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CHAPTER ONE: AN INVITATION

It was still mid-winter on Xolnar when Dori arrived back at her home in Sixteenth City. There were messages waiting.

“Hello, Dori.” It was her attorney, Alder Lokasenna. “I received a small package for you, addressed to my office. Let me know when you get back, and I’ll send it over by ‘bot courier.” Dori sent a quick ping to let Alder know she was going to be home for the rest of the day. In only a few minutes, the flying ‘bot was at her door.

“Tell Ms. Lokasenna ‘Thank you’,” said Dori. The ‘bot would not really say ‘Thank you’, but it served as proof she had received the package.

It was a small box, wrapped in pink-and-gold foil and a small pink ribbon. There was a card:

Dori- thought this opportunity might interest you
xoxo your niece, Mari Polamar
ps will we see you at the Introductions to Fall Fashions in Metropolis?

Dori had innumerable nieces named Mari, she could not imagine which one them had sent this, nor what might possibly be in the box. It held a small, purple memory crystal. She popped it into one of the Universal Peripherals of her wallscreen.

It was a prospectus for a proposed IPO of Jahnson’s World, Inc.

“So, they are still keeping tabs on me,” said Dori. “And rubbing it in. Well, maybe I will go to the Introductions to Fall Fashions. I’ve made myself scarce enough for the past year or so.”

She ordered dinner out, which was delivered by another flying ‘bot.

Dori fell quickly and soundly asleep.

“They’re mocking me,” Dori thought to herself the next morning. “Just like when I was defending myself against that so-called ‘Justice League’ with the Subs. Just like when I joined the Diplomatic Corps, trying to make a difference in the UP. They think I have abandoned the social scene on Earth for frivolous pursuits. Well, perhaps I just will put in an appearance at the Fall Fashion Gala.”

The Metropolitan Mansion she had shared with Irv they had named Iridium. The Butler and Majordomo was Mrs. McIlhenny, an old Scotswoman who affected plaid vests and bow-ties with her butling uniform.

She brought Mrs. McIlhenny up on the wallscreen. “I will be returning to the Mansion soon, for at least two weeks,” Dori told her. “Would that be a problem?”

“It is your home,” Mrs. McIlhenny replied. “It is always convenient to entertain Madame. Would you like to specify a menu for these two weeks?”

“No, thank you,” said Dori. “I will eat whatever the Staff has been eating.”

“It’s far more your family’s home than mine,” Dori thought to herself. “I haven't been back in years; I’m just happy that the old place doesn’t sit empty.”

“I will be attending the Introductions to Fall Fashion Ceremonies and Galas,” Dori continued, by way of explanation. “Please consult with the Staff and your other connections to find me a suitable companion, if possible.”

“Very good, Madame,” Mrs. McIlhenny replied. “A number of suitable gentlemen spring to mind.”

“Thank you,” said Dori. “We will talk more when I arrive. I will also need a new outfit—several new outfits—for this appearance. Please leave a message for Mr. Phil, and see if he has an opening."

Mr Phil returned Dori's call with remarkable promptness, only four hours later.

“Dori Aandraison,” Mr. Phil gushed. “What have you been doing with yourself? You look marvelous.” He did a double-take. “I mean, really, you do look marvelous. I understand you are attending the Fall Fashions roll-out?”

“Yes, Phil, and I need three or four decent outfits, and one really stunning one. I have almost literally nothing suitable in my closet right now.”

“Do you remember that little black-and-morado catsuit I made for your return as... what was it? Rainbow Girl?” Mr. Phil asked. “The one with the little white boots? Well, I still have the same outfit on a drawing board somewhere, but re-imagined as a little black dress. That’s one. I’ll send you a dozen or so others for you to peruse. And as for the stunner—well, shall I am for giving all the matrons a surprise. Are you game?”

“I like you, Phil,” said Dori. “You’re subversive.”

“And I like you,” said Mr. Phil. “That Rainbow Girl outfit paid for my wife’s plastic surgery. Well, one of them at least. Shall we make an appointment for tomorrow at 2pm? We have had a cancellation.”

“Give me time to get to Earth,” Dori requested. “I’m still at home on Xolnar.”

“The day-after-tomorrow, then,” said Mr. Phil. “That would be Wednesday in Metropolis. I will have to talk to my calendar man, but that afternoon would probably be best. I’ll have him drop you a note.”

Dori had one more call to make.

“Dori? It’s Dryscoll ’s second birthday today, and I haven’t heard from you since the day she was born,” said Drura Foccart.

“Sorry, Drura, I’ve been lost in time, metaphorically speaking,” Dori replied. “You understand, don't you. Say, if you’re busy with a birthday party, we can talk later.”

“No, Jacques has planned and is executing the whole thing,” said Drura. “Besides, we are having only two of Dryscoll’s friends over from JoyMates, with their parents. Six adults watching three two-year-olds; we’ll have them outnumbered. What’s up?”

“I’m going to be in Metropolis for couple of weeks, and I wanted to see if the three of us—well, the four of us, really, could get together,” said Dori.

“Oh, I’m sure,” said Drura. “Let me talk to Jacques; we’ll have you over for dinner one night and for drinks after we get Dryscoll to bed. Oh, and while you’re here, you really need to take the tour of Legion Headquarters they have set up for the tourists now. Honestly, you’ll love it. I’d say more, but I don’t want to spoil it for you.”

“Thanks, Drura,” Dori said. “We’ll talk later.”

During her flight, Dori rehearsed her mnemonic for "the fifty most influential women on Earth”, then looked through the short catalog Mr. Phil’s people had sent her on omnicom. She chose two modest but fashionable outfits, one more elaborate gown, and one that fairly reproduced the look of a Wotantite trader, hooded cloak and all.

Night-time Metropolis was beautiful from space, lights stretching from the Missouri River to the Eastern Seaboard. Ten billion people, Terran and Alien, lived there: fully one-seventh the population of Earth.

Iridium House was in the Great Lakes region of Metropolis.

Mrs. McIlhenny answered the door.

“I have never known anyone to knock at the door of their own house,” the butler declared.

“Old Xolnaran custom,” said Dori. “I am expecting a couple of messages?”

“First, let me say, that I found it necessary to hire a new gardener, as the previous one had retired. Out new gardener is Wonn Ez, a Xudaran. We did have a complaint from one of our neighbors, but I hoped you would be pleased.”

“I am always in favor of shaking up the neighbohrhood. I'll tell you what Sussa Paka once told me,” said Dori. “‘Xudar, Xolnar, what’s the difference?’ Just before I threw a hovercar at her face. How did you deal with our complaining neighbor?”

“What could I say?” asked Mrs. McIlhenny. “I am a Domestic. It is not my place to question the hiring decisions of my employer. And Mr. Ez occasionally goes and properly trims the corners of our neighbor’s lawn that his own gardener misses.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McIlhenny, for your discretion, and showing you know your proper position,” said Dori. “No other staffing changes?”

“The last of my own children have now moved out, and are finding there own places in the world, as have Cook’s family. So the old home is rather empty. I am, however, allowing my granddaughter to take a room here, as she is attending University nearby. I was intending to write you about one other matter: I am getting on in years, and it is time for me to consider retirement—not immediately, but perhaps in five years or so—but I would like to take on an apprentice soon. Cook is older than I am, and Mrs. Banx has expressed no interest in a promotion; I certainly don’t want to train the Gardener or the Handyman. We would need to find someone from outside.”

“I imagine you have a recommendation?” Dori asked.

“This may be a bit of nepotism, but I have a cousin whose daughter graduated from Butling School some five years ago. She is very young, but extremely competent. I believe under my tutelage, she could be an appropriate replacement. Her name is Miri McLeod.”

“Another Scotswoman, then?” asked Dori.

“By heritage, and in her heart, but she was born on Mars, and her mother is Bgztlr,” Mrs. McIlhenny explained. “She is, however, currently already employed with a family on Earth; there would be no interplanetary work-permit issues.”

“I hope you will be stealing her from an upstanding and reputable family, preferably one to whom I am related,” said Dori. “I give you my complete authority to hire your… what is it, niece?”

“Third cousin, once removed, actually,” said Mrs. McIlhenny. “Thank you. Mr. Phil will be here tomorrow night at 8:00 pm for your fitting,” she continued. “He requested to come to the house, rather than his studios. I thought it rather odd; you must be a very special client. However, I agreed provisionally.”

“That is fine,” said Dori. “Anything else?”

“Your official invitation to the Galas has arrived. “They will begin Friday evening at 5:00pm, with showings at noon on Saturday and Sunday, followed by reception dinners, dancing, and so forth. Mr. Phil has requested you wear his personal creation for you on Sunday afternoon, when his own showing will take place. In addition, Mr. Foccart, Representative to the United Planets Cameral, and former President of Earth, has requested that you have dinner with him and his family one week from Saturday at 4:30pm.”

“Please send my acceptances to the Galas and Mr. and Mrs. Foccart,” instructed Dori. “And the appointment tomorrow with Mr. Phil is entirely acceptable. I do not require anything from the kitchen at this time, but I will be ravenous tomorrow morning. As you know, I am an early riser. I will eat with the staff and their families, unless that is inconvenient, in which case you can place me at any table in Iridium. What room are you putting me in?”

“The Green Rooms have been prepared,” said Mrs. McIlhenny. “There is a full wallscreen for your use, as I expect you will be making other social calls. Is this acceptable?”

“Eminently acceptable,” said Dori. “Thank you.”

“I slip so easily back into this life,” Dori thought as she made her way upstairs. “I wonder if this is where I really belong?”

A look at Dori's high society life, fascinating!

iB: Dori does not really engage in very many super-hero battles, as she is not really much of a super-hero. So, a fashion show, for now.

CHAPTER TWO:
The gown that she intended to wear on Saturday was a bright red.

The one Mr. Phil insisted she wear on Sunday was golden yellow. A spiral of golden roses floated, suspended in space, by some sort of anti-gravity, just barely unattached to the gown itself. There was a holographic stomacher which made her waist appear more slender, and topologically improbable. The hem of the skirt hit mid-thigh, showing her well-muscled legs. The remainder of the dress was an intelligent golden fabric, which promised to reveal far more than it actually did. It was both snug and comfortable to move in, alluring, and yet technically modest. Her holographic shoes emulated glass slippers, giving her the appearance of walking on air, while simultaneously displaying feet that were actually more beautiful than her own. It was perfect.

She didn’t know what to do with her hair. She considered extensions for her short bob, considered a wig, considered dyeing her streak of plum, and even pulled her old hairdresser away from paying customers for quick free advice, and eventually decided to wear it as usual, just as it fell naturally.

Mrs. Banx, the housekeeper, had arranged for Dori to be accompanied by an actor from a formerly successful holo-vid series named Bil Katz. He was also apparently the son of another famous holo-vid actor from the mid-2950’s. Dori was acquainted with neither of the programs. He was, however, appropriately tall, good-looking, with a wide, captivating smile, and a full head of curly black hair, perfectly streaked with just the right amount of grey. He agreed to accompany Dori for all three nights. She discovered that he tended to disappear shortly after they arrived each night, but could usually be found quickly hovering at the bar.

Dori’s dress for Friday night was a deep turquoise, very understated, with neat silver trim. Bil wore antique silver-and-turquoise jewelry Dori had found that had belonged to one of Irv’s great-grandmothers. It was a perfect match. The Friday evening dinner’s main course was the usual for these affairs: a choice of artisanally raised beef or chicken, cooked by chefs Polamar Hotel Restaurants would not have hired as busboys. Copious amounts of alcohol, both cheap and expensive, flowed before, during, and after dinner. Sponsors were introduced and thanked, the Board was recognized, and subtle appeals for tax-deductible donations were fielded, as though the 99-credits-per-plate was insufficient.

For nearly everyone she met, the first topic of conversation was, where had she been for the past eighteen months, or two years, or three years? Most seemed more interested in her trip to Jahnson’s World than to Xolnar, or to Lupra, or even her diplomatic assignments.

However, there was one little girl, some matron’s daughter, or more probably grand-daughter, who was genuinely fascinated by the idea that there were planets on which people actually dug things out of the ground to eat, or produced energy from solid fuels instead of tapping into a fusion powersphere, or actually made things. She was intrigued that Dori had been to dozens of worlds where the people were not Terrans, and sometimes not even humanoid. When Dori tried to leave, the little girl pressed for just one more story of Dori’s adventures.

“You know,” said Dori, “There are aliens, and mines and factories right here on Earth. And nature preserves, where human beings and even robots never set foot, just the flora and wildlife that has always been native to our world.” This seemed an idea beyond the child’s comprehension, that here, within only a few thousand miles, there were exotic places that were neither parties nor social gatherings.

Dori spent entirely too much of the evening with her, and enjoyed her childish company far too much.

“Don’t you learn about these things in school, or on the holos?” Dori asked.

“Oh, yes, but I thought those things were only in History books.”

On the way back to Iridium, Dori made a note to herself in her diary.

“Elsie Biggs—check Social Register, send exotic souvenir.”

Saturday, in the red dress, was uneventful. There was the usual coterie of fashionable offerings. Some were entirely over-the-top, such as the dress that appeared to be nothing but clouds swirling about the model’s body, or the dress that was simply a cluster of pentachoron windows that randomly displayed every part of the model’s body, from every possible angle, including from the inside out. Dori noted she seemed to have a smallish brain, but very lovely, iridescent kidneys.

Some were simply impractical, like the thin metallic plates supported by anti-gravity, the synthetic porcupine-quills, or the great spherical thing that could only be removed with a special, computerized wrench.

Several were simply dull. The invisible fabric patches that made it look like the models had holes in their bodies, for instance, were so 30th-century.

However, there were a number of outfits that Dori would have actually worn, and more importantly, a few that some of the other women her age could have worn; women who had not had the benefit of Legionnaire Fitness Training.

Sunday afternoon was the presentation of the top designer’s Fall collections. These included not only the most elite offerings, but the mass marketing options as well. The lower-priced items in the collections were to come first, escalating to the select and one-of-a-kind items later.

The line into the theater was appallingly slow. When she arrived at the door, each guest’s ticket was checked against a ledger, and they were then individually announced over a loudspeaker. Dori stood with Bil at the top of the carpeted staircase.

“Dori Aandraison, of Iridium House, Northern Metropolis. And her companion, star of stage and screen, Bil Katz.”

Dori took Bil’s arm, placed her feet firmly in her near-invisible shoes, arched her back in her best beauty-pageant-contestant style, allowed the golden fabric to adjust itself to its most alluring, straightened an anti-gravity rose, radiated her best Charisma, and glided down the stairs.

It was entirely, satisfyingly, one-hundred-per-cent effective.

The soft murmur in the room fell to a near hush, and then rose again to raucous rhubarb. As Dori at last placed her foot on the ballroom floor, the noise died, the soft murmur returned, but she somehow felt the murmuring was directed at her. A part of her hated these stage productions, a part of loved the adoration of the crowd. She ended up with a glass of champagne in her hand, which she was careful to only pretend-sip until much closer to dinnertime. There were a few sofas and chairs for the more elderly matrons and patrons, but for the most part, the audience was expected to stand. A long, anti-grav catwalk stretched half the length of the ballroom. The lights dimmed. Spotlights flared. The show began.

The quality of the craftsmanship was undeniably finer far than that of the previous day. Still, there were some slip-ups. One silvery dress was far too nearly liquid in appearance, and not in a good way. One dark hooded outfit reminded her of the Time Trapper’s robes, although some others applauded it. One outfit in the techno style, usually popular, elicited only patchy applause, and several exclamations of puzzlement. To Dori, it looked like a re-worked Xolnaran warmsuit.

Mr. Phil’s collection appeared at the end of the show. Each offering was, of course, perfect, and perfectly suited to what would be the target audience. As a finale, there was an obvious pause, and Mr. Phil’s piece de resistance was revealed. The model walked down the anti-grav catwalk.

It was Dori’s dress.

The model was young, with Asian features and beautifully smooth golden skin. Her long, free hair was blonde, her eyes a shining hazel-gold. The holographic stomacher made her tiny waist seem even more unlikely, but the floating, rotating spiral bouquet was elegant. The edge of a spotlight, no doubt under Mr. Phil’s direct control, followed the slinking model but briefly illuminated Dori as well, as the model paraded along the catwalk.

“I want to hate her,” she heard a voice whisper, not far away, “But Dori Aandraison wears it better.”

Dori caught a glimpse of herself and Mr. Phil’s model, displayed together for a few moments on one of the wallscreen monitors. With her olive skin and her short, plum-streaked dark hair offsetting the mass of gold-on-gold, as well as her substantially fuller, fitter figure. The gray in Bil Katz’ hair reflected Dori’s own faintly shimmering rainbow aura, as well as the shining yellow gold of the dress. Dori had to agree—she did wear it better, and so did her companion. And she had had it hours before it was officially revealed to the public.

She did not know whether to congratulate Mr. Phil on another bit of marvelous subversive turn, or slap him for turning her into his top model for the evening.

Bil Katz kissed her at midnight, full on the lips, on the doorstep of Iridium. A wonderfully exaggerated stage-kiss, perfectly oriented for the flying paparazzi-hoverdrones that had followed them there. He bowed gallantly, turned on his heel, and somehow walked straight as a soldier back to his hovercar, although Dori knew he had had entirely too much to drink that night. She herself was secretly pleased, but entirely disinterested in ever seeing him again socially.

“Such a caricature,” she thought. “The handsome, wealthy, middle-aged, alcoholic actor, looking for his third ex-wife.”

She would see him again, though, and sooner than she might have thought.

She had done what she had come to do. She had made her mark on Metropolis High Society once again.

But next week was her personal time in Metropolis.

* * *

Dori certainly knows how to make a splash, as does Mr. Phil. I love how honest Dori is with herself, how willing she is to play with high society using its own rules, yet how kind-hearted and genuine she also is.

Bil is also turning out to be an interesting character.

Love your descriptions of Dori's outfit, her grand entrance, and the clothes in the show. They are so vivid and so futuristic.

Your world-building is so detailed Klar, and I love how you show aspects of worlds materially and culturally that we just wouldn't get to see anywhere else. I am kind of glad it took me so long to catch on to this series as it's been great reading everything from beginning to where we are now in one sitting!

CHAPTER THREE - FALLOUT

Dori slept in late on Monday, awakening only shortly before nine o’clock. Mrs. McIlhenny made some quick porridge, which was sweet and welcome. After breakfast, she called up the Society Feeds. She was there, the hightlight—and scandal-- of the Gala. Then she came across another article.

PLURIDIUM MINER’S DAUGHTER WOWS AT THE FALL FASHION GALA

The byline read, “Mari Polamar”.

“Oh,” she thought to herself. “That Mari Polamar.”

The article was nothing but complimentary of Dori’s appearance at the Gala. However, Mari was also careful to frequently remind the reader of Dori’s non-Terran and working-class background at every turn. Some of these comments might be charitably characterized as ‘snide’.

Dori wanted to be angry, but she knew Mari’s story too well. Mari worked as a journalist because she had to, and not from the spirit of dilettantism that motivated the other branches of the family. She was, of course, jealous of Dori, the independent outsider who had gained privilege through an accident of marriage, rather than as an accident of birth.

“So you saw, Madame,” said Mrs. McIlhenny.

“Yes,” said Dori. “It’s sad, really.” She sighed. “Mrs. McIlhenny, I am arising early tomorrow, and will be visiting Legion Headquarters down South. Do you suggest hovercar, Transmatter gate, or some other method of conveyance?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hovercar into the Old City. It takes forever, and there’s nowhere to park”, said Mrs. McIlhenny, And the Transmatter gate nearest Legion Plaza is miles away. Frankly, it’s a little expensive, but if I were you, I would employ a Vyrgan.”

“Vyrgans? Really? There’s a transport service on Earth now employing Vyrgans?” Dori asked.

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Mrs. McIlhenny replied. “There’s a Vyrgan colony near Hyperbad now. They run a pricey quick-transport service all over the planet. They’ll even take you to Venus or Mars, but it takes two of them to manage it.”

“How about that,” said Dori.

Late that afternoon, Mrs. Banx interrupted Dori. “We have received a message from Leandra Rocksalt, requesting you call on her tomorrow at noon. What shall we reply?”

Dori thought about Leandra. They had always gotten along well. Her family lived out in the old Gotham section of Metropolis; this would be an opportunity to try the Vrygan transport service.

Dori chose to wear the little black ‘Rainbow Girl’ dress to visit Leandra. In the end, she took a hovercar from the Iridium garage. She was still trying to get used to the idea of transport by Vyrgan.

Mrs. Rocksalt had grown into a broad, well-seated, big-bosomed woman stereotypical of wealthy matrons and opera singers. She welcomed Dori with an expansive hug. Lunch was plates stacked high with tiny sandwiches of incalculable variety.

“It was so good to hear from you, Baroness,” Dori gushed.

“Oh, Dori, that is an old and extinct title,” said Leandra. “Although, of course, technically correct.”

Lunch was plates stacked high with tiny sandwiches of incalculable variety.

“I assume you read the article by Mari Polamar?” Leandra asked.

“Yes,” said Dori. “You know I can’t ignore my own publicity. Mari would be happy to know that my late father had as poor an opinion of her as she has of him.”

“The poor folks hate the rich folks, and the rich folks hate the poor folks,” Leandra quoteid “All of my folks hate all of your folks, it’s an old established rule. Not all of us share Mari’s opinion, you must know that.”

“Oh, I am sure,” said Dori. “Certainly no more than half of Metropolis agrees wth her.”

“Well, I, for one, think the real scandal is, bringing politics to the Gala,” Leandra said. “I mean, politics other than the political rivalries between the Designers’ Houses.” She smiled.

“Politics?” asked Dori. “Am I a political figure, now?”

“Not so much a political figure, as a political symbol,” Leandra explained. “You must understand, Dori, that the Sol System has suffered terribly over the past couple of decades. First Titan destroyed, then Luna, then Earth. Someone needs to be blamed, and the Niedrichites-- the Anti-Xeno faction-- has never truly gone away. In so many places Niedrich is a martyr, and in some places, quite nearly a saint.”

“I should think the Anti-Xenos would have welcomed the destruction of Titan,” Dori said. “And were relieved when Brande Industries built New Titan NIMBY, in the Naltoran System.”

“True enough, for the most reactionary of the lot,” said Leandra. “Brande Industries rebuilt Luna and Earth as well, and at great cost. Quite a lot of ‘Cash, Investments, and Inventory’ on their balance sheet moved to ‘Long-Term Accounts Receivable’. And these are Durlans! Of course, the Anti-Xenos protest that Earth owes a great deal of money to the Durlans now, failing to consider that Earth owes its very existence to the Durlans.”

“So does the Anti-Xeno faction blame me for the destruction of the Earth?” Dori asked.

“Oh, it’s not just the Anti-Xenos. There is a far less radical, but still far-right faction that considers you a perfect example of what they imagine is the problem. An ‘alien’ in their minds—although genetically as human as the rest of us—who acquires Terran wealth, leaves Earth, and spreads it around the Galaxy. They Ignore the fact that a great deal of that money still manages to find its way back to Earth, and back into the hands of the 1% anyway. But even if they were right, and Earth’s money were being spread throughout the U.P. … Well, ‘Money, if you’ll pardon the expression, is like manure. It’s not worth a thing unless you spread it around, encouraging young things to grow. If you let it all pile up in one place, it just starts to stink.’”

“You know,” said Dori, “I’ve just come from a world where Polamar Hotels hasn’t invested a dime: there are twenty Polamar Hotels there, none of which were built by a Polamar, none of which are staffed by Polamar, and yet they earn quite a good income from that world. I imagine if Polamar would only operate on Earth… well, I would be a substantially less wealthy woman.”

“Ah, yes, Jahnson’s World,” said Leandra, “Dori, you are rich because you are satisfied with what you have. I suppose that since your marriage to Irveang Polamar, the Great Galactic Spirit rest his soul, you have never wanted for anything. But that is merely a failure of the imagination. Some of those criticizing you have a thousand times what you have in assets: but they are afraid they might lose it all. And they are right to be afraid, because all some of them know how to do is spend money. All of the family that knew how to make money passed away generations ago. My family fortune goes back two generations, and my husband’s fourteen centuries. We do all right. But there are thousands of our line who have fallen in to paupery, because they didn’t know the value of a credit. But these people begrudge you hiring a Xudaran gardener, because they think his paltry wages will somehow diminish them.”

“As they say, ‘Xolnar, Xudar, what’s the difference’,” said Dori. Leandra laughed, and then nodded. Dori felt a bit surprised at her friend, and a little hurt.

“Oh, my,” said Leandra, seeing the look on Dori’s face. “Don’t you know the old joke?”

“An Orzdean and a Probe work together in an office. One day, the Probe comes in, and slaps the Orzdean up the back of the head. ‘That’s for Venado Bay’, he says.

‘Venado Bay?’ says the Orzdean. ‘Venado Bay was attacked by Imsk, not Orzde.’

‘Imskie, Orzdie, what’s the difference?’ says the Probe.

Couple of days later, the Orzdean comes in, slaps the Probe up the back of the head. ‘That’s for the Vanessa St. Clair,’ says the Orzdean.

‘The Vanessa St. Clair?’ says the Probe. ‘The Vanessa St. Clair was hit by an asteroid!’

‘Hey,’ says the Orzdean, ‘Android, asteroid, what’s the difference?’

“You see?” said Leandra. “The point is, you can’t fight racism, or speciesism, or prejudice, or stereotyping. It’s all irrational. At least, you can’t fight it in others, but you can work like damnation to fight it in youself.”

“Thank you, Leandra,” said Dori. “I know you asked me over to make me feel better, and you have.”

“Well, I thank you,” said Leandra. “You are always a bright light in an otherwise dull and colorless world. And, if you would like to do an old woman a favor, you could give my regards to Mr. Foccart, when you see him.”

“And thank you, Leandra,” said Dori. “I had forgotten how small Earth is, and how the gossip streams here. I was afraid the Polamars were spying on me.”

“‘Gossip is the Currency of the Rich’” Leandra reminded her.

“Tomorrow,” thought Dori, on the way home, “I will go and see Legion Plaza.”

But when she arrived at Iridium Manor, there was another invitation for lunch. It was from Mari Polamar. Dori decided to return the call personally.

So happy that Tom Lehrer songs survive the next 1000 years - it gives one hope for the future!

I haven't read the previous 4 chapters yet, but this life of Rainbow Girl is a lot of fun. You really do flesh out a segment of future society and Dori is so likeable. I see trouble ahead with the boozy Bill but no doubt nothing Dori can't handle.

The fashions are wonderful! I wish Dean Lee was around to illustrate them.

Baroness Rocksalt (great name!) is a real stoic philosopher. I hope she makes a return appearance.

I had to look up "cameral", love to get stumped by a word.

Cramer:

The Earth-K paracosm has been under construction for years. I wrote Rainbow Girl’s adventures out longhand while I was institutionalized hospitalized for several months last year.

I have tried to divide it all into several stand-alone ‘books’ – I have fourteen divisions tentatively sketched out right now – so it is not entirely necessary to have read the prior ones to understand the present.

I should live so long, to get it all typed up and online.

All the books, and other Earth-K adventures are referenced in my thread Rainbow Girl in the Earth-K Paracosm for those who have plenty of reading time.

Baroness Rocksalt’s husband is descended from the 18th-century Rothschilds, whose Austrian name is very nearly exactly pronounced ‘Rocksalt’. She will certainly figure in Dori’s life again; she was a prominent part of it after the death of Irveang Polamar.

I expect that in the 31st century, Tom Lehrer, Paul Simon, John Prine, and Warren Zevon will be considered the classical poets of the 20th century.

The Baroness is such a pleasant character, while Mari looks to be a rather unpleasant one. I am sure I will enjoy the call with Mari just as much though.

CHAPTER FOUR – MARI POLAMAR, ACE REPORTER


Mari Polamar’s cherubic face appeared on the wallscreen. “Aunt Dori, I am so surprised to hear from you.”

“And I am surprised to hear from you, after that piece you wrote for the Society Pages,” said Dori.

“Oh, I so want to apologize,” said Mari. “You know, journalists don’t write their own headlines.”

“There was plenty within the article itself for me to be offended by,” said Dori, “If I were the type to be offended.”

“Please let me make it up to you,” said Mari. “I’m not so far away from you; I’m working for Twin Cities Media these days. Can I take you to lunch tomorrow?”

Dori considered. “I really did have other plans, Mari… but I suppose they can wait. And let me take you to lunch, just name the time and place-- in your area, preferably, and at your convenience.”

“Oh, Aunt Dori, thank you. Lunchtime tomorrow, at the Le Café Boeuf? I’ll make reservations for… one o’clock, is that fine?”

“Slices my day right in two,” though Dori, but “That would me fine, Mari,” she said.

Dori wore the Rainbow Girl dress again. Mari hadn’t seen it, and she was sure she would consider it inappropriate for an afternoon engagement.

Using the Vyrgan teleport service was alarmingly easy. The Colony had set up a site on the Weber’s World Web. She simply scheduled a date, time, point of origin and destination. At one o’clock the next day, a glowing disc rapidly expanded on the floor beside her at Iridium. A small Vyrgan, wearing a mushroom helmet, popped out, failed to introduce itself, and said, “Le Café Boeuf, Twin Cities District, return trip, one hour?”

“Yes,” said Dori. The glowing disc re-appeared, this time surrounding them both, Iridium vanished, and Le Café Boeuf materialized around them. The Vyrgan disappeared with a quiet pop. It was terribly convenient, and had the added benefit of eliciting a gasp from Mari.

“Aandraison and Polamar, party of two,” Dori told the maitre d’.

“Oh, Aunt Dori,” Mari said, “You look fabulous.” She stroked her own neck, under her chin. “I’m thinking of getting some work done, soon, myself. I’m just falling apart.”

Dori looked at Mari. She couldn’t be thirty yet. “Sorry, can’t give you any recommendations. I don’t even use a trim-ray. Just good genes, I guess.”

“Speaking of genes,” said Mari, “We were all so shocked to hear about your father. Did the SP finally rule it a suicide?”

“{You’re digging. So that’s what this lunch is all about},” thought Dori. “{I frankly don’t know what the SP finally published, but it’s public record, so you must know. What headline are you proposing to write? ‘Socialite Confirms Father’s Suicide’? ‘Dori in Denial’?”}

“It’s been so recent. It’s hard for me to talk about,” Dori said aloud. “Pluridium mining is such a dangerous way to make a livelihood. I am fortunate my father survived as long as he did. He was quite skilled, and very proud of his occupation.”

“Yes, but who knew he was doing so well,” said Mari. “He managed to set aside quite a little nest egg. I understand you have come into quite an inheritance, since his—admittedly tragic—passing.”

“{Why, yes, of course, everyone might know that,}” thought Dori, “{As Last Testaments are a matter of public record in the U.P.}” But to Mari she said, “I’m a little surprised you are so interested in my finances.”

“Just looking out for my dear Aunite,” said Mari. “You got the little crystal I sent?”

“I’ve opened it, but I haven’t looked at it too closely yet,” Dori answered.

“Oh, Aunt Dori, this is a real opportunity for someone like you who has come into a little money to invest. Polamar Hotels stockholders have the chance of getting in on the ground floor.” She softened her voice, almost to a whisper. “This is a very exclusive opportunity. Of course, there will be a completely Public Offering afterward, but initially, it’s a restricted offer to select investors.”

“{But you’re not really a Polamar shareholder anymore, are you},” thought Dori.

“Now tell me about Bil Katz,” Mari asked breathlessly.

“{You’re digging again,}” though Dori, “{But then, maybe you’re always digging for dirt.}”

The problem was, she didn’t know what Bil Katz might be hiding, or what Mari really wanted to find out.

“Oh, it was such a brief affair,” said Dori. “We only just met on this latest trip to Earth, and we were only together such a few short hours. And now, sadly, it’s all over. I don’t even know where he’s gone.”

“Some people say he has a secret life,” Mari prompted.

“You mean ex-wives?” Dori asked. “Secret children?”

“Oh, of course not,” said Mari. “Everyone knows about those. I mean, mysterious disappearances, secret calls. Turning up in weird places.”

“I suppose Iridium House might seem a weird place, to some of your readers,” Dori speculated. “No, he was always a perfect gentleman, thoughtful, attentive, obedient.”

“Oh, yes, Iridium House,” said Mari. “Is it true the staff there is anticipating inheriting your entire fortune? And what about the Xudaran living there? Is is true they eat their own eggs?”

“My staff,” said Dori, “are employees of the Polamar Family Trust, and are anticipating a modest severance package when Iridium falls like the House of Usher, and burns to the ground.”

Mari Polamar gasped. Dori’s Omnicom pinged.

“Little Mari, you will never be a truly great gossip, until you first, learn to temper your enthusiasm, second, learn a little subtlety in cross-examination, and third, know when you’re being had.” She stood up. “And now, I believe my ride is here.”

Another Vyrgan, or perhaps the first one, popped inside the restaurant.

“Iridium House?” it asked.

“Yes,” said Dori, and in a moment was on her front porch again.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE – LEGION

The following morning, bright and early, she used another Vyrgan (or was it the same one?) to take her to Legion Plaza. She had never actually seen the Plaza in person since her original application and rejection decades ago. She had, of course, seen it repeatedly on various holo-news broadcasts.

It was not what she expected.

The Avenue of the Super-Heroes stretched for two blocks, and featured at least a hundred heroes. She strolled by them slowly, reading the brief biographies on the dais beneath each statue. She was startled to come upon one of herself, although she realized she was in the company of the other ten Substitutes. Repeated phrases lodged in her mind. ‘Deceased’, ‘Sacrifice’, ‘Injured’, ‘Lost in Time’.

At the end of the Avenue a large, winged, L-Shaped building levitated a story above the ground. Nearby, a smaller, old, familiar gold-and-red clubhouse stood.

There was a young girl outside the smaller clubhouse wearing a uniform reminiscent of Stone Boy.

“Hi,” she said. “Welcome to Legion Plaza. I’m Rock Girl, of the New Legion of Substitute Heroes – Earth. Can I answer any questions for you?”

“A new group of Subs? I thought they moved to Throon,” said Dori.

“Oh, no,” Rock Girl replied. “You are confusing us with the Substitute Legion of Super-Heroes. The N.L.S.H.E. is an official organization, recognized and sponsored by EarthGov. For now, our chief responsibility is to act as custodians and guides for Legion Plaza Park and all its displays. But we are on standby to help the Earth Science Police in case of an emergency.”

“Do you, um, have to clean all those statues?” Dori asked.

Rock Girl laughed. “No, the statues are all holograms, just like the mock-up of Legion Headquarters. Since the original Legion of Super-Heroes moved to Legion World when their last headquarters was destroyed, it wasn’t really necessary to build a new one.”

“{Legion World,}” Dori thought. “{And I wonder how much [i]that cost Brande Industries?[/i]}”

“Let me introduce you to some of the other members of the New Subs,” Rock Girl offered. She held up a fist, ornamented with a Legion Flight Ring. “The rings don’t really let us fly,” she explained. “That’s proprietary Coluan technology. They’re just for communication.” She pressed the metallic jewel, emblazoned with an interlac ‘L’. “Hey, guys,” she announced, “We have a visitor. Any of you who aren’t out on patrol, come on out.”

The first was a slight young man, overdressed for the warm weather. “This is Cold Boy of Tharr,” said Rock Girl.

Next was a pretty, dark-haired girl. “This is Owl Girl of Kathoon,” she said. “Like the famous Justice Society Hero, Dr. Mid-Nite, she can see in pitch blackness.”

Next came a white-skinned boy with well-coiffed collar-length maroon hair, in a wild paisley costume. “This is Allergen Boy of Somathur. His powers are less dangerous and unpredictable that the old Infectious Lass. He can induce a temporary, acute autoimmune response in his opponents.”

“I have to be close enough to breathe on them,” Allergen Boy added.

A small, stocky, broad-faced girl appeared at the clubhouse door. She appeared to be about four years old. Dori did a double-take.

“I know you!” Dori said. “You’re Maryaliza LaFeaugh, Horace and Ethyl’s little girl!”

“Do you know my Mommy and Daddy?” asked Maryaliza. “Are you a bad person? Were you in Takron-Galtos?”

“Oh, honey,” Dori’s voice choked. She kneeled before the little girl. “I’m so sorry. I’m part of the reason your Mommy and Daddy are on Takron-Galtos.”

“They are bad people,” said Maryaliza. “They tried to break my bones.”

Dori wiped her eyes.

“Maryaliza has an unbreakable skeleton,” Rock Girl noted, seemingly oblivious.

“{… and an unbreakable toy is very useful for breaking every other toy…}” Dori remembered.

“I can do a trick,” said Maryaliza. She held out her arm, and from her forearm, an eyestalk popped up. It blinked a couple of times. Maryaliza pulled a programming stylus out of her pocket—she must have just come from doing homework. The eyestalk wrapped around the stylus, manipulating it expertly.

“Unbreakable skeleton, able to manifest prehensile eyestalks, ultrascopic vision; she’ll probably be able to elongate her eye teeth into tusks, once she loses her baby teeth,” Rock Girl noted. “We’ve tried to come up with a good codename, but we call her ‘Mary Popping’ for now. Because her eyestalks pop up, you know.”

“But who takes care of you?” Dori asked Maryaliza. The New Subs now seemed like an ugly, terrible game.

“I do.” A tall, stately woman, long grey hair tied up in a severe bun, emerged from the clubhouse. “Emelia Zendak.” She offered her hand. “The Chief and I are the Adult Advisors to the New Legion of Substitute Heroes of Earth, and Maryaliza’s foster-parents. And possibly, someday, her adoptive parents.”

A wave of relief swept over Dori. “Dori Aandraison,” she introduced herself. “So pleased to meet you. But Chief Zendak? I thought he had retired.”

“Oh,” said Emelia Zendak, a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. “I’ve called him Chief since before we were married.”

“Rainbow Girl!” shouted Rock Girl. She shouted into the ring. “Everyone, back to the clubhouse. We have a very special V.I.P.!”

Dori was introduced, in turn, to Girlbat, a native of Planet Langstrom; Tiny Alice, an Earth girl just two feet tall, the green-and-orange garbed Fortress Lad 2 of Fwang

“Obviously”, said Rock Girl, “This Fortress isn’t a hologram, but it isn’t the original Clubhouse either. He went back to Fwang after he ‘woke up’ a couple of years ago.”

Next, there was a three-headed, hermaphroditic member from The Hydra World,

“Our second non-Terran member!” Rock Girl gushed. “And 50% better than Double-Header. We decided on the codename ‘Triple Threat’.

Last was a young blonde girl. “This is Kryptonite Kate,” said Rock Girl. “She’s an honest-to-goodness descendant of Superman. Or Supergirl, maybe. Or, maybe, another Kryptonian. But her power is, she’s affected by kryptonite! We think we can give her other, temporary powers, by exposing her to different fragments of red kryptonite. Of course, we’re still trying to get permission from EarthGov, it being a controlled substance, and all.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said the pretty blonde. “Call me ‘K’.”

Dori was forced to sign autographs, and have her picture taken with each of the ten Subs individually, then everyone together, then everyone together again, including Mrs. Zendak. They took her on a tour of the Plaza, and the Avenue of the Heroes, reciting a history of the Legion curiously emphasizing the importance of Earth, and noteworthy in mentioning every single time Legion Headquarters had been destroyed.

“You have a very enthusiastic group here,” said Dori.

“Well, we do need to do something to keep them out of trouble,” said Mrs. Zendak. “The Chief- I mean, Kimball- is appealing right now for continued funding for this project at EarthGov this morning. With hi-def holography being so inexpensive now, and not actually having to send these kids out on missions, the New Substitutes are far less expensive than the Legion ever was, and they keep this history alive.”

“Tell Kimball Zendak I said ‘Hello’ when you see him,” said Dori. She sighed “I remember a time when the idea that a few dedicated, idealistic teen-agers could change the world didn’t seem so far-fetched.”

“Oh, the Legionnaires are still out there doing good,” said Mrs. Zendak. “I don’t doubt that. And they are still an inspiration to those of us who still think good is better than evil.” She turned to Dori, and looked deep into her eyes. “Never forget that, ex-Rainbow Girl. Good is better than Evil. Love is stronger than Hate. The only way to stop a Bad Guy with a plan is with a Good Guy with a dream.”

“You sound like my friend Leandra,” said Dori.

CHAPTER FIVE-POINT-ONE - NALTOR

Mysa Nal now wore neither her Hag, nor White Witch, nor Black Witch, nor Amethyst nor Jewel aspects. Rather, she had the ordinary appearance of an ordinary, slender, ginger-haired, freckled, woman. The only evidences of her former magical nature were three locks of hair, originating at her forehead: one black, one white, one violet. And, of course, that she appeared half her sister Nura’s age.

She burst into the High Seer’s chambers without the bother of being announced. The usual coterie of sychophantic courtiers surrounding the High Seer shrunk back, terrified and confused.

"Do not be alarmed," the High Seer commanded. "Mysa suffers from an ailment which blinds her to the future. At the same time, her future is invisible to normal precognitives. That is why she seems so... present to you all." She turned her attention to Mysa. "Well, sister, what it is you want? You know I cannot read your mind. Or your future."

"I need to use your private 'comm to contact Kimball Zendak on Earth," Mysa replied. "Please don't make me take time to explain."

Nura turned to one of the manservants which were always in attendance to her. "Make it so," she said.

Moments later, Zendak was appeared on an interstellar connection.

"This is Mysa Nal, of Naltor," the former sorceress explained. "Your little Legion on Earth has not left for Pluto yet, have they?"

"Actually, I have just returned from seeing them off," Zendak replied. "It is an ordinary enough mission. They are to greet the mysterious alien visitors that have just established a colony on Pluto's moon Nix. And a small colony it is, too. Nix is hardly more than a boulder."

"So I was told," said Mysa. "It is incredible how gossip travels through the servant population, even between worlds. But you must recall them immediately. They are in grave danger. Those are no alien colonists. The Ghooric Zone has returned."

"I'm sorry," said Zendak. "You will have to take the time explain. There is no urgency; the Legion is only travelling at llightspeed. It will be possible to recall them anytime in the next four hours."

"The planet Pluto was once known as Yuggoth. I am sure you are acquainted with the strange ruins there-- cities that extend out into other dimensions. They are exceptionally old-- constructed for the servants of the ‘Old Ones’, who pre-date even the Olympian gods. Nix was then known as Thog, whose subterranean caverns held the Ghooric Zone. The Zone now only appears under the appropriate astrological conditons—that is, when the stars properly align. But it is home to the servants of the servants of the Old Ones, who still live-- after their fashion. They are the Shoggoths, who are the ones who built the bizarre Yuggothan cities. They are horrible monsters."
"Think of Antarean Proteans-- shape-shifing telepaths. Now imagine them each the size of a small starcruiser, but not cute and yellow, but black and greasy in their natural forms, and feeding on emotion. At first they stimulate feelings of Happiness and Love, taking comforting and familiar shapes. Once those emotions have been drained away from their hosts, they begin to feed on Anger, Fear, Terror, even Disgust, inspiring those emotions with new, more horrible forms. Eventually, the source of those emotions fully drained, there is only Death to feed upon."
"These so-called aliens are imposters-- even their beautiful cities are only the Shoggoths’ own bodies, taking pleasant and recognizable forms. They are seeking to lure humans-- as many as they can acquire-- to Thog, to feed upon them. You must summon your little Legion back to Earth, quarantine Pluto's moon, and wait for this astrological alignment to pass."

"How long will that be?" asked Zendak.

"No more than an few months, I am sure. But without magical power, I must rely on my pure magical knowledge as my guide, and the maths will take me a little while to complete. And, of course, I will need to double- and triple-check the calculations. I know you still have influence with EarthGov; please take this seriously."

"We have a small number of mystics on Earth, who I am sure will understand the words Yuggoth, Shoggoth, Ghooric Zone, and the ‘Old Ones’," Zendak replied. "I will enlist their aid, and, in the meantime, re-route the Legion to Io. Thank you, Mysa.” He turned even more serious. “I am trusting you on this, Mysa, because you were once a Legionnaire."

"Well," said the High Seer, as the commscreen went dark. "It appears you are something of an Anti-Cassandra: no prophetic ability, but people believe you nonetheless."

It was the closest thing to a compliment Nura had given her sister in years.

Things are getting exciting.

Mari is quite odious and very well written.

Poor Mysa, that last line from Nura was genius

“Poor Mysa.”

Oh, I don’t know.

Mysa, and magic, is all about change. She has been an acolyte, a Hag, the White Witch, the Black Witch, Mordru’s gaoler, one of his wives, the Amethyst Avatar, and Jewel, the good little Witchgirl.

Right now Mysa is at the low point in her magical powers, but her experience makes her one of the premiere magical scholars of the age.

Her relationship with her sister—and all of Naltor, for that matter—has always been rather strained. It is not as though Nura and Mysa used to hang out around the clubhouse together, doing one another’s nails. And with Nura now High Seer, Mysa is the Naltoran equivalent of nobility-by-blood.

And, although she is in her early forties, she looks like she’s in her twenties.

Plus, of course, I know what happens to Mysa in the future of this paracosm.

More changes in store, many of them positive. Love, etc.

I not entirely satisfied with Chapter Four, which is why I posted two chapters this week.

However, I am not going to attempt a re-write at this date.

By the bye, I may be going away for up to a month. We shall see.

I will continue with Chapter Six when I get back.

Looking forward to it, I like your take on these characters!

CHAPTER SIX – SOMEWHERE IN EAST AFRICA

While she was on Earth, there were a dozen little things Dori wanted attend to before returning to Xolnar. “You will take care of this?” she had Mrs. McIlhenny promise. “And this, and this?”

“Do you have staff at your place on Xolnar?” asked Mrs. McIlhenny.

“My place on Xolnar,” said Dori, “Is smaller than the Green Rooms, and my Dah’s old house is about six hundred square feet. The only staff I need is the occasional cleaning ‘bot.”

“Well, perhaps you ought to get a personal assistant,” said Mrs. McIlhenny.

The remark made Dori think of Bernardinne Chandrasekar, and that made her think of the little purple memory crystal in the reader on Xolnar.

“Priority One: Get my finances and investments in order. Priority Two: Work with Ulu on understanding my abilities. Priority Three: Settle down, and live a quiet life in Sixteenth City on Xolnar,” she thought to herself. “No, that last ought to be Priority One.”

“I’m sorry to burden you with all this,” said Dori. “Come to think of it, maybe it all can wait. Keep this year’s gowns in my closet, or donate them to charity, I don’t care. They will all be out of style in ninety days, anyway.”

“I have some grand-daughters who will be attending Proms in the coming year,” said Mrs. McIlhenny. “Perhaps your gowns could be re-fitted for them, with your permission.”

“Yes, that would be fine,” said Dori. “But put the artificial roses over the front door of Iridium when the ant-grav quits.”

“If we leave them there year after year, some people might see that as an insult to the impermanence of Fashion,” Mrs. McIlhenny suggested.

“And to good taste,” Dori added. “We can only hope. I don’t suppose we could remove the engines from one of the hovercars, and place the chassis out on the lawn?”

“Madame is, of course, jesting,” said Mrs. McIlhenny. “Mr. Ez would never allow such a thing.”

Dori picked out a plain, silver-gray Xolnaran jumpsuit for her dinner with the Foccarts. She placed one of the golden roses, anti-grav unit sputtering, in her hair—a monument to her pyrrhic triumph at the gala.

The Foccarts lived in East Africa, so Dori used the Vrygan service again. It really was terribly convenient, but these three round-trips had cost her almost as much as her visit to Jahnson’s World. Drura was with little Dryscoll outside their house in Abidjan: a plain, squarish, sand-colored two-story. She jumped a little when Dori appeared out of thin air.

“My goodness, Dori, you certainly know how to make an entrance,” she said. “And you’ve turned Society upside-down in the two weeks you have been here.”

Dryscoll was hanging back, hiding shyly behind his mother, uncertain of the stranger that had just popped into their yard. His burnt umber face was topped by a mop of unruly purple curls. “Why is it no one can comb a toddler’s hair?” Dori wondered. Several years later, she would find out for herself.

The interior of the house was far more beautiful than the outside. Beautifully patterned carpeting and curtains covered the walls and floors, the colorful furniture looked both comfortable and attractive.

“Your home is lovely,” Dori commented. “And my goodness- what is that delicious aroma?”

“Jacques has been experimenting with ancient cooking techniques,” Drura explained. “This one is called “Barbecue”. It takes all day, and half the food is cooked out-of-doors, but the end product is pretty delicious. “Except the first dozen times,” she added, “When it ended up charcoal.”

“I have been experimenting a little with food preparation myself,” Drura continued. “I’ve been working with Hadru Jamik, the Phlonan, and have learned how to use my powers to make cheese and bread. Several different kinds, actually. I should be able to do wine and beer as well, but I haven’t got it right quite yet. They turn out much too sour and bitter. I have been able to make a wonderful, clear, dark walnut vodka though. It’s pretty strong, so we use it sparingly.”

“Why the sudden interest in cuisine?” Dori asked. “I never knew you to have this hobby before.”

“We were assigned for a few weeks to the planet Anavore,” said Drura. “A diplomatic mission.”

“Anavore…” Dori mused. “That’s one of the Recombinant Colonies, right? Shunned by the U.P. for centuries. We’re reaching out to them now?”

“Yes,” said Drura. “They are a pretty radical departure from standard Terrans. They don’t really eat: like platypuses, they have had their stomachs edited away, They have no molars, and their front teeth are only for aesthetics. Humans actually need very little in the way of nourishment, you know. Most of what we think of as food is roughage. The Anavores drink a quart of what they call ‘Nektorr” every morning—basically, just sugar-water mixed in with an ounce of balanced and complete amino acids—derived mostly from mushrooms, I think—an ounce or so of essential oils, some vitamins and minerals, and a little salt. Another quart at night. It’s pretty tasteless, but the Anavores have a very limited sense of taste and smell, as well. In fact, any flavour or scent they can detect is an indication of spoilage or toxins.

“The hardest thing to get used to is the lack of social customs associated with food. No sausage-in-a-bun at batball games. No family meals, no donuts at meetings, no restauraunts or pubs. Eating is a private activity which takes up a couple of minutes of everyone’s day—less time than you spend doing your hair—and nobody discusses food, trades recipies… it’s very strange.

“Nutrition was certainly simple there for us. The Nektorr comes right out of a tap—it’s is an ordinary utility, like water, electricity, or holo-comm. And ordinary Terran visitors like us can purchase liquid fiber to supplement the Nektorr, but that’s pretty tasteless as well. And there are no facilities on Anavore for importing or storing regular food—so when we got back to Earth, we were starved for flavors and textures, especially little Dryscoll.”

Jacques walked in the back door just then, dressed in a simple indigo denim jumpsuit.

Dryscoll wriggled down from his mother’s lap and ran over to hug his father’s legs, then spun around a couple of times, and plopped down in the middle of the floor with a half-dozen colorful toys already spread out.

Dori began helping Drura set china and tableware on a spotless white linen tablecloth.

“What interesting ceramics,” Dori said sincerely, setting down the plates on the table.. “I’ve never seen a pattern or style anything like this. Are they artisanal?”

“Very much so,” said Drura. “Jacques makes them, too. Another of his little hobbies.” She gestured around the room. “You can see we have quite a number of jars, pots and crockery, And he gives away far more than we keep. He’s always making little pottery sculptures and statuettes and tchotchkes, too.”

“Oh, speaking of statues,” said Dori, “I went out to Legion Plaza the day-before-yesterday. I found it a little sad, though.”

“Sad?” said Drura. “I suppose, in a way. A memorial to the Legion, which EarthGov kicked off-planet—what, six times? And every time it was supposedly ‘permanently, for good’. And yes, the New Little Subs are all under EarthGov’s strict control, but I can feel their idealism, and I would bet that they will eventually prove so valuable that EarthGov will kick them off-planet as well.”

“But Horace and Ethyl’s little girl,” said Dori. “She seems to already have had such a hard life.”

“Oh, I think she’s in the best possible situation,” Drura opined. “She never goes to Legion HQ except with Emilia or Kimball, and after spending her first two years with a couple of psychopaths, it’s good for her to be exposed to people who are ‘different’ like her parents, but full of youthful idealism and hope. And the Zendaks really, really, love her.”

“Love and Hope,” said Dori. “That’s powerful medicine.”

“They’re wrong about Thello, though,” Drura continued.

“Thello? Who’s that?” Dori asked.

“Thello Baekt, the Somathuran,” said Dori. “They think he’s just a harmless sport, limited to inducing allergic reactions. But I’m pretty sure that he has full Somathuran abilities. It’s just that he was born and raised in Metropolis, and has never really been exposed to any of the more virulent microorganisms. I talked to him—he’s never been sick a day in his life, never even had an infected cut or scrape. That’s a sure sign of full Somathuran physiology. I advised him to be careful around machines and computers: there are quite a few microbes, molds and fungi in Metropolis that make their living be tearing apart metal and plastic, and he could very well become a carrier.”

“I’m a little concerned about that girl who calls herself ‘K’,” said Dori. “They seem to consider her as some sort of Science Project.”

“Vera Danforth of Earth,” said Drura. “The others call her Kryptonite Queen, or something like that. I doubt they’ll ever find any red K, you know. It has an awfully short half-life, and any fragment they find would have to be over a thousand years old. You might as well look for Red Sigellian. The one who interests me is that Hydran. He/she is a quiet one, keeps his/her own counsel, but has a wicked sense of humor, if you can get her/him to open up to you. But I don’t think there is any real closeness to any of the other Subs, except maybe the little Fwangite, only because he’s the only other non-Terran.”

“You must spend a lot of time there,” said Dori.

“Well, a two-year-old really needs his daily exercise, and there is a StarGate close to the public park here in Abidjan, the other end a nice walk up to Old Metropolis and the Plaza. Dryscoll really enjoys running around and through the statues.”

Hearing his name, Dryscoll came running over to his mother. “This is Dori,” Drura told the little boy. “She helped find Mommy once when she was lost in time.”

“I didn’t do much,” said Dori. “I was just in the Time Bubble when it went back. Sorry it took so long,”

“Oh, I was gone from the thirtieth century a lot longer than I was in subjective time,” said Drura. “Of course, I did miss the turn of the century.”

“But you brought me back a young and beautiful wife,” said Jacques, who was loading up the table with food. “We were about the same age before she left, now she’s five years younger than I am.”

“That’s only because you got old, dear,” teased Drura.

Dryscoll abruptly lost his shyness, and climbed up onto Dori’s lap. He stared at her with wide, brown eyes. Dori felt a newly familiar feeling of dread creep over her. The black aura seemed to surround, not her, but Drycoll. Dori’s face went white. Dryscoll looked at her questioningly.

“Dori, are you OK?” Drura asked, alarmed.

“Drura… my powers… they are evolving,” Dori admitted. How could she say this? “I… I sometimes have some sort of connection with… with death. Dryscoll… I think there may be something wrong with him. Maybe… maybe you should call a doctor? There’s… this is going to sound strange, even melodramatic… but… there is an aura of Death around him…”

Drura laughed. “Oh, that. We know about that? Dryscoll can see ghosts.”

“What?” Dori snapped back to normality.

“Dryscoll is a perfect little Earthling,” said Drura. “No Somathuran immunity at all. Gets a cold or a runny nose every other week. But he can see ghosts. Undoubtedly passed on from some residual effect the Norgine had on Jacque’s physiology. Apparently, Dryscoll talks to them, but they don’t talk back. At first, we just thought he had a lot of imaginary friends, but we had some people in from Sorcerer’s World with thaumometers and ectoplasmic sensors, and it looks like it’s a real phenomenon. Dryscoll’s a very special little boy.”

“Drxlz special,” Dryscoll repeated. Dori gave him a little hug.

The dinner table was piled up with more roasted meat, measured in pounds-per-person, than Dori had ever seen at any banquet. Ninety percent was undoubtedly going into the refrigerator or deep-freeze later. There were also squashes or yams bigger than any she had seen before, and multi-colored roasted vegetable stews.

“Jacques, now that you’ve been elected Earth’s Representative to the U.P. Interplanetary Council,” said Dori, as she helped herself, “You must spend a good deal of time on Weber’s World?”

“Not really,” said Jacques. “There is the Ceremony of Installment every couple of years, after elections. Aside from that, and the occasional off-world diplomatic assignment, we do most of our work over secure holo-lines, so I work out from home nearly all the time.”

“Not that there isn’t a lot of work to do,” said Drura. “Jacques is in and out of that study of his all day and night. He’s on the Council sub-committee that oversees Galactic Security: the SP, the ICC, the prisons.”

“They are always talking about how effective the Psych program is in rehabilitating the criminal element,” said Jacques. “They hold up Mekt Ranzz and Eve Aries as prime examples of how well it works. And Psych Rehab does work, but it sometimes seems like it’s taking longer and longer for each candidate. Of course, for some prisoners, it’s completely ineffective. So we keep building Prison Planets, filling them up, and building some more. Labyrinth, Takron-Galtos, Hell World. We just finished securing Khann with an impenetrable force-shield glove, and there is a dead world called Ryut, out in the ‘Forgotten Zone’, that they are thinking of annexing, just to make it into another Prison Planet.”

“Jacques at least got them to re-establish a U.P. Liaison with Legion World, at least,” said Drura. “Officer Quamdelrodolanderay seems very competent, and takes his responsibility seriously.”

Dinner was interrupted by a tone from the wallscreen in Jacque’s study. “I’m afraid I really need to take this,” he said.

Jacques was careful to close the door, and the conversation within the study was muted, but from her place at the table, Dori got a brief glimpse of the face on the screen, and, of course, immediately recognized the voice.

“I don’t want to interfere with U.P. Security,” said Dori, “But wasn’t that Bil Katz?”

“Oh dear,” said Drura, smiling. “Now you’ll have to tell her.”

“No,” said Jacques, “Dori can just forget she saw anything here tonight. As far as you’re concerned, I don’t know Bil at all, except that I was a big fan of ‘The Impossible Man’ series.”

“No,” said Drura, “I think you had better tell her. I know Dori, she can’t stand a mystery.”

“No, no,” Dori protested. “I’m not like those other Society women. I am no gossip. I can pretend I didn’t see or hear anything. I can keep a secret.”

“Thank you, Dori,” said Jacques.

“I’m lying,” said Dori. “I’m dying to know how you know Bil Katz.”

“Dori can keep a secret, though,” said Drura. “But it’s always easier if you know what secret you’re keeping.”

“You realize,” said Jacques, “I would have to tell Bil I’ve outed him to Dori?”

“Outed him?” asked Dori. “Oh, dear, now I’m afraid you have to tell me.”

“It has to do with my position on the Security Council,” said Jacques. “Bil is an agent of the I.C.C.”

“You must be joking,” said Dori. “My date for the gala was I.C.C.?”

“Bil Katz may appear a witless fop,” said Jacques, “And, in a sense, he is. But he is also the last person anyone would suspect of being an I.C.C. courier.”

“And a Shakespearean-trained actor,” added Drura, “Well skilled at improvisation, even in perilous circumstances. Don’t sell your employees short, Sweetheart.”

“A convincing liar, you mean,” said Jacques. “One of the prime qualifications for an I.C.C. agent.”

“Tell her his codename,” said Drura.

“I might as well,” said Jacques, “Now that we’ve come this far. It’s ‘Pimpernel’.”

“I don’t get the reference,” said Dori.

“The Scarlet Pimpernel,” said Drura. “An old novel about an undercover agent during the French Revolution in 1789.”

The rest of the evening was uneventful. Dori had arranged for her personal flyer to leave on autopilot earlier that day, head for Abidjan, and wait for her outside the Foccart’s home. It landed shortly after dinner had finished.

Dori gave Jacques and Drura a hug. She had kissed little Dryscoll good-night a couple of hours before. She programmed the flyer to complete the flight back to Metropolis in exactly nine hours. She reclined the seat, and got a good night’s sleep along the way.

There was a small, old-fashioned card of folded linen parchment stuck in her front door, The note read:

“Now we have shared a kiss, and a secret. Keep them both close to your heart.”

There was no signature, only a small pressed flower, red and star-shaped. A pimpernel.

Dori downloaded the old book by Baroness Orczy. The French did not translate well into Interlac: either that, or the Baroness was pretty much a hack writer. She had to look up a few words: the definition of guillotine alarmed her. After she closed the book, she wondered, “And has the I.C.C. given you a League of Nineteen?” She was puzzled what to do with the pimpernel she had received. Historically, she had read, one presses dried flowers between the pages of a book, but she owned no antique books in hardcopy. She purchased a small, unassuming locket, and placed it there. She kept the note as well, in the small storage unit in the back of her Omnicom.

Well, what a surprise to see Bil outed as an ICC agent! nicely done.

Little Dryscoll's power is interesting. Nice to see that Drura and Jacques are taking it in stride. They have a very nice life, it seems.

I love Drura's reaction to Dori's proclamation of doom...."oh yeah, he sees dead people, no biggie!"

This series continues to be very enjoyable!

There was no signature, only a small pressed flower, red and star-shaped. A pimpernel.

Dori downloaded the old book by Baroness Orczy. The French did not translate well into Interlac: either that, or the Baroness was pretty much a hack writer. She had to look up a few words: the definition of guillotine alarmed her. After she closed the book, she wondered, “And has the I.C.C. given you a League of Nineteen?” She was puzzled what to do with the pimpernel she had received. Historically, she had read, one presses dried flowers between the pages of a book, but she owned no antique books in hardcopy. She purchased a small, unassuming locket, and placed it there. She kept the note as well, in the small storage unit in the back of her Omnicom.

CHAPTER SEVEN

There were a couple of messages waiting for her at Iridium Manor. Low-priority messages were programmed to be sent to her wallscreen, urgent messages went directly to her personal Omnicom®.

The first was a thank-you note from the New Legion of Substitute Heroes of Earth.

“Dear Ms. Aandraison: It was a pleasure and a privilege to have you visit Legion Plaza. We hope that you will visit us again soon. LLL”

The list of signatures was longer than the note:

Dagny Wentimm of Zwen (no relation) – The Petrified Girl
Thello Baekt of Somathur – Allergen Boy
Kalr Zlotny of Tharr – Cold Kid
Groucharpchix of the Hydra World – Triple-Threat
Adrianna Nocks of Kathoon – Owl Girl
Vajezatha of Fwang – Fortress Lad Two
Vera Danforth of Earth -“K”
Amge Jyoti of Earth – Tiny Alice
Algolla Drang of Planet Langstrom – GirlBat
Maryaliza Niwtyn-LaFeaugh of Earth – Eye-Stalker
Amalthea of Io - "Healing Purple Ray"

“One new member. Some new Code-Names,” Dori thought. “Still trying to find their identities,”

The second message was an audio from Ulu Vakk.

“Hello Dori. I was surprised to hear you were on Earth! My first semester on Dhor is ending soon, and I promised to continue our studies of Pathetic Chromodynamics together, and go to see Sodam Yat on Oa. However, something has come up, and I will need to postpone for about a week. If you are still interested, can you meet me at the University on Dhor one week from Thursday, your time? Later is fine, too, although I only have twenty days intersession before I have to return to the classroom again. Let me know. If you go to Oa alone, take good notes for me. It’s a rare thing in the Galaxy to interact with the Green Lantern Corps.”

Dori sat and meditated for awhile. She had wanted to get herself centered, get back to her roots. That was why she had gone to Xolnar. She hadn’t stay there for even a year, before she was out wandering the Galaxy again—well, working the Social Scene here on Earth. Of course, her father’s death had upset her, but she felt unfocused, defeated by her inability to concentrate. She needed to find out about her ‘powers’, to master them, that was certain. The incident at the Foccarts had made that clear. But she also felt a strong bond with Xolnar. The people there seemed more authentic than her social circle on Earth. Of course she really had no social circle on Xolnar. She there was Lokasenna and the Toorbins, but those were business relationships. She ought to develop real acquaintances there. She did not even know her neighbors in Sixteenth City. She was a little ashamed of how at home she had felt in Twentieth City. She wanted to avoid falling in with that class of people again, falling into the social whirl there. It was too easy.

She began preparing for the trip back to Xolnar. She met privately with Mrs. McIlhenny and Mrs. Banx, and with Mr. Ez, the gardener, and Taylor, the handyman. The last two were uncomfortably like personnel interviews with her as the boss. She discovered that Mr. Ez and his family did not live at Iridium; rather, he commuted every day. She invited him to bring his family, and to occupy the empty Gardener’s Cottage on the grounds, but he politely declined. It seemed there was a Xudaran enclave nearby, and he and his family were comfortable there.

She took her personal flyer, and returned to Xolnar.

Her left-hand neighbohrs were an elderly couple named Hendersaan, her right-hand neighbohrs were an equally elderly couple named Keeler. She sent an RSVP to Ulu from Xolnar, to let him know she was in Sixteenth City again. At loose ends, she sat down for a day to study the IPO prospectus on the little purple memory crystal.

The next morning, she called Bernardinne Chandrasekar on Jahnson’s World, and asked to make an appointment with Ennis Jahnson at his office. Bunny was happy to pencil her in for the following day.

Dori is so unconcerned about her powers, it is easy to forget she has them.

Power Set:
Red Aura: Activated by anger. Kinetic blast. In an extreme emotional state, her red kinetic blast may manifest physical heat and an iron-like taste

Orange Aura: Activated by avarice. Short-range tractor beam. It frequently manifested when Dori went through her 'Terrible Twos'; not so much since then.

Yellow Aura: Activated by fear. Manifests as a glittering golden force-shield.

Green Aura: Activated by will. Most powerful when Dori is able to suppress all other emotions, which is seldom. Kinetic blast. In the extreme (as on her visit to the planet Blax) she has been able to levitate herself and others, and create rudimentary hard-light constructs.

Blue Aura: Activated by feelings of hope. Energizes the physical and mental attributes of others around her.

Indigo Aura: Activated by feelings of empathy. Limited healing powers, but at a severe cost to Dori. The Indigo Aura primarily manifested during her mother’s illness. Dori managed to forestall some of the ill effects, and even extended her mother’s live somewhat, although her mother eventually succumbed.

Violet Aura: Activated by feelings of love. So far, no apparent accompanying abilities, but suppresses all other powers.

Black Aura: This is the newest of Dori’s abilities, and the one with which she is least familiar. She is able to project a field of darkness, similar, but not identical to that of Shadow Lass. The Black Aura also allows her to hear the cried of the dead, and is triggered by the nearness of death—emotionally, as in the case of her father, and physically, as in the case of Dryscoll Foccart’s strange abilities.

Dori also constantly generates an invisible aura of likability and charisma, which affects all those physically near her, and even those who at a distance, within line-of-sight. Even most animals instinctively like her. It does not extend to birds and squirrels doing her laundry and housework, however.

It is likely that Dori has some sort of white-light power as well, but she has not discovered it yet.

Even after fifty years, Dori does not really entirely understand how her powers. This is the reason she has been consulting Dr. Vakk, the Galaxy’s leading authority on chromodynamics.

Groucharpchix! That made me laugh.

Your description of Dori's powers is nicely done. I like how you linked her powers to the corresponding emotions.

Curious to see what happens next, as always.

Groucharpchix is from the Hydra World, which gave us the pirates who originally kidnapped Proty I.

I am never sure how familiar people are with these obscure Adventure-age references. Probably pretty familiar, I expect, if people are posting 2 years after Legion was cancelled forever.



Giving credit where credit is due.

Not sure how the Hydrans were colored in the original. Green goes with everything, though.

and HERE we have a rendering of Jan Jor on Facebook-- and although called False Pretenses LAD (whereas I prefer False Pretenses KID) Jan still looks gender-ambiguous. Could be a girl, as in my fanfic.

I love the name you gave that character!