Zana Sherman was fortunate that this weekend wasn’t as academically busy as it would become closer to the end of term. It seemed that her social calendar was compensating, by sending her invitations to meet with people she loved or enjoyed. Aside from Alon Cohen on Friday night, though, she was holding things to only an hour or so, and joining up with them on the way to other venues, such as the laundry or the Psych House … the graduate students’ name for the departmental offices. Even for a college student … at least one as diligent as Zana … socializing wasn’t everything ….
But she stretched the limits at Saturday lunch, because the meal was with Dara Furtano-Fa. The relationship with “Big Sis” ran back to when Dara had saved the lives of both Zana and her mother on the construction stage of The Land of Fantasy, her mother’s famous theatre. Not only had Zana met Dara that day, but the accident had set events in motion that led to Dara’s getting the cyborg conversion she had desired … and all that had arisen in the ‘borg community since.
Both women had a fondness for a restaurant in Vidran’s Arosen sector that offered what the owner called “Mongolian grill,” but served up al fresco. They were deep in discussion at a shady table outside the restaurant, situated on a food court in one corner of the district’s park. “And so the term’s going well so far?” Dara asked as their tea arrived. The sun of Videra’s primary glinted off her sunglasses, worn mostly for fashion’s sake, as ‘borgs’ eyes were quite capable of handling bright sunshine. (The sun also gleamed off the integuments of both women, golden on Zana and silver on Dara; they had chosen the shady table to spare the eyes of other diners and passersby as much as possible from the reflection.)
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?”
It is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.
J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion
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A bad link led me to this piece of parkland where a club should have been. The club is no more, but the island remains, lovingly landscaped now by someone, set with statues and a wandering path. I stayed long enough to shoot a few photos, but I won’t share the landmark, as I think it’s private property, and I don’t want my mistake to be bringing lots of people descending on the homeowner’s little paradise.
I had a party in mind, some rock ‘n roll for the night, and so I climbed into a brand new pantsuit by Rapture. (Members of the store group are getting a discount for a while, so check it out soon!) It’s available in quite a few colors, but a party deserves some shine, and Rapture’s materials treatment certainly supplies that here. This jump suit shines as much as afternoon sun off the water of a lake or river ….
Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.
In the 48th Century, most organic lifeforms tended to carry several preconceptions about the way that Videran cyborgs lived their lives. The all-too-common impression was that all a ‘borg needed to do was glance at a filmpage or a screen, read the contents, and they knew everything there. However, as Zana Sherman could testify all too well, taking in data was not the same as actually learning. A ‘borg’s computer brain still needed to train on how to use the data, to analyze and discuss, in order to act on the information it received, just like an organic’s. And you needed to prove that acquired knowledge to the Powers That Be, in order to get the accreditation the law frequently required. Such as Ph.D.s in psychology.
Which was why Zana was now where she was, observing a shift of the operations crew on one of the private starbases orbiting Videra, gathering information for a paper due one of her professors. Psychology of xenospecies was her focus of study, and this shift was strongly populated by non-humanoid lifeforms. Indeed, by a fluke of scheduling, two sisters from the planet Tibeon were holding down the main operations chairs during this shift. Staying as unobtrusive as possible, asking the minimum of questions on what they did and why, Zana still found herself tapping reams of notes into her tablet.
It’s hard enough getting around a spaceport, they’re often such huge and rambling places. When the hovercab drops you at the wrong entrance, though, that adds on even more complication. Especially when the entrance the silly AI chooses is the entrance to the cargo deck — a place where nobody in their right mind is walking around, at least if they don’t have legitimate business there. And then add that the cargo deck is a cargo deck — it’s 5,000 metres up from the surface, to get it out of view of the local burghers. And I’m up here on a grid floor in spike-heel boots!
Some days, you can’t lin for the woosing ….
Oh, well; at least I’m warm in the wind … well, mostly warm; but at least I thought to put a top on under the traveling outfit.
=====
The details:
Head: Akeruka Nami 2.5 Bento
Body and feet: Maitreya Lara 4.1
Eyes: IKON Sovereign (Emerald)
Hair: rezology Cutting Edge
Dress: Rapture Coco (available at Cosmopolitan through November 30) (Note: You will probably want to remove your hands when wearing this, as the thumbs will poke out of the sleeves at the end)
Top: Yvole applier halter top green
Pants: Steelhead applier low ride leggings
Shoes: Fonde metal thigh boots (vintage)
Jewelry: Maxi Gossamer Aliah Moonshine long necklace and earrings
Note: WordPress is starting to feed out new software for their blog. Harper’s been playing with it, and has gotten mostly used to it, but I’m just beginning to learn the thing. However, I like some of the gimmicks it apparently has, and Harper’s given me a tip sheet on what to do, as well as the new “style book” for laying out an article, so here goes ….
Graduate school was always a busy time for students; it had been since the medieval days of old Europa on ancient Earth, and it hadn’t changed just because it was now the 48th Century C. E. But wise students always found some kind of time to come up for air from their studies if they wished to preserve both their grades and their sanity. Zana Sherman was no different from other students in that sense. True, as a cyborg, she had a few not-to-sneeze-at advantages over her organic friends, like a brain and body that did not tire in the same way as an organic body did. But the personality and thought processes that resided in that computer body still functioned in ways similar to a flesh-and-blood person; and that part of her still fatigued in ways similar to a flesh-and-blood body. Even in this, some things never seemed to change, no matter how many centuries went by.
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.
It had been a long day, a day in a string of days filled with lots of nothing. Business lately was flatter than a Martian flat cat; and brother, that’s flat. Even the weather was depressed; it had been spitting rain all day, the kind of rain that ate holes in ceramacrete here on Chania 3, nice and acid. Anyway, I was sitting in my office, fighting the latest battle in the age-old war between income and expenses. As usual, the expenses were winning; I hadn’t seen a clipped credit in weeks. I was already a month behind on the rent; the landlord was beginning to give me the fish eye and tap on the commlink on his belt every time he saw me, which was turning into every morning as I walked in the lobby. I knew what that meant; he kept the name of his favorite bouncer on speed dial there, some critter big and blue and with six arms. When that guy bounced you, you stayed bounced.
I was getting ready to give it up for the day, when there was a knock on the door. A knock on the door meant one of two things: the landlord’s bouncer, or a paying client. Right at the moment, I couldn’t be fussy. If it was the bouncer, he’d just rip the door off if I didn’t open it, and the landlord was in the right, anyway. If it was a client, I might just make enough out of this to stave off Blue Boy’s advent. I keyed the door….
…and knew that this case was probably gonna be worth big credits, and that I was in a whole lot of trouble from the get-go.
Second Life® with Harper, Conan, Jem, Diana and Morgan
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