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.

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