Edgar Aeternum, Book 1: Tales of Aeternal Love

by Jay Belle Isle

  I may not be a chef, like his roommates, but I do know my way around a kitchen. Hmmm... Roasted lamb chops, baby red potatoes, fresh asparagus... sounds like a good main course. Crusty French bread and herbed olive oil for the appetizer, check. Vanilla bean mouse topped with fresh raspberries for dessert, perfect! More eggs and some sausage for breakfast, just in case.

  Well, time to tackle that mess in the kitchen. You'd think I had to hand wash dishes the way I procrastinate over it. All I have to do is toss 'em in the 'washer; the HC does the rest. I just hate clean-up, though. Ah well, no use pissing and moaning about it. There's nothing for it but to get my ass in there and do it.

  Edgar sent the grocery list to his earbuddy. The ever-helpful device would connect to the store's computer, get the lay of the land and the soft voice would direct Edgar to the location of each of the items on his list. It was much simpler than the old pen and paper or even smartphone days. He got up and slow-walked to the kitchen, procrastinating to the last. Twenty minutes later, the dishwasher was loaded, the countertops were spotless and Edgar surveyed the kitchen with satisfaction.

  He went to the walk-in to pick out clothes for the day's errand. Settling on a tight pair of faded jeans, a sky-blue t-shirt and a pair of matching sneakers, he popped the earbuddy into this left ear. The galvanic skin response caused by the contact activated the 'bud and it sounded a soft beep to confirm. Edgar grabbed his wallet and headed out.

  Dalio's, the local market, was only a few blocks from the Highland House and Edgar was enjoying the walk. At mid-day, there was a fair amount of foot traffic but nothing like rush hour. Ever the people watcher, he enjoyed the scenery along the way. Most of the people he saw were fairly standard for the time; casual dress, similar to his own, unless they wore suits for the office. As usual, he was one of the tallest in the crowd which gave him many opportunities to acknowledge the fact that others were watching him as he watched them.

  Most looks were of the appreciative type, though there were a few that Edgar dubbed sideshow stares as they made him feel like one of the workers at old circus freak shows. Those he shrugged off, offering a smile to the people rude enough to exhibit such behavior. Fortunately, it wasn't the norm. Nor was he overly obvious in his own people watching; he simply enjoyed the view.

  The scenery up ahead was particularly interesting; a small procession of ten young people in flowing white robes was working its way, single file, through the afternoon crowd. Their faces were serene to the point of otherworldliness; Edgar knew that beneath the cowls that covered their heads they were bald. These were the Children of Logos, a pseudo-spiritual group devoted to pure logic. Edgar chuckled as he remembered first hearing about them.

  I never expected that such a group would exist. Talk about life imitating art; the CoL have practically recreated Rodenberry's Vulcan society. At first, I thought they were some crazy cult, but then I went to one of their debates. It was amazing; a series of short arguments on particular issues, but with no emotion whatsoever. They wielded logic like a surgeon wields a micro-scalpel.

  The purpose of the debates is twofold: The CoL believes that the best means of reaching decisions on crucial issues is to strip away the emotions such issues typically generate. The other is to give society an opportunity to see how a life of logic can benefit people. It's about the closest to a revival meeting you'll ever find on Earth, though there's no active recruiting happening. Hmmm... I should probably check out their take on the Ch'oran crisis; at the very least, it'll be interesting.

  The most interesting thing about the CoL is the fact that their techniques for controlling emotion actually work. I wouldn't have thought it possible without major chemical intervention, but their meditations actually suppress their emotions. I'd expect some sort of psychological issues to present themselves since we are, by nature, emotional beings; but no, the CoL has been at it for eighty-four years and so far, there haven't been reports of any problems.

  As the procession drew near, the leader glanced at Edgar, utter peace on her face. She nodded at him, acknowledging his glance. He nodded in return, face blank. Without missing a pace, she touched her forehead with the first two fingers of her left hand; it was the traditional sign of greeting, parting, and general acknowledgment among the Children of Logos and, in public, with non-members, it was reserved for those who showed they understood and respected the individual's chosen path. Receiving the sign was an honor to those who understood its meaning. As a further show of his respect, Edgar returned the sign; instead of touching his forehead briefly as she had, he kept his fingers in place, thus honoring each of the CoL in the procession. They all returned the gesture. After the last one passed, Edgar lowered his hand.

  Despite his profound respect for their path, in some ways Edgar couldn't fathom it. He could see the benefit of controlling one's emotions; after almost five centuries of life, it was a matter of do so or go insane. However, the Children of Logos worked to eliminate emotion, something to which he couldn't relate no matter how hard he tried. He often wondered what they'd do if someone ever showed them an old Star Trek episode. Would seeing their way of life portrayed as part of an entertainment franchise provide some type of motivation for them or would it cause the downfall of their belief system, similar to the way the post-earthquake twenty-second century discovery of the secret vault beneath the Vatican - and what it contained - ultimately brought down Christianity? There was only one way to know and Edgar didn't see any benefit from the experiment, so he left it well enough alone.

  Passing one of his favorite stores brought him out of that train of thought. Unlike the pre-legalization days, when people either bought from dealers on the sly or got approval for medicinal use, marijuana was now sold in specialty shops. Paradiso was Edgar's shop of choice. It was staffed by some of the nicest, and most knowledgeable, puffers in the trade as far as he was concerned. It didn't hurt that they were easy on the eyes. More than once, Edgar went in for his weed supply and ended up going next-door to Sexos, an upscale shop specializing in all things sex. Their supply of toys and other pleasure products was as extensive as Paradiso's inventory of marijuana.

  He paused briefly, considering going in to one or both shops, but he was already well-stocked in each area so he continued walking. As he passed Sexos, a trio of young Plezzers was exiting the shop. Despite his own firm commitment to hedonism, not even Edgar could out-do the Plezzers. They were a culture unto their own, devoted entirely to pleasure, no matter the source. They didn't confine themselves to Synthesis, but explored all pleasures in the flesh, too. Whether the adrenaline rush of speed, the mind-expansion of designer drugs, or every type of sex conceivable and a few that boggled Edgar's mind, Plezzers were into it.

  In some respects, they were enviable. They were completely free of all responsibility; if they needed credits, they rented themselves out to whoever would pay, as long as the purchased service was pleasurable. In most cases, that meant prostitution, but it also included fighting; some Plezzers found it exhilarating to beat the living daylights out of another. Some found it pleasurable to have the living daylights beaten out of them. Either way, everybody won. Once they had enough credits, they called it quits and promptly spent their earnings.

  They shared other commonalities, too. They always looked happy; Edgar only ever saw Plezzers who were smiling or laughing. They also appeared quite healthy, despite some of their more dangerous pursuits; the average Plezzer had a ruddy complexion, cheeks flushed as though with exertion. Most Plezzers had long, asymmetrically-cut hair, all bizarre angles and often sporting small beads in some areas. Edgar once discovered the purpose of the beads during a particularly aerobic session with a Plezzer he met at Maxi's. While he wasn’t sure he wanted to replicate their use, it was a night he'd never forgotten.

  The trio was obviously planning a party of some sort; they exited the shop, each carrying an extra-large shopping bag in each hand. Edgar smiled and shook his head; Sexos was not inexpensive. However, given that the aver
age plezzer had no limits, he was certain they had more than enough credits to fill those bags twice over. As usual, the Plezzers were laughing and looked as though they hadn't a care in the world. He gave them an unobtrusive once-over and found them quite attractive.

  The one in the middle, a brunette in a skin-tight blue-and-white striped tee, seemed to be finishing the punch line to a joke. Edgar caught his slightly gravelly voice as he said, "…if yours don't bend that way, mine do!" At which point, he and his companions burst out in howls of unselfconscious laughter.

  The Plezzer to the left of center slapped his companion on the ass, letting his hand linger for a moment. "I wish mine bent that way!" he said, smiling. This set Center-boy off and he dropped his bags, broke ranks, grabbed two handfuls of Lefty's black tee and pushed him hard against the nearest wall. He dove forward, kissing him hard, as though life depended upon it. Lefty took it in stride and grabbed center-boy's ass with both hands, grinding their crotches together.

  "Hey!" Righty complained cheerily, "What about me?"

  Center-boy responded by letting go of Lefty's shirt with his right hand and grabbing the back of Righty's head, smashing their mouths together as though trying to devour the other instead of kissing him. When he was done, Center-boy released them both, retrieved his packages and looked as though nothing happened. Righty was smoothing his orange tee and adjusting himself in his skin-tight torn jeans.

  Edgar watched them go admiring the swagger in their walks and the way the jeans they wore complimented their asses. He looked around quickly and discreetly adjusted himself before continuing on his way. Other than a few hoots of encouragement, the shopping crowd pretty much ignored the Plezzers' actions; smart of them, Edgar thought.

  One never knew when one might need to hire a Plezzer and, regardless of their seemingly excessive lifestyles, they had excellent memories when it came to being harassed. They were as equally willing to explore the pleasures of mild, in other words, legal revenge as they were to explore anything else. He'd heard stories of plezzers hiring themselves out for sex and then leaving their employers in embarrassing predicaments because said employer had once harassed them. His favorite was the man who was tied to the bed naked with sexual graphics painted over his body. It wouldn't have been a problem, except that the man's parents were due that evening. He'd let that news slip and the Plezzer in question thought it would be the perfect revenge.

  Edgar passed another shop, aptly named Boutique, which carried retro clothing. He enjoyed shopping there as the items were almost always things he wore the first time they came out. The Armani suit currently hanging in his laundry center with a coffee stain came from Boutique. He paused at the window, checking out the latest offerings.

  Bell bottoms and sailor shirts; neither my time, nor my style. I love the fact that they sell at twen-cen vintage clothing store prices; not that it matters, but it felt good picking up that Armani suit for a hundred credits. The one I had in the twenty-first cost me fifteen-hundred bucks. Granted, these are reproductions, but they're so good, you can't tell the difference. The beret with the sailor shirt is just over-the-top, though! Ah, well, 'everything old is new again,' I guess.

  So it went as he walked along, occasionally stopping to check something in a shop window. One item, in particular, kept his attention long enough that he almost went inside. A home furnishings shop called Mi Casa had a bed linen display in its main window. The eye-catching thing about these sheets was their ability to change color depending on body heat, as evidenced by the half-naked model rolling around on them. They reminded Edgar of mood rings from the 1970s. He made a mental note to stop in on the way home and check them out; if nothing else, they were mildly entertaining.

  Twenty minutes later, he was passing through the entrance to the market and the earbuddy sounded again, letting him know it was syncing with the store's computer. Seconds later, a soft voice spoke into Edgar's ear, directing him to the bakery. He spent some time enjoying the free samples, particularly a saffron bread with candied fruit. He took a loaf of that and selected a perfectly-crusted French bread for dinner with Maddox.

  The earbuddy advised that produce was the next department and provided direction to the section Edgar wanted. He chose two bundles of fresh asparagus for grilling and a lemon for seasoning. Next, the earbuddy directed him to the fresh raspberries for the vanilla-bean mousse.

  It went on like this until his basket was stacked with all the things he needed for tomorrow night's meal. As he was leaving the meat counter, the last stop on the list, he remembered mint jelly. It would be a nice touch with the lamb chops and he headed to that section before going to the front of the market to check out.

  Dalio's was unique in that it still employed human cashiers. Most markets used automated systems reminiscent of the various U-Scan stations in the twenty-first century. Dalio's went so far as to employ human baggers, their goal to make necessary shopping a personal experience. The ploy was wildly successful and the one-time Mom-and-Pop shop was now the biggest grocery chain in the country.

  The cashier was a friendly young woman with spikey blue hair. Edgar smiled, remembering when such a look was a rebellion against the establishment and not an everyday fashion for cashiers and barristers alike. The bagger was a gangly young man apparently in the throes of puberty, if his seeming awkwardness with his own limbs was any indication. He smiled at Edgar and began bagging his order.

  A few minutes and seventy credits later, Edgar set out for home with his two bags. He was about halfway home when his earbuddy chimed, signaling an incoming call. "ID caller," he said. The sensitive mic picked up his instruction through the noise of the crowd.

  "Comm ID: Barrister Evans," the unit replied.

  "Accept call," Edgar responded. The 'bud chimed and the barrister's voice sounded in Edgar's ear.

  "Sir," began Evans, "Terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Miss Jarvis has gone missing. She was to have been on a nine a.m. shuttle to Tyranus 6, but she never boarded. A check of her residence proved futile; all her belongings are gone. She left no hint of her present location," he paused. "However, she did leave a clue as to her intent. The only item left was a photograph of you, running in Gridley Park. Your face was crossed out with black perma-marker. Mr. Aeternum, I strongly advise you step up your personal security; it's my opinion that Miss Jarvis is a potential threat."

  Edgar slowed his stride as he absorbed this news. "Is there any possibility she may just want to disappear, rather than go offworld?" he asked.

  "I don't believe so, sir," Evans replied. "I'm looking into the matter, of course, but it would be inadvisable for her to remain in Altair or Navea and no out-city transit records exist showing her departure. I'll keep you apprised of my investigation; in the meantime, please be careful, sir."

  "Of course, Evans," Edgar said. "I will. Please call me the second you know anything."

  "Absolutely, sir," the barrister assured. "As an additional reminder, she had access to your address, call code, even spending patterns. If, in fact, she's got something unpleasant in mind, she knows your routine, sir. The photograph proves that she even has knowledge of your non-financial activities, which suggests you've been under surveillance."

  "Good to know, Evans," Edgar replied. "I don't like it at all. However, it's not the first time I've had issues of this type. Keep digging; I want to know everything about her. Forewarned is forearmed and I intend to be ready for whatever comes."

  "Of course, sir," Evans said. "I already have feelers out."

  "Excellent," Edgar said. "One more thing, Evans, off the record."

  "Yes, sir, off the record," the barrister responded.

  "When we find Miss Jarvis, if she is a threat, she's not going to Tyranus 6 or Dissa. She will disappear, but it won't be offworld. Clear?" Edgar asked.

  "As a cloudless day, sir," he barrister answered. "I'm already planning for that contingency."

  "Good man," Edgar said.

  "Yes, sir," Evans said. "
You're safe at Highland House, given their security. Might I suggest you stay put until this is resolved?"

  "That's a fine idea, Evans," Edgar agreed. "I don't like it, but safety first. Thank you for the suggestion."

  "I know, sir," Evans said, a hint of humor in his voice. "Perhaps you could order in?"

  Edgar had to laugh, given that Evans almost never joked about sex. "Point to you," he said. "As a matter of fact, I am entertaining tomorrow evening."

  "Enjoy, sir, and be careful," Evan said.

  "Thank you, Evans. End call." Edgar picked up his pace again, mood sheets forgotten, and headed home. It wasn't the first time he'd had stalker issues, nor was it the first time he'd handled them with Evans. There were other barristers and agents, from other lifetimes; occasionally, he'd handled the matters himself. One of the advantages of immortality, though some might consider it the opposite, was the ability to view dispassionately such unpleasantries as under-the-table justice. He preferred to not be involved in such things, but self-preservation was the number one priority. Miss Jarvis didn't have a chance if she did decide to cause trouble.

  Caution, however, was king at the moment. Edgar kept himself on high alert, allowing no distractions and avoiding as much of the crowd as possible. He didn't relax his vigilance until the door of his apartment closed behind him and he activated the security system. Once active, the system prevented the door from being opened even by Edgar himself; it had to be deactivated first.

  Additionally, if breached alarms would sound, both in the building and at Altair Security. Each floor of Highland House would be sealed and elevators and stairwell doors locked. All residents currently in the building would be required to identify themselves either through their HC's, which then reported to Highland House's computer, or by touching any door pad whether or not their own.