Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business RAINBOW GIRL - BOOK 10 - SEQUESTER

CHAPTER ONE: JAHNSON'S FAMILY

“Jahnson’s World, reservations,” said the operator.

“I would like to make a reservation,” said Dori. “And I can’t seem to figure out how, online,” she said.

“When would you like to reserve a space?” the operator asked.

“As soon as possible,” said Dori. “But I would like to arrange for an open-ended stay.”

“I’m sorry?” said the operator. “What do you mean?”

“I would like to stay in one of your forests for an indefinite period of time,” she said. “I would like an open-ended reservation, to be terminated at my choosing.”

“You realize,” said the operator, “That our current fee is twelve hundred credits per guest per day?”

“Yes,” said Dori. “An open-ended reservation, as soon as possible, party of one.”

“I will need to get special credit approval for this,” said the operator. “Where can you be reached?”

“Dori Aandraison, Sixteenth City, Xolnar.”

It was over an hour before the call was returned.

“Your reservation is confirmed,” said the operator. “Do you have any preference for an initial destination at the Jahnson’s World Woods?”

“Do you have anywhere where it snows?” asked Dori.

“There is a re-creation of the Fire and Ice Forests of Planet Thermopylae,” the operator replied.

“That would be fine,” said Dori.

She considered taking the star-cruiser rather than her personal flyer. The cruiser had been cleaned up, and repainted, but still sat unfueled. She had renamed it the Manakahas. Ultimately, she decided the flyer would be less ostentatious.

Bunny herself met her at the landing.

“Welcome back to Jahnson’s World,” Bunny greeted her. “Frankly, we are a little concerned by your latest request. Are you sure about this?”

“I need a place where I can be alone, away from people, to rest and think,” she said. “I can’t think of a safer place than Jahnson’s World. And if I start to go mad, the Wardens will know about it before I do.”

“A bad dream hardly seems a reason to run away from reality,” said Bunny. "Quite the oppostie, in fact." Dori knew that Bunny was reading her mind. “Oh… but it wasn’t exactly a dream, though, was it?”

“It all comes down to this,” said Dori, showing the mother-of-pearl ring on her hand. “A link to something terrible—that’s been there all my life. It started out only strange, but now… I thought that I might find the answers on Xolnar, or Malthus, or Mordrogar. But now I think the answers must be within myself.”

“If this doesn’t work, you ought to try Tibet,” said Bunny.

“I’m sorry?” said Dori.

“Hmn. Obscure reference, sorry,” said Bunny. “An old legend, called Nanda Parbat.”

“Well, look who we have here!” It was Ennis Jahnson. He was accompanied by an older woman. She had a face like a lemon with a painted smile, and two young people following her who appeared to be in their twenties. “This is my ex-wife, Reina Zenon, our daughter, Cacia and our son, Ciardo. Reina, Cacia, Ciardo, this is Dori Aandraison.”

“Ah, yes, Dori Aandraison, star of the Society Pages,” said Reina Zenon. “One day, more beautiful than a golden rose, the next day, an old bat.”

“Reina is an art exhibitor,” said Ennis Jahnson. “She keeps a sharp eye on the Society Pages as a professional necessity.”

“Mother asked us all to Father’s World, as she had a rather special announcement that she wanted us to all hear in person,” said Ciardo.

“Mother is re-marrying!” Cacia exclaimed. “And to the Martian sculptor, Ghogvan!”

“Congratulations,” said Dori, extending a hand to Reina. She took it limply. “Congratulations to you all.”

“Well, much to do, much to do,” said Ennis Jahnson. “Can’t meet with anyone for lunch today, not with my family visiting, but Transformations are in only two hours. Enjoy your stay, Ms. Aandraison.”

“Some people,” said Dori, “Are excellent at making a first impression. What do Ennis’ children do?”

“Do you mean, do they transform into animals?” asked Bunny.

“No, I mean, for a living. Their mother evidently runs an art gallery, their new step-father is a famous artist. Their father, Ennis, is essentially a custom hotelier. What do they do?”

“They are Consumers,” said Bunny.

“I’m sorry, what?” said Dori.

“They are Consumers. The entire foundation of the United Planets economy is based on consumption. Almost all ordinary tasks have been mechanized, computerized, and roboticized. There are a few elite—like myself, a physician, and my husband, an artisan—but we are few in number. The majority of the populations of the United Planets are Consumers—they maintain the economic cycle, so that I can have a job, and you can have profitable industries in which to invest your inheritance.”

“So, basically, Cacia and Ciardo live exclusively off the Government Stipend?” said Dori. “They have no ambitions beyond that?”

“‘When contentment alone is enough, then one is rich’,“ Bunny quoted. “I don’t understand it myself, but they seem happy It’s hard to argue with happiness.”

“I know a good deal about efficient and appropriate business practices,” said Dori, “But frankly, macroeconomic policy is not my strong suit.”

Bunny shrugged. "Dori, you have lived an unusual life. Xolnar is a poor planet, and when you left there, you entered the rarefied atmosphere of the Terran elite. That includes the Legionnaires, and the Substitutes, for the most part. I would venture to guess that more than half the population of the U.P. - at least, the developed worlds - are pure Consumers. Their everyday needs are met: food, shelter, clothing, communication, entertainment-- but they don't travel to other worlds, or even much on their own planets. They don't purchase items made by artisal craftsmen, or go to live theatrical performances-- but they also don't need to work half their waking hours just to support themselves."

"The Universe is somewhat different than I imagined," said Dori.

A Pure Consumer lifestyle. Hmm... the future is certainly... interesting. Everyday needs met, but they lack other experiences. Brrrr.

Loving your work Klar, you have really excelled at creating your future fairy tale and completely making the universe your own (not literally, obviously) and I really really have fallen for your Dori, she such an alluring character.

As IB said above about the Conumer class - brr! Very creepy and a totally logical extension of present day western culture.

Splendid stuff! More, more, more!

CHAPTER TWO: BRAINIAC

Dori checked into her hotel, had lunch, and returned to her room. It was still an hour before Transformations. There was a knock at the door.

It was Ennis Jahnson.

“Dori, my favorite guest, I will be direct,” he said.

“You always are,” said Dori.

“I know everything that goes on here on Jahnson’s World, one benefit of living on a planet of telepathic employees. We are concerned about you. I am concerned about you. As I understand it, this new ring you are wearing is some sort of unwanted link to… well, I’m not entirely clear about that. But I would like to make you an offer. Postpone your appointment for one day. In the meantime, I will pull some strings, and I may be able to get someone here to help you. If you still want to undergo indefinite Transformation tomorrow, I will comply. Just give me one day.”

“All right, But I warn you, I have already counseled with some of the best minds in the galaxy,” said Dori. “And that is no overstatement.” She thought of Ngyah Ngyah Ngyang, and Ganthet, and Klavanatus.

About mid-afternoon, Dori got a call from Ennis Jahnson. “Can you come to my office on Schwarzwald?” he asked.

The regular trams were quite a bit slower than the stepping gates she had used before, but Dori was in no hurry.

Ennis Jahnson had a guest.

“Dr. Dox?” asked Dori. “Really?”

“To call a Coluan ‘Doctor’ is almost an insult,” Querl Dox said. “The Coluan equivalent of a PhD is awarded upon graduation from Kindergarten.”

“Your reputation for hubris and affront is still intact,” said Dori.

Ennis Jahnson smiled. “As one who has trod the boards, however briefly, you ought to recognize a performance when you see one,” he said. “As the old Terran adage goes, ‘It takes one to know one.’ Now, let’s have a look at that ring.”

“I am not unacquainted with your case,” said Querl Dox. “I have recently had the opportunity to be in contact with Professor Vaxx at the University of Beta Antares on Dhor. I also met his lovely fiancé. “

Querl Dox took a small sensor-recorder from his belt. He passed it over the ring, then brought it up to Dori’s temple.

“Quite beautiful,” said Querl Dox, “And, to coin a phrase, fascinating.”

“What?” said Dori.

“This ring does not exist, at least not in a strictly material sense,” he said. “Of course, all things exist. Even dreams can be measured objectively, although their material existence is limited to the chemical and electrical events in the brain and nervous system of the sleeper. Similarly, this ring exists, but not in physical reality, only in your mind. It has particular characteristics: it is multi-colored, it belongs to you, you cannot remove it. Oddly, it also exists in my mind, in Ennis’ mind, and, I imagine, in the mind of anyone with whom you have had recent contact. It is, in effect, a telepathically transmitted viral meme. I would imagine that it has been created as a consequence of your recent intimate interactions with the Entities of the Emotional Spectrum.”

“It’s not real?” said Dori. “How can it not be real?”

“It is unreal, in the sense that it is not made of quarks and leptons. Its apparent existence is an emergent property of the chemical and electrical stimuli in the affected minds.”

“Can I get rid of it?” Dori asked.

“Certainly, there must be a powerful enough group of telepaths here on Jahnson’s World to ‘cure’ you. If not, we could contact Imra. Of course, optimally we would like to reprogram the virus, perhaps broadcasting the message that the ring has been lost or destroyed, thus uninfecting those whom you have already come in contact with, when you encounter them again. I suppose it would be embarrassing for your friends and associates to see an irremovable ring on your finger which you don’t. Of course, you realize this alone would not cure you of your association with the Emotional Spectrum.”

“I think there is something that can, but I hesitate to try it,” said Dori. “I have recently discovered that I am susceptible to sigellian radiation. Exposure to gold sigellian will suppress the connection temporarily. What if I put a fragment in a locket, and wore it constantly? I would be permanently powerless, correct?”

“Ah,” said Brainiac 5. “You now consult me for my expertise in xenobiological medicine. Yes, constant exposure to gold sigellian would rob you of you powers. But there would be unpleasant side effects. Here on Jahnson’s World, for instance, anyone you approached would become temporarily telepathically blind. Mr. Jahnson himself would be unable to perform his daily duties. Furthermore, continual exposure to all sigellian radiations is known to significantly increase the risk of various cancers, and may cause long-term, irreversible neural damage, including muscle pain, chronic and progressive memory loss, palsy, and paralysis. Paralysis of the heart muscle can be fatal. In short, there are quicker and less painful methods of suicide.” He had been simultaneously checking his Omnicom. “Intriguing. According to the Registry of Controlled Substances, you actually are the custodian of several micrograins of sigellian.”

“What… that is public record?” said Dori. “Why, anyone…”

“Not exactly public record,” said Brainiac 5. “But members in good standing of the Science Academies have access to this database. Still, you would be well-advised to keep your stewardship secure.”

“My Dah,” said Dori, “Just kept it all in a little inconspicuous jewelry box. It might take a while for someone to think to look there, but I don’t know that it was really that secure.”

Brainiac 5 tapped his Omnicom. “Do you mean something like this?” He held up a holographic display for Dori to see.

“Yes,” said Dori. “Almost exactly like that. Only his was felt-covered.”

“It is a Vanishing Box®,” said Brainiac 5. “Quite secure. It has a false bottom and a computerized DNA scanning chip: anyone opening the box, who is not quite closely related genetically to the owner, would see only an empty box, or whatever the owner had placed in the upper chamber. It would also send a tachyonic alarm pulse to the appropriate authorities: in your case, the I.C.C., the Bureau of Controlled Substances, and the local Science Review Board. Quite clever really, from the days before Storage Tessaracts®.”

“That’s how the I.C.C. managed to send an officer to Xolnar so fast,” said Dori. “Agent Negacci asked if she could touch the box—and sent a message to herself, back in time.”

“I am marginally acquainted with Agent Negacci,” said Brainiac 5. “I shall have to scold her for her casual attitude towards causality. I really do not approve of that sort of thing. Changing the subject, I would point out that our mutual friend, Professor Vakk, is able to isotopically transmute sigellian? Such knowledge may come in useful to you at sometime.”

“Thank you, Doctor… or Professor… I’m sorry, what is your preferred title?”

“Brainiac,” said Brainiac 5.

“Thank you, Brainiac Dox,” said Dori. “You have relieved my mind somewhat, and I will see about having the ring removed by the telepathic surgery.”

Ennis Jahnson spoke up. “Our Coluan friend has been very gracious in attending to us,” he said. “But he has other obligations and responsibilities, and it is best that I escort him to his ship with all alacrity. Dori, if you would indulge me, I would like to tell you one more story, and show you something along the way.”

The three left his office, and were shortly joined by Ennis’ assistant Bunny. Ennis led them to the lobby of the Schwarzwald Hotel.

“There is a famous criminal, a man named Roxxas,” Ennis Jahnson began. “Originally a pirate, he graduated to assassination. Sociopathic and psychotic, he developed an obsession with genocide. There have been serial murderers in the past, but Roxxas has as his goal becoming a serial genocidist. He has been jailed any number of times, frequently escaping or being injudiciously released from prison. He is apparently able to assume alternate personalities, many of which seem sane and even charming. However, he is a very dangerous man. Mister Dox here deduced from certain reports that Roxxas was procuring—that is to say, stealing--the materials to build a long-range Zeta-beam teleportation ray. His intention was to teleport inhabited planets into their own suns, murdering entire populations at once. Dox tracked him down, and stopped him, but was loathe to turn him over to the authorities, for fear he would escape again. He brought him here to Jahnson’s World.”

Ennis Jahnson stopped before a large, ornamental fish tank that decorated the Schwarzwald hotel lobby. There was only a single, tiny fish in the tank. Peering closely, Dori could see that it was a miniature piranha, about half the size of a fingernail.

“This is Roxxas the Pirate,” said Ennis Jahnson.

“But, I thought when you transformed people, you couldn’t alter their mass,” Dori said.

“No, he cannot,” Brainiac 5 answered. “But I can. I used Coluan miniaturization technology to reduce a one-hundred-sixty-pound piranha to the size you see him today. Mr. Jahnson graciously feeds him a speck of raw meat every day.”

“Dori,” said Ennis Jahnson, “If you go through with this plan, you will join a small and eclectic company. Roxxas and the three bears—well, two bears, now, actually—are the only individuals that I have ever transformed without a scheduled un-transformation.”

Ennis Jahnson escorted Querl Dox back to his ship, and Dori was left with Bunny.

“So Ennis can call on Brainiac Dox for favors, because they worked together to imprison a dangerous criminal?” asked Dori.

“Well, yes, that,” said Bunny. “But Querl also likes to come here, and get in touch with his human side.”

Dori puzzled on that for a moment. “Are you saying, that Querl Dox is a regular customer of Jahnson’s World, and transforms into a human being?”

“I am saying nothing of the kind,” said Bunny. “And even if it were true, you did not hear it from me.” She smiled. “Dori, I think you were also supposed to take another lesson from Ennis and Querl’s last little demonstration. Let me spell it out for you. Roxxas was a terribly dangerous character. He was planning the death of billions, even hundreds of billions. But two good men stopped him, and without killing him. While there are inarguably powerful forces of Evil in the Universe, as long as there are good women and men who oppose them, they will not triumph.”

“Bunny, you’re a telepath,” said Dori. “Maybe not the most powerful on Jahnson’s World, but even still, you must see that everything today has only given me more to think about. And I need a place to think, without distraction, and I am very easily distracted. Tomorrow, I am going into the Planet Thermopylae Forest, and I am not coming out until I have some answers. But I am coming out eventually; just on my own schedule.”

Brainiac! Nice appearance. Loved the fate of Roxxas; Brainiac's analysis of the ring; the Vanishing Box; and Bunny's spelling things out to Dori.

And Dori's conviction that she will eventually come out of transformation.

CHAPTER THREE: MORPHEUS

There was only one other person in the waiting area outside the Thermopylae Dome. It was a young Earth-girl Dori recognized from the Society Pages, Sapphire Spiffany. Dori smiled at the girl, but she made no indication that she recognized Dori.

Of course, there were twenty entrances to each Dome, so it was entirely possible there would be a hundred or more visitors to Thermopylae that day. At the Transformation, Dori saw out of the corner of her eye that Sapphire had transformed into a furry, fat, green, tiger-like cat.

To get to the Ice Forest, Dori the Bird of Paradise had to first navigate the Fire Forest. The trees were less dense here than in the Enchanted Forest she had visited on her first trip to Jahnson’s World. There were hot springs scattered randomly, as far as the eye could see, with yellow-white crusted edges. The trees themselves were literally on fire: thin ribbons of orange and red light crept slowly up the slow-burning, rapidly-regenerating trunks. “They must have an insane metabolic rate,” Dori thought to herself. There was fruit on some of the trees: it was unappetizingly brown, like a spoiled pear, and tasted of bitter ash.

A clear path of blackened stones and cinders wound its way through the Fire Forest. Dori followed it conscientiously, although distracted by the constant hunger she felt in this form. The air smelled of wood smoke and sulphur and steam. At the border where the Fire Forest ended and the snowy Ice Forest began, there were crystalline tables loaded with food. There were a wide variety of meats, only some of which Dori recognized. She gorged herself with abandon, only stopping when her distended stomach could hold no more.

There was a rapid progressin of the terrain from fiery hot-springs to frozen plains. The trees here were even more sparsely distributed, but far stranger.

The trees in the Ice Forest were literally made of living ice. Under the transparent bark, Dori could see slow-circulating near-microscopic green and blue spicules which evidently carried nutrients throughout the trees. “These would do well in the far reaches of Xolnar,” she thought. Deep snow covered the ground; a light snow was falling everywhere. Using her strong clawed feet, Dori dug down to the permafrost, building up an igloo as she went. She instinctively built the floor at a slant, digging out a drain at the bottom. When she was finished, the igloo was small and snug. There was a wind-break around the door. Dori settled in, tail-first, well-insulated feet digging into the permafrost. Her iridescent, multi-colored plumage faded to a pale grey, blending in with the snow and shadows around her. Her body temperature rose slightly. The snowy interior of the igloo melted slightly, then re-froze as a protective sheet of ice. Dori’s body temperature cooled again, and she sat down in a comfortable ice-nest to think. With her full, warm belly, and the cool, moist air, the Xolnaran Bird of Paradise, naturally and inadvertently, began to enter hibernation.

Dori was not asleep, but hesitated at the border of consciousness and dreams. Her thoughts were slow and hazy, it was difficult to concentrate. Her life seemed so complex now, in retrospect. She needed to order her swirling thoughts. She needed to formulate specific questions addressing the problems which she had come to meditate on. But her mind was moving so slowly; the question faded into a fog.

Dori began to dream.

She was her human self again. She sat at a table for ten, lunching as she had in her days as a Metropolitan socialite. But all the other women had Dori’s own face. They wore brilliantly-colored ball gowns, and were clearly over-dressed for lunch. Silvery white, green, red, yellow, orange, blue, indigo, violet, and black. The black-clad Dori had an elaborate Day-of-the Dead skull painted on her face. Dori looked down at her own dress. It was very simple, a pale grey.

“So,” said one of the women. “Shall we show her Volthoom?”

A humanoid with curly white hair appeared. A brilliant white aura, shot through with ribbons of color, surrounded him. Dori saw his history, how he had forged an unbreakable link with the Entitites. He had used his power to make his life perfect: there was nothing he desired that he could not have. He eliminated pain and want and tragedy from all those around him. The populations of the worlds he ruled loved him. But in this life of ease, they grew stagnant, boring. He experimented with allowing some desires to go unfulfilled, some pains or injuries unsoothed. He liked these people better. He randomly changed histories, just to see the outcomes. He killed, and he brought back to life. He destroyed entire worlds, or simply removed them from reality: they had never existed. At length, the faced the Guardians. He was imprisoned for countless millennia, then escaped. He wreaked havoc on the universe, destroyed the guardians, re-created them, corrupted them, then destroyed them again. Then One rose against him, rising from the dead. Volthoom feared Death, and Death took him. He was imprisoned again, this time Forever.

“Such a shame,” the women lamented. “He could have done so much good. Did do so much good, then undid it. It seems he went a little mad at the end. Surely you could do better, dear. You could be the new First Lantern. You could even replace him: go back in time, erase him from existence. It would be Dori, the First Lantern from the beginning. Think of all you could do.”

Dori thought of all she could do, good and evil. She could bring back Irveang, and her mother. Raised by two happy parents, every year a vacation to a new world. The man of her dreams, by her side, forever.

The other Doris began to melt away, to change. They assumed the odd, grotesque gargoyle shapes of the Seven Deadly Enemies of Man. This time, their eyes were open. They stared at Dori hungrily. Their brilliant rainbow colors began to fade, and were replace by new, unknown colors Dori had never seen, but recognized immediately. The color of Wrath. The color of Greed. The color of Fear. The color of Death.

Dori was sitting at a table, having tea, with a wicked witch, and a huge lion. The wicked witch had only a single eye. The pale man in the green top-hat was leaning casually against a Narnian lamppost. Today he wore green-striped pants, spats, a green cummerbund, and a short green evening coat with long green tails. Dori put down her tea, and stood up.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“Oh, dear, why don’t you know?” the man in the green top-hat answered. “You’re over the rainbow!”

“This is a lucid dream, right?” asked Dori. “Who are you?” But the man in the green top-hat was gone.

The lion and the witch were gone as well. There was an absurd scarecrow sitting alone at the tea-table now. It wore patched denim overalls and an old a blue-and-white checkered shirt. Its head was an old burlap sack, on which a comical face had been painted in bright blue paint. The scarecrow was holding a cup of tea in its clumsy gloved hands, trying to drink, but as its face was only painted on, the tea dribbled down its burlap chin, staining its shirt and overalls. “And what are you supposed to be?” Dori asked the scarecrow.

The straw creature put down the tea cup and pulled the burlap sack from its head.

It was Irveang Polamar.

Oh that was unexpected! Great twist. I also like the wonderful descriptions of the fire and ice forests.

CHAPTER FOUR: REUNITED

Suddenly they were embracing; Irveang held her so long she felt she could not breathe. Then he kissed her, and thirty years melted away.

“Come on,” he said, and holding her by the hand, led them down a path of yellow brick. His scarecrow clothing had disappeared; he now wore the costume of a Polamar Hotel manager: a modest but perfectly pressed tuxedo.

“Where are we going?” asked Dori breathlessly.

“Why, to the Emerald City, of course,” Irveang replied.

They walked a long time. Dori could not help herself, she told him everything that had happened since they had last been together. Her time as a socialite in Metropolis, her life a long string of lunches and teas and galas. Her growing realization that she was only grist for the gossip mill: the poor young widow, the half-orphan, her dead mother, her distant father. Eventually she realized that some of them were laughing at her, she was not of the same social caste: she had been raised by a dirty working man on a plebian mining world; her wealth and privilege were tainted, inherited from a dead husband, and not a dead father. She told him of the book she had written, My Memoirs , but which she had left unfinished, turning the incomplete first draft, chapter outlines, and notes over to a ghostwriter. Although the book had eventually been published, so much had happened since then. She related the rise of Kirt Niedrich and the Anti-Xenos, her exile into space, her time with the Subs, the Khundish invasion of Xolnar, and everything that had happened since then. She related it all in intimate detail, and Irveang listened patiently, occasionally kissing her as they walked.

Just as she was running out of story, Irveang cried, “Look! There it is!” and a beautiful Emerald City rose up before them.

Dori was dazzled by the brilliance of the wonderful City. The streets were lined with beautiful houses all built of marble and studded everywhere with sparkling jewels. They walked over a pavement of the same bright marble, and where the blocks were joined together were rows of emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds, all set closely, and glittering in the brightness of the sun. The sky above the City was a clear, brilliant blue, and the rays of the sun were warm.

“Welcome my home,” said Irveang Polamar. “The Elysian Fields.”

“Fields?” said Dori. “It looks like a great City.”

“It may appear different to anyone who comes here,” said Irveang. “Here in the after-life, we see things—and often hear things—as we expect them to be. Or, at least, as we can understand them. But let me take you to my favorite part.”

They turned a corner, and found a great, spreading park, with shady trees and thick green grass, many-tinted wildflowers, fountains and walking-paths and picnic tables. Families grouped together here and there, and children ran and played and rolled in the grass. Irveang and Dori found a bench, and sat, holding hands.

“It’s beautiful,” said Dori.

“It was originally created as a prison for the Titans, when they were overthrown like the Olympians, so that they might not re-incorporate in the living world.” said Irveang. “But many other souls have migrated here, and Hades has allowed us. It was indeed created to be pleasant and inviting, that none would try too hard to leave. It is, indeed, beautiful. And you are as beautiful as I remember.”

“Oh Irv,” cried Dori, in a burst of passion, “I’m so lucky. Why do you love me? Why me?”

“I can’t answer that,” said Irveang Polamar. “I cannot say ‘I love you because’. There cannot be a ‘Because’ in “I love you”. If I said I love you because you are beautiful, or kind, or charming, then, if you stopped being beautiful, or charming, or kind, I would have to stop loving you. I love you for no reason at all. I love you because I know you nearly as well as I know my own self, I know your beauty and warts and all. And I love you. I love you because I love you. I love you not at all because, but in fact sometimes in spite of.”

“I love you, too, Irv. You know that,” said Dori.

“Most people think they spend their lives looking for someone to love them, to make them happy” said Irveang. “They don’t realize—I actually spent my life looking for someone who would allow me to love her. Thank you, Dori. Thank you for letting me love you.”

“It’s over, isn’t it?” said Dori. “Life, I mean. This is the life after Life. And yet here we are together.”

“Here I am,” said Irveang. “You are visiting, for the realms of Morbius and Morpheus are very near one another. And I suppose you could stay. I love having you here with me. But I also know that you love the Living World, and I wouldn’t be unhappy if you returned. I can wait for you; I can be patient for a little longer-- or even a few centuries, if that’s what lies in store for you. Time passes differently here.”

“You always were the more patient one of us both,” said Dori.

“What has it been?” said Irveang. “How long have we been apart?Two, three years? You look just the same.”

“It’s been ten times that long,” said Dorti. “Oh, Irv.” She wiped her eyes. “The Family Trust insisted you be buried in the Polamar sepulcher. But I put a little marker with your name on it out in the old cemetery near the Castle in Spain. I hope that was OK.”

Irveang smiled. “I am sorry for the way most of my family treated you,” he said. “My parents adored you, though. They might be here in Elysium somewhere; if its been so long. They were getting on in years when I passed over.”

“Yes,” said Dori. “They passed away about five years ago. I went to the funeral. They should be here.”

“I haven’t seen them,” said Irveang. “Unfortunately there isn’t a directory.”

ere was Irveang, and the voices in Dori’s head were gone, and the multi-hued serpents’ eyes were not staring at her any longer. She had escaped their gaze in death.

But who would they choose next?

“Oh, dear.” She looked at Irveang’s cool, blue-gray eyes. “Oh, Irv, I do need to go back. I got distracted again, it’s just like me. I forgot what I came here—there—for. I love you, but… I need to go back,” said Dori.

“I know,” said Irveang. “It is as Achilles said to Herakles when he visited him here: he would have given up all his honor and glory, and lived a poor farmer all his days, to have one more hour upon the Earth.’

“It’s not that,” said Dori. “I have… responsibilities. There are things I have left undone. I suppose it’s that way with everyone…”

The City of the Elysian Fields swam, and blurred, and ran together like a chalk painting in the rain.

“Dori,” called a voice. “Dori, it’s time to wake up.”

Irveang's response to Dori's question about why he loves her was actually really touching! Awesome job, Klar

Yes, I particularly liked that part too!

Prior to the battle of Troy, the goddess Thetis, mother of Achilles, asked Hephaestus to forge magical for her son, including a shield which depicted the entire world.

The Shield of Achilles
W. H. Auden, 1907 - 1973

She looked over his shoulder
For vines and olive trees,
Marble well-governed cities
And ships upon untamed seas,
But there on the shining metal
His hands had put instead
An artificial wilderness
And a sky like lead.

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,
No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,
Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,
Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood
An unintelligible multitude,
A million eyes, a million boots in line,
Without expression, waiting for a sign.

Out of the air a voice without a face
Proved by statistics that some cause was just
In tones as dry and level as the place:
No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;
Column by column in a cloud of dust
They marched away enduring a belief
Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief.

She looked over his shoulder
For ritual pieties,
White flower-garlanded heifers,
Libation and sacrifice,
But there on the shining metal
Where the altar should have been,
She saw by his flickering forge-light
Quite another scene.

Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot
Where bored officials lounged (one cracked a joke)
And sentries sweated for the day was hot:
A crowd of ordinary decent folk
Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke
As three pale figures were led forth and bound
To three posts driven upright in the ground.

The mass and majesty of this world, all
That carries weight and always weighs the same
Lay in the hands of others; they were small
And could not hope for help and no help came:
What their foes like to do was done, their shame
Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride
And died as men before their bodies died.

She looked over his shoulder
For athletes at their games,
Men and women in a dance
Moving their sweet limbs
Quick, quick, to music,
But there on the shining shield
His hands had set no dancing-floor
But a weed-choked field.

A ragged urchin, aimless and alone,
Loitered about that vacancy; a bird
Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone:
That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third,
Were axioms to him, who’d never heard
Of any world where promises were kept,
Or one could weep because another wept.

The thin-lipped armorer,
Hephaestos, hobbled away,
Thetis of the shining breasts
Cried out in dismay
At what the god had wrought
To please her son, the strong
Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles
Who would not live long.

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE: LIFE GOES ON

Dori the Bird-of-Paradise opened her eyes and looked sleepily around. She was conscious of being very, very hungry.

“Dori,” said Bunny. “I’m afraid your bank account is overdrawn.”

“Impossible,” said the Bird-of-Paradise.

“Only your personal expense account. Seventh City First is willing to transfer funds from your savings accounts, or extend you credit, or request a transfer from your investments at the Interplanetary Bank. But they need your personal authorization.” Bunny held up a Transformation Shield Cloak. “Put this on,” she ordered. “And then put these on.” He held up a packet of folded teal clothing.

“What are those?” asked Dori, slipping into the Cloak, and melting from bird to human. It was suddenly very cold, standing barefoot in the snow.

“They are called ‘scrubs’,” said Bunny. “While you are arranging your finances, we would like to you stay under observation in the hospital.”

Dori put on the thin warm clothing under the Cloak. “How long have I been here?” she asked.

“Fifteen days,” said Bunny. “We are requiring one day and night in the hospital, and then you have three days credit at the Hotels. Then, if you like, you can come back here. Nice work on the nest, by the way,” she noted. There was a large, iridescent egg at the bottom of the igloo. Bunny scooped it up. “Believe it or not,” she said, “We have never had this happen before. Even when one patron transformed into a barnyard chicken.”

This time, Dori was happy for the walk back through the Fire Forest. She was assigned a nurse named Gemma, a crimson-skinned Bokkite Saturnian with bright blue eyes.

“The egg is inert, unfertilized,” said Nurse Gemma. “But I’m sure you already suspected that. What would you like to do with it?”

“What can I do with it?” said Dori. “Even refrigerated, it’s sure to spoil in a couple of weeks.”

“My people,” said Gemma, “have a sort of traditional art form we perform with eggs. Smaller than this, usually, but if you will permit me some quick surgery?”

“Be my guest,” said Dori. “I don’t feel any particular attachment to the egg. It’s the bird’s, not mine.” She didn’t feel any particular attachment to anything. It was like the days just after Irveang had died. “Have you ever been Transformed?” Dori asked the nurse.

Gemma shook her head. “No, I like my body the way it is.” An arm stretched out and elongated, reaching completely across the room. She grasped a small, diamond-headed cutting tool, snapped it back, and made two quick punctures in the ends of the egg. She then used some sort of therapeutic pump to extract the white and yolk from the egg, disposing of it all in a ‘medical waste’ bag. “I’ll let the shell dry, and bring it back to you when I am done,” she promised. “Incidentally, you had a call from your lawyer a couple of days ago.” She handed Dori her Omnicom, “We took the liberty of retrieving this from your room.”

Dori called Alder Lokasenna on Xolnar.

“Oh, Dori, I am so glad to finally hear from you,” said the attorney. “First of all, you have had a complaint from your homeowner association. Evidently there is a three-story circus tent in your back yard which they consider an eyesore. Secondly, please find someone else to forward these personal communiqués to when you go on vacation. I am trained as a lawyer, not a personal assistant. Thirdly, we have finished the deep title search for unlisted assets of your father, and have found something, well, surprising. It appears he owned—that is, you own—a parcel of undeveloped property, one-hundred-sixty hectares outside Ninth City, only two-hundred-fifty kilometers from the coast. Also, a safe-deposit box at Seventh City Third Bank, the box fee again originally paid ahead for ninety-nine years. The property in Ninth City currently has an appraised value of nine hundred thousand Xolnaran credits. With the fifty-percent inheritance tax, that means you have a current tax liability of a little over four hundred fifty thousand credits. XolnarGov has already placed a lien on this new property, and intends to auction it off in forty days. Well, thirty-seven, now, actually. As for the safe deposit box, the Bank insists that you yourself must be present at its opening; they will not honor our power-of-attorney for some reason, and oddly enough, Xolnaran property law actually allows them this option.”

Dori considered these new situations. She would need to liquidate over half her remaining investments to pay this tax bill; still, on paper, she ought to come out ahead.

“Is this appraisal inflated,” Dori asked, “Could I really turn around, and re-sell this property for nearly a million credits?”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” said Alder Lokasenna. “In fact, I have taken the liberty of provisionally listing the property myself, and we already received a couple of bids. I expect you will simply want to sell the property, pay the lien, and take the cash in hand.”

“How could my father have afforded this,” Dori wondered aloud. “The star cruiser I can understand; it was part of his old prospecting business. But a million-credit piece of property?”

“Your father surely paid substantially less,” Alder Lokasenna replied. “It was forty-five years ago, and property values on Xolnar were less than a tenth what they are today.”

“He must have bought it when Mah died,” said Dori. “Hiding their assets, for some reason. But they had only been on-planet less than three Xolnaran years. What about the residence requirement to purchase property?”

“Only property under eminent domain,” Alder Lokasenna reminded her. “He must have purchased it from a private party.”

“Well, I want to keep the property,” said Dori, “I could take out a loan to pay the taxes, or I will liquidate some investments. Real estate investments on Xolnar seem a no-brainer, as far as a secure, high-yield investment. I mean, there is so little real estate there at all. I will have the money will be transferred to my account at Seventh City First, and hopefully you can take it from there.”

“When you are back on-planet, you also need to take a trip to Seventh City Third to check out what’s inside that safe deposit box,” Alder Lokasenna reminded her. You may owe more taxes yet. If you need a witness to the value of items contained when the box is opened, as an officer of the court, I could serve that purpose.”

“I think you’re just curious, Ms. Lokasenna,” Dori replied. “I will take care of the tax liability from Jahnson’s World, but I am sure to be back on Xolnar within a couple of weeks.”

CHAPTER SIX

“You have a visitor,” said Nurse Gemma, when Dori had finished the call.

“How’s my little girl?” asked Ennis Jahnson.

“Ennis, I am very nearly your age, and do not appreciate being infantilizied,” she said. “I thought I was in this hospital to rest.”

“You are here for observation,” said Ennis. “And it appears that you do not believe yourself to be a Bird-of-Paradise, and you are very healthy for having gone without food for fifteen days.”

“I gorged myself on your piles of meat before I slept,” said Dori. “I’m thinking of the amount of animal flesh you must import every day. I don’t suppose that Jahnson’s World has some flocks and herds off on a secret island, do you?”

“The Polamar Hotels require that we provide real animal protein to our guests. That we do import,” said Ennis. “But what you ate was actually meatmelon. A GMO developed on Winath, a plant which produces fruits resembling animal flesh, in texture, taste, and nutrition. I understand they are grown in warm, swampy areas, and have a high internal temperatures, for plants anyway. We import them from a place on Winath called Wilson’s Hi-Pro Ranch Farm, run by a pair of twins who married twins. I rather like meatmelon myself; Bunny has me on a high-protein, low-carb diet.”

“I suppose you found the reports of my dreams disturbing,” said Dori. “What with all the telepaths here, I do not expect that they were very private.”

“Your dreams here are entirely private. We do not pry, nor record every stray thought of our guests.” Ennis Jahnson replied. “The telepathic complement of Jahnson’s World is there only for the safety of the guests. How else could we keep track of such a diverse population, under such diverse circumstances? Only those thoughts and feelings nearest the surface are picked up, without an intentional, deeper scan. Some telepaths may be more sensitive, reading the deeper thoughts of everyone around them, but they learn—or are taught—to screen those out. Otherwise, they would go mad from the constant noise.”

Dori reached down inside her, to the darkest part of her heart, and screamed as loud as she could, silently, in her mind. Nurse Gemma whirled around, and frowned.

“Oh, very clever, Dori, and yes, it works very well. But now you have probably upset every mind in this building.” She spoke to the air. “No need to worry, everything under control. A patient was only experimenting with the Bester Assessment.”

“Ennis, I want to ask you something,” said Dori. “What if you could travel back in time, live your life over again, and even make different choices. Would you?”

“Ha!” said Ennis. “It’s been a good life so far. If I could go back and re-experience any age, my thirties, or my twenties, or even back to Kindergarten, I wouldn’t refuse. As for making other choices, well, I doubt my younger self would listen to the advice of my older self. I always took Grandfather’s advice with a grain of salt, an attitude I sometimes regret now.”

“But what if you could change something important?” said Dori. “What if you could change history?”

“You mean like strangle Kirt Niedrich in his cradle, or prevent the assassination of the Martian Ambassador in the 27th century? A lot of people have tried that kind of thing—there are time machines, you know—and a lot of people have failed. Maybe some succeeded, but we wouldn’t know, would we. Still, we don’t live in a Galactic Utopia, so the wheel of history is must be pretty hard to turn from its path. And there are always the unintended consequences.”

“But what if you could—what if you knew you could, make a difference, a real, big, important difference in the way the universe works?” Dori pressed.

“You mean, go to the end of time, and watch this universe collapse, then restart the whole thing? A universe in your own image? Well, godlike power ought to require godlike omniscience and wisdom, it seems to me. And if I knew what all the consequences of my actions would really be, who knows what I would do? No, I try to make the world a little better for the few I can, that’s all. And I do try not to have opinions about most other people. A man walks into one of my restaurants, and orders a pitcher of beer, when I would think what he really needs is a pastrami sandwich with extra mustard? Well, I give him the pitcher of beer because I hope he would know his own needs better than I would.”

“But what about Roxxas?” said Dori. “What he really wanted is the death of billions, and you give him only a little flake of hamburger every day.”

“That falls under ‘making the world a little better by doing what I can’,” said Ennis. “Don’t ask me for an overly consistent philosophy. The world is too complex. But if you offered me the power of Glorith, or this new Time Trapper fellow, I don’t believe I would take it. That level of power could drive a person right around the wrong bend.”

“Ennis, you are no help at all,” said Dori.

“Dori, you clearly have serious problems on your mind, if you are distracting yourself by engaging in such idle speculative philosophy. But I can’t imagine what they may be for a woman as wealthy and privileged as you.”

“Said the man who owns an entire planet,” said Dori.

“Yes, I own a trillion-credit planet, and I am nearly a trillion credits in debt. You’ve seen my cash flow. Although it has improved somewhat recently, no small thanks to you, this is still a touch-and-go, day-by-day operation.”

“How did you ever afford the downpayment on a policeman’s salary?” Dori wondered.

“Oh, anyone can do it, really. UPGov has a development program. Anyone who can get a development plan approved--or submit a reasonable business plan, you know—can get a 1% grant towards the purchase of an unclaimed world.”

“Wait- UPGov just handed you ten billion credits for filling out some paperwork?” said Dori.

“Yes, and the Interplanetary Bank financed the rest of it. Of course, UPGov does have a lien on Jahnson’s Planet for the full amount, and if I should ever sell, they would not only recover 100% or their investment, but share proportionally in the equity. But it is true I have been living for over a decade off of OPM.”

“Other People’s Money,” said Dori. “EarthGov’s generosity to entrepreneurs makes the Standard Dole look paltry by comparison.”

Ennis Jahnson finished his visit, and Dori was left to her own thoughts. So Jahnson’s World was still having cash flow problems. Maybe she could help with that.

Ennis is certainly wise beyond his years. I love Bunny, too. You have a gift for making even background character's like the nurses shine.

Poor Dori, she really is distracted. At least she is using her distraction constructively, or trying to.

CHAPTER SEVEN

On her second day out of the hospital, the day Dori was to leave Jahnson’s World, Bunny invited her over for dinner. Her family lived in a small suite of rooms in the Schwarzwald Hotel. Bunny’s husband, Olea Sharrik, had the same olive complexion and black eyes as Bunny, and was built like a stereotypical chef. Their daughter Marrita was a little blur, stopping only occasionally to point out some wonder of their little home for their new guest.

“You are old,” said Marrita. “Older than my daddy, and his is old, old, old. Your head is filled with lots and lots of colors.” She ran to the kitchen to her mother. “She has two auras, momma. One is ‘motional colors, and one reg’lar.”

“Marrita, it’s rude to talk to people about what’s in their heads,” Olea scolded. “All telepaths are different,” he explained to Dori. “Marrita sees auras around people that reflect their emotional state. You are quite a novelty to her.”

Bunny had begun bringing food out to the table. “When Olea and I are both at home, I do the cooking,” she explained. “He has enough of that all day at the Hotel. And as the three of us eat nearly every meal at one of the Hotels, dinner at home is a real treat.”

The small table was set for four; each plate had several small cups and dishes set in a semi-circle around it. The meal was entirely vegetarian: roasted bean curd in a red curry sauce, yams in a thick golden curry, and green curried talong. In the center of the table was a communal pot of creamy garlicked black rice, a plate piled high with some sort of flatbread, and a pot of flowery tea.

“What interesting little teacups,” said Dori. “Where do they come from?”

Bunny laughed. “Dori, you have spent your life at the extremes of society. You have no idea how ninety percent of the United Planets lives. Very few people actually own things, like dishes and furniture and clothing. Most people get by with a Solid Printer and a Robo-Chef®. When dinner is over, we will toss these plates and cups and bowls back into the Printer Recycling Bin, and the leftover bits of food and all into the Robo-Chef. Tomorrow might print out a bowl or a blouse or a throw-pillow. Even we are outliers, of course. Olea insists that food from the Robo-Chef tastes like tin; so Marrita is the only one who uses ours, when she has to make her own quick breakfasts or snacks.”

Dori looked around the apartment. “None of this is real?” she asked.

“None of this is artisanal,” said Bunny. “The richest of the rich insist on having unique possessions made for themselves, the poorest of the poor make their own, or do without. But to the vast majority in the middle, this is ‘real’; this is normal.”

“I always thought my father was poor,” said Dori. “But he died a millionaire. And not only because I sent him money that he never spent. But he chose to live the life of an ordinary pluridium miner. I’m still trying to understand. He always seemed so unhappy, so angry with his life.”

“Well, I suppose no one is entirely happy with their life,” said Bunny. “Look at me: M.D., PhD., and working as Executive Assistant to Ennis Jahnson.”

“You don’t really like Ennis Jahnson, do you?” asked Dori.

“I don’t think anyone really likes their employer,” said Bunny. “Ennis Jahnson is a vain, self-centered egotist who has isolated himself from the rest of the universe, and managed to create his own little fantasy world out here on the fringes of the United Planets. The rest of us just live in it, to perpetuate his little daydream. I like you, Dori, because you’ve disrupted his neat little daily timetables more than once, and slapped him in the face with a reality he refuses to acknowledge exists. I even forgive you the extra duties I have needed to take on to keep you out of his hair.”

“I suppose that the dinner tonight was Mr. Jahnson’s idea as well?” said Dori. “Something else else to keep me out of trouble for a few hours?”

“No comment,” said Bunny.

“I like her,” said Marrita. “Can I stay home from school tomorrow, and she can be my baby sitter?”

Olea sighed. “When my sister came to visit a few months ago, we let Marrita skip the daycare center, and stay home with her. She spoled her niece a bit, I’m afraid. She let Marrita sit for hours in front of the wallscreen, and now she looks for every opportunity to do it again.”

“Marrita,” said Dori, “If you and I were to spend the day together, you would not sit all day in front of the wallscreen. I would take you out, and we would have adventures.”

“That is precisely what Ennis is afraid of,” said Bunny.

“You manage his calendar, don’t you?” asked Dori.

“Somewhat,” said Bunny. “Much of his schedule is pretty fixed.”

“See if you can schedule me an hour with him in the afternoon tomorrow,” said Dori. “I’d like to shake up Jahnson’s World a little more.”

"Nice work on the nest" - fantastic line!

I'm really enjoying these Rainbow Girl stories. Too bad we don't have a Dori to shake things up in our time.

That was a very touching encounter between Dori and Irveang.

Roxxas' fate was amazing (I'm wondering if it will last); so much more futuristic than putting someone in prison.

Jahnson's World is a curious and fascinating place. Your details on the economy of the future are also very interesting, the differences between rich and not-rich, and, just as today, that a really wealthy person might be oblivious to how the rest of that society works.

There are a lot of similarities to present-day finance, but after reading Neptune's Brood, I can see how all the banker schemes could keep going along with expansion into the galaxy.

I'm still pondering "The Shield of Achilles".

talong! what a treat it was reading that!

CHAPTER EIGHT

Bunny only just managed to schedule the appointment for Dori at Ennis Jahnson’s office.

“My late husband,” Dori explained, “Was one of the few Polamars more interested in making money than spending it. He was a master Hotel Manager, and I absorbed a good deal from osmosis. I think you need to look into your relationship with Polamar Hotels.”

“Oh, you do?” said Ennis Jahnson. “And when did I hire you as my business manager?”

“This is free advice,” said Dori. “And I’ll be brief. First, you ought to contact Hilton, Mandarin, Marriott, and Ritz-Carlton—all luxury hotels with a pedigree at least as old as Polamar’s—and see what sort of a deal you could strike with them to replace your Polamar Hotels here. Ideally, each of them would have a few hotels on Jahnson’s World, and compete with one another. Funneling all your money through a single entity is bad practice. It may seem efficient in the short term, but you have given Polamar monopoly power over your operation.”

Ennis Jahnson frowned.

“Second point: you use open credit exclusively. That means anyone with access to a client’s credit account can get a full record of what services they paid for. The reality of the hotel business is, the client deserves a certain degree of privacy. Suppose a married man brings his lady friend to Jahnson’s World for some harmless recreation. Well, his wife can see precisely what they have been doing on an open statement: the name of the hotel, the name of the guests, everything. With closed credit statements, all that appears is an alphanumerical code. The detail is encrypted, available only to that particular client.” She looked up at Ennis Jahnson. “You know that,” she said. “You do this intentionally.”

Ennis Jahnson nodded.

“You have designed this place as a kiddie park,” she said. “Surely you know that there are individuals who would find a more—adult—entertainment package more enticing? For Grife’s sake, you’re changing these people into animals! That’s a virtual invitation to, well, animalistic hedonism, let us say. But with the constant telepathic surveillance, there is no expectation of privacy…”

Ennis Jahnson nodded.

“You’re tying your own hands here,” said Dori. “You could be…”

“I think I could be the Pimp to the Stars,” said Ennis Jahnson. “I think not.”

“You’re not forcing anyone,” said Dori. “It’s always been an unspoken part of the hotel business. It’s just business.”

“It’s my business,” said Ennis Jahnson. “There is a reason it is called Jahnson’s World.”

“Jahnson’s World could be much more profitable just as it is,” said Dori. “Your markup is fine, and you have proved a degree of price inelasticity with your latest fee increase. However, you seem to be over-generous with your profits. I realize that you have no shareholders to answer to, but still… I’ve been trying to break down your charitable donations, and they make no sense to me.”

“They make perfect sense to me,” said Ennis Jahnson. “And as sole proprietor, what I choose to do with the profits of Jahnson’s World would seem to me to be entirely up to me.”

“But the charities you support are so obscure: I don’t see anything going to United Planets Way, or Red Tessaract, UPICEF, or any of the major foundations or endowments. You make a thousand tiny donations to a thousand obscure charities: a small, local food bank on some obscure world, an orphans’ home, a small village or church. You seem to have no concept of using charitable donations to build customer or societal goodwill. It’s like your hesitancy to advertise. It’s almost as if you don’t want people to even know you exist.”

“I do not expect you to understand,” said Ennis Jahnson. “But you know my clientele: they are the wealthiest, most privileged, and most jaded citizens of the United Planets. I do not intend to expand my customer base now. As for these charities I have chosen, they all have one thing in common: all their overhead is already paid for, by some grant in perpetuity, or some sort of dedicated business venture. Nearly all of their employees are volunteers. I can be assured that every credit I donate is putting a roof over someone’s head, a safe haven from brutality or aggression, or medicine in their veins, food in their stomachs, or the feeding of a starving mind. If the Universe at large does not know, then these people- hundreds of thousands every year- do. Do you understand, Dori Aandraison?”

Dori understood. “So, Jahnson’s World is a galactic Robin Hood, stealing from the rich, and giving to the poor.”

“The rich give me their money willingly. And I take not only their money, but a brief fragment their time, during which they are, for that brief period, distracted from the languor and ennui which their privileged status inflicts upon them.”

“And the rest of Jahnson’s World? The wild islands beyond the domes? Why don’t you exploit that resource in the service of mankind?”

“After I left the Science Police, I worked for UPGov for awhile on Weber’s World as an Assistant Central Director for Endangered Species Control at the Planetary Census Bureau. The agency evaluates the ecologies of existing and newly-admitted planets in the U.P. Do you know what they named this world when it was discovered? They called it ‘Basura’. It means ‘garbage’. It was suggested that the entire planet be sterilized, and then terraformed for human settlement. A few individuals of selected species would be transferred to Interstellar Zoos. Each of these islands has an individual unique ecology, as different from one another as from the other worlds of the U.P. I am a selfish man, Dori. I could not bear to see it all destroyed. I concocted a development plan that would not intrude too much on the natural ecology of ‘Basura’. Of course, it’s all based on my projective morphological ability; when I am gone, Jahnson’s World will die as well, and ‘Basura’ will be terraformed. But I can put it off for a few decades, at least.”

Dori thought for a while. “You know, Ennis, the United Planets has changed since you locked yourself away here on Jahnson’s World. When you were working for UPGov, the Dominion were the puppeteers behind the scenes, pulling the strings. There is a far greater respect for the natural development of alien worlds now. I was in the Diplomatic Corps during the Dominator Infiltration, and after it was exposed. The difference- the immediate change in attitude- was stark, and heartening. Human beings are, at heart, better people than you seem to think they are.”

“Well, perhaps so. But at any rate I am not sure I should be taking advice from you regarding Jahnson’s World’s finances,” said Ennis Jahnson. “For the amount of credits you spent for a twenty-one-day stay here, you might have purchased an entire suite of rooms from Polamar at one of their hotels for your exclusive use in perpetuity. And with your contacts there, you might have even been given a discount.”

Dori smiled wanly, and gave up.

Basura!

Nice logos, Klar.

This is certainly an illuminating discussion for both Dori and Ennis. I do like Ennis' idealism, but appreciate Dori's points on practicality and sustainability.

CHAPTER NINE: NOT GOODBYE, BUT AU REVOIR

By the evening of her third day at the Schwarzwald hotel on Jahnson’s World, Dori was beginning to get restless. She was pleasantly surprised by a delivery of Nurse Gemma’s artwork. The egg had been adorned in complex geometric shapes with bright, metallic paints in all colors. The interior had been filled with some sort of plaster or plastic foam, so it had some real heft. It was delivered with a display stand, and a small card with a short hand-written note detailing the history of Bokkite Traditional Eggcraft. She re-packed it carefully in its carton, and stowed it in her personal flyer.

As she was packing to leave, Ennis Jahnson’s florid face appeared on her wallscreen. “What is this?” he asked. A window display showed a document Dori had recently filed.

“I am merely requesting that I purchase a suite of rooms direct from Polamar Hotels for my personal use,” Dori replied. “Nearly half the rooms in all these hotels are the permanent residences of your employees; it is not as though you rent every single suite. I thought I might like to come back and visit Jahnson’s World occasionally, without the messy business of Transformation. I have made quite a few friends here—your Executive Assistant’s family, for instance.”

“The residents of Jahnsons World are either guests, or employees,” said Ennis Jahnson. “Why do you demand special treatment?”

“But there is also Roxxas, who is your prisoner, or pet, perhaps, and the Two Bears in the Enchanted Forest. You have made exceptions in the past,” Dori reminded him. “And as the ultimate Hotel Manager on Jahnson’s World, you have every right to veto my purchase from Polamar.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Ennis Jahnson, “And let you know.”

It was a pleasant walk back to the spaceport. Dori was surprised to see Bunny catch up to her.

“When I am on Jahnson’s World, is my supervision on your list of permanent duties?” Dori asked.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Bunny said. “You’ve made Ennis Jahnson a project. You’re trying to change him. As a friend, Dori, let me tell you, you can’t. He is stubborn and obstinate. He’s the way he is, and he likes it.”

“Oh, I may tire of it quickly enough,” said Dori. “But someone pointed out to me recently that I’m a troublemaker at heart, I like to stir the waters. Ennis can give me access to Jahnson’s World or not; he surely knows as well as you do what I’m up to.”

Bunny harrumphed, the sound of an employee outside of her pay grade.

“{And what is it I am up to?}” thought Dori. “{Why do I care what happens to the privileged or the hoi-polloi on Jahnson’s World?}”

As her ship made its way back to Xolnar, Dori read Zel’s new book, ‘Violette of Varilla’.

CHAPTER TEN: ROSSUM’S UNIVERSAL ROBOTS

* * *

Meanwhile:

In his office at #100 Schwarzwald Hotel, Ennis Jahnson took a call.

Doctor Hobbes was the dwarfish head of Marketing for Planet Rossum.

“Really, Mr. Jahnson, I cannot understand your resistance. You employ our robots only as parking valets, when there are so many other places they might serve you in your operation. For example, you might stock your Forests with benign robotic animals, indistinguishable to your guests from the real thing, and far more predictable.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hobbes,” said Ennis Jahnson. “I prefer living creatures in my habitats, and as my employees. I thank you for your input, however.”

The next call was from Brande Industries.

“Mr. Jahnson, I believe we have numerous acquaintances in common,” said the Durlan. “I am Reep Daggle, President and CEO of Brande Industries, and this is my wife, Juula, who is currently serving as our Chief Information Officer. We have a proposition for you. At present, Jahnson’s World occupies only a tiny fraction of your planetary service. We would propose that there would be certain efficiencies to be gained by moving your operation to a smaller space.”

A window popped up, illustrating Mr. Daggle’s proposal.

“Imagine a small artificial moon orbiting Jahnson’s World. Call it ‘Jahnson’s Planet’, if you like. Your entire operation would easily fit on a body only one-hundred-fifty kilometers in diameter. Two hundred kilometers in diameter, and you could increase the size of your operation by 50%. This proposal includes a 75% surface ocean as an environmental buffer. We could install a superdense core, eliminting the need for expensive artificial gravity generators. Of course, with a body that small, you would need a polymer shield to hold in the atmosphere, but those are fairly standard on some natural worlds now, and I understand you use polymer domes in your parks already, for other reasons. I believe we could construct this planetoid for you at very reasonable terms, and after completion, transfer your operation with Gil’Dishpan teleportation technology in less than a day. May I provide you with a detailed construction estimate?”

“Indeed, Mr. and Mrs. Daggle, this is quite intriguing,” said Ennis Jahnson. “Let me look over your estimate, and see how the numbers stack up.”

After completing his call with Brande Industries, Ennis Jahnson gave Dr. Hobbes a call back on Rossum.

“I have had a thought,” said Ennis Jahnson. “A number of my patrons have, in the past, suggested a hunting preserve as part of our offerings. Suitable for either in their natural or transformed shapes. Now, I have a natural antipathy towards hunting for sport, but I might be open to substituting lifelike robots as their prey.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Jahnson,” said Dr. Hobbes. “The positronic brains of Rossum’s robots are terribly complex. They are, in their own way, nearly sentient beings. I cannot see our producing them, merely to be destroyed.”

“Ah, but you could build them stupid, if you wanted to, I believe,” said Ennis Jahnson. “And what I am thinking of is a highly durable robot skeleton, which could never be damaged, surrounded by some sort of androidal pseudo-tissue, which would give the appearance of life. The robotic creature would be programmed to play dead, when it had sustained sufficient injury, but we could repair the inert android portion, and send it out to play in the hunting area again.”

“Oh my, oh my, Mr. Jahnson,” said Dr. Hobbes. “That would be a most unorthodox use of our services. Still, I suppose it could be done… an interesting engineering problem. Very lifelike, you would want them, yes?”

“I would be interested to know if you could also modify the ‘three laws’ your robots are governed by,” said Ennis Jahnson. “For example, I would like them to respond to commands from Jahnson’s World employees, but not from the hunters. No use sending a hunter out into an enviroment where he can just shout, ‘Ho, there!’ and the beast will stop for him.”

“Equally unorthodox, yes, but possible,” said Dr. Hobbes. “I would need to meet with the Ethics Committee, of course, before I would know if this is something we would undertake for you.”

“Another thing,” Ennis Jahnson continued. “I believe your First Law is, ‘No robot may harm a sentient being, or, through inaction, allow a sentient being to come to harm’. Now suppose instead of ‘harm’, we substitute ‘kill’ and ‘be killed’…”

“Oh, Mr. Jahnson, this is beyond unorthodox. I don’t believe the Ethics Committee…”

“Or, refine the definition of ‘harm’,” Ennis Jahnson suggested. “We have fine hospitals here on Jahnson’s World, and can easily patch up a hunter with a little trauma.”

“This would be a custom order,” said Dr. Hobbes. “Oh, dear, I would need to submit it to a number of protocols and committees. Perhaps I could get back to you—let you know if it can actually be done, and with an estimate of project cost?”

“No hurry,” said Ennis Jahnson. “I don’t imagine this could be implemented on Jahnson’s World for a year or more. I just think it might be an interesting project. And I am thinking of some really big game, here. Old Terran Dinosaurs, perhaps, or the Brogdingnabian Living Mountains.”

“Oh my, oh my,” said Dr. Hobbes. “I am afraid I see where you are going with this. Although of course, your clientele would be paying for the experience, yes? And would be fully apprised of the dangers, and be given the proper waivers, and so on?”

“Naturally,” said Ennis Jahnson, “My clientele are a very select group, and would appreciate authenticity in the experience. Demand it, actually.”

“Of course, of course,” said Dr. Hobbes. “Yes, an interesting project. We could possibly set up a new division—even a subsidiary. We would certainly not want these new creations to reflect on our standard line.”

“Certainly,” said Ennis Jahnson. “Let me know what you can do.”

Oh, that Dori! I like the way she thinks. And good to see that Ennis is open-minded enough to consider these suggestions.

Nice seeing Reep and his wife, as well.

• When Reep first met Juula Daggle (ne Pendarr), she was a Senior Vice President of Marketing at Brande Industries, a position which she still holds. She also holds substantial cache with her other SVPs, as she married the boss.

• The youngest SVP currently working at Brande, she is an expat Durlan whose family came to Earth when she was still a child. She attended the venerable Harvard Business School, where she obtained a Master of Business Administration, missing graduating summa cum laude by one statistics course.

• Juula has proved even more capable in real-world business than in theory. She was responsible for arranging the Arbro Investment, in which Brande re-invigorated the system’s sun, and fashioned Arbro II, and so eased the population crisis. Few believed the investment would pay off, but the rejuvenated Arbroan economy has provided a steady stream of revenue to Brande Industries for years now.

• Juula is more political than Reep, and will gladly discourse on the continuing discrimination in the U.P. against Durlans. Her ‘default’ Durlan form more nearly resembles Reep’s than, say, Yera’s.

• Reep and Juula are in that stage of their relationship where they are constantly engaging in PDA, even briefly and surreptitiously ‘merging’ their fingers or hands from time to time.

• Her name is properly pronounced ‘dzhuh-OO-luh’, but she will accept ‘jewel-uh’, as it is easier for most internet speakers.

• Her go-to comfort foods are white chocolate, macadamia nuts, and teriyaki jerky.

• In the future, Reep and Juula will have twins, a girl and a boy, named Renée, and Jacques, respectively.


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I know that this sort of telling, not showing, is bad form in writing, and pretty boring. But I wanted to show I have character outlines scribbled down of each of the 100 or so original background characters that showed up in this series, as well as the 100 or so Legionnaires.

I had a lot of time on my hands. And appreciated the gift of notebooks.

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