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Chapter One: Home

Xolnar, or Xolnagar, is named for the Xolinae, the most abundant species on that world. Colloquially known as ‘Xolnar Rabbits’, they are more closely related physiologically to the Terran mongoose.

A non-sapient species, falling below zero on the Coluan scale, they fill ecological niches corresponding to Terran rabbits, hares, squirrels, skunks, and even small deer. There have been twenty-eight sub-species identified; all are either vegetarian or insectivorous. There are no land carnivores on Xolnar, although there are meat-eating ‘birds’ (avioids) and ‘fish’ (piscatoids).

Fur colors may be black, brown, red, tan, or white; most species are mono- or di-chromatic. The exception is the so-called “Xolnaran Harlequin Hares”, which are natural chimaeras, with four separate genomes existing within a single individual. They are consequently correspondingly varicolored.

Xolinae are adapted to the notoriously long and harsh winters on their homeworld. Their long ears will either fold or retract, they are heavily furred, they are capable of carrying large amounts of fat in their bodies, and they hibernate for as much as one-half to three-quarters of the Xolnaran year. Offspring are born near the end of the hibernation cycle. The Xoline active stage is thus a frantic period of gorging and breeding, as they prepare for their next long winter’s sleep.

-- from “The Armchair Exobiologitst”, by Lin Kwarawk of Schwar


Andres Aandraison lived at Number Five Neutrino Court in Seventh City, Xolnar.

Dori parked her flyer at the satellite, and took the elevator down. The tether in Seventh City was about three miles from her father’s house; there was a taxibot, but she preferred to walk.

This part of Xolnar was beautiful in the summer. The spice trees were in full bloom, xolin flashed here and there, peeking out from among the lawns, trees and bushes. The birds were singing merrily—even frenetically—and were resplendent in a coruscation of colors. There was not a brown or black bird to be seen.

Neutrino Court was just off of Neutron Drive, a main thoroughfare. The court had only five houses on it: numbers one, three, five, seven and nine. Her father’s was tucked tightly in the middle.

Andres Aandraison was just finishing breakfast.

“You’re late,” he said. “Real pork fatback, and plover’s eggs.” He belched heartily. “And fried slice.”

“Thanks, Dah, I ate this morning—well, already,” Dori replied. “I just arrived. Not on Seventh City time yet. You should eat more fruit and vegetables.”

“I had turnips for lunch yesterday,” he answered. “And Kono juice. I’m old enough to take care of myself, whippersnapper.” He ate silently for awhile.

“You never come except in the summer,” her father complained.

“Summer is only one-eighth of the year here,” she replied. “I can’t possibly be here only during summer.”

“Can’t remember when I last saw you in Winter,” The old man declared. “That’s the real Xolnar.”

“How’s your day today?” Dori asked, changing the subject.

“I’ve got work,” said the old man. “Same as every day. If you want to visit, you’ll have to come with me to Mine Seven-Seventeen-North.”

“Dah, you know you don’t have to do this anymore. Why can’t you retire?”

“Got to keep working if I wants to eat.”

“Dah, I put half my stipend into your account every month. You must have nearly a million credits built up after all these years...

“Live off the money of your ex-husband? Sorry, never touch the stuff.”

“Not to mention your pension from the Mines. Dah, you’re past eighty standard”

“This is Xolnar, not Earth, and I’m thirty-six Xolnaran years by my count. I’m supporting myself, and always will. What will happen to you when your family of sycophantic hoteliers throws you to the wolves again?”

“Dah, that was the Anti-Xeno movement on Earth. The Polamars were never part of that. As soon as sanctions on off-world transfers were lifted…”

“Yah, the Anti-Xenos will buy our Pluridium, but we’re not good enough to wipe their arses. Pardon my Terran. Are you coming with me to the Tubes, or not?”

They did take a taxibot the Tubes. A Tubecube took them on to Mine Seven-Seventeen at just under the speed of sound, in just over an hour. Her father was silent the whole time.

There were nearly a million active mining sites on Xolnar, all of them in the most frigid parts of the planet, unevenly divided among over a hundred worlds’ Mining Concerns. Mine Seven-Seventeen had fully five hundred individual operating sites, in various stages of production. Twenty percent of the population were miners, the other eighty percent were miners’ families, and support for the miners’ families: shopkeepers, transport techs, programmers, lawyers, accountants, and so forth. Everyone ultimately worked for one of the Mining Concerns. Not everyone knew which one they were working for.

Dori and her father changed into warmsuits at the mine. Andres had his own, of course; Dori used the Autovendor: there was never any question of finding a good fit.

Whether or not there were humans on shift, the mining robots worked, twenty-seven hours a day. The last two shifts had been unstaffed: it took Andres thirty-six minutes to review the previous eighteen hours. He said not a word during the entire review.

But Dori was used to the occasional silent treatment from her father. She waited patiently. Eventually, he would have something to say.

This far north, the temperature never got above minus 100º F. Frozen carbon dioxide mixed with ordinary snow. The miners called it "sylvester ice". Evan radon gas froze out in the deep mines, far below the surface.

The Supervisor's Station was unheated, the same temperature as the out-of-doors, except for one small "warm room", in which they could remove the helmets of their warmsuits, and eat their lunches. It was a relief tor Dori to breathe without the hiss of the Maxwell Exchanger, but her father never bothered removing his helmet, simply opening his visor to eat.

“See that shift schedule on the wall?” he said at last, over lunch. “Look at it. Usually, two miners are scheduled for each shift. Nobody scheduled for last shift, nobody scheduled for first shift, only me again tomorrow. That’s how it goes here at Seven-Seventeen North-Beta, week after week. One man, running an entire mine, three years now. No decrease in productivity, either. I met Quota last year, and the year before, and I’m on track to meet Quota again this year. And you know why? I’m good at my job. I’m experienced. I’m competent. That’s a rare quality in people today—competence.”

“And does the Concern pay you the salary of six men?” Dori asked.

Her father’s face clouded. “They’ll pay the salary of six men to replace me when I retire,” he said. “I’m good at my job. It’s honest work. And for your information, I’m in the top ten percent, salary-wise.”

“Which means,” said Dori, “that you earn basically the mean average wage on Xolnar, since the top one percent earn as much as the bottom ninety percent.”

“You’re an accountant, now?” Her father seemed bemused. “These are the numbers I understand,” he protested, gesturing towards his console. “I can make the mining ‘bots do tricks their programmers never imagined. I’m getting Pluridium out of these mines nobody ever expected to be there. And my incidentals are just as good as any other miner’s: gold, platinum, thorium, radium, all of it.”

Xolnaran mining robots are completely unlike the mining androids used on, say, Zoon. The two-figures-below-zero temperatures make the chemical power sources of androids unfeasible. Xolnaran robots are made of sturdier stuff. Pluridium mining ‘bots are also tiny: miniscule spider-like machines, capable of burrowing through rock, and of retrieving the tiny flakes, specks and powder that is pure Pluridium.

Part of Andres’ job was sending the ‘bots out for repair.

A damaged ‘bot would be brought by one of its companions, and left outside the supervisory station at the repair terminus. The broken ‘bot would have to be carefully cleaned and de-contaminated, then the warmsuit carefully cleaned and decontaminated, before the ‘bot was brought into the station, packaged, and tube-shipped to Central Robot Services for repair.

“Even the tiniest particle of unalloyed Pluridium is deadly, you know,” Said her father explained. “Not many risk coming to Xolnar for that reason alone. We’re a bold and fearless crew, Pluridium miners. I never should have brought your Mah, though.”

“Mah died from Oradi Infection, Dah. You can’t blame Xolnar, or Pluridium, or yourself.”

“Nah, but her constitution was weakened by the cold, and the Pluridium. There might be only undetectable femtograms in the air, but it can work hob with Terran physiology. You should know that.”

“I don’t know that, Dah. Mah died from Oradi Infection, pure and simple, brought here by the traders…” Dori argued.

“You ought to know,” her father interrupted. “Pluridium is why you are the way you are, a mutant freak who… well, you know what you are.”

“Dah…” Dori pleaded.

“You know what you are, and I know what you are, but at least you’ve been able to make your way among the worlds. Maybe not Xolnar, but some world, at least.”

“Dah, I’m trying…” Dori hesitated. “I want to try to make Xolnar my home again. I spent my childhood here, and… I feel lost. I want to get back to my roots.”

“Well,” said her father, “You’ll have to invite me over for dinner sometime, once you’ve got your own place.”

Dori's dad is a very interesting man, definitely. Looking forward to seeing what will happen next.

Chaper Two: A New Home... and a Disaster

The Real Estate Artificial Intelligence was entirely unhelpful.

“There are no private Xolnaran properties for sale, except Sixteenth City.”

“But how is that possible?” Dori asked. “Xolnar is home to two hundred million! Surely their must be a large housing turnover.”

“The Concerns hold the majority of real property, and it is not available for sale to off-worlders. A residence requirement of fifteen years must be fulfilled.”

“But I was born here!”

“It has been duly noted. Your childhood residence on Xolnar for nine years is counted toward the residence requirement, as is the half-year you spent here recently after the second Khundish invasion. An additional consecutive four-and-a-half years will qualify you to purchase available properties for sale from any Mining Concern. In the meantime, there are three private real properties available in Sixteenth City. One is a charming, cozy one-bedroom cottage with a street view which might be ideal for you.”

“Sixteenth City is half-way around the planet from my father!” Dori objected.

“I can only report on what is available,” the R.E.A.I. responded. “Would you like to schedule in-person visits to view the properties?”

* * *

Dori ended up buying the “cozy cottage”. It was very small, and overpriced, but clean.

A fifteen-year residence requirement, she mused. Nearly thirty-five years, Earth-standard. So no one under the age of thirty-five- or, at best, only a very few- could ever own real property here, not really. Her mother had been younger that that when she had died. And her parents were immigrants from the Thanar colonies—her father should not have been able to buy the little house he now owned until well into middle age, years after her mother had died, years after Dori had left Xolnar behind. And at the time, she had thought, she had left Xolnar for good. Now she was back, again, looking for answers.

It was a two-hour ride from Seventh City to Sixteenth City. Her father was loathe to make the trip, and she was loathe to force him to. So every Seventhday, she rented a room for two nights in Seventh City, and every Eighthday she made her father breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He was by turn taciturn, irritable, and insulting, but he was her father, just as she remembered him. She made him eat his vegetables. She made him promise see a physician when he was ill. At least on Eighthday evening, she made sure he went to bed at a reasonable hour.

Dori had learned patience in the Diplomatic Corps. One of her assignments had been to a world of tall pink fungus-like beings, who lived at a speed one one-hundredth that of Terrans. She had been assigned there for six months. Just a meal with the creatures took two days. The entire planet would go to sleep for a month. But she came to appreciate their complex intelligence, philosophy and culture—in time-lapse—and was able to eventually communicate the invitation to join the United Planets. They promised to consider it in their next Government Council. fifty years in the future.

Every Firstday, early in the morning, she boarded a Tube Cube out of Seventh City to head back to her new house. But she always stopped off in another City somewhere along the way. In six weeks, by the time summer was ending on the equator, and snow began to sift down, she had seen eight of the other Xolnaran cities. On the morning of the seventh week, when the cities had the first real blizzard of the year, she rode all the way up to Twentieth City. All twenty Xolnaran Cities sat hugging the equator, so all twenty usually got snow at just the same time.

She had been to Twentieth City once before, for the Miss Xolnar pageant. It was notably different than the other nineteen cities of Xolnar. She had not realized, then, how different. It was like a small, slightly alien Metropolis. The Concerns were located there, of course, and there were museums, theaters, opera houses, sporting coliseums. {“No doubt, an actual night life here, as well,”} Dori thought to herself.

She was tempted to stay, and experience the nightlife firsthand. But instead, she bundled back into the Tube Cube, and headed back 'home' to Sixteenth City at sunset.

The following Fifthday, Dori had what she could only describe as a seizure.

Her powers had not manifested very strongly over the past eight weeks. She had found her temperment refressingly even. Perhaps it was the familiar surroungings. Occasionally a faint red aura would manifest briefly in response to something her father said to her, but mostly his words made her hurt, not angry.

This was about to change.

It was morning.

She had just finished changing her clothes, when a fierce black aura enveloped her. {“DAH!”} she thought, not understanding way.

Then understanding came. A flaming red aura blazed, then shining gold then… nothing. She fell face-down on her bed, exhausted.

She must have cried herself to sleep, because the holo-wall in the living room woke her up.

There had been an accident. One of the mining robots at Seven-Seventeen had malfunctioned, and a micro-plume of Pluridium dust had filled the air. Her father had walked out of the Supervisor’s station and right into the middle of the cloud. Then he had lifted up his faceplate, and taken a deep breath.

Of course, he froze to death long before the toxic metal could have any effect.

But he had to be buried in his warmsuit. There was no way to safely clear the Pluridium out of his tissues.

Chapter Three: Loose Ends

The attorney’s name was Adler Lokasenna.

“Your father left behind a substantial estate,” she explained. “He left a will, naming you his only heir and beneficiary, but as you are his only natural descendant, the will seems superfluous. Let me go over these items with you in detail, if I may.”
“First of all, there is the homestead, valued at ten thousand credits. Furniture, clothing and appurtenances, XolnarGov is allowing another thousand credits. There is a retirement security investment portfolio, worth approximately twenty-five thousand credits; and a small personal operating expense account of less than one hundred credits. There are no known prior outstanding debts or liens, other than ordinary monthly utilities billings for the home, and the life insurance policy which named the Epimethean Mining Concern as the sole beneficiary. Xolnar has a fifty percent wealth tax on inheritances; this includes the appraised value of real estate and other property. This comes to approximately eighteen thousand credits. There is a probate fee of five percent, another eighteen hundred credits. As executor, I have placed liens for these amounts against the retirement account. This leaves you with the home and its contents, free and clear, and approximately five thousand credits in cash.”

“You are fortunate, Ms. Aandraison. It is not unusual for whole inheritances of this size to be entirely consumed by prior outstanding debts, fees, and taxes.”

“There is one other matter, of which I think you are aware. Your father had an ordinary savings account at Seventh City First Bank, jointly, in your name and his. As you were listed as the primary account holder—your father, in fact, was added only in the months after the account was established—these funds are not subject to Xolnaran inheritance tax. They are entirely under your control. The funds are apparently the accumulation of regular credit transfers from Interplanetary Bank, in your name, over a period of years. “

“These funds are completely, legally, and unquestionably yours to do with as you please. However, it may be that there will be some -er- governmental resistance—to your accessing these funds, once my probate report becomes public record. The balance in this account currently stands at very nearly one-point-two million credits.”

“I expect that probate will be completed within six months; at that time the seven thousand credits will be disbursed to you. In the meantime, you are free to live in the homestead, rent the property, but you may not sell until probate is closed. If, in the course of sorting through your father’s possessions, you find that I have underestimated the value of his furniture and appurtenances, please contact me as soon as possible.”

Chapter Four: Rental

Seventh City First Bank was not happy to see a one-point-two million credit account just walk out their door. It represented, in fact, a mall but substantial fraction of the bank's total assets. Dori, did, however, throw them a bone. Seventh City First had a non-bank subsidiary, a Real Estate Management company, which Dori employed to rent and manage her father’s home. They would find an appropriate candidate, collect rent payments, and deposit them into the now-depleted savings account, after taking a small management fee.

She spent the next week cleaning house.

She carefully collected all the data crystals that might hold photos, journals or diaries. The few dishes and dinnerware were serviceable; the pots and pans were not. Most of the furniture was a complete loss. It was not even worth donating to a second-hand shop. Any charity would have been considered it as an insult. She did found an old plasteel infant crib in good condition. It must have been her own. Nostalgia would not allow her to get rid of it. She Tubed the crib to her house in Sixteenth City, for permanent storage. She trashed the carpets, put a few knick-knacks and odds and ends into a box, did some perfunctory cleaning, and hired the Merry Maids to come in and give it a thorough going-over.

They did such a good job that she arranged for a professional landscaper to come clean up the yard the following spring.

The little house was transformed.

She had always known the wallplastic as a grimy tan. Now she discovered it was in fact a bright, cheery yellow, with little white star-shaped flowers. The windowframes were discovered to have been painted a pastel green, both inside and out, no longer the dull gray of her childhood. The faux parquet flooring had been cleaned and buffed to a slippery, woody shine. She bought a few rainbow-colored throw rugs to scatter around the house.

Dori had been living in a hotel in Seventh City for over a month now. She came to admire the house daily. It looked idyllic, sitting in the snow-swept landscape, the barren icicle-hung trees framing it in the small back yard. She was there when her new tenants arrived.

“You must be the Toorbins. I’m Dori Aandraison, your… landlady, I suppose,” she introduced herself.

Mr. Toorbin was half Dori’s age, or less, but did not wear his age well, looking tired and worn. Mrs. Toorbin was even younger, with sharp cheekbones and dark, sunken eyes. There was a baby, happy, fat, and active, with bright turquoise eyes and a mop of entirely too curly taupe-colored hair.

Dori helped the family move their few belongings into the little house. Table and chairs, two beds, one small sofa. She noticed a warmsuit among their belongings.

“A miner family?” she inquired. Mrs. Toorbins nodded. “You, or your husband,” she asked.

“My husband,” she answered. “I work at the Tokarea café here in town.”

Dori took Mrs. Toorbin to the master bedroom closet, and showed her the two warmsuit storage cylinders standing upright in the back. “My late father was a miner, as well,” Dori said. She looked at the warmsuit, well-worn and patched. The size was written on the collar. “I have his old spare suit, back at my place in Sixteenth City,” she lied. “Your husband looks to be about his size, but you could have it re-fitted, if you would like me to send it to you. I don’t need it, and it’s always nice to have a spare.”

“Oh, no, we couldn’t,” Mrs. Toorbin objected. Dori hung up the warmsuit in the storage cylinder, memorizing the sizing written on the collar. She would purchase a slightly used suit today, and have the Toorbins store it at the house in Seventh City as a ‘favor’.

She showed them the round metal door set at eye-level in the living room wall, which opened on the house’s heating unit. “It runs on pressed cellulose blocks,” she explained. “There’s a good supply left out on the back porch. Ninety-five percent efficient central heating, if you keep the filters clean and the insulation up-to-date. And that means, you’re not dependent on the City Utilities, at least not for heat.”

“Well, I have to go,” Dori announced, when the family was finally moved in and settled. “It’s a long ride back to Sixteenth City. I’m glad to have someone living in this old place. I grew up here, you know. Lawks.”

She took one more long look at the little family. “Did the Realty company talk to you about the rent-to-buy option?” she asked.

“No, I… what?” said Mr. Toorbin.

“If you can afford fifty credits a month, I can count that towards the purchase of the house. Interest-free. You could own the place outright in, oh, five years or so,” she added. {“Seventh City First will think I am nuts,} she thought to herself. {“{i}Oh, well, I’m already in their bad graces. I can have Alder Lokasenna draw up the contract for me; they can’t argue with a done deal.[/i].”}

“We… we’re paying forty-four credits a month now,” said Mr. Toorbin.

“Well, if you can’t afford it, that’s fine,” said Dori airily. “Just wanted to make sure you knew of the offer.”

“No, no, I mean, yes, of course, we… this is a very generous offer,” said Mr. Toorbin. His wife was nodding beside him.

“Oh no, just business,” Dori lied. “If you are willing, I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers.”

She checked out of her hotel, and took the tube back to Sixteenth City.

* * *

Dori completed her tour of the Xolnaran Cities, one week at a time. First, Tenth, and Eleventh Cities were port cities, like Twentieth, but were designed as export / import centers. Every city had a Space Elevator stretching up to a satellite, but these three had twenty-two apiece, arranged in concentric circles, from the city centers to the outskirts. Fifth City was entirely Laroovians, something she did not expect. She knew very little about Laroo, but discovered they made a fine Not-Coffee®.

After twenty-four weeks on Xolnar, Dori stepped out of her house into snow up to her knees (it had been only a mild winter so far) and spent the day building a seven-foot-tall snowman. Then she locked up the house, threw a snowball at her front door, and took a TubeCube back to Seventh City.

She had come to Xolnar looking for answers: trying to get back to her roots, connecting with the past, trying to get in touch with her troublesome powers.

She had expected to stay for years.

She had changed her mind.

She took the space elevator up to the Seventh City Satellite, took her personal flyer out of spacedock, and set a heading for Lupra.

I am really enjyoing your style, Klar. It's just like one of those novels that really looks into a character's soul. Very nice of Dori to help out the Toorbins too.

iBrainy:

Sorry I had to kill of Dori’s Da; as you said you found this character interesting. This was originally written back in November of last year, and his death is integral to the future unfolding of the story.

Although he has made only the briefest of appearances, in my mind, Andres Aandraison is a highly developed character, with a long and complex history. He died relatively young in a Universe where most Terrans typically live 120-150 years. He is probably the character most like me: his difficult relationship with his daughter is unintentional; he can’t help the way he acts; he wishes it could be different.

There is still much to learn about him, however, and in the future, there are flashbacks galore.

Please dont apologize Klar, he was interesting but i am sure his death is an important plot point. And i am sure wewill learn so much more about him in the future.