“Well, I’ll have you shadow me today, helping you with touring Mission Friendship, how to sell one of our places, how to do work orders for our maintenance team. Our maintenance is good—we have Ernesto, who has been here since the Morgan discovery, believe it or not, and Te-La-Calles, the Ni-Perchta foreman. All of our- Buenos Dias, Ernesto!”
You turn and see a slightly paunchy Mexican man in his mid-forties pass by. He walks over, eyes on the ground, and opens the glass door of the office. “Buenos Dias, Dee! Hello, hello.” He puts out one of his big hands and shakes with you. “The new SSR, eh? You had a good train trip all the way?”
You nod. “Fantastic. It’s beautiful out here. Very nice. I even got to see the comet ritual.” Ernesto’s eyes meet Dee’s, as if they’re sharing a little joke.
“Oh, yes, yes, you know that’s a rare one,” Dee says.
Ernesto leaves, pulling out a pad of paper and writing down something he’s just remembered. He waves to someone you don’t see, and in a moment you meet him for the first time—Jake Alexandros. Shorter than you, slicked back hair, he comes into the office with a gleaming, white-toothed smile. He has a briefcase in hand and over his black flight suit he’s got a holster, just like a police detective back home. A pistol sits there comfortably.
“Our new SSR. Great to have you on-board. Jake Alexandros. I’m the Bureau of Off-World Affairs agent here at Mission Friendship. I’m, sort of, your friendly representative and advisor from the US Government. I help work with the Network people and, uh, locals.” He chuckles and so does Dee, again at some inside joke.
“Good to meet you. I heard you and your husband were delayed a little, but got in just safe and sound. Good, good. Well, I know that our good Dee here is set to help you out through the day but I’ll be here too. Oh, jeez, what time is it?” Jake swings his gaze. “9:05. Oh well, let’s get these doors open and start touring today, shall we? We want our tower up and running for the day!”
You see a tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed man, an Aryan superman, walk over and open the glass doors of the lobby area. He wears the motorcycle cop-like uniform like the rest of the Counters.
Armed with a submachine gun and carrying an ori-baton heavily studded with different types of orichalcum on his utility belt, he introduces himself in a heavy Afrikaner accent. “Oscar Botha, Chief of Mission Security here, Madame. I am the ori-man around here, just in case the Winkies get out of line.”
Jake Alexandros nods and pats Botha on the arm. “Botha keeps us safe at night. There’s been so many—misunderstandings—between us and the indigenous population…”
Botha gives you a once over and nods. “Quite right, sir. Quite right. The Winkies need to know we are not afraid to live here in the colony.” Botha winks at you. “How’s your husband doing?” he says intently.
“Oscar, Oscar, remember about the word ‘colony’. We don’t use that word here. ‘Settlement’ is more appropriate,” Jake reminds Botha.
You and Botha ignore Alexandros’s speech.
“Left me for another woman. Rat bastard,” you say perfectly, true acting behind every word.
Botha takes out some gum from his pocket, offers you a piece. You politely refuse. Botha stuffs his mouth and starts smacking away at it. “Your husband is an interesting fella, yeah? Just takes off on you the first day you are here.”
You frown. “He’s, he’s, unfortunately, he used to beat me.”
Dee looks shocked and sad and puts out a hand, rubbing the top of your own hand. “Well, sweetie, no more of that. If he’s gone, Botha won’t let him in.”
Botha laughs. “Nope. I’ll put a bullet in him first, and then I’ll let him in. Wife-beating scum.”
You start to nod rapidly and sniff the air, as if about to cry. “Yes, yes. Terrible.” You muster an amazing emotional act. Afterwards, you do not understand your outburst against Jaime and why you made up such lies and why you decided to slur his name. Something unconsciously bubbled to the surface and your anger and your sadness at Jaime’s departure has made you say something less than sane.
~~~~
YOU get the grand tour of the place and start to see people trickle out of Mission Friendship. Half of the group there are the middle class of Network life—Ni-Perchta overseers—in their neat flight suits, but the rest are independent owners and operators in their mining gear or their Kevlar armor. Some greet you with kindness and courtesy, others ignore you. An old school bus painted blue and white pulls up in front of Mission Friendship, taking groups of people to their respective places of work in the area—the Darling Mine, Mine 357, the Scales Mine, and Orichalcum Refinery.
There is a gym on the fifteenth floor of the apartment tower, a full one with weights and exercise bikes, and there’s a heated pool on the sixteenth floor. An old man is swimming naked, and Dee smoothly asks Mr. Bern to put on his swim trunks. “Why? Is this not proper? I mean, I mean, Dee, this is not the United States. What law are you enforcing?” He is saying this with his wrinkled and very naked carcass barely covered by a towel.
Dee smiles thinly. “But, but Mr. Bern, let us remember that we have by-laws here on Network property and the US Constitution.”
Bern jumps back into the pool, showing off his wrinkled and concave ass. As he pops back up to the surface of the water, he states, “Well call, call the Counters, see if I care. Roll the dice and let’s see what happens, champ. You’re not the Supreme Court of anything except Hell! For the next 10,000 years you will shovel your own shit and eat it!”
Dee turns and smiles at you, gives you a fake laugh, and leads you back to the elevators. “Quoting a Sublime album,” she says. “The old man loves to play around. If people don’t get the joke…”
You look confused. “You are from Long Beach, right?” Dee says.
Another elevator pulls up, revealing the three Counters, Botha, Robert, and Tadeo.
You catch Botha yelling, “This is the deal. Get some goddamn clothes on, you old bastard!” at the top of his lungs just as the elevator doors close.
You are shown empty apartments ready for rent, priced at 28,000 Dii-Yaa a month, or $2,000 a month in real money. You wonder why they are so expensive, considering that most of the apartments have the same amount of living space as a Volkswagen Beetle. As you are looking over the new appliances, specially made without electronic components in order to avoid the EMP bursts from the storms, you ask why the rent is the way it is.
Dee replies smoothly, “People want to live with people, not with the Ni-Perchta. Except for the crazies. So they are more than happy to pay to live inside a real settlement, whatever the cost to their paycheck. Besides, they pay nothing in US taxes, so they still come out ahead. And the Network is a corporation, albeit one with a unique mission. We need to generate income in everything we do.” Dee smiles at you, a wide and white smile, predatory and unkind.
You don’t say anything as Dee rambles on. “Our mission is to make The Oberon a modernized world through progressive renovation and development. The Ni-Perchta here live as we did back in the fourteenth century. Illiteracy is found in almost seventy percent of the native population, child marriage is common, and slavery is legal. The Witch-Lord knows this, and he works with us to make this a proper and decent place to live.”
You nod, thinking to yourself. “Of course.”
Dee leads you back to the elevator and takes you to the top floor suite. “Wanna see something neat?”
You nod, already terminally bored by the entire experience. The elevator reaches the highest level of the apartment tower and opens to a small hallway that leads to two black doors. Dee walks ahead and pops open the doors with a key on her key ring, revealing something else entirely.
The penthouse suite is tastefully furnished, larger than most houses back on Earth, and takes up the entire floor. It’s a modern art masterpiece made into a home and over 6,000 square feet, according to Dee. She walks you through it, showing off the wall to wall closets, the Jacuzzi bath, the incredible almos
t-360 degree view of the world around you. All the furnishings are here. It’s an empty but fully-stocked palace waiting for a person to move right in.
“Nice place,” you state, meaning it. It’s done up in a sort of Arab motif, with striped pillars and gold furnishings adorning the place. The floors are tiled and covered in some spots by Persian rugs.
“Only for the best,” Dee says. “17,000 USD a month. Quite the place and only for the best.”
For someone who has lived only in cramped, crappy apartments or slept over at someone else’s house, the size and the luxury of the place hit you in the gut and right in the back of the shoulder blades all at the same time.
“Anyone renting it?” you ask.
Dee shakes her head. “If you can get someone to rent it, I’ve got a great bonus for you.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Sixty-five dollar Network voucher,” Dee says, indicating at first that this indeed is something to work for. “You get the most expensive place rented you can get a nice little meal downstairs for a couple of days,” she says with a wink. “I know.”
You nod, looking over the place in open envy. Dee seems to be reading your thoughts. “Not like you or me could grab a place like this,” she says with finality. “But maybe in the next life.”
~~~~
YOU end up back at your desk with the computer, waiting for Dee. There is a young Asian girl at the other desk, looking very, very tired and hung over with heavy bags under her eyes and her long black hair slightly askew. Jake comes over and says, “Ohayou Saki, when did you clock in today?”
Saki yawns and speaks with a light Japanese accent. “Probably, like, five minutes ago. Hello.” Saki stands up, smoothes her blue uniform out, and shakes hands with you.
“And what time is it, Saki?” Jake says. Saki nervously chuckles. “Um, five after ten. I’m sorry, Jake, it’s just, well I was feeling like I was getting the flu again.”
Jake nods. “Dee and I have to go to 301—they’re moving back to Earth before the portal closes. Show Miss Sarah here how to take down work orders.”
“No problem!” Saki says and you and she watch Jake leave the room. Saki mutters something in Japanese and goes back to the computer. Within a moment, she’s back to playing Super Mario Bros. 3 on the computer.
“Oh-oh hey, sorry, you want to-” she starts.
You sit down at your desk and start to look over the notes you have been taking about your new job. “Oh, I figure we got about six more hours in the day. I want to type up my notes beforehand.” You smile. “How is your day going?”
“Shitty,” Saki says. “Woke up from being so drunk last night in the Funeral Breaks at this, uh, speakeasy run by an American. On Moondog.” Saki looks slowly over at you, realizing she’s said something terribly wrong. “Kidding, kidding! I never leave the Mission past curfew without permission.”
You nod, and Saki turns slowly back to her computer, in mute horror about what she has said. “You want to see a work order now? I have to put one in for the guys; there’s a broken faucet in 412.”
“Sure,” you say. A thought jolts you a little bit. You are doing exactly the same thing that everyone else is doing on Earth. The same exact type of corporate job that everyone else is doing. You look down at the tiled floor for a moment, thinking.
Saki says, “Hey, don’t forget, day after tomorrow is Christmas. You got the invite to be at the observation lounge?”
You nod. “Oh yes, yes. Thank you. In that goodie bag, thanks. I got the message.”
The day ends as it started—with you barely interacting with anyone. The miners start drifting in about the time you are going to wrap up for the day. 6:00pm, Oberon Standard. You are surprised as Dee pays you immediately for your work in Dii-Yaa money. 1,435 Dii-Yaa to be exact.
“Witch-Lord law,” Dee says. “Have to be paid daily. Oh, you know, there was one thing.”
Dee leads you over to her office. “Sorry, sorry, I know you are probably clocked out, but here’s a rundown on people looking to get a ‘dayhawk’ license for Sargasso-3.”
Dee pulls out a small folder with long thirty-page forms. “These are the salvage license forms—Form 27B–6. Now they have to be approved by myself, then cleared by Jake as the Bureau agent.”
Dee grins. “How much do you think a license costs?”
You shrug, not terribly interested. Dee smiles. “20,000 cash, up front.” You fake surprise. “Straight to the Network. You sell a license; you get a hundred dollars out of that. Sound good, Sarah?”
You nod. “Sure. But isn’t that expensive? I mean that's-”
Dee keeps smiling. “Sarah, Sarah, we have a contract from the Witch-Lord and the Bureau that states we have the right to charge whatever is appropriate. This is market appropriate.”
“Yes, but wouldn’t that put people- I mean, would make people do things illegally instead?”
Dee shrugs. “Not really our problem, Miss Sarah. Besides, it’s for their own good. If you have a good amount of money you can avoid most of the danger out there because you have the means to have your expeditions properly funded.”
“Any way around that?” you ask, innocently.
Dee grins. “I wouldn’t know anything about bribes, if that’s what you mean…” Dee shakes her head. “Nope.”
“You want to see our little salvage and ori showroom in the back? I mean, if you need to run off back home…” Dee says.
You shake your head, not quite interested but not quite ready to say no to your new boss.
She nods to the door, jabbering away as she leads you back beyond the elevators and the lobby. Past the mural depicting the Witch-Lord is a metallic sign bolted over a couple of large steel doors reading: Official Ori and Salvage Buy Center for Sargasso-3 and JUST SAY NO TO ILLEGAL ORI AND SALVAGE SALES. SMUGGLING IS A CRIME.
The wholesale prices for the orichalcum is in the thousands of Dii-Yaa, but a quick conversion in your head finds them to be pretty reasonable compared to what was being sold back on Earth, especially the telekinesis ori. A large bulletin board to the side explains in English, Spanish, and Japanese that they have:
Non-Human Non-Ni-Perchta Control Ori! 20K D-Y- Taurus.
Telekinesis Ori! 15K D-Y- Leo.
Fire Control Ori! (High Danger!) Mkt. Price. Sagittarius.
Electrical Ori! Mkt. Price. Libra.
You walk through the steel doors and discover a Nemo Gate—a small one, only big enough for one person at a time. You enter and in a moment you are in some underground place you know not where.
Dee materializes and leads you into the shop run by a few Ni-Perchta under a human overseer.
Stepping inside, you feel as if this is the most insane antique shop you have ever seen in your life. There are items on shelves that stretch up the entirety of the stone walls. Radio Oberon is playing over hidden speakers. The room is lit by gaslight, making it dark and dungeon-like. Why no electricity is being used is never explained to you.
There are no customers inside when you step in, just the glass counters full of random stuff and old style, ‘50s cash registers. There are old statues of the man-beast things from the Antediluvian cities and lots of old guns, including something called an “ori-projector”. It looks like a haphazard mix between an M-16 and a flashlight, and it is hooked up to a backpack. There is also random junk, historical pieces, traditional Ni-Perchta armor, and clothing that looks medieval.
You look into the glass counters, seeing things you have never heard of before—a jar of Remembers, also known as school pills; five pills for 3,000 Dii-Yaa, or one Krugerrand (no US dollars accepted).
These pills are, according to the typed up cards in the glass cases, guaranteed to give you increased intelligence for a temporary period of time, and you will be able remember any event for the next hour with one hundred percent perfect clarity and recall.
There are strength pills as well: “guaranteed to increase physical strength by 200% for three hours.”
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Golden belts that emit a “body shield to deflect physical blows or gunfire” are also behind glass and so are large, hollow boxes: “an infinite storage device when hooked up to electricity”.
And, of course, pure orichalcum pieces line one wall, ready for re-sale.
“Everything you ever find or mine out there has to come through us. The Network’s economy is bigger than Belgium’s,” Dee says, looking around the shop. “You know where we are?”
You shake your head.
“Neither do I. Once the Gate is shut off for the evening and the doors weld themselves shut for the night, no one can get in or out. If anyone tries to rob the place, the doors close and the room gets gassed. Even the tiniest bit of shoplifting. A little Antediluvian machine does everything. Thank God, too. If someone had access to all this stuff that the legals sell to the Network in this sector to re-sell back on Earth…”
She makes a mock shivering motion.
~~~~
YOU are back at your apartment in the basement, alone. You turn the radio on, after grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. You sit on the couch, listening to the only radio station coming in—Radio Oberon out of Solomon’s Bay. You drink and fall asleep on the couch after filling out the license form.
You wake up again and realize that Radio Oberon is now playing some old type of radio play. You wake up in a stupor, listening in surreal awe. Something from the 1940s or ‘50s. You like it—there’s a weird freshness to such an old-style show, with its melodrama and the faint scratching of vinyl.
“Tired of the everyday routine? Ever dream of a life of romantic adventure? Want to get away from it all?” the first narrator says on a recording made before your own mother was born.
“We offer you… escape!” the second narrator shouts like a used car salesman on amphetamines.
You listen for a while as Vincent Price rambles on about a lighthouse that is apparently surrounded by jellyfish and sharks and smells like death. Then the narrator has an adventure or something against rats and blind tribesmen while smoking a pipe to hide the stink of death.
The show ends in half an hour and you are not tired, not tired at all; you want to explore a little. It’s 10:25pm according to the wall clock. According to the rules of the Mission, you cannot leave Mission Friendship without a pass or escort from Mission Security at this hour. But the Benbow Inn, the bar inside Mission Friendship, is open until 3:00am.