Lise, DM Arnold [bearly read books .TXT] 📗

the strands.

He placed the bowl before Lise and the plate before himself.

“This doesn't look like our food,” she said.

“Do you mean that pinkish paste that comes in cans? I'm afraid it isn't. This is something of my own invention ... not mine, personally, but a food scientist's who works for my company. I've wanted a meal that I could share with a guest of another species. Lise -- do you know what it is you eat?”

“We eat our food.”

“Do you know what's in your food?”

“No...”

“Your food is protein. I also require protein in my diet.” He pointed to the mound of strands. “Protein comes from meat. This is derived from synthetemeat. It's been processed more than is typical for a human food product, but not as much as for a novonid's. Bromen Enterprises is a leading producer of synthetemeat. We culture it on an industrial scale.”

“Culture it?”

“Yes -- muscle cells grown in huge vats ... on membranes we flex to give the flesh exercise.”

“What kind of muscle?” she asked.

“It's no kind at all from no species at all. It's based on a custom-crafted cell. Once grown, it is harvested and processed. This is the result.”

“I've never seen anything like it.”

“In addition to protein,” he continued, “you require minerals -- specific minerals to support your photosynthesis.” He pushed a small bowl toward her, lifted the cover and spooned multi-colored crystals over her bowl. “Now, your meal is complete.” He gestured to his own plate. “For my meal to be complete, I need carbohydrates -- which you don't need, since the chlorophyll in your skin produces them for you. The bed of parboiled pomma supplies them. Pomma noodles or bread would serve equally well.” He drizzled a thick liquid over his plate. “Now my meal is complete.”

Thom sat, removed his hat and placed it on the table. Lise picked up a utensil that was a combination of fork and spoon. She poked it into the mound, picked up some of the strands and transferred them to her mouth. Her throat resisted swallowing them.

“Chew them, Lise. You're equipped with beautiful teeth. Put them to use.”

She picked up another scoopful, chewed with some deliberation, swallowed and smiled. “I like how the crystals feel on my tongue,” she said, “like sparkles.”

“Very good. I'm pleased.”

She took another scoop. “Thom, why do you wear that sash over your shoulder?”

“Excellent, Lise. You're becoming comfortable enough with me to ask personal questions. Why do you think I wear it?”

“To conceal your caste tattoo.”

“Amazing. You got it in one guess.”

“Why conceal it?” she asked and scooped another forkful of the strands.

“Because I like how I'm treated when folks don't know what my caste is.”

“Are you one of those self-made men who turned nothing into a fortune?”

“Do you mean like Benn Drumm? He was worker caste. He wore three staves on his shoulder. If I were like him I'd wear my caste mark with pride. I'm sorry to say, though, I earned my money the old-fashioned way. I inherited it.”

“Which caste, then?” she asked.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I'm curious.”

“Ahh... Curiosity. Do you know there are folks on this rock who wouldn't believe a girl like you possessed any?”

Lise rolled her eyes. “Yes, Thom. I've heard all those things and more. Please tell me your caste.”

“I'm ashamed to say it.”

“Then, show me.”

“All right... You asked for it.” He flipped the sash off his shoulder revealing a three- diamonds mark of the leadership caste. His was rendered in purple instead of the conventional black.

Lise's jaw dropped. “Thom... You're a ... a lord?”

“My proper form of address is Thom, Lord Bromen. It sounds terribly stuffy, don't you think?” Lise shrugged. “I'd much rather be known simply as Thom Bromen. After all, there aren't many of us left, and it's been centuries since the last lordship was bestowed.”

“Why? Why conceal it?”

“Because I wish to be dealt with for myself, on my own terms, not for my rank. I wear this mark because I had the foresight to choose the right parents, and for no other reason.” Lise smiled. “I never asked for this and I never sought it. However -- what I have done ... THAT's how I wish to be regarded. Otherwise the deference begins to feel normal after a while. I'd like to see everyone on this planet -- everyone, Lise -- have the same opportunities and rights.”

“Don't lords have some additional privileges?” she asked.

“Not so much any more. I do have the honor of being a member of a rather exclusive club. The Constable-in-Chief for Vyonna is also a member. I'll admit it comes in handy when a traffic cop pulls me over for speeding.”

Lise swallowed the last scoop of her meal and set her utensil into her empty bowl. She pressed her hand against her abdomen. “It was very good ... but now I feel like I over ate.” She palpitated her abdomen. “My stomach is bulging out...”

“Novonids have smaller stomachs than whites,” Thom replied. She put her fingers to her lips. “I'm sorry, Lise -- I shouldn't have given you such a large portion.”

“No -- it's my fault. I shouldn't have eaten all of it. I was so absorbed in our conversation...”

“That's quite a compliment, Lise. Sharing a good meal and good conversation with a friend is one of my favorite pleasures. I'm delighted to have prepared something we could both enjoy.”

“I'm starting to feel uncomfortable,” she said.

“Would you like to lie down?”

“Maybe that would help.”

He helped her to her feet and led her to a bench. She lay on her back and Thom slid a cushion under her head. “Do you think you're apt to vomit?” he asked.

“I don't think so...”

“I'll get a basin -- just in case.” Tom returned and set a polymer tub on the floor. “I'll do some more work on my book and let you rest.”

Lise closed her eyes and tried to ignore the throbbing under her ribcage. That she might vomit was a distinct possibility. Perhaps she should attempt to, and get some relief. It would humiliate her, though; and embarrass her host. She thought instead of her conversation with Thom on the ride to the house -- his story of Margliss ... the table talk...

“Lise... Lise...” She opened her eyes and looked around. Darkness had fallen and the walls of the room were washed in artificial light.

“Oh! I must've fallen asleep.”

“Yes you did. Are you feeling better?”

She pressed her hand to her abdomen. “Yes... I feel better... I can feel that lump of food working its way through my intestine.”

“You looked like you needed rest, so I didn't disturb you. Now, it's approaching curfew. We need to get you home.”

Thom led her to the car and she climbed in. He started the turbines and sped down the hill, onto city streets and through the now dark and deserted canyons of downtown Vyonna.

The car headed on an arterial leading toward Quadrant Four. Thom turned onto a side street. Chimes began sounding.

“The warning chimes!” Lise exclaimed. “You'll never get home before curfew.”

“Not to worry,” he replied. “One of the perquisites of wearing this caste mark is exemption from curfew. I won't have any problem.”

The car approached the Green Zone. “You can let me off at this corner,” she said, pointing. “There's a passageway leading to my house.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He pulled the car to the curb. “I'm sorry,” she said, “you didn't get your interview done.”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I think we made excellent progress.”

The curfew siren began wailing as Lise stepped from the car, made her way to a set of steps leading underground and descended them.

X

Lise slowed her descent as the darkness thickened. Total blackness had enveloped her by the time she reached the bottom. She was in one of the old service tunnels that ran between the buildings in this part of Vyonna. Long abandoned power, communications and data mains ran through the tunnels. In the direction away from the Zone the tunnel had been bricked up, to prevent Zone inhabitants from using it as a hidden highway into other parts of the city.

She felt for one of the sticks left by others who traveled before her. Her hand touched one. She grabbed it and swept it before her as she worked her way through the tunnel under the pavement. Eventually dim light appeared ahead. She reached the terminus and set the stick in another pile for use by a traveler heading the other way.

Her eyes now accustomed to darkness, she walked through basements and connecting passageways until reaching another set of steps. These led to the surface safely inside the Zone.

She climbed to the street and walked briskly toward the courtyard and to the doorway leading down to her basement home.

“Mother! Father!” she called.

“Lise!” her mother replied. “Bar the door.”

She pulled shut the door leading to the courtyard and dropped a heavy steel bar into brackets bolted onto the building's frame. Below her, at the foot of the steps came the orange flicker of a greaselamp.

“We heard the sirens and you weren't here,” Grott admonished her. “Your mother was worried.”

“I was well in the tunnel when curfew sounded,” she replied. “I wasn't on the streets.”

“Still -- you were cutting it close.”

“I came home as soon as I could,” Lise replied. “Is Tagg working tonight?”

“Yes,” Rayla replied. “He left before sundown.”

Lise pulled aside the sheet that screened off her sleeping area from the rest of the basement. She emptied her pockets and placed the scrip card under her mattress. Then, she stripped off her sandals, shorts and bandeau and stretched out on the mattress.

Dawn twilight roused Lise. She arose and began her morning routine. She was getting better at rising early. Even so, Grott and Rayla had already left the house. Lise was happy, at least, that Megan's workday started later than her parents'.

She bathed, dressed and headed for the courtyard, pulling shut the door behind her. She had no way of locking it from the outside, but that was no matter. There was nothing of value in her basement home worth stealing. Grott was right about one thing, she reflected. If you have nothing, then no one can take it from you.

She headed toward the gate leading outside the Zone. “Tagg!” she yelled upon seeing him approach. She ran to him. “Tagg! How was your day?”

“My day? Horrible. Absolutely horrible. Just like every day.”

“Horrible how?”

“I'm the junior guy so I get all the shit tasks. The others tease me and the foreman rides me. I hate the work. I'm an artist. I want to draw. I want to sell my art. Lise... When are we going to see each other? How many days has it been? I might as well sleep in the barracks at the restaurant and save myself the trouble of coming home.”

“This after,” she said. “I'll come straight home. We can have time together, then.” She regarded the exhaustion on his face. “Get some rest while I'm at work.”

“I need sun.”

“Nap in the courtyard. I'll get my sun during the day, too. Get some rest and then... When I come home...” She put her arms around his neck and thrust her hips against his.

“Your folks will be home. We can't.”

“They understand. They won't disturb us.” She kissed his cheek. “I'll see you this after.”

“Right.” He shuffled toward the courtyard.

Lise headed for the corner and stood with a growing crowd of other novonids. The streetcar pulled to a stop, the driver not bothering with opening the door. Lise could see a handful of white passengers inside the coach.

A pair of pubescent novonid boys approached the side of the bus, shouting and pelting the windows with loose chunks of pavement. The driver gunned the turbine and pulled away, leaving most of the assembled standing at the corner. Some of the men in the group shouted and began chasing the two boys, who laughed and ran back into the Zone.

Lise climbed the steps to Megan's house and pressed the chime. The door opened and Megan welcomed her with what had become her