《Quest》


 Journey

    "Lucas, dinner''s served."


    She called again. He stared at his Bernoulli-holo, not registering anything. He was miles away. Later he would tell his friends that that was the exact moment he realized he needed to get away. He should go on his Khar, his personal quest.


    As he entered the kitchen, he announced, "I think it''s time I did ..., something. I think I want to go on my Khar."


    "And so you should," mumbled his father, spooning vegetables on his plate with one hand and holding some report in his other hand, reading it. His mother knew him better. She looked straight into his eyes, seeing more than felt comfortable. "You''re going off-world." More a statement than a question. His father looked up from his reading, feeling that he was missing something. But then, it had to wait. They''d tell him if it was vital, and he had to digest this report before the council meeting at six-thirty.


    Luke looked at his parents before taking his first byte and felt his love for them flow through him, warming him. But, God, he needed to get away for a while.


    Just before six, his father''s car stopped in front of the house, and Brian, his father''s assistant, entered the kitchen. "It''s time we left, sir. Traffic is unpredictable." Being Mayor of Great Bethnell, the capital of their nation and for all practical purposes of their world Bethnell, had its drawbacks, as it had its perks.


    The mayor looked briefly at his wife, who scrutinized him and then nodded: his hair was ok, as were his shirt and tie. The daily council meetings at dinnertime were a burden, but this situation was only temporary until after the Jamboree.


    Lucas smiled inwardly. Perhaps seeing all the off-worlders and aliens had triggered his desire to go get out. Who knew ...? Probably his mother knew.


    When his father had left, his mother looked at him for a brief moment, and then she astounded him, as she was prone to do. "Well, maybe your father is right. Maybe you should."


    ...


    "Your Khar, is it an inward journey, or is it outward?"


    "Sorry? Oh, I see what you mean. Well... It''s outward, but the purpose is also to advance inward, though maybe not to travel."


    "Agrrr," gurgled Xolorrr, his best friend, really. Luke had come to understand the sound as something between a sigh and "hm."


    "So, what is the purpose of your outward and inward advancement journey?"


    Xolorrr Dhagtharrr was an alien. To be precise, an Urrr. He was about seven inches tall and fit comfortably in Lucas''s pocket, where he would sometimes stay when they were about.


    Urrr, like Humans, were widespread in their part of the galaxy, both being compared to the respective variant of fleas in the pelts of the respective variant of dogs by other species.


    "Traditionally, it has two purposes. They are called ''Itrabrahar'' and ''Kudri Hadratar'' in the old language.


    ''Itrabrahar'' literally means balance between within and without. It is to see yourself in the context of your world..."


    Natasha snorted. "Jesus, you have been paying attention in school. It''s just vacation. Cost a fortune, but the best vacation I had."


    They were having a beer in The Crypt, waiting for Ben and Alice. And then they would go downtown, truth be told, just to gawk at off-worlders. Bethnell might be great, but a jamboree was something else altogether.


    "Well, anyway. And ''Kudri Hadratar'' literally translates to ''tokens of going-there-manship''. You bring stuff that shows something of what you have done and what you have accomplished in your quest."


    "Yeah. I got this great set of Kuri-Kuri swords. Man, I tell you, those guys are really awesome."


    "You mean the guy you took those swords off? Oh no, wait. That would just have been the stall keeper at the bazaar." He was just in time to duck the dishcloth heading his way.


    "Well, it is true. Most people just go on a trip and buy some stuff to show to their friends. It''s ok, I guess. But it used to be different, I mean, way back. You had to show that you could take care of yourself, well, in challenging situations. And you would bring back tokens of the things that you had achieved, or maybe that made a true impression on you. The National Museum has a section on famous Kudri Hadratar, dating back even before we came to Bethnell.


    "And now, if you are really adventurous, you go to the lesser states, or if you are very rich, you go off-world to the resorts or further away. Where was it again, ''Tasha, that you went?"


    "Oh, I just went to Second Moon. Low grav racquetball is adventure enough for me. That and the sex, of course. ..., I''m told."


    "Right. Anyway. I want to really do something. I mean, there are people who go with just the clothes on their back, and they have to survive and make do."


    "Or they get eaten or something. Wasn''t there some guy who went and fell into a fjord the other day just because he didn''t bring rope? What an idiot. Were you planning to go to the fjords?"


    Xolorrr hiccupped. It was difficult to see if he followed the conversation at all. Maybe his filter just clogged up.


    "No, I don''t want to go into the sticks. I''ve been camping a couple of times, but I don''t like it. I''ll stay in the city. A city. I want to go off-world, you know. To a civilized world, but somewhere I''ve never even heard of. And I want to get to know the people. I mean, I don''t want to go on vacation. I guess I want to work there, not being a tourist, not being the son of a Mayor, and not being a junior partner in a small accountancy firm."


    Xolorrr made an odd grating noise they knew to be laughter. "So when do we go?"


    "Sorry? No, no, no. It''s not something you do with your friends. It''s something you do alone. That''s the point."


    "Yesyes. I understand. You go alone on your Khar, and I will go on mine."


    "But you''re Urrr. You don''t go on a Khar. It''s something only humans of Uriditar origin do."


    Gurgle. "But now you''re being bigoted. Show me the Uriditar text that says Urrr can''t go. Or any text for that matter."


    "Well. You can go. You''re just not supposed to go with me."


    "Agrrr. One can take rope, and I presume the clothes on one''s back, but one can''t take members of other species. Interesting. Is it ok to take the icons of one''s Deity?"


    "Of course."


    "So God is not one''s friend? Or do the icons cease to function? Agrrr."


    This was so typical. The Urrr being wrong and entirely out there, and Luke being nonplussed. And then, before he could think of something useful to say, Ben and Alice arrived.


    ...


    The Jamboree is one of the many mechanisms introduced to avoid what species and cultures fear most: an inter-species war. By and large, the species occupy different parts of our segment of the galaxy. All in all, there is an abundance of resources if one is willing to spend the time, energy, and other resources to get them, and the species and cultures coexist harmoniously. But in some places, resources are so scarce or hard to get at that friction or exploitation might result, and very possibly between different cultures or different species. So, as a policy, the Federation provides any resources structurally scarce at greatly reduced shipping costs: all in order to avoid dissatisfaction which might turn into species-oriented tensions. Exploration of the galaxy, and acquisition of resources which are scarce throughout the Federation, are always organized with the participation of multiple species and cultures, again to avoid any single species or culture having sole access to rare materials, archeological or xenological finds, or indeed other species and the knowledge that invariably brings.


    The Jamboree is a combined fair and Federation summit. Delegations of the seven species and the forty-two major autonomous cultures meet and talk, negotiate and ratify. Most federation laws are made in this manner, and most universal trade agreements are negotiated at Jamborees. At all times, various Jamborees travel the Federation and frequent all major cities. By law, a major city has the right to host a Jamboree at least once every five years.


    In the slipstream of the summit, a multitude of trade delegations travel: merchants setting up trade on the slim margins that can be obtained in interstellar shipment; local representatives that offer their cultural, industrial, or agricultural goods in direct trade; and thousands of traders living on a grand scale or eking out a meager existence, all looking for ''the deal of the galaxy''.


    The summit lasts about ten standard days. By convention, the host nation''s president, or the planetary president, chairs the summit and directs all formal sessions, whereas the mayor of the host city hosts the trade delegations, the cultural delegations, and all festivities.


    After the summit, the captains of industry and the heady echelons of business and trade depart together with the federation politicians and bureaucrats, leaving it to their underlings to finalize details and set up activities. Others stay as well, for similar reasons: finding transport routes, finding local agents, etcetera.


    Those that are done or those without suitable results may leave, with the Jamboree, they may go home, or they may go elsewhere; those without success and without sufficient funds to pay for their ticket are bound to stay and hunt for an opportunity after all, or indeed, for a job.


    One of the fixed projects in the wake of a Jamboree is to absorb all those that have been left behind: find them housing and find them jobs. Time and again, cutting corners here has proved to sow next year''s trouble. ''The dispersion project'', as it is called, is only one of many headaches of the host city''s mayor.


    For many, the Jamboree is the highlight of the year. Anything and everything can be found. From the height of fashion to the ultimate of eccentricity for any species or any culture, from xeno artifacts to the most prized pieces of art; musical instruments, ancient books, and relics. Anything. At a price, of course. Many traders that travel with the Federation offer the latest, scarcest, or most sought-after items at exorbitant prices. Others charge steep but reasonable prices: everything is imported by definition.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ...


    Tonight, Luke and his friends would stroll down the Esplanade. Traditionally a mixture of food stalls, arts and crafts, beer tents, high-tech demonstrations, and performances could be enjoyed. Within a mile, you could get rich or poor, married or divorced, as the saying went.


    Xolorrr had his scooter to keep up with the humans. Normally he didn''t mind staying with Luke, but tonight both he and Luke wanted to be able to gape at whatever took their fancy without having to think of the others too much. As prescribed by law during the Jamboree, each had his sphere generator in place, set to Geramaas dimensions.


    A sphere generator projects a hologrammatic image of its wearer around that wearer at larger dimensions in order to avoid species accidentally treading on each other. In the earliest gatherings, this had happened more than occasionally: Humans trodding on Urrr and running over Fluali''s, and Geramaas stamping on all other species, including Humans. One incident where an elderly and shortsighted Geramaas accidentally stepped on an Urrr bus, killing the twenty-nine Urrr inside, led to the current legislation: at any public gathering open to multiple species, participants were required to wear a sphere projector set to sufficiently large dimensions.


    The sphere was slightly annoying but better than the alternatives that had been tried -- any audible or indeed sensible proximity detection went haywire in crowded surroundings such as the Esplanade. The sphere gave a ghost-like appearance: you could see it, but you could see the person inside much better. Only when the sphere intersected a physical object, did the light-intensity increase into an annoying sparkle. Just enough to avoid people walking too close to one another. Couples tended to set their spheres at slightly larger dimensions still, to be able to walk inside each-others sphere without the fireworks, so to speak.


    "That''s interesting," Xolorrr piped, pointing at a stall displaying various artifacts from the distant world First Mirror. The voice enhancer he used in places like this, where the general hubbub made him hard to hear, gave his voice a thin, reedy quality. "Look at the craftsmanship on those utensils. And yet, they seem quite modern. Not at all backward. I bet you could learn a lot in a place like that."


    He could be like that, more than a bit annoying.


    "Maybe I''ll go to Pleni''at''urrr," Lucas said. It was the second moon of the Urrr homeworld Manaat, and it was holy to the Urrr in such a degree that they didn''t come there. Most nations had an embassy there, which apparently was ok, to avoid Manaat with its utterly complex religious and secular rules and regulations. The small island of Innarrr, which apparently was auspicious for all species and most purposes, had been converted to a single, gargantuan conference center, and there was a continuous stream of cable-cars between Pleni''at''urrr and Innarrr.


    But Luke wouldn''t go there. He didn''t know yet what he would do, but that definitely wasn''t it.


    Ben and Alice strolled over to them. God knew how they did it, but their sphere generators were set such that Alice''s just barely touched Ben''s crew-cut, giving him a fantastically sparkling, lopsided halo. It looked ridiculous and impressive at the same time and fit the occasion splendidly.


    "So you and Veronique didn''t work out?"


    "Well, no. I mean. Not really."


    He and Veronique had been dating for a couple of weeks, but it didn''t really work. He liked her all right. Just not the sparks Ben and Alice were showing, so to speak. And only to himself, Luke admitted it wasn''t anything as good as with Natasha. They had been an item ever since high school. In college, they had lived together, somehow assuming they would marry when the time was right. Then, later, when they had jobs, they sort of diverged. Still living together, still assuming they would get married sometime soon. Until one day, Natasha got a message that her aunt had died. The aunt had been very close, perhaps even closer than her parents. As Natasha read the telegram, she cried, and Luke helped her, and after sobbing for an hour, she looked up at him and said: "God, I do love you." Precisely at that instant, they had both realized they were never going to marry. They were friends for life, and they did love each other, but they weren''t in love anymore. Later, they had separated, but they had remained the best of friends.


    Xolorrr piped, "How about a beer?" There was a Xeno-place just ahead, and Luke saw that Natasha had gyrated in that direction, drawn by her very own gravity for high-quality alcohol. Most places were able to mix a decent beer-equivalent for all species, but a Xeno place would stock the real thing for all species. He preferred strong, dark beer himself, and at the Jamboree, he would have a wide choice.


    "So what do we take with us? Lots of money and no stuff, or lots of stuff and no money. It seems to me that any Kudri Hadratar loses some of its splendor if you start out with lots of credit and just buy it. But then again, if you have to find a proper job, the first loaf of bread you buy with your first paycheck might make a decent Kudri Hadratar."


    ''A proper job'' was one of Xolorrr''s favorite expressions. Luke didn''t fully comprehend what Xolorrr''s job entailed, but he''d observed that it didn''t actually involve work. Xolorrr was a semi-religious scholar and what he did was write. Luke had read some of it (after Xolorrr having translated it), but he couldn''t understand a single thing. Xolorrr had tried to explain, at considerable length and in quite some detail, but to no avail.


    Luke always felt, not so much ashamed, but not particularly proud either, about his job. It was rather mundane in his eyes. Counting other people''s money, as Natasha would put it. Xolorrr understood the concept of money, of course, but wasn''t interested in any degree, so to him, Lucas''s job was equally hard to grasp. Counting grains of sand.


    "You can take what you like, really. If you like reading, bring books. If you like writing, bring pen and paper. But if all you do is read or write, you are not going to find balance, and your tokens will be second-hand books."


    "God, here we go again. Nobody thinks about it like this, Luke. Did your father put you up to this? Good PR, proper family values, and solid Uriditar traditions. No, he wouldn''t. He hasn''t seen the potential yet of a well-advertised Khar along traditional lines. I''ll tell him. Maybe he''ll give me a job or something."


    "Well, he might give you something. He seems to like you a lot," Ben suggested, "and, Ow." Ben''s jokes could be just over the edge, but Alice would always gladly remind him.


    "I don''t really mind you coming with me, my friend, but you have to allow for this to be my Khar. Yours as well, I imagine, but certainly mine. It''s not a vacation, a business trip, or whatever. It is my Khar."


    "Sure. So. When and where?" And just like that, they entered the realm of practicalities. He''d have to tell his boss, who wasn''t Uriditar, although his boss most certainly would see the PR value. He''d have to make sure Veronique was ok on this. Fortunately, he had left the flat to Natasha when they split up and had been living with his parents these last couple of months -- a year, really. He had no flat or cat or anything to look after.


    And then he had to choose where. He wanted to go to another world. Not too cosmopolitan, because then he might just as well stay where he was. Not anything too rural or techi, so none of the fresh colonies or asteroid settlements. And he preferred to go to a human world. Any multi-culture would be cosmopolitan by default, and being in an alien world seemed too tiresome altogether, having to think about everything you did all day long. Everybody knew the stories about someone sneezing among Fluali''s that weren''t used to that. He didn''t want that. And then he saw the Esplanade again and thought, "why not?"


    ...


    "This is the beautiful world of Anlet. The single human-inhabited continent requires little or no terraforming with its green pastures, lush forests, and majestic rivers. Enjoy this spectacular view from the patio of the magnificent Radgar hotel, situated on the top of what is officially the only mountain on Anlet. Imagine taking a stroll around the beautiful and picturesque gardens of the hotel and seeing everything on Anlet within a 300-mile radius.


    "And now, sit back and enjoy this ultra-speed monorail trip across the savannah. Notice how the livestock and agricultural farms and factories have been blended into the savannah so that you can enjoy this spectacular view while the good people of Anlet go happily about their daily lives. Or, ..., maybe you hadn''t noticed the farms at all.


    "On Anlet, we pride ourselves on the perfect balance we have achieved between our magnificent nature and wildlife, and the motor of our Financial success: agriculture..."


    "Bleh. This really gives me the shivers, you know."


    After the beer, Luke and Xolorrr had seriously gotten down to finding a suitable goal for their quest. They stopped at every presentation of another world, colony, or settlement, trying not to be prejudiced. As soon as either saw or heard something, anything, they didn''t like, they left. So far, they had rejected more than twenty places for many different reasons. Too pastoral, too techy, too cosmopolitan, too fanatic, too religious, or just too weird.


    "You have made a very wise decision, my lady. Your prenuptial honor is not something to squander idly, and Gruahar is precisely the land to savor ..."


    "Excuse me. This seems to be wrong. You''ve given me the wrong presentation."


    "Not at all, my lady. Our program is prepared with the utmost care, and I must say that the unsavory frivolity with which you ladies dissipate that which is most precious..., well, ..., leaves me in despair."


    "I beg your pardon?"


    "Not at all. Don''t mention it."


    "Right!" Twenty-three.


    So far, his favorite had been Adam''s Rest. Sort of like Bethnell in summer, maybe like living in one of the villages just outside Greater Bethnell. All facilities, but life at a slower pace. His mild reason not to go there was the absence of a decent college or a school of arts. But in fact, it was Xolorrr who had vetoed Adam''s Rest. Apparently, at least one moon was required.


    "This is LaMere: the sea. Not a single square foot of land is to be found, and yet, LaMere can boast the best universities, hospitals, or museums in the Federation.


    "LaMere isn''t all work. You won''t be mountain climbing, but it has the best skiing, diving, and fishing sites to be found.


    "Interested?


    "Imagine the biggest ship you''ve ever seen, ... Peanuts. Imagine an entire town floating on the seas, .... Peanuts. Now imagine a city with two million inhabitants. A floating island with factories, cinemas, hospitals, super and sub-aqua apartments, restaurants, schools, museums, and even a high-speed railroad system. And speaking of restaurants, you''ve just gotta love this. This great capital of LaMere is actually called ?le Flottante!"


    That was interesting. Maybe too cosmopolitan, but definitely different. "Xolorrr. You''ve got to check this one out."


    "Mine just bit me."


    "Sorry?"


    "This one has a tactile enhancer, and it just bit me."


    "Was it LaMere?"


    "Oh no. I was just looking at a Pli infomercial, but they always lose me some way or another."


    "Ok. Anyway. This one, LaMere, is an option. It has... something."


    "I know about LaMere ..., it''s wet. How about a beer?


    ...


    In the end, they didn''t go to LaMere. After quite some time, they opted for a world called Daimando. Xolorrr was less than helpful in the process, griping about the most peculiar details.


    Luke thought Daimando was interesting because it was similar to, and yet, different from Bethnell. It was similar in that it was modern and fairly advanced in its colonization program, yet different in that it had significant heavy industry and manufacturing and therefore was much less dependent on trade. Similar in that it had museums and art schools aplenty, yet different in that their art-focused predominantly on industrial design. Similar, in that most of planet Daimando consisted of the nation Daimando, but different in that the rest, rather than being divided in a large number of minor nations, appeared to be entirely unused.


    Daimando had a multitude of moonlets, probably the consequence of a mishap involving one large moon in Daimando''s astronomic adolescence. The largest five moonlets exceeded, in weight, a sphere with a diameter of 232 miles but were smaller than a 160-mile cube. According to Xolorrr, this posed an interesting enigma as to the auspiciousness of Daimando, and he felt a sacred duty to establish truth on the matter.


    Preparations for their journey were straightforward. The biggest obstacle turned out to be Luke''s boss, who disapproved after all even though he saw the PR angle. His reasons remained unclear, but Luke got the impression that it concerned the Khar stipend. Although his employer was under no obligation to give it, it which was generally considered good manners to do so. Luke resolved the matter by resigning, reasoning that if he took any stipend, he would feel obligated to return to this firm anyway, and he felt that he might prefer to think about what he truly wanted. Now he could most likely return but could just as easily do something else altogether.


    The Jamboree coincidentally coming to an end turned out to be an advantage on balance. It was more difficult to find a berth, as they were still quaintly called, but there was more choice in destinations, resulting in fewer hops and, therefore, cheaper tickets.


    Saying goodbye was awkward and emotional. His father offered sensible but otherwise useless advice, and his mother was in tears, reminiscing about his early youth and adolescence. ''Tasha, too, was uncharacteristically emotional, but then again, Luke had been a more or less constant factor in her entire life.


    Xolorrr''s departure was a very solemn affair at which many of his clan were present. The clan had been unable to find a single Urrr eye-witness account of Daimando, so for all they knew, Xolorrr might be the first Urrr to set foot on Daimando, improbable though that sounded. Luke would have liked to be present but hadn''t expected to: Urrr clan gatherings were strictly for the clan. Not even other Urrr would ever be present.

 Transit

    ...


    "Station-to-station stasis has put an end to any adventure in space travel, and I don''t mean the ''adventures'' of earliest wormhole traveling either. I mean the romance of ships and trains. Uncharted coasts and intriguing local customs. Maybe they still look at it that way on survey ships. But, I mean, new species can still be encountered, and unexpected phenomena aren''t unheard of."


    "I''m told that that is also rather uneventful. One of the Spivulet''s crew was a rogue of my clan. He described it essentially as scientific laboratory work where the laboratory was contained within the experiment rather than vice versa. And then there is the risk of mechanical failure and whatnot. Surveyors are getting gradually bigger mainly because they desire to take more and more communication blimps along. Rest assured, stasis removes the unpleasant passage of time, and in addition, advances us safely beyond adverse constellations."


    Without any hope, Luke concluded: "So you don''t want to be taken out of stasis on the way? We have stops of a couple of days at Hiakaton and later at Gate 395. I read somewhere that they can take you out of stasis, although it is incredibly expensive."


    "No. No ... That would be most awkward. Feel free to enjoy as many sights as you like, but I prefer to circumvent them in other dimensions. Even Daimando may prove unpropitious."


    Stasis was an Urrr invention and, after space travel, probably the most significant technological advancement in the Federation. Its development was inspired entirely by Urrr religious zeal. The required presence of moons, or rather certain celestial constellations, made space travel an insurmountable obstacle for Urrr gentlemen. Only rogues, having left the path of righteous zeal, would stray into adverse conditions.


    Stasis essentially isolated a fragment of our three-dimensional space, or rather our ten-dimensional reality, and shunted that fragment ever so slightly beyond. Whatever was contained in the fragment traveled neither in time nor in space until it was pulled back again into our reality. Accordingly, stasis was very auspicious, at least so your points of departure and arrival.


    Luke considered seriously getting out on the way because he would very much have liked to see empty space around Gate 395. And the gate itself, of course, -- one of the few relics of early days space travel. But in the end, he decided against it. It was too expensive: $500, two months'' pay, just for two days of deep space tourism.


    Accordingly, their journey was entirely uneventful. They didn''t perceive boarding their six different starships, nor did they notice being stored in various places for various lengths of time or the actual movement on rockets and repulsor thrust. Wormhole travel was unnoticeable even had they been fully present, so from their perspective, they went into stasis on Bethnell Prime space station and got out immediately over Daimando.


    ...


    Daimando starport wasn''t at all what they expected.


    Greater Bethnell starport, one of three on Bethnell, was perhaps not the busiest place Lucas had ever seen, but it was more than lively nonetheless. When it was built, it was, by regulation following various cable-car mishaps, still located a safe distance away from the city and the airport. But there were frequent bullet trains to the airport and nearby major cities, including trains into Greater Bethnell every five minutes. In addition, there were ramjet services circling between starport, airport, city center, and key places around the vast city. Hardly a day went by without a starship visiting Bethnell. In addition, most freight between the surface and the asteroid mines, the microgee factories, and several other places went through the starport.


    Not so Flianderel, Daimando''s starport. The trip down had already given Lucas the shivers. He had the distinct impression that he could hear the rush of escaping air in the cable car. Whenever the flight attendant thought they were unobserved, they fingered the masks at their belts nervously, or so it seemed.


    The real shock came as they alighted: only four pylons about a hundred yards apart, converging something like five hundred yards overhead. Only four cable cars for an entire planet. And by the look of it, one was out of service. It lay on its side next to its pylon.


    "Man, I only ever want to do that once more, and if we can rent a shuttle seat, I''m all for it."


    "Agrrr. How''s your Pli?"


    "Sorry?"


    "Your Pli. How well do you read Pli? The thing is, I do. Or at least I can render a semantic gestalt stream that compares agreeably to translations I''ve seen. I can''t say that I understand Pli. I''m not sure anyone does, except the Pli, apparently. Anyway, here is what I would call a disclaimer on the back of our stub, which is written in Pli. I was about to throw the ticket away as you did when I suddenly wondered why on earth they would write it in Pli. I can''t imagine Pli ever coming here. So here''s your first Kudri Hadratar."


    Lucas took the ticket and looked at the back. Of course, he had seen Pli in school, but this seemed more stylized. If Xolorrr hadn''t told him it was Pli, he would have thought it was a decoration.


    "So why is this a Kudri Hadratar?"


    "Oh. Well. It portents your heroism and lauds you for it. You might say this ticket establishes beyond any doubt that you are a hero, which, in your culture, as in mine, includes an element of free choice." The last words were hard to catch, being stifled in grating. Xolorrr was laughing his head off.


    "I''m happy for you that you''re having fun, but I still don''t get it."


    "The Pli are cowards. I mean, they have cultivated cowardice to the highest of art forms. A Pli will not cross the road or enter a car. Having breakfast requires a significant amount of contemplation and determination. And yet, they strive to be heroes. All the Pli you have ever seen have the highest rank among their people: they are the penultimate heroes. Every day they undergo, willingly, the most dangerous threats, such as conversing with humans.


    "The thing is, they can only actually become heroes by dying. For the Pli, it is a title: being a hero means being dead other than through natural causes. Choosing a cause of action that will kill you as likely as not earns you to be lauded. Every Pli must bow to you and recognize your superiority, your heroism. So there you have it. The ticket lauds you as a hero."


    "Ok. Thanks for the ticket. So why? And why is it on the back of our ticket, in Pli?"


    "Oh. I think it''s a legal thing. If you are going to print a legally binding disclaimer, you have to make it in an official language of the Federation, which Pli is, of course. And any legal Pli interpreter will tell you that this text expresses that you have chosen the path of penultimate heroes. That is that you undertake this action even though you are aware that you are likely to die and that you do so willingly and unreservedly. I imagine they use Pli to keep at least some of their clientele. Putting ''the bearer of this will probably die and is aware of that fact, so should that circumstance arise it is all their own fault'' on the back of your tickets in any plain language is bound to deter people."


    "That what it says?"


    "Essentially, yes."


    "Can they do that?"


    "Well, they did. I''m not a lawyer, but I think the case could be argued. Probably they have tickets with the proper text in English, which you should only have asked for. I think it would rather depend on where the case was tried. If it was here, who knows?"


    ...


    The Flianderel Shuttle, like everything in the starport, was well-used edging on threadbare, which filled Luke with misgivings: this didn''t seem at all like the world they had read about.


    However, as they came to a halt in Brodin Grand Central, the largest station in the capital of Daimando, it was clear that their first impression had been misleading. The station was huge and modern. Industrial in a vaguely Victorian way. But modern nonetheless.


    The station was built in more than fifty layers. In the middle was a giant transparently domed pit, aptly named "the pit'', which showed a cross-section of the station. The pit narrowed down towards the bottom. It was perhaps fifty yards wide at its first floor but hundred of yards towards the top. At each level, a single train track crossed the pit dead center. The pit was cut in half with this ladder of tracks and, on occasion, trains.


    Around the pit, a multitude of escalators and elevators allowed people to go to different levels. Many people used slide boards to be brought about, but most walked. Given the enormity of the station and the fact that trains would be coming and going more or less continuously, the noise level was surprisingly low. But Luke couldn''t discern what technology was being used.


    After gawping into the pit for a while, Xolorrr became restless, and they decided where to go next. Lucas''s implant wasn''t compatible with Daimando protocols, but the ''partout he''d bought at the Jamboree, an age ago, soon came to life and chattered away with attractive discounts for all the niceties and necessities one should acquire in Daimando. After setting up the appropriate filters, he was finally able to wade through the mire of commercials and get at local traveling information. The travelers'' guides at home had given them enough information to decide where they wanted to go but not enough to determine how to get there.


    Apparently, they could either take a train at the third level from the bottom of the pit or at the second level from the top, the latter connecting all boroughs with fast local trains. Lucas didn''t feel comfortable too deep in the ground, so they opted for the upper train.


    As they arrived at their level, they chanced upon a terrace advertising a Xeno synthesizer, and Xolorrr fell for it. So far, they hadn''t seen any non-humans, and Xolorrr reasoned that it might well be a while before he saw anything like this again. A scan on the net supported this, and so it was decided. However, Daimando proved to be every bit as modern and developed as the next world: both their stupendously expensive coffees were weak, if not tasteless, and the synthesized Urrr pastry was indistinguishable from its wrapper, which displayed an exhaustive list of constituents and disclaimers. While Lucas was checking on their carryall robot to see if its safeties were still up, his shrink-wrapped cookie was stolen, so they never got to know what that was like either. Thus strengthened in resolve only, they boarded their train to The C''aing, the borough they had decided to visit first.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Their plan was exceedingly open-ended if you could call it a plan at all. They had selected two areas in Brodin, and three of the major cities, as potentially interesting. They would stay there as tourists for a short while and decide how to proceed there.


    As their train left Brodin Grand Central, the view was truly spectacular: the station lay as a doughnut of gigantic proportions amidst a plane of four and five-story buildings, with some high-rise here and there, and around that shape, six bridges sprouted like gossamer threads suspended far above most buildings, disappearing in the distance between high-rise and then into the ground. Not a single support was in sight for these bridges: each was suspended using tethers that merged far overhead and diverged again into three orbital tethers. Luke had never seen anything like it and hadn''t known it was at all possible. Daimando was clearly as technically advanced as Bethnell, or probably even superior, and much wealthier at that: imagine three orbital tethers being used to support only bridges!


    Fortunately, their train used one of the six bridges, so they could enjoy the view for several miles. Brodin was impressive, even according to Xolorrr. The layout was roughly the same as far as the eye could see. Low buildings everywhere: residential buildings, offices, and shops. Here and there is a small park or a lake. And then, high-rises, also everywhere. On Bethnell, most city centers had high-rises, but it wasn''t cost-effective beyond that. Apparently, here it was. And then, factories, refineries, and a gaping hole that appeared to be a mine, or was it just a tunnel?


    And finally, there were the immense structures like Brodin Grand Central. They saw one more structure that appeared to be suspended from an orbital tether. However, its proximity to the station suggested that it was probably the same tether. Other structures included a pyramid as big as a mountain, literally; three interconnected towers several miles high; a perfect cube with impossible dimensions, apparently cut as a single piece from bedrock; and a mushroom-shaped building which Xolorrr called a Ginch, one of their many religious buildings, which seemed to defy gravity. And it didn''t end. As far as the eye could see, this same pattern was evident. In the distance, a few shapes greater yet could be seen, but Luke wouldn''t believe they were man-made. Xolorrr wasn''t so sure.


    As their train descended underground, they had a brief moment to digest what they had seen. Lucas said: "That is really astounding. Have you ever seen anything like it?"


    "Certainly not on Manaat. That would be most unpropitious. Wasn''t your root world like this?" When Luke first met Xolorrr, he thought that the Urrr was plain rude, and maybe all Urrr, precisely with comments like this. Notwithstanding the many courses in Xeno cultural perception, he''d had. Later, as Luke got to know him better, he knew that Xolorrr would never be rude, and he thought it was naivety. And later still, when he started to know him quite well if that could be said at all, he took it to be a private kind of humor. In Humans, it might be considered condescending, but in Urrr, it was not, honestly. For that condescension was very inauspicious, and the condescension was towards himself at least as much.


    ...


    Later, after they walked around a bit and were sitting in their hotel room: "This is weird. All those buildings, I mean, are truly really impressive. But I haven''t seen anything beautiful yet. It''s all boring, in a way. Or not boring. I don''t know."


    They sat in silence for a while. Luke thought of his dentist. "I know what it is!" He saw his dentists'' waiting room. Stainless steel and titanium glass, glass foam lamps suspended from monofilament, and then the art on the wall, the table, the floor, in the corner, and on a ledge just outside the window. Most of the drawings, paintings, and statues were sort of nice, but they never made any lasting impression. They were made to the latest and hottest trends. Or maybe not the latest, but those that featured in the snazziest magazines, copies of which were available to his node while he waited. They were art by the numbers. Luke imagined an army of would-be artists, or indeed, AI''s producing variations on a theme for the rich and famous. And he imagined an agent where you could set the parameters: your price and your taste, and appropriate art would be shipped to you.


    "I know what it is. Those buildings are all awe-inspiring, but they aren''t beautiful. They aren''t art. Artsy, but not art."


    "I''ve never understood Human art. It''s all so bloated and extravagant," but Luke could see he was just pushing his buttons. Perhaps Xolorrr truly couldn''t see it because he didn''t understand art as humans did. Urrr art came in two ways. One type of art concerned the subtle and complex way certain scientific and religious matters were presented. Stylized from their religious background into pure theoretic constructs. Apparently, Xolorrr made stuff like that on occasion, but Luke hadn''t even tried to understand: that was certainly way beyond him.


    The second type could be expressed in any manner, and painting and sculpting were as favored as they were for humans. Urrr expressive art was purely emotional and abstract rather than figurative. Over the ages, the emotion was stylized or rather symbolized, and pieces of art could evoke an exact and distinctive emotion, in Urrr, without expressing what might evoke such an emotion in actual life. Art as an explicit emotional langue. Apparently, some paintings resulted in the emotion of having enjoyed a delicious meal, having read an unpleasant book, or having hit one''s thumb with a hammer. For humans, Urrr art was unimaginable.


    ...


    Lucas''s ''partout could access the net. But, by accident, they discovered that it couldn''t be reached. Xolorrr had tried to call Luke when he was downstairs to get some food and beer and had been unable to.


    The following day they first went to look for a shop or repair center to fix the node. Looking for such a shop proved to be complicated. Somehow things were indexed differently on Daimando, or whatever the reason, but the best they could do was to produce a list of places that might very well be able to help them, but that might just as well be concerned with something else altogether.


    Their fifth visit, just as they started to be depressed about it, turned out to be the one. It was a small shop located in an alley, around the corner from a gigantic drugstore. The shop displayed an assortment of electronic and software components that Luke couldn''t even begin to identify. But then again, they did seem to have a tech problem, so what could they expect.


    As Luke tried to explain the problem to the guy, he looked non-plussed, but as soon as he got his hands on the ''partout, or rather as soon as he could see the inside after opening the partout with what appeared to Luke to be a conjuring trick, his eyes took on a glow of enthusiasm.


    "I''ve read about this. This is illegal. You can''t have this."


    "Sorry?"


    "Well, you can have it. You obviously do. But you couldn''t buy it. They are made on Drury 165, The Shack, or at least, they used to be. Apparently, they don''t anymore. What they did was use the inware protocols. There are over a hundred worlds where they don''t use Federation standard protocols for various reasons. Like here, it was more effective to develop our own than to wait and have to ship in all nodes. So our protocol differs from yours. These guys in The Shack started out from the templates because they didn''t have the protocols. They broke in at that level, the inware. There were only thirty templates or so, so it worked, and still works. Now new templates are coming out, so it will gradually cease."


    Luke looked at Xolorrr, who wasn''t even pretending to follow the conversation. The guy peering into his ''partout seemed not to have noticed Xolorrr.


    "But can people contact me?"


    "No, they can''t. Like I said, this thing doesn''t register in our protocols."


    "And you''re saying this is illegal."


    "Yeah. Oh, but don''t worry. They can''t find it. That''s the point."


    "Could you just for a moment imagine I am a total retard, and could you explain this to me?"


    "Sure."


    ...


    The guy continued peering in the ''partout.


    "Suppose I want people to be able to call me. Can this ''partout be fixed?"


    "No. Let me explain. This node breaks in at the lowest level protocols of any and every gateway around. At that level, there is no network, so any node or any gateway at least is faced with a new peer. Many block it out immediately, but many will just assign a random address to it. At that level, it''s a feature, but it isn''t intended for this, of course. New templates don''t support that. Anyway. Whenever you communicate, you appear as a sequence of random, unrelated id''s. As long as you stay in one place and stay connected to the same gateway, you keep the same id, but those connections are dropped every second or so, anyway."


    "So I can''t be contacted."


    "No."


    "What would another node cost me?"


    "Just so people can contact you. You shouldn''t do that. Why not use a dropbox?"


    "What''s a dropbox?"


    "Oh. It''s just some software." He took a small package from one of the shelves behind him. "It wasn''t intended for this, but it should work all right. It sets up a cache somewhere on the net, and your node can poll it. Anyone wants to contact you, they call the drop-box, and your node calls them instead."


    "They''d have to wait?"


    "Well, only for a millisecond or so. You can set how often you poll."


    He opened the package, took out the tiny crystal, and inserted it in a slot in the ''partout. Then he appeared to communicate with the ''partout.


    "There. You have a drop-box, and I set it to poll every twenty milliseconds. I''ve left the address and stuff for you. You can talk to this thing, right?"


    "Yeah. Where is it located, physically, this drop-box."


    "Oh, on one of our servers. It''s included in the package, so you don''t have to worry about it. There''s a read-me that tells you how to set it up again, should anything fail. The polling, I mean. The drop-box can''t fail."


    "Well. Is there anything else you think I should know?"


    "No. Like I said, it''s illegal, so don''t talk about it too much. Proximity doesn''t work, of course. I mean, people can''t contact you just by looking at you. Other than that, nothing. If you ever buy anything else, I''d like to have this. Just for fun."


    Problem solved. The drop-box set him back fifteen dollars, but it would prove to be money well spent.


    ...


    Two blocks down from their hotel was the cafe Pompidou, which Luke and Xolorrr frequented the first few days of their stay. They served excellent coffee and fresh cream cheese and jelly bagels, and at night, beer, wine, and quite a few decent meals. They were even able to produce a freeze-dried, post-mix Urrr beer, which, they had established, was more choice than usual, and a gruel which, according to the chef, was Urrr staple food. Xolorrr expressed his doubts but ate it nonetheless.


    The decoration consisted of age-darkened wood, polished glass, mirrors, gold-painted metal grilles, and red fabrics. At first, Luke thought it was just weird and incredibly old-fashioned, but after they had visited various ''sights,'' he noticed that there was more to it. The composition of materials in the Pompidou was organic and haphazard, not at all sharp or industrial, and all in all, it was pleasant in an unobtrusive way. Gradually he came to regard it as understated anti-industrial.


    The people that came there were also different. Different than the thousands of Daimandos they had seen. Less uptight. But then again, maybe they were just relaxed because they were in a bar.


    For three days, they followed the same routine. Breakfast at the Pompidou, taking some time to browse the net and see what they would like to visit. Then go there, gawp, and go back again. They had to be selective: Brodin was so big that most sights were too far away.


    They had now seen C''aing Municipal Museum -- Luke''s choice, which had turned out to be an industrial museum; Daimando Modern Arts 4 -- a mutual choice, which had turned out to be an industrial museum, albeit with an interest in esthetics and industrial design; the Federation Ethnographic Society -- Xolorrr''s choice, which offered interesting new insights, especially as to the relations between culture and industry; and a fourth-generation software design studio -- a mistake, but in retrospect the best they had seen so far.


    Luke had attempted to understand how Xolorrr would go about establishing whether Daimando''s lunar constellation was auspicious, but apparently, it wasn''t something one could ''do''. It was something that would reveal itself to Xolorrr in its own time. Every night, Xolorrr took an hour or so to meditate, or contemplate, merely, as he indicated, to allow the weakest of signals to imprint suitably on balance.

 Trouble

    ...


    The night of their fifth day, Luke was having dinner alone. Xolorrr didn''t feel well and went to sleep early. This allowed Luke to have a reasonably good bottle of wine, which Xolorrr didn''t approve of, and a steak with anchovy butter, which Xolorrrr didn''t like the smell of. In addition, Xolorrr couldn''t understand why people continued to express their carnivorous roots by making synthetic dead animals, as he put it.


    "Where''s your friend?"


    She was quite a beauty. He''d seen her here once before, but he hadn''t given her any attention. Well. Not much.


    "Oh, he didn''t feel too good. He''s in the hotel."


    She pulled up a chair and sat. "Where you from?"


    "Bethnell."


    "Oh, that''s interesting. Not that I know it, but I imagine you must find it interesting. So. You here for work, or what? I mean, you act like tourists, but you ain''t got the gear, so to speak. And besides, I can''t imagine your friend coming here willingly. He''s Urrr, right? There''s nothing here for him. If it is a him. Do they have lady Urrrs? Man, he''d be wanting, after a while. You two are not an item, right? I mean. Well. I mean. Man." Here she''d crossed her arms in front of her tummy and was doubling up with laughter. The picture of him and Xolorrr as an ''item'' was apparently too much for her.


    "I believe their women are sub-sentient. They just produce spores. The men, if you call them men, band together to look after the young. The young men, that is. The young ''women'' go off and do their thing, so to speak. Calling them men and women is by convention, but it''s really meaningless.


    "Apparently, it is a matter of charisma whose offspring gets to survive. You can''t do it alone, so you need others to help you, and you can''t force others, of course. Eventually, it became a religious aspect, which it still is, apparently. The women play no role in their social or religious life whatsoever. They''re just there. Well, not here, probably, but around."


    "Man, you sure know how to chat up a girl, .... Yeah, yeah. I did ask. Can I take a glass of wine," she asked, having filled her glass to the brim. "Have you been to see the Rotund? It''s just around the corner here. You should. They do these lectures on earth art, but it ..., really ..., touches you. Well, me, at least. Are you going to finish that bread? I forgot to eat, and I might as well. It''s a waste an''all that. Oh. And I know this place up Freemore. It''s a Xeno place, so your friend will like it. Haven''t seen any Urrr there, though, or any other aliens for that matter. Not many aliens around."


    The conversation was entirely out of Lucas'' control, but it was ok. He had been talking with Xolorrr only, essentially, for a week now, so he needed this. And she was great to look at.


    As she wound down a bit, she became less nervous and more coherent. After a while, the conversation became bearable and exciting. She was an art student of sorts for seven years already, and she had two jobs: serving in a bar and cleaning outdoor art. Apparently, they used art students rather than robots.


    Luke had ordered a second bottle of wine and was just about to tell about his quest when his ''partout interrupted. It was Xolorrr, and something was wrong. He said goodbye to her hastily, took his jacket, and trotted to the hotel. It wasn''t until the next day that he would remember that he hadn''t even asked her name.


    ...


    Xolorrr lay in his bed -- they didn''t have Urrr beds or anything here, so they had made do with towels and pillows -- and looked like shit, as far as Luke could tell.


    "Was it something you ate? Can''t be a virus. I mean, there are no Urrr here."


    "No. It''s not that. It''s the prelation. It is supposed to happen, but not yet. In twenty years or so. My body changes. A bit like your larvae turning into insects, but not so drastic, of course. My reproductive organs wither, and I grow what you might call a womb. No. A pouch. And I become a senior in my clan. But it''s not supposed to happen yet. So something is wrong. And I need a bath. I need medicines. I mean, I need to soak in organic slime. I''ve tried to call a doctor, but I can''t seem to get through. Maybe you could bring me to a hospital."


    Luke tried to call a doctor or an ambulance, but something was wrong. Then he contacted the hotel AI and explained what they needed. The AI asked him some questions and then simply said, "there is no such service."


    Then he asked where a hospital could be found nearby and ordered a cab to take them there. It arrived within ten minutes at the exit on their floor. Within ten more minutes, they were at the emergency desk in the hospital.


    While the doctors were checking Xolorrr, Luke walked around a bit. It was a tiny hospital. Three stories, and as far as he could tell from the map on the wall, less than thirty beds in all. Weird.


    One of the doctors called him. "We have a problem. We understand the nature of his illness, or prelation, rather, and we understand that he does really need certain particular organic compounds. The thing is if we knew which compounds, we could most likely make them soon enough. But we don''t know. For some reason, that information is missing from our data banks. We never see any Urrr here, and nothing like this has ever happened before."


    Odd. The doctor was talking to Luke as if Xolorrr wasn''t there. Or was his dog or something. "Is there anything you can do?"


    "Ja, we''re looking at two problems, really. Firstly, if he doesn''t soak in this stuff, the changes in his body may be influenced. Damaged. Deformations might result. And secondly, if we wait longer, his bodily functions might deteriorate."


    "When?"


    "Ja. I''m guessing here because this information is also lacking, and he doesn''t seem to know. I would say damage over the next few days and further complications within the week. And that''s the real problem. If we order the materials now, it may well be a week before they arrive here. Even if we send for the data, it is going to take more than four days to get it off-world and instruct our synthesizers."


    Lucas looked at his friend, who looked as if he wouldn''t last an hour, let alone a week. Xolorrr said something, but Luke didn''t catch it. He bent over to hear, but the doctor had understood, apparently.


    "Ja, we''d also concluded that stasis is the only way to go. It''s either that or face serious complications. Fortunately, we do have a facility to put you in stasis within the hour. We just need a few signatures. Will you be the guardian?"


    "Sorry. What''s that?"


    "Oh. It''s just a technicality. The guardian is the legal representative while the gentleman is in stasis. It''s nothing but a formality, really. It means that you can make decisions for him so that we don''t have to interrupt stasis more than necessary."


    Luke bent over Xolorrr. "Are you comfortable with this? I mean. We don''t have much choice, but still." Xolorrr let out the most profound sigh Luke had ever heard of him. "Agrrrrrr. I shouldn''t go into prelation without the slime. It has implications. I mean, apart from physical. Please help me."


    "Ok. Do it. Where do I sign."


    The doctor looked vacant for a while, communicating through his implant. Then he took three paper forms and a folder from a drawer and handed Luke a pen. "You should sign there, there, and there. A chamber is being prepared as we speak. We don''t have anything Urrr-sized, so we''ll just use a regular chamber." He handed Luke the folder. "This has some additional information for you."


    As they waited, Luke tried to get more information from the doctor, but he didn''t seem to know much else.


    After a short while, a stasis chamber was rolled in. Or rather, just a capsule. Lucas had never seen a design like this. Sleek. "Where''s the rest?"


    "Ja. In this model, the capsule is separated from the unit. The capsule can hold stasis for half an hour or so. That way, we can service a unit while the capsule is in another unit. The capsule doesn''t require servicing. We don''t have to interrupt stasis.


    "The only thing is, the capsule can''t initiate stasis, so we can join the gentleman where he''ll be put in a unit down the hall."


    The doctor had put Xolorrr on the seat in the capsule, and the technician had made some adjustments. Then they went out to a small ward down the hall. There were three stasis units, none of them occupied by a chamber. They wheeled the capsule into the unit and made all connections. A second technician checked a monitor and stepped back. Now the doctor said: "Ja. Here we go."


    Luke said a final goodbye to his friend, and the capsule door was closed. Then the doctor pressed some buttons, and a loud humming was heard. Quickly the humming reduced in intensity, and the small window took on the characteristic distorted lens invisibility.


    As they walked back to the doctor''s office, Luke asked when they expected the compounds to arrive. "Oh, it varies. But it doesn''t matter anymore. Your friend is in stasis. He could stay there for a century, and for him, it would be as if he just stepped in. You''d be surprised how many people ask when we start when they get out of it.


    "Best you can do is to enjoy your stay, and feel free to contact me anytime."


    And that was that.


    ...


    His ''partout indicated they were only twenty blocks away from their hotel, and he felt like a walk to clear his mind. All in all, it had been too much. As he walked, he got doubts about getting the compounds. It was necessary, perhaps, but they still didn''t know why the prelation started too early. A few blocks later, he was convinced that the compounds weren''t what was needed at all. Xolorrr should be looked at by an Urrr doctor.


    By now, it was well past midnight, but he would call the hospital first thing in the morning.


    He passed a park. The first he''d seen since their arrival on Daimando. He entered the park and walked between the trees for a while. In a clearing, he sat on a bench and looked at the unfamiliar stars. He''d imagined his Khar differently, but then, maybe that was the point.


    With a start, he woke up.


    It was light again, though still early. That was a novelty. He''d fallen asleep on a park bench. He got up, joints stiffened, and oriented himself. As he walked towards the exit, he felt grateful that he''d slept here. The massive industrial weight of the city was getting to him.


    It was only three blocks to the hotel. He contemplated going to the Pompidou immediately, to have breakfast, but what he really needed was a bath and a change of clothes.


    At the hotel, something was wrong. The door wouldn''t open for him. He pressed the intervention button, and the hotel AI addressed him. "How may I help you, sir."


    "Well, by opening the door. I want to go to my room."


    "I don''t think you have a room with us, sir. Please identify yourself."


    "I''m Lucas Goodholland, of Greater Bethnell, Bethnell, and I most certainly have a room here."


    "I am truly sorry, sir, but you do not appear to have a room here."


    "Yes, I do. My stuff is upstairs. I have been staying here for the last couple of days. Well. Not last night but most certainly the four nights before that."


    "Well, sir, you sound most sincere, and I do humbly apologize, but you do not have a room here at this moment. If you did have a room here earlier and if you checked out, I wouldn''t know, for those records are closed to me. Privacy, you see. I am only aware of our current guests."Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    "This is ridiculous. There must be some mistake."


    "Well, sir, if there is anything further I can do for you, please do not hesitate to address me."


    "You can direct me to the police. They''ll soon clear up this mess."


    "Excellent suggestion, sir. I can have a cab here in five minutes. You''d have to pay cash, of course. Or you might prefer to walk. It is only seven blocks North and three East from here. You can walk it in ten or fifteen minutes."


    Luke chose to walk, and as he approached the police station, his anger gradually turned into worry. He thought everything over carefully, and as he saw the police station ahead, he stopped dead as the gravity of his situation hit home. He couldn''t prove who he was. His node didn''t work here. Normally a node could be interrogated by officials and would be sufficient in practice for most purposes. In addition, his passport with his triple quantum encoded bio sequence was with the stuff in his room. It contained a map of his DNA and could be interrogated by Federation Agency officials with a court order. Ultimately it was the evidence that he was who he was. But he didn''t have it.


    His ''partout could identify him for many practical purposes, of course, but that was the core of his worry. The thing was illegal, and the data contained in it was therefore suspect. And even if it wasn''t, it wouldn''t be legally sufficient anyway. And he wasn''t sure he should be naively trusting in the police. Not that he didn''t trust them, but he also trusted the hotel AI, and yet something had gone wrong. It was one of the things his father had taught him: when you don''t understand what''s happening, do nothing. Procrastinate. Be explicit and eloquent, but keep your options open. It had worked for his father in politics, and suddenly Luke felt it might apply here as well.


    He turned about and walked toward, ..., well, he just walked. He had no idea where to go or what to do.


    ...


    He checked the cash balance on his ''partout and Xolorrr''s balance. A tiny bit of luck. It wasn''t auspicious for Xolorrr to take electronic representations of money with him, but the Urrr scrip system was unknown on Daimando, and Federation checks were unsuitable for day-to-day use. As a compromise, Xolorrr had opted to put some cash on Luke''s ''partout. It being based on Xolorrr''s trust in his friend made the mechanism auspicious and reasonably practical.


    His own balance was seventeen dollars, and Xolorrr''s was just short of eighty.


    And now he needed something to eat, and he needed help to find out the ground rules of his situation, and he knew where to get both. He kicked himself mentally for not asking the girl''s name, but there was nothing for it.


    At the Pompidou, he had breakfast and then took his coffee to the terrace. The weather was enjoyable, and he spent his time browsing the net to find any helpful information. He thanked heaven that he had bought an expensive model ''partout, which was chargeless.


    The net wasn''t very helpful, but then he remembered the folder he had gotten at the hospital. That, too, was less than helpful. It explained what he already knew about stasis, and it explained what he had already inferred about his guardianship: he was executor of Xolorrr''s estate, and he was to keep detailed records which would be scrutinized by Xolorrr and by an AI judge when Xolorrr got out. Until that time, he would have to foot the bill.


    He had a small lunch, feeling uncomfortable spending money until things were in perspective again. He continued to search the net without much success.


    ...


    "Hya. How''s your friend." He was disoriented for the briefest of moments, and then it came back.


    She had just come here from work, apparently, still being dressed in the most unflattering coverall. "Well, **he''s** ok for the moment. He''s in stasis. **I''m** in trouble. I seem to be chucked out of my hotel."


    "Stasis? What''s the commitment?"


    "Commitment ...?"


    "You don''t have a commitment. Oh boy. Man, you''re deep in it. Jesus. They took you for a ride. So you have nothing? I mean. No clothes, nothing. This is it. Oh, man."


    She was silent for a while. Thinking. Not the vacant look of access, but just ..., thinking.


    "What''s a commitment?"


    "I''ll explain later. First, we have to do some damage control. Do you have anything? Did they give you anything at all?"


    He gave her the folder, feeling stupid and not knowing why.


    "Oh, man. That''s first class. Didn''t you read what they made you sign? Your friend is in stasis for more than I make in a week. A day that is." She looked him in the eye, angry and pitiful at the same time. "You don''t understand a single thing I''m saying, do you? Ok. Let''s go. Are you going to finish that sandwich? No, I guess not. Well, waste not, want not."


    With that, she left, munching his bread, and he could do nothing but follow her.


    ...


    Her studio, if you could call it that, was tiny. A three-by-four room with one glass four-foot wall and two glass panels in the roof. A small kitchenette and a toilet and shower stall at one end. A sofa acting as her bed in the middle, and paintings in various degrees of completion on the remaining two walls, some facing the wall.


    She folded her blankets and indicated the sofa. "Coffee?" Without waiting for his answer, she went to the kitchenette and started making coffee, old style. He''d never seen that.


    "There has to be a commitment on their side, or else they won''t do anything. And it has to be legally binding. Or they still won''t do anything."


    "They?"


    "Yes. The company. The ''First Daimando Health Care''. They are the operator that has your friend in stasis. What''s his name?"


    "Xolorrr."


    "Right. And you''re his guardian, right? Don''t you have health care, where you''re from?"


    "Yes, of course. I just don''t think we have something like commitment."


    "So what do they do then. They''re just nice people who like to help you. How do they live?"


    "You mean doctors?"


    "Yeah. Doctors. The companies. How do they survive?"


    "They get paid for what they do. They help people, and they get paid for that."


    "Duh. I mean, apart from that. They can''t survive on that. I mean. You aren''t backward, are you? This Bethnell. It isn''t some frontier settlement, is it?"


    "No, it isn''t. But, I, ..., the state. When you go there, your insurance pays for what they do for you, and the rest is paid by the state. I mean, research and education and stuff."


    "The state. You mean the taxpayers. And that works for you? You should tell me someday. I have friends who would wanna know. Anyway. Here, the companies charge you for everything. The only way to make them do something is to get a legally binding commitment. They only get paid once they have fulfilled their commitment. You''re certain there is no commitment?"


    "Well. I asked when the material would arrive, and he said something vague like ''anytime''."


    "Ok. No commitment. My guess is they got an injunction on all your possessions, which might imply termination of your contract with the hotel. I don''t know, of course. It''s not as if I''m a lawyer.


    "Which brings me to the following. You need a lawyer. How much cash do you have?"


    "About a hundred. A bit less."


    "Well, that''s something, but not much. Let''s not spend it on a lawyer. We''ll go for a pro bono AI, and if it''s ok with you, I''ll ask a friend to help." Her eyes became vacant. She was contacting her friend and perhaps the lawyer.


    "Ok. My friend gets off duty at eleven tonight, and we can meet then. Let''s go grab a bite."


    As they stepped out of the apartment, he noticed a nameplate: ''D. Garibaldi. "Is that your name," he asked?


    "Oh yeah. I''m Dawn. Dawn Garibaldi. And you are?"


    "Luke. Lucas Goodholland. And I would like to thank you for helping me. I am sort of at a loss."


    "Oh, don''t mention it. You can buy me dinner. I mean, a hundred dollars is what I earn in a month."


    ...


    They went to a place where they just had pasta, with a choice of blue cheese or tomato sauce. But it was delicious, and the place was crowded. They had a small jar of wine which was so rough it made his eyes water. But all in all, it was ok. He wouldn''t have thought it possible to have dinner for two for less than two dollars.


    They talked about anything but his predicament. She stayed clear of that, apparently avoiding thinking about it without her friend and the lawyer. At ten-thirty, she got up and said: "let''s go. It''s not far from here."


    They went to a bar. A cube made entirely of diamond glass. It was suspended between two high-rise offices using monofilament. It appeared to be floating in the air. A platform going up and down continuously between the ground and the cube allowed people to go in or out. As they neared the platform, he saw that it did have a railing made of diamond glass.


    Once inside, the sight was extraordinary. Every effort had been made to give the illusion customers were floating in the air. And the cube moved very gently to and fro in the wind.


    "Hi, Richard. Meet my new friend Luke. He''s fallen into the hands of First Daimando. He could do with some help."


    Richard was a huge man. Not precisely fat, though he could lose a few pounds, but tall, thick-set, a bull''s neck and hands like shovels. He dwarfed the chair he sat in, and in his hands, his pint of ale looked like a shot glass. He had a beard and wavy black hair, here and there speckled with early grey.


    "Hi, Luke. Happy to make your acquaintance. What is it? Did they stick you and bleed you twice, or is it a relative?"


    "He''s not from here, so you have to take this slowly. Where he comes from, they don''t have medicorps. He''s the guardian of his friend, and he didn''t know that he was supposed to require a commitment."


    "How can you not get a commitment. Why would they do anything if they are not committed."


    "Exactly. The thing is, this morning, he couldn''t get into his hotel. Probably they impounded the lot. So he''s stuck with the clothes on his back and some small change. Well, more than that, but he can''t get a lawyer or anything."


    "My goodness. Do you have folks who can help, Luke? Here or off-world. Did you already send a distress call? No, wait. Dawn mentioned that you wanted a lawyer, and I agree. Let''s go upstairs to a booth. Then we can talk with a lawyer." All along the walls, stuck against the ceiling, was a circle of booths, small rooms with benches, and a table. Not exactly privacy, because they were also transparent and didn''t have a door, or even a wall, on one end, but there was less noise. Apparently, people didn''t like them because they were mostly empty.


    They took their pitcher of beer and bowl of pretzels and occupied an empty booth. Then, finally, Richard said: "It''s your choice, of course, but I would suggest that you go with Lindstrom and Mayhem. They''re good people. Of course, you won''t have anything to do with actual people, but that may happen nonetheless in the future. In addition, they only require a fixed entry fee. You''d be surprised how many pro bono lawyers charge by the hour.


    "How can they be pro bono if they charge anything?"


    "Oh, you''re the plaintiff. And besides, a human lawyer will cost anything between ten and a hundred dollars an hour. A generic lawyer, which is what we''ll be getting, would be anything up to ten dollars or so. Often a lot less. Lindstrom and Mayhem charge a single fee of five dollars. By the way, don''t you have an implant, or is it out of order?"


    "Sorry?"


    "I can''t seem to connect to you, and I see you''re carrying a ''partout. Does the ''partout work for you?"


    "Yeah. My node connects with the ''partout. It''s limited, but I have visual and audio. Unfortunately, my node doesn''t work with your net directly."


    "Ok. Can you give me a handle, so we can talk to the lawyer .... Right, I have your ''partout. And here''s the lawyer."


    "Good evening. My name is Mustafa 17, and I am an AI counsel with Lindstrom and Mayhem. How may I be of service."


    "My friend here would like to take you on. Please open a file and include this conversation for future reference. Present are Richard, Dawn, and Luke. You have our credentials. Does Luke''s ''partout give you any ID?"


    "No, sir. It doesn''t."


    "Oh, please call me Richard. Luke, you have to say who you are and request assistance."


    "My name is Lucas Goodholland, and I am a citizen of Greater Bethnell, Bethnell. I would like to take you on as my attorney."


    And then Luke told what had happened in the last two days, being helped by Dawn where possible, and she, Richard, and the lawyer asked hundreds of questions. And as the night progressed, Luke got answers to his questions.


    First and foremost, his worry about Xolorrr. But they eased his mind there. Xolorrr was in stasis, and he could bank on him continuing to remain in stasis. If First Daimando could do one thing, it was that.


    His second question concerned his possessions. Apparently, the contract he had signed could potentially add up to an arbitrary amount. First Daimando had checked whether Luke could pay any significant bill, and since he didn''t have a source of income, they had impounded all his stuff. When Luke mentioned Xolorrr''s health insurance, Richard said: "You''re missing the point here. First, they challenge your insurance on some amount they are sure isn''t covered. Then they impound, and they are still free to go after whatever amount the insurance is bound to pay at any later point in time. They have all the time in the world. In fact, their most important strategy will be to drag their feet. Simply because every day means two hundred dollars to them."


    The lawyer proposed three approaches. Firstly, to get his ID back. He would issue two writs. One that the passport was federation property and could therefore not be impounded. This was true on Bethnell (as far as Luke knew), but not on Daimando, so the second writ said that though the passport was impounded, the information was unalienable and should therefore be handed over.


    The second approach was to add a commitment. The lawyer was of the opinion that not having any commitment was a good thing because ultimately, a judge would void a contract that went only one way.


    Thirdly the lawyer would use them to change the contract from first to third class, which was seven rather than two hundred dollars a day. In addition, he would sue them to retrieve the initial costs, which amounted to something like $700. He wouldn''t get that but he tried nonetheless.


    Luke''s suggestion to pay whatever was owed now and ship Xolorrr to Manaat or any other world where they could treat him was ..., well ..., laughed at. Dawn said: "But you don''t have any money. You already owe them $1000 or something. So where are you going to get that? And to get it, you need an ID. And to get that, you need to sue them for it. And by the time you have your ID, it will be a lot more than $1000. That''s how they work."


    "But I could send a message home, and they would send money."


    "No, you couldn''t. You don''t have any money. Sending a message off-world will cost more than a hundred dollars, I believe. And you need your ID. So, what we do is get your ID, top off the worst-case amount with their commitment, and reduce the rates by going for third class."


    When they were done, as an afterthought, Luke asked: "So when do I get my ID, back, do you think." Richard said: "Oh, anything between a month and a year."


    "What?"


    "It''s what they do best. They drag their feet."


    "But what am I going to do? How am I going to live?"


    "Well, you''ll have to find a job and a place to stay, I guess. You''re an accountant, right? I''ll ask around. And now I really want to go. I need to sleep. My dear." He kissed Dawn''s cheek. "Luke. Not to worry. We''ll get out of this. There are always people worse off than this. Remember that." And he left.


    "I don''t even have a place to stay. What am I going to do."


    "Oh, that''s ok. You can stay with me for now. Come. We should sleep and let it all sink in.


    ...


    The apartment was as they had left it. Tiny. The sofa folded out to little more than a single bed.


    "If you don''t mind, I would like to go to bed immediately. I have to get up early tomorrow. Why don''t you shower now, and then I will go in the morning. There is not enough water for the two of us."


    While Luke was in the shower, Dawn got into her pajamas. When he went to the bed, dressed in his shorts and t-shirt, she was already asleep. With some difficulty he squeezed himself into the bed, but without waking she made room for him and then snuggled up. He wondered briefly if he would be able to sleep with the intimate touch of her body, but before coming to a conclusion either way, he had fallen asleep.

 Job

    ...


    Getting up and having breakfast was hectic. Dawn took a shower, made coffee, got dressed, looted the cupboards for cheese, jam, and factory bread, and had breakfast, all more or less at the same time. Luke got dressed, the third day in the same set of clothing, had a single jam sandwich, and drank two cups of coffee, strong and black, though with ''sugar.


    As they left, Dawn locked the door to the studio but put the key under the mat in the hallway. "Not ideal, but nobody comes here." She told the front door to allow Luke in at any time until further notice.


    In the street, she started to explain where he could do some shopping, but then she changed her mind. "Why don''t you come with me. You can help, which means I''ll be done more quickly, and then we can go and buy some stuff for you together."


    At the station, she suggested buying a week pass for the local trains. Two and a half dollars, and he could get about.


    Their ride was less than ten minutes. Then she steered them to a hidden entrance into a vast C''aing municipal building.


    "Hi, Jake. This is Lucas Subotnik. He''s an art major over at Zadan State. He''s staying with me for a while. Would it be ok for him to help me out a couple of days? I mean, doing my batch, or maybe more, but then you''d have to pay."


    "Sure, that''s how we work here. You tell me how many people you would like to employ, and I''ll go out and find work for them. Why don''t you just hand me over a list of people I have to bring work to. Jeez. What is it with you people."


    "Didn''t say that, Jake. Just asking if it''s ok if Luke here helps out, and I''m suggesting that we could do a bit more if you want us to, is all."


    "Yeah yeah. Why don''t you do the Abercrombie''s over in Ventura Park? It''s easier with the two of you. There''s a little extra pay, though it ain''t a whole lot. But, you''ll be done in a couple of hours. Tomorrow I may have more, with the festival coming up in Fenwick Park. But I''m telling you, it''s only temporary. Here, I''ll make a note in my calendar. If he''s around in two weeks, both of you are out. And also, if you fuck up, I''ve never seen this guy, and it''s your ass. Are we clear?"


    "Sure, Jake. Couldn''t have put it better myself. And we do appreciate some extra work."


    They went to a workshop and picked up a small cart with all sorts of cleaning materials. Dawn filled a container with water and another with green goo. She put on her coverall, and found a spare one for Luke.


    When they went outside, she said: "Well, that went reasonably well. It''s ceramics, so it''s fairly easy to clean. It''s just kids improving upon the esthetics. We wash it with this detergent, wait a bit, and rinse it off."


    It was a twenty-minute stroll to Ventura Park, a tiny lawn with four palm trees, four benches, and a set of ceramic shapes. Someone had spray-painted numerous acronyms, icons, and vague political slurs all over the figures.


    As Luke tested the paint with a fingernail, it came off easily. "That''s odd. This paint comes off just like that. This is about the worst possible paint for graffiti."


    "Oh no. They know us. We know them. It''s symbiosis. They give us work, and we give them something to work on again."


    They covered the statue in goo. To reach the top, Dawn climbed on the cart while Luke held it. Jake had been right. Doing it on your own would be awkward unless you brought a ladder.


    Then they sat on one of the benches and waited, talked, for about an hour. Luke asked it was essential to wait that long. "Oh no. you can rinse it off immediately. But then we''d be done in an hour. And when Jake stops by, we''d be gone. He wouldn''t like that. He doesn''t mind if we goof off, but we shouldn''t advertise it. He''d feel obliged to give us more work next time. And besides, every now and then, someone uses proper paint, and then it is a lot of work."


    After they''d rinsed down the statue, they strolled back to bring back the cart. Jake gave Dawn three dollars and said: "I''ll write down two on your account. What I said about two weeks still goes, but I imagine your friend needs to eat as well."


    "Thanks, Jake. That''s very kind of you."


    When they were outside, Luke asked: "Don''t you feel bad about taking their money for this. I mean. I''m not saying you shouldn''t. I''m just wondering."


    "No, no. It''s not like that. It''s more complicated. We used to have a grant for art students, which was a hundred dollars a month. You can live on that, pay for school and buy materials. I mean, most students would have a job because it isn''t much, but then again, it was only a grant. Then they wanted to cut back costs by stopping the grant altogether. There were many protests, and a  compromise was found in the end. The grant was cut in half, and it wouldn''t just be given, but we have to do some study related community service. Ergo, cleaning art. This way, they have cut back costs, and they can claim a political victory because the grant is stopped completely. And now, nobody cares anymore. Supervisors tally up what we do and ensure everybody gets about fifty dollars. Jake is ok there. He gives everybody exactly sixty dollars a month, whatever we do. So we are nice to him and make sure he doesn''t get into trouble. He''s studied art, you know. Man, how low can you get."


    They walked on, and Dawn took Luke to a second-hand clothing store, where they bought him a new wardrobe of sorts. Then to a second-hand book store, where she made him buy three books on Daimando. And finally to a department store where they purchased some shirts and shorts for him, and some cheese and bread for breakfast.


    "And now, you can buy me lunch from your first paycheck."


    While they waited for their food, Luke called the lawyer to find out if anything had happened. So far, everything went exactly as expected. First, Daimando prevented any and every communication with the lawyer, and the lawyer had appealed to the court to force First Daimando to hear it. In two days, a Judge would observe the lawyer contacting First Daimando, and then they would be forced to act. The lawyer''s estimate was that they would then claim technical problems. The judge would then most likely summon them to communicate within a week. When Luke asked whether their behavior could be construed as an admission that they knew about Luke and were avoiding him, the lawyer said: "Not at all. They don''t even know you are my client. They just know I''m a lawyer."


    In the afternoon, Dawn did her shift serving drinks. Apparently, it wasn''t in a bar she or her friends would visit, and she didn''t invite Luke to come. Instead, he went to a sidewalk cafe and read the books he''d bought. He had a salad and a bowl of fish soup for dinner, and he went to the studio early because he was dead tired. He slept when Dawn came home.


    ...


    In the next couple of days, they spent a lot of time together, and gradually Luke came to grips with the world and his situation. They met Richard once, but he hadn''t yet found a job for Luke, nor had he new ideas concerning his court cases.


    As Luke came out of his shock, he started to see more of his surroundings, including Dawn. She was uncommonly tall, perhaps only two inches shorter than him. She was slender, had long straight brown hair edging towards black and had grey-brown eyes. Her clothes were loose-fitting, hiding rather than accentuating her figure, and yet, she was very much aware of the impressions she made on men. It was in her movements and the most subtle aspects of her clothes.


    "I know that look, and I suggest that we agree to some ground rules. You are welcome to stay here as long as is necessary, but I can tell you here and now that I don''t want a relationship with you, and I certainly don''t want to mess around. I don''t want to have sex with you. I don''t want you falling in love or skulk around me or anything. When your hormones get the better of you, we''ll take that as it comes, but I''m telling you that if you make anything out of anything, you will have to go. I really, really don''t want it. I mean, you''re ok, but let''s just leave it at that."


    That night, as they were asleep in the tiny bed, Luke woke up with a hard-on pressed against Dawn''s pajama''s. Without really waking, she pulled down her pants and guided him inside her, all in one fluid motion. She took his hand, shoved it under her pajama top, and snuggled up, pressing against him.


    He told himself he was still sleeping, but who was he kidding? He felt her breast in his hand and pressed deep inside her. Once. Twice. He shuddered. He thought about saying something, but he knew that anything he said would be stupid. Before he could decide whether he loved her, he had fallen asleep.


    "I know that grin too. I don''t want to see it. You don''t own me, you didn''t have me, you don''t even know me. We had sex, of sorts, once, and when I see that grin again, it will stay at once, and you will be looking for a room. You will also be looking for a room if you start imagining that you love me. You don''t. And next time, pull up the covers. I got cold."


    ...


    Next time.


    ...


    Gotta work on that grin.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ...


    Richard called. "I''ve got a proposition. It''s a small theatre company, and they have a problem. Their bookkeeping is a mess, and the Bureau of Revenue has put a claim on them, which they think is outrageous, but they don''t know. They have no idea where they stand. I suggested to them that you might be willing to look at it for free. My thinking is that right now, you are a nameless tourist. It''s impossible to find you any job as an accountant. But if you do this, you''re at least plausible. In addition, if you help them and they don''t go under, they may be willing and able to offer you some work in the future, with pay. What do you think?"


    "Well, I''m all for it, but I have no knowledge at all of Daimando tax law. So I doubt I can do much."


    "Oh, not to worry. They have an AI accountant with some firm, which does all that. It''s just that they can''t work with the AI. They are totally elsewhere. I mean, it''d be funny if it weren''t so serious. They can talk for an hour and not exchange one single bit of information."


    "Ok. So how much time do you think this might take."


    "Oh, I can tell you exactly. Three days. In three days, they appear in court, and they have to show something real by then. They''ve been letting it drag on, hoping that it would go away. As if the BR have faulty memory or something."


    "So. Where and when?"


    "I think you should talk to them first, rather than the accountant, but tonight they have a performance. So first thing tomorrow. For them, that would be around eleven. Be at this address. I won''t be there. Just ask for Marty. She''s at least coherent."


    Luke didn''t like to just leave Dawn with their work, but she said: "No, no. That''s perfect. I''ll do something small tomorrow morning, and then I can paint. I need the studio to myself every now and then, so this is perfect. I''ll tell Jake you''re sick. And don''t worry about that. It''ll be ok. And then I have the day to myself. It''s best if you eat out and come home after ten. I really need to be alone for this. That''s really perfect. And oh yeah. Don''t talk to me when you get home. I need to unwind, so we''ll just go to sleep. Ok?"


    "Sure."


    ...


    The job was simple. The AI just needed to be straightened out on a few things. It was clear why the actors and the AI couldn''t communicate. The actors didn''t know one thing about money, taxes or the law, and they kept talking about their good intentions, missed opportunities and how life was bad enough as it was without the BR harassing them. In the circumstances, the BR''s claim was reasonable: lacking any information, they''d just assumed the worst.


    It took Luke a couple of hours to understand the totality of the mess, in all its breadth and depth. Then it took the best part of that and the following two days to find what little hard material was there and to come up with plausible explanations of the rest. It was the AI''s opinion that the BR didn''t assume specific deliberate tax evasion but rather that they knew the bookkeeping was a mess and didn''t want to end up with the short end of the stick.


    The court case was over in fifty minutes. Luke was plugged in to help Marty, who acted as the company''s representative. The AI judge asked several questions, which Marty relegated to Luke, and the judge offered an opinion immediately. Of the fifty-seven counts on the indictment, only two were awarded: improper bookkeeping without intent of malice, and wasting Bureau resources. The first resulted in a fine of twenty dollars, and the second in an admonition, this being their first offense. The judge made it clear that any subsequent infringements of this nature would not be dealt with so leniently, and he commended the BR for their willingness to accept this verdict, which apparently they had indicated.


    ...


    Over the next few weeks, Luke and Dawn got on with their own life. Dawn found that she really needed her studio to herself two or three days a week, and Jake''s period of grace had ended, so even though Luke still joined her to her work on occasion, it was just to chat.


    Now Luke had ''established'' himself as an accountant, Richard proved to be a true wizard in locating odd jobs. The pay was never much, but Luke greedily accepted every job. Mostly they consisted of helping people to prepare with tax returns and court cases. Only once, when a prison sentence was one of the likely outcomes, did he refuse. He felt that his inexperience was more of a risk than an advantage until Richard set him straight: Benjamin Duolo, the prospective client, was being bullied by EnerCo, one of Brodin''s three energy providers, and as one of their ploys they had bribed away Benjamin''s human lawyer. In Richard''s opinion, Luke''s contribution would at least make Benjamin''s court case less predictable; obviously, EnerCo had a copy of Benjamin''s AI lawyer to predict its every move.


    In the end, Luke caved in and helped Benjamin. They avoided imprisonment and even got Benjamin some small restitution, but his market was closed down and came into the hands of Enerco. Benjamin was in tears and blamed everyone, including Luke, but Richard, who was there, set him straight and complimented Luke.


    When Luke asked why Richard hadn''t helped him himself, Richard said: "Oh, I''m too well known to them. If I participated, they would throw in their heavyweights, and Benjamin would have been worse off."


    "How do they know you? You''re not a lawyer, are you?"


    "Oh no. I''ve just been on the other side of the table, so to speak. More or less like you. Just helping people out."


    ...


    Luke continued to live in Dawn''s apartment, and their friendship grew rich and pleasant. They went out to have drinks or dinner, together, or sometimes with Richard and others, and they had sex a couple of times. Dawn seemed to understand that sleeping with her in the tiny bed would lead to all sorts of tension for him, and for her, sex was easier than dealing with any stress. Somehow, she saw that he didn''t feel denied, without it growing into anything.


    One time Luke went to help an elderly couple in another borough. He stayed over so as not to waste time traveling. Dawn had the apartment to herself for three whole days and arranged to be off duty in the bar and with Jake. When Luke got back, late at night the third day, he found her sitting on the settee, looking at a painting on the wall immediately in front of her, with the most peculiar expression on her face. It took a while before she noticed him, and when she did, she looked at the painting again immediately and started crying.


    "What is it, Dawn. Didn''t it go, ok?"


    She blubbered. "No, no, it went fabulous. This is exactly what I wanted." She smiled, and it was the finest thing Luke had ever seen.


    She went to clean up her things. Luke used the opportunity to look at her painting. He usually wouldn''t, and she didn''t like to talk about them. This painting showed a bar full of people. The colors were bright and sharp. Most of the people were clearly entertained in lively conversation, and yet, at the same time, they appeared dead and absent. A spark was missing from their eyes or from their expression. Luke didn''t see how she had done it, but it was most disconcerting. Suddenly he realized it was the bar she worked at.


    "This is where you work, right?"


    "Yeah. I''ll quit there. I''ll find something else." She busied herself with her brushes again, not wanting to talk about it. Luke took a shower, and when he returned, the painting was facing the wall, and Dawn was in bed. When he stepped in as well, he noticed she was naked. She embraced him and pulled him under her. Then she kissed him and moved gingerly on top of him. Afterward, she shuddered and collapsed. Then she took a quick cold shower and snuggled up to him in her pajamas. Just as he was falling asleep, she gave him a kiss.


    The next few days were busy for both of them. Dawn had to make up for her work with Jake, and she had to find another job. And Richard had found yet another last-minute situation.


    On the train, Luke got time to think. For the first time, he voiced to himself what he had felt the last few days. He didn''t love Dawn. He liked her very much, but he didn''t fully understand her -- there was a part that he just couldn''t grasp. He thought of Natasha and worried at the similarity of the situation and even of his feelings. But Natasha was different. She''d always been there.


    What he felt for Dawn was a deep and warm friendship. She''d stood by him when he was in need, as a true friend. She''d shared her studio and even her bed. He''d felt that he was supposed to love her, but he just didn''t. He would do anything for her, but that wasn''t love. Their intimacy was wonderful and certainly worked to avoid stress and express that friendship, but it was no more than that. He worried if he was using her, but that was nonsense. Well. In the beginning, he didn''t have a choice, and now it was just there. He didn''t feel it was bothersome for her, and indeed, he assumed the stress went two ways. And maybe he offered her something as well. A few times, he had felt that she liked showing him to her friends. Not showing off. Maybe just sharing. But he didn''t fully understand it. No love, at least, not like that. That was certain.


    Later, Dawn felt his change of heart, his conclusion, and became easier, less protective of herself. They continued to go out together, but just as often, they would go their separate ways. They continued to be intimate, but less often, less intense.


    Finding another job had proved more difficult than Dawn had expected, but with the money Luke made, they could pay the rent, buy what they needed, go out, and save money towards getting Xolorrr out.


    ...


    Luke spent more and more time with Richard and got to understand more and more of what Richard was doing and of Daimando.


    Daimando was a techno-industrialist society where everything was about production and consumption, corporate strategies and activities, growth and profit. And in that society, many people wouldn''t or couldn''t cope or wouldn''t play the game. Dawn was one of them. Luke understood that she would never be a productive, profit-making member of society. She painted to move ideas out of her head when the pressure of those ideas, images, feelings became too much. She didn''t try to sell her paintings, and probably nobody would want to buy them. They were not at all what was current in Daimando, or at least in The C''aing, as far as Luke could tell. Luke imagined they might very well sell on Bethnell but never on Daimando. So she continuously held her head above water without ever getting ahead, in what amounted to Daimando''s single socio-economic currency: profitability.


    Whenever one of those people stumbled, by accident, by mistake, or just by chance when they crossed the path of one of the corporations, they were in dire straights immediately. They didn''t have resources to do anything, they didn''t have influential friends to help, and they didn''t have sufficient knowledge or understanding of ''the real world" to cope.


    And Richard did understand the real world. He didn''t have much money, and he didn''t have influential friends. Not for long, anyway, because he made them help those in need. He had a kind heart and an incredible good nose for how the less fortunate and less influential could still make their case. His nose was so good that the corporations knew him. So now he no longer involved himself directly but just introduced the right people at the right time. In this respect, he had told Luke, Luke was ideal. Nobody knew him. He didn''t even have a credible personality on paper. He was just an accountant. And he was totally unpredictable. This he had admitted one night when he was slightly drunk. "In every case, you have worked on so far, you''ve added something that I''ve never seen and that nobody would have expected. Just little things, nothing big, no secret weapon. Just a new perspective on the material or a new item that others would have put aside as irrelevant. And the beauty is that you''re not winning big. You''re not noticeable. Once you are, they will target you, and we have to think of something else. But for now, you''ll do."


    And Luke liked to help. In a way, he was like these people. No. He was one of them. Ineffectual in his own case, but still able to help others. He knew there were many people like him with a relative in stasis having to scrape and borrow just to get their folks out of stasis and have them be treated. It was a common procedure. A scam, really. "No money for this operation at the moment? No problem. Behind with your monthly payment? That''s ok. Do you prefer another doctor? No sweat." And the margins varied. The bigger the sucker, the bigger the margin. According to Daimando standards, Luke was one of the biggest. No Daimando would be suckered into those terms; even when forced by circumstances, more reasonable terms would be agreed upon.

 Esmee

    ...


    One day Luke arrived at home and encountered Richard on the stairs, looking troubled. As they entered, Dawn sat on the settee, distraught, tears streaking her face. "Oh, Richard. It''s Esmee. She''s in trouble, and now they''ve put her in jail."


    Apparently, their mutual friend Esmee had tried to reach Richard, who was in a meeting and had then called Dawn. Once out of his session, Richard had heard the urgent messages from Esmee and Dawn but had been unable to contact Esmee, so he went to Dawn. Dawn said that Esmee was now in custody and couldn''t be reached anymore.


    They contacted Esmee''s lawyer, who indicated that he was getting more information from the police at that very moment and that he would contact them when he knew anything.


    Dawn was still distraught, and Luke talked with Richard. "It''s a friend of ours. Very sad, really. She has more money to her name than all people I call my friends put together, but she lives as Dawn, more or less. One room and more jobs than she can handle. You''ll appreciate her. You have something in common already. Apart from you, she''s the only person I know who has someone in stasis without any commitment. Although her situation is truly sad. Her relative in stasis is, in fact, her great great great great great grandfather, or something. He''s been in stasis for over two hundred years, and he has no relative in the Universe except Esmee. No relative, no one he knows, nothing he would understand perhaps. He is one of the first people to have been put in stasis. Esmee, like her mother and her grandfather before her, devotes her life to trying to collect enough money to get him out. At the rate they are going, they will get there, though not in Esmee''s life. But she continues to try. She doesn''t spend a dime on anything but food, clothes, and the smallest room I''ve ever seen. But, she is really ok. She helps people where she can, and she is good company. She doesn''t like us buying her drinks, so she doesn''t get out much. But she has a clear mind when it comes to operations and assertive action. I''ll tell you later."


    "Not that it''s any of my business, but what kind of money are we talking about to get her grandfather, great grandfather, well, her relative out?"


    "Oh, I believe it''s more than two and a half million dollars by now. And she''s now worth something like three hundred thousand, which I could live off for the rest of my life, but it''s not enough. At the rate she is earning money, it will be two or three hundred years still. She''s lucky that she doesn''t have to pay interest when she''s in arrears. That''s why she can keep her money and at least get some leverage.


    "But still, I think she''s hoping for a miracle. If you ask me, there are much better ways to use that money. I can think of twenty people just like that who could be gotten out of stasis, but she is working only for her granddad. She wants to get him out while she lives. She can''t stand the thought of him getting out of stasis in a world he doesn''t know where lives no one that he knows or has any connection with, and she most certainly doesn''t want to put children in this world of ours.


    "The saddest part perhaps is that if she were to die, Brodin Medical would confiscate the lot and would get him out of stasis immediately. They only keep people if they can squeeze someone."


    "Why was he put into stasis in the first place."


    "His liver is damaged. At the time, in the earlier days of colonization, they didn''t have facilities to fix that. Now, they can just implant an artificial liver, which would cost something like $3000. It could be they already did that for him to avoid the risk of complications. It''s their one worry. If they lose a patient, they won''t get a dime when there''s no commitment."


    "How is it possible that they can just put someone in stasis for more than two centuries? I mean. Doesn''t that person have any rights?"


    "It depends on the contract. All rights go to the guardian in contracts such as hers and yours, except bodily integrity. In some ways, the person ceases to exist for the law, and the guardianship becomes part of the guardian''s estate. Only when a guardian dies without heirs does guardianship return to the state, and the Mediacorp can recover some of their losses from the remainder of the estate. Or else they get some nominal fee from the state. I think it happened regularly about a century ago. Now, it''s very rare. Guardianship started out as a protection mechanism, but it isn''t anymore. In current contracts, the commitment usually appoints a lawyer as a legal representative, but there is no guardianship."


    ...


    Dawn had recovered a bit. When the lawyer called, she washed her face and dried it quickly. Richard took the call and patched in Dawn and Luke.


    "Esmee Hallipirii is now in custody with the police on an indictment with 37 counts, the most serious being grievous bodily harm and attempted murder. I do not yet have access to her, pending the investigation, but I''ve read the statements taken by police investigators, and I am somewhat mystified. There doesn''t seem to be much of a case. There are quite some discrepancies between Ms. Hallipirii''s statement and that of the alleged victim, which is not uncommon in cases like this, but also between the statements of the alleged victim and a material witness, who is also an employee of Brodin Medical. I have certified copies of these statements for our use.


    "It appears that two Brodin Medical officials visited Ms. Hallipirii in her apartment, and after a brief conversation, a fight allegedly broke out. Ms. Hallipirii has stated that she was bullied into a corner and felt threatened, at which point she pushed one of the officials away from her in self-preservation. A Mr. Jonathan of Brodin Medical states that he visited Brodin Medical''s client Ms. Hallipirii to discuss particular business aspects when Ms. Hallipirii suddenly and without any provocation lashed out at him with a sharp object in an attempt to injure or kill him. The second Brodin Medical official, a Mr. Dunnwood, does not mention any object and, in fact, confirms that her hands were empty at the time. He does state that Ms. Hallipirii lashed out at his colleague.


    "Apparently, Mr. Jonathan didn''t undergo a medical examination, as would be expected in a case like this. None of the reports of the witnesses and of the inspectors mentions an injury.


    "In addition to the People''s indictment, Brodin Medical and Mr. Jonathan are independently suing Ms. Hallipirii for all her assets towards damages.


    "It is my opinion that their cases are very weak. To say the least, any judge would regard Mr. Dunnwood as a biased witness. Although for our case, it is almost irrelevant. Should this witness be found inadmissible, the case folds by default. Without a medical examination, it''s just Mr. Jonathan''s word, which doesn''t constitute sufficient grounds for anything. And should the witness be heard, the contradiction will cast considerable doubt. All the more so if this witness remains uncontested by us. There is a slight chance Mr. Dunwood might alter his statement at a later point in time, but I expect any judge to rule in our favor should that occur. Without a medical examination, they are bound to lose.


    "The fact that Brodin Medical is entailed in many legal disputes with Ms. Hallipirii and the fact that both gentlemen are employed by Brodin Medical makes the entire situation suspect. Ms. Hallipirii''s statement most certainly has merit. What were they doing there?


    "In this regard, I am suing Brodin Medical for harassment yet again. That case will be strengthened by the very fact that Brodin Medical is suing us concerning this alleged bodily harm; they imply their involvement. I doubt suing Mr. Jonathan for harassment would help much at this moment. We can do that later when their case is lost, and Ms. Hallipirii is out.


    "Speaking of which. I have tried to arrange bail, but Brodin Medical is throwing in everything they can, and so far, they have been able to postpone judgment on this. I will continue trying.


    "At the moment, there is one slight concern. Ms. Hallipirii mentions a document that the two gentlemen produced during the conversation, but no mention of it occurs in the statements of the two gentlemen or of the officers that inspected the apartment. Note, however, that the contents of any document would normally be outside the mandate of an officer in a case like this. If the document wasn''t physically connected or implicated in the alleged crime, it would be ignored by a robot officer.


    "However, that document may very well prove to contain material that supports our claim of harassment, in which case it must be filed with the court as soon as possible. On the other hand, the document might conceivably support their claim of an unprovoked attack, in which case it is not relevant for us. I propose that one of you go to Ms. Hallipirii''s apartment and check whether such a document can be found. If the document exists and if it might help Ms. Hallipirii, I should like to be informed forthwith. If no such document exists or you feel it has no bearing on our case, I am fully prepared to go to court with what we have. For all clarity, I would like to put forth that this or any conversation may be scrutinized by a judge hearing this case.


    ...


    Dawn had to meet someone where she hoped to find a new job, so Richard and Luke decided to go to the apartment together.


    As they sat on the train, -- two stops only, -- Luke asked what Richard thought of the matter.


    "Oh, it''s probably all a misunderstanding. Esmee would never be violent to anyone. I can''t imagine any circumstances where she would. Well, I mean, anyone can be pushed over the edge, of course. But that takes some directed effort, and the medicorps don''t work that way. Mostly. I mean, Esmee isn''t that important to them. Probably they were harassing her, and something went wrong. They don''t harass her on purpose, mind you. It''s just that these big organizations can be extremely callous and single-minded. They can spit in your face and truly believe they are helping you. It''s ... oh. One second."


    Richard''s eyes turned vacant as he was taking a call. It took only a few minutes.


    "Sorry about that. Another crisis and this is really urgent. What I propose is that you go there alone. By now, you know all there is to know, really. I''ve left a code in your ''partout that will get you in the building. Esmee never locks her apartment, so you can walk right in. Third floor, the door on your right. I can stay on this train and take another one three stops down. You have to get out there. Take the Welding Avenue exit, turn right when you get out of the elevator, take the second left, which is 415th street, and take the smallest and oldest building there. Number 4019. You have to get out here."


    ...


    The place was a mess, but judging by the clothes, books, papers, newspapers and magazines, printouts and hundreds of clippings, and a fair number of empty plates and glasses stacked everywhere in the room, this was its usual appearance. The room was three by three and contained a bed, two chairs, two tables, a washbasin, and a bookcase. One table had a tiny stove and implements to make coffee and the simplest of meals. There were only a small frying pan and a small saucepan. In addition, there was an open bag of bread and two jars, with peanut butter and honey, apparently both natural, and a stack of clean plates and cutlery.


    The other table was stacked high with papers, magazines, folders, notebooks, books, and clippings, as was the bookcase. Clothes were strewn here and there, and two substantial plastic bags held stacks of clean clothing.


    Luke looked at the room and felt his heart sink. Finding any document with unspecified but relevant contents in this mess was ludicrous. Documents were everywhere.


    Since he could hardly inspect all documents in the room, he approached his problem differently by trying to imagine what had happened from the description the lawyer had given. Esmee must have been working, reading, or perhaps sleeping in her room when the two men came, -- there was nothing else to do here. The bed didn''t look as if anyone had just been sleeping there, though, being strewn with magazines and books, so she probably had been working.


    He imagined the two men entering the room. What little he knew of Esmee suggested that she would not have offered them a chair, or indeed to sit on her bed. They would have stood, more or less, in the middle of the room.


    He couldn''t imagine them giving her a book or a magazine. It would have been an office printout, possibly inside a folder. Odd that they hadn''t given it to her electronically, but the lawyer had been specific. The lawyer had described how Esmee had been pushed into a corner and had, apparently, lashed out. Would she then have held on to a document? Probably not. But Luke couldn''t imagine her neatly putting the document away before the incident. That didn''t fit the description either. There was no open folder or printout lying about.


    Looking closely, he saw that his first impression of a mess wasn''t entirely accurate. There were documents everywhere, but they were piled into neat stacks, mainly in and around the bookcase and on the larger table. He could imagine someone making sense of this. There was no loose document on the floor.


    He went to the table. She had been working there on a notebook that lay open on the table. He took the notebook over to the window to have better light. As he leafed through it, he saw clippings and printouts on every page and short notes written next to them. Odd. He couldn''t imagine anyone not putting this into a node. The only documents on the table not on one of the neat stacks were the notebook, two paper magazines, a printed newspaper, and a printout. He took the printout to the window, but it appeared to be the minutes of a local council meeting, taken from the net. Not something Brodin Medical would bring.


    He walked over to the bed. Pillows were stacked against the wall as if Esmee had been sitting there, reading. There was a small reading lamp suspended from the wall. Some magazines lay on the bed, and two books. Novels. No document from Brodin Medical. Could the two men have taken the document with them again?


    He sat on the bed against the pillows, somewhat comfortably. One of the magazines was lying within easy reach. It was too dark to read, so he switched on the light. An old-fashioned switch, not controlled by the net. Quaint. The magazine wasn''t a magazine at all. It was made of memox, programmable paper. Expensive stuff, often used for subscription art magazines. High-quality images with the tactile experience of paper. But this was different. Hardly any attention had been given to the layout, and there were no images. Just text. A report on a council meeting on zoning laws, apparently.


    This was getting him nowhere.


    He went to the table again to look at the last pages of the notebook. As he walked over to the window for better light, it hit him. This room was so dark that you had to walk to the window to read. The window was small, perhaps two feet wide by three feet high, and let in little light even in broad daylight due to the buildings opposite. There was no lamp on the ceiling, just a desk lamp on each of the tables and the reading lamp next to the bed.


    The bed had its long side against the outside wall and its short side against the second wall, pillows stacked in the corner. There was less than a yard between the foot of the bed and the third wall and between the bookcase and the window, leaving only a small space in front of the window.


    Maybe they''d just tried to point something out on the document. If there was a document. He could imagine standing there reading something with two people moving towards you. It would be mildly threatening in any event, being, literally, cornered.


    The shelves in the bookcase were open on all sides, being mounted between four posts, with a fifth post at the back center. He looked in the bookcase to see if he could see something that could be used as a weapon. But that wasn''t likely in any event. Grabbing something out of the bookcase would have been very awkward from where he stood; you had to reach between two posts and retract whatever object you took. She hadn''t taken something from the shelves in sudden self-defense.


    He imagined her standing there and someone coming too close. All one could do was to push them away. As he pushed an imaginary foe away with his right hand, he quite naturally dropped the notebook he''d been holding on the bed. The document should be on the bed. He went on his knees and looked under the bed, but it was too dark. The bed didn''t appear very heavy, so he lifted the foot and moved the bed away from the wall.


    There it was. A single sheaf of paper had fallen between the bed and the wall. A bedspread was hanging over both sides of the bed, reaching to the floor, so the paper would have been invisible even if one had been able to look under the bed.


    He looked at the paper. It appeared to be the outline of an agreement between Esmee and Brodin Medical. He read through it quickly and then more closely. Then he decided that he couldn''t determine what this meant. He''d have to talk to Richard.


    He put back the bed, switched off the light, and went back to Dawn''s studio. As he sat on the train, he reread the document in every detail, but he couldn''t see anything obviously wrong. It appeared to be a genuine offer, albeit one he''d never accept in a million years.


    ...


    "Yes. I agree. It is just their latest proposal. In the last seven years, they have been making offers and retracting them regularly. I don''t think they are intentionally harassing Esmee with the express purpose of harassing her. I think they just don''t know what they are doing. It''s one of the biggest organizations in Brodin, and really on Daimando, and different departments have different priorities and different tactics and strategies. They come with an offer and then retract it or add condition after condition.


    "This offer essentially requires Esmee to hand over everything she''s got and to keep quiet for three years, after which time Brodin Medical might decide to get her relative from stasis under the express condition that Esmee gives up any assets except the clothes on her back, and that she and her grandpa leave the planet without any contact with the press.


    "It''s typical. Hidden inside is a genuine offer, which Esmee might even accept, but then it''s watered down by various departments in BM until it''s no longer a real offer. They want all her money now, but then someone worries that she might win a lottery or something, so they also want her money in three years. They want to release her relative in three years, but then someone worries that in three years, the powers that be may disapprove retrospectively, so they offer only to consider release in three years, which is nothing, of course, in a practical sense.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    "All in all, it is similar to earlier proposals, and Esmee would have dismissed it more or less immediately. It wouldn''t have angered her very much. Not after all these years. It does support the claim of harassment, of course. It wouldn''t be difficult to convince a judge that this isn''t a genuine offer. It''s way too one-sided. Sending two people to her apartment is also over the edge, but they will claim that Esmee can''t be reached otherwise. She doesn''t have an AI secretary or a majordomo, so you can only communicate with her if she is willing to allow you access via her node. She''s peculiar about that."


    Luke said: "I''ve been meaning to ask you about that. It''s very peculiar. All these notebooks with clippings and printouts. Why doesn''t she just get an AI or even a computer to put it all in."


    "Oh. It''s partly a legal matter, partly security, and perhaps even paranoia. She has been arrested before, without ever having been convicted of anything. Still, any computer or AI might turn up as evidence. Under our law, but I imagine under yours as well, an implant can not be subpoenaed as evidence and can only be interrogated in capital crimes by a detached judge with specific questions. So she only trusts her node. She doesn''t make backups, and the paper files are a last resort backup, should her node ever fail.


    "All they could do now is break in and make copies, but it''s all more or less public information. Her notes are cryptic at best. They''re just there to jog her biological memory, should the need arise."


    "I''ve also seen a memox ..., pamphlet, really. Why on earth would she use memox."


    "Well. As I said. Paranoia. Not Esmee''s, though. She''s loosely involved with some radical activists. They distribute their investigative journalism like this to keep track of all copies. The memox continuously tells the net where it''s at. In addition, each copy is encoded: photocopies are traceable to an individual. A load of bull if you ask me. Any truly sensitive intelligence shouldn''t be put there in the first place.


    "But Esmee isn''t part of them. She just knows them, and they share information, sometimes."


    "So what do we do with their proposal?"


    "Let''s inform the lawyer. I can''t see this could harm her case."


    Richard contacted the lawyer. Since Dawn didn''t have any video in the studio, he read the document out loud. The lawyer agreed that it did support their harassment claims and, as such, had a bearing on the current situation. But that it wouldn''t get Esmee out immediately. He expected Brodin Medical to be rather fierce. If the grounds for Esmee''s incarceration were found to be trumped up, Esmee could sue for considerable damages. That BM was going in full throttle was already apparent: the lawyer had not yet been able to contact Esmee, which was very unusual.


    Finally, the lawyer handed them all material on the case so far and asked them if they could offer any new insight.


    ...


    "Do you know what that is, Rengakorut?"


    "Nope. Never heard of. Why?"


    "Apparently, she had it with her when she was taken into custody. I just wondered what it was. The net doesn''t help. It could be a mistake, of course, but that''s kind of weird."


    They had spent most of the day going over everything. They hadn''t found much that could help them, but they did have a list of questions, which the lawyer would put to Esmee.


    Fortunately, the lawyer had now had contact with Esmee once. She was mad as anything but otherwise ok. Apparently, Brodin Medical had attempted to make the police apply the new stasis laws, which allowed them to put a suspect in stasis. Attempted but failed.


    Richard explained that it was a helpful law allowing people unwilling or unable to post bail to spend as much time as they wanted in stasis. That way, they could prepare for their trial but would otherwise not be punished until they were found guilty of anything. The essence was that it was entirely voluntary, but apparently, the medicorps were trying to ''stretch'' the concept into, certainly in Esmee''s eyes, psychological warfare. She would never go into stasis willingly.


    ...


    Dawn''s ''job interview'' had gone very well. A small wine merchant sold natural wine to restaurants and individuals who could afford it. Each bottle came in a genuine wooden box, and the lid was to be hand-painted. They had given her several designs, but deviation was welcome, as long as it was in taste, according to unspecified criteria. The mechanism was simple. They had some painters, and their customers were free to choose their lid. The more one''s designs were chosen, the more one would sell.


    Dawn would get twelve and a half cents for each lid, and they claimed that was based on four lids an hour, on average. Not much, but Dawn imagined she could speed up significantly. The first hun, they would buy on faith; after that, there was some drop-out system: if you didn''t sell, they would stop buying lids.


    The first batch she would do at their place. After that, if they decided to go on, she could make batches of one or two hundred lids at home. All in all, she was tremendously happy with the job. It would be about as much as she had made in the bar but much more pleasant, she said.


    ...


    To celebrate, they went to have dinner: Dawn, Luke, Richard, and Fiona, a lady friend of Richard''s, apparently involved with Esmee ''and her activists'', as Richard put it. To get away from the black mood, they decided to splurge, moderately. They went for seafood, each paying their own, and Dawn paying for the wine. They briefly discussed natural wine, but that was really beyond the budget. They settled for an excellent artificial Chablis, and in truth, the best Luke had ever had.


    Fiona was a nurse. Having worked with people coming out of stasis a lot and having observed the suffering that would on occasion cause, she had decided it wasn''t worth it just for financial gain.


    She described how one day something had snapped inside her when she looked after a man who had just been cured of a very rare form of cancer they had only recently been able to handle. The third day after he came from stasis, when all tests showed that his treatment was entirely successful, an elderly lady came to visit him. Since they had the same last name, Fiona had taken her to be his mother, but she was, in fact, his wife. After bringing her to his bed, Fiona had run away and had cried for an hour. When she felt better, she returned, but it only became worse. She deeply felt the horrible dilemma these people had been in. Of course, they were happy the man had been saved and had the best part of his life, his youth almost ahead of him. But his wife was an old woman, almost old enough to be his grandmother. And she hadn''t had a choice. Even if they had had money to put her in stasis as well, they had children relatives. In retrospect, the woman had said, they should have gone into stasis as well. In retrospect.


    The one thing that made this situation understandable was that the man would have died if not for stasis. And that night, in bed, Fiona realized the same thing must also be happening to the people that were kept in stasis just to squeeze their kin. Literally, tens of thousands of lives were being destroyed day by day. She couldn''t live with that, so she decided to do something. She sought contact with Esmee, the one person she happened to know who was actively doing something about it all.


    Since then, she had helped set up an independent organization that informed people about the consequences of stasis that she had witnessed. To help them make the terrible choices if a longer-lasting stasis was likely. Several of her co-workers had helped, and many of them had joined the organization full-time, terminating their jobs or being sacked because of their activities. So far, Fiona had avoided being sacked. She felt she could do more in her current position, helping people and making her colleagues aware of the potentially terrible consequences.


    ...


    During their desert of dates and cream cheese with a quite acceptable dessert wine, the lawyer called. Its disembodied voice managed to convey some of Esmee''s excitement. She had looked through their list of questions, amongst which were Dawn''s admonition to think back carefully what one of the Brodin Medical employees might have mistaken for a weapon and Luke''s query about Rengakorut.


    Her Rengakorut was a piece of jewelry she had inherited from her mother. It had its roots in ancient times when ancestors of her culture were woodcarvers on old earth. Then, it was a piece of leather strapped between wrist and fingers to allow women to push a chisel into hardwood. Now it was ornamental and consisted of a silver bracelet, a silver ring worn about the middle finger, and a triangle of mail between the two on the palm of the hand, wrought of minute silver rings.


    Esmee described how she had walked to the window to read the document and how one of the Brodin Medical employees had walked towards her to point something out. She had disliked the way he was pushing his finger in her face, as she put it, and had shoved him back, politely, using only two fingers. She imagined it possible that he had mistaken the Rengakorut for something being held in her hand. The mail being present only in the palm of her hand would have made it invisible for the other Brodin Medical employee.


    Because she wore it almost always, she hadn''t thought of it at all, but the two questions triggered her.


    The lawyer had submitted the Rengakorut, which was among Esmee''s personal possessions being held at the police station, as evidence, and had respectfully requested for a human judge to go over the statements, AI judges being notoriously unsuitable in cases where there was no actual threat, but where perceived threats needed to be balanced.


    Just in case that request was denied, he had also issued a writ to hold an interview with Mr. Jonathan of Brodin Medical concerning the alleged weapon. This might very well be granted pre-trial because many of the indictments, and therefore in a sense, the entire case, hinged on his entirely uncorroborated testimonial.


    ...


    The following few weeks were hectic and frustrating. The lawyer''s petitions were being denied or altered so as to be useless. Brodin Medical was digging in and making every inch worth a battle. Richard and Dawn contacted the lawyer first every few hours, and then two or three times a day, and every time the situation was different, but the result was the same: Esmee remained in prison, but their legal position was getting stronger and stronger.


    Then, one day, Esmee called. Luke was doing some regular bookkeeping for a theatre company he had once helped, and Dawn was painting, apparently. Esmee called Richard, who plugged in Luke and Dawn immediately. Esmee''s lawyer was also connected. Esmee didn''t know Luke, of course, but Richard introduced him quickly. "He''s been helping out, so when you get out of there, you owe him a beer, at least. So. How are you, and how can you call us?"


    "They''ve made me an offer. Before agreeing, I demanded to be able to talk to you. Which they agreed to on condition that we don''t go to the media with this."


    "Well. It''s a small token of goodwill, I imagine."


    "Do you now, Richard? Anyway. Their proposal is this. They pay $4500, and they make sure I am released immediately without any prejudice if we don''t go to the media, if we drop all harassment claims that arose after that incident, and if we do not use the incident in any of our ongoing harassment claims."


    "That sounds rather mild. I''m sorry to say this, Esmee, but why don''t they ask you to drop all harassment suits?"


    "This isn''t their first offer. It''s their last. At first, they wanted me to drop all current claims and never to take one up again. I started out rather graphic in my refusal, but you can be proud of me, Richard. I managed to make clear that I would be willing to discuss any reasonable proposal, but just not that one, as you taught me."


    "Yeah. Well. So what''s the alternative."


    "The lawyer says our case is very strong, but they are putting in a lot of effort. At the rate we are going, it might take months, if not years. The thing is, as long as any criminal indictment exists, we can''t very well go for harassment, so they will do everything to keep me here. If we could prove that they keep me here for that reason, we could sue them successfully for a hundred thousand dollars in punitive damages, or even a million, if I''m stuck here long enough. But it''s impossible to prove that. They will claim they did it all with the best intentions to protect their employee. If there is no intent, a judge will just look at my normal pay and double it if I''m lucky. The lawyer reckons I might get one or two thousand by the end of the year."


    "So. Take their offer."


    "Yeah. But think of it. A million dollars."


    "But that''s fools gold. You know them. They are never going to give you a million. Not ever. It doesn''t happen. They''d rather spend ten times that in legal fees than give you a million. What do you think, Dawn?"


    "I would die in prison. I would agree to anything just to get out."


    Luke added: "My father once told me that big corporations are not dissimilar from psychopaths: they have no moral feelings. Our feeling of righteousness is as futile with big organizations as it is with a psychopath. They are not going to see the error of their ways, they are not going to feel the suffering they have caused, and they are not going to change their attitude towards the world. They only get smarter at avoiding being held responsible."


    "Hm."


    "His point, or rather, my point, is that you shouldn''t focus on changing them or making them pay in any normal sense. You shouldn''t even expect to get out of this any better than you went in. You were put in jail for no good reason, and they are incapable of admitting they were wrong. Their offer isn''t an admission of guilt in any way. It is an admission of their incapability to feel guilt. That is never going to happen. So. Take the money and learn to live with what they did. Use the money to continue to fight them as you do. Use the money to bring other cases to the press. Publish a book about your relative. They are not only giving you $4500, but also the time that you would otherwise spend useless in jail."


    "Yeah, Esmee. I agree. Get this behind you as quickly as possible, or they will eat you alive."


    "Ok, guys. That''s what I wanted to hear, really. We''ll take them up on it, and I should be out this afternoon."


    "Call us when you know anything. We could pick you up."


    ...


    The small room was crowded, with the three of them arriving and four people already there. Luke entered last.


    ...


    His breathing stopped.


    ...


    His heart stopped.


    ...


    No. A single beat.


    ...


    And again.


    ...


    She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her hair was slightly curly, the most luxurious reddish-brown, just over shoulder length. Her eyes were the palest shade of green. Her skin freckled alabaster and her nose competed with the finest ever cut by artist''s hand from stone. Her delicate mouth drooped slightly, but the corners turned up constantly as she spoke. She wore a patterned, brightly colored robe reaching halfway her thighs, and beneath it a sweater and slacks. Her fingers were finely carved and what else he could guess of her figure was delicately shaped.


    The room was still darkish, even with all lights on, but as she turned towards them, she appeared to him brightly lit with an indefinable glow.


    "Feel free to gawp and goggle for a bit there, Luke. We''re all friends here."


    Not a single word did reach him. Esmee looked at him briefly, the corners of her mouth twitching gaily, and embraced Dawn and then Richard. She looked Richard in his eyes and said: "Thanks. Again. Whenever you need anything. Well. You know."


    She looked at Luke again, and his heart skipped another beat.


    "He seemed more talkative on the phone." She embraced him and said: "Thanks nonetheless." Then she went to talk to Dawn and Richard.


    "Why didn''t you call?"


    "I wanted to take a shower first. Get dressed. Be in my room. I''ve slept a lot over there, but still, I''m tired. I called when I felt like myself again."


    "Of course. Hi Fiona, Michael. And you''re ..., Jean, right? This is Luke. I would say, ''Meet Luke,'' but he seems preoccupied at the moment. Best to meet him some other time."


    "Yeah yeah yeah."


    "Ok. Michael. Jean. They are active in the struggle. Activists, one might say. Oh, don''t fuss, Michael. Luke just shipped in off-world, and besides, he''s holding the wrong end of the stick. He is the guardian of his alien friend, and he didn''t know he was supposed to get a commitment. So they seized the lot, and he is struggling to ..., well, not struggling. He''s doing alright. Did a lot of good."


    "Activists for what?"


    "Better laws to avoid stasis being used as a milk cow. The medicorps make billions a year selling something that is as cheap as a light bulb and merely helps them to solve their logistic problems, at the expense of the quality of our lives, at best. Did you know that a majority of people who are aware of how stasis is being misused are against it? It''s just that most people are totally unaware. Take Fiona, for example. She''d been in the thick of it for ..., how many years? And she came to understand what it really meant only by accident. So what we do is try to make people see."


    "And what do you do? I mean, how do you go about it? I mean, you''re not throwing bombs or anything."


    "We have a brochure informing people about the risks and legal aspects. We hand out leaflets near the bigger hospitals to inform people. We try to get in the news and in the papers regularly. About once a year, we do ''a project''. Last year we suspended a stasis capsule from monofilament halfway between Brodin Municipal and the Borough Morgue. Got the six o''clock news, but only two papers saw the poetic truth: stasis being halfway death. They might even have used that one: stasis as the sole barrier between hospital and death or something. That would have been ok as well. But most papers ignored it. The usual self-censure of the status quo."


    "And now? Are you planning anything new?"


    "Nope. Right out of ideas."


    "Sorry?"


    Richard interjected: "Don''t tease him, Michael. He''s new to this. It''s one of the ground rules, Luke: you never talk about what you will do. They want to reach the news, and if they tell, it isn''t news anymore. And besides, there is Intelligence. They would simply prevent it."


    "Intelligence? You mean like the FIS?"


    "No. No. The MIB, the Medical Intelligence Bureau. The bastard offspring of the medicorps and the Justiciary, some say. They are there to prevent radical action. People like Michael and Jean, well, Fiona as well, try to inform people directly or by appearing in the news. They stay within the law, but on occasion, they traverse the edges, so to speak. In order to suspend that monofilament between Brodin Medical and the morgue, they had to trespass and cause some damage to the buildings. They were fined $250, and they had to pay for the damage, of course. They had bought the capsule themselves, which was a total loss. People like us aren''t explicit targets of the MIB. They know who we are, and if they knew what we are going to do, they would probably prevent it, but I don''t think we get much attention. If they would, there is a risk for the MIB as well. If we could prove it, we would most certainly reach the news. The MIB can only work if they remain in shadows. They aren''t entirely legal. At least, their operations aren''t.


    "What they do is keep track of real radicals. Two years ago, there was a hit on The Vault. It''s where they keep most people in stasis here in Brodin. When people are expected to stay there for a while, that is. Your friend might be there. Some radical network sabotaged three power stations simultaneously, and the first backup system proved to have been sabotaged earlier. The second system was off-line for maintenance. They had to reroute power from the backup system of a nearby hospital to prevent people from coming out of stasis. It was a miracle no patient got hurt or even got out of stasis. The capsules can sustain stasis only for half an hour or so. Personally, I don''t believe nobody got out of stasis, but they wouldn''t tell, of course. All in all, there was only a single published casualty: an electrical engineer who electrocuted himself while rerouting the power.


    "On balance, I would say they brought the cause forward. Most people were outraged, of course, but at least they were thinking about stasis. Which isn''t to say I condone such methods, or Michael, I dare say. I shudder to think what would have happened if the power hadn''t been online in time. There are more than a hundred thousand people in stasis in The Vault. But that''s the radicals'' point, of course.


    "Anyway, it was probably one of the biggest failures of MIB, and they are sore losers. Word is all people involved have disappeared since. I doubt there has been a trial, which the medicorps most certainly don''t want. But frankly, I don''t actually know anything. It''s just gossip. The MIB is real, though. I''ve been interviewed by them twice. I guess they want to make sure I don''t stray too far, which I wouldn''t anyway. You''ve met them, haven''t you, Michael."


    "Oh yeah. After the suspended capsule. They wanted to make attempted murder, and criminal negligence out of it on the grounds that should the monofilament have broken, people might very well have been killed. The thing is, we had an engineer compute the stresses, and their Christmas display over on Final Frontier Avenue turned out to be way more dangerous. In the end, they dropped the matter because a trial would have given us more exposure. Pity.


    "I was also interrogated after the Vault thing, but that was stupid. I''m also pretty sure Jean had their attention for a while, some time ago. Small things. A face I happened to see twice, in a crowd. But it''s probably passed now. We aren''t doing anything of great interest to them, eh Jean?"


    It was the first time she spoke. She was a petite, nervous woman. Maybe thirty-five or something. Neither attractive nor unattractive, though when she spoke, her nervousness increased, which worked on Luke''s nerves. He looked at Esmee instead and missed what Jean said.


    In all, the evening was pleasant but brief. They had a glass of wine and some peanuts, but the tiny room was crowded, and they weren''t really comfortable. When Fiona got up because she needed to get to work, they all got ready to leave. Luke would have stayed but couldn''t think of any good reason. When they stood and said goodbye, he said to Esmee, only just managing not to stammer: "I''d like to see you again. Would that be ok with you?"


    Esmee looked into Luke''s eyes as she said to Richard: "Richard, can you think of any reason why I would want to see Luke again?"


    "Funny you should ask, Esmee, because as a matter of fact, I can. I''ve been telling you for ages you should do more with your money than keep it in a bank. Now Luke here knows about money, and you know you can trust him. Well. Maybe not with your money, but you share the same motives. And best of all, you don''t have to worry about undue risks or adventures. He''s an accountant and not a broker. So why don''t you ask him to think about how to make more out of it without any risk of losing it."


    "What do you think, Luke? Can you make me rich without any risk whatsoever?"


    "I''d certainly like to try. I''d have to look at your situation first, of course. And we''d have to talk about what you would like to do. Can I call you tomorrow?"


    "Yeah. In the afternoon somewhere. First, I have to salvage what''s left of my job, so at the end of the afternoon would be ok."


    Richard took his leave in the station, so Dawn and Luke sat on the train together.


    "I know that look. You''re in love."


    "Hm. It''s, ... She''s... I don''t know."


    "What you should do is get out here and run home. Enjoy this on your own, and get some exercise. Otherwise, you won''t be able to sleep. See ya."

 Action

    ...


    Breakfast was hectic.


    "Man, I''m not sure I like this grin. It''s getting on my nerves already."


    Out of the blue, his lawyer called. They had been in contact more or less regularly, but First Daimando had so far been able to stall and put off any progress.


    "A turn of events that you will find interesting. For some reason, a human judge looked into our case without my being aware of the fact, and probably First Daimando as well. Apparently, he was annoyed at them immediately. He produced a writ expressing his opinion that First Daimando couldn''t, on the one hand, deny who you were and indeed ever having heard of you, and on the other acknowledge your guardianship by claiming you are over $10000 in credit.


    "I have the full text available, but the bottom line is he requires them to hand over any and all matters of identification, or he will declare you a Phantom Persona. That is a non-existing person or a person who is beyond all practicable means of contacting, which would crush your guardianship by default and force them to release your friend. It doesn''t have much legal merit, but the fact that human judges are swayed by their emotion is to our advantage."


    "You mean Xolorrr will get out?"


    "No. They''ll hand over your ID and acknowledge you formally. This particular judgment has no bearing on the contract between you and First Daimando. Just on their unwillingness to give you your IDs."


    "Won''t they appeal? If it has no legal merit."


    "Yes. But this is a smart judge. He gave them a day, and if they appeal, it''s going to take way longer than that to get a verdict. So whether they would win or lose, by then, he''d have crushed your guardianship, and in the end, the only way to appeal against you being a Phantom Persona is, of course, to produce your ID. They could drag you before court afterward, but no judge would ever force you to hand over your IDs again.


    "By reputation, this judge won''t budge. He won''t interfere with any other matter, but he won''t let go before you have your ID, and they won''t want to annoy him, apparently."


    "When?"


    "Like I said, within a day."


    He picked up Dawn and twirled her around the room, of pure joy, hitting a reversed painting off the wall and stumbling over the bed.


    "She called, did she. No. Man, those grins of you are getting out of hand. What?"


    He told her, and they made arrangements to have lunch together, to celebrate, when Dawn finished her batch of lids of the day.


    ...


    Understanding her financial situation proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated. He was used to working with an AI or even a computer, and as often as not, he''d revert to printed overviews, but Esmee had nothing of the sort. All she had was in her head. In her implant, that is. According to her, the entire record was there, and any document she''d ever received was there. If she ever got a paper copy, she scanned it and destroyed the paper. She had a -- stupendously expensive -- opto-intercept, which allowed her node to read, to a certain extent, the ''data" from her left eye. She said every single image was just a no-res blotted blur. Still, interpolation of the stream resulted in usable and even scannable images.


    "I use it to keep all sorts of images, not only documents. I keep records of most people I meet, and I keep a picture when possible. I have more than two thousand Brodin Medical employees on file. I have a photo of you when you first saw me. An interesting expression. Not really flattering, but it''s too low res for anything anyway."


    She refused to send any financial information to his ''partout, so they just sat and talked about it. They weren''t getting anywhere, but he didn''t mind, of course. He relished in the glow, enjoying her every movement, her constant half-smiles, the way she inclined her head when she was thinking, the way she frowned to express reserve, the way she made fun of him in the most pleasant, friendly way.


    "Will you stay for dinner? It''s not much, but I haven''t found my rhythm yet. I don''t want to eat alone. I''ve called Dawn if it''s ok."


    "You''ve called Dawn?"


    "Yes, of course. You live with her, don''t you? I imagine you eat with her as well."


    "Yes, but how do you know?"


    "She''s my friend, remember? She told me. We tell each other, ..., stuff. It''s ok, really. She likes to make sure I''m ok, and I wouldn''t be sitting here with you if she had any reservations. Like I wouldn''t invite you if she had plans or anything."


    "Hm."


    "I guess that''s what friendship is about. Caring for each other. Like you and your alien friend. You are his guardian. Traditionally it means you take care of all his affairs while he is unable to do so. If he had children on Daimando, you would be their legal guardian as well. If Urrr have children, that is. Dawn and I, and Richard, take care of each other. It''s how we manage to stay ahead in this depraved world. Do you see what I mean?"


    "Yeah. I guess. It just feels sort of ..., private."


    "Now you''re overreacting. I know you are staying with her, sleeping with her. I knew that before I''d even met you. She is my friend. It seemed prudent to ask her if it was ok if I asked you for dinner. And she said it was ok. Perhaps I shouldn''t have mentioned it to you, but I wouldn''t want to keep it from you either. So now I''m stuck."


    They fell silent for a while. Then Luke had an idea.


    "Can I ask you out to have dinner? I mean, like a date. And it''s ok if you want to call Dawn. Of course. She''s your friend. You can call her whenever you like, of course."


    "Ok. Lucas Goodholland. We have a date. And I am truly sorry if I hurt your feelings."


    ...


    Their date was perfect. Exhilarating. Fireworks. Esmee didn''t want to do anything expensive, so they went for a salad, pasta, and a simple red.


    They didn''t once talk about finance or Stasis, but rather about Luke''s childhood on Bethnell, his friendship with Xolorrr, and Esmee''s childhood and culture, although, apparently, she had never practiced her culture. Her name and a few belongings were all that remained. And the memories of her mother''s stories.


    In the weeks to follow, they occasionally met to discuss Esmee''s financial situation and twice just for fun. Esmee wasn''t at all like Luke had expected before he met her. Having seen her room and having heard about her quirks, he''d expected, ..., well, not this. She was sharp, bright, happy, vibrant, interested, interesting, ..., perfect.


    Luke had expected things to be awkward with Dawn, but they weren''t. They stopped having sex. They had sex once more after he had met Esmee, when they were both feeling down and were just more than slightly drunk, but the following day they both admitted feeling awkward about it and left it there. They continued their lives as before, except that Luke would be with Esmee whenever he could.


    He noticed he was postponing sending a message home. He wasn''t sure what to do. Of course, he could ask his parents for the money, but it was rather a lot. More than what his father made in a year. And then he''d have to take Xolorrr off-planet. He didn''t trust the Daimando hospitals anymore. It would be the end of his Khar, of course, although that was hardly relevant. It would also mean to stop seeing Esmee for quite a while, and in reality, perhaps forever. But he had fallen totally and utterly in love. He didn''t want to go anywhere.


    He thought of contacting Xolorrr''s clan, but he wasn''t sure if that was an intelligent thing to do. He knew that the prelation had far-reaching consequences for Xolorrr''s life, so he simply didn''t want to meddle with that.


    But he couldn''t dawdle. At the daily rate, he couldn''t afford to. So, in the end, he did the only thing he could do. He sent a message to his father, explaining their situation and asking for interplanetary credit.


    Sending the message with a guarantee of delivery set him back all his savings and his expected pay of the following few weeks, but Richard had been willing and able to lend him what he lacked. The guy at the post office explained that the message and any possible reply would be routed through many ships and that it might well be several weeks before he''d hear anything.


    ...


    One night when he''d been working with Esmee in her room, they had forgotten the time, and Michael arrived. Esmee had told Luke that Michael and some others would come to prepare ''something''. Luke surmised it concerned one of their projects, possibly including borderline legal activities. He proposed to leave them to it, but Esmee was adamant: "Nonsense. Stay. Just don''t talk about it to anyone."


    Michael fidgeted, but just then, Jean and a guy named Justian arrived together, and a bit later, Fiona came as well. They looked at Luke with considerable skepticism, but nobody was a match for Esmee, and the matter was decided. Lucas stayed.


    Apparently, Justian was a network hacker and had been able to break into the automated window cleaning computer at Brodin Medical''s main offices, a gigantic cube made of glass panes. He had happened to mention the fact to Jean, who told Michael, who had immediately seen an opportunity. They would load the window cleaning robot with paint, and they would program the computer to have the robot paint a suitable message all over the building.


    They estimated each robot -- there was one on each side of the building, -- could just do one short, gigantic message during the night. They had to do it at night, of course, and they had to make sure the press would be there at daybreak because Brodin Medical would remove the paint as soon as they saw it. They decided on water-soluble paint. According to Michael, it would then be a misdemeanor rather than a crime since they didn''t cause any lasting damage.


    The one-liner they used in the press was ''Time for Life''. Michael explained: "Stasis is meant to gain time. Time to come up with new medical treatments. Time to deal with overwhelming numbers of ill or injured people. But in exchange for that time, one''s life leaks away. Not the life of the future, which may be better due to treatment and recovery, but the life of today, which slips away one day at a time. It destroys the quality of the lives of all people involved. And often for no better reason than profit."


    The raid was planned six nights hence. It was a new moon then, and they would only postpone if it rained, which was unlikely.


    ...


    Two days later, Esmee called him. She sounded anxious. "We have to meet. Immediately, if that''s ok. Take the train over here, and I''ll meet you at the entrance. Oh no. Do you remember where we had our first date? Let''s meet there. They''ll be closed now, but we can meet in front. When can you be there?"


    He had been doing some paperwork that could wait, so he sat on the train almost immediately, becoming more worried by the minute. She hadn''t sounded really anxious at all but plain scared.


    It was a five-minute walk from the station, and when he got there, she was already waiting for him. She took him by the arm and led him to stroll down the street.


    "You''ve met Jean the other day. How did she strike you?"


    "Nervous. Not much else. I didn''t really notice her. Why?"


    "Well. She''s been getting worse. Her nervousness used to be less pronounced. I notice things like that. It started about a year ago, and when it registered, I started observing her in detail. I told you about my opto-intercept. It allows me to analyze my peripheral vision, so I can watch things I''m not looking at. Not real-time, but afterward. And I''ve seen looks on her face that are weird and sometimes downright scary.


    "Anyway, at some point, I decide to keep tabs on her. There''s this service I use called Snappy Ferrets. They listen to the net and decode whatever they can. You pay them a massive amount of money, and they will look at all communication they can get their hands on. Most of it''s encoded, of course, but they can crack stuff, sometimes. So the last couple of months, they''ve been looking at Jean for me. It''s terribly expensive, and I was planning to stop it because I can''t really afford it, but now I''m glad I didn''t, yet.


    "Snappy Ferrets sends me everything they can decode, and yesterday''s dump contained a message Jean sent. It was encoded but easy to break, they say. I don''t know why. The message merely says ''ok,'' but what she replied to was included. It reads ''T41 ok, bugbots bo, Thu''. Didn''t make any sense to me. When I checked why my node flagged it, it turned out that ''T41'' is on its long list. Apparently, it''s an explosive.


    "So then I called a friend of mine. Someone who knows something about explosives. I mean, I''ve scanned the net, and there''s stuff, but it doesn''t mean anything to me. I can let you hear the conversation with him. You won''t be hearing his voice because he uses a synthesizer.


    > "All it says is ''T41 ok, nanotics bo, Thu,'' and apparently T41 is an explosive. I can''t make heads or tails of this."


    >


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.> "And you''re wondering what this is about."


    >


    > "Yeah."


    >


    > "Could this be a rock sculptor?"


    >


    > "A what?"


    >


    > "A rock sculptor. There was an article about a year back about this. T41 and nanorobots. There''s a sculptor that uses it. He decorates mountains. Etches them. He says he tried fixed lasers, which give a distorted picture, apparently, and floating lasers, which were too much of a pain to control.


    >


    > "So now he uses this paint, T41. It is an explosive, but it''s really crap. He says he likes it because he can apply it in varying thicknesses. And he puts nanorobots in it for detonation. He can paint for a couple of days, and when he''s happy, he sends the key, which sets off the bots, which in turn detonate the T41.


    >


    > "I know about T41, but as I said, it''s total crap. As an explosive. That''s why you can get it just like that. If you want to blow up something, you''re not going to use T41. And using nanorobots is really expensive. Even when you are going to use cheap robots. I mean, if one in a million works, that''s still ok, I guess. But they have to decode for a key. And besides, detonators are expensive anyway, ''cause they''re illegal.


    >


    > "For this sculptor, it''s ideal. I mean, he just wants to etch, and using different thicknesses or patches or patterns would give him nice effects, I imagine, and the robots would be ok. He can''t run the risk of the stuff going off when he''s busy, and his customer will pay for it anyway. But other than that, I can''t imagine anyone using this. This Jean a sculptor?"


    >


    > "No."


    >


    > "Thought not. I would say she''s read that article."


    >


    > "And ''bo''? Does that mean anything to you?"


    >


    > "Yup. But I can''t tell you, it''s so secret .... Incredible nitwit. It''s probably back-ordered. They say they have back-ordered the bots and will get them Thursday, the day after tomorrow if this is now. She says Thursday''s fine."


    >


    > "Oh my god."


    >


    > "What?"


    >


    > "We were planning something coming Saturday. We were planning to decorate the BM building. Well. To have a robot do it. What would happen if you put this T41 on a window?"


    >


    > "Break the window. But it won''t do any damage. Big mess, but that''s it."


    >


    > "And on a lot of windows?"


    >


    > "A bigger mess. They''d certainly be annoyed, the bastards, haha."


    >


    > "I still don''t see, ...."


    >


    > "Maybe a stupid question, but why were you going to paint their windows?"


    >


    > "Well, we were just going to put a message there. Just to rile them and get to the news, of course."


    >


    > "Hm. Well. This should do that. If you wait till there''s people there before you detonate, you will definitely get to the news. Lots of blood, perhaps no casualties. Well, no. Chances are people will be very seriously hurt. And it will just be the poor bastards that happen to be in front of a window. You shouldn''t want to do this."


    >


    > "But won''t they just wash the paint off immediately when they see it in the morning?"


    >


    > "How? Once it''s dried, you don''t just wash it off. You can scrape it off, though you have to be careful. It''s an explosive, after all. I think the sculptor just didn''t do that, but I can''t remember if it''s unstable. Wouldn''t think so. Certainly not soluble, though."


    >


    > "But this is not at all what we planned to do. This is monstrous."


    >


    > "I''ll say. I can''t imagine anyone even thinking of this as an action. You get zero sympathies for this, and they''d find you. I mean, you found this email without trying too much. If they''re going to use T41, stay very clear of them. It''s only going to get messy, and it''s all for nothing."


    >


    > "But we weren''t going to do this."


    >


    > "Well. She is. I''ll check to see if I can find anything out about her. I''d say it''s weird that she''s doing this and not telling you. Let me just check up on her, and under no circumstance, go along with this. Get a headache or something, .... Oh. Gotta go. Bye, lover."


    Esmee gave Luke some time to process it. They strolled on, taking random turns.


    "Lover?"


    "Oh Luke, do be serious. My mother and his were very close friends. They grew up together. They had their first child about the same time, and both being single, they spent a lot of the time together. So Mark and I slept in one bed when we were very, very young. I can still remember. His mother died when we were fifteen, and he was taken in by his grandparents. We''re still in contact, every now and then, though I can''t see him anymore. I shouldn''t tell you this, but he used to be one of the revolutionaries Richard talked about the other day. He''s hiding somewhere, and I don''t even know where. We can call through a dropbox, but there''s a small risk for him whenever I call. And we''re not lovers. It''s just something he says. Not that it''s any of your concern."


    "No. Sorry. You''re right. So. You have to stop the plan you guys had, and you have to stop meeting that group."


    "But what can I say? I am a terrible liar. I couldn''t. They''d know something was going on immediately. Jean would know for sure. That''s why I called you. I don''t know what to do."


    "Well, you have to do something. You can''t do anything like this, and you can''t let it happen to the others. But I agree. Jean might guess. How about if you don''t have to say a thing. Just go about as planned, and I''ll think of something to stop you guys. Probably even better if you don''t know. You won''t have to lie."


    "But what will you do? What can you do?"


    "Oh. I''ll think of something. And if I won''t, we can still come up with a lie at the last minute."


    "But that still leaves Jean. It gives me the creeps. What in heaven is she doing?"


    She looked at him, no longer scared, having shared, but anxious and even vengeful.


    "I don''t know, I have to think about it. Let''s drop it for a while and focus on preventing the raid first."


    They walked on. Obviously, they couldn''t drop it. Esmee continued to come up with thoughts and worries, and Luke tried to calm her down. In the end, they went to Esmee''s apartment to have coffee. When Luke had to leave -- he and Dawn had tickets for a performance, -- they said goodbye.


    "And don''t worry about the raid. Just go about as planned, and I''ll prevent it.


    ...


    The following day Lucas met Richard about a job. "You have to distinguish the person from the organization, Luke. She''s a technician working at the Vault, so her paycheck comes from the medicorps, but she isn''t one of them if you understand what I''m saying. She''s got to eat too. She has three children, and as a single parent, she can''t be too picky about her job. I''m telling you upfront so that you know. If it''s a problem for you, that''s ok. I''d think of something else. What do you think?"


    "I wouldn''t hold it against anyone, Richard. My father is the Mayor of a very big city. When I was in high school, some of the students would truly hate me just because their parent''s politics didn''t coincide with that of my father, or indeed that of the city council. It is primitive and stupid. I''ve been brought up to look at what people do or condone rather than anything else."


    "Well, good for you. This woman, her name is Linda, is in trouble with the Bureau of Revenue. She''s made some bad investments with her savings, and now it''s gone, and she is in arrears with her taxes. She''s had some help from a guy who''s made matters much worse, trying to pull a fast one on the BR. Fortunately, they know this guy, so they won''t hold it against her. But if she doesn''t come up with a plausible plan to pay what she owes, they are going to come down on her for sure. Do you have time, or are you busy?"


    There was a slight smirk. Richard was well aware that Luke had been spending as much time with Esmee as she would let him. "Sure. Is there any specific hurry?"


    "No. Not really. She has an interview in two weeks, so by then, there has to be something on paper. Well. It''s going to need more than just paper. Here''s the address and stuff."


    Luke called her that night, assuming she''d be back from work by then, but according to the majordomo, she was out and couldn''t be reached. Only then did he remember Richard mentioning shifts, so she might as well be at work. The majordomo noted how to reach Luke and promised to inform Linda as soon as possible.


    Luke went to bed early and tried to think about Esmee''s troubles but fell asleep before coming up with any ideas. When Dawn came home, he was already fast asleep.


    ...


    The next day, after breakfast, Linda called. She had just returned after her night shift and had packed the children off to school. She needed to sleep first and asked if Luke could meet somewhere in the afternoon, which was ok.


    In the morning, Luke went to the Brodin offices to think about how to prevent Esmee''s ''paint-job''. The building stood fairly close to the street. Across were several small shops, a burger place, and a Chinese take-away. Between the two restaurants was a small alley leading to the kitchens and emergency exits. Ideal. Luke had seen a movie once, which gave him all ideas he needed.


    He bought a cheeseburger in the shop and walked back to the station, munching it and thinking about that Jean person. What on earth was she planning to do. And why?


    As he wanted to cross the road to get to the station''s entrance, a fire engine sped by. Luke smiled inwardly.


    ...


    Linda McCauley was about forty. She might once have been pretty, but now she just looked tired. Luke couldn''t imagine having three children as a single parent, but if this was the result, he wasn''t envious.


    And that was only the beginning of her trouble. After talking to her and working for an hour with her financial AI, he was surprised she could smile at all. She was more than two years'' taxes in arrears, and her savings had been poorly invested without security. They had turned into another very substantial debt. Her previous financial advisor had tried to write off a large part of the BR debt with a bogus claim but had been seen through immediately, which had resulted in a substantial fine for her as well. All in all, she was short, just more than $20000, which she wouldn''t be able to put aside from her pay in ten years, given the way they lived and the money needed for her children, two of which were in college.


    Luke admonished her to think about relatives and really good friends that might lend her money. He made her go through the list of all their spendings and separate the truly essential from the rest. He could see she didn''t yet grasp her situation, so he promised to be back the next day. By now, he knew very well that people in trouble needed to understand and accept their problems before they were willing to do anything whatsoever about it. Telling people to change for their own good when they didn''t see it themselves was a frustrating and utter waste of time and effort.


    ...


    When he announced himself the next day, the majordomo let him in. He found Linda in the living room, crying her heart out. It had hit home, apparently. He didn''t know what to do, so he just stood there. After a while, the sobbing subsided, and she wiped her face on her sleeve. She looked at Luke, and his presence registered again. It made her start all over once more. Feeling awkward, Luke went to her and put his arms around her. Whether she noticed, he didn''t know. She cried for a long time, and then she fell silent.


    "I''m in trouble, aren''t I," she stammered. What could he say? They wouldn''t put her in jail, but they would confiscate all her possessions. They''d have to move to the cheapest flat they could find. The children would have to quit college. Find jobs to make ends meet. With Linda''s job, they wouldn''t starve, but they would never have any extra''s again. The BR would grab everything they could for the next several years.


    Luke wanted to start working, but obviously, he couldn''t like this. They made an attempt, and he could see she was honestly trying to cut costs wherever possible, but it just wasn''t going to be enough to convince the BR of anything.


    "Have you thought of anyone who might be able to help you? Anyone at all?"


    "No. All our friends have gone. I mean, when my husband left, he took our friends with him. It was, ..., not even his fault, maybe. It was ugly, and afterward, I had to focus on finding a place, keeping my job, and getting the children to school. I didn''t notice, and when I did, he''d talked to our friends. I don''t even know what he told them. Haven''t spoken to any. And I haven''t made any friends since. It''s just too much with the kids, you know. I''m happy if I can sit and read a book once a week. My relatives are all gone. They went off-world, and I haven''t had contact since. I don''t even know where they are."


    She started crying again, then stopped again. "I''ll make you something to drink. Luke looked at the computer forlornly. He wanted to help but knew it wasn''t possible. All he could think of was that if the judge was incredibly lenient and the BR in an uncharacteristically magnanimous mood, they might leave her just enough to keep the children in school. But it wasn''t likely. He couldn''t imagine the BR being magnanimous.


    When she came back from the kitchen with two cups of coffee, they talked for a while. She didn''t cry anymore. Her expression was hollow. Every now and then, her eyes would rest on one of the few things she imagined had any value, apparently. Each time her eyes would quickly shy away again.


    When he left, he took a copy of her status. He promised to make the best possible proposal for her, and then they would have to hope for a miracle. From her expression, it was clear she didn''t have any hope left.


    ...


    At nine-thirty, a man of Luke''s general dimensions emerged from Wantata park. He walked towards the BM building, across and further down the road.


    He wore an outrageous mustache and a wild beard, and shades all but hid the rest of his face, or rather, the latex mask he was wearing. On his head was a wide-brimmed hat, and he wore an oversized trench coat with padded shoulders and cheap running pants. On one foot, he wore a boot, and on the other, a slipper.


    Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder. Just as he arrived directly opposite the building, he stepped into the small alley between two diners there, disappearing from view.


    He put on a pair of thin household gloves. Then he shoved a garbage container between the two opposing doors, presumably leading to the kitchens or storage. It wouldn''t stop anyone for long, but he wouldn''t be surprised by anyone stepping out of either door.


    From the pocket of his coat, he brought forth a sling. It consisted of a two-pound steel ball-bearing with a length of nylon cord glued to one end.


    Luke had taken the steel balls two days earlier when he visited one of his customers. A small garage he''d helped out with their financials. The owner needed to scrape by to pay for his child, still in Stasis. In that garage stood three large crates with all sorts of discarded parts and sundry. By the state of it, some had been lying there for years, and Luke was entirely sure the ball-bearings didn''t have any significant value, nor would they ever be missed.


    The hatted man looked around the corner of his hide-out to make sure no pedestrians were close by or in the hall of the BM building. With a gigantic heave, he threw the sling across the street at the glass building. It fell short by about three yards, doing no damage whatsoever. It needed more inclination. He took another sling from his pocket.


    He gave the second sling all he could, making sure it had a slightly better inclination. He looked at it worryingly, perhaps afraid that it might go too steep and glance off the window. Unnecessarily. It hit one of the huge panes immediately above the front door. Even though he had been expecting it, he appeared astounded by the spectacular result. The glass was thick, of course, in order to withstand heavy weather, but it was no match for a hardened two-pound steel ball. It exploded into a million tiny shards. The hallway and the street were covered in them.


    He retreated all the way to the back of the alley, pulling the garbage container away from the doors and hiding behind it. Then, he brought forth a hand-held node and proceeded to send a message to the fire department, telling them that a gas leak had exploded in the Brodin Medical head offices and that there was now a fire raging on the first three floors. He sent a second message to a police station twenty blocks away, telling them that a sniper was shooting people at random. He added the address of the building next to that of BM. Then he turned off the node, ensuring it was completely dead.


    Another sling went way to the left, avoiding the people that were now moving towards the building to look at what on earth had happened. It hit the gigantic window of what appeared to be a conference hall, empty at that time of day. The effect was even more spectacular than that of the previous sling. It looked like a bomb did actually explode in the building.


    The third message went to another police station, ten blocks away, telling them that a meteor had crashed into the BM building and that there were many dead and wounded. Then he contacted three taxi dispatches, informing them that the power exchange in the BM building had exploded and that they needed all the capacity they could find to bring the wounded to hospitals nearby and further away.


    He took a fourth sling from his pocket. But then he looked at the street, which was by now lined with onlookers, and put the sling away again. He moved back the garbage container to where it was earlier and strolled out of the alley just as a group of people emerged from the burger place to gawp.


    He stood and gawped with the people, making some non-committal, unintelligible comments to the guy standing next to him, looking about as he did so.


    By now, traffic was at a total stand-still. Police, firefighters, and taxis were everywhere. Some to gawp, most to look for the tens if not hundreds of wounded people that needed transportation. Only twenty-five minutes had passed since the man came out of the park. Decisively he turned and walked down the street, back towards Wantata Park.


    He walked deep into the park, where trees obscured any possible view. From an inside pocket, he took a pair of sandals and a package which turned out to be a folded rucksack. There, he put the hat, trench coat, slacks, shoes, beard, mustache, latex mask, and the remaining sling.


    Luke sat down to wait for almost an hour. Then he walked further towards the back of the park. There was a small entrance there, giving way to a residential area where he didn''t expect nor had seen any security cameras. He walked a long way between residential blocks, with here and there a small shop on the ground floor. He arrived at the train station and took the first train.

 Thorvald

    ...


    "God, what have you done?"


    He couldn''t suppress the stupid grin on his face.


    "So, how did you guys go?"


    "Not at all. We went there in Jean''s minivan, but all traffic was rerouted two blocks before we got there. We tried to reach the building, but where ever we went, streets were blocked, and we were sent away. It was a mess. We wondered what had happened, but then Michael found stuff on the net. Something about a psychopath at the BM building. You had me worried there for a bit, but I couldn''t say anything, of course. And then I found something about a meteor, and I knew it was you. Jean was uncharacteristically graphic in her anger, so I doubt if she gave me any attention at all.


    "We aborted the raid, of course. Any chance of doing anything unnoticed was gone. I must say, I am impressed with your thoroughness."


    Impressed. He liked that.


    They talked about it for a while, but then Esmee suggested that the less she knew about what he had done, the better, perhaps.


    "Did you hear anything yet from ..., Mark, yet?"


    "No. I haven''t heard of him. Didn''t expect to yet."


    "Ok. There''s something else I''d like to ask. There is someone ..., no. I have an idea, and I need money. More than I have. I''m not sure if it would be repaid or if it would work out. Would you mind if I ask you?"


    "It''s more than ten dollars, right? You don''t have to beat about the bush. You can just ask. You may not get the answer you want, but I definitely won''t hold asking against you."


    "Well. Ok. Yes. It''s rather a lot."


    He told her, and he admired her for not even blinking.


    "That would be about enough to get your friend out of stasis and away from Daimando. And you."


    "Yes. But like I said, it isn''t for me."


    "No. It wouldn''t be. It would be for him, wouldn''t it."


    "Yeah, but it isn''t that. It''s not for me, and it''s not for him, and it won''t get anyone off this planet. But I can''t tell you what it''s about. It''s an idea. Maybe it pays off. Maybe it doesn''t work out at all."


    "Well. Luke. I like you. Very much, in fact. I do trust you, and I am very impressed with what you did today. But this is too much. I can''t. It''s not that I don''t trust you or anything. But I couldn''t. I have to work more than a year for that. Way more. So I would very much like to, but I can''t. I won''t. I''m sorry."


    "No. You''re right, of course. I''m ashamed to have even asked. It was just an idea, and I understand that you want to know more. To be sure, that is. But I can''t talk about it. Ok? Just forget about it."


    All the way home, he kept telling himself what an oaf he was. Stupid idea to begin with. And the ''I like you very much" felt as pity more than anything.


    ...


    Dawn had been getting behind schedule with her lids, and not to run the risk of having to sell ''no" at any point in time, she had spent the entire day decorating.


    She''d found out the merchant she worked for had five outlets. She had suggested that she might deliver her lids herself at each location, and they hadn''t any problem with that. In fact, their tallying occurred at the outlets rather than at the shop anyway, so it saved them some work. There was one condition: if she screwed up once, that would be the end of it, which was ok by her. There was a big advantage for Dawn: now she could reuse the same design without anyone ever feeling that it was mass production. What she did was create a design on one lid, and when it pleased her, she copied it to four further lids. That way, she managed to do almost twenty lids an hour, and by the end of the day, she''d made almost two hundred lids, -- just short of twenty-five dollars, almost enough for a month.


    When Luke got home, Dawn was in an exceptionally chatty mood. She proudly showed him the designs she thought were particularly good, and she explained her method of working in some detail. It took almost an hour before she noticed he was preoccupied.


    "What''s up, Luke. Things aren''t working out with Esmee?"


    "Well. Things are ok, I guess. I did something stupid today. So now I''m not sure."


    "Oh, don''t worry about her too much. I will tell you something about Esmee, as one friend to another, as it were. I''ve never known Esmee to be as outgoing and friendly as she has with you. She''s great, but not what you might call, ..., chummy. Don''t make anything out of it, but with you, she is. And I can''t see how you doing anything might dent her. Nothing much can, and you certainly don''t have it in you. I mean. Man. Don''t worry. It''ll be fine. I''m not telling you where she''s going, mind you. I can tell you where she''s going, and you wouldn''t like it, but she''s not going to brush you off for being who you are. She doesn''t work that way."


    And with that, he''d have to do. Dawn went to clean up her things, humming contentedly to herself and chatting to him about whatever entered her mind. Luke sat and drank a glass or two of lukewarm red, not noticing it in any way and not noticing what he talked about with Dawn. Far too late, they went to sleep. They had been planning to buy a bigger bed for weeks now but hadn''t gotten ''round to it.


    "Still not in for sex? I mean, I could sure use it right now. It must be spring or something. No? Ok, that''s ok."


    And then, as they lay in bed, they did, after all. Luke thinking of Esmee, trying not to think of her and at least treating Dawn with the respect and love she was entitled to, and getting frustrated with himself and with Esmee all the while. He was frustrated and felt clogged with anger with everything. Esmee, this world, this system, Xolorrr, the way they had to live, the way they had to get by. And most of all, himself. Later, he breathed in the smell of Dawn''s hair and said: "Thanks. For being there. I do love you."


    "Yeah. I''m sorry. I didn''t mean ..., I didn''t mean this. I just needed a fuck. But I do love you. Not in that way. Well, you know."


    ...


    Breakfast was hectic. Both of them smiling guiltily at each other for their own reasons but sharing nonetheless. Richard called Luke to ask how things were going with Linda, and Luke gave him the bad news. Richard merely said: "Ah, well. You can''t win them all. Try to make the best of it. She doesn''t have any friends or anyone, really. I wouldn''t qualify as a friend myself, except that I may very well be the only one. So sad. Try to make the best of it."


    Dawn asked Luke whether he would be out all day; she wanted to continue with the momentum she had felt the day before and prepare a cache of lids for lean times.


    Then the post office called. Something had arrived for him, and he needed to present himself with proper identification in person in order to get it. He dropped everything and all but ran to the post office.


    ...


    His father had made good of course and sent enough to get Xolorrr out, to ship him to the spaceport in stasis, to travel to the nearby world of Ghudarrr, where the best Urrr doctors would be available, and then for the two of them to go back home. His mother had enclosed her love, and his father grew in Luke''s esteem by including a message as well:


    "Lucas. You may feel that this is defeat and somehow lessens the quality of your Khar or indeed of yourself. Don''t. Life isn''t a series of tests that you may or may not pass. It is a continuum of challenges that we have to deal with as best we can, and asking for help is as valid as going at it single-handedly. Indeed, going at it alone is stupid if you can''t cope, and alternatives exist. I wouldn''t be where I am if I hadn''t had the right friends and relatives at the right moments, and I dare say few would. So use this money as you see fit, and don''t worry about paying it back. One day you may have children, and they may be in similar circumstances, or worse. Payback then," signed, "John."


    Ever so slightly misty-eyed, Luke walked to the Pompidou. He needed to be alone and think about his next steps. He''d been postponing this, but now he had to, even though he didn''t want to leave. Couldn''t.


    He called his lawyer to see how they could proceed. Apparently, the right to terminate a contract one-ended, the patient to be delivered in stasis, was guaranteed by law, though the law was vague on tariffs.


    There was, however, quite some jurisprudence, so the lawyer was able to give Luke a figure that supposedly was doable.


    And so, munching at a cream cheese and raspberry jam bagel, a luxury he had denied himself for quite a while but now felt he needed if not deserved, he faced his options and made what was the most difficult decision in his life so far. And therefore, the true core of his Khar.


    ...


    Esmee called. Anxious, though not so much scared. She wouldn''t say anything over the net, so they agreed to meet again as they had the other time, strolling at random while they talked.


    "Mark called. He talked to a friend of a friend of his in Kagan. About two years ago, they were planning to build a Vault over there, on the site of an old-style hospital they wanted to tear down. The mayor was very much in favor and hammered on the city and the people having to think of the future. One of the leading opposing counselors commented that being in stasis didn''t give people much time to think, and it sort of stuck as a slogan for a while: ''no time to think.''


    "There was a group of activists, or really just protesters. They picketed the hospital site and handed out ultra cheap decorative watches with the text ''no time to think" imprinted on them. The watches weren''t set for Daimando time, though, but rather for Carla''s Forge, which meant they ran fast. And they couldn''t be set.


    "The demonstration went horribly awry. The paint they used to print the message turned out to contain a mildly toxic compound. They only found out when someone who wore the watch for laughs became allergic to the stuff. But when they found out, they had to call all the people that got a watch to the hospital for testing. Although nobody actually got hurt, the demonstrators were charged and jailed for assault and attempted murder. Mark says the poison was mild and couldn''t have killed or even seriously hurt anyone in such small quantities.


    "The people, who are still in jail, claim they never intended to poison anyone. They say there was a woman called Jessica, who participated in this action, who did the painting. They say she wasn''t really part of the group and just joined this one time. She was never caught or traced or even seriously looked for. They are still appealing on the grounds that they didn''t have any intent and that the police didn''t do their job.


    "Anyway, according to Mark, the description they gave of this Jessica fits Jean. Maybe a million other women as well, but somewhere in the transcripts, this Jessica is described as a nervous mouse, which struck me as very fitting. Jean, that is. Or maybe it was nervous vermin, I forgot.


    "We have to stop her, somehow. I couldn''t just leave Michael and Fiona and allow Jean or Jessica or whatever to harm them. I mean, she''s bound to continue if this is her."


    "Yeah. I agree. And I agree that you can''t just leave them. You have to tell Michael and Fiona."


    "But I can''t prove anything. Not really. There''s just the email, which is fairly convincing, but the rest is circumstantial. And we can''t go to the police. They don''t want to know about this Jessica, and besides, we''d have to admit to planning to raid BM. They wouldn''t want to hear anything other than that."


    "How about if we lay a trap?"


    "How?"


    "I don''t know. Give her an opportunity she couldn''t resist. Assuming Justian isn''t in league with her, which he might, but still, assuming he isn''t, she just saw it as an opportunity to make you guys do something that she could warp. So I''m saying, give her something else."


    "Like what?"


    "I don''t know. Maybe Mark has an idea."


    "I can''t call him anymore. He''s moved, and I should only call him if it''s really unavoidable. He''d have to move again, so I''d rather not."


    "Ok. So we have to think about it."


    It was about dinner time, and they had more or less strolled back to the place where they had their first dinner date. Rather naturally, they decided to go there again, notwithstanding their predicament. Dawn was painting by herself, so Luke would have had to go out anyway.


    They started thinking about ways to trap Jean, but their conversation gradually diverged. They talked about future plans after Jean and Xolorrr would be solved. Dreams, really. Esmee dreamed about how it would be when her ancestor was out. How she could show him her world and what had been accomplished in the last two centuries. How they could perhaps travel to other worlds, or how they might even have to, as part of any deal to get him out in the first place.


    Luke dreamed, ..., about Esmee, though he kept that to himself. Beyond that, he found that while on Bethnell, he''d felt something lacking in his life, his current predicament, and that of Xolorrr, gave him a purpose and a momentum which in itself he found pleasant. Maybe not pleasant, but fulfilling. Obviously, this would change when Xolorrr was out, but the lesson would remain and would probably change him: without purpose, life is empty, even when it can be pleasant.


    Esmee asked where he might want to live and work, but he didn''t have an answer.


    "My parents and all my friends live on Bethnell. I couldn''t have imagined going away permanently, but now I''m here, there''s other friends and things. There''s Dawn, and Richard. And you, of course."


    "Oh, don''t put me in your plans, Luke. It''s ok to dream and talk about it, but it''s nothing but dreams. I do have a purpose, and it''s to get the ancient parent out. It is my only purpose, and I won''t fit in any other plan. I''m still shaken up from Jean and the raid and people in prison, so it''s ok for now to spend some time with you, but don''t expect anything. Once I''m up to speed again, I''m not very pleasant, I''m told. I''m sorry, but this is what I live for."


    Steering away as quickly as possible, Luke asked: "What''s his name, your great, great, whatever grandfather''s?"


    "I don''t know. Some of the papers we had were lost in a fire about a century ago. It''s T. Hallipirii, but that''s all I know. That''s all BM knows either, I think. Many of the records of the earliest times in our colonization were lost. There''s something in our air that corrodes the media of that time, apparently. By the time they found out the scope of the problem, many of the earliest records had already gone. That, and saving costs by using cheap hardware and cheaper procedures, of course. It is typical of Daimando. They have money for their grand schemes and gestures, but not even to remember their parents. Bastards."


    Different emotions were struggling to take hold: anger, frustration, pity, pain.


    "You''ve seen the central station. Each of those bridges could have bought my ancestor and maybe all people out of stasis at once. Well, maybe not, but only a fraction of that money would have ensured that at least I know his fucking name. Can you imagine? Our fucking history is lost because they''ve been cutting costs for a fraction of what it cost them to string up some bridges. It''s ..."


    Anger had won, but then she returned to their table.


    "I''m sorry. I shouldn''t. It doesn''t lead anywhere. But it''s so frustrating. I really don''t even know his name."


    Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked across the room.


    "Shit. I''m sorry. I don''t want this. Can we go? I really don''t want this. It''s not you. It''s just that ..., I don''t know. I''m not getting anywhere."


    ...


    Laura called. She''d been thinking over his proposals and wanted to meet him to talk things over. They agreed to meet in a station close to Luke, halfway Laura''s home and work, but then Luke remembered he was supposed to go out with Dawn. So he promised to come to Laura''s home early in the afternoon, the next day.


    Dawn had been wanting to take him to this performance for a while, but they''d never gotten around to it. She was secretive about its nature. It was, however, necessary to dress up, apparently, so they made the most of their sparse wardrobe.


    They took the train to a district Luke had been in only once before. It consisted of well-lit, wide avenues lined with gargantuan office buildings. Although it was night, well after dinner time, there were still many people about, and most offices appeared to be open.


    Just as Luke wanted to voice his surprise as to the location, Dawn pulled him into a dark alley all but hidden between two buildings. He would have had trouble to find it at all.


    Once inside the alley, it proved more spacious, and light than his first impression had suggested, probably due to the contrast with the buildings flanking it. The passage was lit with what appeared to be turned-down gaslight, and it was pleasantly decorated with green plants and an occasional bed of flowers. Two doors were lit and gave access to a restaurant and a bar. Five tiny tables and chairs, set against the wall, made for a tiny outdoors. All seats were taken with people dressed in their office garb, apparently having an after-work drink.


    But Dawn took Luke''s arm and pulled him further down the alley, towards an unlit, unmarked doorway at the end. No. As they stepped in, Luke glimpsed a cheap foil sign, saying ''The Bard''.


    A small hallway led to the smallest theatre Luke had ever seen. Theatre wasn''t the first word to enter his mind, though. There were about twenty chairs facing one end of the room. A tiny podium had been erected from an assortment of what appeared to be surplus building materials. Next to the podium was a door leading to the lavatories, an emergency exit, and, probably, backstage. The room, including the stage, was four meters by eight, an average living room.


    Once they had taken their seats, Dawn went to say hello to someone but returned within a minute. They chatted, and each time Luke attempted to get some indication of what they were about to see, Dawn blandly steered to another subject. Gradually the room filled up with people, and then the lights were turned down. Just then, Dawn said: "Woops. I need to pee," and went for the door, only just visible in an emergency light.


    The room fell into a hushed silence, and a single spotlight turned on. Somewhere between annoyance and slight concern about Dawn, it took a second before Luke noticed that in this light, the stage was transformed. Gone were the building materials, showing just a smooth surface and the backside of the stage where shadows in a relief suggested two stylized trees.


    The door next to the stage opened, and Luke relaxed. But it wasn''t Dawn. A gnome of a man ascended the few steps onto the stage. He was fairly short but had a huge barrel chest. His hips were narrow, in comparison. Tiny even, as were his legs and feet. In his obviously muscular arms, he held what turned out to be a musical instrument. He sat cross-legged to one side of the podium and proceeded to tune the instrument. It was a combined string and wind instrument. With his right hand, the man bowed and manipulated a small number of pistons, and with his left, he fingered the string and pressed a larger number of pistons. The sound was low. A rumble more than anything.


    The door opened once again. Dawn, to Luke''s amazement. She walked onto the stage and sat down as well, center stage. Luke looked at her to make sure. If he hadn''t known she''d been backstage, he wouldn''t have recognized her. Somehow the stage light and background made her utterly different. He did recognize her clothes, though.


    The man started playing. A mournful rumble, which grew briefly in intensity but then all but died out to a whisper. Dawn started to speak.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Mommy? I didn''t mean to mommy. And I said I was sorry. I won''t ever do it again, mommy. Never ever.


    "Please don''t go away. I will be a good girl.


    "Mommy? Mommy?"


    The music took on a new character. A new rhythm. In another voice, Dawn told about a life. A life full of expectation, but then full of sorrow. It was unclear if she described the mother or the daughter. Towards the end, the unsubstantiated expectations, losses, and hardship turned into scary lunacy.


    Luke felt the audience hold their breath, swallow, unclench knotted-up muscles, as did he. The end came abruptly, the music stopping as the text did, almost mid-sentence. It was silent for several minutes.


    The lights went out, and some rustling was heard on the stage. The spotlights came on again, and Dawn and the man stood center stage. Only then did the applause start. The two bowed and left the stage. The lights went out again, and then the normal lights went on. Within a minute, Dawn and the man came into the room. About half the audience appeared to be acquaintances. They went to Dawn and the man, embracing them, congratulating them, kissing them, and shaking hands. When Luke reached Dawn, he embraced her and said: "Wow. That was truly something."


    "Come, I''ll introduce you to Sergei. Sergei, this is my mate Luke Goodholland. This is Sergei Gridoniu. We''ve been to art school together. Well, all of two months, and then Sergei went to do something else again. Was that the longest time you stayed in one place, Sergei?"


    "Haha. I stay in places. It''s just the people they accept in art schools. I couldn''t handle that.


    "Hi Luke, it is my pleasure to meet you. Dawn may have mentioned you before, but we don''t exactly keep track."


    And away, he was swept by a tiny blonde woman.


    "When did you do this. I mean, did you rehearse, or what is it?"


    "We don''t rehearse, but we''ve done similar things before. It''s stuff I write or not really write. It''s just moods and loose ends. And Sergei does the same with the oorgle. So it''s improvised, even though we agree on some of the themes. "D''you like it?"


    "Yeah. Unnerving, but really impressive. I didn''t know you did this."


    "Oh. We just do it every now and then when Sergei''s around. It''s nothing big, but there''s always people who like it."


    Most of the people had left, and they went as well. "Sergei? I''ll call you, ok?"


    Most seats on the tiny terrace were free. Only a few die-hards were left, and one or two people were having a bite. But Dawn preferred to go. So she took Luke into the wide avenue, and they strolled along until the avenue ended on a huge square.


    All along the side, there were bars and restaurants, but Dawn crossed the road to the center of the square, which was occupied by a tower, narrow at the bottom but growing much wider overhead.


    In the tower, there were narrow winding stairs, which grew a bit wider as the tower itself widened. After countless steps, when they had climbed perhaps thirty or forty yards, the stairs ended into a small doorway which led to a fairly large deck. As they stepped out, Luke saw that the tower continued much higher, culminating in a thin spire.


    On the deck, twenty or thirty tables seated people having drinks or dinner. Most tables were occupied, but Dawn spotted an empty table at the very edge. The view was truly nice. Around the square stood the immensely tall office buildings, but they sat precisely at a crossing of two broad avenues, so they had an unobstructed view for hundreds of yards.


    They sat and ordered wine, French bread, and cheese. While they waited, Dawn said: "I am going away for a couple of days. Sergei needs to run an errand, and there are people there that we both know. Sergei is going to ask his boss if they can pay for my ticket, but it''s only $20, so I''d pay for it myself anyway, and we can stay with our friends."


    "Sure. If there''s anything you deserve, it''s a break."


    Their wine and cheese arrived, and they chatted. About Dawn''s time in art school, about her friends, and about her trip. She would leave first thing the next morning.


    ...


    Luke woke with a start. He''d gone to bed early and just woke from a nightmare. He sat up and thought about its meaning while he could still grasp the quickly dissolving thread of the dream. It was Jean.


    He called Esmee. "Esmee, it''s Luke. I''ve just thought of something. About Jean. The thing is, she''s crazy. We can''t presume to know what she''s might or might not do. So I think we have to warn Fiona and Michael immediately. We can think of a trap or whatever, but we have to warn Fiona and Michael."


    "Hi, Luke. Getting lonely?"


    "What?"


    "Well, with Dawn gone, and already you start calling people at the oddest moments."


    "What?"


    "It''s in the middle of the night, Luke. People sleep, mostly."


    "Oh. Oh, Jeez, I''m sorry. I just woke, and I thought about what Jean ..., I didn''t check. I''m sorry."


    "It''s ok, Luke. I was awake anyway. I was sort of thinking the same. And I think it''s a good idea if Richard''s in on this as well. He won''t like knowing about it, but he should. He knows Jean as well.


    "I''d prefer to talk to Michael later, so how about if we invite Fiona and Richard for lunch tomorrow. I''ll pay if it''s not too expensive."


    "Ok. Yeah, tomorrow would be ok, I guess."


    "Yes, Luke. Tomorrow is soon enough. They might be asleep now."


    "Yeah."


    "Night Luke."


    "Bye-bye."


    ...


    Both Richard and Fiona could not make it for lunch, but they most certainly would enjoy dinner. Esmee didn''t give any specific reason for the invitation, but Richard pointed out that the fact that Esmee was buying was in itself worth a celebration. However, he had apparently just concluded a profitable deal, and he offered to pay half. Not to be outdone, Luke also chipped in. Fiona agreed immediately and seemed almost happy about the prospect.


    Esmee disliked meat, so they went for lobster mayonnaise, buttered crab, fishcakes, bouillabaisse, steamed prawns and shells, French bread and rouille: a concoction of even parts mayonnaise and garlic, and hot pepper for good measure. With the food came chilled chardonnay which sparkled ever so slightly.


    As food was heaped on their table, Esmee looked at Luke and said to Fiona: "There''s something we need to discuss, and I''d rather get it over with. It''s a good thing we had to abort the raid the other day because it was a setup. Or at least, I think so. I''ve found an email sent by Jean, which implies that she has ordered something called T41. I asked around, and apparently, it''s an explosive that can be applied like paint. Also, Jean has ordered nanorobots. I''m told there was an article a while back by a sculptor who describes using this T41 together with nanorobots to blast rock faces. Well. Maybe not blast, but rather etch them. The robots are there to detonate the explosive. Apparently, there are no other uses for T41."


    She let it sink in for a second and said to Richard, who started to look distasteful: "Sorry ''bout this, Richard. I think you have to hear it. I really do."


    Self-consciously she picked up a crab leg and started picking out morsels of meat.


    Luke nibbled at a fishcake, mostly to have something in his hands. Richard said: "Jesus."


    ...


    The silence seemed deafening, although, in truth, other guests in the restaurant produced a constant hubbub. Esmee put down her crab leg demurely and sipped her wine instead.


    Fiona said: "I can''t believe this. I''ve known Jean for ages, and she wouldn''t hurt a fly."


    Richard said: "But now you''re looking at appearances. People can appear to be anything. I''ve seen the most easygoing people spit with frustration, anger, and blood on their minds over disputes with the corporates. No one would say those people have it in them, and yet they do. In the end, anyone will do anything under the right circumstances, and there are very few exceptions. I''m not saying anything against Jean, but the fact that she appears to be harmless doesn''t mean a thing. Do you remember Michael telling that Jean had been in trouble with the MIB? Maybe it means nothing, but it might mean something just all the same. Think about that. And then think about who might do what."


    "But how can you be certain? What does Michael think?"


    "I can''t be certain, and I haven''t told Michael yet. I wanted to tell you first."


    "And couldn''t it have been planted or something? How can we be certain it was Jean."


    "Well. We can''t be certain, but it was pure chance that I found this and also that I was able to find out what it meant. If this is planted, they''ve taken a long shot, and besides, as you say, it''s not that conclusive. Why plant something inconclusive?


    "But there''s more. It''s just hear-say, but a while back in Kagan, something similar happened. A group of activists planning like we did to make people aware and maybe get in the media planned to hand out watches with a slogan printed on them. It turned out that the paint was toxic, and people got hurt. Nothing serious, but the activists are in jail nonetheless. Except for the woman who supplied the paint. She''s disappeared, but I''m told she looked like a ''nervous mouse'', and that is precisely how I would describe Jean."


    Luke dipped a piece of French bread in the rouille and proceeded to eat his way through it. Eye-watering, but nice. Richard said: "Jesus."


    ...


    They sat in silence for a long time until Richard summed up: "My goodness." Then he hailed the waiter for another bottle of wine and said: "I think I''d like to eat now."


    "Oh Richard, how can you?"


    "What? Waste a perfectly good lobster. And besides, you''ve found out in time, so now you know, you can think about what to do and do it. You have to tell Michael and then do something about Jean. Maybe put this information on the net or something. You should first check with Michael, though. He won''t believe it, Jean being more his friend than anyone''s, but maybe he knows more. Once he puts this in the right perspective. "


    Esmee said: "You''re right as always, Richard. What an excellent idea. And you are right again. We shouldn''t waste this meal or all of us being such good friends. Do let''s enjoy this meal and talk to Michael as soon as possible. I drink to you and to a world without Corps and Jeans."


    Fiona was still thinking matters over, but Esmee attacked her crab leg with gusto. For Luke, it was enough of a starting signal, and they all focused on the lobster and the crab, bouillabaisse, giant shrimps, and clams. And then even Fiona came out of her shock. Richard got up to fetch a third bottle of wine, and as he passed Fiona, he bent down and kissed her. "It''ll be all right. You have many friends, you know. You''ll be fine."


    Gradually, the atmosphere improved. It didn''t become exactly festive, and each of them would on occasion sink in thoughts, but all in all, dinner was pleasant.


    At some point in time, Luke noticed he had a headache that had been getting worse and worse. At his request, they skipped dessert and said goodbye. Richard and Fiona left together. Fiona was dwarfed by the great man, who had his enormous arm protectively around her shoulders. Luke couldn''t see straight for pain, so Esmee took him to the studio and said goodbye there.


    "Are you sure you''ll be all right?"


    "Yeah, It''s just a headache, and I just need to sleep."


    "Ok. We''ll call then. Bye-bye."


    She kissed him lightly on his cheek.


    "Bye, Esmee."


    ...


    The next morning Luke''s headache had disappeared completely, and he concentrated on his work, which he had been neglecting the last couple of days.


    In the afternoon, he went to revisit Linda. Then he received three calls: Richard had come up with yet another last-minute job, Esmee called to say she needed to talk to him about ''it'', as she put it, and preferred not to, over the net, so she asked if he could come to her flat immediately. Finally, Dawn called that everything was ok and that she would return the next day.


    Richard''s latest job turned out to be interesting: it concerned an inheritance where the estate included a guardianship. The deceased didn''t have any relatives and bequeathed all her assets to a small foundation, formally concerned with Daimando''s malnourished children. Of which there were none. The foundation had been inactive for more than a century, and all members of its board had long since died. Though not exactly rich, the foundation did have some money, which had grown over the years into an appreciable amount. The guardianship concerned the child of an erstwhile servant of the deceased, who had been held in stasis for the last three years by First Daimando. Why there was a guardianship and not an ordinary contract was unclear.


    Now, First Daimando attempted to get not only at the estate but at all assets of the foundation. Formally, Luke was concerned only as an accounting advisor, but since there were no other humans directly involved, the judge-executor allowed the AI chairman of the foundation to involve Luke more extensively, albeit only in an advisory capacity.


    Since there were no humans involved, he could do everything through his ''partout. When he arrived at Esmee''s flat he had already skimmed through most of the documentation.


    "I''ve been putting it off, but I shouldn''t. I agree with Richard. We should check with Michael and see what he thinks. At first, I thought I would like you to come with me, but the more I think about it, the more I feel it might have an adverse effect. He''d be all the more cautious."


    Instead, they chose to plug in Luke via his ''partout. It would allow him to follow the conversation and to see, well, something. Esmee''s description of the raw images as ''no-res" was by far too complimentary, but an AI in Esmee''s implant was able to interpolate the stream and create a more sensible stream for Luke.


    Esmee called Michael, but he couldn''t be reached. She left a message with his majordomo that she needed to speak to him urgently concerning her faulty plumbing. When Luke eyed her inquiringly, afterward, she explained it was a code Michael had at some point in time suggested: faulty plumbing meant a leak, as in compromised security. It was sure to get his attention quickly and would make certain he would call alone, without Jean even knowing, should she happen to be around. When Luke said something about cloak-and-dagger stuff, Esmee laughed and said: "He''s a bit paranoid, but things being as they are, I can''t blame him. Clearly, he hasn''t been paranoid enough."


    Michael called within five minutes and asked Esmee if she remembered where they had seen wild geese. She''d almost blurted it out before she realized he was telling her where to go without saying it. She promised to be there in half an hour.


    ...


    They sat on the train together. The goose-place was a train station where one of the exits was in the middle of a park. As they approached the station, Luke walked to the far end of the car, and walked away on the platform towards the wrong entrance. He took the escalator with giant leaps, and he was out and on the street when Esmee was still on her escalator. Luke entered the park by a side entrance and approached Esmee''s exit at a more moderate pace just as she ascended. He sat on a bench where he could watch her.


    The image stream he received from her was very peculiar. A series of stills, which morphed into each other. Certain objects were detailed and precise, other objects were rendered as if generated from some three-dimensional model the AI used, and the rest were just blotted blurs. Once Luke got used to it, he started to like the weird, impressionist vision of the park. Just as he was about to comment on it to Esmee, her eyes focused on Michael, stepping out of the station.


    After a brief nod, they strolled into the park, and Luke followed at a safe distance. Esmee steered them towards a bench set back slightly from the path. She said: "Let''s sit, first."  When they sat, Esmee turned towards Michael, facing him at an angle. Luke assumed for the benefit of his view.


    She explained that she had been concerned about Jean for a while, that she had found people to check up on her, and that they had intercepted an email just before their failed raid, mentioning an order for explosives that could be applied like paint.


    Michael interjected with various questions. Could she be certain that the email did, in fact, come from Jean? Couldn''t it have been planted by the people Esmee had used to watch Jean, or indeed by the BM. Was the email sufficiently specific but not too specific? Luke was amused by Michael''s reasoning here. Michael said, more or less in one breath, that if the information was insufficiently detailed, no conclusions could be drawn. If it was too specific, it suggested, to Michael, a plant.


    Esmee gave him the email verbatim and the additional information on T41, but Michael was unimpressed. He suggested that maybe Jean intended some rock etching or that the order wasn''t for herself at all but rather for a friend.


    Then Esmee told him how a woman much like Jean had turned another non-violent action into something very nasty, for the single apparent purpose of putting the people involved in jail. But Michael was skeptical, again. How could she be certain that it was Jean? Hear-say concerning events at the other side of the world that might never even have happened.


    When Esmee asked how long he had known Jean and what he knew about her before he first met her, he had to admit the timing made Esmee''s story possible, in principle. He had met Jean twenty months earlier and didn''t really know much about her from before that time. But still, as he put it, it was impossible that Jean would do something like this. He''d spent very much time with her, and he would know for certain.


    Then he suggested, again, that if there was anything to this at all, it would be BM, or the MIB, trying to cause dissent and internal struggle in the group. When Esmee asked why they would plant anything so inconclusive, he countered: "Precisely for this reason. Precisely because otherwise we would know it was a plant."


    To Luke, Esmee''s frustration was almost palpable. She asked a number of questions about the incident and about Jean, but Michael continued to point at BM or the MIB. After twenty minutes, Esmee gave up. She asked Michael what to do about it, and he merely said: "Nothing. The security measures we use are sufficient. That''s one of the reasons I can''t believe this is Jean. She would never send unencrypted emails. I''ve explained time and again how to communicate, and she just wouldn''t do anything like this."


    "And what do we do about BM and the MIB?"


    "Nothing. They are trying to cause dissent and make us go at each other, and we simply don''t do that. I can''t say, ''forget about it,'' because we have to stay alert, but I''m certain there''s nothing in it. Quite certain."


    And with that, they said goodbye. He left, and Esmee stayed at the bench, not knowing where Luke was. So he told her which direction he was and suggested they walk to another station to avoid meeting Michael.


    ...


    Esmee almost spat with anger. She''d felt patronized and belittled, and she couldn''t stop going on about Michael''s one-dimensional paranoia. Luke agreed that he couldn''t imagine how BM or the MIB would be involved in this. If there hadn''t been any explosives, the email just being a ruse to set them up against each other, it could very easily have been recognized for a lie. They could have just checked the paint. But if there had been an explosive, what would be the point of informing them beforehand?


    They started talking about it on the train, but soon they were getting awkward stares, so they just sat back, Esmee looking angrily out of the window. Luke got a sympathetic smile from a man who had apparently concluded they had a row. This made him laugh and whisper to Esmee: "God, you''re beautiful when you''re angry."


    She turned around, furious for the briefest of moments, and then smiled. "Idiot. Thanks for being there."


    At her flat, Esmee''s anger had died down a bit. They had a glass of wine and thought about their own reasoning and about setting a trap for Jean. Gradually they became less and less certain about their interpretation of events and were accordingly less capable of thinking of a suitable trap. Or maybe it was the other way around: thinking about a trap in terms of real consequences, leading to Jean being arrested or injured in any way, forced them to weigh their own reasoning.


    Late at night, his attorney called: all inquiries had been made satisfactorily, and an agreement was set up with First Daimando. Luke was to present himself first thing in the morning. Luke almost collapsed. For better or for worse, an end would come to his stay on Daimando.


    He considered asking Esmee if he could stay with her that night but then decided not to. He had been getting mixed messages from her, at best, and besides, in this hashed-up situation, he wasn''t at all certain about his own feelings. All he felt was hollow. He definitely couldn''t tell Esmee about it, so when she looked at him quizzically, he shrugged and made some vague comment. Then he suggested for them to sleep on the matter, as they were, and look at things again the next day.


    Esmee seemed genuinely disappointed that he left, and for the briefest of moments, he reconsidered but then went home anyway.


    ...


    The meeting at the First Daimando Health Care offices was straightforward and unceremonial. Luke went there with mixed feelings of trepidation and eagerness. He ascribed some special, almost solemn relevance to the meeting, but it was over in five minutes. Signatures were placed, hands were shaken, artificial smiles were exchanged, and he was led to a cargo platform where a transport robot waited for him with the capsule in a travel unit, capable of powering the unit for several weeks, and capable of being charged from ordinary wall sockets.


    The transport robot was on loan from First Daimando, and one of the many documents he''d signed stated that Luke paid for the use of the robot but that First Daimando did not undertake any specific responsibility for its contents once it had left First Daimando premises.


    Luke had rented a small storage space not far from the studio where the unit would remain while Luke was arranging his affairs. The robot was only just able to bring the unit inside, and as soon as Luke indicated that the unit could be left as it was, the robot departed.


    Luke looked at the complex controls. He had been given a virtual reality course on how to use the unit, in the unlikely event that that was necessary on his journey.


    He did the course.


    That should be easy.


    ...


    "Esmee. I''d like you to meet Thorvald Hallipirii."


    "Sorry, what''s your name?"


    "Hallipirii."


    "And you''re from here? Can''t be. There are no Hallipirii on this planet. I checked. Very thoroughly. What''s this about, Luke?"


    "Of course, there are Hallipirii on this planet. You''re here."


    "Yes. I''m here, my ancestor is here, but apart from us, there is no one. I''m the last of my family, so if I fail, at least the family has succeeded in releasing my ancestor."


    "Ah, but you already have."


    "What?"


    "Esmee, this is your ancestor, Thorvald Hallipirii."


    Sparks.


    "Can''t be. If this is some weird Bethnell humor, I must say it''s beyond me. What''s your point."


    "I wouldn''t make fun of that. This is your ancestor. I can show you the papers. This morning I went and had him released. Thorvald, say something."


    "I am Thorvald Hallipirii, and I have just recovered from a liver injury. Luke here has told me I was in stasis for more than two centuries. I bought a newspaper, or rather, Luke did, and it appears that he is right. Nevertheless, I am Thorvald Hallipirii."


    "But how''s that possible? Where do you get the money? I mean ...."


    And then Luke explained. What he could, at least.


    "Some of it I can''t tell you. The bottom line is that I went to get out Xolorrr, and I did, and somehow they had mislaid Xolorrr and returned Thorvald into my custody without knowing it. Stupid, really."


    "But didn''t they check? I mean, they can''t have too many Urrr around. They must have noticed."


    "Oh, they gave me a capsule. They didn''t get him out of stasis. They just checked the labels, which, as I said, were wrong."


    It was then that it hit home. Esmee sagged into a chair and cried. The two men looked at each other in slight embarrassment.


    Over the following hour, Luke told what he was willing to tell. How he had replaced the labels of two specific capsules being held at the Vault, or rather, how he had exchanged the capsules and then exchanged the labels back again. And how he had subsequently negotiated Xolorrr to be released together with his capsule.


    Every couple of minutes, Esmee would stare hard at Thorvald and then start crying again.


    Gradually, Esmee came to accept the facts of the matter and started to ask pertinent questions again.


    "What about your liver?"


    "They fixed that. Don''t know when really. They don''t tell you too much. It was a hospital, but I don''t know where. There was a mountain view and trees, but it may all have been artificial. They have an AI that generates movies and shows, but there is no news and no humans, really. Bored the hell out of me. You can complain, and then they give answers to your questions, but it''s always not what you were looking for. I got angry at some point in time, and from then on, they drugged me. Walked around like a zombie."


    "Luke: was it legal, what you did? Are we fugitives?"


    "Well. Most of it is legal, so there''s no immediate worry. There''s no way within reason that they would find out, and as long as they don''t know, everything is ok. You still owe them what you did, of course, so when they find out, they will seize every asset you have immediately. I''d suggest doing something with your money over the next couple of days. When they find out, it should be ..., very far away. Unless you feel obliged to give it to them, of course. In any event, we just have to avoid them finding out that Thorvald''s out for the moment."


    "And what about your friend? How will you get him out?


    "Ah. Yes. Well, I have a plan. It''s pretty failsafe, I think."


    "A pretty failsafe plan? Are you crazy? It may be centuries before he gets out. How could you do that? Why not take someone else. Well. No. But this, I mean, how could you do that?"


    "Look. This way, we have Thorvald out in your lifetime without paying. Well ..., not much, at least, in comparison. And I am confident we''ll get Xolorrr out. As long as they''re unaware, it''ll be fine."


    "All you can say is ''it''ll be fine''? Have you completely snapped?" She turned to Thorvald. "Do you know his failsafe plan?"


    "No. Didn''t he ...?"


    They sat in silence, the two men looking at Esmee. Guiltily, Luke thought that she was indeed beautiful when she was angry. Very much so.


    "Well. I don''t know about you, but what I need is a huge steak and a decent pot of beer. Feels like I haven''t had a decent meal in ages. Hahaha. Come on, Luke. Let''s give Esmee time to put on some clothes, and then we''ll go out. I''m buying. Haha. Do I have any money, Esmee? We''ll go out and see you just outside, ok?"


    Thorvald more or less pushed Luke out of the room. "Don''t know her, but I do know women. What she needs to do is fuss, so give her some time to fuss, and she''ll be alright."


    "Sure, Thorvald. I''m sorry about springing all this on you."


    "You ***are*** crazy. Wouldn''t miss it. A couple of weeks ago I was on this no fat no alcohol diet and dying. Now they stuck this thing in my gut, and I can have anything I want again. There''s nothing you can do to spoil my mood, my boy. Nothing."


    "Ok. Thanks. Hey, would you mind if we invite some friends? People very close to Esmee. They helped her a lot. And me. You''ll like them."


    "Sure. If they can live with steak and beer, that is."


    As Esmee stepped out of the door, she and Luke said, at the same time: "Should we call Richard? And Dawn should be back about now."


    So they did.


    Richard was in a meeting but would be done in thirty minutes or so. Dawn was still on the train and could just as easily go to the station near Esmee''s apartment, where she would be in twenty minutes.

 Finale

    ...


    Thorvald, Esmee, and Luke slowly strolled in the direction of the station. They talked mostly of Thorvald. How he had lived, what his world had been like, to live in, and what had changed, as far as he could tell. They steered away from Luke''s ''failsafe plan'', Esmee looking at him angrily every now and then and him looking guiltily away. Thorvald largely ignored the issue.


    At the station, they bought an espresso at Thorvald''s suggestion, and then they walked down to where Dawn would arrive.


    Then, Dawn called to say her train was pulling into the station and that she was more or less in the back. They saw the train arriving and walked down the platform.


    "Hiya. How are you guys doin''?"


    "Dawn, this is my ancestor Thorvald Hallipirii. Luke got him out somehow. But that''s only the good news. There''s bad news as well, but we won''t discuss it. So, meet Thorvald. Thorvald, this is my best friend, Dawn Garibaldi."


    "What do you mean, bad news?"


    Luke said: "Let''s not make more out of it than it is. I''ll tell you later. Nothing to worry about. Thorvald is looking forward to his first steak in two centuries. Any suggestions?"


    "I know just the place. It''s two stops south, so we can just take the next train. They even have real beef, if you''re into that. It''s a bit expensive, though."


    "What do you think, Esmee? Can we spring for an expensive dinner? I know I wasn''t exactly rich, but there should still be something left."


    "Well. Yes."


    Tears welled in Esmee''s eyes. "I''m all confused. I''ve been saving money for as long as I remember, and now I can just spend it."


    "Well. Could be worse, I imagine."


    "Ok, guys. Our train in one minute."


    Someone shouted further down the platform, more in pain than anything else. Luke had his back towards the cry, so he glanced curiously over his shoulder.


    A small group of teenagers stood perhaps thirty yards away. One of them, a young girl, and probably the one who had cried out, lay on the floor. She looked angrily in Luke''s direction. Only then did he see a figure running towards him.


    Time stood still. Luke didn''t think, and only later would he be able to put words to the images, possibilities, and consequences that ricocheted in his head. With a detached, almost clinical clarity, he was aware of everything. The people standing on the platform, the youngsters shouting, the weird figure running towards them, and the train pulling into the station at that moment, on their platform.


    He stepped sideways, out of the path of the approaching figure, and turned to look at his companions, who only then realized something was going on.


    A coherent thought surfaced: this wasn''t about him. And yet, the trajectory was unmistakably directed at them. Illogically, he thought: Dawn! His heart stood still.


    The approaching figure was now twelve feet away.


    For some reason, Esmee, slightly to the left of Luke, stepped forward. Luke hunched, almost dropping to gain forward momentum. With his shoulder, he pushed Esmee out of his way and into the hands of Thorvald, who turned and easily pulled Esmee out of harm''s way.


    To gain height, Luke jumped. Dawn looked at him in utter incomprehension. He grabbed her shoulders with both his hands and turned around her, pulling her with him. As he fell to the floor, he saw the figure close up. Her face twisted in rage. Trying to change direction.


    Luke fell hard on his back, hitting his head and pulling Dawn on top of him. Then rolling, making sure Dawn didn''t hit her head as well and then rolling off her in one continuous movement.


    Now he saw the woman was trying to go for Esmee and Thorvald. Trying, but failing. Her momentum was too big, and she stumbled. In her hand was a small object, but as she fell with one knee to the ground, she let go of the object. She tried to land on her hands and knees, but something went wrong. She pulled back her left hand sharply, obviously in pain, and had to roll over her left shoulder. For a split second, she lay on her back, looking at the ceiling, uttering the most fearsome cry Luke had ever heard.


    Her legs dangled just over the edge of the platform and were gripped by the train that reached her just then. She was dragged along the platform while the train came to a screeching halt.


    It was completely silent for the briefest of moments, though most people were still unaware of what had happened. Then a man shouted at the other end of the platform.


    Only then did Luke recognize the picture of the face of the woman in his head: Jean.


    ...


    It took more than two hours for the police to investigate and take statements. They were told that ''the woman" had been taken to hospital, severely injured, and later that the object she had been holding had been a taser, capable of instantly paralyzing or even killing a person with a high-voltage electric shock.


    Thorvald had had the clarity of mind to withdraw into the large group of onlookers. Since Esmee hadn''t recognized Jean, she could plausibly deny understanding what had happened, although it hadn''t taken her very long to piece together what actually did occur. It was clear, however, that explaining this would lead to all sorts of complications they could live without. Luke also kept the fact that he recognized Jean to himself.


    From the witness statements, it was totally unclear who, if anyone, Jean had been trying to attack. All witnesses were allowed to go. The teenage girl who had been thrown to the floor had a minor bruise which was treated while her statement was being taken.


    By the time they were ready, Richard had long joined them and had already met Thorvald. By that time, trains were also allowed to run again, so they finally continued as planned.


    On the train, everyone talked about everything, and Luke had a brief moment to think for himself. Looking at the turn of events, he accepted his own motives, and suddenly he felt better than he had for a long time. All in all, he was happy.


    "Yoohoo. Daimando calling Luke. I asked, ''How''d you get Thorvald out," Man, you''re crafty. It''s scary."


    Esmee didn''t like to go to the place Dawn had suggested, on account of them selling bits and pieces of real dead animals, as she put it, but Thorvald brushed her concern aside, suggesting that once every two centuries should be ok, and besides, they were bound to have something artificial for Esmee.


    Over the meal, they discussed how Thorvald felt, what he knew about Daimando, now and how it had changed since ''his time'', how Esmee felt, how Luke had gotten Thorvald out, and what to do next. Dawn tried to wheedle how Luke had managed to get Thorvald out of him, but Richard supported Luke adamantly: "People''s lives are involved here. It''s clear Luke didn''t do this alone, and the people that helped him stand to lose their lives. Not literally maybe, but in a real sense nonetheless."


    "Yeah. We really must keep this to ourselves. Xolorrr is still there in Thorvald''s capsule. Bottom line, right now, we know where he is. As soon as they find out, they will grab all Esmee''s assets, and I couldn''t begin to guess how we could get Xolorrr out."


    "But we don''t have to worry a single bit because Luke has this fabulous scheme to get his best friend out of their clutches, eh Luke? What did you call it, ''a pretty failsafe plan?" I don''t know about you guys, but I''m totally put at ease."


    Unperturbed, Thorvald said: "I''ve an idea. Why don''t you and I go on a trip, Esmee? I would like to see what has become of this great colony, and with all due respect, I couldn''t stay at your place. I don''t have a place of my own, so I might as well look around for a bit. And you and I need some time to get acquainted, I guess. How about it."


    After some thought, Esmee became enthusiastic about the whole endeavor. "In fact, why don''t we go tomorrow? I can pack my things in half an hour, and I just realized I don''t need to worry about work. I don''t need to work. What I need is time to think about what I will do now. Geeting you out was the single goal in my life, and I''ve never thought about what I wanted. Not ever. I really do need time to unwind."


    Luke said that he needed about two months to arrange things. Esmee said: "Your failsafe plan, right? Well, we can disappear that long. Not to worry. There aren''t that many people anyway who''d need to know anything. No one I can think of."


    As confused as the evening had started, it ended in a melancholy state of goodbyes. It wouldn''t make sense to go and say goodbye to Esmee and Thorvald in the morning, so they wished their goodbyes and Godspeeds as they went home.


    As if by consent, no one had mentioned Jean''s attack all evening.


    ...


    On the train, Luke''s good mood returned again, and as he looked at Dawn, he couldn''t suppress the happiest grin.


    "God. Here we go again. What are you grinning about? She''s leaving, you dope."


    "Well. I just found out something about myself."


    "What?"


    "I love you."


    "What?"


    "I love you. As that woman came at us, all I could think of was to protect you. If it had been a speeding train, I would have grabbed you just the same. I love you, and if that means I have to leave the studio, that''s ok, ''cause I''m going away anyway. But I won''t stop loving you. Ever."


    "Oh, Luke."


    To his surprise, tears welled up in her eyes. As elegant and fitting as they had appeared on Esmee, as out of place they looked on Dawn, who he had never seen unhappy. He blinked, twice.


    "While I was away, I''ve been thinking. I was welcome with Sergei, but it wasn''t really his idea. I wanted to go because I needed to think. And I have been thinking.


    "I love you too. I didn''t know. I mean, what do I know. It just sort of crept up on me, and now I''m not even sure I like it. But like I said, it sort of snuck up on me. And of course, you don''t have to go. I''m not sure what we should do, but I definitely want to find out. I mean, man. For me, this is a first. Would you believe it?"


    Tears welled up in her eyes again. And for the first time, he kissed her, inhaling deeply, the scent of her perfume soiled with the stench and grit of the city of several days, and yet, Dawn''s hair.


    They sat in silence for a while, and then, suddenly, Dawn sat up and said: "So how are you going to get your friend out?"


    "Well, I have to go off-world, and I have to convince people. But I think I can. I think I know how to do this, and I don''t even think it''s going to take much time or ... . Oh Jesus."


    "What?"


    "I forgot to ask Esmee. She should give me some money."


    "Well, call her."


    And so he did, Dawn listening in.


    "Hi Esmee, this is Luke. I forgot to ask earlier, but before you leave, I have to. The thing is, I would very much like to get the money I used to get Thorvald out from you. I know I should have talked about it with you upfront, but I couldn''t. Well. I did, but at the time, I couldn''t possibly tell you what it was for. And now you know."


    Their train had arrived at their station, and Dawn sort of pushed Luke in the right direction.


    "Yes, of course, Luke. I was just now talking about it with Thorvald. Let me send it to you right now. There. That should do it.


    "Also, Thorvald suggests that I was less than grateful to you for achieving what I maybe couldn''t have done in my entire life, and I couldn''t agree more with him. I am truly, deeply ashamed of the way I was giving you a hard time, and I didn''t even thank you. I am sorry, Luke. I really am. I owe you a debt that I can not hope to repay in my life. If there is ever anything that you need, I would be more than happy to do for you, and more to the point, if you should need more money than what I just sent to you, feel free to ask. I am humbled by what you have done and by how I reacted. I am truly sorry."


    "Oh, that''s ok. And I don''t really need anything right now. There''s one thing that occurred to me just now, though.


    "I am going to leave the planet as soon as possible. What I could do, and this is just a proposal, so feel free to do as you wish, but what I could do is take most of your money with me. That way they couldn''t get at it. We''d have to think of a way to make it disappear, of course, because for that kind of money, they are bound to follow it off-planet, but there are ways. What I am thinking of is investing it in such a way that it can''t be recuperated without losing it, but that it will generate some stipend that only you are able to collect. We have to be careful, of course. I don''t know if a judge might not scrutinize your node if you try to hide this, or indeed your own memory. But I think it''s doable.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Just give it some thought. I won''t be gone tomorrow, I guess, but don''t wait too long."


    They''d arrived at the studio, which was something of a mess.


    "Oh, I don''t have to think about it because I already have. What I am going to do is give away half of it to Fiona''s work and to a foundation Richard has created to help people like us, and the rest I would like to give to you as per your suggestion. I''m only going to keep what Thorvald and I need for the next couple of months. I don''t even want to know what you are going to do with it, and I trust you completely. As I said, I don''t have anything that I am not willing to give to you without any reservation. Nothing."


    To reinforce her statement, Esmee transferred an amount to Luke that exceeded any amount he''d ever had to his name, and after some final pleasantries, they said goodbye. Only then did Luke realize Dawn had been oddly silent.


    With a wicked grin, Dawn said: "And you''re quite certain about me? I mean, you seemed to be rather attracted to her, and I dare say few men would be able to pass up on the ''anything I have is yours without any reservation''. Man."


    She sort of doubled up on the bed with laughter.


    Luke said: "Well. She is incredibly attractive. I mean, when she''s angry she starts to glow so much it hurts, but there''s nothing she has that I want. What I want ...," but he didn''t get any further. Dawn was tearing at his clothes, and she wasn''t paying any attention to what he was saying anyway.


    ...


    The Arachtrrr class destroyer is fairly light, as interstellar ships of war go. The ship is mostly based on Urrr technology and design and has a predominantly Urrr crew. It is one of the pinnacles in the technological advancement of the Federation fleet in that it is capable of sustained intergalactic flight but is also capable of descending and lifting off planetary surfaces of up to 12 times Manaat mass or, equivalently, seven times Earth mass. It could disgorge a hundred human troops or many times that number of Urrr troops, within minutes, should they be aboard. Usually, its crew counted less than a hundred souls.


    The Arachtrrr class destroyer rarely traveled alone. Being a compromise of speed, maneuverability, and capability to withstand gravity and atmosphere, it lacked anything more than the bare minimum of weaponry and storage space. More often than not, it traveled in packs together with, to protect and be protected by, the gargantuan flagships of the fleet. There is no class of flagships, each is unique, and all are identical in their fearsome size and firepower.


    The good ship City of London is one of thirty-seven Federation flagships. It has never seen all-out war, nor would anyone wish to see that. The ship has met with resistance of sorts. The three peripheral species, not wishing to join the Federation, had, at times, indicated an interest to reuse some of its resources. Federation policy is clear and unequivocal in such matters: strike quickly, strike with massive display of capabilities, but strike with the utmost restraint in civilian damage, in the deep appreciation that interstellar, inter species war knows no victory.


    The City of London is a veteran of no less than two such misunderstandings and of a multitude of major and minor revolts. Federation tax is truly stupendous, and with some regularity regions, planets, or indeed star clusters, opt for more individualistic futures. In part a consequence of the fact that planets and cultures have a need for and a right to their own militia and fleets.


    In such a case, the Arachtrrr destroyers are often used as a carte de visite, an impressive, powerful token of the much more impressive and powerful ship beyond, easily visible to the naked eye as a fair-sized pebble in the sky.


    The destroyer Rrrialabach descended gracefully to hover five hundred yards over the Daimando Presidential Palace. Within ten minutes, a sleek yacht ascended from the nearby assembly buildings and approached the Rrrialabach. Three passengers alighted from the destroyer and entered the decorative reception hall that took up most of the yacht.


    ...


    "Councilor, Ambassador, Commodore. What a very pleasant surprise. Unfortunately, we were unaware that you were intent on visiting us, or the President would surely be here to welcome you himself. Unfortunately, he is inspecting the site of a tragic mining accident, but he has been informed of your arrival. He has asked me to make you as welcome as possible, and he is making haste as we speak to come here."


    "Thank you, Madame Speaker. Had the situation been less pressing, we would, of course, have contacted the President beforehand and made more formal arrangements. As things stand, we will be happy to wait until the President arrives."


    Nervously the Speaker of Daimando''s Assembly offered her guests a seat and made sure they were given some refreshments. Although used to communicate through her implant while she was talking, plain nerves made her stop what she was doing every now and then as she informed after the progress of the President.


    The Councilor also communicated briefly, presumably with the ship above, and then sat back and talked to the Urrr Ambassador in pleasant, light tones.


    Having had some time to compose herself, the Speaker was finally able to partake in the superficial conversation. After about an hour, the roar of a ramjet approaching and decelerating from maximum speed was heard, and less than five minutes later, the President of Daimando entered the reception hall.


    The Councilor wore the insignia of the Secretary-General of the Federation: five vermilion pips, designating her a personal representative of the Secretary-General with the highest authority. The two-star Commodore, temporarily assigned as her aide, was there presumably to give a face to the military force suspended above them. The President had no idea what the Urrr Ambassador was doing there.


    "Madam Councilor, Ambassador, Commodore. It is my great pleasure to bid you welcome on Daimando. I understand you come on urgent matters, so I propose to deal with those first, and then we will extend the most cordial welcome possible."


    "Thank you, mister President. And thank you for allowing us to come to the point immediately. The matter is of no little urgency.


    "It has come to Ambassador Krrriatlorrr''s attention that an Urrr Pflitrrr is being held against his will here in Brodin."


    "An Urrr being held against his will? Madam, Ambassador, I assure you that I know nothing of this. Please tell me what there is to know, and I will take appropriate steps immediately."


    "According to our information the honorable Pflitrrr Xolorrr, of the clan Mfst, and a citizen of Greater Bethnell, Bethnell, is being held in stasis in one of your medical facilities without any form of treatment and without any progress towards his release."


    "Madam, I assure you ..."


    The President''s eyes went vacant for a while. A while that stretched into some time.


    "Madam, I assure you that this is not the case. I do not know how or where a misunderstanding has originated, but no one matching your description is being cared for on this planet."


    "Ah. Well. You see, mister President. The honorable Pflitrrr is not ..., kept, under his own name. We are unaware of his location, but we are aware that he is kept under another name by some clerical error. Unfortunately, ..., how can I put this delicately, the Ambassador is not entirely assured that should we provide this information, the organization responsible, rather than admitting to a grave error, might not simply choose to deny the facts altogether and warp them retroactively."


    "Madam, that would be an unprecedented criminal act that we most certainly don''t tolerate on Daimando. Please enjoy some light refreshments while I look into the matter personally. Allow me."


    The President communicated, and by now, several aides had joined the small group in the reception area, talking in hushed voices or just communicating.


    The Ambassador and the Councilor also talked, and the Commodore stared solemnly and sternly at no one in particular.


    After about twenty minutes, the President turned to the Councilor and the Ambassador.


    "Madam Councilor, Ambassador. As a token of our goodwill, let me formally state that a person matching your description has indeed arrived on Daimando and has, to our knowledge, not departed since. However, by and large, we do not keep track of the whereabouts of citizens or non-residents, so without additional information, we have no practical mechanism to locate this individual, if indeed he is still on Daimando.


    "Let me, as a compromise to get ahead, propose the following. Why don''t you give the information you have to me personally, and then I will make sure that it is used by my intelligence organizations to locate and secure the honorable ..., ah, Pflitrrr, before the information is passed to anyone else. I will give my personal and official guarantee that should this person be held as you indicate, he will be found and released into your custody forthwith."


    Slight beads of sweat glistened on the President''s forehead as his gaze moved from Commodore to Ambassador, to Commodore, to Councilor, and to Ambassador again. His guarantee was no light matter because the Federation had long since learned that time, in intergalactic warfare, was invariably in favor of those planet-bound, over the military that had to be transported there at tremendous costs. Accordingly, extensive dialogs and the niceties of diplomacy were kept constructive but brief, usually quickly concluding either in a solution or a countermeasure. The implicit inter-species aspect of the matter at hand meant that retaliation would be very painful. Lives would be spared, of course, but the tithe that would have to be paid to avoid a punitive strike could easily run into the tens of millions of dollars.


    The Ambassador and the Councilor briefly conversed, but the proposal clearly had been expected. The Ambassador addressed the President: "Thank you for your candor. We are fully convinced that our information is correct, or at least was correct, until very recently. Let me make clear that should you be unable to locate the honorable Pflitrrr of clan Mfst, we shall, in addition to any tithe fined by the Federation, send a full complement of Agrrr-Irigrrr investigators, and I can assure you that they will locate the honorable Pflitrrr without fail, and we will most certainly extract further damages of any party that contributed by action or inaction to the honorable Pflitrrr being held captive."


    The Ambassador transmitted a name and a number to the President, who withdrew from the room immediately.


    The refreshments were replaced by a light though exquisite meal, and the Chair of the Assembly, who had by now recovered from her initial shock, joined them and steered the conversation to lighter topics: where the Jamborees were and were going to be, when it was Brodin''s turn again and what else was current in Brodin and on Daimando.


    After less than two hours, the President returned, all winks and smiles. "I am happy to be able to tell you that the information you have given me has turned out to be accurate. The honorable Pflitrrr has been located and is currently being checked by my personal military Xeno health advisor. Apparently, he was put in Stasis because of an illness we are unable to treat on Daimando. That is why I propose to put him in Stasis again immediately after that check, and we will hand the capsule and any necessary equipment to you. I am told that given his condition, he should not be taken out of Stasis until well equipped Urrr doctors can treat him immediately."


    "Excellent suggestion. We have all conceivable facilities available on the City of London. If you could ship the equipment to the Rrrialabach, our experts can take over immediately."


    All present followed the video stream made available by the President''s aides. The off-worlder''s implants were incompatible with the Daimando protocols or hardware, but the stream was relayed via the Rrrialabach. Apparently, the examination had finished because the capsule was being transported on a light freight jet-cab. Within minutes the cab rose from where it was, some sixty miles from the Assembly, and headed towards the Rrrialabach. There the capsule was loaded onboard the destroyer, which left almost before its locks had sealed.


    The Councilor, meanwhile, steered the conversation to other matters. "Mister President. Assuming this matter to be settled, I would like to share with you an opinion the Secretary-General expressed to me to that end."


    With elegant ease, the Councilor put her hand on the President''s shoulder, and led him away from the others.


    "It is not our intention to interfere with Daimando internal politics, but the Secretary-General feels the mishap we just now appear to have corrected is an example of the dangers inherent at the outer edges of internal politics, as it were. The Secretary-General suggests that even though curtailing the civil rights of Daimando citizens in order to administer medical care, or for any other purpose, may very well be admissible under Daimando law, to do so with non-Daimando citizens raises not only inter-species concerns but Federation legal concerns as well.


    "The Secretary-General suggests that the terms under which non-Daimando Federation citizens are put in Stasis should henceforth be communicated on your own initiative with the representatives of whatever planet or nation they are a citizen of. Mechanisms to this end should be in place before the next Jamboree.


    "In addition, -- and the Secretary-General stresses that this comment truly concerns your internal politics only, and should therefore be considered to be a private opinion, -- depriving citizens of their civil rights for any period of time longer than that which is absolutely necessary to develop means to cure them for instance, or to solve very specific logistic problems, is not consistent with the moral foundations of our great Federation Constitution.


    "The Secretary-General proposes that if you and Daimando politics were to reform rules and regulation so that citizens are put in Stasis only for as long as absolutely necessary, and are not kept in Stasis in order to await payment for outstanding debts, the Secretary-General is willing to compensate parties involved to a certain extent to make possible a transition to a more moderate, constructive use of Stasis without great losses to said parties.


    "Do you think such a shift might be conceivable?"


    "Madam Councilor. It''s a very complex matter. By and large, the people have no strong opinion on the matter, quite possibly because they are unaware of the concerns. I have no doubt that an information campaign could very well sway the public either way. Another matter is in the vested interests of the healthcare organizations and other organizations that depend on the current use of Stasis. They are a very significant commercial force, and they can count on significant political backing, partly on account of the many jobs to be considered.


    "What I propose is that I investigate the matter. I will most definitely take up on the Secretary-General''s offer, but I doubt if everything can be achieved before the next Jamboree, though."


    They discussed the matter in further detail, and gradually the President proceeded to address other current aspects, making the best possible use of the Councilor''s presence. He had already invited her to stay for a couple of days, but apparently, the visit to Daimando had been tagged on to a scheduled trip visiting the new colonies, which was already behind schedule.


    After one and a half hours, a message was dispatched to the Ambassador, who plugged in the Counselor, the President, and the Commodore.


    A senior Urrr doctor announced that the capsule did indeed contain the honorable Pflitrrr Xolorrr of the clan Mfst, and that an appropriate therapy had been started. After a brief interview with Xolorrr and a superficial scan of his body and metabolism, the doctor didn''t see any great risk or concern. They were well in time to commence with their therapy. Why the prelation set in ahead of expectation he did not know, and he asked the President''s permission to leave behind at Daimando the scientific explorer vessel Night Lark, a joint Human-Urrr ship equipped to attend to Xolorrr''s needs and to study both him and Daimando to find a cause for the phenomenon if that was indeed related to Daimando rather than just Xolorrr.


    Permission was granted, and after some brief final comments, the three off-worlders boarded the President''s sleek space yacht, which transported them directly to the City of London. Final farewells were communicated, and the entire fleet departed, leaving behind the research vessel Night Lark.


    ...


    They were allowed to visit him all day long, as long as they didn''t get in the way of the researchers. The therapy was trivial. Xolorrr sat in a bath containing smelly grey-green goo, and every five minutes or so, he would immerse even his head, wiping the stuff from his face immediately afterward. There were some injections and a multitude of tests. The doctors didn''t seem to be overly worried by the fact that prelation had set in early, though they were curious about the cause.


    For Xolorrr, nothing much had happened. His prelation had started, and he had been put in Stasis pending treatment. He had been taken out of Stasis briefly in mildly confusing circumstances by some human Xeno specialist saying something about a president, and then he had been taken out of Stasis again by Urrr doctors who gave him the treatment he needed and who claimed, rather outrageously, that he was on a space ship.


    And then, his friend Luke had come with the most confusing of stories. Xolorrr surmised that Luke had been robbed, had taken a job, not at all dissimilar from his usual job, had gotten not only Xolorrr from Stasis but also someone else who was apparently stuck there. All in all, his Khar had been a great success.


    When Xolorrr asked if he''d found any good kudri hadratar, Luke said: "Xolorrr, may I present to you, Dawn Garibaldi. She is of Daimando, but she has decided that she will come with us to Bethnell. I have proposed to her, and she has accepted my proposal."


    "Proposed what? Oh. I see. Agrrr." Xolorrr grated. "It suddenly strikes me that your bond of sentient dissimilarities isn''t unlike our prelation. Agrrr. And your bond with Dawn ..., should I call you Dawn? And your bond, is it an auspicious token of going-there-manship?"