“So you’re not supposed to be jumping,” said Wayne, redirecting the discussion.
“Technically, no,” said Sly, “although my attorney, whose name I shouldn’t divulge, just said don’t get caught. Villea’s a real hoot.”
Sly noticed a look of concern on Wayne’s face. Mark seemed to be amused by the fact he had unknowingly purchased his guitar from an alien. He wasn’t concerned in the least; it was a really nice guitar. Nita, Amelia, and Blackie were intent on looking for the turn-in to X-4402. “Here’s the deal,” began Sly, “several years ago I got the urge to start a business, but I figured it might be better to find a business for sale. Well, I found the music store on a trip to Terra Bulga didn’t I. The store handled mostly low end equipment and wasn’t doing very well. So, I scratched up a bit of the gold that was sent to me by my uncle Marcus, just before he was taken in for questioning, took it to Terra Bulga and bought the store. The owner acted like he had never seen gold ingots, imagine that. Anyway, I didn’t know there was an intergalactic prohibition against owning a business on Terra Bulga. Apparently the powers-that-be (whoever they are) think humans are not ready for shoulder-to-shoulder interaction.” He hesitated, briefly considering embarking on a diatribe about the absurdity of the findings of the Commission. “I mean really,” said Sly “the head of the Commission is from Ventinire, they packed the entire core of their planet with garbage for 62,000 years then put a torch to it thinking it would be a really good source of energy. REALLY, the head of the Intergalactic Commission on Peace, Investments, Commerce and Environmental Sustainability is from Ventinire?” Everyone was stone cold quiet. “I digressed,” said Sly, “but I should inform you if you don’t know, that all Ventinireans now live on New Ventinire, owing to the fact that their previous home planet is now a massive fire ball.”
“Anyway, I got a slap on the wrist and was told to fold the business. Well I wasn’t going to do that was I; the store was really starting to do well. I figured out that if I inoculated the guitars with Codiae explosencia, a fungus like organism from Sounquatry 11, the instruments resonated like a band of Hungorian Angels. Turns out I did learn something in mycology. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that last part to anyone. Apparently there is an Intergalactic Agreement on the Distribution of Organic Life Forms, and since I didn’t technically get permission to import Codiae explosencia, and technically Terra Bulga is not a signatory to the intergalactic agreement, I could technically be in really hot water. At least that’s what Villea indicated; he worries a lot. Personally, I thought lunch at 10 Downing Street paved the way for my enterprise; the Prime said it was a great idea, although I didn’t tell him the fungus was from Sounquatry 11. I gathered he wouldn’t care.” This last bit caught Amelia’s attention.
“Did you say you met the Prime Minister,” she asked.
“Yes, said Sly, “I’m sure I could bring you to lunch sometime if you’d like.” Blackie instantly remembered his friend Harry back on Terra Bulga; Harry always said he was bringing people to lunch, never taking them to lunch but bringing them to lunch. Interesting, yes?
“About that tracer thing,” said Wayne, “what was that all about?”
“The slap on the wrist,” began Sly, “included a prohibition against jumping to Terra Bulga. Well really, how am I supposed to go to work and run a business? You can’t expect me to find a mixing zone every day can you? So I use an unregistered Jump Starter that a buddy of mine loaned me, he works at Jump Starter Corporation, and he’s a partner in the business. Don’t mention that last bit to anyone,” added Sly. “A tracer is a person hired by the Commission to check in on probationers to make sure their not on the lam.”
“Have you been followed,” asked Mark.
“Oh quite often,” said Sly.
Mark looked perplexed and asked, “How do you prevent being picked up?”
“I won’t get picked up,” grinned Sly, “my tracer is one of my partners.”
“That’s convenient,” interjected Wayne.
“Yes isn’t it,” replied Sly who continued, “by law you are allowed to ask if someone tailing you is a tracer, and if they are they must declare themselves. Sometimes tracers get reassigned so I was just checking to make sure you hadn’t been assigned to me. So far, I’m in the clear,” he grinned again. “Ah, here we are,” said Sly as he guided his transport into a space.
“This isn’t X-4402,” said Amelia looking out the side window.
“I know, I know,” said Sly, “the drive there is dreadful, let’s just go down and have dinner and a drink and watch the shower shall we?” Sly got out of the transport and the group followed. He reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a small placard that he thrust under the driver side moisture wiper. “That should do it,” he said.
“Let me guess, compliments of another partner,” said Wayne.
Sly just grinned, “Let’s grab a Sub-lift.”
The Sub-lift was only 10 meters away, just around the back of another of those large columns. The lift opened with a pleasing tone and said, “Welcome, if you need information please don’t hesitate to ask.” They all stepped in and gawked. No one, except for Sly, was quite sure how a subterranean lift could be quite so elegant.
“The lifts are programmed with AI Release 2.3,” commented Sly.
“Oh, that explains a lot,” said Blackie who hunched his shoulders and acted as if Sly’s comment made perfect sense. It did actually.
You would think, since the Sub-lifts were burrowed deep into the ground, they would be kin to freight elevators that spend their entire boring lives going up and down from a basement to the C-level offices, but not so.
“Come on, how many painfully expensive desks can a business really need?” communicated the freight elevator to the Sub-lift.
“Honestly, I really wouldn’t know,” said the Sub-lift, “oops, got to go, here’s a group headed to the bar, ciao.”
“Oh, look at me, I’m an elegant Sub-lift headed to the bar,” said the freight elevator as his friend sped downward to the bar, “I’m despicable.”
The bar made the Sub-lift look like a freight elevator. The carpet was so beautiful Amelia was stunned and hesitated to step out. When she did the carpet responded with “Welcome to the Sub-Bar, please enjoy your stay.” Fine gold and silver threads were weaved into the fabric so that they reflected light subtly as you passed. The carpet was programmed to monitor each person’s individual progress as they crossed the room and offer them a personalized experience of the most enchanting three dimensional patterns with constantly changing backlighting. The walls of the bar glowed casting a very pleasant light throughout the foyer and seating areas. It was big and bustling. The enormous columns seen in the garage jutted through the bar, but they were elegantly clad in Questian carved ivory.
The bar paid a small fortune to support the Belkie Preserve on Questian. When the Game Management Council determines there are more Belkies than the preserve can support they announce a hunt to harvest old or infirmed animals. The Sub-Bar is first in line for harvested ivory. Harvesting is done during planned excursions to hunt the Belkies, an activity which many in the universes deplore. Still, hunters spend vast amounts of money to be included on a hunt. The number of hunters is strictly limited for reasons to be explained. Belkies have keenly honed survival instincts and are adept at both eluding and hunting hunters. In fact, in the last three seasons Belkies actually harvested more hunters than hunters harvested Belkies. This led to the practice of CEOs at competing companies trying to buy hunting trips for each other. Owing to the fact that hunters paid large sums to hunt, and those without family typically name the preserve as their sole beneficiary, the Game Management Council hasn’t been too excited about changing the rules of engagement which are simply stated: The hunter may carry a 2.5 meter spear, a bow, and a quiver with 12 arrows with non-explosive tips. The Belkie can only be hunted if his tusks are 8 meters in length, coincidentally that is the approximate size necessary to clad a bar c
olumn, and must have an estimated weight of 46,000 kilograms. A Council member will point out a qualifying beast using a communicator from inside a very fast transport parked a very long distance away. Typically each hunter also gets a rousing “Good Luck” from the Council member, and those without family get a hardy pat on the back. Successful hunters have their names enshrined on a very expensive plaque in the lobby at the Game Management Council’s offices; it is a small plaque. Hunters that don’t return are not mentioned. To date, no hunter, either successful or unsuccessful has ever entered the hunting lottery a second time.
Nita spied a table near a window facing the Meteor Plain just as its occupants stood and proceeded to leave. The Gorkans made their way directly to the Sub-lift muttering something about meteors never being on time. Nita sidled around a table to another aisle and sat down just before a group of large Equintorians approached. Mark, Amelia, Blackie, and Wayne joined her quickly while Sly made straight for the bar. “Man, it’s crowded in here today,” noted Sly as he returned and ambled around the table to an empty chair.
“I like Equintorians,” said Nita as they turned and looked for another table.
Mark thought they looked a bit like lizards.
“Really,” he asked as he turned to watch them walk away.
“Fabulous dancers Equintorians are,” said Nita. Blackie thought it was immensely odd how fast Mark, Wayne, Amelia and himself had adjusted to seeing beings unlike anything on earth. “That’s sci-fi mag material that is,” thought Blackie as he glanced at the Equintorians still looking for a table. He couldn’t imagine them doing a merengue.
A waiter appeared with menus and asked about drinks. “Oh, we have drinks on the way,” said Sly, “but we’ll be needing those menus.” The waiter placed a stack of menus on the table and left.
“I think he preferred to bring us the drinks,” said Amelia.
“Appears so,” said Sly acting nonplused, “I’ll make sure he’s happy later.” The drinks arrived, Sly hoisted one immediately and said, “Cheers.”
“This light looks just like the light in a Lactrodectopoi cave,” said Nita as she sipped her drink.
Sly whipped around so fast his drink went in his air pipe; he gargled momentarily and slopped some green and purple liquid from his mouth onto his shirt.
“Sorry,” he said as his face reddened. “Did you say you’ve been in a Lactrodectopoi cave,” he said with a throaty sound. Mark shot Nita a quick look.
“Oh, just,” said Nita, “we barely escaped, vicious creatures really. They dealt Wayne a nasty gash on his head and Mark a cut on his hand, although they’ve healed nicely,” finished Nita.
Sly mulled this over and stated “you know no one has ever been seen leaving a Lactrodectopoi cave.”
“Yes,” said Nita, “there weren’t any other witnesses.”
“Tell us about the meteor shower,” she said swiftly. Sensing they were uneasy and not willing to press the issue, Sly acquiesced.
“Meteor plain is just there” he said as he pointed.
“Exactly how can we see the plain when we’re 300 meters underground?” asked Wayne.
“Sub-Bar owns a space shifter, the only one in this solar system I think,” replied Sly. Dropping his voice he added “Rumor has it a large amount of money changes hands frequently to make sure other permit requests are denied.” He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Anyway,” he said in a normal voice, “about 19 years ago this planet was doomed. A large meteor was headed on a collision path and everyone vamoosed.
“Yeah Terra Bulga supposedly had one of those about 65 million years ago,” said Blackie.
“Terra Bulga did? Well,” said Sly continuing, “a group of investors, now the owners of Sub-Bar, bought the entire planet at bargain, soon to be totally destroyed, prices. They bought every business, house, cottage, farm, well you get the drift. And, they successfully petitioned for ownership of the planet, since they owned everything on it. They then enlisted the services of Gabron Donhaley by plying him with stock options; he is now exceedingly rich. Donhaley as you know is this solar system’s most notable force field engineer, incredible isn’t it? He’s only 176 years of age.” The group nodded not ever having heard of Gabron Donhaley.
Sly pressed on. “Owners of the planet charged him with one task, saying, ´how about preventing the destruction of our investment.´ Donhaley didn’t make any promises considering the time was short. In the end the best he could do was hit the meteor with such a projected force that it would be deflected, thus preventing a collision. The gravitational pull of the planet prevented escape and the meteor entered a retrograde orbit. The impact of the force field broke pieces off the meteor that crashed toward the planet as the first meteor shower and into what is now called Meteor Plain. The planet’s owners asked if he could continue to repel the meteor and if it would reproduce that meteor shower. The answer was yes, so every month Donhaley has to recalculate the location and angle of the descending meteor and blast it again with a force field. He is now absurdly rich. Owners of the planet quickly realized the meteor shower would provide an incredible spectacle and therefore a tourist destination. Not long after that realization Sub-Bar was constructed, the space shifter was installed, lots of money changed hands and the bar is a huge success. Look,” said Sly as a small meteor came crashing through the atmosphere, exploded and pummeled the plain.
Amelia looked out at the plain with a sad expression on the verge of tears. “Amelia,” said Wayne, “are you alright?”
“All the beautiful grasses and the trees - it will all be destroyed.”
“No, not really,” said Sly, “the seeds burrow in, don’t they.” Blackie looked at Sly who acted like he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary.
“Are they plants or animals,” inquired Blackie.
Sly thought for a moment, “I don’t think they make that distinction here,” said Sly, “they’re Dawsians. They are vitally aware of their surroundings and what’s happening to it at all times. As soon as the meteor shower approaches, and there is a sonic disturbance, each plant drops seeds that burrow deep below the ground.” Another meteor raced toward the plain exploding on impact, and another. Members of the local garden clubs don’t believe they are indigenous,” said Sly.
“Garden clubs?” asked Nita.
“Oh yes indeed, after the collision was averted, the planet owners leased all facilities that are not endangered by the meteor shower back to their original owners,” said Sly, “they are making an unbelievable amount of money.”
“If it’s not rude to ask, how do you know all this?” asked Wayne.
“I’m one of the investors,” said Sly, “a circumstance that has afforded me information to understand exactly what’s going on, the result of which is me being very well off. I don’t like to flaunt it,” he added, “so as far as the staff knows, I’m just a shmuck that comes by for dinner occasionally,” and he smiled. “The guitar shop is a hobby, he continued, “ I use the money to pay attorney’s fees for representing me every time I break another galactic treaty or commission rule or some other universal nonsense. I like rules, just not stupid ones.”
“How did the plants get here?” asked Amelia, who seemed to be much better now that she knew the plain wasn’t being pummeled into non-existence.
“Popped out of nothingness and rode in on the backs of crystals,” replied Sly.
“Is he joking,” Mark asked Blackie under his breath.
“Who knows,” replied Blackie, “but that sounds ridiculous.”
Wayne was looking out at Meteor Plain. He remembered they had jumped to a precarious spot in the plain. They would have had to leave the Nomad behind when they walked toward town. It would have been out there right now, the Nomad and all the equipment, getting obliterated beyond repair. “Burrowing seeds,” he thought, “how cool is that.”
‘I’m absolutely starving,” said Mark to no one, but subconsciously thinking that verbalizing it would make a differ
ence. At least that’s what his friend Jaime told him. “Say that out loud,” she would say, “and if it sounds ridiculous, it probably is ridiculous.”
“And here comes our friendly waiter,” responded Wayne.
“Look, we’re going to be here a while,” said Sly to the waiter,” so bring us The Package for nine, send another round of drinks every thirty five minutes, and be sure to put twenty five percent on the tab for service.”
“Of course, sir,” said the waiter turning and literally running toward the kitchens. “All offenses repaired,” said Sly smiling at Amelia. “I want you to meet my wife and children,” continued Sly, “they should be here any minute.”
They settled in with another round of drinks. Sly’s wife arrived with two children and Sly made the introductions. “Vanessa, Martin and Victor,” said Sly as he pointed out the boys, “meet Mark, Wayne, Blackie, Amelia and Nita. Mark plays guitar Martin, he has a vintage Gretsch Duo Jet and a Fender Strat with EMGs.”
“Cool,” replied both boys as dinner came pouring out of the kitchen. Waiters hovered around the table like gulls behind a shrimp boat. Sly’s wife was charming and the boys were very well mannered. Vanessa was in a very deep discussion with Amelia about astrophysics. Vanessa had advanced degrees in engineering, chemistry, physics, and finance, which came in handy when Sly wanted to buy a planet.
“You see they budge and overlap, like blue and yellow pie charts,” Blackie overheard Vanessa saying to Amelia. Wayne was watching the meteor shower.
“Wayne, Wayne,” Blackie tried to get his attention. Wayne looked over at Blackie who tipped his head toward Amelia and Vanessa.
“The ensuing particle distribution can be precisely calculated then,” asked Amelia.
Blackie looked back at Wayne, “You’re going to have to develop an A-game dude.” Wayne flashed what may have been an obscene gesture.
Mark was deep into a conversation about guitars with Sly. Turns out, not only did he own the shop and sell guitars, he also played. “I sat in with three pretty good dudes down in Houston once,” said Sly, “they’re a crazy good three man band.” This caught Wayne and Blackie’s attention and great conversation about musicians continued. Sly limited his comments to players on Terra Bulga, as the others wouldn’t have known about Kitziger or Donplada on Alphias Dorian. Nita seemed to easily move from one discussion to the other, physics, music, math, and then guitars. At some point she and Blackie entered a deep conversation on the physics of frequency response in combinations of wood and other materials, and before long sucked everyone else into their conversation. The boys, who were very intelligent, seemed fascinated by all the discussion and occasionally made some very mature observations.
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