"What do you know of the Watchers?"
"What watchers?"
"Intergalactic."
She stared at him. "Intergalactic?"
"Yes, people who make sure criminals don't leave other planets and get away with it."
"Hold on, excuse me. I'm kinda stuck on this whole thing. Intergalactic? You mean like, space aliens?"
"Correct."
"Are you still high?"
"No." He realized this wasn't going to be as simple as he thought. He reached into his bag and pulled out his map. "This is where I am from," he said, scrolling the screen around. Just for show, as he had his home planet saved. "The planet is Klammet." He zoomed out till the screen showed the entire galaxy. "This is the spiral galaxy."
Her mouth was open. "OK, I'm not saying I believe you, but that is fancy. If you're an alien how come you look human?"
He decided not to tell her that he wasn't exactly human. "These Watchers took humans all over the galaxy a few thousand years ago. Spread them out all over." At least, that's what he had been told. "There have been only two species to develop true sentience, and when ours came along, the first took responsibility for them. I think the forced immigration was halted over two thousand years ago or so, but they still feel a need to interfere at times."
"So, all that stuff you told me - you really are a diplomat, but to the stars?"
He laughed. "No, no, just local. Our world is quite rural, although a few highly placed people do know of these Watchers."
"And when you ran off, they called them in?"
"Precisely."
She chewed on her lip. "This doesn't make sense. I mean, if all that's true, if we had a common ancestor thousands of years ago - why can you speak my language?"
He removed his translator and showed it to her. "I can't. See? I need this." He replaced it. "It translates things."
"Wait, it translates your speech as you speak it? And my speech as you hear it?"
"Do you want to try it?"
"Ummm, let me clean it first." She walked off and came back with a small brown bottle and some loose gauze. Deeter handed it over and she cleaned it. It was still a bit orange, but now it gleamed.
"Just a reminder, I'm speaking now in my native language," he said before she inserted it. "Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now? Can you hear me now?"
"Wow, that really works. I can't believe it. Didn't you say you were from a low-tech society?"
He cracked a smile. "I've noticed that most higher-technological societies don't believe magic exists."
She groaned. "Oh great, space aliens, space cops, and now magic too? What the hell?"
"I suppose it's a great deal of new information to cope with. I think I should wait before telling you the rest."
"There's more?"
He nodded and put his arm around her. "I'll wait till you feel ready."
"I think I feel hungry." She squeezed his hand then moved it off her. "We've burned a lot of calories since lunch. I'll order in."
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
15
So, thought Deeter, that was what the fuss was about.
The drug had worn off by now. He felt light-headed and tired and somewhat foolish. He had had sex before, but not with a girl close to his own age. For once he was thankful for the strange teachings he had absorbed from his "physical education" mistress. It was part of life, even for the peasants where he grew up, to have an older man or woman deal with sixteen-year-olds for a summer. There was absolutely no romance to it, nothing like the stuttering dances and balls that came after. "Coming of age" indeed.
Timbella was bathing. Or "showering". Indoor plumbing continued to fascinate him. Not that he'd never had a shower before, but only during the trips of long hunting parties. After a week in the wilderness, you were glad to be sprayed down by the shower bags that had been warming in the sun. But servants squeezed the bags to rinse you off. He almost wanted to join her, but she had given him a frosty look before marching off. Unwarranted, he felt, considering the circumstances.
He supposed it would be best for him to shower as well, but part of the reason he didn't want to go it along was his ignorance. He almost went in to sneak a peek at the water, but she'd locked the door. He sighed and sat back on the sofa. "Futon," she'd called it. It folded out into a more bedlike shape, and they hadn't yet replaced it. He hadn't seen how she'd done that anyway.
It had been drilled into his head that one did not do what he just did, except with someone you planned to marry. The accidental pregnancy was the main reason. Any woman who conceived had a claim to you, no matter what. But they had used "protection" so he wasn't overly concerned. It was hard to shake off all that programming, anyway. Or he thought it would be. But with someone not brought up that way, in a culture where "protection" made sure any encounter ended without issue... She had made the first move. Or had he? It was impossible to be sure, even without the drug oddity.
Timbella came out, dressed, her curls weighed down by water. "You're beautiful," he said.
"Oh please, don't get started on that shit." She handed him a towel. "Go ahead."
He marched firmly to the bathroom and locked the door. Shower stall. Not a bath at all. The wetness gave him an indication of where to go. He closed the door behind him, and made the brilliant deduction to turn the knobs with "H" and "C" on them. He yelped as unbearably hot water sprayed him from high above. After a moment of fiddling, the water felt fine. Better than fine. He had not had a warm bath in a month, merely sponging himself down when he had the chance. "Shower gel" was squeezed into his hands, and worked into a lather all around his body and into his hair. Weeks of accumulated dirt came off. Before this he had thought he had been keeping clean enough, but clearly this was not the case. He felt slightly embarrassed and hoped Timbella hadn't minded too much.
The water began to get a bit cooler, so he shut it off. Luxuriating in an apparently endless supply - apparently it was not quite so endless. He used the towel to dry off, then wrapped it around himself and went back out. Timbella had replaced the futon and was drinking something.
"Tea?"
"In a moment," he said, fiddling in his bag for the other set of clothes he carried with him. He dressed himself in front of her, trying to ignore her gaze. Finally he was dressed and sat next to her. She gave him a cup and he sipped it. Warm and grassy tasting. But pleasant, like everything had been since he came to her place.
"OK, Deeter, I think I need to know some more about you."
He put the cup down and sighed.
The drug had worn off by now. He felt light-headed and tired and somewhat foolish. He had had sex before, but not with a girl close to his own age. For once he was thankful for the strange teachings he had absorbed from his "physical education" mistress. It was part of life, even for the peasants where he grew up, to have an older man or woman deal with sixteen-year-olds for a summer. There was absolutely no romance to it, nothing like the stuttering dances and balls that came after. "Coming of age" indeed.
Timbella was bathing. Or "showering". Indoor plumbing continued to fascinate him. Not that he'd never had a shower before, but only during the trips of long hunting parties. After a week in the wilderness, you were glad to be sprayed down by the shower bags that had been warming in the sun. But servants squeezed the bags to rinse you off. He almost wanted to join her, but she had given him a frosty look before marching off. Unwarranted, he felt, considering the circumstances.
He supposed it would be best for him to shower as well, but part of the reason he didn't want to go it along was his ignorance. He almost went in to sneak a peek at the water, but she'd locked the door. He sighed and sat back on the sofa. "Futon," she'd called it. It folded out into a more bedlike shape, and they hadn't yet replaced it. He hadn't seen how she'd done that anyway.
It had been drilled into his head that one did not do what he just did, except with someone you planned to marry. The accidental pregnancy was the main reason. Any woman who conceived had a claim to you, no matter what. But they had used "protection" so he wasn't overly concerned. It was hard to shake off all that programming, anyway. Or he thought it would be. But with someone not brought up that way, in a culture where "protection" made sure any encounter ended without issue... She had made the first move. Or had he? It was impossible to be sure, even without the drug oddity.
Timbella came out, dressed, her curls weighed down by water. "You're beautiful," he said.
"Oh please, don't get started on that shit." She handed him a towel. "Go ahead."
He marched firmly to the bathroom and locked the door. Shower stall. Not a bath at all. The wetness gave him an indication of where to go. He closed the door behind him, and made the brilliant deduction to turn the knobs with "H" and "C" on them. He yelped as unbearably hot water sprayed him from high above. After a moment of fiddling, the water felt fine. Better than fine. He had not had a warm bath in a month, merely sponging himself down when he had the chance. "Shower gel" was squeezed into his hands, and worked into a lather all around his body and into his hair. Weeks of accumulated dirt came off. Before this he had thought he had been keeping clean enough, but clearly this was not the case. He felt slightly embarrassed and hoped Timbella hadn't minded too much.
The water began to get a bit cooler, so he shut it off. Luxuriating in an apparently endless supply - apparently it was not quite so endless. He used the towel to dry off, then wrapped it around himself and went back out. Timbella had replaced the futon and was drinking something.
"Tea?"
"In a moment," he said, fiddling in his bag for the other set of clothes he carried with him. He dressed himself in front of her, trying to ignore her gaze. Finally he was dressed and sat next to her. She gave him a cup and he sipped it. Warm and grassy tasting. But pleasant, like everything had been since he came to her place.
"OK, Deeter, I think I need to know some more about you."
He put the cup down and sighed.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
14
Deeter swallowed the substance, and listened to the music quietly. It was odd to him, intricate and overly rhythmic. He couldn't recognize a single instrument. He considered asking what it was, but he figured he wouldn't understand the answer. And then, the drug took hold.
It was not at all like being drunk on wine.
At first he didn't notice anything different. Then he felt cold. Extremely cold. He said he was cold, and Timbella rushed off, returning with a large stack of blankets. She wrapped him up in them, claiming that she felt too warm already.
He squeezed the blankets tightly and looked at the flower. The iris danced in time with the music. Dancing? He laughed, and then stared at the ceiling. Concentric multicolored circles bubbled upon it. He asked her about the art on the ceiling, which then made her laugh. He looked straight across at the art he'd been entranced with earlier, but it, too, was extra-colorful and bubbling. He watched it for a time. The simple figures began growing rainbow ferns, tendrils curling around each other...
He started to feel feverish but cold. He loosened up some of the blankets, and made the mistake of looking at Timbella. Her curly hair was growing and wrapping itself around her. He quickly looked back up at the ceiling, but the eye movement convinced him to just shut them.
He then saw the strangest thing. He was a fountain – a statue with many arms, made of marble, all spraying water. He was staring at the fountain at the same time he knew he was the fountain, and four naked women splashed and swam in his waters. He moaned and rubbed his crotch, and more women appeared in his vision. They began kissing and fondling each other, as well as the statue.
He gasped and opened his eyes, springing forward a bit. He swore and then sat back again. Timbella asked if he was having a good time. He replied that he thought he was. But he couldn't be sure of anything.
Surety? What was that concept, anyway? He was trapped any way he moved. If he stayed still, the plants would curl up and around him. If he stood up, the circles would bubble over him. He started laughing again...
He was still laughing when she asked if he was thirsty, or needed to use a toilet. He couldn't stop laughing so he just nodded. A glass was soon thrust into his hand. He drank greedily. He was then pulled to his feet and led to a small room. The toilet was pointed out to him, like a great chamber pot with water at the bottom. He lowered his pants and let loose a great stream. He remembered to cover the toilet before making his way back to the sofa.
“I don't feel quite as weird,” he said.
“Well yeah, it's been an hour,” she said. “The strongest part is done, especially since you peed. Why didn't you flush?”
“Oh. Flush.” He started laughing maniacally again. “Indoor plumbing! What a concept!”
She started to giggle too. “Yeah, it's one of the many wonderful advantages of not living in a pre-industrial society. You should try it sometime!”
They both collapsed in paroxysms of giggles. When the giggles started to fade a bit, they were leaning against each other, their faces nearly touching. He thought he might like to kiss her, but that thought set him off again, this time lying on his back laughing.
“Man, I can't believe you've never done this before. A lot of people sometimes freak out, but you seem to be going with it really well.”
“That's me. I go with things.” He attempted to suppress his laughter by making a very serious face. This worked, but the sight made Timbella start laughing again.
And so on. Finally he managed to say, “I've been going with it for a few months now. This is stranger than most things I've experienced, though.”
“I bet!”
He remembered that he wanted to kiss her earlier, and this time managed to do so before the laughter took him. The kiss was soft, short and sweet.
“Oh?” she said after.
He shrugged. “And we come yet again to another thing I'm not very experienced with.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Are you only doing this because you're high?”
“I can't really tell,” he said. “Earlier it struck me like a beam of light. But I managed to keep from ravishing you.”
She giggled. “Hee hee, ravish. It's been too long since I've had a good ravishing.” She leaned back to him and kissed him, hard, long, and vicious.
“Would you settle for a mediocre ravishing?” he tried to say.
“Shut the hell up.”
It was not at all like being drunk on wine.
At first he didn't notice anything different. Then he felt cold. Extremely cold. He said he was cold, and Timbella rushed off, returning with a large stack of blankets. She wrapped him up in them, claiming that she felt too warm already.
He squeezed the blankets tightly and looked at the flower. The iris danced in time with the music. Dancing? He laughed, and then stared at the ceiling. Concentric multicolored circles bubbled upon it. He asked her about the art on the ceiling, which then made her laugh. He looked straight across at the art he'd been entranced with earlier, but it, too, was extra-colorful and bubbling. He watched it for a time. The simple figures began growing rainbow ferns, tendrils curling around each other...
He started to feel feverish but cold. He loosened up some of the blankets, and made the mistake of looking at Timbella. Her curly hair was growing and wrapping itself around her. He quickly looked back up at the ceiling, but the eye movement convinced him to just shut them.
He then saw the strangest thing. He was a fountain – a statue with many arms, made of marble, all spraying water. He was staring at the fountain at the same time he knew he was the fountain, and four naked women splashed and swam in his waters. He moaned and rubbed his crotch, and more women appeared in his vision. They began kissing and fondling each other, as well as the statue.
He gasped and opened his eyes, springing forward a bit. He swore and then sat back again. Timbella asked if he was having a good time. He replied that he thought he was. But he couldn't be sure of anything.
Surety? What was that concept, anyway? He was trapped any way he moved. If he stayed still, the plants would curl up and around him. If he stood up, the circles would bubble over him. He started laughing again...
He was still laughing when she asked if he was thirsty, or needed to use a toilet. He couldn't stop laughing so he just nodded. A glass was soon thrust into his hand. He drank greedily. He was then pulled to his feet and led to a small room. The toilet was pointed out to him, like a great chamber pot with water at the bottom. He lowered his pants and let loose a great stream. He remembered to cover the toilet before making his way back to the sofa.
“I don't feel quite as weird,” he said.
“Well yeah, it's been an hour,” she said. “The strongest part is done, especially since you peed. Why didn't you flush?”
“Oh. Flush.” He started laughing maniacally again. “Indoor plumbing! What a concept!”
She started to giggle too. “Yeah, it's one of the many wonderful advantages of not living in a pre-industrial society. You should try it sometime!”
They both collapsed in paroxysms of giggles. When the giggles started to fade a bit, they were leaning against each other, their faces nearly touching. He thought he might like to kiss her, but that thought set him off again, this time lying on his back laughing.
“Man, I can't believe you've never done this before. A lot of people sometimes freak out, but you seem to be going with it really well.”
“That's me. I go with things.” He attempted to suppress his laughter by making a very serious face. This worked, but the sight made Timbella start laughing again.
And so on. Finally he managed to say, “I've been going with it for a few months now. This is stranger than most things I've experienced, though.”
“I bet!”
He remembered that he wanted to kiss her earlier, and this time managed to do so before the laughter took him. The kiss was soft, short and sweet.
“Oh?” she said after.
He shrugged. “And we come yet again to another thing I'm not very experienced with.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Are you only doing this because you're high?”
“I can't really tell,” he said. “Earlier it struck me like a beam of light. But I managed to keep from ravishing you.”
She giggled. “Hee hee, ravish. It's been too long since I've had a good ravishing.” She leaned back to him and kissed him, hard, long, and vicious.
“Would you settle for a mediocre ravishing?” he tried to say.
“Shut the hell up.”
Saturday, January 19, 2008
13
Deeter inspected Timbella's studio flat with great interest. Apart from the Professor's minimalist space, he hadn't been in someone's home at all in his new life. It was completely different from any inn or tavern room, of course, but it was surprisingly similar to where he'd grown up. Aside from the screen to hide half. The furniture style was different, of course, but it was all old and matched after being bought, rather than as a set. The couch and three chairs shared the same shaggy yellow fabric, but that was all.
Besides too many chairs for the space, the art covered the wall without any respite or awareness of the possible wall beneath. Most were unframed sketches or watercolors, but there were a few key enormous pieces. Everything was stylized, no realism. He sat on the couch and stared across at the largest piece. It was overly stylized as well, but it appeared to depict a wolf hunt. At least, that was what it seemed to him. He didn't want to ask but Timbella sat next to him and began talking about it.
"Dad's first wife was an artist. She didn't title any of it so I have no idea what it's supposed to be. Maybe it was all about her disease and how she knew she was going to die."
Deeter frowned. "If you don't mind, I would appreciate you not make light of the dead."
"Oh, ok, I didn't know -"
"Yes, it's fine. Just letting you know."
She put her hand in his. "Your people have a big taboo about death, huh?"
"I wouldn't say that. Um. We believe that our ancestors ascend into a kind of heaven and become minor dieties, you could say. We pray to them rather than an all-powerful creator. But the common people have different beliefs."
She laughed. "Oh me, the common people! You really are a snob."
He decided to change the subject. "So where are these irises?"
"In the kitchen. I guess I can bring them out here." She got up and returned shortly with a potted iris. He was impressed with the translator, now. He would definitely have called that flower an iris if he'd seen it by himself.
"And that flower -"
"Causes hallucinations, yeah. You'll probably see the walls melting. I'm gonna put on some groovy music while I mix it up."
Hallucinations? Why would someone voluntarily want to see things that weren't there? Deeter felt terror, and decided he needed more information to calm down.
"When you say 'the walls melt'-"
"It's what it looks like," she called out. "Really you just find it hard to focus, and the edges of everything go wavy, people just like to say the walls melt." She came back with one tall and one short glass. "Since you're such a newbie, we'll just give you a half dose. It won't be as intense. It only lasts about two hours, unless you drink more. It just goes through your kidneys. Although don't ask me about the kid I knew who'd drink his own urine."
He felt a little better now. And besides, he knew he was going to be seeing things, so it didn't sound like true hallucinations. That was a good thing to keep in mind.
"Bottoms up!"
Besides too many chairs for the space, the art covered the wall without any respite or awareness of the possible wall beneath. Most were unframed sketches or watercolors, but there were a few key enormous pieces. Everything was stylized, no realism. He sat on the couch and stared across at the largest piece. It was overly stylized as well, but it appeared to depict a wolf hunt. At least, that was what it seemed to him. He didn't want to ask but Timbella sat next to him and began talking about it.
"Dad's first wife was an artist. She didn't title any of it so I have no idea what it's supposed to be. Maybe it was all about her disease and how she knew she was going to die."
Deeter frowned. "If you don't mind, I would appreciate you not make light of the dead."
"Oh, ok, I didn't know -"
"Yes, it's fine. Just letting you know."
She put her hand in his. "Your people have a big taboo about death, huh?"
"I wouldn't say that. Um. We believe that our ancestors ascend into a kind of heaven and become minor dieties, you could say. We pray to them rather than an all-powerful creator. But the common people have different beliefs."
She laughed. "Oh me, the common people! You really are a snob."
He decided to change the subject. "So where are these irises?"
"In the kitchen. I guess I can bring them out here." She got up and returned shortly with a potted iris. He was impressed with the translator, now. He would definitely have called that flower an iris if he'd seen it by himself.
"And that flower -"
"Causes hallucinations, yeah. You'll probably see the walls melting. I'm gonna put on some groovy music while I mix it up."
Hallucinations? Why would someone voluntarily want to see things that weren't there? Deeter felt terror, and decided he needed more information to calm down.
"When you say 'the walls melt'-"
"It's what it looks like," she called out. "Really you just find it hard to focus, and the edges of everything go wavy, people just like to say the walls melt." She came back with one tall and one short glass. "Since you're such a newbie, we'll just give you a half dose. It won't be as intense. It only lasts about two hours, unless you drink more. It just goes through your kidneys. Although don't ask me about the kid I knew who'd drink his own urine."
He felt a little better now. And besides, he knew he was going to be seeing things, so it didn't sound like true hallucinations. That was a good thing to keep in mind.
"Bottoms up!"
Thursday, January 17, 2008
12
The Professor came back in. He looked up and down at Deeter and Timbella, and said, “I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t in a hurry.”
Deeter became alert. “Is there a problem?”
“Depends on your definition. No one is moving till the weekend, though.”
“Oh. The weekend. Which is…”
He tried very hard to hide a grin. “The day after tomorrow, is when they mean.”
“I see. Should we try to meet them first?”
The Professor shook his head. “I meant that they literally weren’t moving from their homes, not just out of the country. You stick with Timby and I’ll get in touch with her when the time comes.”
“I see then. Thank you very much. Do I owe you anything for this?”
“No, but if you wanted to buy a few things, I wouldn’t need my arm twisted.”
Timbella spoke up. “Actually yeah, now that you mention it, about three grams of dope and a little Fup would be nice.”
He nodded, and walked off. Deeter asked, “So what are we getting?”
“God, how sheltered are you? Dope is a downer,” she whispered, “and Flower Power is what you drink so irises work.”
“Why are we whispering?” he whispered.
“Because I don’t want him to think you’re a narc!”
“Doesn’t he think that anyway?” Not that he knew what “narc” meant. Someone who was ignorant of drugs?
“I hope not!”
The professor came back with a few small clear plastic bags. “OK, these are D and this small one is Fup. Remember, one part to a thousand with that one.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “Can you get this, Deeter? I’ll pay you back.”
“Five hundred my man,” he said.
Deeter counted out five bills. “Here you are.”
“A pleasure doing business with you.”
~
Deeter and Timbella left and walked down the stairs. He was quiet till they got outside. “I still don’t quite understand what flowers have to do with anything.”
She frowned. “Maybe what we call irises aren’t what you call irises in your neck of the woods. But they give off a scent which only affects human if they’ve had some of that stuff.”
“One part to a thousand?”
“Yeah, you have to mix it with water, or fruit juice, or whatever, to dilute it.” They walked back to the train lift.
“So you drink it, and if you’re near these flowers, something weird happens?”
“Yeah. You get high. Really high.” She pressed the button for the lift.
He nodded. He was fairly ignorant of drugs but had occasionally overdone it on wine. Probably similar. “And what’s a narc?”
She stared at him so long they almost missed the lift. “Narcotics officer.”
“I see,” he said, although he didn’t. “Aren’t officers supposed to be not very obvious?”
“Ha! Good point.” They boarded the train, although he was still confused.
“Are we going back to your place?”
“Yeah, is that ok?”
“Certainly. Surprised you didn't ask that earlier."
"Earlier?"
"Why did you make me pay at the Professor’s?”
“Oh, well, first, I thought since you made me go over there, and ask him for something really weird, it was your place. Second, I thought you ought to try some. I’ll pay you back for whatever I keep.”
“That sounds more reasonable.” Deeter lapsed into silence. He was very curious now. How different from wine could it be? Timbella had said earlier that the professor created almost any kind of drug. He was aware that drugs existed, but they were not very common. As far as he knew, on Klammet, most were derived from plants, so naturally they were uncommon. People would rather spend time producing food than drugs. At least, this was what he assumed. It seemed to be very difficult to make plants grow. Farmers worked from sunup to sundown. He was unclear why this was the case on his world, and many others, but not on, for example, this one. Of course he rarely remained on planets this advanced, since they were more likely to be allies with Them, but now he wondered. Electronic oxen?
Deeter knew he didn’t understand electronics at all. He was comfortable with the explanation of, say, his new taser: it shot miniature lightning bolts at people to paralyze them. He just didn’t understand how the lightning, no matter how small, could stay in “batteries” the size of his finger. He figured it was magic, but people who used electronic devices found it highly insulting when that word was used. Perhaps he could return to the Professor and have him explain it. If he could create drugs alchemically, he probably knew quite a bit.
“Our stop’s next.”
He broke out of his reverie. “Ah. All right.”
Deeter became alert. “Is there a problem?”
“Depends on your definition. No one is moving till the weekend, though.”
“Oh. The weekend. Which is…”
He tried very hard to hide a grin. “The day after tomorrow, is when they mean.”
“I see. Should we try to meet them first?”
The Professor shook his head. “I meant that they literally weren’t moving from their homes, not just out of the country. You stick with Timby and I’ll get in touch with her when the time comes.”
“I see then. Thank you very much. Do I owe you anything for this?”
“No, but if you wanted to buy a few things, I wouldn’t need my arm twisted.”
Timbella spoke up. “Actually yeah, now that you mention it, about three grams of dope and a little Fup would be nice.”
He nodded, and walked off. Deeter asked, “So what are we getting?”
“God, how sheltered are you? Dope is a downer,” she whispered, “and Flower Power is what you drink so irises work.”
“Why are we whispering?” he whispered.
“Because I don’t want him to think you’re a narc!”
“Doesn’t he think that anyway?” Not that he knew what “narc” meant. Someone who was ignorant of drugs?
“I hope not!”
The professor came back with a few small clear plastic bags. “OK, these are D and this small one is Fup. Remember, one part to a thousand with that one.”
“I know, I know,” she said. “Can you get this, Deeter? I’ll pay you back.”
“Five hundred my man,” he said.
Deeter counted out five bills. “Here you are.”
“A pleasure doing business with you.”
~
Deeter and Timbella left and walked down the stairs. He was quiet till they got outside. “I still don’t quite understand what flowers have to do with anything.”
She frowned. “Maybe what we call irises aren’t what you call irises in your neck of the woods. But they give off a scent which only affects human if they’ve had some of that stuff.”
“One part to a thousand?”
“Yeah, you have to mix it with water, or fruit juice, or whatever, to dilute it.” They walked back to the train lift.
“So you drink it, and if you’re near these flowers, something weird happens?”
“Yeah. You get high. Really high.” She pressed the button for the lift.
He nodded. He was fairly ignorant of drugs but had occasionally overdone it on wine. Probably similar. “And what’s a narc?”
She stared at him so long they almost missed the lift. “Narcotics officer.”
“I see,” he said, although he didn’t. “Aren’t officers supposed to be not very obvious?”
“Ha! Good point.” They boarded the train, although he was still confused.
“Are we going back to your place?”
“Yeah, is that ok?”
“Certainly. Surprised you didn't ask that earlier."
"Earlier?"
"Why did you make me pay at the Professor’s?”
“Oh, well, first, I thought since you made me go over there, and ask him for something really weird, it was your place. Second, I thought you ought to try some. I’ll pay you back for whatever I keep.”
“That sounds more reasonable.” Deeter lapsed into silence. He was very curious now. How different from wine could it be? Timbella had said earlier that the professor created almost any kind of drug. He was aware that drugs existed, but they were not very common. As far as he knew, on Klammet, most were derived from plants, so naturally they were uncommon. People would rather spend time producing food than drugs. At least, this was what he assumed. It seemed to be very difficult to make plants grow. Farmers worked from sunup to sundown. He was unclear why this was the case on his world, and many others, but not on, for example, this one. Of course he rarely remained on planets this advanced, since they were more likely to be allies with Them, but now he wondered. Electronic oxen?
Deeter knew he didn’t understand electronics at all. He was comfortable with the explanation of, say, his new taser: it shot miniature lightning bolts at people to paralyze them. He just didn’t understand how the lightning, no matter how small, could stay in “batteries” the size of his finger. He figured it was magic, but people who used electronic devices found it highly insulting when that word was used. Perhaps he could return to the Professor and have him explain it. If he could create drugs alchemically, he probably knew quite a bit.
“Our stop’s next.”
He broke out of his reverie. “Ah. All right.”
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
11
Deeter sat by himself on an orange sofa in a penthouse in Kwee City. He was feeling oddly alive. As much as he liked meeting people, he'd only been able to do so on rather shallow terms the past few months. He was enjoying this Professor and Timbella. Unfortunately he would have to leave them. He didn't think she was so attracted to him that she would follow him wherever he had to go, after all.
He hadn't been thinking of himself as a criminal, but of course that was what he was. He had abandoned his responsibilities for no reason other than sheer terror. The fear he had of Them was merely that they would bring him back home. Which was Their job, of course. His family had probably paid them well for the privilege.
Timbella came back and sat next to him. Her eyes were red. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She forced a smile. "Prof's setting it up?"
"I suppose." He looked into her eyes. They were brown, with green flecks. "You know, I don't really have to leave today."
She turned her head. "Yeah, but you have to leave. Oh, this is stupid. I don't even know why I give a shit."
He chuckled. "Well, that certainly makes me feel better. I was hoping it was my magnetic charisma, and willingness to let you lead me everywhere."
She smiled, still looking away. "I guess that helps, yeah. Are you really a diplomat?"
"Do I look like a diplomat?"
"You're too young, but it somehow wouldn't surprise me much."
"Assuming everything I've told you is more or less the truth, what would you say my story is?"
She turned back to him. "Spoiled rich kid from old money, overprotected to a fault, when you got out of school Daddy wanted you to work for him, and you refused and ran. Daddy had enough money to get serious bodyguard types after you. You really don't give off any criminal vibes at all, otherwise I'd say something more sinister happened." She tapped her lips. "Maybe you got your sister pregnant."
Deeter gaped at her, and she laughed. "Wow, I can't tell if that's the 'on the money' face or the 'how dare you' face."
He blinked, and recomposed himself. "The latter. I don't even have a sister. I don't think."
"Well OK. I just guessed that 'cos you seem too gormless to have hurt anyone. Unless that's all part of the charming psychopath act."
He rolled his eyes. "I'd tell you but I'd have to kill you. No, honestly you've got a pretty good handle on it, I suppose I let a bit more slip than I thought."
"You didn't let that much slip through. I still can't figure out what country you're from. I mean I could narrow it down 'cos you're white but brown hair doesn't help. But your accent is totally weird."
"What about you?"
"Me? I'm a spoiled rich kid too, but in that new money way. My dad grew up on a farm, first in his family to go to college, and he married his high school sweetheart after that. But she had some genetic disease and died before the first kid was born. Very sad. He married my mom about ten years later, I'm still not sure why. They really don't seem to like each other very much. I mean, I guess she was a trophy wife or whatever. Now she's too old for that role, so he does whatever the hell he wants. As a result of this, I'm completely insane."
"I had inferred that bit," he said, smiling at her.
He hadn't been thinking of himself as a criminal, but of course that was what he was. He had abandoned his responsibilities for no reason other than sheer terror. The fear he had of Them was merely that they would bring him back home. Which was Their job, of course. His family had probably paid them well for the privilege.
Timbella came back and sat next to him. Her eyes were red. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." She forced a smile. "Prof's setting it up?"
"I suppose." He looked into her eyes. They were brown, with green flecks. "You know, I don't really have to leave today."
She turned her head. "Yeah, but you have to leave. Oh, this is stupid. I don't even know why I give a shit."
He chuckled. "Well, that certainly makes me feel better. I was hoping it was my magnetic charisma, and willingness to let you lead me everywhere."
She smiled, still looking away. "I guess that helps, yeah. Are you really a diplomat?"
"Do I look like a diplomat?"
"You're too young, but it somehow wouldn't surprise me much."
"Assuming everything I've told you is more or less the truth, what would you say my story is?"
She turned back to him. "Spoiled rich kid from old money, overprotected to a fault, when you got out of school Daddy wanted you to work for him, and you refused and ran. Daddy had enough money to get serious bodyguard types after you. You really don't give off any criminal vibes at all, otherwise I'd say something more sinister happened." She tapped her lips. "Maybe you got your sister pregnant."
Deeter gaped at her, and she laughed. "Wow, I can't tell if that's the 'on the money' face or the 'how dare you' face."
He blinked, and recomposed himself. "The latter. I don't even have a sister. I don't think."
"Well OK. I just guessed that 'cos you seem too gormless to have hurt anyone. Unless that's all part of the charming psychopath act."
He rolled his eyes. "I'd tell you but I'd have to kill you. No, honestly you've got a pretty good handle on it, I suppose I let a bit more slip than I thought."
"You didn't let that much slip through. I still can't figure out what country you're from. I mean I could narrow it down 'cos you're white but brown hair doesn't help. But your accent is totally weird."
"What about you?"
"Me? I'm a spoiled rich kid too, but in that new money way. My dad grew up on a farm, first in his family to go to college, and he married his high school sweetheart after that. But she had some genetic disease and died before the first kid was born. Very sad. He married my mom about ten years later, I'm still not sure why. They really don't seem to like each other very much. I mean, I guess she was a trophy wife or whatever. Now she's too old for that role, so he does whatever the hell he wants. As a result of this, I'm completely insane."
"I had inferred that bit," he said, smiling at her.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
10
Deeter Zor was a bit disappointed when Timbella announced, "We're here," in front of an old building in poor condition.
"Does that sign say CONDEMNED?" he asked her.
"Oh come on, that's totally a ruse. He pays off people every month to keep that sign there." She pushed a button near the door. A distorted voice said, "Yes?"
"It's me," she replied. A buzzer sounded and she pulled open the door. "See, it's all in working condition. Except the lift. We'll take the stairs."
The building wasn't very tall, but they still had to climb six flights of stairs. She was a little out of breath when they reached the top. "He's in the penthouse."
"You mean other people live here?"
She shrugged. "Probably not, but he likes the view." She knocked on the stairwell door, and they heard a lock disengage. She opened the door.
The professor's apartment was, indeed, the entire floor. If there had been other apartments on this floor, they were no longer. The space was enormous, vertically as well as horizontally. Deeter wondered if there had been a seventh floor once as well. There were simple floor screens dividing the space, allowing for some privacy. A giant flower garden took up most of the space by one of the walls, which was an entire window, letting in a great deal of natural light.
"Just a minute," called a male voice from behind one of the many screens. He walked out a moment later. He was slightly above average height, with a well trimmed brown beard, hair not much longer, slightly recending and going to grey. He wore lightweight wool black pants, a simple black short sleeve shirt that said "dead" over "square", with the latter in red type. His boots looked like he'd been actually walking in the soil with his plants. Small glasses covered his brown eyes. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Deeter.
"Hey, this is my friend Deeter, he's new in town and needs some help. Deeter, this is the Professor."
"Nice to meet you," said the Professor. He looked at Timbella. "New in town?"
"So I'm a sucker sometimes. Sue me." She walked over behind one of the screens. Deeter followed her. She had sat on a large plush orange sofa. He sat next to her.
The Professor followed them and sat on a stool nearby. "I don't have any problems helping people but I just - you just met this guy today, though he was worth helping, huh?"
Deeter spoke up. "I admit I may have presumed a bit much, but it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. I have some money, and I need to hide. I understand this city isn't a bad place to do so, but further underground for a time would please me more."
The Professor stared at him. "Where are you from?"
"Nowhere you've heard of."
"You understand I'm not gonna help you just 'cos Timbey got some hair up her ass. I'm a criminal in this country, but I have standards. I have to deal with unsavory characters, merely because the government thinks people shouldn't be allowed to put harmless substances in their own bodies."
Realization dawned. "You make - make drug potions?"
"Ha! So he's not just a pretty face!"
Deeter and Timbella both blushed. "Actually I'm a diplomat. From a small country you've never heard of."
"And this small country has the resources to find you? In Kwee City?"
"I don't know. Frankly I'd prefer not to find out."
"Are you really that important?" he asked.
"I was nearly captured a few times, so I have to assume so."
He nodded. "You have money I assume."
Deeter counted out a thousand units. "How's that for a start?"
"Not bad." He scratched his beard. "But I'm not sure who I know that can help in this situation."
"This situation? I only need to be smuggled on a ship or train of some sort. I just want to not have to reveal who I am to any sort of authority figure."
"I need to use the lavatory," announced Timbella suddenly, and she ran across the room to one of the only visible doors.
Deeter looked after her strangely. The Professor chuckled. "You do know she won't be glad to see you go."
"I admit," he said quietly, "I am using her a bit. It seemed a safer option than looking for smugglers myself. Should I -" he hesitated.
"She'll be upset either way, but sleeping with her might make her like you more. Dunno if it'll help her let go. Might make her more attached. Your call. Anyway, you stay put, I need to talk to some sketchballs."
Deeter nodded, conflicted about all sorts of things.
"Does that sign say CONDEMNED?" he asked her.
"Oh come on, that's totally a ruse. He pays off people every month to keep that sign there." She pushed a button near the door. A distorted voice said, "Yes?"
"It's me," she replied. A buzzer sounded and she pulled open the door. "See, it's all in working condition. Except the lift. We'll take the stairs."
The building wasn't very tall, but they still had to climb six flights of stairs. She was a little out of breath when they reached the top. "He's in the penthouse."
"You mean other people live here?"
She shrugged. "Probably not, but he likes the view." She knocked on the stairwell door, and they heard a lock disengage. She opened the door.
The professor's apartment was, indeed, the entire floor. If there had been other apartments on this floor, they were no longer. The space was enormous, vertically as well as horizontally. Deeter wondered if there had been a seventh floor once as well. There were simple floor screens dividing the space, allowing for some privacy. A giant flower garden took up most of the space by one of the walls, which was an entire window, letting in a great deal of natural light.
"Just a minute," called a male voice from behind one of the many screens. He walked out a moment later. He was slightly above average height, with a well trimmed brown beard, hair not much longer, slightly recending and going to grey. He wore lightweight wool black pants, a simple black short sleeve shirt that said "dead" over "square", with the latter in red type. His boots looked like he'd been actually walking in the soil with his plants. Small glasses covered his brown eyes. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Deeter.
"Hey, this is my friend Deeter, he's new in town and needs some help. Deeter, this is the Professor."
"Nice to meet you," said the Professor. He looked at Timbella. "New in town?"
"So I'm a sucker sometimes. Sue me." She walked over behind one of the screens. Deeter followed her. She had sat on a large plush orange sofa. He sat next to her.
The Professor followed them and sat on a stool nearby. "I don't have any problems helping people but I just - you just met this guy today, though he was worth helping, huh?"
Deeter spoke up. "I admit I may have presumed a bit much, but it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up. I have some money, and I need to hide. I understand this city isn't a bad place to do so, but further underground for a time would please me more."
The Professor stared at him. "Where are you from?"
"Nowhere you've heard of."
"You understand I'm not gonna help you just 'cos Timbey got some hair up her ass. I'm a criminal in this country, but I have standards. I have to deal with unsavory characters, merely because the government thinks people shouldn't be allowed to put harmless substances in their own bodies."
Realization dawned. "You make - make drug potions?"
"Ha! So he's not just a pretty face!"
Deeter and Timbella both blushed. "Actually I'm a diplomat. From a small country you've never heard of."
"And this small country has the resources to find you? In Kwee City?"
"I don't know. Frankly I'd prefer not to find out."
"Are you really that important?" he asked.
"I was nearly captured a few times, so I have to assume so."
He nodded. "You have money I assume."
Deeter counted out a thousand units. "How's that for a start?"
"Not bad." He scratched his beard. "But I'm not sure who I know that can help in this situation."
"This situation? I only need to be smuggled on a ship or train of some sort. I just want to not have to reveal who I am to any sort of authority figure."
"I need to use the lavatory," announced Timbella suddenly, and she ran across the room to one of the only visible doors.
Deeter looked after her strangely. The Professor chuckled. "You do know she won't be glad to see you go."
"I admit," he said quietly, "I am using her a bit. It seemed a safer option than looking for smugglers myself. Should I -" he hesitated.
"She'll be upset either way, but sleeping with her might make her like you more. Dunno if it'll help her let go. Might make her more attached. Your call. Anyway, you stay put, I need to talk to some sketchballs."
Deeter nodded, conflicted about all sorts of things.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
nine
Deeter Zor followed Timbella to a park. They sat on benches and shared their lunch, simple sandwiches heated in ovens. As the last meal he'd had was that tavern stew, he found it utterly delightful. As was being with a lovely curly-haired woman.
He couldn't believe his luck. This planet - or this city, at least - seemed to have more equal gender roles, so the woman had no fear asking him to spend time with her. But her manner suggested she was behaving recklessly on purpose, so he'd toyed with her a bit. She now seemed to think he really was a smuggler, or a thief, or something more dangerous than she really wanted. At least, the change in her demeanor seemed to indicate this.
He decided to try to put her at ease. "I'm honestly not a smuggler. I just had rich parents and got sick of it." That was enough of the truth for now.
She frowned. "My parents are assholes too, but I kinda think the money makes sticking around easier."
"Oh, my parents are perfectly reasonable people. Well, no, that's a bit of a lie," he chuckled. "Their expectations are not reasonable, let's say."
"Oh, ok, yeah. Mine are a lot cooler I guess. They just want me to be happy with whatever I want to do. Which is drink and screw around mostly."
"If it makes you happy," he said, grinning.
She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm in school. I mean only part time, but hell."
"I just wanted to be a scholar too, but, well, let's just say my parents are old-fashioned."
"Let me guess: dad wanted you to take over the family business?"
"Close enough," he conceded. He didn't really want to get too in-depth, and he couldn't discuss Anect with a stranger.
They finished their meal in short order. "Well, I guess we should go to the Professor's to figure stuff out. I'll give him a beep." She pulled out some sort of device and pushed buttons. "He's one of the bigger Flower Power guys around here." At Deeter's blank stare she added, "You know, the stuff that makes lilies work."
Deeter tried not to look any more confused. "Is he really a professor?"
"Who knows. He can make just about any chemical you want, and can get the rest." The device in her hand beeped. She looked at it. "He's free, let's head over. Do you mind taking the train?"
He shrugged. "It's not too expensive, is it?"
"Nah, like, tune. Two units," she clarified.
"That's fine then."
"Cool. Nearest station is about five blocks." They walked the five blocks to the "station." It was just a man in a small glass building selling tickets, which they then used to get into the lift. The train was elevated quite high above the city, higher than all but the tallest buildings. It ran on a small metallic road with a groove in the center.
They exited the lift onto a platform where other people stood waiting. A large electronic sign proclaimed "Next Train 4:10", to which Timbella nodded and said "Good, should be just a minute." And indeed within a minute it arrived. The train itself looked like the auto-carts he'd seen before, but sleeker, with more windows, and painted to resemble the sky. They waited for everyone to exit before getting on. They stood next to each other, holding on to support poles attached to chairs.
Deeter kept looking back and forth at everyone. He had been in cities before, but not for very long. The diversity was amazing. Every color of skin and hair he'd seen in his travels - and a few hair colors he hadn't - old people, young people, professional people, students, laborers, everything. He didn't have long to marvel before the train began to move.
This was altogether a new sensation. He'd never moved faster than a gallop, and carriages certainly rarely went faster than a trot. It was new, different, and exciting, just what he craved. He wondered if the smuggler idea was unnecessary, if this was all it took to travel around the world.
But, no, only local travel would not ask for identification of some sort. There had been hotels that didn't ask for it, but worlds that used plastic wanted plastic - cards instead of cash. He sighed, knowing he needed more information. Perhaps this "Professor" could help. Hopefully he would be the type that was more interested in imparting knowledge than zeroing in on his student's eccentricities.
eight nine ten
He couldn't believe his luck. This planet - or this city, at least - seemed to have more equal gender roles, so the woman had no fear asking him to spend time with her. But her manner suggested she was behaving recklessly on purpose, so he'd toyed with her a bit. She now seemed to think he really was a smuggler, or a thief, or something more dangerous than she really wanted. At least, the change in her demeanor seemed to indicate this.
He decided to try to put her at ease. "I'm honestly not a smuggler. I just had rich parents and got sick of it." That was enough of the truth for now.
She frowned. "My parents are assholes too, but I kinda think the money makes sticking around easier."
"Oh, my parents are perfectly reasonable people. Well, no, that's a bit of a lie," he chuckled. "Their expectations are not reasonable, let's say."
"Oh, ok, yeah. Mine are a lot cooler I guess. They just want me to be happy with whatever I want to do. Which is drink and screw around mostly."
"If it makes you happy," he said, grinning.
She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm in school. I mean only part time, but hell."
"I just wanted to be a scholar too, but, well, let's just say my parents are old-fashioned."
"Let me guess: dad wanted you to take over the family business?"
"Close enough," he conceded. He didn't really want to get too in-depth, and he couldn't discuss Anect with a stranger.
They finished their meal in short order. "Well, I guess we should go to the Professor's to figure stuff out. I'll give him a beep." She pulled out some sort of device and pushed buttons. "He's one of the bigger Flower Power guys around here." At Deeter's blank stare she added, "You know, the stuff that makes lilies work."
Deeter tried not to look any more confused. "Is he really a professor?"
"Who knows. He can make just about any chemical you want, and can get the rest." The device in her hand beeped. She looked at it. "He's free, let's head over. Do you mind taking the train?"
He shrugged. "It's not too expensive, is it?"
"Nah, like, tune. Two units," she clarified.
"That's fine then."
"Cool. Nearest station is about five blocks." They walked the five blocks to the "station." It was just a man in a small glass building selling tickets, which they then used to get into the lift. The train was elevated quite high above the city, higher than all but the tallest buildings. It ran on a small metallic road with a groove in the center.
They exited the lift onto a platform where other people stood waiting. A large electronic sign proclaimed "Next Train 4:10", to which Timbella nodded and said "Good, should be just a minute." And indeed within a minute it arrived. The train itself looked like the auto-carts he'd seen before, but sleeker, with more windows, and painted to resemble the sky. They waited for everyone to exit before getting on. They stood next to each other, holding on to support poles attached to chairs.
Deeter kept looking back and forth at everyone. He had been in cities before, but not for very long. The diversity was amazing. Every color of skin and hair he'd seen in his travels - and a few hair colors he hadn't - old people, young people, professional people, students, laborers, everything. He didn't have long to marvel before the train began to move.
This was altogether a new sensation. He'd never moved faster than a gallop, and carriages certainly rarely went faster than a trot. It was new, different, and exciting, just what he craved. He wondered if the smuggler idea was unnecessary, if this was all it took to travel around the world.
But, no, only local travel would not ask for identification of some sort. There had been hotels that didn't ask for it, but worlds that used plastic wanted plastic - cards instead of cash. He sighed, knowing he needed more information. Perhaps this "Professor" could help. Hopefully he would be the type that was more interested in imparting knowledge than zeroing in on his student's eccentricities.
eight nine ten
8 - shift
Timbella Vissel walked into the pawn shop. Her dad had given her and her mom more jewelry, and while it placated her mother, Timby just wanted cash. She stopped short when she entered, staring at the young man checking out at the register. Tall, dark, and handsome. Dark-haired, at least. Brown, probably. Whatever, he was hot.
She walked up to him. "Hey Mole," she said to the guy behind the counter.
"Hey Miss Vis," he replied. "Daddy have another fling?"
"Of course." She dropped the necklace and matching earrings on the counter. Then she turned to the new crush and smiled. "Daddy thinks he can buy his way out of his mistakes. I'm Timbella, by the way."
He blinked. "Deeter," he said.
"He's new in town, maybe you should show him around?" He rang up the jewelry and counted out some money for her.
"Sure thing," she said, snatching the money with one hand and Deeter's left hand with her other. "Come on, let's see some sights."
"All right," he stammered, and let her drag him out.
"So, what brings you to Kwee City?" she asked as they strolled down the street.
He seemed to relax. "Well, I can't really tell you, it's kind of a secret." His accent was hard to place.
"Oh, yeah, you killed someone?" Kwee City was well-known for its lax law enforcement, in addition to lack of extradition.
"Kill someone? I wish! No, nothing so crass."
She raised her eyebrows. "Smuggling?"
He wrinkled his forehead. "I can't really tell you," he repeated. "You wouldn't - Do you know any smugglers?"
"Not exactly, but I know a guy who might know a guy."
He nodded. "Well, enough about that. I'd like to get some cash, if you don't mind."
She released his hand and stared at him. "Are you gonna mug someone?"
"What? Oh, no, just wanted to sell some things."
"Weren't we just IN the pawn shop?"
He seemed taken aback. "Were we? I meant that," he said, pointing to a jewelry store.
"Oh. You shoulda sold them back there, though, Mole gives decent rates." Although the main reason she used Mole had to do with her father; at least she knew he wouldn't be caught dead in there.
Deeter ignored her and walked to the jeweler's. Sure enough, in the window was the exact set her father had bought her. She almost stayed outside but her curiousity won out.
She pretended to be looking in a display case, but stayed close enough to the transaction to figure it out. Apparently he had a bunch of rubies and whatnot that he was selling. A lot of them. Just loose stones. No wonder he wanted a reputable place. Mole was good, but he couldn't buy that much hot stuff at once.
The jeweler didn't seem to care; Deeter had given some sob story about his mother dying as the reason. He just looked at every piece with that wacky little scope of his, then wrote Deeter a fat check and gave it to him. They thanked each other, Deeter smiled at Timbella, and they walked out the store.
"Is that why you're here?"
"One of the reasons. Although I only took them for practical reasons."
"So you just stole them on your way out of the country?" They grinned at each other.
"The draft is drawn on 'First City National.' Do you know where that is?"
"Yeah, there's a branch 'round the corner. They're my bank too. How much is that check for?"
"Ten thousand units."
"Damn! You want to cash that whole thing?"
He nodded. "I suspect these smugglers you don't yet know would prefer cash."
"Oh. Yeah, you're right."
So they cashed the check. In large bills it wasn't a huge problem, although he left one in smaller bills on her advice. "Food?" he suggested.
"Yeah, sure," she said, idly wondering if this could totally rank in her top three stupidest things ever done. For a guy, probably.
seven eight nine
She walked up to him. "Hey Mole," she said to the guy behind the counter.
"Hey Miss Vis," he replied. "Daddy have another fling?"
"Of course." She dropped the necklace and matching earrings on the counter. Then she turned to the new crush and smiled. "Daddy thinks he can buy his way out of his mistakes. I'm Timbella, by the way."
He blinked. "Deeter," he said.
"He's new in town, maybe you should show him around?" He rang up the jewelry and counted out some money for her.
"Sure thing," she said, snatching the money with one hand and Deeter's left hand with her other. "Come on, let's see some sights."
"All right," he stammered, and let her drag him out.
"So, what brings you to Kwee City?" she asked as they strolled down the street.
He seemed to relax. "Well, I can't really tell you, it's kind of a secret." His accent was hard to place.
"Oh, yeah, you killed someone?" Kwee City was well-known for its lax law enforcement, in addition to lack of extradition.
"Kill someone? I wish! No, nothing so crass."
She raised her eyebrows. "Smuggling?"
He wrinkled his forehead. "I can't really tell you," he repeated. "You wouldn't - Do you know any smugglers?"
"Not exactly, but I know a guy who might know a guy."
He nodded. "Well, enough about that. I'd like to get some cash, if you don't mind."
She released his hand and stared at him. "Are you gonna mug someone?"
"What? Oh, no, just wanted to sell some things."
"Weren't we just IN the pawn shop?"
He seemed taken aback. "Were we? I meant that," he said, pointing to a jewelry store.
"Oh. You shoulda sold them back there, though, Mole gives decent rates." Although the main reason she used Mole had to do with her father; at least she knew he wouldn't be caught dead in there.
Deeter ignored her and walked to the jeweler's. Sure enough, in the window was the exact set her father had bought her. She almost stayed outside but her curiousity won out.
She pretended to be looking in a display case, but stayed close enough to the transaction to figure it out. Apparently he had a bunch of rubies and whatnot that he was selling. A lot of them. Just loose stones. No wonder he wanted a reputable place. Mole was good, but he couldn't buy that much hot stuff at once.
The jeweler didn't seem to care; Deeter had given some sob story about his mother dying as the reason. He just looked at every piece with that wacky little scope of his, then wrote Deeter a fat check and gave it to him. They thanked each other, Deeter smiled at Timbella, and they walked out the store.
"Is that why you're here?"
"One of the reasons. Although I only took them for practical reasons."
"So you just stole them on your way out of the country?" They grinned at each other.
"The draft is drawn on 'First City National.' Do you know where that is?"
"Yeah, there's a branch 'round the corner. They're my bank too. How much is that check for?"
"Ten thousand units."
"Damn! You want to cash that whole thing?"
He nodded. "I suspect these smugglers you don't yet know would prefer cash."
"Oh. Yeah, you're right."
So they cashed the check. In large bills it wasn't a huge problem, although he left one in smaller bills on her advice. "Food?" he suggested.
"Yeah, sure," she said, idly wondering if this could totally rank in her top three stupidest things ever done. For a guy, probably.
seven eight nine
Friday, January 4, 2008
seven
Deeter Zor looked around again. Still no one in sight. He continued recording his diary. "I escaped him relatively blindly. I think I wanted a place I could travel not on foot. I've never tried that before. I've never been in a, a small ship? A shuttle? I think that's what they're called. Well, first I plan to fix my hair, then get moving about somehow."
He strode uneasily into the street. The walkway. The street in plastic-age civilizations was for the shuttles, not people. Although he did occasionally see people crossing it. It was morning, and people walked across the street in fixed manners. They all wore dark sober clothing and ignored everything but their destinations.
He didn't understand how the translation device made him literate, but it seemed to. So he read the signs of the buildings all pressed together on the street, between the impossibly tall ones, till he found a jewelry store. Unfortunately it wasn't open, and he couldn't figure out what time standard this place adhered to. With a brilliant flash of insight, he stopped the next passerby he saw.
"Excuse me, ma'am, do you have the time?"
"Three o'clock," she said.
"Thank you," he said, but she was already out of hearing.
So, like his home planet, it seemed they counted from sunup or so. The jewelry store would be open in an hour. He decided to see if there were any other places on the block that he could simply browse in the meantime.
Only one store seemed to be open, despite the bars on the window. He walked in and looked around. He couldn't really tell what anything was - except for the knives in the glass case. They seemed old and ill-used, but a weapon wouldn't be the worst thing to have.
"I can see y'know your shit," said a voice that nearly made Deeter jump. He turned to the proprietor, a short pale bald man with a blond goatee. "Those guys haven't been taken care of, but a bit'a spit'n'polish'll show their true beauty."
"To be honest, I'm more looking for something practical than ... attractive."
"Then y'don't want one of those. Unless yer stronger than y'look." At Deeter's blush, he said, "Y'want a taser, is what y'want."
"Taser?" he repeated.
"Yeah, y'know, electric shock. No permanent damage, only about one percent as strong as lightning, but usually knocks'em out cold." He guided him to another case. "See."
The tasers were simple rectangles, either black metal or plastic. Nothing remarkable about them at all. "I've never seen one. And I don't actually have local currency yet..."
"Yeah, thought yer accent was funny. I'll let y'have the cheapest high-power one then. Decent exchange rate, too." He unlocked the case.
"What powers them?"
"Batteries." He slid a piece of the taser open and pulled out a small flat white block. "Y'just buy new ones after every fifty shots."
"Fifty shots?" There was a lot about this electricity he truly didn't understand.
"Yep." He replaced the battery. "Lithium ion, or something. I ain't no scientist, but I know what works. I've knocked out giant herding dogs with this."
It was strange, indeed, what the translator did. "Giant herding dogs" was clearly a mangle of a local idiom, but "lithium ion"? He shrugged and pulled out a few diamonds. "How many?"
"Hoo boy, really ain't from 'round here, are ya?"
"Well, I was going to sell them, but the nearest jeweler isn't open yet."
The man raised his eyebrows. "Wouldn't get a fair price there neither. See what I can do then." He walked around the store for a minute before settling on something. A giant lens with a metal rim and handle. "This'll hafta do." He took one of the diamonds from Deeter's hand, then held it up to the light, examining it. "I'm no gemologist but this is one fine lookin' specimen. You got another?"
Deeter held it up, and was handed the taser in return. "Let me just write you up a bill of sale and we're all set."
six seven eight
He strode uneasily into the street. The walkway. The street in plastic-age civilizations was for the shuttles, not people. Although he did occasionally see people crossing it. It was morning, and people walked across the street in fixed manners. They all wore dark sober clothing and ignored everything but their destinations.
He didn't understand how the translation device made him literate, but it seemed to. So he read the signs of the buildings all pressed together on the street, between the impossibly tall ones, till he found a jewelry store. Unfortunately it wasn't open, and he couldn't figure out what time standard this place adhered to. With a brilliant flash of insight, he stopped the next passerby he saw.
"Excuse me, ma'am, do you have the time?"
"Three o'clock," she said.
"Thank you," he said, but she was already out of hearing.
So, like his home planet, it seemed they counted from sunup or so. The jewelry store would be open in an hour. He decided to see if there were any other places on the block that he could simply browse in the meantime.
Only one store seemed to be open, despite the bars on the window. He walked in and looked around. He couldn't really tell what anything was - except for the knives in the glass case. They seemed old and ill-used, but a weapon wouldn't be the worst thing to have.
"I can see y'know your shit," said a voice that nearly made Deeter jump. He turned to the proprietor, a short pale bald man with a blond goatee. "Those guys haven't been taken care of, but a bit'a spit'n'polish'll show their true beauty."
"To be honest, I'm more looking for something practical than ... attractive."
"Then y'don't want one of those. Unless yer stronger than y'look." At Deeter's blush, he said, "Y'want a taser, is what y'want."
"Taser?" he repeated.
"Yeah, y'know, electric shock. No permanent damage, only about one percent as strong as lightning, but usually knocks'em out cold." He guided him to another case. "See."
The tasers were simple rectangles, either black metal or plastic. Nothing remarkable about them at all. "I've never seen one. And I don't actually have local currency yet..."
"Yeah, thought yer accent was funny. I'll let y'have the cheapest high-power one then. Decent exchange rate, too." He unlocked the case.
"What powers them?"
"Batteries." He slid a piece of the taser open and pulled out a small flat white block. "Y'just buy new ones after every fifty shots."
"Fifty shots?" There was a lot about this electricity he truly didn't understand.
"Yep." He replaced the battery. "Lithium ion, or something. I ain't no scientist, but I know what works. I've knocked out giant herding dogs with this."
It was strange, indeed, what the translator did. "Giant herding dogs" was clearly a mangle of a local idiom, but "lithium ion"? He shrugged and pulled out a few diamonds. "How many?"
"Hoo boy, really ain't from 'round here, are ya?"
"Well, I was going to sell them, but the nearest jeweler isn't open yet."
The man raised his eyebrows. "Wouldn't get a fair price there neither. See what I can do then." He walked around the store for a minute before settling on something. A giant lens with a metal rim and handle. "This'll hafta do." He took one of the diamonds from Deeter's hand, then held it up to the light, examining it. "I'm no gemologist but this is one fine lookin' specimen. You got another?"
Deeter held it up, and was handed the taser in return. "Let me just write you up a bill of sale and we're all set."
six seven eight
Thursday, January 3, 2008
six
Deeter Zor looked at the man - no, he wasn't a man, was he, but one of Them - across from him. Prosstig had claimed he wanted to help, but he'd helped enough. He showed him how They could track him. It had not taken a genius to find the only tavern near his arrival spot, but it did take something special to find the room he'd lodged in. "Infrared."
Prosstig was past that explanation, however. "Those leather straps? That's how you do it? I mean, obviously we've figured it was a spell of some kind, but you insist you have no knowledge of magic. You're no fool, or you wouldn't have evaded us this long, but you really have no idea how what you do works."
"Does anyone really know how magic works?" He hesitated. It was hard to trust Prosstig, but he was the first person he'd spoken to at length since he left. Would it really make a difference if They knew? Slowly he unravelled one of the straps, then held out his palm. "I can tell you what I do know."
Prosstig stared. A few small gems sparkled in the light. "Rubies? No, the refractive index is too great. Red diamonds?"
He nodded, rewrapping the leather around them. "They were turned red in a blood ceremony to infuse them with power."
"You know, the study of magic is the one thing Watchers aren't very good at. I wonder if that's why we're so involved with humans." He was still staring at the gems, or would have been had they been visible.
"Oh, is that why you're so involved with humans," Deeter said drily.
He snapped out of it. "I wouldn't say we're so involved. When you travel by magic to other worlds, that's the only time we get involved. Or if -"
"Exceptions abound, I'm sure. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to use magic to try to get away from you Watchers."
Suddenly Prosstig laughed. It was a shocking sound, only partly because of the high-pitch. It could have passed as a normal human laugh, but Deeter wondered what was so funny. Not seriously enough to stop his preparations. He put on his shoes and grabbed his pack.
"A blood ceremony! Red blood! Ha ha!"
Deeter gave him an incredulous stare before squeezing his fists. Prosstig's infrared glasses seemed to ignore the great gaping holes in reality - the tesseract, as he'd referred to it - but as Deeter stepped through he just barely heard him say, "Ariel! Of course!"
With those words Deeter gasped and ran forward to the opening into a new world. He would never have given that away, but They obviously knew of Ariel already. More than he did. All he knew was that she was the commoner his great-grandfather had married, who tired of her husband and escaped. Stories varied, but since he began his life as a fugitive, he had assumed she must have done what he had done.
Going with the established facts, that she had first had children and waited till they were more grown before creating the diamonds then fleeing, made sense. Witches were made, not born, and only someone with a powerful reason could become one after maturity. It took years of study, either from an elder witch, or from the forest itself. Not that he knew very much about witches, but at least he had known one.
Laerne herself had learned her craft from the forest. She had run away even younger than he had, twelve or so, and lived in the forest near his home since. She was the one who told him about the rubies that were not rubies at all. He thought it a pretty story, like most of the stories told of Ariel, but as it turned out, quite glad it had not been fiction after all.
Deeter looked up. As usual, he was in an alley. It was early morning in this place, and the buildings were steel and glass and plastic. He sat next to a large garbage container and spoke quietly. "Day ninety-seven. I was woken by one of Them, but he just wanted to talk. I revealed too much and so did he. What did he mean, Ariel wasn't a witch? What else would explain it?"
five six seven
Prosstig was past that explanation, however. "Those leather straps? That's how you do it? I mean, obviously we've figured it was a spell of some kind, but you insist you have no knowledge of magic. You're no fool, or you wouldn't have evaded us this long, but you really have no idea how what you do works."
"Does anyone really know how magic works?" He hesitated. It was hard to trust Prosstig, but he was the first person he'd spoken to at length since he left. Would it really make a difference if They knew? Slowly he unravelled one of the straps, then held out his palm. "I can tell you what I do know."
Prosstig stared. A few small gems sparkled in the light. "Rubies? No, the refractive index is too great. Red diamonds?"
He nodded, rewrapping the leather around them. "They were turned red in a blood ceremony to infuse them with power."
"You know, the study of magic is the one thing Watchers aren't very good at. I wonder if that's why we're so involved with humans." He was still staring at the gems, or would have been had they been visible.
"Oh, is that why you're so involved with humans," Deeter said drily.
He snapped out of it. "I wouldn't say we're so involved. When you travel by magic to other worlds, that's the only time we get involved. Or if -"
"Exceptions abound, I'm sure. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to use magic to try to get away from you Watchers."
Suddenly Prosstig laughed. It was a shocking sound, only partly because of the high-pitch. It could have passed as a normal human laugh, but Deeter wondered what was so funny. Not seriously enough to stop his preparations. He put on his shoes and grabbed his pack.
"A blood ceremony! Red blood! Ha ha!"
Deeter gave him an incredulous stare before squeezing his fists. Prosstig's infrared glasses seemed to ignore the great gaping holes in reality - the tesseract, as he'd referred to it - but as Deeter stepped through he just barely heard him say, "Ariel! Of course!"
With those words Deeter gasped and ran forward to the opening into a new world. He would never have given that away, but They obviously knew of Ariel already. More than he did. All he knew was that she was the commoner his great-grandfather had married, who tired of her husband and escaped. Stories varied, but since he began his life as a fugitive, he had assumed she must have done what he had done.
Going with the established facts, that she had first had children and waited till they were more grown before creating the diamonds then fleeing, made sense. Witches were made, not born, and only someone with a powerful reason could become one after maturity. It took years of study, either from an elder witch, or from the forest itself. Not that he knew very much about witches, but at least he had known one.
Laerne herself had learned her craft from the forest. She had run away even younger than he had, twelve or so, and lived in the forest near his home since. She was the one who told him about the rubies that were not rubies at all. He thought it a pretty story, like most of the stories told of Ariel, but as it turned out, quite glad it had not been fiction after all.
Deeter looked up. As usual, he was in an alley. It was early morning in this place, and the buildings were steel and glass and plastic. He sat next to a large garbage container and spoke quietly. "Day ninety-seven. I was woken by one of Them, but he just wanted to talk. I revealed too much and so did he. What did he mean, Ariel wasn't a witch? What else would explain it?"
five six seven
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