nurse comes to your chair, please expose the arm you would like to use for the blood-draw.”
The nurses filled the pockets of their short lab coats with syringes, labels, needles, alcohol swabs, and sterile-wrapped fountain pens from the medical cart. They moved to the first row of chairs in the front of the room.
George went on, “Those who wish to leave will be escorted by Androdica back to the airport and placed on the next outgoing flight. Once those people have left, I will inform you of the next steps of your stay.”
As the nurses worked their way toward the back of the room where Barack was seated, he contemplated his decision. He was intrigued, but nervous about what Underveil would require of him. This trip had been mandatory upon his leaving public government service. He was told to come rather than asked.
He removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeve, and stuck out his right arm. The nurse said nothing. He drew the blood, and filled the ink reservoir of the fountain pen. He laid the pen, labeled with Barack’s name and a barcode in the pencil slot at the top of the desk.
The nurses finished their work and exited with the medical cart. A few seconds later, a man wearing a tight gray uniform entered with an armful of scrolls made of wood and parchment. He handed a scroll to each person in the room and went to stand behind a lectern in front corner.
“Hello, I am Lieutenant James Kennedy. Please take all the time you need. You may read your scroll before signing if you choose. Once you are ready, please sign your scroll with the fountain pen you have been provided with. This is your blood oath. Should you break any of the terms of this contract, you will be immediately apprehended and die in custody. Let that be clear. Your RFID chip records have been annotated with your visit and you will be monitored for the rest of your life when you are off-veil. Bring your scrolls to me when you are finished. Exit via the door to my left if you are staying; to my right, if you are leaving.”
Barack had made his decision. He signed the scroll with his familiar left hook, and handed it to the man. He exited the room to a second room much like the first. He sat down on a plush round couch with the others as yet another screen blinked to life.
George spoke, “Hello, I’m pleased with your choice. You may recognize me from my image on the $1 bill. You, too, will be immortal.”
Barack’s chin dropped.
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