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The woman gazed at the ident-block on the door’s security panel with a nervous expression. She had passed any number of such panels on the way up to this office, but none of them had read:
Sherman, Ariel Chairwoman / CEO Fantasial Productions ILC
It felt strange to Taraia to be interviewed by the CEO of a corporation for a job … especially when the job was really an entrance-level position. Her college advisor had told her that Lady Ariel was peculiar in this way; she wanted to get a feel for new-hires outside of the production aspects of her theatre’s show and night club. Was it because, again according to her advisor, promotions came from within the corporation, and so she might have closer daily exposure with the Boss than at two or three removes …?
(Author’s note: since I didn’t have access to some 50 Residents in the proper skin and costumes, I’m asking you to suspend disbelief on my photos, and supplement things with your own imagination. Either road, here’s a short Christmas story from the 48th Century, and my character Ariel Sherman. HG)
Ariel glanced around her at the four dozen-plus gold and silver people surrounding her. As usual, The Land of Fantasy had put on a phenomenal production of its current revue show, and everyone looked satisfied with things, no matter the changes in the script for the evening. Of course, for cyborg memories, “changes in the script” were rather small beer. It was the human pride in their craft that shone here, pride in performing in a once-a-year show to the satisfaction of both themselves and a demanding audience.
There was still a final act to go before they rang down the curtain for the next four weeks, for the show’s annual break. This would not be the usual finale, though, with its famous nudity; not on this night. For this was Day 357 on the Limlight Standard Calendar. There were children in the audience tonight, and the entire performance was much more family-oriented. Especially for tonight’s finale, the one element of this special show which had not changed from year to year. To Ariel’s demanding eye, everyone looked happy, prepared, and confident. She nodded happily back to them, said, “Alright, people; let’s do it,” and got back words and signs of agreement. “Go, Dalton,” she whispered to her organic stage manager, who grinned back, tapped at his tablet, and gave the needed orders. Recorded music began playing; the “small” curtain in front of Ariel opened thirty seconds later, and Lady Ariel Sherman entered at stage center, sweeping through the curtains in a massive ball gown of white satin.
She dropped into a stage-depth curtsey as the audience cheered and applauded and the rest of the cast and company entered behind her. Each of the feature acts took their own bows, then arranged themselves behind their star artiste. The audience quieted at last, and Ariel said into the amplification field, “Thank you all so much for coming tonight to The Land of Fantasy! It’s always our joy and pleasure to perform for you, but doubly so on special nights, such as this.”
Zana stepped back into her apartment the next morning, thoroughly relaxed by the night’s activities … all of the night’s activities. It had been a stressful term so far, even for a cyborg; of course, graduate studies were always stressful, but psychology was tougher than most. And add into that my personal psychotherapy starts in two weeks, she thought as she moved into her bedroom to change out of her finery, into a casual unitard. God knows what little gremlins will turn up then! She had always considered herself well adjusted and mentally healthy. Who but God could guess what a qualified psychotherapist would find …? Then her lips quirked back in a mercurial change of mood. Although her career would be made, perhaps, as the author of the first case study on a ‘borg in the literature!
The small jest improved Zana’s mood; but she still felt the need for some encouragement, or at least a shoulder to cry on for a few picoseconds. Glancing again at the holographs on the mantel, she regretted not returning home to her parents’ house. Still, there were other ways of getting together with family … not as satisfyingly tactile, but they would do in a pinch …. She said to the room, “Computer, please call Ariel Sherman, home code, full holo.” She sat on her couch as the computer beeped.
Shortly, a full-body image of her mother, wearing a green casual outfit and a purple silk duster, appeared in the holoprojection field created by the comm program. “Hi, sweet one! What makes you call on this fine Saturday morning?”
The man by the hearth sprang erect and hurried toward the latest arrivals. “Good eventide, good sirs. Be very welcome,” he greeted ….
… “You’re the … proprietor … of this Old Phoenix?” …
The man nodded. “What may your wishes be?” He raised a palm, smiling. “Nay, let me guess. Ye’ve fared through rain, in striving and distress. A bath, dry garb, hot food, a cup of cheer, a bed, then breakfast, ere you go from here.” …
Poul Anderson, A Midsummer Tempest, ch. 6
We’re back after a nice break; and, as you can see, I’m having fun already.
Despite the way my photostream on Flickr looks, I don’t hang out a lot at in-world clubs, lol. It’s just that clubs make great places to pose, with their theme and decor; and they often have good poses built into the chairs and other furniture. That cuts down on my needing to pull out my modeling AO.
Ariel Sherman, relaxing one night on the front terrace of her mansion in Vidran City, saw the flitter descend from traffic level outside the estate, aiming for the parking area in front of the garage. The golden cyborg smiled as she recognized the color and markings on the air vehicle. Laying aside her bookpadd on a side table, she stood and headed down the stairs to the ceramacrete pathway between house and garage.
Among the traditions that had held on in show business, the Green Room was one of the most persistent. Nobody knew for sure why the room set aside as an actors’ lounge was called “the Green Room,” and Ariel Sherman had heard of many rooms that weren’t painted or otherwise decorated in green, but there the name was. And when they had built the original Land of Fantasy Theatre out of the old pleasure house, Ariel had included a Green Room — though it was a touch more open to other people than just the performers in the revue — and insisted it be “correctly” decorated with green walls. Though she doubted few theatres had ever gone in for expensive draped green satin wallpaper; but, with the seed credit the cyborgs of Videra had to start with, why not splurge a little?
She did the same thing some ten years later, when The Land of Fantasy added a supper club to the front of the theatre building. Again, walls hung in green satin, gentle holo-abstracts and other artwork, and comfortable furniture provided relaxation for performers preparing to go on before the club’s patrons. And, as the club’s first performer — a change from starring in the main revue for so long — there Ariel was, breaking in the room … with a nasty case of stage nerves. Why in hell do I put myself through this? she wondered in her mind as she dragged hard on her cigarette holder. Years of performing six nights a week, multiple interview appearances on the ‘screen, even two virt-vids to my credit by now, and I still get stage fright before an opening.
A rather neat little café and wine bar had been constructed near Ariel Sherman’s home, and the golden cyborg tried to drop into the place at least once a month. Normally, top-name entertainers tried to keep their private time to themselves. Ariel Sherman, CRO, COV, and one of the best-known performing stars in the quadrant, almost always managed to pass her time quietly in this café, whether by herself, with members of her ‘borg family, or friends from town. Partly, it was because this was Videra, and the laws of the pleasure planet that was Ariel’s home and place of work could be summed up in a sentence: “Feel free to do whatever you want, so long as it does no harm to yourself or others.” Native Viderans were apparently taught this in the womb; they were always exquisitely polite, there when you needed help, and otherwise let you live your life in peace and quiet — not antisocial, just understanding that you wanted to pursue your pleasure and had the right to do so without interference.
Which was what Ariel was doing now, sitting in the café alongside Dara Furtano-Fa, her close friend and fellow ‘borg. The pair were hanging out beside the coffee bar, with frothy drinks in hand or beside them. Between bouts of conversation, whenever someone passed by carrying a similar beverage, Ariel would smile and exchange a few words of greeting that were distinctly ritualistic in form. Dara had learned the words instantly, of course, from listening to Ariel and the others, but they meant little to her. After another lifeform, this one a Zovitchian with lemon-yellow skin and a nearly flat nose in its elongated head, had bowed to them both and clinked his cup against theirs, Dara turned to her mentor and friend and murmured, “And you really don’t know that much about what this is all about?”
“…All flesh is grass, and all its glory is like the flowers of the field….” — Isaiah 40:6
And this, of course, is the flip side of Mardi Gras — Shrove Tuesday, in places that observe the liturgical calendar originally put forth by the Catholic Church, was a time to clear your house and life of rich and good things before the penitential season of Lent. Mardi Gras and Carnival celebrations derive from this, as a last night of revelry, of getting the anarchy out of your system before buckling down to the forty days of penitence and meditation leading up to Easter.
That was yesterday; it’s now time to embark on a most spiritual journey. As I have written Ariel Sherman in my stories, she grew up on a planet with a state, conservative-Christian-oriented religion, but was never much of an adherent to it. After her soon-to-be husband freed her from the pleasure house where she had been converted into a cyborg, she adopted his Anglican-inspired faith (St. Michael’s Cathedral, Vidran, planet Videra, in the Anglican Communion of the Human Diaspora — thank you, David Weber). For Ariel and Adam, this would be Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent.
Second Life® with Harper, Conan, Jem, Diana and Morgan
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