Lise by DM Arnold (android based ebook reader .TXT) 📕

The second card popped out with two units unpunched. “Keep it,” Thom said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Lise -- I'll walk you to the bus stop.” He picked up his hat.

Lise hopped off the streetcar and headed toward the Zone. She was noticing what she hadn't before -- the cracked pavement, the litter blowing against the curb ... unkempt tufts of native weeds along the broken sidewalks.

It was sunset. She headed through the gate and could hear voices coming from the brothel on the corner. Her walk accelerated into a trot. She made her way to the courtyard and down the stairs to the basement.

“Mother ... Father,” she called.

“Where have you been?” Rayla asked. “Tagg was looking for you. He had to go to his job.”

“I'm sorry I'm late... I was shopping.”

“Shopping?”

She presented the boxes. “I bought this for you, Mother.” Rayla stared in silence. “Take them, Mother.”

Rayla opened the box and withdrew the mediascreen. Grott approached them.

“Lise...”

“Now you can keep up on the news.”

“Why would you buy something like that?” Grott asked. “We don't need it.”

“Father -- it IS all right to spend money on things we don't need.”

“Money we don't have.”

“It was MY scrip.”

“It was Tagg's scrip.”

“No, Father. I earned it. I posed for Tagg. Without me, he wouldn't have drawings to sell. I earned it as much as he did. It was MINE, and I spent it how I wanted.”

Rayla switched on the device and began scanning the news headlines. “Oh, Lise...”

Lise pointed to the screen. “There's the alternative news ... and the library...” A tear rolled down Rayla's cheek. “We can also use it to communicate. That's the other reason I bought it, Father. Ms Megan told me she might need someone to watch her twins in the evenings. She also told me she'd pay me and not Ramina. ME, Father -- scrip Ramina need not know of.”

“Sometimes,” Rayla replied, “one must spend some money in order to make some.”

“Now, if Megan needs me she can call.”

Grott snorted. “You're being spoiled by what's outside the Zone. You want ... needless things.”

“No, Father. A mediascreen is useful.”

“Yes, Grott,” Rayla agreed. “You know I've wanted one for years. Now, our daughter has given one to us.”

“Father, I don't know why you want to wear our poverty on your shoulder. I don't want the sorts of things the whites have. But there's nothing wrong being comfortable...” She nudged a bench with her toe. “...like having soft chairs instead of hard benches.”

“How did you buy this?” Rayla asked.

“Well... A white helped me.”

“Helped you?”

“Yes. I met him in the park. He works with us.”

“Works with you?”

“No -- with us ... with our kind.”

How so?” her mother asked.

“He's writing a book ... to try to convince whites to give us more freedom.”

“As if that's going to happen,” Grott interjected.

“He's sincere. I gave him my scrip and he bought the mediascreen for me.”

“Did he keep some for his trouble?” Grott asked.

“No. He knew of a shop where they sell at a discount. This mediascreen goes for forty-five but he bought it for me for twenty-seven. It's almost half price. And -- that was with the solar charger. Not ALL whites are evil, Father.”

“Then, you did well,” Rayla replied. She opened her arms and hugged her daughter. “Thank you so much.”

Lise stood at the corner waiting for the right streetcar to work its way down the street. The sun was getting low in the sky and traffic was beginning to lighten.

“Lise!”

She turned and saw a figure in a tan shirt and broad-brimmed hat.

“How did your mother like it?”

“Oh, Thom! She loved it. Have you been waiting for me?”

“Truth be told -- yes. I've been here I don't know how long and was about to give up, figuring I had missed you.”

“Oh, no -- Ms Megan had a doctor's appointment and asked me to stay late with the twins.” She pulled a yellow card from her shorts and held it up. “She gave me three units -- and it's all mine!”

“Wonderful. Lise -- I was hoping we could start working on your segment of my book.”

“I should be getting home...” She craned her neck to look down the street. “Here's my bus, now.”

“Wait -- Come with me, instead.”

“Mother will be worried...”

“You can call her.”

Lise smiled. “That's right!”

Thom whipped out his handheld mediascreen. “What's the number?” Lise pulled a card from her pocket. Thom manipulated the screen. “Busy...”

“Busy? I wonder who Mother is calling.”

“I'll put it on callback.”

“Callback?”

“Yes -- it'll put the call through once the circuit frees. Come, walk with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To my car. I'll take you to my office and we'll start our interview.”

Lise walked with Thom. A warble came from his pocket. He withdrew his handheld. “Ahh... Your call is going through...” He handed the device to Lise. A voice-only connection formed.

“Hello?”

“Mother! It's ... your daughter.”

“Lise! Where are you? It's getting late. Tagg has already gone to his job.”

“Ms Megan had me stay. She paid me three units. Mother -- I tried to call and the circuit was busy.”

“Yes. Once the word spread I have a mediascreen ... the neighbors have been coming in all afternoon to make calls. Lise, you'll be home soon -- won't you?”

“No, Mother. The man I told you about ... the one with the book wants me to go with him so he can interview me.”

“Lise...”

“Don't worry, Mother. I'll be home before curfew...” She looked in Thom's direction and he nodded. “If not I'll call.”

“I don't want you having to stay overnight in a wayside, Lise.”

“Oh, no -- I'll be home.”

“Thanks for calling, Lise.” The call terminated.

Lise handed the device to Thom. “Thanks.”

He gestured toward a sleek, red speedster. It was a two-seater with yellow upholstery and a narrow windscreen. The nose was low and long and the aft quarters bulged with dual turbines. It was parked in a stall with a meter. Lise noticed a novonid boy, about ten standards old and she recognized him as one from the Zone. He was scavenging around the meters, picking up discarded scrip that had a hole or two unpunched.

Thom took out a new yellow fiver and pushed it into the slot of the parking meter. It debited a unit and a half. He glanced sideways toward the boy and nonchalantly flicked the scrip card onto the ground near his feet. Then, he unlocked the vehicle and gestured Lise inside.

She fastened her safety restraint. Thom manipulated controls and the twin turbines whined up to operating speed. He released the parking brake and pulled back on the control to back it out of the parking stall. A sharp flick on the stick and the car responded by cutting to the left. He pushed the stick forward and they headed onto the street.

“There's still some sunlight,” Thom said and pressed a control. The cowl slid backward, opening the cockpit to the sky. Lise could feel the wind whistling in her ears.

“Where's your office?” Lise asked.

“Quadrant One.”

“I've never been in Quadrant One.”

“I'll show you some sights.”

Traffic in downtown Vyonna was light, now. Thom regulated the car's speed to match the synchronized traffic stops. They whizzed through the central administrative district, through a canyon of now nearly deserted high-rise buildings.

He paused at an intersection and then pulled onto a broad boulevard. A panel in the dash lit up. He pressed a control.

“There's auto-steer on this street,” he said. A list of destinations appeared on the panel and he pressed one, then leaned back and laced his fingers behind his neck. “She knows her way.”

The car, now on auto-pilot, slipped into a middle lane marked with blue circles. It accelerated to match its speed with other vehicles.

Thom drew in a breath. “Mmm... Listen to her...”

“To whom?” Lise asked.

He motioned behind them. “The turbines. No other car on the road sounds like a Twin-T. They're adjusted ... they're tuned to spin at slightly different speeds. The tones are a perfect half-pitch apart. What lovely music they make ... what beautiful dissonance. The sound of a perfectly tuned Twin-T makes aficionados swoon.”

Lise wasn't listening to turbines. She was watching the corners for landmarks and bus stops. This was unfamiliar territory, with open spaces, groomed gardens and well-kept buildings. She made a mental inventory of places and bus lines. Then, she felt something on her forearm. She looked down.

Thom was stroking her. She glanced sideways toward him. He pulled his hand away. “I'm sorry to be so presumptuous, but I just love novonid skin. It is so soft and so smooth ... yours in particular, Lise. I'm fascinated by it -- an expanse of lovely, green skin...”

“Please... You're making me uncomfortable.”

“It's an aesthetic thing, Lise -- nothing carnal. Please believe me. I think we whites are so boring. We used to have variety -- did you know that?”

“No...”

“This colony was seeded from another colony planet. The original population of that world was quite diverse. There where white people and brown people... yellow people and red ones... Over the centuries, all that diversity was lost. We call ourselves whites but, in reality -- it's more of a muddy tan, don't you think?”

“I don't know... I really hadn't given it much thought.” Lise returned to studying street signs. In case she needed to find her way home by herself she wanted to know which bus routes to take.

She felt something against the back of her hand. It was Thom's hand, held palm-up in an ancient gesture that predated the founding of their world.

Lise glanced into his eyes and placed her palm against his. He spread his fingers and she laced hers with his.

“We're now officially friends -- aren't we, Lise?”

“Friends.”

“I'm happy -- and honored.”

She giggled. “Thom -- please stop making a fuss over me. I'm just another novonid.”

“Not so...” Thom rolled his wrist back and forth, rolling Lise's with his.

“What are you doing?”

“Admiring the color of your skin compared to mine... Do you know how much alike we are? Ninety-nine point five percent. That's how much of your DNA is identical to mine. One half of one percent is responsible for the differences.”

The estates along the boulevard grew larger and more elaborate. Thom pointed at one. “Over here, Lise... Do you see that house?”

The house was old but maintained in immaculate repair. It sat on a knoll commanding the other properties surrounding it, and in the midst of a sculpture garden. A lattice- work fence lined the perimeter.

“Yes, I see it.”

“A novonid woman lives there. Her name is Margliss. She's I guess about sixty standards -- an amazing woman. She's the centerpiece of my book. I hope, my dear Lise, that doesn't offend you. I wish I could make all my case histories the centerpiece. You will be an important sidebar -- but her story is so remarkable.”

“Remarkable, how?”

“That green woman commands one of the largest fortunes on Varada. She has a staff of a dozen servants and groundskeepers. She's the darling of the BSS circle and hosts gala parties ... of the sort to which I'll never be invited. The big Benevolent Society Ball is held every year in her garden. You'll see her on the mediascreens, wearing fancy gowns. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to gain access to her for my book.”

“Who owns her?” Lise asked.

“Spoken like a true Varadan. Legally, she is the property of a special trust overseen by the BSS. In practice, she lives the life of a wealthy white widow.”

“How...”

“How did this happen?” Thom replied “Therein lies a tale. About forty or so standards ago, the Benn Drumm family lived in that house. Benn was an important Varadan businessman, the founder of Drumm Industries. One division manufactures luxury vehicles.” Thom patted the upholstery of his car. “This is a Drumm. He had a wife and two teenaged daughters. One day he returned from visiting a factory on the