 
The World Breaks Into Order

& other stories

By Leon Kaminsky

BUNTHORNE PRESS

Text copyright © Leon Kaminsky, 2018

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

BUNTHORNE PRESS

# Contents

**  
**

The World Breaks Into Order 6

Spare Us the Bitter Pain 44

The Planet That Spoke 61

Nobody Deserves This More Than You 71

The App Works 74

Wings 78

Ocean Breeze 88

Raw Sexuality: The P Avenger 106

#  The World Breaks Into Order

We had a man living on an island about half an hour away from the shore. Half an hour away by boat, I mean. He'd lived there for a couple of years, and everyone knew he was from the home world, but he wouldn't answer any questions or talk to anyone about it. He would just accept food from us delivery guys, pay and give us his 'shopping list' for the next time.

He would maybe say something polite, or maybe not, and then nod and close the door behind himself. Oh, and you did not want to try and sneak on the island to spy on him or anything like that. Terrible idea! I mean, you wouldn't get killed or anything of that sort, he wasn't like that. But you would get into massive trouble first with the man himself, and then back in town, with the Chairs (the Chairpeople, that is).

I think I'm getting ahead of myself here. This will probably happen quite a bit. See, I'm not particularly clever, and I don't tell stories for a living. I was a delivery guy, and now... now I'm an ambassador, of sorts, but I still don't feel like I'm as clever as I should be. But I'm doing alright.

But being an ambassador... it boggles the mind, that's for sure, especially if your mind isn't used to that sort of boggling. I now have to do lots of talking, and I've never been particularly good at it. If anything, I've always excelled at being quiet. But there is no one else who can tell this story, because no one else is, well, me. No one else is me. Obviously. I'm me, and I was there and witnessed everything that somehow involved myself.

Anyways, let me start from the very beginning, then.

My name is MC, and I'm in my late fifties now. This happened when I was 29, and I always thought that I wouldn't actually live to be that old. Now, I know that unless I suffer some sort of violent death – which is not that unlikely – I still have most of my life ahead of me. I'll tell you why in a bit.

I come from a world called Ouanen. Now that I have something to compare it to – and by now, I've seen plenty of places to compare it to – I can tell you that it's a pretty small planet, and most of it was empty at the time. Lots of it was water, but the rest was just land. We lived in towns and villages. There was just over twelve millions of us back then.

We very much preferred to live in groups. As far as I know, none of us ever walked off to live all by themselves. It just wasn't done. We were... well, I guess you can't say we were like a family, that would be too much. And anybody who says that all people are brothers and sisters doesn't consider one thing: how the hell are then supposed to have kids together? But we would always stick together and know our neighbours and all that stuff.

Which is not to say that some of use never wondered about the home world or felt some sort of longing. Of course we did wonder what it must be like over there. But there was no way of leaving the planet.

As soon as you would grow old enough to understand words, you were told how our ancestors left the home world because they weren't happy with the way things were. Back there, life was way too hectic, and chaotic, and loud. Lots of construction going on. People would always say 'thank you' and 'please', and also lots of 'sorry's, but would they rarely mean it. So, some of them got sick of it and asked to be brought somewhere else. Somewhere they could lead a different kind of life.

We're a colony, but we have no ships and no technology to that effect. We don't fly, but we're not savages or anything. We do have boats and bicycles, and we also have electricity and steel and things like that, and we use them if we need to. But we can't fly away anywhere.

Back then, we couldn't fly away, I mean. Now we can, obviously. I've now started using the present tense... I'm still one of 'us'. I still belong there. It's just that I chose to spend most of my life so far elsewhere. Not just because I wanted, but because I was asked to, and it seemed like a good thing to say yes to, and I never regretted it.

So, let me try and start again. My name is MC, and I'm from a medium-sized fishing village from Ouanen. Back in the day, I would deliver things all over Ouanen, either on my bike, or – in that particular case – I would use a boat.

I was doing deliveries, which was probably the best kind of job I could have picked. It was rarely demanding, because there was no stress. Back on Ouanen, people knew how to wait. If it was raining, I would stay at the delivery office and wait for nature to calm down and play cards with the girls and guys there.

A couple of years before that, I began to deliver food to a man who was now living on an island not far away from us. We at the delivery office received a visit from Mr Stahl, who was one of the Chairs at that time (he's dead now), and he told us to be courteous to him and everything and to bring him whatever he desired, but to never try and actually talk to him. Like, talk to him talk to him. We were not to make any attempts to find out things. Some of us still did try, of course, but nothing ever came out of it.

The more 'pensively inclined' of us wondered why the Chairs allowed him to stay on our planet in the first place. If they were so against us ever having anything to do with the home world, then surely, the temptation would have been too much for some of us to try and learn more than we were supposed to know? So, why didn't they try and chase him away? We did have a small police force, after all.

Later, I learned that weapons they may have had, but those were nothing compared to what Dr Shneppendahl had on his island. He had a couple of wondrous constructions there, you see. None of us ever saw them in action, and as it turned out, it was a bloody good thing we didn't. One of those things could have done so much damage we and our eco system would have needed about a century or two to recover.

Of course, in retrospect, it's pretty clear he would have never actually used them. But the Chairs just couldn't know for sure, I guess.

Now, thing is – Dr Shneppendahl may have come across as cold and abrasive, and maybe even as someone who is up to no good if things don't go his way. If you piss him off. Or, if he needs you to believe that. He needed to Chairs to believe he would retaliate if they didn't leave him alone, and they had no choice. He had a few sentinels on the island, too – human-like metallic constructions, about ten feet tall. And if he wasn't expecting you, and you tried to set foot on the island, you'd have been pretty screwed.

Once, I remember, I'd got... well, moderately intoxicated, but not too much not to be able to make my delivery. I gave off the parcel, and then went off and really needed to have a wee, so I did on his island. I peed into the water, of course, not in some bushes or, God beware, onto one of this robot guards. So, once the process began, the sentinel behind me all of a sudden went ballistics, started making alarm noises loud as fuck, or two fucks, and I would have pissed myself had I not been doing that already. Turned out, Shneppendahl had already re-activated them, as he thought I'd already left. I mean, everyone knew he could see whatever was happening on the island, he had some sort of system for that that the Chairs didn't want to tell us anything about, but somehow he could see things that were happening anywhere and everywhere. Not that there was much happening at all. But he was pretty paranoid, as it turned out.

That noise was enough to make me sober again, so I went back, didn't wait for the shift to be over, bought a jug of wine, brought it with me to the office and had a bit there again, just enough to comfort me after that alarm thing. I only had a bit, then a little more, then I shared some with my colleague Aula, then had some more – just a bit – and then, during lunch, went to the bathroom, sat down on the toilet for a bit and woke up maybe an hour or so later, having dreamt I was a frog and had to leap somewhere. Maybe it was the sound of trickling water that did it. So, I 'leapt' from the toilet, fell on the floor, bruised my right hand and my pride and said to myself I won't drink again during working hours, not even a little bit.

Of course, I forgot about that promise I'd made and reverted to the old habit the following week.

There was a girl at the delivery office, Cori. Did deliveries, too. We hooked up once and stayed together ever since. Hooking up wasn't an issue, people would do that. But if you were to get pregnant, then well, it was your own fault. No contraception on Ouanen. But she didn't. Since then, we would do it pretty rarely, and were so careful about it that it was almost no fun. Even a couple of years later, when we decided we were reasonably mature to have kids and wanted it too, she didn't get pregnant.

We went to see a medicine man, and then another one, and of course we talked to our spirit animals. Mine is a brown bear, and Cori's is a fox. They all said pretty much the same thing – the fault lay with me. I wasn't able to have kids, and there was nothing that could be done about it.

I was afraid Cori would leave me now, because she wanted a family even more than me. Had she really done it, that would have been... well, pretty disastrous. I've never had parents, grew up in an orphanage, and Cori is the dearest person in my life, and had she left me, I wouldn't have bothered to find anyone again, ever, but would have gone, lain down on the shore with my face in the sand, hoping that I would never wake up again.

But she stuck with me. There is no marriage on Ouanen, we stay with each other as long as it feels right. If there was, I would have proposed as quickly as I could, just to make sure we stay together.

Cori and I would sometimes deliver things together, even if one of us would have been enough. The delivery office had no objections if there wasn't too much work to do. We would cycle there and back, sometimes a trip would take a few hours. But when it came to hopping on a boat and delivering Shneppendahl's food, I would be mostly on my own. Cori was creeped out by fish, and you could always see plenty of it if you were to look down. The water on Ouanen was still mesmerisingly clear in those days. Most of the fish was normal sized, but occasionally, you would also see creatures that were bigger and would have some ugly looking mouth or eyes, or mostly the entire thing would look horrendous. Cori just couldn't handle the sight of them. I would suggest she didn't look, but she would reply that knowing those things were there was bad enough.

Every now and again, she would tag along though, mostly after a remark on my part that instead of giving in to her phobias, she should try and do something about those. Not that she had many, save for the fish thing. She would then agree, gather courage and go with me to the island, and when we were back, she would promise to me and herself that would be the last time she went on a boat trip, but it never was.

I thought Shneppendahl would be perhaps a little taken aback at her accompanying me, seeing how he visibly didn't enjoy being with other people much, but he wasn't in the least surprised. Or, at any rate, he didn't show it.

Sometimes he would meet me on the island's shore, and then I would just hand him over his stuff and hop straight back on the boat. Sometimes, I would have to go through the gate, under the gaze of his eerie-looking sentinels.

Shneppendahl lived in a container-shaped thing, made entirely of metal. Not particularly beautiful, but I guess his sentinels assembled it for him. In any case, it couldn't have been him who'd done all the work. He must have brought all the materials on his ship, too, though where that ship was and why no-one ever saw it, I have no clue. The Chairs must have known.

How did that construction not get too hot for him in hot weather?

So, anyways. One day, I was doing my delivery, as I always did. The good Doctor was indoors, probably slouching over papers in some study room. Thing was though, no-one knew anything about him or what he was up to, save for his name and that he was a scientist, and both of those things we knew from the Chairs.

I passed the gate and walked up to his container. The door opened without me having to ring. As always, it would open just as much as was necessary for him to take his food, and not half an inch wider.

We both said our hellos, and he handed me the envelope with his shopping list, and then the coins. We were still using coins back then.

As I already said, the guy was always impeccably polite, but you never really had the impression those standard words and phrases meant anything, like when he wished you happy holidays or said he was hoping that you and your partner would have a wonderful time. This kind of insincerity felt chilling at first, though I got used to it with time. On Ouanen, people usually put more heart into their words.

He had one curious habit though. Every time he was about to close the door behind you, he would give you a tap on your shoulder or your upper arm and say something like 'Keep up the good work' or 'Thank you for stopping by', or sometimes he would just tap you without saying anything. That tapping felt somehow robotic, and the guys at the delivery office, me including, would makes jokes about that foible of his.

That day though, there was something different about his demeanour. His smile was somehow less icy, and his speech seemed more spontaneous, and he was also saying more. Not just the necessary exchange, I mean. He mentioned that he'd been up all night working and that, in order to properly wake himself up, he'd already taken two capsules of some herb that I had no idea about – he must have brought those with him from the home world.

When we were done, he went and asked:

'Say, do you think you could do the next delivery in two days' time?'

That wasn't something he'd ever asked me before.

'In two days' time... Why, are you having a party with your sentinels?' I would sometimes try to be funny, but in the presence of Shneppendahl, any such attempts would fall flat.

Instead of frowning at this immature remark, he actually chuckled, and that chuckling felt surprisingly sincere. Well, as sincere as you could expect from him.

'No, I think my sentinels are fine as they are. They haven't done much work since we arrived, thankfully, so I don't think they need any kind of recreation.'

He provided no further explanation and was now waiting for my reply.

'In two days' time... Cori and I were actually thinking of spending the day in the woods. You know, mushrooms and all that.'

'Ah, you love your mushrooms, yes.'

'Er... yes, but... I don't think I've ever told you?'

'No, no, it wasn't a statement on my part. It's one of those things that you say when you, er, confirm that you understand and accept the other person's statement, you see?'

'Ah, right, got you.'

Now, we were both waiting for the other to say something. I really didn't fancy explaining to Cori that we would miss the first half of the morning because of an 'urgent' delivery without any reasons provided.

'I could make it worth your while.' Doctor added.

'It's not about money, you see...'

'I wasn't talking about money. I was talking about... well, talking. We could have a chat if you like. I know people on Ouanen have been wondering about the home world, so I thought to myself, you may perhaps like to hear a few things. Take Cori with you. In fact, we'll have some tea. What do you think?'

That was too much of a temptation. Now, even if Cori for some reason declined that kind of invitation, I certainly would not.

Was Doctor playing with me? Would I then deliver his stuff, and he would tell me that no, sorry, it wasn't a convenient time for him, after all, and we would have to postpone it? He may. Not that he'd ever lied to me so far, but he always felt like the kind of person who wouldn't have an issue doing that.

I would just have to take that risk.

'So, do we have an agreement?' he rushed me.

'Yes. Yes, sure, yes, we do!' I confirmed.

'That's great.' Doctor said without, strangely enough, tapping me on he shoulder. He didn't do any tapping on that day, and it felt like if any day warranted tapping, it was that one. 'But I'm serious about Cori. I would very much like you to bring her with you. Do you promise me you will do your best to persuade her to come along?'

I promised. I wanted to tell him about her fish phobia, but realised I would get into huge trouble with Cori if she was ever to find out.

'Excellent.' he said, this time almost with an exclamation mark at the end, but still not quite. 'The fish doesn't care about us either way, so no reason to worry. She really should know that by now.'

'Yes, true, I know that, but she...'

Wait, what?

'Sorry, but why did you say that just now?'

He shrugged:

'It just seems to me like your partner doesn't much appreciate aquatic life.'

'But how do you know? I've never mentioned that, I'm pretty sure of that.'

'I don't 'know'... I'm just guessing. It was written on her face once when I saw her in your boat.'

'When you saw her in my boat? You mean, when I was handing you your stuff? But that was when we were already on the ground, and Cori has no problems being near water, only when we're surrounded by it.'

'Well, yes, that's what I meant.' he said. 'I saw the two of you as you were making your way here. I have this thing, you see... hold on a second, please.'

Doctor closed the door, disappeared for a few moments, and then opened it again and held up a golden pipe-shaped object made of some funny material that must have been common on the home world, but definitely not where I'm from.

He handed it to me.

'Here, have a peek.'

I took it without knowing what to do wit it.

'You look through it.'

Ah, yes. I tried, but must have done something wrong.

'The other end.'

Ah yes.

'Point it to... well, anywhere. Somewhere far away.'

I did just that.

Bloody hell! I could almost see Cori's and my house on the mainland. I would have, had it not been blocked by other constructions.

I must have spent the next minute or so looking at things, enthralled and stupefied.

'I bet you've never used one of these before.' Doctor said.

'No...'

The Chairs didn't want us to have stuff like that. But I guess there was no need, anyway.

Reluctantly, I passed the thing back to him.

'So, you were... looking at us?'

'You're asking if I was spying on you? No, I wasn't spying on you. I just find it relaxing to look at things far away, wherever they are. I happened to see you just once, as you were approaching me, and after that never again. But that time, it seemed like your partner was trying to look down, but was disgusted by what she saw. Her face said it all.'

'Yeah, she can't stand the buggers, and no-one knows why. Her dad died when she was eight, and her mum – her mum lives with us now, cause she's started losing her memory... But she never knew why, either. It's just one of those fears that you have for no reasonable explanation for.'

Shneppendahl nodded.

Again, none of us was saying anything for a few moments, and I realised that he now probably wanted me to leave.

'Alright, well, as I said, I'll do my best to get her to come with me.' I assured him and left.

That day, Cori was out delivering stuff – people always said she was a bit too conscientious. This was not how things were usually done on Ouanen. We took our time. No one really expected to get their stuff within the shortest possible time, unless it had been specified that the delivery was an urgent one. Mostly though, there was no reason to rush and get anxious about not sticking to deadlines. 'Deadline' was a universally loathed word. Oh, sure, medicine men, for example, couldn't afford the luxury of taking a break and having a glass of wine if someone happened to have got his toe chopped off a mile away. We did have the word 'immediately' in our vocabulary. But you get the idea – if it took us a few days longer to build a shed, no-one would stress out because of that.

Back in those times, we had a pub right opposite the delivery office. The pub itself is no more, but the tree that it was on is still there. For now. The mightiest thing you'll ever see. It was an open air establishment, about 30-40 feet above the ground. If it happened to be raining, all patrons would help to quickly span a canvas roof over the beams above our heads.

After work, while waiting for Cori to return, Strephon (a good friend and a colleague of mine) and I went up for a pint. Strephon was about fifteen years older than me, and recently, he had been complaining about his knees.

'The pain has been pretty severe this entire week, to be honest with you.' he said. 'Yesterday, while I was in the middle of my shift, it got so bad I was seriously considering turning back to the office and taking the day off.'

'Why didn't you?'

'Well, cause soon enough, it will happen again – I will drive out with the best intentions, and then the pain will catch up with me. I can't really take a day off every day, can I?'

'You can't drive around with knees that won't stop aching. You'll just have to get a sick leave, I don't see any alternative.'

'I'd feel useless. I always need to be doing something.'

Strephon was a bit different from so many of us in that respect, he didn't always know how to take things easy.

'You can write a book or something.' I suggested, trying to win time and think of a better answer.

'I would first need to learn how to actually write. I mean, write properly.'

I nodded, not knowing what to say next.

'Suppose, medicine men can't do anything... My spirit animal will make me feel better inside, maybe – for a while. But that won't solve the problem in the long run.'

'Nope.'

'Pretty sure they would have known what to do about this on the home world.'

'Probably.' I nodded again.

'Do you reckon the Chairs have, you know... any kind of knowledge?'

'What, about whether or not medicine men on the home planet are able to treat knee pain?'

'No, I'm saying, do you reckon they maybe know how it's done?'

There was something child-like in Strephon when he was asking those questions. He was still single, never had a long-term partner, and in spite of being an extremely kind-hearted and reliable bloke, his kindness was only rivalled by his awkwardness and naivety.

'They're not medicine men, I doubt they would be able to help you even if they did have any kind of... instruction manuals or whatever.'

'But they could pass them on to the medicine men.'

He was now getting a bit agitated, and if he was going to go on like that, I would have to calm him down again, as I occasionally did.

'Where did this question just now come from?' I asked and ordered him another drink. Only half a pint this time. Not because I was greedy, but because I thought he shouldn't overdo it. Next time, it would be some berry juice.

'Dunno.' he said. 'But you know what people say about the powers-that-be. They hide stuff from us.'

'I guess. Maybe it's for the best.'

'I don't know why you'd say that, and I see no harm in sharing a cure for knee pains with others. It's not like we'd try something funny if we were in less pain, would we?'

'No, I guess not. I think it's just one of those things...'

'What things?'

'One of those things that we'll probably never now, or wouldn't understand. I just know that there is normally a reason for things being the way they are. And if I try to understand them, it gets too much for me. I never manage to grasp complicated stuff, politics and society and whatnot, but just thinking about it gets me depressed.'

'So, you're saying just 'accept things'?'

'I guess.'

I could tell he didn't like that attitude of mine.

'So, we'll, like... stay this way forever.'

'No, of course not. There'll always be change of some sort. Though to be fair, I rather like things the way they are now...'

'Until you're in your forties or fifties, and things stop looking that rosy.'

'Probably... But I'm just not that sort of guy who goes out and changes things. It takes a certain type of person, I think.'

Now, thing is, we didn't know too much about our history before our ancestors came to Ouanen. They would tell us some basic stuff at school, but history was generally among the least regarded scholarly pursuits. Very occasionally, teachers would tell us about some revolutionary spirit or another that at some point lived on the home planet. Most of us would forget about them quickly enough, including me.

I felt a pair of hands being gently put on my shoulders from behind. Cori was there.

We stayed a little longer, and the thing was... Cori was much better than me at comforting people. She had this quality, and I couldn't explain where it came from. It was nothing I could describe, but you know how some people are – they start talking to you, and then you just end up feeling better, and they will have used nothing but words and their facial muscles and gestures. I'd never met anyone who would have proven to be immune against that quality of hers.

At some point, we said our goodbyes, and Strephon wouldn't let us pay for our drinks. 'It's my round!' he insisted. I didn't really know whether it really was his or not, but no matter.

It would only take us a few minutes to walk home from the pub, and once we arrived, I told Cori about my visit to Shneppendahl's and his invitation. I didn't expect Cori to do much protesting, but was afraid she may be a bit upset at not being able to be in the woods at down, as we'd planned. But no, she was absolutely fine with it.

So, the morning in two days' time, we were on our way to the island. Cori didn't betray any signs of fear that time, probably wondering whether Doctor was again spying on us and not wishing to appear childish about some fish that couldn't really do anything, as long as it stayed in the water.

We stepped on the shore. I couldn't think of anything else apart from the perspective of learning things that no-one on Ouanen – maybe not even the Chairs – knew. Almost forgot Shneppendahl's food in the boat. The package was at least twice as big as usually, but I reckoned that some of it was maybe for Cori and myself. I wasn't wrong, though as it turned out, we didn't get to enjoy the food in quite the same way as I'd anticipated.

Doctor opened up and let us in.

The interior of his dwelling was... I don't want to say 'dull', but it was certainly not overwhelming. Whatever I'd been expecting to see, that wasn't it. The walls were pretty naked, of the same metallic colour as the outside, no pictures of any kind. Apart from the usual amenities, the construction (I could hardly call it a house) had three rooms that contained tables, a chair in each room and a few cabinets, all of which were closed and probably locked. I get bored just describing you what it looked like.

On Ouanen, we had a different attitude towards how we lived. We would try and make things look cheerful and bright, or at least put some effort into decorating our houses and giving them some sort of character.

The same applied to the clothes Shneppendahl was wearing. They were artless and sober to the extreme. A shirt and trousers of some depressing dark brown shade, with the shirt reaching almost to his knees. Why the shirts on the home world would mostly be so long, I wouldn't find out until years later.

Seeing that the package was much heavier than usually, I didn't give it to him, but carried it in and then asked him where he wanted it.

'Er... Just put it anywhere, really. Put it next to the door.'

'Oh, alright.' That was... slightly disappointing. I'd reckoned he'd ask me to put it on the kitchen table or something. 'You don't want me to open it for you?'

Silly question, it's not like he'd have any trouble doing it himself.

'No, no, not at the moment.' he replied. 'But, er, let's sit down for a moment, shall we?'

He gestured us to take a seat in the largest room, so we did. Doctor went out for a moment and came back with a tray containing three glasses and a bottle of... something. Even the bottle was dull-looking. Well, it wasn't even a bottle, really, but just some metallic cylinder without any labels on it or anything.

He filled the glasses, and we drank without doing any toasting. The stuff was almost black in colour, which looked unappealing, but the taste was really, really decent – sweetly, maybe even a bit too much so. It was pretty strong, but at no point did it burn your throat or your guts. Never had anything quite like that before.

'So, I guess you want to hear about the home world, huh?'

We both nodded.

'Your home world... It's... Now that I have to tell you about it, I'm struggling, because I don't even know where to start, really. It's radically different from Ouanen, you must realise.'

Cori said we did, yes.

'The planet itself is not necessarily much bigger than this one here, but the population density... it can be pretty overwhelming. You wouldn't have any trouble finding people to talk to.'

'And how are they, those people?' I think Cori's curiosity was actually surpassing mine by a significant margin.

'Oh, they're obviously... they are all different, I guess. I mean, how would you collectively describe the population of an entire planet?'

True. How would you?

'But if I was to generalise, and I mean hugely generalise... There are a few things that most of the people there have in common... For example, they know a lot. I mean, a great deal. Do you understand? How do I explain? They spend many years studying, and when they're done, they know too much about most things. I personally... I mean, I'm a man of letters, and no one appreciates knowledge more than I do, but I also appreciate children actually having a childhood, you see? And I think this is one thing we still have to learn, among all that learning that we're already doing – I think we just need to take it easier a bit. And this is one thing that you could teach us, you see?'

Yes, we saw. So far, his story wasn't difficult to follow.

'So, why don't you guys just... take it easier, as you said?'

'Well, because they want to make life better for themselves!' Cori suggested, a bit too readily for my taste.

'Yes, that's the common argumentation.' Doctor confirmed. 'We should try and make life even better for ourselves. There is always this endeavouring to improve things... make them simpler, or more efficient, or more cost effective, and... more of everything. So, we are now a highly efficient society, you see. And the great thing about it is, our lives are quite long. So, we don't just spend most of our lives working, but we also have sufficient time to profit from our labours.'

He said all that in a fairly neutral tone of voice, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that he was just showing us one side of the coin, while actively trying to hint at the existence of the other side. Why couldn't he just spit it out?

Shneppendahl stopped talking. I reckoned that maybe he was waiting for some encouragement to go on, so I voiced what I was thinking:

'But it sounds like you're not happy with the way things are?'

'Ah, well, people are never truly happy, are they?'

'Well, we are. Not all of us, and not all the time, but I guess we are pretty happy here.'

'Yes, exactly.' he nodded. 'You're a bunch of pretty happy bunnies.'

'And we don't have your kind of resources.'

'No, you don't.'

'Is this why you came here?' Cori asked. 'To try and see what resources you can find? Like, oil or metals or something like that? Oh... you didn't come here to study fish, did you?'

That was the second time now I head a genuine chuckle from Shneppendahl within a period of three days.

'Nooo...' he assured us. 'Most certainly not fish. And no to the other things, as well. I'm not that kind of scientist, to be fair. I've chosen an easier way for myself... or a more difficult, if you like, it depends on how you look at it. See, I don't have much talent when it comes to anything remotely related to biology, or chemistry, or mathematics, or anything like that. My field of work is, in fact, sociology. I study people.'

I politely let him know that we knew what sociology was.

'Yes, of course you know. Sorry, I didn't mean to appear condescending.'

'You didn't.'

'I'm pretty sure I did. But I'm happy you don't hold it against me.'

'So, do your people still call their world Earth?' Cori queried impatiently.

'Yes, of course they do! Unless they for some reason changed the nomenclature in the years that I've been away.'

'That's good...' I murmured. 'I like it when things are...'

'Yes?'

'I wanted to say 'stable', but now I realise it was a daft thing to say in the first place.'

'No, I perfectly understand where you're coming from. Some of us can't live without change, but others only feel safe when they know for sure that everything will stay the same. Another glass?'

It was becoming more and more obvious that there was something on his mind, and as we gulped down the second helping, he went for it:

'Look... I could spend hours and hours on end telling you about Earth and still barely scratch the surface. Or, we could take another way, and we could actually go there, and you could see everything for yourselves.'

The bomb had been dropped.

He was in all seriousness suggesting we could go with him and see something that no-one on Ouanen had ever got to see. We would be... what was the right word for it? Not 'pioneers', that's something else, but we'd be... I couldn't think of a word, but we'd be perversely lucky, and the more I thought about it, the more cautious I was getting.

Neither Cori nor I were saying anything.

'I can see you're not disinclined.' Shneppendahl commented on our silence.

'Nooo...' I said, 'but... I mean, we're... I mean, I for my part, am not... but it's something that...'

'It's a bit of a shock, I can imagine.'

'Well, yeah.'

'But what's holding you back from saying yes?'

'I think one is just naturally cautious.' Cori explained.

'Yeah, exactly.' I confirmed.

'Nothing wrong with being cautious. But is there anything specific that prevents you from saying yes?'

'Well, our work, for starters.'

'Would the two of you lose your jobs if you left for a little while?' he asked in the same way that, I imagine, a father does when explaining to his children how to do logical thinking.

'No, but in any case, we'd need to go and ask for permission... But now that I think about it, I'm not sure at all the Chairs would let us go. They don't exactly encourage people to find out too much about the home world.'

'That's true.' Shneppendahl nodded. 'They're quite vicious in their secrecy. But I can think of a way of circumnavigating that hurdle.'

'How?'

'Well... pretty simple. We'd leave right now.'

Wow. He just managed to top his previous promise to actually let us see a different world. Now he was saying we could just say yes, and we'd actually go and do it.

I must have been making some funny movements with my mouth, like a suffocating fish, and turned to Cori. Her face was pretty motionless, and when she looked back at me, it was clear she was just as clueless as me as to what to say now.

'Wait...' she finally said. 'Why us?'

'Because you're here...' Doctor replied. 'And because you're the only people I know here. So, ultimately, why not you?'

'But you don't really know us, do you?' I said.

'Well, I kind of do. I'm not saying I wouldn't have asked someone else had that someone else been delivering my groceries all this time. But it's been you, and luckily enough, you have a partner who seems just as well suited for this trip as you. The two of you are perfect. Don't let it go to your head though!'

No, I wasn't planning to let it go to my head... At that time, I wasn't really planning anything at all. I don't know why it is that we always try to find reasons to say no. I mean, this is always our first impulse, isn't it?

Was there an actual reason to say no?

'What about my mum?' Cori came to her senses.

'Her mum needs care, she's forgetting things, and Cori takes care of her.' I explained.

'Does she have anyone else who could mind her for a while?' Doctor asked.

'Yes, but I'll need to actually go and ask them. Because, how will they know otherwise?'

'Hm... do you remember their address?'

'Well, sure... Are you saying you want me to go and ask them right now?'

Shneppendahl looked at his watch.

'Hm, no... not enough time left for that, I'm afraid. We'll use a pigeon.'

'A pigeon?... Wait, what do you mean, there's not enough time left for that??' Cori became so agitated she got up and was apparently trying to blink Doctor and me to death.

'My ship will be here pretty soon.' he explained. 'And once it's here, we'll need to leave more or less immediately. You don't want to give your Chairs, as you call them, time to take measures.

What measures??

'Wait, wait, wait!..' I said. 'Wait, this is going way too quickly! Can we maybe postpone this for a bit and talk about it?'

'Hm, not really.' he replied. 'If we don't leave soon, we may have trouble landing once we're there.'

'Why?'

'I'll explain to you on the way there. It's not a terribly long flight, we'll be within seven hours or so.'

'No.' Cori intervened, and I knew that tone of hers. That tone meant just that, 'no'.

'Listen.' Shneppendahl still hadn't lost his cool, but he was beginning to get a little agitated himself. 'I can promise you that only good things will come out of this trip. For us, and for the two of you, or, in fact, for your entire population. I realise I'm probably not making much sense, and I guess I would react in much the same way as yourself. But you need to make that leap of faith, so to speak.'

'It would be nice if we could make that leap a bit later...' I replied.

'Yes, I appreciate that, but sadly, it'll have to be now. Cori, please, if you want someone else to take care of your mother, you'd have to give me their address now.'

Seeing that Cori was still hesitating, I quickly wrote down the address of a friend of her mum's, who lived just two houses away. Shneppendahl quickly went into the next room and returned with something that looked like a chromed egg about five inches wide. He then told me to write a quick note to that woman, asking her to mind Cori's mum while we're away. For a second, in all that chaos, I marvelled at the fact that they still had pens; I'd always supposed that their civilisation was so far advanced that it probably wasn't necessary for them to use their hands for writing at all. I'd reckoned that maybe they just thought things, and words would appear on a screen or something.

When I was done, he pressed something in that egg. The thing came alive. It really did have wings, sort of, which were now extended. It also had a tiny screen, where he entered something, probably the address I'd just given him, and then unceremoniously folded the envelope, but it inside, closed the lid, carried the 'bird' to the door and let it out. The robot flew off in the direction of the mainland, making absolutely no sound.

'There, done.' Shneppendahl said. 'No need to worry about that, anymore. So, are we all good?'

'No!' Cori shouted. Well, not shouted maybe, but raised her voice to a rarely used volume. 'No, we're not all good! It's like, you're forcing us to go with you. We haven't made up our minds yet! Why didn't you tell us beforehand? We could have discussed it and then, if we'd decided to go, we could have made the necessary arrangements.'

Shneppendahl nodded. 'Yes, I do see why you'd say that. Again, I apologise. I actually thought of doing just that, but I didn't want to risk you guys telling anyone. I know you're not blabbermouths, but, you know, people say things by accident.'

When none of us said anything, he added:

'Also, I need to warn you... I've ordered the sentinels to destroy your boat if anyone approaches it. The two of you, or even me, or anyone. And I also told them that this command is not reversible. So, even if was to change my mind, they'd still do it.'

That turn of events took a few moments to sink in, but when I opened my mouth, all I could say was: 'It's not my boat. It's governmental property.'

'Oh, right, of course.'

Yeah.

'So, you're basically kidnapping us.' Cori said. Her voice was now more even, but that evenness harboured deep anger. Well, hell, yeah, I was feeling much the same, except maybe a little less acutely.

'So, you're a sociology guy, you say. You study people, right? And yet, you pretty much botched this here just now, didn't you?'

'I'm sorry?'

'I mean, if you'd played your cards differently, we most likely would have come with you, and we wouldn't feel like your prisoners. Now, we will. So, I'm just saying that for somebody who's supposed to know how people tick, you did a pretty lousy job just now.'

Was I being too rude?

Nah. At least not for a victim of kidnapping.

To that, Shneppendahl again said he understood my point, but we were by no means prisoners or anything of that sort, just two people who due to the currently prevailing circumstances didn't have a choice but to tag along to a planet hell knows where, and that he would try to do his utmost to make us feel at ease.

'Just let's not forget the parcel you've brought.' he said. 'I don't have anything on that ship, except for water.'

Turned out, his ship had been 'parked' somewhere in the orbit all that time. All he had to do was to send out a signal for it to come.

I say 'ship', but maybe 'shuttle' would be a better word. I mean, I hadn't seen any space vessels at all until that day, and even that shuttle made a pretty intimidating impression on me, but I did realise it wasn't a proper ship. Not the kind of ship you'd set out in to discover new galaxies or something. Probably enough to comfortably play a game of pool and have a nap if comfort wasn't your main priority.

The sentinels and the living container were left as they were. Either that man was indecently wealthy, or he was planning to come back one day.

'I still don't get why it had to be today.' Cori said after we'd left the orbit.

'Is this the only thing you don't get?' I asked. 'I could think of quite a few others.'

Shneppendahl offered us more of the drink (he'd carefully put it in his backpack before we left, plus one more bottle of the same), but we both declined.

'Look,' he said, 'I understand very well you've got tons of questions. But to be honest, I really was hoping to do some sleeping now. I know stress is not really a thing on Ouanen, but it's been an integral component of my life during the past week or so. So, I'll answer a couple of questions, but then you'd really need to let me get some sleep if that's alright. I'll give you some board games to play meanwhile.'

That last statement infuriated Cori:

'Games?? What, seriously, you think we'll just calmly sit down and play a board game, just like that?? As if nothing had happened?'

'Maybe it would help you relax... But of course, you can spend the entire flight time talking, seeing that there's little else to do. There are some books, too, if you prefer, but agitated as you are, I really thought you'd prefer games.'

'Are you deliberately trying to piss me off??' she was now pretty much yelling. 'What the hell?? You've taken us in this thing of yours, won't let us go home...'

'Yes, I do understand you, but we've been through this already!' He was now also starting to lose patience. 'Now, as to your question why it had to be today. Let's say that there are things happening on Earth. I thought that I'd waited enough and had to act fast. I contacted my daughter Kitty and asked her to make sure we don't get fired at as we land, and...'

'What, 'fired at'?!' that was me shouting now. 'They'll be firing at us?? For what??'

'Well, no, they won't be firing at us, because – as I said – I asked my daughter to make sure it doesn't happen.'

'Why would they even want to fire at us? This space boat of yours doesn't exactly look like a warship, does it now?'

'Ah, they'll shoot at anyone who doesn't identify oneself.' Shneppendahl explained and then added: 'And I know, I know, you're going to ask now why I couldn't just identify myself. And it's because... I'll be listed as diseased. So, if I go and try to explain them that I'm in fact not really all that dead yet, they most likely won't listen – I mean, I've dealt with those border patrol guys before. Some are pretty civilised, and I don't want to tar them all with the same brush, obviously, but it's too great a risk. Better explain things after we've landed. ...For which I'll need all my energy, so I would really, really, need to get some sleep now. As I said, do understand your head must be spinning now and you need to know things, but I'll be much better at replying to them after I've rested.'

With these words, he picked some board game from under his bed at random and shoved it towards us across the table, then took out his contact lenses, lied down and was asleep within a few moments. I've always envied people who can just 'switch off' like that. No matter how exhausted I happen to be, it always takes me a while.

We didn't play the bloody game. Instead, we... well, we discussed dozens of possible scenarios of how things could pan out for us, regularly telling ourselves how we should have just stayed on the island, no matter what. Even if the sentinels really had destroyed the boat, we could have maybe... well, I guess we could not have swum all the way back to the shore, but someone would have come for us, surely. Meanwhile, we could have just stayed on that island, living at his expense and walking around naked. The supplies wouldn't have lasted long, but maybe we could have just gone and found something edible growing right there, on the island, and...

Most likely though, he would have threatened us with those robots of his or something if we hadn't complied. So, we never actually had any real choice.

But anyways, there we were, about two thirds scared and one third curious.

And then, as we were approaching Earth, and Shneppendahl was getting up, still sleepy, the computer kindly warned us that there was a border patrol cruiser heading our way.

'Call Kitty!' he instructed the machine

We heard Kitty's voice emanating from a speaker in the middle of the ceiling, but the screen stayed empty.

'Yes, dad.' she said, and her tone of voice was uncannily even and quiet.

'Kitty, I thought you were going to take care of the border patrol people??'

'Yes, I did. Why?'

'They've sent a cruiser.'

'Can't be. I'm monitoring their office right now, and they're not up to... anything, really. I mean, they know you're coming, but they'll be convincingly ignoring anything they'll be seeing on their screens until you've landed. It's shockingly easy to bribe the border police, you know? You probably do know though. I guess that's not really much help to you now, but it's certainly not them.'

'The ship has the BP signature.'

'That may be, it's just a ship. Signatures are easily forged if you know the right people, and nowadays, everyone knows the right people. Well, maybe not the border police, probably because they are the right people – except when it comes to doing things included in their job description.'

Was that woman really his daughter? Like, his really real daughter??

'Yes, no...' Shneppendahl was trying to regain his calm. 'I understand you've done what I asked you. I don't suppose you know of a way to dodge that ship?'

'Let me think...' she said. Now, normally, you make some sort of noises to signalise you're still working on the problem and haven't gone off to fry an egg, but that Kitty woman... She was perfectly quiet for what must have been a minute. Maybe less, but actually felt like more.

'How long until they reach you?'

'Seeing that it's a simple cruiser, I'd say about ten minutes.' Shneppendahl replied, managing to keep his cool just like his daughter.

'About ten minutes... Alright. There's something we can try. There may be better solutions, but I can't think of any off the top of my head.'

My greatest urge at that moment was to quietly and most politely inform Kitty what I was thinking about her so far.

'Where exactly are you?' she asked.

Shneppendahl gave her the coordinates.

'That's good. I'll send you a ship, they'll be with you in three minutes tops.'

'What, to pick us up? And then what? It's not like those BP guys won't know what happened. They'll still follow us.'

'No, not that. Listen... No, wait, let me call them first, and then I'll explain everything to you while you wait.'

The connection went for a short while. Soon enough though, Kitty's voice was back.

'Alright, they're on their way. Now, my plan was this: They'll destroy your shuttle, this should shake those guys off the track.'

That last phrase was too much for Cori, who turned with her back to us, as if she was planning to do some dry-heaving, or maybe puking. I, for my part, was hoping there was more to Kitty's idea.

'I assume you've just neglected to mention some vital part of your plan?' Shneppendahl asked, demonstrating remarkable decorum.

'They'll start shooting at you. Don't worry, they'll be using NC lasers, those will take a while to do some real damage. Meanwhile, they'll send you a coffin. The guys on the cruiser won't detect that. I hope.'

'Sorry, what??' That was me. 'What coffin??'

'Hello.' Kitty said calmly. 'I'm Kitty, very happy to meet you.'

'Hold on.' Shneppendahl told her and turned to me. 'What Kitty is saying is, basically, they'll send a box our way, which we'll then all have to get into, after which they'll drag back into the ship.'

'Sounds good.' I said. 'But you still haven' explained that part with the shuttle being shot at.'

'Well, see, the trajectory of our coffin will be, er, parallel to the line of fire. So, to the BP guys, or whoever those people are, it will all seem like somebody else knows we're here and wants to get to us. Then, when we're safely inside the ship, they'll blow up the shuttle. Just for show, you see. Just so we can reach Earth safely.'

I saw the logic of it, but also... but also... There was so so much that seemed wrong with that. Getting into something called a 'coffin', even if vernacularly, didn't sound appealing at all, let alone if we'd have to spend some time in outer space – IN OUTER SPACE!! – inside of it.

'So, what, they'll see the ship firing at us, but they won't see that coffin of yours?'

'Precisely. The coffin is small, and it's painted in... well, we have a special type of black paint, you see. That paint makes it look like there's actually nothing there. Perhaps not entirely, but in space, it makes things extremely difficult to spot. And the border patrol guys will still be relatively far away. So, it's highly unlikely they'll notice anything. They may wonder for a bit why it would take a ship that size so much time to blast to pieces a shuttle that small, but then they'll probably decide the shuttle was armoured and let it go.'

'It's not armoured??!'

'No, but what do you care? You've made it so far, and you'll have to leave it within the next couple of minutes, and you'll never see it again.'

True, true... but...

'Wait, what if our coffin gets in the line of fire??'

'Unlikely, but if, for some reason, it does happen, you'll still be fine – unless somebody spends some considerable time shooting at it. The coffin actually is armoured.' Kitty explained.

I kept re-analysing the situation so viciously I stopped making any movements or noises at all.

'But anyways,' Kitty added, 'they'll be with you in less than a minute now. So, if you want to say your goodbyes, just in case...'

'What??!'

'Joking, you'll most likely be alright.'

How is this your daughter, Shneppendahl?

Oh, fucking hell.

'Do we have to put on some clothes or something?' Cori asked after the 'coffin' was safely attached to the shuttle's door.

'No. I would have told you, obviously.' Shneppendahl replied whilst making selections on the coffin's inner screen. It said something about oxygen, so I assumed he was making sure we wouldn't die of suffocation before we would die of gunfire.

'It looks like we may not even quite fit in there.' Cori remarked. She'd now regained her self-control to some extent, though it would still be a while before she would be her own self again. It would have been great to impound one of those bottles from Doctor's backpack, but there was no time.

'Don't worry.' Shneppendahl said. 'We will. We'll all have to lie pretty close to each other though, so if I touch you inappropriately or something, my apologies.'

'MC, you go in the middle.' she pointed with her head towards the thing. 'Here, mister, you can touch him inappropriately, or in any way you like.'

Once we were out of the shuttle, everything went... well, nothing really happened, it all went extraordinarily smooth and fast. The rope didn't tear, we didn't even hear any gunfire, and in less then a minute, everything was over, and found ourselves on the ship.

The coffin was opened, and when I tried to get up and step out of the thing, I became aware of the fact that I was mumbling a song that I hadn't heard or sung since my teenage years. I very much loved it back then. It was a simple tune, like most songs popular on Ouanen. It was a chorus number, and in my mind, I was singing in multiple voices at the same time. In fact, I was so convinced of the quality of my performance that I decided to raise my voice to celebrate our survival and let the others enjoy my musical talent that I very obviously had. So, I did just that. Maybe I overdid it a bit, but those fifteen to twenty seconds were fun.

Then, someone approached me and stuck a needle in my arm. I tried to continue singing after that, but my newly found passion was gone after a few moments, and instead I started feeling a bit bummed, just like you sometimes feel after a nap during the day.

Cori, meanwhile, was hugging some guy who looked like he was barely of age. He, too, injected something into her, after which she let go of him and sat down on the floor.

Shneppendahl... I don't think he behaved strangely in any way, just rolled up his sleeve and let them do their thing.

'What just happened?' I asked.

'Oh, it's like... like an anaesthetic.' the doctor explained. 'The coffin spews out some fumes once you've closed the lid, because, well, it stands to reason that if someone needs a contraption of this kind, they really could use some calming down.'

'So, basically, we were... high?'

'Yeah, the stuff is pretty potent. Also, pretty costly, but nothing compared to how much that shuttle was.'

I looked around and saw two people in helmets covering their faces – either two men or two extremely flat-chested women, or one man and one flat-chested woman – wearing civilian clothes. Shneppendahl told them there was no need for any helmets and that the pair he'd brought with him were not contagious in any way, just a bit darker skinned and hairier. The two took off their helmets, and one of them had a face like a lemur. Not hairy, just oddly lemur-shaped. I tried to pretend I didn't notice, but my glance must have lingered too long on him.

'He's looking at me.' the guy said.

I said I was sorry, and I really was, both for staring and for having been caught.

'It's a choice, you know? I wasn't born this way or anything.'

'I'll need to do some explaining a bit later on.' Shneppendahl said.

'Why later on, you've already had your nap!' Cori jumped up from the floor. 'When is that 'later on' going to be?

'Once we arrive, we'll have a talk.' he promised.

'What, at your place?'

'No, of course not. That would be a pretty idiotic thing to do, don't you think? No, I couldn't possibly be so careless. Also, Kitty lives there now, so it would be way too crowded. She has prepared us a place to stay, and it's guarded.'

I voiced my doubts as to how Kitty could have been his daughter, having just demonstrated so little concern about her dad's safety and well-being, and I also hinted that maybe it'd been her who had sent that cruiser.

'That is absolute nonsense.' Shneppendahl replied, but even those accusations of mine didn't provoke any kind of angry reaction in him. 'I can't think of any reason why Kitty would want to betray me, but I can think of quite a few why she wouldn't, ever. Yes, I guess it may appear to you that Kitty is somewhat cold-blooded, but she's not much different from so many of us on Earth. Though she's certainly more clear-headed than most people, yes.'

I accepted that explanation for the time being and said that all Cori and I wanted was to lie down, though the part where he mentioned that most people on Earth were like her was pretty alarming.

Very soon, we arrived on Earth, but then had to make our way to wherever it was that we were supposed to be staying. A shuttle could have brought us right there, I guess (though Shneppendahl probably would have been too paranoid for that), but with an actual ship, our choices where to land were restricted.

'I think maybe we should use the underground highway tonight.' Shneppendahl said to a third guy from the ship. They all had oddly pale skin. I'd thought the sun was there for all of us? 'The sight of, well, of everything may be a bit too much for our guests. I suppose they've had enough excitement for one day.'

So, what then happened was: they gave Cori and me helmets and gloves similar to the ones that the crew were wearing, but with tinted visors, so that no-one could see our faces, and then gloves – I guess so that no-one could see our apparently all too dark skin. Then the two of us, the doctor, and two guys from the ship went through a hangar, then through some other huge hall where thousands of people were hurrying there and back. One of the two guys approached a screen built into a wall, said something into it, then let a thin ray of light that came out of it shine into his eye. A piece of paper came out of the machine. The guy took the piece of paper and instructed us to follow him. I didn't know about Cori, but I wanted to leave that awful place pretty badly.

We went through one of the hundreds of doors leading out of the hall, took a lift down, and when the door opened, we stepped directly into some sort of wagon, where the same guy, just as before, used the wall screen to tap in something. The wagon started moving, and in about ten to fifteen minutes, we were there.

Our apartment was pretty smallish, at least compared to what Cori and I (and everyone else) had on Ouanen. Shneppendahl explained to us the basics about how not to starve in our new dwelling and how to call for help, things like that. Said he would be staying in the apartment next to us, plus two more men – not the guys from the ship, but blokes who were specially trained. I asked 'Specially trained for what?', but he just said something like 'Oh, you know, eventualities.'

Our apartment was underground. It wouldn't be until the following morning that we would get to see the upper side of the home world. Instead of windows, the bedroom had screens simulating a lake view with daylight coming in. Of course, I later found out that there were hundreds of other views available, but back then I obviously had no clue about such things.

The following morning, long after sunrise, the doctor rang at our door, and when we opened, there was a woman with him, maybe a few years older than us. Must have been Kitty, then. When we arrived the previous night, I wasn't really paying much attention to anything, but now I realised that she was dressed in more or less the same manner as most other people there: a shirt and trousers made from some materials resembling a mixture of cotton and rubber. Her clothes were a dark shade of purple. Thankfully, her outfeet didn't make any kind of screeching noise when she walked.

Shneppendahl introduced us, we all sat down, and I asked if he by any chance still had those one and a half bottles with him from the day before. He reminded me that those had been destroyed together with the shuttle.

'We can have a drink later on, in the late afternoon perhaps.' he suggested.

'It's quite a long time to go till afternoon,' I replied.

'I'll make it worth your while.'

'That's what you said back there on Ouanen,' Cori remarked, 'and it ended with us being kidnapped.'

'How long are you planning to play that kidnapping card for?' Kitty included herself in the conversation. 'Dad said you wouldn't stop using this ghastly word yesterday.'

Instead of giving her a direct reply, I decided to go with a question that'd been bugging me ever since I first heard her speak back on the shuttle.

'Say, Kitty... I know we're from different backgrounds and all that, but why are you so, er... how to say... I don't want to say 'cold-hearted'... but back there, it didn't seem like you cared much what happens to your father.'

'Why woukd you think that??' I couldn't even tell if she was being sarcastic or genuinely taken aback.

'Er... I thought it was pretty obvious.' I looked at Cori for confirmation. She nodded:

'Yes, to be fair, your concern seemed kinda... limited.'

No, Kitty genuinely didn't understand what I meant.

'Well, I suppose you were right, and it really is a cultural difference that is at fault here. I don't think I behaved in any other way than anyone else would have.'

'Anyone else?.. from your world, you mean. Back where Cori and I are from, we would have shown more empathy for a stray dog.'

'See, Kitty,' Shneppendahl said: 'this is what my stay on Ouanen was all about.'

I said I still understood bugger-all and reminded him of his promise to clear things up and explain to us in layman terms why our forceful removal from our planet – I was really trying not to overuse the term 'kidnapping' – was all about. He assured me he was going to do it that very instant.

'Does any of you know what 'cultural exchange' means?' he asked Cori and me.

Cori replied that although she'd never heard those two terms used together before, it wasn't difficult to figure it out.

'Basically, it involves us learning from each other.' Shneppendahl said in much the same way my first-grade teacher would say things, kind of condescendingly, but that condescending tone felt strangely comforting. Maybe I still was a kid... But then again, we all are; it's just that some of us are better at hiding it.

'We normally live upwards of 180 years.' he went on. 'No-one has to starve, anymore. We can say what we want, we can have most things we want or need, and we can even travel to other worlds, even though almost all of them are only of interest to people who are keen on biology and geology and things like that. Each child begins to learn to handle and to earn money by the time they're six, machines do all the hazardous works for us, most people practice free love, we are one nation, so there are no more wars – only very occasional regional conflicts, mostly among sports fans... Religious propaganda is outlawed and people are no longer afraid of old superstition, and – very importantly – we know so, so much. This is just a few things, just to give you a rough idea. I couldn't even begin to explain to you the extent of the knowledge we've acquired and the things we've learned to do throughout our history. And when I say 'our history', I mean it's your history, too. It's just your 'Chairs' prefer not to tell you about any of that...' he stopped to think about what to say next. 'Now, would you say we are a nation that is content?'

That sounded a lot like a trick question, so I tried to guess what he wanted me to say: 'No?...'

'Oh, we are!' Shneppendahl assured me. Well, damn it, that was some sort of double trick question, then, or a simply question disguised as a trick question, which seemed pretty pointless. 'We are pretty content with our achievements. The previous centuries were a recklessly turbulent time for us, but now that most conflicts have been resolved and so many hurdles overcome, we have been living pretty comfortable lives. In a bit, we'll go out, and I'll show you how we live.'

He looked around to see if anyone had any questions and then went on.

'But... do you think we're happy?'

Ah, so that was the tricky part of the tricky question!

'I guess... no?' I tried again.

'We're pretty miserable.' Shneppendahl nodded. 'Many of us don't realise it themselves, but as a nation, we're sort of... like sleepwalking through life. Nothing changes. It's like all major breakthroughs have now been made. Oh, sure, things have always been like this: You go to the office, you do your stuff, you get home, then do all the other routine, then go to bed, and then you die at some point. People have lived that kind of life for many many centuries. Except that now, there is this horrible knowledge that whatever you do, for yourself or for your children, things will stay pretty much the same. That image of a 'brighter future for everyone' no longer exists.' The bright future is now, and all its brightness has blinded us, and now we can't even appreciate how bright it is.

At that time, not all of his words made perfect sense to me, but I got the general drift.

'But don't think it's just ennui on our part.' he went on. 'Many centuries ago, some clever head whose name somehow got lost in the waves of history made a prediction. He said that considering the accelerating pace at which discoveries and inventions were being made, one day would see several radical changes happening simultaneously, and once that's happened, a new age would begin. Obviously, he couldn't know what inventions those would be or how long it would take for that to happen, but he did have that eerie hunch, and he was absolutely right. Of course, they did not actually happen on the same day, but within about a decade, but once those changes had occurred, we found ourselves in a new age that we weren't prepared for. It's been a bit over a century now since then.

It was the day when Ercon Volover published his proof that reincarnation does exist, however has nothing to do with any kind of religious teachings, but is a process perfectly explainable by means of natural sciences. Now that people were no longer afraid and knew the truth, they liberated themselves from their prejudices and taboos and began to enjoy whatever it was that floated their boat without the fear of having to spend an eternity at 585 degrees.

Then, Magnia Yona and almost a million of her followers went on the streets to tell the world about their experiences with consensual non-monogamy, which caused a veritable revolution. Soon after, there were more polyamorous relationships in the world than what people had believed to be the norm before that – that is, strict monoamory, in which, more often than not, both partners would feel suffocated. If you think about it today, it seems pretty obvious – why would you have to limit your romantic love to just one person? And with time, sex simply stopped being the taboo that it used to be altogether. Sure, things had been heading in that direction, anyway, but now, people have no problem whatsoever to chat about orgasms more than they would about sneezing.'

'Speaking of which, dad...' Kitty chimed in, 'guess who turned out to be shockingly capable with his tool the other day?'

'Hmmm...' Shneppendahl mused for a second, 'Well, I, for my part, used to be pretty skilled myself back in the day, you know?'

'The captain of the border patrol!' Kitty gleefully revealed the answer. 'We did it when I was at his office to discuss his men not interfering with your arrival. He was happy with the money we were offering, but said he would 'appreciate' a certain bonus. When he looked at my legs, it was pretty clear what he meant – he's a leg guy, it turned out. Not that he doesn't know how to handle other parts of a woman's body... So, I thought to myself, I was in no hurry, so there was no reason not to do it with him. And you know what, I think I'm gonna do it again in near future...'

Cheerful as her tone of voice may seem when written down, she said it all in a way grotesquely devoid of emotion. It sounded like she was reading all of that from a peace of paper without trying too hard to put any effort into accentuating things.

'Could we maybe go back to what you were saying about that day when all of that stuff happened?' Cori urged them.

'Right, yes.' Shneppendahl came back to reality, and I was hoping he was remembering his own sexual exploits and not imagining those of his daughter. 'By some bizarre coincidence, that was also the same month when the cap on a person's individual income was introduced. Now, no-one was allowed to have more money than the amount fixed by the state. It is adjusted every year for inflation, of course, but otherwise, it's been more or less the same ever since.

Invention number four... it was not so much an invention, but rather just a thing that started out as a joke, but caught on and became first a norm and then a law. Back then, we still had talk shows... How to explain... Those were discussions on television... Television is...'

'We know what television is.' Cori interrupted. 'We did learn some history, you know.'

'Ah, yes, right. Of course.' Shneppendahl said apologetically. 'Well, at one of those shows, and I can't even remember the name of that programme now... but the woman's name was Shi-Hua Pravdova. She was the moderator. One day, she was having two politicians as guests, and they were supposed do debate some reforms they were proposing. To boost the ratings, Pravdova had an idea. She had something mixed into their drinks – the root of a plant that is extremely hard to come by in nature, but can be replicated artificially. That root is the most effective truth serum known to man – or woman, in this instance. I don't know if you've ever heard a politician speak... though you must have some sort of politicians on Ouanen, right? But usually it's a pretty dull affair. But what she did... well, the result was pretty entertaining, I've got to say! Having them speak their minds publicly, that was something!

What had started out as an experiment soon caught on. At some point, there was pressure on all politicians to follow suit wherever they were – as long as they were there in their official capaacity. Of course, that very often meant the end of their career, but Pravdova's idea had a tremendous impact on our politics. They now had no choice but to be honest, and it made all the difference in the world.

After that, there was another significant social innovation. It is now required by law that anyone and everyone spends a certain amount of time working in jobs that they otherwise would never find themselves doing. For example, if you're the managing director of a hair spray factory, you would be selected to, say, fix cocktails or dig graves. And it works vice versa, too, if you're in a lower paying position, they would still order you to spend a week or so helping a magazine editor or watching a cruise ship's captain over the shoulder. This helped us develop a great deal of understanding for each other, and isn't this a marvellous thing?

Space travel was 'squared', so to speak, with the invention of Antrapp's engine. I don't want to make it too complicated for you, but in brief: it works by causing a rapid succession of miniature time travels, each only about half a second long, but when you cause those to sort of 'engulf' each other, you end up with... well, with a speed that exceeds the previous speed record by hundreds of times. We still haven't found any concrete evidence of any alien life form anywhere, but we did colonise some planets, so in case something should happen to ours, it's comforting to know we're not going to go extinct. But of course, the two of you are from one of those colonies, so you do know something about that.

And the last advancement was the genetic collaging. Many centuries ago, it was tried, but it never really took off, because the authorities wouldn't let the scientists do their thing. At some point, however, our risk appetite became far too great, so it was decided to give it a go. As I already said, we now live much longer than we used to, and even 300 years is not unheard of. We can grow organs and tissue and fix ourselves, and it's become a routine procedure.

This was when the New Age of Taurus began.'

Shneppendahl went quiet, deciding to let Cori and me digest the information. Whenever he would start speaking again, it would be far too early though. There was no way anyone from a world like Ouanen could cope with all of that new knowledge within a few moments. That story of his just now was like a mountain being gently lowered on the shoulders of an ant.

'Maybe let them have one drink? Kitty suggested, and the doctor consented.

'But just this one glass.' he said, 'They need to stay focussed when we go outside.'

One glass was not nearly enough, but at least it was a full one.

'Well, all of that sounds like you should be pretty pleased with yourselves...' Cori finally said.

'Oh, yes, we were, we really were!' Shneppendahl assured her. 'For quite a while, and I guess for the first time in history, there was an omnipresent feeling that everything was alright now – that every major problem had been solved and that all we would now need to do was to reach and pick up the fruits we'd been growing for so very many centuries. It was an epoch of huge optimism and jubilation.

And then, gradually... Nothing else happened. Simply because there was nothing else left. Oh, sure, everyone had their own personal thing, their own goals and aspirations. We still do. But the realisation that we, as a race, cannot go any further than we already had was still crushing.

Everyone was doing well, but do you know what happens to people who are born in times and circumstances where there are no wars and no crises of any kind? They don't appreciate the abundance and the security that is handed to them. Not only do they take it for granted, but they don't notice how they begin to fall into depression and decadence, and if they do notice, they are unable to explain to themselves why they feel that way.

Now, imagine if this sort of thing begins to spread all over the planet. Everyone is content, but no one is happy. But it gets worse, depression doesn't always stay just that. It can breed anger, too. So, things have led to us being not just miserable, but also angry at our misery. And anger, in turns, never takes too long to cause violence.

I take it you've heard of the snowball effect? Well, throughout these past twenty years or so, things have been going downhill at an increasing speed. Chances are, you'll see it for yourself in a bit.'

'Sounds like a problem I'd like to have...' I murmured after a while.

Cori was just sitting there and blinking, as she so often did. Sure enough, the occasion warranted any amount of blinking.

'You're probably thinking we've all gone bonkers.' Kitty said. More a statement than a question.

'I don't know about Cori here, but for me, it's kind of hard to pass any kind of judgement right now.' I said. 'I mean, it's just way too much to swallow. Speaking of swallowing...'

'No.' Shneppendahl said. 'The bottle stays sealed for now.'

'But what were you hoping for when you came to Ouanen?' Cori wondered. 'I take it you wanted to learn from us or something, but you stayed the entire time on that island of yours, as far as I know?'

'No, I didn't stay the entire time on that island of mine.' he replied. 'Just because no one saw me doesn't mean I was never among you.'

'But you couldn't have spent too much time among us, right? I mean, eventually, someone would have noticed you.'

He nodded:

'True, I myself, in person, only had limited exposure, though I did interact with my fair share of the population. Rarely for longer than a minute or two, but still.'

'And?'

'And... and I will tell you the rest, but maybe not just yet. Tonight perhaps. Right now, the day doesn't look too shabby, though not quite bright, either. Still, whilst the city is rain-free, let's go and do some sight-seeing, what do you think?'

It was decided that Cori and I still looked too different from the rest, so we were forced to wear the helmets and the gloves again. I wondered why we couldn't just 'go as ourselves' and see how people react to us, but Shneppendahl said it was too risky. One of the bodyguards nodded his head in agreement.

Shneppendahl put on a helmet, as well, for fear of being recognised.

We went out of the building on the ground level.

True, we had been told that no reasonable comparison could be drawn between Ouanen and Earth. But still, I wished the doctor had done a better job preparing us for what was waiting for us outside.

What I said before about feeling like an ant who got a mountain dropped on its head – that now was the second mountain in one morning. As fascinating and, at the same time, terrifying as Shneppendahl's tale was, seeing what I saw was a little like... I guess maybe a little like staring into an abyss that you know can swallow you. Except the abyss was not underneath you, but all around. It stretched into the sky, and it made such hellish noise that my first impulse was to run straight back into the building, hide under the bed and demand to be left alone for a week while I gather enough courage to venture back on the street.

Everything was huge, and grey – or black, or some less attractive shade of blue, or white, but it wasn't true white, but some sort of white that got tired of living and had just tied itself a noose. Everything was moving in every possible direction. Things were moving along the roads and across buildings, as well as between them, as well as in the sky above everything that that bizarre civilisation had built. Occasionally, I felt the ground trembling a little and wondered whether it was just some sort of transport passing in the ground below or the planet complaining about the strain.

Everyone had the same pale skin as Kitty and the bodyguards. Shneppendahl's skin got a bit darker during his time on the island, but it was nothing compared to Cori's and mine. Still, nobody actually tried to sneak a peek at him because of that.

People's clothes were... kind of different, as in: different cuts, different colours, both men and women wearing either trousers or skirts of different lengths, and some suits had small umbrellas attached to them resting on the back. Having said that, pretty much all the attires had one thing in common – they were functional, monochrome and altogether joyless. Some suits would be a combination of two different colours. Three was rare.

As we walked on, we would see people interacting with each other, which was comforting. They did talk to each other, and they did know how to smile and all that. So, they couldn't have been all that different from us. There were no street vendors or shops of any kind, but almost every wall had a number of vending machines built in.

'Not in the centre, no. There are some food stores in the suburbia, but most of our world consists of urban areas such as this one. These machines are just in case you feel peckish or need something against headache or something.' Kitty explained in her usual tone. 'If we need food, we select what we want at home and then have it delivered.'

'Do you have anyone selling anything at all in person?' I asked.

'Sure,' she replied, 'but not so much things like groceries. More like vehicles or property, or certain services, of course. A lot of streets are devoted to specific vocations – streets with law firms, travel agencies, insurance companies, brothels. Things like that.'

I nodded, dying to go and see some insurance companies, but didn't say anything.

Then a cat was thrown out of a window not too far away from the ground, right in front of us. Someone must have hurled the creature with such brutal force that it fell more or less the middle of the road. It landed on the upper deck of an abnormally tall bus, which was standing at the red light. They had quite a few of those, and I simply couldn't understand why they wouldn't topple over. None of them. That non-toppling surely violated some law of physics, and if there was such a thing as a science police force, those buses would be in serious trouble.

I was reluctant to look, being afraid to see a confirmation for the animal's demise, but then one of the passenger held it up, and I saw that the cat was apparently fine – at least in terms of physical health – but then it turned out that that woman held up her hands not to show everyone that the animal was alright, but to throw it out of the bus. Her face didn't really express anything at all. The cat landed somewhere on the other side of the road, disappearing behind the bus, and what happened to it after that, I never saw.

We walked on and encountered at least four couples who were arguing about something with a varying degree of ferociousness. One time, a lady began smacking a man (apparently her partner) on the head, after which the smacks became proper blows. The man wasn't even trying to defend myself, but moaned something that sounded like a half-serious promise to go and throw himself under a subway train. I couldn't say why throwing himself under a bus wasn't good enough, but I guess a death on rails is quicker and therefore less painful.

Cori asked if we could go somewhere where things were less hectic and loud. We were promised to be taken to a quieter area, though it would take a little while.

After about twenty minutes of walking and turning, the noise began to die down, and we found ourselves on a smallish avenue leading into a square surrounded by what appeared to be residential buildings.

A couple were having it off in one of the flats on the third floor. It's not like I intentionally peeked in through the window – they had purposefully opened it and were shagging, both bollock-naked, standing as close to it as they could get away with without risking ending up on the ground.

'That's a common thing nowadays.' Kitty explained. 'See, of course, having so few taboos and enjoying a high level of sexual freedom has done wonders for us. There was one drawback though, and that drawback remained largely underestimated for quite a while. Desensitisation. Now that first the sexologists and then the press have diagnosed it as a global phenomenon, people have been trying to come up with new ways for 'spicing up' their sex lives. Sure, what these two are doing is in theory still gross indecency and all that, but things like that are never persecuted. Even if someone from the law enforcement was dead set on catching a few exhibitionists, first of all, there would be still millions and millions and maybe more millions of them left... and secondly, with the number of violent crimes caused by substance abuse and sheer depression, drug trade and whatnot now soaring, the police are already at a loss how they're supposed to cope. So, if the two of you should feel inclined to go and have it off on some national monument, there's nothing stopping you – well, except for the fact that most monuments of national importance are already busy accommodating citizens doing just that.'

The couple in the window had now noticed we were looking at them, and it was pretty obvious they appreciated attention. Their lethargic humping turned into something that looked more like a physical exercise than sexual activity. Cori pulled my arm, signalling she wanted to move on, but I said I was doing research. She pulled my arm again, but I said I wasn't finished with my research. She pulled my arm for the third time, and then the woman climaxed, and I reckoned that I now had sufficient data.

We kept walking and passed a school. It looked like there was a break, and outside the school building, a few women and one men were talking. I asked the gang if we could stop nearby and was straining my ears to hear what those people were saying. I didn't hear much, but enough to understand it was about the costs of bringing up a child. One of the women said that a child was a 'luxury good' and one needed to weigh up all economic pros and cons, as ultimately, a kid may not make you all the money back that you would invest into bringing it up.

'I thought you said everyone had enough money here on your planet?' I turned to Shneppendahl as we moved on. 'Why are those people so calculating, then? Don't they want kids just for the sake of having kids and passing on their genes?'

'Some people still do that.' the doctor agreed. 'But it's that general feeling that if you do decide to sacrifice seven or eight years of your life bringing up a child, this won't make much of a difference to anyone. How to explain... Their kid's life will be, most likely, just the same as their own, and if you're already desensitised towards virtually everything in life and have no real dreams or desires to speak of, why would you want to spend your resources and energy on producing a replica of yours who will suffer the same fate as you? I do realise it must be hard for non-natives to comprehend.'

His words actually did make some sort of perverse sense, but...

'Wait, what? Did you say seven or eight years? Only seven or eight? What happens to the kids after that? Do they get taken away from their parents or something?'

'Not taken away as such, no. It's just that most parents decide that their child should learn what the world is like, so kids are then sent to boarding schools, and the parents only see them a couple of times a year. At those schools, they spend most of their time outside of school hours on extracurricular activities. Those activities involve things like practicing social skills on the one hand, but most of the time, the children spend working. They perform both manual and intellectual labour, and they are also taught how to handle money. So, all in all, they learn how to be adults. Very much like children on your world, I believe?'

'Not really quite like that...' I said, 'On our world, they learn how to be kids first.'

'Yes, but it all invariably leads to them becoming adults, anyway, right? It's just that on this planet, we've decided to skip this step.' Then, he added: 'But I'm not advocating this state of things by any means. It does make sense to give children those few extra care-free years – if your personal situation permits it.'

'I'd very much like to go back to our apartment now.' Cori said quietly, and we made ourselves on our way back.

'I want home.' Cori said resolutely when we were back at the apartment.

'I was afraid you'd say that.' Shneppendahl nodded understandingly. 'You two will go soon enough, I promised you that straight away. All I wanted was for you to pay us a visit.'

'But what for??'

Yes, a pretty reasonable question.

'Yeah... to be fair, I'm not sure I was that curious about the home world.' I added. 'But at least, now that I know what life here is like, I will appreciate what we've got on Ouanen more, even though extended life expectancy and casual sex five time a week do have their appeal...'

'But do you actually understand that you could have the best of both worlds?' Shneppendahl's voice took a slightly higher note, instantly betraying how agitated he was. People on Earth didn't tend to display a great deal of excitement, or any other emotion at all for that matter.

'But again,' Cori said, 'could we please get back to my original question?'

'Alright.' Shneppendahl said, got up and walked up the room and then back, then remained standing. 'Alright. In brief: As I said before, I came to your world to study how you live. Things on Earth have been getting out of hand. I mean, true, they have been getting out of head for most of our recorded history, but it is when they stopped tailspinning into madness that the real madness began. So, I started thinking... And I remembered that many years ago, when I was a student, someone mentioned something about World One and Twenty.'

'What?' That first the first time I heard about that. 'One and...'

'Yes, exactly, Ouanen. One and twenty. You were colony number 21, and I guess the 'twenty' part fell away at some point, and what was left got merged into the name you use now.'

An answer to a question I'd never even thought of asking, and now that I was thinking about it, I was wondering why not.

'There are currently 157 planets colonised by people.' Shneppendahl went on. However... and you may not like this, but... but... I've done some research, and yours wasn't a 'mere' colony. If it had been, your Chairs wouldn't have made such a huge secret out of, well, pretty much everything. You would have access to our latest technologies of any kind. You would have the option to leave the planet if you chose to. You would, just like us, enjoy much longer lives... Everything we have, you would have, too. But Ouanen remains 'unspoiled' by our achievements, so to speak, while all the other colonies are, more or less, replicas of this world.

Now, please don't take this the wrong way, but your civilisation was founded by, er... 'undesirables'. Back then, certain members of our society began spreading ideas about a different way of life – a way of life that ran contrary to what the majority wanted at that time. Unlike most people, they wanted things to slow down, and some of them were radical enough to demand we dismantle what we'd built and return to living in nature. A few of them claimed they were seeing things... and you know those 'things' as your spirit animals. Apparently, those go back to the beginnings of our civilisation. I don't think you'll find even a dozen people here on Earth who would know what I'm talking about here. But on Ouanen, everyone does.

The authorities arrested everyone they suspected of harbouring such views and told them that either they would have to spend the rest of their lives in a labour camp, or they would be brought to another planet, where they would be free to build up any kind of civilisation they wanted – provided, they or their descendants would never come back. And the way it looks, that sentiment was mutual. Your Chairs are pretty happy with how life is and don't want to 'infect' your world with any of our knowledge or achievements.

So, I 'arranged' an accident to make everyone, save for Kitty, believe I was dead and made my way to Ouanen. All this time, we've been keeping in touch by leaving each other messages on the Cloud... those are nebulas that consist of nicolonium particles, which can store information. But anyway... where was I? Yes, that's the story in a nutshell.'

The story made sense. It was one of those moments where you learn something fascinating, but it's so huge that you can't think of one specific question to ask. You just don't know where to start. Cori, as always, was faster than me:

'So, you were thinking you could learn how we live and then bring the knowledge back to Earth? But doesn't this seem a bit... well, naive to you? Did you really think anyone would listen to you? Most likely, they'll put you in one of those camps, like they did back then.'

'There are no longer any camps on Earth.' Shneppendahl explained. 'We now simply perform modifications in a criminal's mind or, in particularly sever cases, erase their memory. Much more economical and humane. But no, my plan was a little different. Yes, I thought I would learn from you, but of course, it would have been pretty daft of me to just rely on my words to convince the entire Earth population, or anyone at all, for that matter. My hope was rather... that the two of you would do it for me.'

I didn't really understand how exactly that was supposed to work, but it sounded like something that was way beyond my abilities. Cori was pretty good at convincing people – I, on the other hand, had rarely tried to change someone else's mind, and I'd always detested it when someone would try that with me.

'How exactly would we do that?..' Cori asked.

'We'll start small, and then word will hopefully spread.' Shneppendahl explained, but I didn't exactly know what he meant.

'Meaning?'

'Meaning... meaning a few things. Your Chairs are adamant about Ouanen preserving its status quo, but I do have connections here on Earth, you know... Well, I used to, before everyone learned about my 'death'. But those connections can be restored. We're talking connections in pretty high places here. True, the authorities will probably want to arrest me, as establishing any kind of contact with Ouanen is still not altogether legal, even though it's been a while now. This is why I still have to be cautious. But you know... the powers-that-be are obviously quite desperate about the current situation. Earthlings need to slow down. They just don't know how, they have no idea where to start. If we showed them that there is another way of life that they could learn while not necessarily having to abandon the good things they enjoy on this planet... that would be a pretty marvellous thing, don't you think?

Now, this all may have sounded pretty selfish so far on my part, but there would be just as many advantages to your people. They would enjoy longer lives, and we could help those who were born with some unfortunate conditions. And you could go and see all the other worlds, too! Just a couple of items from the rather extensive list of things we could give you.'

'And mess up our world just like you've messed up yours?' Cori remarked.

Shneppendahl nodded understandingly:

'I thought you might say that. But we'll all just have to be a bit careful, that's it. Whatever happens in life is connected to a certain amount of risk. But does it mean it's better to just lie down and not do anything?'

That didn't really sound like such a convincing argument, but at the time, all my thoughts were tangled, and I wasn't able to formulate any reasonable protest. I guess Cori must have been feeling something similar, no matter how clever she was.

I finally asked:

'So, you want your Chairs, or whatever you call them here on Earth, to hop on a shuttle with you and just take a quick trip to see what we live like, and then you reckon they'll just say yes to your idea? And even if they did... I still don't understand what you needed Cori and me for? Why go to all that trouble getting us over here?'

'I need the two of you,' he replied, 'to do some work on your side, that is at home. It would very much help me if you could tell your people what you saw here on Earth. I understand you'd get in trouble, so don't do it openly. Tell it to your closest friends and ask them to only tell this to their closest friends, too. Word will spread soon enough, and when it does, and provided your compatriots will fancy giving our cultural exchange a shot... and I suspect they will... once they're willing to accommodate some people from our world for a 'pilot project'... then the ball will start rolling. Oh, sure, your Chairs will resist, but what can they do? As far as I can gather, they don't even have any serious weapons to speak of or anything like that, and your police force is one big joke. People will rebel against them in no time if those individuals decide to go against their will. Or am I mistaken?'

I had no reply to that. Cori must have, smart as she was.

But it turned out, she really didn't.

'I... I honestly can't answer that...' she said. 'Maybe you're absolutely right, or maybe you're horrendously wrong. You're asking the wrong people. We work at the delivery office. We don't do politics. So, if you want to try it... just try it.'

'I will.' Shneppendahl nodded. 'And one day perhaps, your friend Strephon will have knees like an 18 year old boy.'

What?!

'Wait, what?' I said and must have made a funny face. I always make funny faces when I don't understand things. 'How do you know about Strephon? And how do you know about his knees??'

Shneppendahl took a deep breath.

'Right. Er... You probably won't like this next part, but, er, I've heard you talk. All of you. And many other people, too. At the office, at their homes... pretty much everywhere.'

I wasn't sure yet what exactly he meant, but he was right, I wasn't liking it so far.

'How? With that looking pipe of yours? That thing is just for looking though, isn't it?'

'No, not that way. I used bugs. I do apologise, but I had to. If I hadn't, I would still be clueless as to how your people feel about their world, what is important to them, what they would like to see changed... and a surprisingly large amount of them keep bringing up Earth in their day-to-day conversations. True, they may be happy, and their heads are not polluted with unnecessary knowledge, and most of them are in peace with themselves and with nature, and this is exactly what I want for my people, too. But at the same time, people on Ouanen regret not having a little more.'

'Yes, alright, but let's get back to those bugs of yours. You said you were... listening to our conversations?? Using insects??'

'Not insects.' Shneppendahl said. 'Microscopic devices which, I have to add, you carried back to the mainland yourself.'

'Me??'

'Yes, you may remember I would occasionally tap you on the shoulder...'

Fuck.

'You planted those things on me??'

'Yes, after which they gradually spread onto your compatriots. I actually promised myself I wouldn't tell you, and now that I have, I'm already beginning to regret it. I really shouldn't have jeopardised your willingness to cooperate.'

He was listening... to us. To Cori and me. Everything we said. Oh, fucking hell...

'So, you've heard all our... intimate conversations, too??!' Cori yelled at him, and for a moment, it looked like she was about to jump at him and start thrashing his skull.

'Well, no... every time the two of you, or anyone, would start talking about things of that nature, I would change over to different bug. I was more interested in other things.'

That fucker. That ffff... fucker!!

I didn't say anything, but oh, I did want to! I so wanted to!

'So, what now?' I ultimately said, deciding to return to the main subject at hand and in that way maybe forget about that gross violation of our privacy.

'Now...' Shneppendahl said pensively, 'Now we'll just have to find an official with a high enough rank to come on a trip with us back to your world. After a quick trip to a solarium, that is, both for them and for me. To adjust our skin colour. When I'm back on Ouanen, I would really like to be able to roam your streets without having to cover my skin.'

'Actually...' Kitty suggested. 'I may know just the right person.'

'Yeah? Who?'

'The person who had sent that BP cruiser to get you. Most likely, he was hoping to sell you to the authorities.'

'Oh, right? Who was it then?'

'Well, I've thought about it, and I'm pretty sure now. We did bribe the border police, right? So, it must have been something else who somehow got hold of a cruiser with the BP signature.'

'Yes.' Shneppendahl nodded.

'Well, who could have such access?'

No one knew.

'Lux Gravel, the captain of the bloody border police!'

Oh, right.

'So, you mean, he didn't think the money you offered was enough? Our police has always been pretty honest when it comes to bribery.'

'The police, yes. But if the captain takes a day off and hops on a ship not in his official capacity, but as a private greedy motherfucker? It just couldn't have been anyone else. Who else could have known? The way I see it, he got curious about me, face-searched me when I left – they've got cameras pretty much all over their offices – found out who I was and, more importantly, whose daughter I was, and I reckoned he somehow guessed who you were. Or, another possible explanation: he did not know who you were, but still thought that if I was offering him so much money for his and his guys doing fuck-all, then whoever is in that shuttle must be a pretty valuable individual.'

'Hmmm...' Shneppendahl was considering that theory. 'Well, if he's that bad, why would you want him to be the first to come back to Ouanen with us?'

'Because he probably already knows you're here, but he won't be able to rat you out to the authorities without exposing his being as corrupt as he is, and if the ball starts rolling, they're sure as hell bound to find out how much he's already put in his pockets during his time in office.'

'So, what, how are you planning to force him to come with us?' I asked.

'We'll just have a quick talk, that's all...' she replied. 'Whilst we're on our way to your world. And by the way, I'd need a visit to a solarium, as well. For a tan such as yours, one would need, I reckon, at least two hours, or more...' Her train of thought stopped. 'Wait, I just realised something: 'How are we supposed to give Gravel a tan? Can't really drag him to a solarium by force, can we?'

She thought for a few moments.

'Ah, wait, there is a way...'

'We'll just have to buy a portable solarium, then.' Shneppendahl suggested.

'Yep, exactly what I was gonna say.'

Things went pretty smoothly. The following morning, Kitty gave that Lux Gravel guy a call, saying she was dying to experience his 'techniques' again and invited him to come to our apartment. She completely undressed before opening the door – apparently, she didn't mind neither me, nor her father, nor the two 'bodyguards' seeing her like that – and when she caught Cori's perplexed glance, she told her to 'grow up please'.

A few moments after Gravel entered the apartment, with his eyes fixed on Kitty's bosom, the area between his shoulder blades came into contact with a barely visible needle containing I have now idea what, but that stuff must have been pretty potent. Earlier that morning, one of the bodyguards had gone to buy a humongous suitcase, and the captain of the border police was stuffed in it with an oxygen mask on his face.

The four of us, plus the suitcase containing Mr Gravel, left the bodyguards at the same port where we had landed two days ago. We hired a shuttle and made our way back to Ouanen.

Kitty woke up Gravel, and they had a talk, interspersed with her fondling his private parts. 'To make him agree more willy-ngly.' she explained later. The captain turned out to be a miserable sod who didn't really know himself what he needed so much money for and apparently thought it was a kind of sport to see how much of it he could accumulate, statutory income cap or not. He confessed it really was him who was on that cruiser to intercept Shneppendahl, but said he was feeling really bad about it afterwards, having betrayed his word of an otherwise decent corrupter. Kitty squeezed his cock, and not in a playful way, but when he screeched and started bawling, she quickly forgave him, and they went off to the loo to do something I didn't want to think about – meaning, I would have loved to think about her, but that creep's moustached face was too much. Thousands of years of progress, and there were still moustaches around!

We had to wait a couple of hours for it to get dark before descending on Ouanen, and once we did, Shneppendahl made his shuttle fly off and wait in orbit using a remote. My boat was still there, but now that we couldn't touch it (as the sentinels still had their order to blow the thing to pieces if someone approached it), I wasn't sure how we were supposed to travel back to the mainland.

'Nah, I was bluffing.' Shneppendahl said, yawning. 'Nothing is going to happen to your boat. Do you think it'll be able to hold five people at a time?'

I said it may be prove a little difficult, but as long as we all sat quietly and didn't lean over board, things should be fine.

Now available as a Kindle and paperback edition.

BASED ON A TRUE STORY

Your life can be both a comedy and a tragedy. Especially your sex life. And especially if you spent your entire youth in a borderline celibate mode and are now jeopardizing your long-term relationship to catch up on what you missed. There will be hilarity and embarrassment, there will be jealousy and lots of experimentation going on. You may want to see what the world of online adult entertainment has got to offer. Or you could go and pay for sex in real life. Or you just start a real affair. And if you're a bit snobbish, neurotic, insecure, geeky and jealous of your girlfriend's toxically masculine and psychotic best friend, you've got yourself one huge debacle.

"Raw Sexuality, or A Year of Indiscretion" is a comedic and subversive novel about sexual self-discovery and polyamory, about questioning society's values and ideas when it comes to intimate relationships, about letting out one's own demons and making compromises, about misanthropy and cultural identity. And of course the Internet.

#  Spare Us the Bitter Pain

Once upon a time, there was a builder, and that builder's name was Ruthven. Apart from his muscles, sense of humour and his liberal attitude to life, Ruthven had a wife, whose name was Zara, and they had two sons, Fred and Ted, and they all lived in a modest, but delightfully cosy and unconventionally friendly red house in a town called Dribbleglass, on a planet called Ararat III in the 1886th sector.

Ruthven had always been a happy man, and everybody who knew him would have confirmed this. To put it simply, Ruthven didn't have anything to complain about, and when he did have something to complain about, he chose not to. After all, he had two healthy sons, who played golf and also the violin, and a smart and beautiful wife, who, apart from everything else, had just received a doctor's degree in whatever that science's name was that dealt with sound (Ruthven rarely remembered the names of specific scientific disciplines, usually reverting to formulations such as 'The one that studies...'). He also had his health, his muscles, his job and, of course, his numerous friends, and he knew exactly how lucky he was in life and how many people would have given everything to be in his place.

Unlike many a husband, Ruthven didn't let a single day pass without reminding his wife how much he loved her. How could anybody not love a woman like Zara? Not only was she kind-hearted and not only had she sacrificed years of her scientific career for her family, and not only had she never seemed bitter about getting pregnant as a teenager... but she had also become a vegetarian just to please him. She said she did it for herself, but he never quite believed her.

Ruthven was quite fond of animals, too – the family had two Elliotian cats (that dark-blue kind that some unkindly refer to as 'nuclear kitties', due to them mainly walking on their hind legs and being about two feet tall) and a miniature hey-fetz called Vlad, who used to spend most of his time annoying the cats with those peculiar high-pitch noises he made – however, when he overdid it, the cats became quite sick, so at some point of time, the family had to get him a special muzzle to shut him up.

Of course, Ruthven and Zara did have rows, too, but it was rarely something serious. A lot of those rows resulted from her not appreciating the way Ruthven and his friends munched their food when they had guests over, or sometimes from her remarks about his inability to entertain himself with a book (once, they spent three days arguing about whether it was people who do or those who do not read books that cause more evil in the world). Oh, and sometimes they also resulted from him not being able to grasp why Zara's colleagues sometimes gave him a cold, plastic smile and didn't seem willing to have a little chit-chat about the simple things in life, such as the previous night's TSG Galaxy Championship finale (which, surely, everyone watched). Heck, they weren't even willing to listen to his answer to their own question about how he was doing – it was them, after all, who asked! But Ruthven never held a grudge against anybody, not really.

One morning – it was a morning like many other mornings before – when Zara came down into the kitchen, she saw Ruthven holding a letter with an excited expression on his face.

'This just came from... guess where!'

'Don't know... Hm, the National Lottery? Your uncle? Your uncle's lawyer?'

'Well, not quite the National Lottery, but I guess in a way... Anyways, it's from Hilarion.'

Ruthven went on to tell Zara about Mr Archibald Struisvogel, the owner of the Island of Hilarion, who had the ambitious idea to turn half of his island into a theme park and had already begun the construction work. The letter didn't offer many details, but promised that the result would be like nothing the sector had ever got to see before. Apparently, though, they were running short of workforce, and, if Mr Struisvogel was to be believed, they would feel honoured if Ruthven could join them for a period of one month and give them a hand. Ruthven's family, too, would be more than welcome to come with him – naturally, the accommodation and meals would be provided free of charge, and while Ruthven would be working at the construction site, his wife and sons would always have plenty of things to do and see.

'Hm, 'Hilarion... They are all lunatics, I've heard.' Ruthven's father muttered sceptically when he came over to join them for breakfast. 'I've been told those guys have never even heard of human rights, not to mention animal rights, and I don't reckon they have prisons there, either. They just let you do whatever the hell you want!' (He used an expression other than 'hell' though.) Doesn't that seem a bit dodgy to you?'

'Not at all!' Ruthven chirped happily. 'On the contrary, what better place to go than a sunny, unpolluted island where they don't even need prisons?'

'And the inflation there is horrific, haven't you heard?'

'Well, they'll accommodate and feed us for free, they said, and as to the rest... well, we'll just have to make sure we take enough clothes with us. Here, problem solved.'

'How did they hear about you, anyway?' the old man persisted. 'And why exactly you? I am a builder myself, and been a builder all my life, and all my friends are builders, just like yourself, and not one of us has got this invitation. Not to my knowledge, at least.'

'Well, none of your friends has been named Builder of the Year, as far as I know!' Ruthven proudly countered. He had never allowed vanity to take control of him, but he reckoned that if he casually mentioned it with a cheeky boyish grin, it was fine. 'We've talked it over, and we've decided. You just can't say no to an opportunity like this!'

The invitation didn't mention a specific date he would be required to start working, it simply said 'ASAP' in playful, red and golden letters, so Ruthven and his family quickly packed, got in their glider (which still had the 'Baby on board' sticker, although the twins had nearly reached puberty by that time) and reached Hilarion in two hours' time. When Ruthven and his family got out of their almost antique machine, they were met by a middle-aged man in a dull grey suit, with a dull haircut, dull suitcase and a dull handshake. Even his accent was dull, although the Hilarionian accent was widely considered exotic and sexy, and some women swore that this was the actual reason they became pregnant from total strangers.

The man introduced himself as Karl-Heinz Tsutsik-Khachaturian, but asked the family to call him Jerry.

'Gladly!' said Ruthven, relieved. He had to restrain himself from asking how a person could dress and behave in such a dull manner on such an exciting and adventurous island.

After Jerry had showed them to their quarters, he turned to Ruthven and said:

'I am sorry, we don't usually start work until 11 am on this island...'

'You don't start work until 11 am??'

'Normally, not, but... You know, with that park we're building here and whatnot, we would like to ask you if perhaps...'

'Bloody hell, man, I usually start at around half 7.'

'Oh, really?' Jerry seemed immensely relieved. 'In that case, perhaps you could be at the construction site at about that time?'

'Now, that's more like it!' Ruthven approved cheerfully and tapped him on the shoulder.

'Oh, thank you, I am so relieved you are not upset.' Jerry stated in his plain tone of voice.

Ruthven assured him again that he wasn't.

'So, when I get there... Is there anything I need to know?'

'Well...' Jerry paused. He rather hated questions he was not prepared for (in fact, he hated questions – full stop). 'Well, yes... They boys will explain you everything you need to know...'

'You sound a bit uncertain, though.'

'No... well...'

Jerry bluntly gazed at the floor.

'Well, it's just that the boys keep asking for more and more money every month. Sometimes we do pay them more, just to, sort of... you know, stay on friendly terms with them. See, we can't be increasing their pay on a monthly basis, not even we would be able to afford it. But when we don't, the work slows down, and they don't manage their workload. And that's the thing: We have no idea why – we have our controllers on site, they watch the workers very carefully, and they say that all the rules and regulations are complied with, and the workers lay the exact number of stones and pipes and fill out all the required documents and forms at all times... We have a very extensive system of documentation, you know. So, yes... they do everything required by their contract, and yet somehow it's not fast enough unless we increase their pay again.'

'Hm, well, why don't you increase the norm, then?'

'We can't do that, either. First, their contracts are for three years and wouldn't allow any changes to the terms, and secondly, the norms use to work just fine before the hyperinflation started. We know there is something the workers are not telling us, somehow they are slowing down the entire process. They must be sabotaging their own work in one way or another. It's just, we have no idea how. We once even offered to send them some call girls to keep them company during the breaks...'

When he said the word 'call girls', Zara's first impulse were to cover their sons' ears, but then she remembered that 1) they had already heard this word from Ruthven on a regular basis, 2) the word had already been uttered, anyway, and 3) she simply didn't have enough hands to cover all of their ears.

'So, you get the picture.' Jerry continued. 'And also, in spite of what the rest of the world might think of us, we do have laws and we do have trade unions. It would be one thing if they refused to work or broke some protocols or regulations. But there is pretty much nothing we can do. All we want from them is to follow the regulations and the given quotas, and that's... and that's what they do. And yet somehow it's not working out – unless we increase their pay, that is.'

To that, Ruthven didn't find anything reasonable to reply, and Jerry left a couple of minutes later.

The next morning, during the breakfast, Ruthven asked the family how they were planning to spend the day. The twins replied that they were intending to visit the golf range that was said to be much, much different from the golf ranges back home (also, it was supposed to be full of celebrities), and Zara, who didn't seem quite certain yet, replied that she would perhaps go to the zoo to have a quick look at the local fauna.

When Ruthven arrived at the construction site, he was met by the foreman, who quickly gave him the necessary details and introduced him to the team. His new colleagues seemed quite a pleasant bunch, and after the foreman left them to their work, Ruthven tried to start a conversation. Academics or corporate executives would have never called him a sophisticated conversationalist, but he was a good one nonetheless – at least, with the right kind of people. He was always genuinely interested in what his interlocutor had to say (although, of course, Ruthven would have never used a word like 'interlocutor' himself) and could feel sympathy for virtually anyone.

Soon, the men were laughing, sharing the details of their family lives, their previous employers, the amorous adventures from the time of their youth and other such matters. Two or three hours passed, the work was going well, and Ruthven was already feeling like he had been part of the team for much, much longer than that.

So, when the break came and the men reached for their backpacks and took out their sandwiches, he decided that perhaps it would now be OK to ask the question that had been on his mind.

'Guys, say... There is something I've been wondering about.'

The guys asked what it was that Ruthven had been wondering about.

'Well, that bloke that met me and my family at the port yesterday. He mentioned that, well, they haven't been so happy with your work recently. Said you've slowed down a bit, said they need you, I mean us, to work faster.'

'Well, we follow all the rules, and we fill out all the necessary forms.' one of his colleagues replied. The man's name was Dorcas, and although he had been mad at his parents all his life for giving him that name, he had been the friendliest person in the entire work collective.

'Yeah, he mentioned that you do.' Ruthven confirmed. 'But... I don't know, is there something I should know?'

'No, I don't reckon there is, actually. We barely have enough means to survive in the economic mess we are currently in, so, obviously, we need more dough. And they are not paying us as much as we deserve. But you know all of this, anyway.'

'Hm, yeah, I do...'

'So, there is nothing more to say on the subject, I'm afraid.'

'I mean, look... I totally get that you want more money. But if you're really complying with all the rules and regulations and stuff, then how come you're not managing? I mean, am I not seeing something here?'

The men shrugged their shoulders and didn't say anything. There was some lengthy chewing before the conversation resumed. Ruthven decided to change the subject entirely.

'Say, what are those fairy tales I overheard you guys talking about?'

'Hmmm...' Dorcas replied and signalised with his finger that he would need to finish the chewing before he could commit to doing some proper explaining. His fear of talking and munching at the same time stemmed from his very early childhood, when his slightly psychotic mother used to yell at him in a particularly high-pitched voice for making this sort of 'abhorrent' sounds. When he was finally done, he said:

'Ah, that.' He uttered slowly when he was finished. 'The fairy tails, yeah.'

'What, you guys are into kids' books?'

'No, 'tails' as in 'T-A-I-L-S'. See, we have fairies here. I mean, not exactly here, but on the shore. They live in the ocean, but they do come out sometimes.'

'You have... fairies?'

'Well, we have ghastly-looking critters that somebody for some reason or another called fairies once or twice, and the name stuck. Definitely don't look like the kind of fairy in a book you would want to buy for your kids.'

'Why 'fairies', though?' The rest of Ruthven's sandwich disappeared in his mouth, and he was now fully alert to anything that may come.

'Well, that's the thing – they do miracles, those creatures. Their tails, that is. You manage to catch one of those, you manage to hold them long enough to kill them, you manage to do it properly, you cut off their tail, you cook it the right way, and you've got yourself a wonder serum that will set free the beast in you.'

Dorcas paused while Ruthven was processing that new data.

'Gotta kill them in some very special way, though. Gotta make it last for a few seconds, the creature has to realise it's about to kick the bucket and release some sort of funny bitter secretion into its tail, and then you can use it, otherwise you just waste a life. And quite a costly waste it is, too – the hunters charge about 3000 coppers for one of those, so nobody can really afford them in the long run, not even dear old Archi.'

While listening to Dorcas' explanation, Ruthven was slowly nodding, and when the explanation approached its end, Ruthven stopped nodding and asked:

'OK, but what was it that you said about letting out your inner beast?'

'Well, I personally haven't tried that serum of theirs, it's almost impossible for somebody with our means to get hold of it, but one of the boys somehow managed to get some of that stuff once. He said it's like having a very slow orgasm, you feel like you can do anything. He kept working for twelve more hours before they forced him to stop, and when he finished, it turned out he had done more work that day than he would normally manage in three. The following morning, he woke up, was the first to arrive to work, said he had just banged his wife twice and was still feeling like he had enough energy in him to finish building the park all by himself. It wasn't until the following week that the effect wore off.'

'Where is he, then?'

'Quit his job, said he wanted to become a fairy hunter. Said he was wasting his life without that miraculous serum, not realising his full potential and stuff like that, so I reckon he's now somewhere running around the shore, trying to catch a bloody fairy.'

There was a few seconds of silence.

'So, that's what you want, guys? You want that weird serum?'

'That would be nice, yes. I realise we can't have it as long as there is so little of it, but you know... Dreaming is free, and maybe one day they'll find a way to produce more of it. I heard they are currently working on ways to kill more of those beasts, but somehow nothing has come out of it yet. But I mean... if mankind has come up with a way to make a small ship travel across galaxies within a matter of days, then surely, there must be a way of killing enough sea rodents to help us build this place faster, right?'

'I guess...' Ruthven shrugged. He didn't feel like arguing about the morality of killing for any purposes. 'What do they look like, anyway, those fairies?'

'Well, as I said, ghastly beasts. Like a very fat sausage with fins and short legs. The buggers can camouflage themselves, too, like those made-believe animals from children's books...'

'Chameleons?'

'Yeah, chameleons. So, not that easy to rip off their hideous tails, as you can see.'

Another portion of silence followed.

When the evening came, and the family was having dinner discussing their first day on the island, the doorbell rang. It was Jerry, who in the past 24 hours had not found a way to become even a tiny less dull. The only change was: His suit was now of a tired shade of brown, which wasn't any less tedious to look at.

'So, how did you get along with your team?' he asked Ruthven after greeting everybody.

'Splendidly!' Ruthven answered enthusiastically and bit into an apple. Biting into an apple and using the word 'splendid' didn't really seem like an elegant combination, and it was not a word he used on a regular basis, but somehow it came out of the deepest corners of his subconscious and seemed appropriate.

'Well, that's good then...'

'Yeah, going there again tomorrow!'

'Well, yes, that was the agreement...' Jerry began and then realised that Ruthven was joking. 'Oh, OK, I see. A joke.' He tried to smile. 'And... did you have a chance to perhaps have a chat with them about our little problem?'

'What, them not working fast enough?'

'Yes.'

'No, not really. I don't know, was I supposed to?'

'Oh, no, no... I just thought that if they had mentioned anything, it would be interesting to know.'

'If they mention anything, I'll let you know, alright?'

'Yes, great, thank you.'

Jerry got up and was about to leave.

'Oh, almost forgot.' he said, produced a tiny metallic strip in a plastic holder and handed it to Zara. 'I know that apart from your main specialist area, you also studied biology, so Mr Struisvogel thought you might be interested in receiving access to our other zoo near Gamblers' Circus. The entrance is strictly for scientists and only by invitation, so you will need this key.'

Zara thanked him, and when the brown suit closed the door behind him, Ruthven stared at her in bewilderment:

'How does he know about your studying biology?'

'I mentioned it yesterday briefly.'

'Seriously? Can't remember you doing that.'

'I told him when you were admiring the bathroom facilities.'

When Ruthven's expression changed to signalise that he was satisfied with the explanation, she added:

'Oh, please don't tell me you're jealous!'

'Believe me, I am so not jealous!'

They both laughed, and the boys laughed too – not so much because they found the statement funny, but rather because it felt like a good thing to do at that moment.

A week passed, and then another, and another, and Ruthven got more used to working on the park than he would have cared to admit. He treasured the company of almost all of his workmates, he loved the very air at the construction site... he loved virtually everything about it. He never started another conversation about the working tempo in the collective – simply did what he was told to do, and that was it. Although perhaps he did it with a little more elegance and speed than the rest – after all, when you've been named Builder of the Year, you can't allow yourself to get back to being average...

At the same time, though, he was becoming increasingly restless every time he thought of his wife. More often than not, Zara was leaving the boys at the golf course and frequented zoos, institutes, laboratories and whatnot. Yes, he got it, she was a freaking scientist, but still, wasn't her interest a tiny bit... too much? Why couldn't she just... relax and do... well, something that wasn't connected with studying anything?

The more days passed, the less willing Zara seemed to engage in any kind of amorous activities with her husband, explaining her state with exhaustion and having a lot on her mind.

One morning, Zara got up before 5 a.m. and quickly left their quarters, saying it was the best time to observe a particular breed of bird or something along those lines. The kids would stay at home that day – that way, they would also get some time to practice the violin, which they had recently neglected.

'So, you believe your wife may be having an affair?' Tawney, the chambermaid in what seemed like her early twenties, asked when Ruthven was done telling her about his concerns. She was fairly dark-skinned, slim and tall above average, with her black short hair was neatly gelled, dressed in the hotel's dark-blue uniform, with a silver-buttoned jacket and skirt that just about covered her knees. A remarkably conservative attire for Hilarion, Ruthven reckoned.

'Well, I mean... I mean, this is a pretty logical conclusion for a husband to draw, don't you think?'

'Perhaps.' She said. 'Or it could be anything else.'

'But you do think it is possible?' he persisted.

'Of course this is possible.'

'So, should I, you know, confront her with it? She would be pretty pissed if she's not actually having any affair. Come to think of it, she may also get pretty pissed if she is having an affair, too – just to look innocent. I've had this nasty feeling for quite a while now that I'm simply not... you know, not fucking smart, and well-behaved, and educated enough for her. Pretty much all of her friends from university seem to think so, and her parents, too. And you know, what if I'm really not good enough? I mean...'

Tawney remained quiet for a while, processing Ruthven's lament, and finally said:

'Whether she's having an affair or not, it certainly seems like she's enjoying herself.'

'So she is, that's certainly... certain. Yeah. But is this supposed to make me feel better?'

'Under these circumstances, perhaps it would be wise for you to try and do the same?'

Ruthven looked up at her, and she calmly stared back at him. He was still considering whether he should go ahead with the insane thing he was about to do, although somehow he had already decided to do it a while ago. He got off the bed, approached Tawney, who was standing about six feet away from him, grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the bed. A woman of her complexion had little chance to withstand such a strong pull even if she wanted to, but she showed no desire to resist.

'I must warn you.' She said in her habitual, slightly distant way. 'Intercourse with a member of staff costs up to 250 coppers, depending on the type of sexual activity chosen.'

'Fine, whatever.' He said and slightly pushed her solar plexus with the tips of his fingers, signalising her to lie down on her back.

'So, what 'type of sexual activity' do you offer?'

When he was done and they got dressed, Ruthven settled the bill.

'You're not going to tell Zara, are you?'

'Nobody apart from my manager will ever know, I can guarantee that.'

'Thank you. Oh, by the way, how much is a hug?'

She finished processing the payment and looked up:

'Today is a free hug day.'

He quickly put his arms around her and pressed her towards himself with a bit more force that seemed necessary.

'I honestly am so sorry. I realise you'll now remember me as one of those pervs who use you to... you know, do whatever the fuck they get off on. But I seriously am a nice bloke.'

'I know you are.'

Was she being sarcastic? With that poker face of hers it was quite difficult to tell.

'I honestly am.'

'And I honestly know that you are.'

Once again, he pressed her against himself, and then began to sob.

'I'm so, so sorry...' he kept repeating.

Tawney stroked his head a few times, but didn't say anything in return.

'We're leaving Hilarion in a few days... But I'll come back. I want to see you again, and I will come back.' he promised.

'OK.' she said. A minute later, she was gone.

When the month was over, and it was time for Ruthven and his family to go home, they shook Jerry's hand for the last time, but before Ruthven could lock the doors of their glider, Jerry whispered to him.

'Look, as I said, we are extremely grateful for your help here. But let me just ask you for the last time – you know, just so I can be sure I've tried everything. Have you...'

'No, Jerry, I'm sorry, but they really haven't told me anything. We did talk, but they just wouldn't tell me anything about that particular issue. I am not aware of any sabotaging going on, and I didn't see anyone working more slowly than usual, either. As you said yourself, they always stick to the rules and fill out all the forms. So...'

'I see.' Jerry nodded calmly.

'I'm really sorry if you're disappointed now.'

'No, I'm not, honestly. I never asked you to spy for me, you did your work, and I wish you best of luck.'

'They really didn't tell you anything?' Zara enquired in a slightly distrustful tone of voice.

'Nope, nothing.' Ruthven cheerfully chirped.

'But... Come on, I sense there is something, some big 'but'!'

'Yeah, one of the guys I worked with, Stanislav, he did have quite a huge butt, that is very true.'

'Ruthven! You know you will tell me sooner or later, you always tell me your sort-of secrets, so why not save us both some time and tell me now?'

Ruthven pondered for a few more seconds before imitating one of Zara's university friends' posh accent:

'Oh, very well, then, I shall, er... I shall divulge the secret. This stays between us, of course, you hear, boys?'

The boys sitting in the back enthusiastically confirmed.

'So, basically... the boys follow all the rules and fill out all the forms, as you know.'

'Yes, yes, come to the point!' Zara urged impatiently.

'I have. This is the whole point!'

He was enjoying this tremendously.

'You're not getting it, huh? Not even with your Master's Degrees?'

'Shut up about my degrees and do some proper explaining, will you?'

'They really didn't tell me anything, I didn't lie about that. But I did do some watching, and at some point I realised something: Following those bloody rules and especially filling out those bloody forms is the best way to sabotage any work. You actually read every bloody word in all the manuals, you take showers every two hours for 20 minutes, you fill out every protocol and write a detailed report about everything you did during the day... And you won't have that much time left for doing any actual work. The boys don't need to read any manuals, they already know perfectly well how to operate the machinery. And neither do they need to shower so much, there really isn't that much dust on the site, they would be fine taking one quick shower at the end of the day. And they definitely don't need to write such detailed reports, because nobody bothers reading them, anyway. The controllers check if the reports have been submitted, of course, but nobody actually reads them. You get it now?'

Zara got it, and so did Ed and Ted.

'So, when the pay was right, and the boys were happy, they only complied with the regulations as much as was needed for the controllers to be happy, this way they had much more time left for actual work. When they thought the pay wasn't adequate, anymore, they followed the rules to the letter, though. And if the press one day learns about it, the entire planet will be laughing their asses of. Apart from the management, of course, they will probably run off to some distant desert and put their heads into sand to somehow escape the embarrassment.'

A few weeks after the family returning home, news came that the park should be finished within three to five months – instead of two years! Somehow, an agreement between the workers and the management was reached, and the building team was now working at a strongly increased pace.

Unsurprisingly, the curiosity got the better of Ruthven, and he took a few days off to visit his builder friends on Hilarion. When he finally returned and Zara and the boys saw him, they realised straight away that there was something on his mind.

'Come, need to talk.' he quietly said to Zara and led her to the bedroom.

'What is it?'

'You know... I really thought you were having an affair. I mean, back then, when we were on Hilarion. I truly and honestly thought you were shagging someone else, and you have no idea how sorry I am for that.'

Zara was eyeing him, alarmed.

'But that's not what you wanted to talk about, right?'

'It's not, no. Erm...'

He stopped for a second.

'The guys are really happy now.' he continued. 'They got their serum. Imagine that. So... they don't really need anything else, do they? They are now permanently high.'

'What are you on about, what serum?' she impatiently demanded.

'You know what serum. And I also reckon you know perfectly well how they got it. Fairy tails aren't really such a rarity, anymore.'

They didn't speak a word for what seemed like a minute.

'No, they aren't.' she finally admitted.

'They said the hunters kill them with... what is it exactly, like... sound?'

'It's a series of ultra-high-frequency sounds.'

'The sort of sound our Vlad does, right?'

'Yes, more or less. It was Vlad that I got the idea from.'

'So... Vlad, in a way, is responsible for the death of thousands of living beings. And while I thought you were on your back with your legs behind your ears, you were actually... in some laboratory, creating a weapon of mass destruction?'

'Now, don't exaggerate, please. Hunting is not 'mass destruction'.'

'No, it fucking is!' he yelled, but soon became quiet again. 'Just tell me this, alright? Why on earth would they invite me to come along if all they needed was you?'

'I agreed to do research for them, but under the condition that my family could come with me.'

'Really?? Or is it just because you didn't want me to know what kind of research you were doing, so you guys made me believe it was me that was the VIP?'

'Ruthven... I honestly wanted to have all of you around, I would have missed you horribly!'

'But you would have never told me about this if I hadn't found out by myself, would you?'

'No. I know how you are...'

'How am I? I respect life, is that it? Human life or any other kind of life! What...' His face became distorted with anger again. 'What the fuck do you mean, 'I know how you are'??!'

'Those things aren't even real animals.'

'They are. They live.'

'And what about me?' she changed her line of argumentation. 'I am a bloody scientist, but I never got to do anything with my knowledge! They gave me a chance, and I took it, and you won't make me regret it. Just because you knocked me up when you shouldn't have, just because you couldn't keep it in your trousers long enough!! I never asked for kids so early in my life, I wanted to do many other things first!!'

She pushed him. She didn't really hurt him, and he barely moved, but he felt how enraged she was.

'So, if you could go back...' he began.

'I would have waited at least ten more years before committing to any of this!' Zara described a semi-circle with her hand.

She suddenly sat down on the floor and froze.

'If you care to know, they don't really suffer, those things. If you do it right, they don't feel pain. And those guys do know how to do it right. If I hadn't come up with a way, somebody else would have, and I'm pretty sure that mine is... well, humane.'

Ruthven was staring at the floor.

'We don't have to speak about it ever again. Let's just carry on the way we always did, shall we?' she finally said.

They didn't. They tried, but Ruthven filed for divorce a year later. Zara never learned about the episode with Tawney, but she did hear about the maid and Ruthven getting married after he brought her home from Hilarion.

In the end, everybody seemed happy enough. Zara had made a name for herself thanks to the work she did on the island and soon found a job at the local university, lecturing and conducting research. The boys stayed with Ruthven and Tawney, who grew very fond of them. At the beginning, Zara visited them every weekend, but then the visits became increasingly rare. She always promised to stop by soon, but then again, there always seemed to be something that required her immediate attention. That, and perhaps she just preferred not to see any of them, not even her sons. Perhaps there was just too much bitterness in her.

#  The Planet That Spoke

So, the forest.

I found myself lying on dry leaves in a forest, trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

It must have been the middle of the night. I seriously needed to wee. I mean, I could have weed all I liked, of course, but when the planet itself tells you scary stuff like that... Well, you obviously start to wonder whether it's really prudent to empty your bladder now and lose valuable time. Or, maybe it would be more advisable to run as fast as possible (preferably even faster), beg everyone to believe my story and try to get everyone on the planet evacuated right now.

I ran.

My name is Nikki, and I flog things. Sell things, I mean. I'm part of a Gnüchtel & Steinhart sales team, and there are eight of us on the ship. We travel from planet to planet and try to convince the people there they won't be able to lead fulfilled lives unless they buy our junk. Sometimes it works, mostly it doesn't, but the stuff we do manage to sell keeps us going.

It was Heinz, our manager, who somewhere, somehow, on some vermin-infested market got wind of a little planet called Ida at the southern end of the Iolanthe galaxy. About 3000 workers were supposed to be labouring there at present, most likely bored, dehydrated and horny as fuck (I wonder whether this could pass as a pun). He didn't really understand what exactly those workers were doing there – doing some kind of mining, apparently – but the particularities of their working activities were of very little interest to him, and even less so to the rest of us. So, basically, let's load as much food, drink, toys and porn as we can, he said, and get there before others learn about that place and figure out its commercial potential.

As we were approaching Ida, I could see Heinz was getting anxious. He wasn't talking much – or rather, he was muttering a lot, but making little sense. Maybe he was pondering whether the information he had received about the planet's current population was correct, after all.

We landed near a forest, and when the door opened, we saw a man sitting on a fallen tree and looking at us without betraying any particular emotions. He wasn't exactly ugly, and he wasn't exactly handsome. Not exactly tall, either, perhaps slightly below average... There was nothing remarkable about his appearance. He was wearing a shirt and trousers in a matching colour – a dull shade of brown. His clothes were creased quite badly, and there were a few stains on them, too.

'Hiii!' Heinz shouted across to him. 'Hello, my friend!'

The man got up and approached the ship.

'Hello.' the man finally said.

'Mind if we stay here for a bit?'

'It's not my planet, and it's the 1884th sector, so you can do as you please.'

'Marvellous! Fantastic, I like that! I like your attitude.'

Heinz, Lily, a few other guys from the sales department including myself went down the ramp. Whatever corner I looked from at the stranger's face, I couldn't detect him giving any particular fucks about what Heinz or anyone else thought of his attitudes.

'My name is Heinz, those are my esteemed colleagues – Lily, Nikki, Abhidjit, Vinh and Patience. Yeah, it's a real name, Patience.' he snorted at that statement of his.

The man remained quiet.

'Can I ask your name, then?'

'It's MJ. MJ Stanley.'

'You look a bit tired, to be honest, MJ. Your energy seems a bit low.'

The MJ guy stared at him plainly.

'Is there anything in particular I can do for you? If not, I need to get back to work.'

It was a simple enough question, but Heinz had to think about it for a moment.

'Er... yes, you can, actually. Where's everybody?'

'The workers?'

'Yeah. The workers. Everybody. It's about 3000, right?'

'It's rather close to 4500 now.'

'Freaking 4500!' I could read in Heinz' eyes. Well, not really in his eyes, but I knew Heinz well enough to know that his trousers were about to burst with excitement.

'Oh! That's... brilliant. Really, totally brilliant. Like, 50% more brilliant than 3000!'

'It is, yes. We're almost done, so I decided to speed things up and hire some more help. Why do you want to see them?'

Ah. The critical point.

'Well, I just thought, you know... We've got some rather nice merchandise on board – really inexpensive, too – and I reckoned that your colleagues may want some of it. You know – food, entertainment. How much do they work per day, on average?'

'There's no average, it depends on how much they want to earn, they're paid by the hour. Those who need money can work up to 15 hours per day.'

'But surely, they must get tired every now and then.'

'I'm sure they do.'

'So, can you think of a reason why they wouldn't deserve a nice meal and perhaps, you know, a few naughty pictures or videos to stimulate their working capacity?'

The man went quiet for a few seconds. Nothing in his face changed, but he was seriously considering the question.

'See,' he finally said. 'Now they've seen you landing and they've surely seen the G&S logo on your ship, too. So, if I just said no and sent you away, they would be extremely unhappy with me.'

'I guess they would, yeah.' Heinz grinned, sensing an easy victory.

'Go on, then, do you thing. Flog. They're over there.' he pointed to a group of peculiarly-looking crane-like machines less than a mile away from us. 'How long are you planning on staying here?'

'Hmmmm... mmm... I guess, maybe...'

'Doesn't really matter.' the man cut him off. 'They really should be done here if not tomorrow, then in a couple of days. I give you an hour per day to do your business.'

And so we went to the men and sold them stuff.

They looked terribly tired, but not only physically – it seemed like they were sort of... drained, I think – both their bodies and their souls. They did seem pleased to have a chance to get some shepherd's pies, beer and entertainment, but their enjoyment and the general way they comported themselves was far from euphoric.

The evening came, and I started feeling kind of down myself. Most of the crew got together in the lounge, and I was seriously considering joining them. Also, I felt a bit like having a drink or two. A bottle maybe. But in the end, I opted for taking a stroll in the woods.

I had barely left the ship when I saw that man, MJ, sitting on yet another fallen tree and watching me. Sssooo... I went over to him.

'So, made lots of cash today?' he asked in his usual extremely well-balanced tone.

'Oh... yeah, not so bad, yeah.' In fact, our profits had been rather humble, but Heinz said we'll just have to apply another strategy tomorrow.

'Alright, then.'

'And you? You don't want to go home, relax a bit?'

'Yes, later I will.'

'Well, I was going to go for a short walk in the forest. You want to join me?'

'Actually, I was going to do the same. A bit later.'

'When later?'

'In about an hour. When it gets properly dark. Maybe you want to wait for me?'

Not exactly graceful, that bloke's communication skills. And I realise perfectly well how this kind of invitation must sound to you. But the way he uttered those words didn't strike me as menacing, and I always had my taser with me – oh, and I had also spent some time attending self-defence classes. So, instead of rolling my eyes and indignantly no-thank-you-ing him, I accepted his offer.

'So, you've been here long, then?' I asked.

'All my life. I'm 40 now.'

'You were born here?'

'Yes, I was born here, and so were my parents. My grandparents came here about 90 years ago.'

'May I ask what for?'

'My grandfather heard there was murgatroydium to find all over this place. He had been out of work for almost a year, so I guess he was desperate to do something.'

'And? Was there? Did he find it?'

'There was. And well, he did find a bit, barely enough to make a living. But they both died in poverty and quite young. They were both about 50.'

'Oh?' I always hated this part of conversations. 'They were ill?'

'Cancer. Both. My parents, too.'

'Is it somehow possible that this planet caused them to get ill?'

I guess that was a wrong question to ask.

'The planet is perfectly fine!' he snapped.

We both went quiet.

'I don't have any empirical data to share, sorry. Some people in the colony did get cancer, yes. But then again, so many people on Earth used to get it, too – and it's not like Earth itself was causing it. It's just that we never had a proper hospital or anything of that kind here. I think that was one of the main reasons why so many people gave up and left. So much drilling had been done, at one point there were over 10,000 people working here, excavating, analysing probes, doing more excavating. But they didn't have enough perseverance. Well, it's their loss.'

So, I asked the question that made most sense under the given circumstances:

'Alright, but how can you be sure that you guys will be done working in a couple of days?'

That was the first time I actually saw him smile. Not much of a smile, but still.

'You'll see.'

'When?'

'When we're in the forest. Just wait a bit.'

So wait we did.

We had been walking around in that forest for at least twenty minutes before we got to the place. Until this day, I have no clue why it had to be that particular place. Maybe he just wanted to be far enough from everyone else.

Ah, another fallen tree. Handy. Those seemed to be quite a common occurrence there.

'You wanna sit down?' He asked, so I did.

And then... and then monsieur produced a knife and cut himself into the index finger and let the blood drip into the ground.

After a minute or so of this procedure, he made a few slow, cautious steps into different directions, sat down on the leaves right in front of me, and then quietly lay down and put his right ear against the ground. He closed his eyes and spent about five or maybe ten minutes in a foetal position.

At some point, he got up – very slowly, as if trying to make sense of something he had just heard.

'I got it.' he suddenly said and smiled, this time properly. 'I got it now, let's go.'

We started walking back.

'Mind explaining what just happened?' I finally ventured. I feared that if I didn't ask, he would simply forget to make any kind of statement.

'I talked to the planet.' he replied.

'You – talked to the planet?'

'Well, the planet did the talking, really.' he corrected himself.

Alright, then. The planet talked to him.

'So, the two of you, do you guys do a lot of talking?... and listening?'

'Recently, yes, quite a lot.'

'And what does it tell you?'

'Where to drill and what to use. Like, what chemicals, what machinery.'

'And it actually works?'

He looked at me like my question had been completely moronic.

'Yes.'

'How do you know? Are you finding more murgatroydium now?'

'No, but soon.'

'So?'

'We're very – very – close now.'

'But again, how do you know?'

'Ida told me.'

'The planet is telling you?'

'Yes, the planet is telling me. We are so close.'

I didn't really know where to go from there.

'And what about those workers? I mean, you're obviously in charge here, but how can you afford hiring them? It must be costing you an unbelievable amount of dosh every single week.'

'It is, yes. I had a friend.'

'So?'

'Well, I did him a favour. And also, I showed him what murgatroydium I could find to convince him that we're coming close. I guess that was convincing enough.'

'Did you save his life or something? I can't think of any other favour that would make a person invest this kind of money into something like this without any... without any solid evidence.'

'No, I didn't really save his life. But I made his last months much more agreeable. Probably the most agreeable he had in his life.'

I was dying to find out more about how exactly he made his friend's life so much more pleasant, but wasn't sure whether I should dig deeper.

'So, you're gonna find murgatroydium... if not tomorrow, then the day after tomorrow, right? Because the planet tells you so?'

'Yes.'

The following night, I went out, hoping to see MJ again, and sure enough, he was there. Maybe he wanted to see me again, too?

We repeated last night's procedure, waited for it to get absolutely dark and then made our way into the woods.

'So... it's time for bloodletting again, huh?' I smirked, sitting down on the same fallen tree as the previous time.

'Yeah.'

'Why do you have to do it?'

'Helps our connection.'

'With the planet?'

'Yeah, with the planet.'

'There is no other way? Your fingers must be in a rather sorry state by now.'

MJ looked at me, and it was plain to see he was hesitating.

'What?'

'It's not so much the blood in itself.' he finally said. 'It's the pain. You need some intense sensation to be more receptive. This seemed like the simplest solution.'

Interesting.

'But any "intense sensation" would do the trick?' I asked.

'Yeah, pretty much.'

He was cute. Not handsome, as I said before, but there was definitely something about him. And I'd just had three glasses of wine.

And then I wondered: Was he still a virgin?

I got up from the tree trunk and went over to where he was sitting on the dry leaves. I sat down opposite him and took off my jacket and my blouse. He looked at my bra without his face expressing very much, so I took that off, as well.

'You wanna touch them?'

He did. It didn't seem like he knew what he was doing.

I then undid the zipper on my trousers and slid my hand underneath. It didn't feel weird. Gradually, I started getting a little aroused, most of all because of that innocent noble exotic creature MJ watching me. There was something about MJ's age combined with his lack of experience that got me going.

I beckoned him to come closer, and when he did, I kissed him. He didn't resist, but it was now clear he had not the slightest idea how to behave.

He fooled around for a bit, but then he gently freed himself out of my arms, and just as last night, he lied down on the ground again and started listening. At least a quarter of an hour passed before he sat up and started nodding, making sense of what he had just learned.

'We can go now.' He said, but then added: 'Except that... can we just stay here a little longer? I just want to rest a bit.'

He lay down again, and he no longer looked like he was in a mood to fool around. A few seconds later, he was asleep.

I was still aroused, but now, some kind of inexplicable tiredness and tristesse overcame me. I lay down next to MJ and told myself I would stay with him for a couple of minutes and then make my way back home.

But when I start getting sleepy, I have very little control over myself. I woke up in the middle of the night, and I felt even worse. I was properly bummed out. Depressed even. I felt like I was about to throw up, but the cause for this seemed to be a purely emotional one. There was a horrible sensation of grief around the place, and it felt like some disaster was imminent.

I found my trousers, but instead of putting them back on, I searched my left pocket to find a microscopic knife, which I always carried around with me for emergencies which never occurred. I made a slight incision in my right thumb and let a few drops of blood fall on the ground. Then, wondering whether the pain was enough, I squeezed the wound.

I lied down and started listening. I mean... I started waiting to perceive something, without having much of an idea what I was waiting for.

And then it came. More grief, more suffering. Some random colours and textures were flashing in my mind, elements flowing, burning, the ground exploding. It seemed to me like I could perceive some smell, too, and that smell struck me as being extremely toxic. I saw machines, ugly monstrous machines sticking their tentacles into the ground miles deep, and I saw those tentacles touching the...

Oh. Fuck.

My head felt like a beehive. I came back to reality, and soon I was running towards the ship.

I started banging on Heinz' door.

'It's gonna blow!!' I shouted on the top of my lungs through the door. 'This fucking place is gonna blow!'

'What the fuck, are you high?' Heinz said when he opened up.

'I was listening to it... and... and it told me...' This was clearly the wrong way to start the explanation. I was with this guy, MJ. We went to the forest. Last night, and tonight, too. He listened to the planet, claimed it talked to him...'

'Then he's high, too! You both must have had quite a night!'

'No, fucking hell, listen to me! He told me he can 'communicate' with Ida, and I thought he was bonkers. Turns out, he was right. The planet does talk. It told me some things, too! It's not just some planet, it's a kind of a... living being!'

I expected Heinz to start protesting again, but he suddenly went quiet.

'Oh, no. You knew it? You actually knew it!?'

'I didn't actually know it. Somebody on the market mentioned something along those lines, but obviously, I didn't think this was true. People say stuff all the time.'

'Well, it is fucking true. And it's being tortured, and it's in so much pain. It's dying, very very slowly.'

'Well, I'm sorry about your new friend's suffering, but what can I do? We're leaving tomorrow morning, as I promised.'

'But I haven't told you the most important bit yet.'

I had to sit down, I was so exhausted from running.

'MJ is absolutely convinced that the planet tells him where to mine, because... I don't know, he reckons the planet likes him and wants him to succeed or something. He thinks he is some kind of chosen one.'

'Again, not my problem.'

'The thing that nobody knows about Ida is, though – it has huge gas deposits. I mean, they must know there is some gas to find here, obviously. But nobody knows just how much it is. And that gas, it's some sort of absolutely horrible poison, and absolutely explosive, too. Massively explosive.'

'The planet itself told you, huh?'

'Sort of. I don't think it meant to, but I saw it anyway. It was a kind of vision or something. It told me more than it meant to, I guess. And the largest deposit of that gas is right here, all over this region. It's in those points that Ida tells MJ to drill.'

'Why? I mean...'

Then he realised.

'Fuck. The planet is... committing suicide?'

'Yeah.' I said, relaxing a little bit, now that I was not alone knowing what was going on. 'It has been suffering for decades, with everyone coming here and digging and drilling... It's manipulating MJ into helping it kill itself. The drills must now be dangerously close to some gigantic gas deposit, and once they hit it, that will be it. A huge bang, and all will be gone. The machines are switched off now, but the morning is approaching. We've got to run and warn every single worker against doing anything at all, and then evacuate this place.'

Heinz was nervously looking around, panting. In the end, we woke up the rest of the gang and explained the situation to them. All together, we took our gliders and headed to the camp where MJ's entire labour force was sleeping.

A few hours later, not a single person was left on Ida. Luckily, most worker groups had ships of their own, and those who didn't were accommodated on their friends' vessels. We picked up MJ, too, who surprisingly didn't offer much resistance, once he realised the state of things.

'So, shall we just leave the planet the way it is, then? Suffering?' Lily from Marketing asked as the crew sat down for a tardy breakfast.

'I'll call the military and explain them the situation.' Heinz said gruffly. 'They'll finish it off. They get off on blowing up stuff.'

'You reckon they'll believe you?' she said.

'I've got a friend in Ruddygore.' he replied. 'He'll believe me.'

Lovely. Heinz had many friends. Come to think of it, the entire thing happened because somebody had a friend...

After breakfast, I went to my place to get some rest. I was horribly exhausted, but at the same time I was still restless and somehow anxious. Ida's affliction was still getting to me. I took a very long shower, then poured myself a glass of Baileys. I felt like I really needed a drink and something sweet at the same time. Sensing that getting drunk enough on Baileys alone would be difficult, I uncorked a bottle of red wine, and in the end, that combination did the trick. I slept for about seven hours before returning to the deck.

'Where's MJ?' I asked nobody in particular.

'You two can hook up later.' Heinz retorted. It was like his voice had become even more annoying during the time I was asleep. 'How about doing some work first?'

'You do realise everybody could be dead now if it wasn't for me?'

'Oh, yes, I do. Thank you very much for that. But while you were kipping, my dear, I came up with a plan how to...'

'Heinz, where's MJ?'

He knew very well I wouldn't let go.

'Room 31. I expect you back in half an hour.'

MJ was lying on his bed, doing nothing much, staring into the ceiling. He hadn't even locked his door.

He gave me a brief glance when I entered, but then turned his attention back to the ceiling.

I entered and realised I didn't know exactly where to start, so I just sat down beside him and put my hand on his shoulder.

'You know, there are plenty of other places to mine in the universe. You should feel better soon, and then... A guy with your experience can make a very decent living, I bet.'

He gave me a brief nod.

'What can I do to cheer you up?'

'You don't need to, I'm alright.' he finally said.

'What can I do to make you feel even more alright?'

No reaction.

I leaned to give him a kiss, but he, while not resisting, didn't reciprocate.

'Later... OK?' he said, so I just said 'sure' and left him.

Soon enough, the army came and blew up the planet, and the following day, MJ's heart stopped.

#  Nobody Deserves This More Than You

Once upon a time, there was a brain, and that brain belonged to a professor of neurobiology and cybernetics called Hal. True, in the registry of the university where he spent two decades of his life teaching, he may have been listed as Dr Hal Crawford, – but unlike so many of his self-indulged colleagues, he never attached any importance to him being called "Doctor", or "Professor", or anything of that sort.

Being such a down-to-earth guy, his easy-going manner and his dry, rather quirky sense of humour earned him the love of his students (although maybe not the admiration of his colleagues), and when Hal became seriously ill and stopped giving lectures, his students began to deliberate, trying to find out whether there was anything in their power, anything at all, to help their beloved professor. After all, they were some of the brightest minds in the entire world, and they were studying and working in a field that was supposed to give people a chance to lead better and longer lives.

There was, however, an issue with Hal, and that issue was this: In his life – and Hal was approaching 65 – he had read a number of books that none of us can even begin to imagine. He had been to virtually every country on the planet and, much too soon, he had amassed such a great amount of life experience that it would have been enough to fill two dozen encyclopaedia volumes (plus another one that you would get as a bonus if you acted immediately and ordered all of them by calling the number below). Briefly, he had seen and done it all.

However, all this led to a peculiar side effect: By the time Hal hit 45, he realized that this was it. He began seeing life as a simple series of things you had to do, things you thought you had to do, things you thought you wanted to do and things you did because you got so used to doing them so frequently that you simply couldn't stop doing them, anymore. He began to see the entire life cycle of a human being as no different from the life cycle of any other species on the planet: You were born, you did what your primal instincts forced you to do, you fulfilled your life's primary function, i.e. breeding, so that your children could repeat the entire procedure when they had enough money on their savings accounts... and then the whole routine repeated itself again, with the only difference that by that time, you had to go to the gym more often in order to avoid back pain for a few more years.

Hal also realized, however, that this was solely his opinion on the subject, so he never shared his point of view with anybody. He was perfectly aware of the fact that most other people were having a terrific time being on the face of the earth, and he also knew that what he was teaching at the university was useful to somebody and that people rather enjoyed having him telling them things, and this knowledge was the only thing that kept him going.

'I'm not afraid of death', he whispered to his sister Margaret the evening before he passed away. 'If anything, I quite welcome it. I'm so relieved I don't have to spend more time in this abysmal bedlam of ours. Finally... some rest. I can't imagine how I would have managed if I had to spend on this planet another year... or two... or five, or ten... or more? How gruesome would that be? I'm so tired...'

Having passed away, he was, however, rather baffled to suddenly find his students standing right in front of himself, all looking at him, first in a concerned fashion, and then smiling and cheering in exultation.

'Say something, professor!' a young female student prompted.

'I'm sorry, I'm afraid I can't do that... I'm dead, after all' the professor thought, but then quietly muttered: 'What... what is going on?'

'We've made you a new body, professor!' the same student blithely chirped. 'Well, it's not much of a body, to be honest, and unfortunately, you can't really... walk... or do most other things, for that matter... But you can see and hear, and you can talk, and, most importantly, you can think! So, yes, basically... you are pretty much just a box with a head. But professor, check this! You are the first human being in history to become officially immortal! We all love you so much, and we thought there is no-one who would deserve this more than you!'

Everybody went on cheering and idly sipping champagne, and as everybody was cheering and idly sipping champagne, Hal Crawford smiled meekly and thought:

'Fuck.'

#  The App Works

Once upon a time, there was a fish, and that fish didn't have a name, because, let's face it, fish don't have names, unless they are purchased in a pet shop, but then again, those are not the kind of fish this story is about. Now, what made this particular fish so uniquely and unapologetically special was the fact that it was a highly developed and brave fish. He belonged to a new species that had developed telepathic abilities, lungs and legs, but this fish... oh, this fish was not only more developed than his compatriots, but he also possessed better communication skills and had the fastest (and nicest looking) legs!

Now, this fish... this fish was the very first one of his kind who dared to leave his familiar surroundings and the safety of his home to go on a journey of discovery. He decided that it would be a neat idea to step out of the ocean for a change and have a look at what was happening on the shore. When he set foot on the sand that delightful day, he saw two people, a male and a female, sunbathing on the beach. The female had her eyes closed, and there was some round, funny-looking thing made of straw on her head that was covering her hair and pretty much all of her face. The male appeared to be busy pressing something on a small device he was holding in his hands tenderly and affectionately, but also very firmly.

When the fish approached the male, he, being well aware of the delicacy of the situation, took a minute to softly project the following thoughts into the male's mind:

'Greetings, my friend! I wish you no harm.'

'Huh?' The male, with some difficulty, pulled his attention from the black, shiny device in his hands. 'Who the fuck are you?'

'Unfortunately, names are not used in my culture.' the fish responded. 'But if you so wish, please do feel free to give me a name you would be comfortable with. However, the more important thing is: You can understand me, and I can understand you. This is a great day for both our species. A truly remarkable and historically significant day, as it marks the first time humans and fish have established communication.'

'So, what exactly do you want?' the male urged impatiently. 'Money, is that it?'

'I'm sorry, I'm not entirely sure what "money" is', the fish answered, unperturbed, 'but I don't think I need that. See, I represent a new type of species that will soon start emerging out of the ocean. Just give us a few hundred thousand years, and we're good to go.'

'Interesting.' the male said. 'So, are you in business?'

'In business? I'm really sorry, I don't understand.'

'Well, I'm in business, for example.' the male tried to explain. 'My company provides business consulting services.'

'Aha, I think I understand now.' the fish said. 'You mean, you work a lot, is that right?'

'Yeah, cause I like having lots of money!'

'Who are you talking to?' the female, now awake, happily chirped. She put away the enormous straw object covering her pink-blue hair. 'You got some other yuppie on your new toy?' She looked at his mobile.

'Not entirely sure who I'm actually talking to.' the male replied, irritated. 'And I've got no idea what the thing wants. And I've told you hundreds of times not to call us "yuppies"!'

'All I want is to get to know you!' the friendly fish assured them, establishing contact with the girl's consciousness, as well. 'For example... is she your partner?' He pointed one of his fins at the girl.

'Yeah...'

'Yes!' the girl purred and beamed excitedly. 'We love each other very much, don't we, Albert?'

'Yeah, yeah, very much and very often.' he snapped impatiently. 'Look, can you please not interrupt? I thought we agreed you would try and not say anything today, so I can get some rest?'

'Oh, fuck you, you fucking tosser!' the girl snarled, turning away.

'What a bitch...' the "yuppie" muttered.

The fish spent a few seconds contemplating the best way to proceed.

'And this object you are holding in your hands – do you love it, too?' he enquired, trying to change the subject.

'Oh, yeah!' the yuppie gleefully exclaimed. 'You know how much stuff I can do with it? I've got a special tariff, so I can call my business partners all over the world at 70% discount, and I've got 2000 free text messages, too, and I can go online free of charge, cause I've got a Platinum contract with the provider. And look how many apps I've got here! I can follow the stock charts and buy and sell shares, and I can read about the recent market developments, and I can even get porn on this baby, too, how about that? Fucking super awesome, this thing!'

'I'm afraid we do not yet have many technological marvels to account for,' the fish admitted, 'but some day we will. You see, our civilization has chosen another development path. We instead chose to work on the problems in our society and in our own minds. Today, our species do not wage wars, anymore, and our minds are pure and peaceful. We love and respect each other, and we co-exist in harmony. This is one of the reasons why we don't use names – names stress the "I" side of our existence too much... Which leads to selfishness, discontent and aggression. I hope you understand my point. But my people and I will be happy to talk about our ideology in more detail, to share all of our secrets with you, so that you can improve your living conditions and lead happier and more fulfilling lives. There are hundreds... no, thousands of things we could learn from each other, and shall I tell you something, my friend? I find it extremely exciting! And we do not want any "money" from you or any reward at all. All we want is friendship and peaceful co-existence. Now, what do you think of that?' the fish eyed him, full of enthusiasm and hope.

'Huh?' The yuppie finally stopped looking at the object in his hand. 'Oh, er... Sorry, I wasn't really listening.' he said. 'Look, I've just downloaded another app. It was just two coppers, how cool is that? It's an electroshock app – supposedly, it turns your phone into a taser.'

'A taser?' the fish asked.

'Yeah, so you can electrocute somebody.' the yuppie replied. 'Come closer for a sec.'

'With pleasure!' the fish obeyed and approached the yuppie, full of optimism and faith in a better tomorrow for everybody.

'Hm, let me see...' the yuppie muttered, fumbling with the buttons on his mobile. The fish stared at the device with genuine curiosity.

'Uh, here!' the yuppie exclaimed, pointing his peculiar object at the fish and pressing something again. There was a brief crackling sound, a tiny blue flash, and the fish fell down on the dry sand. He was dead before he hit the ground, and, just as he predicted, many thousand years passed before his species finally came out on the shores and started constructing office buildings for the more fortunate of them and prisons for the less fortunate. Although by that time, a few of them still remembered how not to wage wars and how to keep their minds at peace, those few preferred to stay closer to the ocean, deciding they didn't actually have much need for office buildings or prisons.

'Did you kill it?' the yuppie's girlfriend asked idly, putting some more sunblock on her legs.

'Yeah, the app works!'

'Oh, OK.'

'This latest model is a fucking miracle!'

'Oh, OK...' She repeated bluntly. 'I'm... it's great that there are still miracles in the world, huh?'

After a brief silence, she said pensively:

'You know, Albert, I just thought...'

'Look, didn't I tell you to shut the fuck up?!' the yuppie snapped and then continued toying around with his mobile. 'I mean, I asked you so many times to stop talking! Just stop talking!'

The girl turned away again, not saying anything.

'I swear, you keep annoying me like this, I will kick you out! You don't like living in a big house and me buying you stuff, anymore?!'

'I do!'

'So, why do you keep pissing me off?!'

'I'm sorry, Albert...' she muttered feebly.

'A comb, a handkerchief and a fucking broken mirror... And your body to sell to anyone who's interested. That's all you're gonna end up with if you don't leave me in peace. Got it?'

'Yes.'

'Fuck, what a goose!' he grumbled, his teeth clenched. In a few moments, he added:

'What's for dinner tonight?'

#  Wings

Once upon a time, there was a kind-hearted, clever and ingenious man called Dale, from the once well-known Daé family, who owned the Daé Works not so far away from the Great And Good City Of Luceo. Dale loved many things in life, but especially these three: he loved humanity, he loved his sons, and he loved flying, and no one could really say which of those he loved most. He wasn't so great a parent, those who knew him would add behind his back, although a great guy he was, that's for sure, just... not father material.

The older son's name was William, who from an early age loved nothing more than a good, profitable deal. Dale's younger son was called Eric, and Eric loved nothing more than being left in peace.

When William came of age, which happened far too soon, he left the family house and moved to Luceo, where he soon became a junior partner in one of the country's biggest corporations. When he left home, his father Dale sighed and cried a little that night, as he was a rather sensitive person, but somehow he had always known that William's priorities did not lie anywhere near flying or anything else that remotely looked or smelled like engineering.

Dale kept reminding himself that he still had Eric, who was seven years younger than his older brother. So far, Eric had demonstrated little interest in become a corporate creature, and Dale was sincerely hoping that, one day, his younger son would soar higher than he himself ever could or even dreamed of. He wasn't wealthy enough to buy or build his own little plane, but the kind constructor had always been an optimist and so he convinced himself that there is always a way.

One day, Dale had an idea, and shortly after the idea came to him, he disappeared in his workshop and rarely left it for the next two years.

It was Eric's 13th birthday, and the time came for the boy to receive his presents. The first one he opened was from his older brother, who, upon his father's insistence, made an effort and travelled with his girlfriend Felicity back to his old little town just for the occasion.

'Is that some sort of financial game?' asked Eric when he unwrapped the gift.

'Absolutely correct!' William replied. 'Now, you really ought to start contemplating what you aspire to do in life and how you can make the money that you will require to achieve your goals.'

'Enjoy!' Felicity politely added, who never really knew what to say.

'But maybe I don't want money', suggested Eric.

'Have you been talking to your father again?' William frowned.

'Well, yes, we do talk sometimes...' Eric confessed.

'You know, William...' Dale said pensively. 'There are two types of people – those who enjoy wearing a business costume, and those who don't. Well, I think Eric would belong to the third type, those who would feel ashamed wearing one.'

'Oh, now, that's a great way of preparing your son for the future', William replied venomously. 'So, I guess life is all about playing in the meadows and making "true" friends, and stuff like that, huh? What if Eric wants to get married one day? How is he supposed to even attract a woman without money, and how is he supposed to take care of his spouse?'

'Eric won't have a spouse, William,' his father replied patiently, 'he will have a wife. And you know, somehow I managed to "attract" your mother just the way I was, didn't I?'

William frowned again and went to the toilet.

'I wonder if William would be a villain if he was a character in a book...' Eric thought while he was opening the second present.

The second present was from Eric's best friend Scarlett, who was living nearby with her aunt, was only a few months younger than him and didn't really have anyone else in her life and who considered Eric and his father much more of a family than her apathy-prone, lethargic aunt, who, in addition to that, never said no to anything that looked like a bottle.

In fact, Eric was madly in love with Scarlett, and Scarlett was madly in love with him, but none of them had ever confessed their feelings to each other. But now, when Eric opened his present, he saw two Mizpah medallions, and if you don't know what a mizpah medallion is – it's those with a heart split in two. After looking at it for a few moments, he put it around his neck, and then Scarlett put the other medallion around hers. They both smiled and hugged, and no words were necessary. Dale smiled with them, glad that William was on the toilet and couldn't spoil the moment.

'It's your turn, Dad!'

'Pardon?' Dale replied, knowing perfectly well what Eric was referring to.

'Dad, come on! I saw you dragging that big box with you. Don't tell me it wasn't for me!'

'Ah, yes, that... Let's go outside, shall we?'

They all (including William, who had just returned from the toilet) went outside, and when Dale opened his big box, Eric and everybody else saw two impressive – actually, enormous – wings that seemed to be made of some greyish metal, plastic and some other odd material Eric had never seen before. Although fascinated, the boy was also quite frightened by their size, and the small tubes going in and out of the construction didn't look very soothing, either.

Eric didn't really know what to say and opted for a simple 'Wow, dad', but when he uttered these words, he realized they sounded rather unconvincing.

'Now, I know', said Dale, 'that you are a bit afraid of heights, and I thought that this might be a good way to help you with that. And also...' He paused. 'You know, men have always wanted to fly, and they have fulfilled their dream to some extent when they built airships, and then planes, and then... well, they're building airships again nowadays... But those are just machines, Eric, and you... these wings can become a part of you. You can be the first person to actually fly. Alright, yes, people attempted this before, but they all failed.' Dale immediately regretted uttering that last statement.

'What makes you think I won't?' asked Eric, with an extra amount of concern in his voice.

'Trust me, Eric, I have tested these myself so many times now. Remember all those times I told you I needed to leave to meet a friend? Well, I wasn't really meeting anyone, I just went somewhere where nobody could see me using these. I solemnly swear to you they are perfectly safe.'

It was time for another silence, and when Eric realized he should say something, he opted for the most diplomatic solution: 'Thanks, dad!'

'You wanna try them on?' Dale asked, and, without waiting for Eric's response, he started opening the box.

'Dad... I'm kinda having doubts about it...' Eric quietly muttered when the wings were firmly fastened to his arms and the rest of his body. 'Are you angry?'

'But why, Eric?' Dale exclaimed. 'I am not angry, but why? Don't you trust me?'

'No, I trust you, dad, but...'

'Eric... Have you ever heard this saying? We have nothing to fear but fear itself.'

'That's not true, dad.' Eric countered energetically. 'I've got lots of things to fear, and right now, they all involve gravity.'

'Look... I realize how strongly you're afraid of heights, but do you really want to spend your entire life being afraid?'

'But dad, I won't spend my entire life being afraid as long as I stay on the ground!'

'I understand... But if you don't trust in me as your father, trust in me as an inventor. Believe me, Icarus 2 is perfectly safe.'

'What?!' Eric just couldn't believe it. 'Icarus 2?? Dad, why?? Why Icarus? You know what happened to Icarus, right?'

'It's just a name, Eric.'

'But dad, from all names you could have picked... I mean, I really think you could have done better...'

'Alright, then, I will rename it. Let's call it... The Flying Dream or something. How about that?'

'Dad, it already has Icarus 2 written on it, and on the box, too! How come I didn't notice it straight away?'

'I promise I will rename it when you come back. And I also promise you will come back, Eric', he said.

'Well, I trust your dad.' Scarlett said. 'He wouldn't risk his only son's life.'

'Heeeey!' William exclaimed, ostensibly outraged.

'Oh, sorry, forgot about you.' Scarlett added coldly.

And then she quickly kissed Eric on his forehead.

'I believe in you and your dad.'

Eric looked at his father. He looked at him for what seemed like at least a minute, and when he sighed and said 'Alright', Dale started explaining to him everything he needed to know. When the explanations were done with, Eric pressed a button on the peculiar device on his chest, flapped his new wings, and soared over everybody's head, and then over their house, over the neighbourhood, over the nearby lake and over the forest behind the lake, and when he came back, he laughed and almost cried with delight at the same time.

'Feels like thirty-three megawatts, doesn't it?' Dale asked, and his smile almost seemed to be touching his ears.

'Yeah, dad, it does.' Eric said, nodding, his faith in his father completely restored.

'You know, guys,' Dale said to his son and Scarlett, 'strange thing: You firmly believe you will succeed when you still have a long way to go before you reach your goal, but when you're finally there, when you've finally achieved what you were working on for so long... you have a hard time believing you've actually pulled it through!'

While Eric and Dale were discussing how they would show the wings to the town's inhabitants at the local fair next week, Scarlett was putting her best efforts into making conversation with William and Felicity, and William and Felicity forced themselves to do the same.

'You seem to be so smart for your age!' Felicity finally said, and although everything she had previously said was utter balderdash, the admiration in her voice was genuine – she always admired people she thought to be smart, as, deep inside, she knew she herself was not.

'Thanks.' Scarlett replied quietly, not knowing how to react.

When William went to the toilet again, Scarlett asked: 'Why did you choose William?'

'Oh, er...'

'Don't tell me it was his money!' Scarlett quietly exclaimed.

'Nooo! No, no, of course not... No. I'm... I just like tall guys, you know.'

'Ah, OK. But how about... well, a good heart, and intelligence, and manners? I mean, he must have all of that, too?'

'Er... yeah, yes, I guess. But I like wearing high heels, you know? So...'

'I see.'

'I hope you don't think I'm stupid?' Felicity enquired, thus presenting Scarlett with the biggest temptation of her life.

'No, of course not. Makes perfect sense.'

'Whoa!' Felicity thought when she and William were heading back to Luceo. 'What a smart girl, that Scarlett of his!'

'Whoa!' thought Dale, thinking back on his older son's girlfriend. 'She's as beautiful as she is... Well, good thing she works as a model, good thing.'

'Whoa!' thought Scarlett, 'I didn't know somebody could be as shallow as that Felicity of his. Great match for William, though.'

'Whoa!' thought William, who that very night, upon arriving home, called a friend from the military.

'George,' he declared, 'this super-top-secret project you've been working on... That supersoldier thing, you know? Say, do you want your soldiers to be able to fly, as well? I'll bet my entire stock portfolio you do! So, listen, I hope people have paid enough taxes this year, because what I'm gonna offer you now is not gonna be cheap. There is one pathetic little town not so far away from Luceo, and they are having a fair next week. Now, if you want to get hold of one really and truly revolutionary invention before anybody else does, you will need to be there. You want to know the rest, you gotta prepare the cash.'

That night, Dale woke up, suddenly sensing that there was somebody in his room. Since his childhood, he had been afraid of the dark, so he didn't open his eyes straight away, but was rather hoping the sensation would go away by itself. When it didn't, he gradually dared to look.

Three pale-blue silhouettes were standing at the end of his bed, looking at him. Their faces were distorted by expressions of terror and agony, their skin seemed to be severely burned, and then Dale saw gun wounds in their bodies, at least ten in each of them. The silhouettes were looking directly at him, but in a few moments they were gone.

When the day of the fair came, Eric appeared to be even more excited than his father. Scarlett was less excited, because she, firstly, hadn't yet got to try on the wings, and secondly, because that sort of thing seemed rather like 'boy business' to her, anyway.

The fair was going to start in an hour, and in the middle of all the excitement and all the preparations, the three of them saw William's sparkling white DeLujo stopping nearby.

'Hello!' William called as he got out. 'Is it alright if we join you?'

'Of course!' Dale smiled. 'We're all very happy to see you here! To be honest, I'm a tad surprised, but it's a pleasant surprise, nonetheless.'

'Hello!' repeated Felicity, who, once again, proved her inability to come up with something even remotely original.

'Father,' William turned to Dale, 'do you... do you mind if somebody else joined us today?'

'Well, no! Why would we mind?' the old man replied. 'Who else is coming, then?'

'Oh, I've just invited a few friends of mine, we thought it might be fun. They work for the army, so they are interested in stuff like this. And who knows, if Eric and you manage to impress them, you might even make a few mice along the way... Or a few million mice, who knows...'

Dale froze.

'William, you have told the army about my invention?'

'Well, yeah, I thought they might be interested, so I decided to check the ground, so to speak, and guess what? They really are interested!'

'But William... do you realize what they would use my invention for?'

William winced slightly, as if he was talking to a child who wasn't exactly very bright.

'Well, yeah, otherwise they wouldn't be the army! Father... seriously. You've spent you entire life in poverty, and you wish the same thing for Eric, too? I was shifty enough to escape these... these slums I had the misfortune of growing up in, but what about my brother? What if he doesn't find the courage to do the same thing?' William waited a bit for dramatic effect, and then added: 'You know you need this money, father.'

The old man looked into his son's eyes and quietly said:

'What we would have really needed was a brother and an older son. Goodbye, William.'

'I can't believe you would actually...'

'Goodbye, William. I need to go and make some final checks on the wings now.'

He turned around and left William standing there in the company of his car. Felicity came up to him and began to open her mouth, but William was quicker:

'Sod off.' he quietly said and went to greet his army friends, who had just arrived.

'My father is still a bit sceptical', he admitted.

'So, he's not too keen on selling us his patent?'

'In all likelihood, no', William admitted. 'Well, you guys are the military, no? When the demonstration is over, just grab those wings. I don't think he's made another pair, so make sure you get these. And my father... well, he is... he's getridofable.'

The fair started, and shortly before the time came for Eric to demonstrate his wings to the crowd (which included, more or less, the entire town), Scarlett came up to Dale and looked at him with a hint of a worry on her face:

'Dale, Eric is not going to be doing anything, you know, different today?'

'Different? What do you mean?'

'Well, something he hasn't done before? Some dangerous trick or something? You know, just to show off in front of everybody.'

'You should know Eric', the old man replied. 'Do you reckon he would do something dangerous if he didn't have to?'

'True', she admitted. 'Just checking.'

Her glance fell on his sleeve.

'Is that oil on your shirt?'

'Yeah, I was just doing some last-minute checks.'

'But you said you checked them a hundred times already? Why would you need to check them again?'

'Just to be absolutely certain. Don't worry, OK?'

'OK', she shrugged and went to her place.

The time came, and everybody was waiting for Dale to help his son into the wings.

'Is it safe, though?' somebody from the audience asked.

'He is my son!' Dale shouted back, visibly irritated. 'Do you seriously think we would do it if I wasn't 100% sure that nothing is going to happen to him?'

'That's good enough for me', the man in the audience said, folded his arms and made himself comfortable.

And then, like he did all those times before, Eric pressed the button on his chest and took off. He soared over the dumbfounded audience, made a few circles around the fairground, went higher, came down again, flew over a nearby hill, came back, and when he was over the audience again, everybody watched the wings becoming engulfed in fire. A few seconds later, there was a deafening explosion, and spectators found themselves looking down at the burning debris.

One evening, about a week later, William heard a ringing at his door. When he opened up, he saw Scarlett standing on the doorstep.

'Hi, may I come in?' she asked calmly.

'Er... it's so late, what are you doing here? Are you alone? What's up with that bag? Were you actually planning to stay here overnight?'

'I'm alone, and I'm not going to stay long. Could I please come in?' she repeated.

'Yeah, OK.'

She crossed the doorstep.

'What are you doing here in Luceo? Somehow... somehow I don't believe you just stopped by to say hi.'

'Not really.'

'So?..'

'Where is your girlfriend?'

'Left two days ago. Said she "didn't dig" me, anymore. But, you know... sod her. I was never actually into her that much in the first place.'

'OK, wait a sec.' she said, putting the bag on the floor.

'What, you've got something for me?' he asked.

'Yeah.' she replied, swiftly took out a giant wrench and landed him a shattering blow on his head. William swayed from side to side, but a moment later, she hit him again, and then again.

When William came back to his senses, he quickly discovered himself on the floor, tied up so well he couldn't move at all, and with a gag in his mouth. His head was bleeding quite severely. The pain seemed to be increasing, and he felt he needed to vomit. But even in his current state, he wondered how a 14-year-old girl could tie somebody up so well.

'I do want to kill you, you know', she said, matter-of-factly. 'But that's not why I came. Well, when I knocked you down, I thought that if you die, then... well, then, sod you. But I wasn't planning to kill you. Don't want Dale to get another dust bear just yet. Even if I can't see how you could ever be his son.'

A couple of seconds later, she added:

'You're probably wondering what I want and what I'm planning to do now, aren't you?'

He helplessly stared at her.

'This.' she said, picked up the wrench and smashed him on his right knee. William's screams were almost unbearable, although thanks to the gag, it was not very likely that the neighbours could hear them. 'Now, that must have felt like thirty-three megawatts.'

She hit him again, and again, in the same place, and then again, and again, and kept smashing until William's right kneecap ceased to exist, after which she started working on his left one. She stopped to catch some breath and then resumed the procedure. When the kneecaps had both turned into tiny fragments of bone, Scarlett took another short break and then concentrated on his hands. First, the blows went to the backs of his hands, and then, after twenty or so hits on each hand, she tried to get each of his fingers, which turned out to be a bit more difficult than she thought, since William's hands were tied to his body, and the angle that was required proved relatively uncomfortable.

When she was done with his hands (by that time, William had long passed out, although Scarlett hadn't noticed), she went down to his feet and toes and repeated the entire procedure. Finally, she stepped back and looked at him for the last time. She stood there for about a minute, then put the wrench back into the bag and quickly left.

Next morning, when the police came to have a talk with Scarlett's aunt, the woman, somewhat hung over, opened up, looked around the house, yawned and said: 'Scarlett?.. Why, what did she do?

'At the moment, we would just like to have a word with her. Please don't worry.'

'Well, she doesn't seem to be here at the moment... Ooouuufff...' The woman rubbed her head. 'Honestly, I have no idea where she is, guys. Can't even remember yesterday... I don't know, she does what she pleases... She can take care of herself. Hm... You may want to ask Dale, he lives over there. She used to hang around with his kid, he died last week. Dale had made some monstrous wings for him, and they exploded, although he kept repeating that they were perfectly safe. And then the army came to have a look, and that was when the accident happened.'

When the officers were gone, and she went back into the house and sat down for a small breakfast, she saw a note on the kitchen table:

Dear Auntie,

I'm sorry, I have to disappear. I'm also sorry if I was a burden to you all these years, but it's over now. I don't think I'll be coming back.

Don't worry about me, I'm fine. I've found my place.

Scarlett

The woman sat down for a minute, staring at the piece of paper. She was still too hung over to completely realise what she had just read. A minute passed, she got up again, went to the fridge, took out a beer, emptied a third of the bottle and set course back to bed.

A couple of weeks later, two detectives paid Scarlett's aunt another visit, asking whether she possibly had any new information regarding her niece's whereabouts. They said there had already been three assaults on finance executives in Luceo, carried out by some new gang of left-wing extremists, and somebody had reported seeing a girl closely resembling Scarlett leaving one of the crime scenes, surrounded by five or six other youths.

'They carve a symbol into each of their victims' flesh.' one of the detectives said. 'You know what that symbol is?'

'How would I know that?' she retorted, slightly annoyed. 'Seems like a rather dopey question to ask.'

'Wings.' the detective replied, unperturbed. 'Still don't believe your niece is somehow involved?'

The woman didn't reply. When the detectives left, she took out another beer and wondered whether doing the shopping would wait until tomorrow.

#  Ocean Breeze
PART 1

Once upon a time, there was a village on the ocean shore. The inhabitants, not great in number, lived there happily for centuries, and each one of them would have told you that living in the village felt more like being a member of a big family where everybody did their best to take care of each other without demanding anything in return.

The village remained virtually untouched by the new technological advancements of the new century, as the inhabitants firmly believed that an introduction of the peculiar devices the people in smoked-through cities were using would do great harm to their bond with nature and the spirits that had always been a big part of their daily life.

'The skies would turn black, and the water would turn black, too, and so would the sand under our feet. We would lose our friends in the forest, and we would lose our friends in the air, and we would lose our friends in the other world that cannot be seen or heard.' the villagers always explained to their children, on the rare occasion that they happened to hear about the more technologically advanced way of life miles away. 'And we would lose our magic! And if we lose our magic, we might never ever get it back!'

Oh, yes, in the evenings, the villagers always gathered on the shore to sit by the fire, sing songs, have dinner and do some magic. Mostly, a very simple kind of magic – musical magic, for example, that made the air sparkle with the sounds of instruments far more divine than any man-made instrument could ever produce. Or they did water magic, that brought heavenly breeze from the ocean and made the water – the clearest water that remained on the planet – slow down a little bit, and its movements became so graceful even the most bitter and sceptical person would be convinced that it wasn't just some ordinary water, anymore, but rather something with a sense of rhythm and elegance. Or they did fire magic, and the skies above the villagers became filled with fire, but no one was afraid, as that fire was anything but threatening. Much rather, it was playful, and it, too, seemed to be dancing to the celestial music of nature and the spirits.

The villager's magic was diverse – they were able to do far more than just that simple kind of magic to please their eyes and ears. When somebody became ill, there was rarely an ailment against which the villagers couldn't find a curing spell. When the harvest didn't seem to be turning out quite as rich as they had hoped, some old villager would always find a way of talking to the earth and asking it to work a little bit harder. When a monster from the ocean came close to the shore and was threatening the inhabitants, their magic always offered a way of talking to the creature and asking it to leave the village in peace. And when, on a rare occasion, a child went missing in the forest, nobody in the village (apart from his or her parents, of course) was too worried, as they knew they would soon find a hare or a fox or a woodpecker that would tell them where the little troublemaker was headed to.

However, there was one thing that no other village in the entire world seemed to have, and with time, rumours of that particular wondrous ability reached the most distant corners of the world... The villagers rarely had visitors, but when they did, it was usually somebody who was lost on their way through life, and when it became clear that somebody needed help and perhaps a little bit of their magic, they never sent them back. They always invited their guest to sit among them and enjoy their music, and then a wise man or woman would come and sit with that person and talk to them for a little bit, and then they put their hands on their head and looked into their eyes, and the visitor would suddenly say: 'Everything is so clear now! So clear and simple!' They would then immediately realize what they needed to strive for in life to find happiness. Having come with doubts and suspicions, they always found shelter, fascination, confidence and magic.

The villagers never demanded anything in return for their help. The very opportunity to help another person made them feel fulfilled, and when a child, still too young to understand what had just happened, asked, his parents explained: 'Somebody has discovered their one true dream.'

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Maya. She was born in a village that had never seen any of those electrical contrivances that everybody else in the world seemed to have, but Maya never wondered too much why they didn't or couldn't have them – she was born in a very big family, the youngest of three sisters, and during her entire childhood she never knew a moment of boredom. She, her sisters, their mother and father, grandmothers, grandfathers, their aunts, uncles and cousins all lived together, worked together, played together and did magic together. And before Maya even celebrated her tenth birthday, she was told about the special magical gift that only a few people in her village had, and apart from those, nobody else in the entire world.

When the villagers received a visit from another stranger seeking harmony and fulfilment, Maya talked to him, stroked his head, looked into his eyes and hugged him, and the visitor suddenly brightened up and exclaimed that things in his life had now become as clear as they had never been before and that he now knew what his life was about and what he needed to do. This was when Maya's parents revealed to her that she could make anyone, any human being whatsoever, discover their dream and the one thing that was most important to them in their life. The people outside, they told Maya, had dreams too, but more often than not, they lie to themselves about what they want and why they want it, and they hide the true purpose of their life under all those things they feel they need to do to have money and be accepted and respected.

'I can't think of anyone who would have developed this gift at such a young age.' her father said gently, handing her a small jar of honey that Maya enjoyed eating so much before going to bed. 'I know for sure that there is a great future waiting for you.' He wanted to add that the girl should also be very cautious about her newly discovered abilities, as every great power can also do great harm, even the power to make people discover their true dream, but then he decided that perhaps this warning was not such an urgent matter and that it might frighten the little girl. 'We can have the talk about it some other time.' he decided, but they never did.

A year passed, and Maya's father became very sick and passed away, and shortly after he did, so did her oldest sister, and then, a few months later, she lost her first grandparent... When Maya reached her 18th birthday, her mother was the only family member still alive and well.

Having cried for many days after losing her father, a few days after losing her sister and a day after losing each of her grandparents, Maya had now got so used to seeing death around her that something died within herself, too, and now – no matter what kind of sad news she happened to receive – she was unable to cry, anymore, not even a single tear.

'Are we being punished?' Maya kept wondering. 'And if yes, for what? What did my family do wrong?' She never received an answer to her questions, as there was no answer.

Once upon a time, there was a boy called Kaimi, and although Kaimi was born into a wealthy family in the Great And Good City Of Luceo, he, from a very early age, felt that something had been missing in his life. He had everything he could ask for, and he was allowed to follow any path in life he would choose for himself, but even having all the gates open to him, Kaimi couldn't find peace of mind. He felt that there was a big dream inside of him, waiting to be fulfilled, but no matter how much he thought about this and how hard he tried to put his longing into words, the resulting sensation was always that of disappointment.

By the time Kaimi was 18, he had almost grown accustomed to the idea that he would never be able to discover what it was that he was born for. 'I might just as well give up trying.' he thought with sadness, but before that thought of his could find a comfortable place in his mind, Kaimi learned about a village somewhere on the ocean shore. The villagers never left their place, he was told, but they were very friendly and welcoming towards any guest that happened to find their way there, and those strange people, who had never even seen as much as a light bulb, seemed to have some sort of medication, or a therapy, or some special massage, or hypnosis, or some other trick that supposedly did work on one lost soul or another. Anyway, it was all probably poppycock, but the villagers never demanded money or anything else, and even if the journey there – five or six hours if he took a train and then covered the remaining distance by bike – turned out to be pointless, it was said to be quite a charming place, and he would at least return with a few pretty pictures and ocean breeze on his skin, which spent way too much time indoors, anyway.

The very next day, Kaimi jumped on the first train that left in the needed direction, and, having found himself at the station closest to the village, he spent the rest of the afternoon pedalling and asking rare passers-by if they happened to know the way, as the map didn't provide much information and generally didn't seem very reliable.

Once upon a time, there was a married couple, Maya and Kaimi, and their future seemed very promising.

Maya had a great talent, and even though she was still missing her mother and her village, she felt very positive about her new life in Luceo and about all the good that she knew she could offer the people there – to anyone who would ask. Maya couldn't understand why her parents and grandparents and the elderly villagers always warned her about the life outside when she was little – the city seemed not only exciting, but also full of amazing, interesting people and numerous opportunities, and it would have been a real shame to miss all of that.

Kaimi, too, felt that life would turn out fabulous for both of them. After all, he now had – with Maya's help – come to understand what the greatest dream of his life was. Who would have thought that realizing what your greatest dream is could be a simple matter of a young girl touching your head and looking into your eyes for a few moments? Kaimi now knew for sure that he wanted to be the greatest architect alive, and with his parents' support and with his newly gained certainty, there would be no stopping him, anymore.

Once upon a time, there was a village on the ocean shore. The inhabitants, not great in number, lived there happily for centuries, and each one of them would tell you that living in the village felt more like being a member of a big family, until one day that family started becoming smaller and smaller. When the first villager, a girl called Maya, left, many felt aggrieved and perplex, but they didn't anticipate that other young members of their families would soon follow her example, hungry for new experiences and adventures and not trusting the warnings of the elders, anymore. And as the younger villagers were leaving, the older ones were dying, not only of old age, but also of various diseases that somehow began to befall them more often and with a greater ferocity than ever before, their magic, their harmony and their connection with nature and spirits now ultimately broken. By the time Maya reached 40, the place where the villagers had once led their happy lives looked no different from the rest of the wilderness.

Once upon a time, there was a woman – her name was Maya, and she was offering dreams to anyone who needed one. Maya was responsible for a great deal of successful doctors, policemen and even artists, who, having visited her for a mere minute, realized what it was that they wanted most in life. True, some people never needed a service like this, as they knew exactly what they wanted, and then there were also those who thought they knew, but really didn't, and then there were those who simply had no clue, and if you belonged to the third category and had some money to spare (it wasn't that much), you went to Maya, and she never failed to get that dream of yours out of the deepest depths of your heart.

The other side of the coin was, of course, that Maya was also responsible for a great deal of unsuccessful artists – yes, it was especially artists, or representatives of other professions that were largely considered "exotic" – who dared to follow their dream following their séance with Maya, but who weren't gifted or persistent enough to find success. More than a few of them, having exhausted all their options and grown tired of trying, turned to a company called FPFP, which offered them life-long employment and security in exchange for their freedom. Perhaps some of them gave up too soon, perhaps they gave the word "dreamer" too bad a reputation, perhaps they just didn't have anyone to offer them support when they needed it most... but FPFP never showed any interest in such questions. If you came to FPFP to become a big city slave, they made you a big city slave, and there was no way back.

And then there were those who got their dream, but did very little about it, or nothing at all, or simply preferred to ignore it, as it didn't coincide with what they were told they should do with their lives by their families. This happened to quite a fair amount of them, actually. But regardless of what they did with that dreams of theirs, they always paid the same amount to Maya, and Maya was never too shy to take their money, and rarely offered any discounts (unless you had a voucher or a group booking). 'After all,' Maya thought, 'We need to make profits to offer this opportunity to as many people as possible. We need advertising, and we need offices to receive people, and we need employees to make appointments, and then we also need a payroll, and of course accounting, and as all those people want to be paid, we need a sales department, too, and the sales department want to be paid, as well...'

When her husband helped her open her business, she was only 19, and, back then, she would only ask for a few pennies for her services, and people gladly paid. Now, things had changed a bit – so many seemed unwilling to make an investment into their future. True, the prices were somewhat higher now, but did the paying a few more coppers really matter when finding the only true path in your life was concerned?

The general public also seemed to dislike the fact that she had grown quite wealthy. In fact, "quite wealthy" wasn't quite the right term – Maya had become the second-richest woman in the entire country. 'So, what?' she wondered. 'I will find a good purpose for this money. Yes, I am rather busy now, but some day, I will make some time and decide how to make these millions help more people.'

And then, her thoughts always turned to her late husband.

Once upon a time, long before Maya achieved her high status, there was an architect called Kaimi. One day, having just finished building a beautiful little palace for his wife, Maya, in which she was planning to establish her company, he realized how horribly tired he was after so much hard work and strain. He had a coffee, and then another one, and then a beer, and then another one, and then remembered that he recently purchased a little plastic bottle with pills that were said to have the miraculous quality of making you feel as alive as you never had before in your life, so he took one of those pills (only one, as he was a cautious man) and felt great. He felt so great and so energetic, in fact, that he started running up and down the stairs of the palace, and then he felt even better, and then he really and truly felt better than he had ever felt before in his life, and then he suddenly felt worse, and then he died.

Once upon a time, there was a boy called Montgomery, and Montgomery had a dream, too. Alas, his dream remained buried so deep underneath his father's set of beliefs that were hammered into Montgomery's head on a daily basis. At school, children didn't seem very fond of him, either – he never found out exactly why. Apparently, there was something wrong with the way he was holding his spoon when lunching in the school canteen, and he also had a birthmark under his right eye, which looked a bit like a bruise, and his classmates never seemed to grow tired of offering him another one, under his left eye, for symmetry purposes. And also, Montgomery's legs seemed very long, too, or perhaps it was the rest of his body that was too short, but in any case, it looked like there was some sort of slight disproportion.

Whatever the reason for this hate, discovering what your greatest dream in life is necessitates more favourable pre-conditions – which Montgomery never had.

Montgomery's father, Mr Leopold Vendram, by contrast, appeared to have discovered his greatest dream many years ago. By the time his son was born, Leopold had long ago established his company, FPFP, specialising in providing life-long servants called lidi to wealthy citizens.

'Those people come to my father when they have lost all hope of finding work.' Montgomery always used to explain himself. 'Even if they don't have much money or freedom after that, and even if their contract doesn't allow them to leave their owner for as long as they breathe... if it wasn't for my dad, they wouldn't even have that, right?'

When Leopold became too old to conduct the business, it was up to his son to become the new head of FPFP, which he did without much consideration. It wasn't like he had ever seriously considered doing anything else. The only difference now was that Montgomery preferred to manage the company's business, as often as he could, from a pearl-white tower he had erected by the Blue Aolma lake on the outskirts of Luceo. And whenever he could, he spent minutes staring out of the windows, savouring the peace and quietness that the water was emitting. One of the richest men in the country he may have been, but the creatures living in those waters had the fulfilment that he himself, so far, had been unable to achieve.

Once upon a time, there was another businessman, whose name was Rupert and whose company one day received an order for supplying the engines for a new recreational airship called the Solstice. Not being one to spend a penny more than absolutely necessary, Rupert soon found a factory that offered to do the job so cheaply that he couldn't help but start dancing on his office desk.

Soon after the Solstice took off, the Great And Good City Of Luceo was shattered by a massive blast in the skies.

Once upon a time, there was an elderly woman who, now living on the outskirts of a large, dusty and at times scary city, frequently kept coming back to the ocean shore where she had spent the happiest years of her life. Never having had as much as the simplest camera, all she had left from those times was a few pieces of clothes, her memories, her village's magical music in her heart and a few jars of honey that her oldest daughter loved eating so much before going to bed.

PART 2

Once upon a time, there was a corporate lawyer called Mr Cantankeroki, who was very proud of his two university degrees – one in law and one in economics. Lawyer Cantankeroki worked as the asset manager and legal counsel of Mrs Maya Mallory, Hons., the CEO of One Dream PLS, who was selling dreams to people.

When Mr Cantankeroki heard of the disaster, of the 235 lives that it claimed and of Maya's mother, who had happened to be on board the Solstice on that day after winning a ticket in a local lottery, he immediately realized that he had to act quickly, otherwise somebody else would surely discover how profitable such an occasion was. And so, without hesitation, Mr Cantankeroki ran to Maya's office across the hall and knocked on her door.

It didn't take him long to convince Maya that a charity ball for the victim's families was exactly the kind of thing that the city needed to feel better. After all, who else but her really understood the pain that the other 234 families were feeling?

'Not only will this ball uplift everybody's spirits, and not only will the families of the deceased not need to worry about their financial future,' the solicitor assured her, 'but this would be great publicity for One Dream PLS, too!'

Once upon a time, there were two thugs who – officially – worked as solicitor Cantankeroki's bodyguards and general security experts. Their names were Mr Tarakanov and Mr Klopov, and on the day of the disaster, Mr Cantankeroki called Mr Tarakanov and Mr Klopov to his office and explained the plan.

'Here's the list of the 300 wealthiest citizens in Luceo.' he said hastily. 'Start calling them, be nice to them for as long as you can, but don't waste too much time on niceties. Invite them to the charity ball we will be organizing in a week's time. If they agree to come and donate, thank them and wish them a good day. If they do not agree to come and donate... Well, in that case, you need to be a little more persistent to convince them. You understand, guys, charity is sacred, though don't you worry, I'm not going to leave all the money to the families of those poor sods. After all, we have families of our own, too, right?'

And so, Mr Tarakanov and Mr Klopov spent the whole week talking to the 300 richest people in the Great And Good City Of Luceo, talking to them as politely as they could if the people showed their willingness to cooperate, and less so if they looked into their calendars and stated that they already had other plans – in such cases, the necessary persuasion tactics were applied, and those tactics worked more or less infallibly. By the day of the great event, 279 out of 300 assured Mr Tarakanov and Mr Klopov they would attend (with the remaining 21 pledging to make appropriate donations in abstentia).

PART 3

Unsurprisingly, Montgomery, the now-owner of FPFP, was one of the first people to be called. Not being much of a party kind of guy and remembering his father's words about never ever giving money to people who were unlikely to give anything in return, he apologized, politely declined, sneezed, said it was now time for his lunch break and replaced the receiver. Later that day, however, he received a visit from Mr Tarakanov and Mr Klopov, who seemed extremely eager to see him among the attendees at the ball. So eager, in fact, that their tone of voice fairly quickly changed from being relatively benevolent to somewhat impatient to shockingly hostile.

'...So basically,' Mr Tarakanov finished his tirade, 'either you turn up or your next dinner date will be with the fish in the river, wearing concrete boots. Does that sound appealing to you?'

'Well, I should imagine concrete boots might be a bit of a bother, to be frank,' Montgomery replied, musing, 'but I really don't see anything wrong with spending some quality time with those charming creatures we call... er... well, fish.'

'I can't listen to that dupe any longer!' Mr Klopov ran out of patience. 'What do you say we cut off this half-wit's tongue, Mr Tarakanov?'

'I think this is a splendid idea, Mr Klopov! A marvellous idea, indeed! Also, then, he won't be able to report us to the police, either! How convenient!'

'You are absolutely correct, Mr Tarakanov!' Mr Klopov nodded, and then added: 'But now that I'm thinking about it, then we'll probably need to chop off his fingers, too, otherwise he can still write them a letter!'

'True, true...' Mr Tarakanov agreed. 'Hm, what about we just cut him in two?'

'Lengthwise or crosswise?'

'To be honest with you, Mr Klopov, I fail to see how that would make much of a difference.'

'Oh, but it would make a great deal of difference!' Mr Klopov explained. 'Granted, cutting a person crosswise definitely requires a smaller amount of work. But if we do cut him this way, his upper half would still have a tongue to tell the police about our visit and the hands to write them a letter!'

'This is a fair point!' Mr Tarakanov admitted. 'Very well, then, in that case...'

At this point in the conversation, Montgomery assured them that after a thorough consideration, he would be happy to attend the ball, after all.

The Sui Generis Hall, the largest hall in the entire country, was hired and decorated at a record speed for the Great Event. When the day came, everything was sparkling in gold and emerald colours, and gold and emerald coloured sparkling was exactly the thing that made the good people of Luceo rejoice the most, and always had. Exotic trees were brought in from distant countries. The best magicians in the city were invited to come and turn every inch of the hall into a little fairytale, so that when Maya beheld the result for the first time, she was stunned by a frighteningly perfect replica of the sun smiling in one corner of the hall and a silver moon, of about the same size, quietly sobbing in another, timidly showering its mournful beams in all directions, and the rest of the space was filled with stars, and some planets, and a few nebulas, and one or two comets...

Maya immediately found herself being intoxicated by the air in the hall, and Mr Cantankeroki explained that one of the magicians had added "a little something" into it, so that the guests would feel themselves more "alive" and donate more and with greater willingness.

'Remember, it is for a good cause!' he reminded Maya, who for a second began to doubt the ethics of such a trick. 'We are doing this for families that are now experiencing the same kind of pain as you, but who might not have the financial means to survive without their breadwinners.'

The day of the great ball came, and a great ball it was! It was everything any great ball should be and everything any other ball aspires to be. No description would do justice to the unprecedented opulence that the guests witnessed that night.

When the eating, drinking, chatting and dancing part of the evening was over, Luceo's finest people began ascending the stage in order to express their sincerest condolences to the families of the victims and to promise that the bereaved would never need to fear for their future. Lips kept smiling, cameras kept flashing, pens kept scribbling in chequebooks, and by the time the last of those was closed, Mr Cantankeroki was rubbing his hands with the greatest intensity.

As Maya went up on stage, Mr Cantankeroki looked somewhat surprised. 'Hm, I thought we hadn't planned any further speeches?' he thought, confused, and then he heard Maya inviting one more guest to the stage, the CEO of FPFP, Montgomery Vendram, who had missed his turn to speak, as he had urgently needed to attend the facilities due to an upset stomach.

Montgomery went onstage, approached the microphone, cleared his throat and delivered a brief, quiet, indecisive and generally unremarkable speech on all the great work that FPFP did for the citizens. He also requested the audience to reduce their consumption of fish and other sea products, because there was still plenty of things around to eat.

'Hm, didn't sound all that convincing to me!' somebody from the front rows shouted with a bit of snide in his voice.

'Well, I am very much convinced myself, and I am sorry if you feel any different about my words.' Montgomery retorted, looking a bit taken aback.

'You honestly believe that what you do is such a great thing?' the same voice demanded.

'Why, yes... Why wouldn't I be?'

'Well, to me, you sounded more like a call agent hired to repeat the same things on the phone all over again like a parrot, waiting to hear the 5 o'clock ringing, so that they can finally sod off to the nearest pub!'

'I assure you, I like my job.' Montgomery said modestly and tried to find some moral support in the faces of the other audience members. Having found none, he turned to his tormentor.

'Whaaat?! You like your job? Now, that sounds really passionate! I thought you're the CEO of that bloody monster of a company?'

'Yes, I am the, er, CEO...' Montgomery confirmed. 'And I can assure you that there is no other job in the world that would be more honourable and that I would love to do more than this one. I hope I've now answered your question sufficiently.' He turned around and was about to descend from the stage when he heard another voice, this time belonging to an elderly woman. An elderly woman she might have been, but she did have a rather strong and perfectly clear voice.

'Well, then, it should be easy to prove, shouldn't it?' she boldly suggested.

Montgomery returned to the microphone, paused a little, located the woman and said:

'I'm sorry?'

'Well, we have here somebody who can say for sure whether what you're saying is true. If you are really convinced of your words, you don't have anything to be afraid of.'

'Yes, Maya, come back on stage!' a few others started calling. 'We've got somebody here who claims he's got the very best job in the entire world, selling slaves, and we're too curious to find out whether he actually means it or whether he's just a dirty liar!'

Maya, who was sitting in the very first row, could hardly pretend not to hear the audience's demands, and although she tried to argue that young Montgomery already had a radiant future ahead of him, and that he never requested her help in finding his dream, and she didn't want to interfere where there was no need for interfering, the pressure from the guests was far too great to be ignored, and so she approached Montgomery, gently put her hands on his head and looked into his eyes.

A few moments later, when Maya removed her hands, Montgomery bluntly looked at her, then slowly glanced around. He spotted the owner of the voice who had started that whole hullabaloo and finally said:

'I don't know what this was supposed to prove. My views on the subject of my profession or on the subject of FPFP in general haven't changed at all, not a single bit. Being a marine biologist is still the best occupation a man could wish for.'

A few moments later, when Montgomery realized what he had said, the thoughts in his head were numerous, but the last one of them, the most crucial one, could have been summarized in the following way: "Ah, screw it!"

He left the stage and headed to his seat, but then stopped, turned around, went back onstage and hugged Maya, who was still standing by the microphone, unsure what to tell the audience.

'Thank you. Thank you very much.' he said and hugged her again. 'I feel like I've... I've now realized that I've wasted half of my life, always having this dream inside of me, but doing nothing much about it, and I now remember that as a little boy I knew I wanted to be what I wanted to be, but as I grew older, I never let it emerge on the surface. I think it's the single most horrible thing that can happen to a person – forgetting what their dream is...'

He hugged Maya for the third time, and this time, she genuinely, heartily hugged him back, having overcome her initial shock.

Finally, Montgomery walked down the stage again, his steps becoming increasingly faster, stormed out of the building and drove straight to his tower.

Three weeks later, FPFP ceased to exist, and the company's premises became a shelter for the homeless.

PART 4

The end to this story is, well, less spectacular. After the dramatic discovery that Montgomery had made that night, he suddenly felt that Maya was his best friend in the whole wide world. Don't get this wrong, those weren't romantic feelings that he had – those were feelings of purest friendship, and even though before that night, Maya and Montgomery had only talked to each other occasionally and very briefly, and those encounters always happened on official occasions, similar to the fateful charity ball, he was firmly convinced that they now were genuine friends and that nothing could possibly happen for him to change his view on this.

Whatever opinion you might have of such a bold way of thinking, Montgomery was quite right about that.

A week passed, and Montgomery, not having much to do that Saturday, stopped by at Maya's summer house for another cup of tea. After the cup of tea was had, she got up, went to her room, and returned to the table carrying a shoebox.

'Maya, you're my best friend, and I love you, but please don't make me watch you trying on shoes!' he begged, not entirely in jest.

'I got it today. It's from my mum. This is what she left me.'

They both became quiet.

'You haven't opened it yet?'

'No, I was somehow... I don't know. I think I felt that maybe... I just didn't want to do it alone, I guess, that's it.'

Maya opened the box and saw three jars of honey. She stopped, waited, looked at Montgomery, then finally opened one of the jars, and fetched a teaspoon, and the moment the amber substance came into contact with her taste buds, time stopped, and Maya's entire being was back on the ocean shore.

'It's the ocean breeze that makes it taste like that, you know?' she finally said. 'Can't get this anywhere else.' She stood up and quietly went up to her room.

'Is she going to cry now?' Montgomery wondered. 'And if she is, should I... well, do something?'

♦ ♦ ♦

'And you know this how, exactly?'

'What, how I know what he was wondering about?'

'Yes. I know Mrs Mallory was your employer, and I guess she sometimes liked to tell her life story to people, but how do you know this and everything else about Monty?'

'He told me himself.'

'You went to the village to ask him all of this?'

'Yes, I was curious! It's a lovely place they've got there, by the way. The village isn't so big yet, they all are really more like a family now. And Monty... well, he's always been... I don't want to say a "simpleton"... Let's just say, he's always been very uncomplicated, even though as a teenager, he did have his demons. He wasn't the most joyous character in the city, that's for sure. That was one of the reasons he agreed to take his father's place so willingly – he wanted money, wanted to show everybody he was a big deal.'

'And he wasn't a little bit bothered that you and your former colleague threatened him?'

'No, not really... I apologized, said it was nothing personal, and it was enough for him.'

'I don't know how people do it, to not hold a grudge against somebody for long. Always wanted to be like that.'

'Er... right... I guess there are ways to work on that...'

'Hm, well, OK... Oh, and what happened to that Cantankeroki guy? Did he actually get away with his money?'

'Nope. Monty obviously told her about the threats, and then she talked to other employees, and she found out about some other stuff Cantankeroki made us do for him, so... Let's say, she made sure he never finds another white-collar job in this country.'

'I see. Well, that's nice to know. I now feel all cosy and warm. Evil is punished, like in a proper fairy tale.'

'Yeah, true... but I give you my word of honour this is how everything happened. I'm not inventing anything.'

'A word of honour coming from, pardon me, a thug?'

'I'm not offended, I'm not offended. Granted, I was doing some occasional thugging to earn a living. You know why? Because I had a wife and a daughter to feed. If I had done what those thousands of naïve suckers did and "followed my heart", as they like to say, and if I waited until I became a real writer who could provide for his family with his craft, I would now be divorced and probably sleeping under a bridge. So, sorry, but no remorse there.'

'So, that's the message of the story that you've so kindly submitted to us, then? "Whatever you do, don't follow your heart"?'

'What, do I really need to have a message?'

'No, you don't really have to... it's just that readers feel nicer if you do, kind of makes it more fulfilling.'

'Well, it's a real-life story, those don't usually have messages.'

'It's OK, we've got professional writers to integrate some sort of moral later on, when the article is finished. Let's get back to Maya now, shall we? So, she took some of the honey, packed her bags, sold the company, and she and Montgomery just went off to the same place on that shore to build up the village again?'

'Nooo... Well, in the long run, yes, but it did take her a while. Would have taken anyone a while, I guess, if they had her life. Monty was much faster to part with his money – he gave a part of it to the homeless, a part of it to some fish scien...tific... thing, don't know, and kept only a bit for himself, though if I had this "a bit", my family and I probably wouldn't need to worry about making a living ever again. But thing is, Maya grew up with that idea of hers – that her life purpose was helping people. Very noble, of course. When she left the village and established her company, she went on making money, thinking that one day all that money would do lots of good to lots of people, but, like so many of us, some day, she then sort of forgot about that plan of hers. The only objective she had was: money, money, money... More money. And I reckon when you accumulate as much cash as she did in the end, it's not as easy to just say "Alright, I think that's enough for now" and just stop. But that day when she got her mum's package, yes, the seed was planted in her mind. The honey did the trick.'

'Do you know what she did with the money, though?'

'Well, I only know she spent a part of it on re-building the village and ensuring they would have enough harvest in the years to come, and also putting enough aside to afford medication and things like that, in case of emergency. Not surprising, considering what happened to her family.'

'How many people came with them?'

'To the village? Well, she and Monty took with them anyone who wished to go and lead the life the villagers used to live, but there weren't that many. Around thirty or so, I guess. I'm sure more will join them, though, at some point of time. They said they would welcome anyone who wishes to lead the life they're leading now.'

'I see, Mr Klopov... That is not your real name, of course?'

'No, but I quite like it. Sounds best when pronounced in one sentence with "Tarakanov".'

'Alright, then. Hm... do you reckon it's a good thing there won't be any new lidis, anymore?'

'You know what? I think there will be new lidis very soon again, to be honest. Now that FPFP's unofficial monopoly is so glaringly non-existent, there should be enough contenders to take its place. You know, for those poor sods who decide to follow their dream and then decide they aren't getting far with it and start longing for the stability a lidi's life has to offer. But then again – soon enough, everybody will hear about that village on the ocean shore that welcomes anyone to live among them – and they don't have slaves there, and they don't even have money, but they spend plenty of time in the fresh air... So, if you had a choice between being a slave and enjoying Luceo's skyline or becoming a fisherman or a farmer with way too much free time on your hands, what would you choose?'

'Not that keen on being a farmer, to be perfectly frank. Can't say I would choose the slavery, either, though... Hm. I'm just thinking... Funny those two ended up together, don't you reckon?'

'Why is it funny? I can't say it's been making me laugh.'

'Well... one gives hope to people, and the other one takes it away...'

'Hm... yeah, perhaps it is a tad funny, in some twisted way.'

'Hm...'

'Yeah.'

'OK, well, leave it with me. I'll talk to our scribblers, and we'll decide how to proceed sometime next week. Obviously, we'll need to do some editing – rather heavy editing, I hope you'll understand.'

'Yeah, whatever you need to do, as long as I get my cheque and a credit. Oh, and by the way, could I get my cheque next week, too?'

'Oh, I forgot, you're out of job now.'

'No, it's not that. We'll be moving soon, that's it. And I'm not at all sure they've got a post office anywhere near the place.'

The following story is taken from Leon's debut novel, Raw Sexuality, or a Year of Indiscretion, available as a Kindle and paperback edition.

#  Raw Sexuality: The P Avenger

#

There is a number of ways in which men can use their penis. Most of them for pleasure, some of them to follow the will of their dominant mothers and to pass on the family genes, and the comedian Malcolm Hardy utilised his to do impressions of Charles de Gaulle until he drowned in London's Greenland Dock in 2005. Well, Andy used to deploy his willy to fight the corporate world. His vendetta began when he was working as a PA and a general factotum at a firm that obviously cannot be named here.

One early afternoon, about two years ago, he called me in exactly the same moment I was about to take the first bite out of my lasagne. The lasagne was still hot, so I picked up.

'Well, he finally went and did it!'

'Huh?' I immediately identified a clear and imminent danger of my lasagne reaching joylessly low temperatures by the time the conversation would be over.

'He finally laid me off. That tosser, he finally fired me.'

'Oh... I'm sorry.'

'What are you sorry about?! I've been waiting for this for months! Didn't want to quit myself, too much responsibility.'

'Well, in that case... congratulations?'

'Thanks!'

Should I say something else now?

'So, why? What happened?' I ventured.

'Well, quite silly, really... he said he wasn't quite happy with my work, asked me if I actually wanted to achieve something in my life, become somebody, said that a good PA is somebody other people in a company are usually afraid of, and I kind of asked... I asked why on earth I would want people to be afraid of me and said that I would rather be friends with them, and somehow he didn't really seem to like my reply... But anyway, now I just need to go to the wanker's office this afternoon, to sign some legal nonsense and whatnot, and then I'm finally free!'

'Er... cool, good for you!'

'Yeah! It's just...'

Fuck. Of course there is an 'It's just'. I mean, come on, friends are friends, but lasagne is lasagne.

'Well, I've been thinking. Have I already mentioned what kind of horrible wanker that wanker is? So... now that I'm being kicked out anyway, isn't this a perfect opportunity to finally get some... you know, some satisfaction?'

As he uttered that last phrase, I, for some reason, had to think of Lord Bullington from Barry Lyndon.

'Huh? What did you have in mind?'

'Well, something that would make me feel a bit better. Obviously, I can't actually punch him, so need something that wouldn't get me arrested. So, I had this idea... Well, I thought I could pee on his desk.'

Right.

'Uh... Yeah, sounds great, go for it.'

'You really think so? Cause I figured, there really isn't any law against urinating on desks, now, is there?'

'Not that I am aware of. Except perhaps for indecent exposure. So, maybe do it gracefully?'

'Mmm...'

Silence.

'Hm... But now I'm thinking... If, say, his mobile is on the desk, and I wee on it, can I get an electric shock?'

Here is one question I couldn't honestly say I'd ever pondered about.

'Er... Not sure. I can ask a friend of mine, he knows about this stuff.'

'What, about peeing?'

Yes, about peeing, Andy, that's exactly right.

'Nnnooo... I mean, electricity and things like that.'

'Hmm... thanks, but what are you going to tell him? That a mate of yours needs his technical expertise to perform a urinating assault?'

'We could say it's for a bet or something.'

'Nah, it's alright, I think I'll just risk it. But hey, what if I damage some important documents?'

'Well... try to aim somewhere where there are no documents lying around.'

'Hmm...'

I was beginning to think that Andy actually enjoyed making the 'hmm' sound.

'Hmm... Though I don't reckon he will sue me or something. I mean, he probably wouldn't make too much fuss over the whole thing, would he? He's a very busy man. Cause otherwise he would need to go to court and testify and stuff, right?'

'I guess.'

'Good. A perfect plan! And hey, maybe I'll just quickly make space on his desk before, you know, before doing it.'

'And you think he will let you?'

'Well, I was hoping he would be so taken aback by my actions that he would just sit there and watch.'

'OK, great stuff, keep me posted!'

'I sure will!'

All this time, I kept checking the lasagne. It now had the perfect temperature. Thanks, Andy.

During the previous half-year or so, Andy had worked as a personal assistant, and within a few months' time, he changed from a passive conformist into a mildly active socialist. He despised anything that was in any way related to sales, banking or even somehow involved wearing a tie or had the word 'corporate' in it. By consequence, not being brave enough to quit his job made him loathe himself. Once, he even labelled himself as a 'fucking corporate whore'.

Andy Hicks (sounds a bit like hiccups, doesn't it?) was exactly the right name for him. It was ideal. Now, all he needed to do was to become a stand-up comedian or at least a TV weatherman, and the image would be perfect. He was definitely no Mortimer Granville, and neither was he a Rutland Barrington, and not even some John Smith. Andy Hicks was exactly the kind of guy you would expect an Andy Hicks to be.

When my mobile rang again, about half of my lasagne had been devoured.

'Hey, Andy.'

'Hey... Listen, I've just discovered one major flaw in my plan.'

'Oh?'

'Well, it will be a rather stressful, challenging situation, right? And... well, I'll be under a certain "pressure to perform", so to speak. And if I can't... "go", I will look kinda daft standing there with my fly open, don't you think?'

'Yeah, I haven't thought of that.'

'Hm.'

I was desperately looking for something encouraging to say. Well, maybe not desperately, but I did try pretty hard. And Andy was one of those people who are unlikely to say anything along the lines of 'Oh, it's quite alright, I have troubled you enough.'

'Well, perhaps you could pee on the floor instead?' I finally suggested.

'Yeah, but that wouldn't really solve the "pressure to perform" problem, now, would it?' he caustically retorted.

No, I guess it wouldn't.

'And also, it doesn't have quite the same symbolical power, does it?'

No, I guess it doesn't.

Should I suggest thinking of waterfalls?

'Hm... anyway, will keep you posted!' he finally muttered.

'Please do.'

As soon as the lasagne was gone, guess who rang again.

'Well, sod it, I've decided to cancel my peeing plan. Whatever. Sod it,' he complained in a fatalistic tone of voice.

'Oh? Sorry to hear that.'

'Yeah, well... it's for the best. Decided to instead call him a 'piteous... corporate... exploiter... monster' or something when I leave his office, and also not to say goodbye.

'Good plan, yeah.'

The following day, the curiosity got the better of me, and I gave him a ring. There was something else, too... After our conversation, I somehow had a bizarre sensation that the pillock's well-being was partially my responsibility, too, even though he is six years my senior.

'So... how did it go? Did you really call him... whatever it was you came up with?'

'Er... yeah, I did, yeah.'

'You did??'

I was pretty sure what was coming next.

A big, fat 'Well, no, not really.'

'And you said goodbye to him, too, didn't you?'

'Yeah...'

'Hmm...' I ventured after a moderately brief period of silence.

'I know, I'm a wuss. I know.'

'You could write him a letter...'

I could virtually feel Andy's chakras instantly lighting up green, orange and all the other neon-bright colours that text highlighters usually come in.

'Yes!!' he yelled ecstatically. 'Yes, that is what I'll do! Thank you!!'

A reply like this may have sounded sarcastic if coming from someone else, but Andy's joy was perfectly genuine.

'Haha, I'm not such a wuss, after all!!' he kept frolicking, to which I modestly replied something like 'Glad I could help.'

The morning after, Andy emptied a couple of Heinekens, made his way to his former place of employment, somehow got through the reception without being noticed, entered his former master's office, dropped his trousers and suddenly experienced the pressure to perform he was referring to first-hand. The Heinekens turned out to be a great aid though, and a short while later, the process of thoroughly planned urinating started. Not a single drop of it, however, found its way onto the desk that was the actual target of the scheduled assault — Andy's ex-colleagues dragged him away before any damage could be done, still with his trousers down and the poor crank weeing in all possible directions. Imagine a widdling mutt being carried out of the house onto the lawn, and you will get about the right picture.

This would have probably been the end of it had Andy not had a blog that he lovingly attended to on a weekly basis. The blog was not a very popular one — it looked exactly like one of those that usually get started, toyed around with for a few weeks and then forgotten about by their owner for all eternity. Except that Andy's virtual sanctuary somehow missed that vital step of getting forgotten about. His passion was colossal.

The blog had eight subscribers, five of them were spammers and three were acquaintances of Andy who had taken pity on him and registered to make him feel a bit better about himself. One of those guys, however, had a blog of his own. That latter could boast about twelve thousand subscribers, some of which in turn had numerous subscribers of their own.

When Andy published an exceedingly detailed report about relieving himself at his former working premises, including the entire background story, nothing happened. Well, not at first. A while later though, the megablogger with the twelve thousand readers stumbled upon the word 'pee' in the heading of Andy's article, and 'pee' was one of the few words that never failed to grab his attention. Not being an admirer of corporate professionals and big businesses himself, he asked Andy if he could republish his story, and when he did, the proverbial snowball started rolling down the mountain.

The following week, another user published his own 'peeing report'. He admitted he was not courageous enough to try and urinate on somebody's desk, but he was highly successful in doing the deed at their law firm's entrance door after everyone had left the office.

Shortly after that, somebody else confessed to leaving a urine sample on their boss's Mercedes. Within the first month, sixteen acts of 'protest urination' were reported, including one on a corporate executive's head, performed from a rooftop (the perpetrator was wearing a mask and managed to get away).

Now, in your mind's eye, you probably have an image of blokes elegantly opening their flies before irrigating company premises, but women did their fair share, too — including one or two who purchased shewees and some who simply brought some wee in a bottle (and so did some male members of the pissing opposition, who, like Andy, were afraid they might not manage to let it flow on command or that they might simply not have enough, so they would save up — and we are talking proper 2-litre bottles here).

Andy the Urinator, whose greatest achievement until that time had been learning by heart all dialogue from Batman Forever, gleefully watched Mayfair turning into the largest public toilet on earth. It may not have been an achievement you could put on your CV but having started a social movement was something he could now cross off his bucket list.

It could therefore be concluded that the more an office building stank, the more the management was despised by the people working there. One business consulting firm that was infamous for their ruthless tactics both towards their employees and competitors, and whose head office was now consequently emanating a particularly strong reek, had to watch their shares plummet by 11% after their olfactory cataclysm being frequently mentioned in the news as a classic example of this novel form of warfare. Some of their clients simply refused to enter their premises 1) for fear of damaging their sense of smell, and 2) not being keen on getting piddled on by some enraged former employee (or perhaps not even a former one, and perhaps not even an employee at all, but just an enthusiast with a lot of solidarity and urine to spare).

One corporate executive managed to lose balance on the slippery floor and break two fingers. A loss of balance also occurred when two small clerks were carrying a cake in the shape of two Greek columns made to celebrate their company's twentieth anniversary — the column was supposed to symbolise stability and compliance with traditions.

Soon, all over the City of London, apoplectic white (as well as blue) collars were weeing on their employers' property. One woman had recently been dismissed by a Russian oligarch after having to spend a week in the hospital with her sick baby daughter. Thanks to social media, the general public soon got wind of the incident. A resolution was made to construct an enormous male organ with a tube going through it and a pump in one of the testicles. The project was swiftly executed by a group of activists who turned out to be particularly skilful with plaster and who then used it for a symbolical urination march across Canary Wharf. They only used water, though, as their courage had their limits and the logistical challenges of gathering enough pee seemed daunting.

Schall und Rauch, a Swiss marketing firm on Wimpole Street, decided to hire a couple of counter-urination guards, and the idea seemed to be working for a little while — until, that is, the men got weary of their miserly pay and the ungentlemanly treatment both from the management and those wishing to leave a urine sample at the entrance door. The two vented their frustration by relieving their bladders directly on their place of work and leaving to catch a re-run of Gilmore Girls.

One offshore tax advisor lost his calm and tried to pee back after being assaulted with an intense stream of what used to be pear cider about two hours before. The confrontation found its way on YouTube, after which the proud young and upwardly mobile professional was fired from his position with the words 'I'm sincerely sorry, Wilfred, but such course of action does not correspond to this company's principles'.

Anyway, you get the picture.

About six months later, the vogue Andy had inadvertently given birth to started to die down. Six months, however, was enough time for him to give (and get paid for) plenty of interviews directly relating to what had now become his life's greatest achievement. More than that: Andy had never been an overly avid reader (he did read classics every now and then, but I always suspected he did it more to tick them off and to be able to mention them in a conversation), but within a few months he published a book with the solemn title The P Jihad. By that time, he had long become a renowned expert on spending a penny as a form of socio-political protest. But as things got quiet and he realised that he wouldn't be able to milk the favourable situation forever, he spent three days alone in his geeky and yet somehow desolate room without talking to anyone — not even on Facebook — and then blithely declared that moving to Portugal was the next logical step for him to make.

Those who knew Andy laughed at this statement until we learned that he had actually installed himself in Lisbon and had no plans of ever moving back to Britain. After his move, he attempted to become a lifeguard but was not admitted due to his poor physical condition. He was still getting donations through his website though, and also making some cash showing tourists around and selling ice cream.

The area was fairly noisy and perhaps not altogether ideal if you were planning to have kids, but since Andy had no such plans and never stayed out late, he was happy. Studio flats were affordable. There was a bus stop right next to his building. Life was good.

He then managed to secure a mortgage for a tiny flat in Estoril, about fifteen miles away from Lisbon. I once went for a visit, and it's just so damn relaxing and disgustingly idyllic. Or maybe I wasn't there long enough to notice anything nasty. You can go for a swim any time you like.

He still likes to say it's the wine and the lifestyle you get to enjoy when living in Portugal, but what he actually means by that is that the beer is cheap and there are plenty of topless women on the beach. On a rare occasion, he may still take a leak outside an off-licence if they somehow manage to piss him off (no pun intended), but now he just does it for the old times' sake.

 A first contact always is.
