Macbeth Act II Part 1

II

The night came, and the station’s hallway lights were dim.

Banquo and his son Fleance often enjoyed sitting in the third-ring commons at night to speak with one another and simply enjoy each other’s company. Tonight was one of those nights. During their conversation about the nearby planet and its moons Banquo heard some footsteps—a peculiarity at this time of night. “Who’s there?” Banquo inquired, hand on his vintage, Earth-made sword. President Duncan had outlawed blasters due to the incredible reflectivity of the station’s smooth steel walls and the danger a stray laser blast presented to innocent bystanders.

“A friend,” Macbeth replied, returning from sabotaging the cameras.

“Ah! Great to see you! But why are you awake at this time? The president’s asleep, can’t you rest too?” He thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose you can't, since you are here.” Another pause. “I can’t stop thinking about those Velda.”

“I don’t think about them,” Macbeth lied.

Banquo was incredulous. “But that first prediction came true. Do you think there might be some truth to your possible presidency?”

“It’s impossible to tell, but I’m going to walk for a while. Let’s talk about the Velda another evening. Goodnight, Steeva. Fleance.” Jason bowed slightly to the pair.

Macbeth continued his troubled and awkward stroll through the corridors of the station. The Velda would not leave his mind, nor would the impending murder. Suddenly an ancient dagger appeared before him. Rubbing his eyes to clear them of some non-existent hindrance, Macbeth asked no one, “Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.” He reached, “I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Are you as intangible as you are visible? Are you merely A dagger of the mind, a false creation? I can feel you pulling me the way I was headed... and I was to use such a weapon—but why are my eyes fooling me? You are not here.” Macbeth’s eyes widened as blood developed on the blade “This is impossible! The bloody business must be inspiring my subconscious thus. I know you don’t exist! Be gone!” The time-bell rang a single time. The knife vanished.

Macbeth headed to Duncan’s room. Waiting outside the door for him was his wife, weeping and mumbling, “If only he didn’t look like my father. If only. If only.” Macbeth understood, grabbed the daggers from her hands, entered the small room, and proceeded to gruesomely stab his humble and gracious leader.

Macbeth exited, holding the daggers straight out, covered in gore, eyes wide open, and noticed his wife was no longer in the hallway. He ran to his and his wife’s room, arms stiff from shock in front of him. Voices without mouths echoed in the empty halls, chanting softly, “Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep.”

Juliee welcomed him with a scream of terror and surprise, “You still have the knives! Quickly! Throw them in the toilet; we’ll purge them into space!” In helping her husband with the disposal of the weapons, her hands soon were similarly filthy. “Fret not,” she assured him, “A little water clears us of this deed.” While washing their hands of the homicide, the clock bell malfunctioned for the first time in Macbeth's memory, and rang arrhythmically for several minutes, during which time the remorseful and tearful Macbeth wished the noise would wake Duncan and rid him of the murder on his conscience. Of course, Duncan would never wake again.