"These are our pocket-lasers," the clerk pointed to four of the gadgets in the counter display case.
"What are their beams like?" The salesman removed the lasers from the case and demonstrated. Two of the lasers had two settings, very long and weak, and very short and strong. The third only had a range of about a yard, but it had six different settings for the length of the beam within that yard, and for intensity of the beam. The fourth laser had a range of only a foot, but had twelve different settings. All of the lasers had sterling silver handles engraved artfully with wildlife motifs. I chose the laser with the range of a yard. Its design was that of a tree.
"A very good choice, Miss. This particular model is much better crafted both artistically and practically. For what purpose will you use your new pocket-laser?"
I was quite thrown for a moment. Then I put on my best PR smile and said, "For all those little needs and uses women come up with."
The salesman laughed, "Yes, I have a wife, two sisters, and four daughters all living with me. They use these lasers for everything, from cutting paper dolls, to trimming hair, to sending secret love messages---except my wife of course."
I wrote a bad check on my defunct Gretern bank account, thanked the man, and left. The rest of the day I spent trying to learn the skill of cutting pokes from people's sides without burning a large hole in their clothing. By the end of the day I had a few pokes, and a lot of handsome young men had great big holes in the seat of the their skirts.
Home again, my sleep was disturbed by dreams that had me going from one place to another. I woke up several times thinking I was someplace else, and feeling very confused.
The next day I introduced myself to the neighbors. In one apartment on my floor, lived four women, all about six years older than myself. When they opened the door to me, I thought I was staring at four clothespin dolls come to life. They invited me in for tea, which we all drank standing up. I never did see them sit down. They told me they all worked in a "nurturing factory" (whatever that was) and once a week attended "The Society for Moral Service" meetings. As a result of their social concerns, they wore their prim and wellstarched Moral Service uniforms on their time off. I was looking for people withmoney who could introduce me to people with more money so that I could find some victims. These four with their dollar-store eyelashes probably wouldn't be able to lead me to big money.
The other apartment on my floor housed a family consisting of an elderly couple, their grown daughter, and two hobble-de-hoy sons. This family was delighted to find a mysterious, wealthy, (as they thought me) unattached woman living next door. A lot of money could be made in matchmaking, and this family enjoyed money, and took every opportunity to seize it. I used the Regal dialect; the dialect of nobility, and the father licked his chapped lips at the idea of presenting an unmarried noblewoman to Ichloz society. The daughter did her familial duty and invited me to come with her to a party; the sons stood stiffly by, stifling leers; the mother wrung her hands. The father beamed at my acceptance of the daughter's invitation and said how important it was for ladies to be out and about---how it kept them happy until the day when they chose family duties.
Before I knew it, the family, in the course of just a few weeks, had launched me into the full swing of the high society. I was out late most nights, attending parties until the wee hours. This scandalized the clothespin girls (as I thought of them). They stopped speaking to me, but literature from the Society for Moral Service clogged my mail.
At the parties I combined business with pleasure. I would strike up conversation with those who were dripping in jewels. I would particularly keep an eye out for those wearing saitha-- long scarves made of gold and silver threads and entwined in long hair. Saitha indicated an honored rank of wealth. During the course of conversation, I would learn my would-be victim's address and find different ways to ask their friends to refresh my victim’s drinks until the individual was quite drunk. After the party, I would go to the victim's house and break in. Usually the jewelry was lying out in plain sight. I had learned to walk soundlessly in the woods, and that skill helped me enormously.
The only flaw with this system was that I would forget their names or crucial parts of the addresses. I got names and addresses terribly jumbled up. I therefore only found the right place about a quarter of the time. This was a blessing in disguise because it gave me a randomness in forays that made it impossible to lay suspicion on me. The value of the pieces I actually managed to steal was high enough to make it worth wandering lost down dark streets three nights out of four.
Once I had the jewels, the next step was to sell them immediately before I got caught with them in my possession. This problem was easily solved by looking in the newspaper at the classifieds under “Gems Bought and Sold."
"Ichloz has two governments," I remembered Neighteeha briefing me, "that continually vie against each other to get the most seats in their Parliament; one a corrupt government based on honesty and justice; the other `The Alternative Government of Ichloz an honest and fair government based on the organization of non-violent crime."
The daily newspaper provided coverage of both organizations, and in fact a little more coverage of the more popular Alternative Government. To dispose of the jewels, all I had to do was look in the classifieds for dealers who asked no questions. So, the morning after my first break-in, I cut this ad out of the newspaper and made an appointment:
JEWELS BOUGHT AND SOLD COMPLETELY CONFIDENTIALLY. APPOINTMENTS ONLY PLEASE, TELEPHONE XXX-EE.
The next day, during the gloom of an eclipse, I rang the bell of Desired Gems. Ichloz's three small, rapidly orbiting moon's frequently eclipsed their sun. These eclipses gave the city a surreal cast of double images as I stood on the threshold of the shop. The unearthly quality of the diminishing light unnerved and depressed me. I remembered the eclipses on Earth, and how in ancient superstition eclipses warned of momentous calamities. Ice wove itself up and down my spine. Something, I somehow knew, had gone very, very wrong on Earth, just this very moment. Had the ozone layer completely torn away? I clutched the poke that dangled from my skirt. My Earth was dying and what did I do but steal the treasures of another universe to preserve my own puny existence? Were the forests of my home all gone? What would Zollocco think of that? My dark ruminations were interrupted by the door opening to admit me.
Mr. Tiffkin, the dealer, invited me to make myself comfortable on the over-stuffed sofa, and he spread my jewels out on the coffee table. As Mr. Tiffkin considered the jewels, I considered him. He was a short man, who had been stuffed into his formal dark brown skirt, white shirt, and sleeveless dark brown tunic. His eyes looked like crystal balls, before crystal balls reveal anything---very misty. He had a set of chins that led down to his chest like a staircase. He carried his elbows away from his sides, so that his hands splashed the air like paddles as he walked. Mr. Tiffkin, all in all, resembled a well-dressed and well-buffed, old and spongy spud. He haggled with me a little; at last we agreed on a price, and I was paid in cash.
Outside the day was once again in the full brilliance of sunlight. The eclipse had completely passed. I blinked my eyes a bit as I became used to the light. I was very pleased the disposing of the jewels was so easy. Something nagged at me a moment, a twitch of unease. I shook my head free of the feeling and went home. The profit I made from my housebreaking and pick-pocketing ventures was enough to subdue and suppress my uneasy feelings.
I had a good time spending my ill-gotten gains. I bought myself an excellent subscription seat at the Hologram Theater. The Hologram Theater presented "storygrams" and news. Television had been done away with in Ichloz. The people disliked the form because they felt television fostered a tendency to sensationalize the news. News thought to be of great community import should be viewed by the community--- thus the hologram theaters. Newspapers were seen as important for personal reflection. Television was considered "selfish" because it did not provide the meditative discipline reading fosters and becaus
e television tended to curb community discussion and debate.
I also started to frequent the "House of Plant." There I read the papers as little greens massaged my feet, and a big fern massaged my neck, back, and shoulders. Eventually, I began to notice odd little news briefs tucked away in obscure inner-page corners of the newspapers. I didn't worry much about them. Who worries when receiving a massage from sweet smelling plants? The articles were about an unregistered thief who was stealing a lot of privately owned jewels. The Alternative Government had noticed it first and was displeased because it wasn't getting a cut of the profits. As the weeks passed, the articles became more and more prevalent. This both amused me and made me more nervous. I'll never forget the morning I nestled onto the massage table at the "House of Plant" with a little blue-green fern at work on my calves and feet, and a large fern with white flowers at work on my back. I eagerly opened up my newspaper to see if there was anything about me. There certainly was. It was not tucked into an obscure corner; it was a rather good-sized article on the third page of the "Arts and Heists" section. I stiffened in my chair; my feet were suddenly ticklish to the touch of the little fern. The large fern with white flowers started puffing out a sweet smelling narcotic. Relaxed by this, I drowsily meant to complain that I didn't want a narcotic plant, and slipped into a dream-memory of the theft of that ring.
According to the paper, it was the favorite ring of the favorite daughter of a top Alternative Government official. I had crashed this party unaware of who was throwing it. The daughter, who seemed to have stayed too long under a fern with white flowers, passed her ring around to about twenty people who were excitedly flocked around her. (If they flattered her enough they would get much sought after favors from her family. This paying of court occurred at every society party.) She was boasting how the purple stone matched her dress and was the same gem used in her contact lenses. Her contacts, naturally matched her dress, too. There was a young man watching her gravely. He wore a dark blue silk garment and a saitha in his hair, and she, the hostess, was flattered by his attention, and definitely smitten by his good looks. She became more and more absorbed in talking to him. The ring continued to make its way around the circle of people, but as she began to ignore them, they wandered off. Somehow I ended up with the ring. So, I just thought I'd try it on. By then the hostess was strolling away with her new found affection. I just kept the ring on my finger and enjoyed several more hours of the party. Everyone was too pleased to have a new hot romance to gossip about to wonder which guest wore what jewelry. I went home wearing the ring. I must admit I had used the same ploy many a time. With the article describing the ring, I did not dare take it to Mr. Tiffkin. In fact, I was sitting in the massage chair wearing the ring, for I had intended to take it to "Desired Gems" after leaving The House of Plant. Instead, on my way out of the massage parlor, I stopped where the patrons leave their gem-studded walking sticks. I found a walking stick into which I could wedge the ring. It was perfectly disguised as just another gorgeous gem embedded in a walking stick. Then I left the building. I was going to have to be careful never to bring Mr. Tiffkin any piece of jewelry written up as one of my hits. His was a respectable establishment.
It was high time to make preparations to leave the planet. I wanted to go back to the planet of forests. I hadn't made very good use of my anger. The stone in my gut was growing wearisome. I had added guilt to its weight. I commissioned someone to make me a knapsack. It took a lot of explaining to make the craftsman do what I asked. He kept saying, "Weight on the back makes for a bankrupt back. Bad idea. I can't do it." However, I was able to wave enough money at him to get him to do it. There was nothing quite like a knapsack in all of the solar systems of Ipernia, that's why I ran into such resistance. I promised the craftsman we would both make it rich if we were able to keep control of this new product. This got the needed secrecy out of him. I didn't want anyone to suspect I was planning to leave.
A few days after work on the knapsack was begun my social circle whisked me off to a birth party. "Hurry we have to get to the nurture factory or we'll miss the delivery!"
We arrived at a large factory. There were corridors and catwalks glassed off from the huge rooms where babies were being grown. I asked for and received a glass of wine, and the group of us continued our tour. We passed some huge vats. I was gaily told this was where the fertilized eggs were first dumped to start their mitosis. We all drank to the eggs. I kept my gaze fixed on my glass. Next, the group pranced off to a plastic column forty feet tall, ten feet round, filled with fetuses just starting to grow male genitals. The same type of column next to it contained females of the same age.
"Someone's really filling the kitty," joked a companion. "Isn't science marvelous? These little things are so delicate, and this system keeps every one of them alive!" commented a socialite with a maternal dimension.
On a catwalk, we passed by an entire room filled with just-viable babies whose umbilical cords stretched up to the roof of the room.
"Don't they mind being so crowded?" someone asked.
"Oh, no, they like it. Makes them feel like they are in a womb," another answered. At this, I lost my footing and dropped my glass.
We came to a room with walls covered with a variety of pastel buttons. In this room, one selected the dominant personality traits of the infant. The more intelligent, talented, beautiful, and resistant to disease, the more money the infant cost. We finally readied our destination--the little room where babies of wealthy families were put just after being taken from the last of the tanks. Two of our party, a couple was here to pick up their baby.
"Hey that's an ugly kid!" a member of the birthing party joked, "Igafia, you tight-wad!"
There was much laughter at this.
“This whole room is full of ugly babies! Get your money back Igafia!"
This brought on more laughter. KaIko, the wife, was escorted by a factory worker through a glass door to a sealed glass cubicle in one of the baby rooms. Her husband waved a wad of bills in the air--the final payment for the child's talents. Everyone held up a glass of wine and belched in honor of the new family.
I was never so glad to get out of a building in my life. I had never experienced anything like this and had difficulty taking it in. To Zollocco this would be horrible, and yet the people of Ichloz were as good and kind as any other people. Ichlozians were sterile and so they needed their science to create families. And yet, their medical technology could with no doubt cure their sterility. Why choose this way? After I was dropped off at my apartment, I dashed to rent a transporter. I had to get out of Ichloz. Never had I felt so homesick. The way I had lived in this most fabulous and horrendous of cities appalled me. I made a little deal in my heart with whatever power, or force, or deity, had enabled me to arrive in this universe, that if I could go live in the Forest World again, and if somehow the Forest World would do for Earth some of what it had done for Sunbreeze's home planet Aridia, I would not turn my back on entering an Ipernian seminary if ever my wanderings led me to one.
Four nights later, I was returning home from one of my breaking and entering rounds, when I felt a presence in my living room. I turned on the lights. Five people were seated in my living room. Four of them were dressed in black and masked, as I was. The fifth was Mr. Tiffkin. Mr. Tiffkin wore his usual business clothes.
"Remove your mask please," he said.
I did so.
"Thank you. I knew all along, but you know how bureaucracies are. It took awhile before I could get authorization to act. Now since you have been rather clever, we think we could use you. We want you to join us, you see. You will benefit greatly; in fact, you can be sure of a good pension for your retirement days. You may keep your techniques a secret, of course, but if you decide to teach others, you will be well rewarded. Naturally, we don't mind our people having their individual secret styles, as long as they are our people."
“Well uh, this is rather a sudden offer."
"We could turn you
over to the other government, but they, it seems, wish to kill you as an example to others. Think about it. We can even protect you from being sold as a zitam by the Toelakhan. Don't worry. Join us. We won't allow you to be killed or traded as a zitam. You are too valuable. Do join us. You'll have a good life, I promise you."
Several of the others looked defiant at the reference to the Toelakhan.
One of them said, "To steal and free you from the Toelakhan is the essence of what Our Government is about."
"Very well," I answered. "As you know what I am--"
Mr. Tiffkin coughed delicately, "We know who you are, who, not what. You are a person the Toelakhan wish to exploit as they have exploited so many creatures. We need you to sign some papers, and then come with us for the initiation ceremony."
I signed the papers as Mr. Tiffkin explained what each one meant: "This one says you join us of your free choice; this next one means you agree to keep our identities secret and we yours; this paper gives you the right to the secrets of your methods, but spells out recompense if you teach your methods to someone else; here you agree to be bound by our rules; this next..."
On and on it went, half an hour of signing.
"Now, why don't you go change into more ceremonious clothing and we can take you to where you will be sworn in."
In my dressing room, I put on my knapsack, which was packed and well hidden. I fetched from its hiding place the rented transporter. I took a quick glance at the instruction booklet, rather haphazardly set the dials, pointed the transporter at myself, pressed the "on" button, and concentrated on Zollocco. If the five were to come into the room a few minutes later, they would find only the transporter. Active transporters cannot be transported. Active transporters automatically turn themselves off and return the switches to neutral settings. The Alternative Government and the Toelakhan had no way to find me.
Zollocco: A Novel of Another Universe Page 10