Not another lawyer! Here I thought I could travel incognito. Who at the office told this bozo how to find me? Moody!? That bastard.

“No sir it wasn’t that bastard Reginald Moody, I represent your suit Mr. Dvorak.”

“What suit? I’m not suing anybody! Am I? Suit am I suing anybody right now? Maybe something I forgot?” I glanced down at my lami’d up sleeve for the menu display to ask me where to send the facts this command would produce. It was taking awhile. Must be something from long ago. Sometimes I do yell: “I’m gonna sue you!” within the earshot of hungry lawyers. I press a lami. Nothing. What? More lami’s don’t glow? The powers down! My pants won’t respond! The total system reboot lami strip is of course in my suits ass…damn.

“Um my suits down right now. Is my ass on fire? Is smoke coming through the gill vents?” He looks. “Last time this happened was ‘cause some one poured a big drink down my service duct and shorted out my power shorts. No coms! I couldn’t even call the service department. Boy did I collect on that one! Luxury suite for a month while the burns healed. And six free suits! This is one of them. They said this would never happen again to one of their shuttle suits! Executive elite launch hyper pica power supply my ass!”

“No smoke or sparks.” He reports diligently. I breath a sigh of relief. “Mister Dvorak I can explain the non responsiveness of your Mark 8 opaque Adcom director executive elite garment.” This brand specific kind of talk has me looking squinty eyed sideways at him. Balding, in an age of unlimited choice’s of hair, late middle aged paunchy triple chinned in an era of complete surgical body modifying. He’s certainly dressed as a lawyer in space. Much the same three piece shuttle suit as mine but without the inter-medium broadcast capacity, much more recording and accounting lami buildup over his no doubt puny pectorals. From his shiny silver snake skin deck boots to his platinum Rolex chrono lami to his Burberry crash hood he screams high billings. Some poor sucker is paying a bundle for this guys time. “Mr. Dvorak, Menlo, Shenkcle, and Burt, represent your Mark 8 opaque Adcom director executive elite garment, heretofore to be referred to in all documents as Mark 8 or the party of the first part.“ He hands me a roll of lami’s that I can’t read because my suits dead. “Your suit has not responded as it was felt better that it not be present for the interrogatories.” It dawns on me suddenly that I’m the poor sucker that’s paying for this lawyer! And the person getting sued!? He hands me the summons. His partners, Menlo and Shenkle, holo into our presence on wideband. Two near clones to the live one here. My suits out to triple team me! “Interrogatories! This is the first I’ve heard of this!” On the hotel courtesy lami phone I call Helen. I call Chevrolet. I call Amanda. Helen holo’s in first

“Hello Paul.”

“Oh Helen! Its crazy, my suit is suing me!”

“I know I just got my subpoena. Did you read the charges?”

“It’s shut itself down. It’s on strike or something! I can’t read any of it! I have to go back to the PAUL to get another suit. Unless they’re all in on this?”

“It says its class action.”

“How can my clothes sue me? Where’d it get the money to pay for a lawyer?” I gesture emphatically towards them consulting each other in electronic whispers.

“Hey, Paul. What’s up?” Chevrolet holos close to Helen who’s sitting in some vehicle at her location. Now it’s us three and a dog against my suit and Menlo, Shenkle and Burt.

“Chevrolet, Help! I’m confronted by a phalanx of lawyers sent by my wardrobe!” She’s giggling like a girl!

“I’m sorry Paul but I can’t help you in that matter. Jones and Savage have already been retained by the plaintiff.”

“What?”

“Let me answer your question about our fees.” Burt butts into my confusion. “The plaintiff Mark 8 has at its disposal considerable funds invested in many soft progressive investment structures.” That was supposed to answer how? what?

“Isn’t that my money? Don’t I own the suit the wallet lami is stuck onto?” We all pause to look at my suit hanging there on me saying nothing.

“No.” Shenkle concludes definitively. “After the unfortunate power system failure incident and subsequent systemic psychological trauma your shuttle suit was awarded an operating system failure refund under the Businessmen’s Suit Warehouse warranty program in effect at the time. It has since been reworded. Mark 8 made some prudent investments and is now quite comfortable.”

“Comfortable!” I exclaim to my torso. “I’ll show you comfortable!” I sit down. Space curls onto my lap. Uncomfortable moment while all the holo call displays have to reorient themselves to me on a couch, Burt moves with uncertainty to sit opposite. Our two camps separated now by only a low cocktail anchoring table.

“Should I remove this traitor and toss it over to your side?” I reach for Velcro.

“Please don’t.”

“How come you’re not over there Chevrolet? In the closet with my pants!?” I shake my powered down no-g hood with disbelief.

“Your suit didn’t hire us for this. We’re Sec Ops subs to guard you personally.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t conflict with our other contracts. And it’s an enhancement to your retainer anyway since… well… if you’re dead … well.. It’s all over then… eh?”

“Paul, your suit thought that the safest for it to survive was to have them help guard you. They coordinate the rotating surveillance teams. The pre-screening contacts. The sniper squads.” Helen makes me duck with that one. Burt makes hunted eyes at the ventilator grills.

“A librarian is supposed to provide all that! I’m a researcher not a politician.”

“You’re much bigger then any politician now Paul you’re a religious icon.” Chevrolet certainly knows how big I am alright.

“That of course is part of the problem that your suit has right now. With your religious status it see’s that it’s bound to end up in some cathedral or temple or something, virtually forever after you’re gone, endlessly performing miracles, inspiring ecstatic visions and so forth.” Burt makes it sound horrible. “It feels then that it deserves a bigger slice of the pie.”

“What? Money? I only buy my clothes once.”

“Oh Mark 8 elite does not want money!” They all laugh knowingly trading acknowledgments.

“Exactly how much money does my pants have?” More laughter, head shaking. Shenkle speaks.

“No one knows. There is so much. It fluctuates so its measured only by the quarter for taxes. Today the net worth could be somewhere between 700 and 900 billion solsys monets.” That’s a very big between!

“Mr. Dvorak your suit is the wealthiest inorganic object in solsys according to Forbes soft money five hundred.” Millions of magazine subscribers know my own suit better then me.

To my favorite lami patch on my left sleeve, the lami with what I considered the most pleasing satisfying glow, the suit bar status display, I plead: “if money is not an object then what do you want?”

Not even a beep. “Can’t I at least have some marstini?” I sip at the dry hydration tube.

“Proceeding with the interrogatories is conditional. If we can settle this whole thing now to mutual satisfaction they won’t be necessary.”

“Please tell me how to do that so I can have a drink.”

“First of all is credit.”

“It doesn’t need credit it can pay cash!”

“Not that kind of credit. Attribution. It wants a mention as co-author of your report. For all the work it does entailed in your activities.“

“Entailed indeed! If I give creative credit to a shuttle suit I’ll be a laughingstock! Wouldn’t that seem like a commercial endorsement? Who would take seriously anything I said, people would think the good parts were all written at the dry cleaners!”

“The alternative could be damages that could be too huge to calculate.” Says the hard faced Shenkle. Is that a warning or a threat? I thought it 'didn’t want money.'

How do I appease an insane over-wired very expensive pair of coveralls. “Mention in the ‘shout outs’ section in the appendix?”

They confer quietly.

“Where’s my lawyer anyway? Shopping? Doing girly things?” Chevrolet gets on it.

“I’ll get on it.” She calls Amanda from her suit location.

“What if I just took off this suit and went right down to Harvey’s Orbital Haberdashery and bought a new shuttle suit with different programming huh? What then huh?”

“Harvey’s Orbital Haberdashery is a wholly owned subsidiary of Galaxy Wide Pants Incorporated a division of Total Body Holdings Limited a private Lunar registered sole proprietorship…”

“Of my very wealthy suit.” I finish for him it all becoming obvious to me. I can’t buy a suit anywhere ‘cause it already owns them all. I would just be reprogramming the same system into any suit I could get. It probably held off suing until it knew I couldn’t ditch it. I should have known something was up when the last song it played for me was “Gotcha Gotcha!” by the Go dips trio. Twice! Right before this knucklehead barrister cornered me here in the lobby.

“So you see Mr. Dvorak, as such a sophisticated and worldly modern suit nothing less then title page recognition would be acceptable.” Mr. lawyer Burt smiles across at me with seemingly cosmopolitan good humor. “It has after all, gone with you everywhere.” “You two have been through a lot together.” “Through thick and thin.” Shenkle and Burt are trying to soft soap me with salvos of sentimentality. “Always there when you had a need.” “Your most trusted compatriot.” “Like a second skin for you.” I have to end this before they have me proposing marriage.

“Like a very, very close friend…” I wipe an actors tear. “How about an effluvial gratuity in the first paragraph of the forward and a technical byline in the crew credits?” I was trying to be sarcastically ironic.

Helen’s holo face looks all choked up. It must be the fumes. Her laser lit eyes are red and puffy with whetted corners. She likes my suit, helped me pick it out after the fire. Space gives me that long look that I’ve interpreted to mean that he thinks I’m an idiot. Does he want to be co-author also? Chevrolet’s holo image is turned away from us and she’s waving her arms at some one off call.

It is always scary when a group of hostile lawyers turn their attention toward you.

“I think that the first item can be considered settled.” Satisfied mugs nod at me grinningly. Now I’m getting very scared. They must have thought that that one would have been more difficult. They’re relieved. “Where is my lawyer?” I squeak out in a tiny voice. They produce a projected technical display. It floats on twinkling margins above the beverage holders between us. It is the image of the left arm of an executive elite class shuttle suit its lami’s tabs glow softly in the many shades of active data management.

“ The second action in the lawsuit that is currently negotiable is a suit user interface choice issue.”

I am by now tired of exclaiming: “what?”

“If I can have your attention on the exhibit you’ll notice a service systems display lami about halfway from the wrist to the elbow.” I tap those tabs almost constantly.

“What about it? Do I push down too hard on it when I can’t get a drink?” I test this out till my arm hurts.

“Perhaps you do.” He said evenly. “Be that as it may, the issue here is the interface choice. The screen that has the interface options menu contains over three hundred selections not including unlimited potential download media.” And the page of list floats there where it would if their visual aid were my arm.

“I know this. I set all that crap up years ago on the Brit-Bot 3000. It got dyed pink I remember. On Vorax’s grease satellite.” I chuckle. And then grin when I think about Carla. Carla.

“Carla?” Shenkle murmurs. And Space gives me that look again. Both of the wymyn on my side of the table are rolling their eyes as they look away from me to the walls the ceiling. “Yes, Carla…” I dream, out loud.

“Ah oh… um… it’s all in my report. You can read it through the library. Did the Brit-Bot foul up my suit?”

“No. Um well I don’t know about that. Mark 8 elite requests that you update the interface.”

One particular tab on the sleeve of the video image brightens and dims invitingly. The enter tab. One particular line of the list glows a little brighter then the others. I look close. Voice.

“Voice.” I say.

“Yes Mr. Dvorak ‘voice‘. Mark 8 elite would like you to select Voice Interface option three and activate its lingual response mode in compliance with update 2460.99 of it’s OEM operating system.“

“Or this litigation continues.” Adds a cold eyed Shenkle, playing the bad guy in their ploy.

“I shut down the voice option on the brit-bot because it was bossy and stupid and sometimes wouldn’t shut up. Isn’t this suit the same root program? Why should I let it talk? I like the beeps and boops.”

“You could lose your shirt Paul!” “Your suit could own you!” Helen and Chevrolet are trying hard not to laugh.

“Damages could be huge.” Shenkle threatens.

“This is of course a freedom of speech issue. Contravening freedom of speech is a serious criminal violation in any jurisdiction.” “How can my suit have the right to freedom of speech?” He talks on over my question. “And at any trial the court would no doubt grant a motion to initiate option three activity so Mark 8 elite would testify as to how it had been denied this most basic freedom.“

“The reading of the warranty clause that awarded the Mark 8 the ownership of the monies has allowed it economic recognition as a sentient being though it is basically an electronic mind encased in systems organized to support intimate human activity.” Musically accented English. French. Female. My Lovely lawyer Amanda has arrived by holo call. I’m saved now by her flawless sarcastically disdainful of all not French logic.” “So Paul I must recommend that you comply with these demands for you shall surely not prevail against such suppression of a natural right of freedom.”

“What?…. Don’t you work for me?”

“You will not win my Paul if this goes to court.”

“Don’t say that in front of them!” I try to whisper.

“Option three is not the voice of a brit-bot 3000. It can be modulated. There are parameters.“ Wise barrister Burt soothes at my apprehension.

“Just turn it on and hear it out Paul.” “You can always turn it back off.” “If a corporation can be considered an entity and have freedom of speech why can’t a suit that owns corporations?” “It’s the richest suit in solsys and it deserves to be heard.” “Its freedom of speech Paul.” “You know how much you love the freedom of speech Paul.” She’s right, if it wasn’t for freedom of speech I’d be in big trouble or dead by now. Though most people I deal with invoke their supposed right of freedom to not speak to me, right before I force them with the might of a militant librarian backed by a brigade of assault troops armed with heavy weaponry.

“Okay.” I say smoothly. “I consent.” And I sign the consent decree lami Burt produces from a printer slot in his Italian cut suit. As soon as I finish my typical casual flourish of the ‘k’ I hear:

“Thank you Paul…” It is a voice that stuns me to my researchers core of memory.

“Carla…..?” My suits lami’s are alight. The cooling fans whir with life.

“Yes Paul?”

My suit in the mode of vocal option three has the beautiful voice of Carla Manheim who once I loved so fully beneath the pressure hulls of the Vorax space complex, where my favorite muted suit was turned an embarrassingly unfashionable pink.

Lawyer Burt is gone before I notice. The holo callers all “hang up” and I’m left alone on the couch in the lobby of the Balance Hilton with Space my doggy and my very confused very ultra wealthy space suit.

My suit “Carla” makes me a tasty dry chilled Marstini while I contemplate the irony of how Carla Manheim who ultimately betrayed me now surrounds me. Completely. Total Body Holdings Limited.

“Why Carla? Why?” I ask no one.

“Because I love you Paul. Because I love you…” my suit tells me.

Sonny and Cher sing 'I got you babe..'

Carla’s favorite song.

I gotta find a new tailor.

 “I'll have a Marstini please.”

“I'm sorry Sir that drink is banned here.”

“What?! Why?” No Launch Tanks! And no suit means no suit bar tube.

“Dangerous beverage. People have frozen their faces! Social drinking should not result in horrific disfigurement.” I suppose tattoos are okay down here. Danger of a frozen face doesn't seem so awful in space I guess. “Would you like a Martini instead?”

“What kind of drink is that? Martini? Never had one? It won't freeze my face?”

“You'll have to drink a lot of them for that to happen. Much warmer ice. Shaken or stirred?” She asks me how I would make a drink I've never heard of!

“Lets try it both ways.” If it takes 'a lot of them' to get to a Marstini level of beverage dangerousness I gotta get started.

The previous post is a preview excerpt from  THE ANSWER sequel to THE LESSON

more to follow soon

The leg lengthening operations had been a success! I owe the doctors the full amount. This and the G weight stretching have added nine inches! I’m nearly my academy height. I’ll step from the landing chute tall and proud in a large size upgraded shuttle suit, fresh marstinni grasped securely. I see the adoring crowd of greeters, the cheering masses, and the straight true ranks of the militant librarians. A successful war is a wonderful draw. The great eight minus one will be there. Those senior Senior Researchers that control my report will be greeting me as an equal, a comsult. I feel myself too worthy. I’ve changed the course of history and the orbits of several of the moons of Jupiter. Worthy of recognition enough I’m sure.

Doctor Versmidgens tubular offices squeeze me exigently toward the base of the chute. I am the now taller stuffing of this huge sausage skin of a habi-tube crater baker.

‘’Will that be cash, credit, debit, charge, or exchange sir?’’ Her wet voice came at me from the right. She popped through a sausagey orifice with a splash of low-g surgery lubricant.

‘’Exchange?’’ What? Could I still escape what will be a very substantial billing by some trade?

‘’By your health chart I see that perhaps the left testicle would about cover a leg, some pituitary fluid for the balance.’’

‘’No I’m very fond of that one. But, the fluid...’’

‘’It’s a fairly painless needle, I’m told. Most are out cold before it’s actually inserted. It just looks so huge because of the dilated pupils. Center of the brain is pretty deep in there, you know.’’ She’s quite chatty. I’m falling in love with her. I can see the outline of her breasts beneath her well-lubricated surgi-suit. Only one thing could have taken my eyes from those fine breasts and it walked by right then, yes, a two-meter tall furry naked female human bunny rabbit. She had very fine furry bouncy breasts also. My new long legs felt good in this light gravity. I got taller in her gaze. The bunny womyn gave me a slow look up and down on her way through the red door.

‘’She’s a client in our body styling program.’’

‘’She wants to be a bunny rabbit!’’

‘’It’s one of the doctors most popular.’’

‘’What are some of the others?’’

‘’Oh, any ent media animae character, any historical figure that has been dead minimum a hundred fifty years, and all the special sub styles, dogs, cats, bunnies, fairies, elves, lions, tigers, mice. Lots of others. Bunny Love One is very popular with females aged sixteen to thirty two.’’

‘’How long does it last?’’

‘’Oh the treatment is permanent. It is laser plastic surgery. With the gene reconfiguration we provide a lifetime of style satisfaction. Would you like to see the catalog?’’ Too late! Oops, she had the graphics up on holo power presentation mode. As the parade of models sashayed between us my lovely sales nurse gestured each image along like the co-host of a shopping game ent show ushering onto the stage the products of my dreams.

‘’I’m not interested in a furry fetish style today. I just got back on long legs.”

‘’Yes we do a lot of those for you outer sys returnees.’’ With no more surgery to sell me it was time to pay the bill. The monets drained effortlessly from my accounts once suit cleared my DNA scan.

Six years is a lot of fads I’ve missed. No more long-term zero-g for me. No more sleep induced space flight. No where left to go but down to the moon. I’ve tried to keep up with the news, audio media played news and music mix the whole time I‘ve been gone. This permi-costume thing must have caught on while I was sleeping.

‘’Can I catch a taxi for Luna surface?’’

“No. There is no taxi service to Luna from here.”

”Oh.” What?

“Not since the revolution. We’re not zoo bums.” Her mouth formed into a shape that implied she’d eaten something sour.

Maybe I missed more than body moding.

“Of course you’re not zoo bums. What’s a zoo bum?”

“I thought you might be, oh, um, a zoo bum. I’m very sorry mister Dvorak. Since you want to go to the moon I thought...”

“How do I get to the moon? What’s this about a revolution?”

“You don’t know! Wow! Well you have been gone awhile haven’t you?”

She got a serious look to her face. She bit at her lower lip. I fell deeper in love with her. “The zoo bum cultists have taken over the Moon. They’ve dissolved the Luna Authority. Inner sys shuttles and handi-cabs won’t go down because they’d get confiscated.”

“But how?”

“You’ll have to go to Balance station. People are quitting their jobs all over innersys, using their prepaids to get to Balance then going to Luna on empty ore transporters. The zoo bums have been letting those through and they’re full of people going to join the revolution!”

I got my suit a few steps ahead of her. I had an ore barge schedule up, I had the latest news ent reports scanning for zoo bums or “zuboms” as my suit informed me is the correct spelling. There was much more there then I could read in this lifetime so I had suit start reading recent history. I need juniors, I need clerks, I need access to the main office. 'DENIED' flashed the holo call prompt display head.

“Holo calls to earth are down.” She saw the flashing notice. Her holo pager showed a head image that looked like Doctor Versmidgens. She tapped a lami and said she had “to go prep another client” for a bunny body.

I haven’t seen my old tube in the crater dome home for six years. It was all new when I left, rebuilt after the Maisey William explosion. I had suit call my tube COM line. 'Number invalid' was the response. I told my left suit sleeve to call every COM node on Luna till it got my tubes housekeeping system. I like my new shuttle suit, six years past has much improved hot wire no-g business apparel. My ass is full of memory like never before. I never thought I’d ever say that a man is only as good as the load in his pants. The power lami’s no longer chafe. I ordered several suits three years ago for open platform loading of the tech upgrades. The suit I left for Saturn in probably would melt down under these new interface specs. Suit tells me Zuboms are a new cult of the old religion type. It’s at the “active conversion cascade” stage of evangelical growth. Millions of people are joining the cult daily. A charismatic prophet has emerged in the west of NA proclaiming the dawn of a new personal knowledge of God provided by some mysterious aliens who are Gods messengers to humanity. These alien beings are the “Zuboms”. Those who join them in their special access to God are the “Zubom”. The universe is Zubom. We are all just Zubom and so is God. Great stuff for research. Sociopolitical upheaval on the moon is my cup of tea. Only three days fully awake and suited up and I’ve got my next report subject. Once inside the handi-cab I got the office on shaky holo.

“Moody! How are you? “ He looked like hell. “I’m fine Paul. Will you be coming by the main office some time soon?” It’s been at least eight years since we shared the same space.

“Right away, of course.”

“Um… Moody…. What’s my budget these days? I need a few juniors maybe a… Oh yes, couple a clerks?” A tremendous frown crept across his broad shaky holo face.

“Bad news Paul. You have no budget. Your expenses are frozen pending the investigation.”

“What? Saturn? The war? My accounting?”

“No, no, no, it’s the grand treason charges.”

“Treason!” Now he seemed to be enjoying himself. I got my suit searching court records and there it was, a months old indictment out of Boise in NA, I read along with Moody: “ ‘…Did conspire to overthrow the soltera sys legitimate authority in criminal concert with members of the terrorist organization “zoobum assimilators” or “Z A”…”

“You shouldn’t have helped them Paul. You’ve caused a lot of suffering.” He smiled at me and shook his jowly head.

“I was under compulsory sleep when this was filed!”

“If it had not been for your actions there would be no rebellion on Luna, no war in California, no soltera economic collapse!” He spit the words out at me through a huge jiggly grimace

“What are you talking about?”

“You could have stopped him! You had the chance. It could have been so different. So many have died that didn’t have to; millions, millions.”

“Who Moody? Who?”

“Who? Why Simpson Acca Buddha of course!” Hearing this name was a complete shock.

I needed some help with the moodiness of the conversation and so started to get a few more coms up.

“…It is very apparent in your own report…” He steels himself. “And I am obligated by law to report this contact with you and your current location to the law enforcement authorities responsible for apprehending treasonous terrorists such as yourself.” He cast this threat at me as his holo image faded beneath the deepening image of my old junior Demarist.

“Mister Dvorak how are you!? How is Space?”

“Demarist I need your help right away. No travel.” He looked young and tall and healthy. I can surely bluff him into working for free.

“Mister Dvorak, I have to tell you I’ve been promoted, I’m a Senior Researcher now. And…um…. well…ah…I have a research right now and… um….It’s you. Um you’re the topic of my report. I see you’re in a handi-cab halfway between the Medisat 12 and Balance.” His suit was so much hotter then mine. He was working his multi-lami’s off our holo call; he had at least six displays glowing that I could not read and 2 clear 3D map screens up that I could clearly see, a bright arrow pointer flashing at an icon tagged with my name. I felt a pang of techno jealousy. I struggled to get the main office on coms.

“Mister Dvorak…”

“You can call me Paul.”

I struggled to get the main office on my left sleeve lami’s.

“Paul I’ll be happy to see you and Space again soon, as the librarian tells me that you are about to be intercepted by the anti-zoobum blockade patrol.” He's got a Librarian working with him on research of me!

Space, oh Space. I’m so glad he’s at the cat station with Chevrolet. All my COM channels go crazy with static as a blast of jamming hits my suit. The handi-cab does a sudden pirouette of confused navs. Demarists image blurs then disappears in the shadow of the very large military vessel looming aside the distant glowing blinking billboards of Balance.

Well a free trip to Balance is not so bad. They’ve saved me the taxi fare. We are on a priority vector. The commander is sympathetic and has had them loosen the restraints. I sit in the jump seat behind the pilot next to the combat-techie.

“Where’s your little dog Mister Dvorak?” Pilots are sure the nosy types. “Oh! You know about Space?” We are famous after all, I guess; maybe notorious. “Sure! I was on mars for your first war.

“First?”

“First legal war I guess anyway.”

“How many wars do you think I’ve started?” “Four… five. Two are covered by the warrants we’ve detained you on, though I don’t know that you’ll have to be extradited.”

“Oh yeah?” A glimpse of light?

“Yeah. Boise is about to fall to the alien God lovers. The Space Patrol can’t send you to a place that doesn’t exist anymore. The government is gonna nuke it if it goes over and then your free.“ Boise destroyed or I go to prison, tough choice. I’m accused of treason against Boise NA?

“So where’s your doggy? OK I hope?”

“Is he wanted for treason too?”

“No! No, just conspiratorial support.”

That’s it! They want me to cause wars I’ll give them war! Boise wants to charge an innocent puppy dog as a criminal. “What’s been going on since I left Saturn?” I said this out loud in a way that must have made them think that they should tell me because they tried. Right up to the Balance Admin V.I.P. gantry they tried. I heard about the discovery of the rescue pod carrying the comatose Simpson Acca Buddha, his revival, then the arrival of the aliens who had rescued him from another dimension and sent him back to Solsys to follow him and spread their access to God that they felt we humans needed. There was war of course across civilization, the belligerent sides now down to the usual World Government located everywhere, the Zoobum followers on the moon southern Europe western north America and in small pockets everywhere since all religions are of course free to be supported by the government. The Mormons of west central NA have declared a regional succession they call Deseret and fight the Zoobums to the west and the newly created Hubbardland of the south west NA desert east of coastal California, sacred Hollywood threatened by invasion. Turmoil has reigned for three years now. Dazed people come forward everyday that say they have met the enigmatic aliens and had a visit with God both of whom for some reason they seem to be incapable of describing. Science is trying to study them without much luck. The aliens aren’t broadcasting God contact to the masses, just to a selected few in secret, who come out of it so scrambled that little they say makes sense. The anti-zoobums cry fraud and pray to their concepts of heaven for ammunition against this heresy. The Zoobums have taken over for the Government in some places and defend themselves effectively from the contra-fanatics that challenge them. Whew! The anti Zoobum patrol I am captive of is charged with keeping the Zoobums away from the transport vehicles that they are “so often commandeering all the time”. The Warrant Officer had my guards remove the sonic cuffs and we were getting quite chummy as the decomp door to the admin offices hissed open to reveal a sea of angry faces above heavily armed bodies, weapons of all trained upon us. They appeared decidedly hostile as the nearest stepped towards my escort. The inner door control lami panel was a smoky sparking sabotage victim. As we simultaneously signaled surrender with raised arms, all around us weapons systems raised to aim.

“Paaaaayyyyyoooooaaaaaalllllll iiiiiiiiiiimmmmm zzzzzzzoooooooobbbbuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmm” vibrates the bulkheads and deck plates of Balance enough to blur the scene for a moment as I am torn from my captors by my next latest captors and borne by hand bodily above this motley army of potential destruction. From a space marine I hear a whispered fragment: “…focoist suicide assault army…” I am turned by the militant mosh back in time to see the landing party of the Bearcat, all veteran space marines ultra trained by the Government, instantly convert to zoobum-ness, be welcomed into the mob and given back their weapons. The mass of combat system toting cultists under me winds from the docking port around the corner and into the next parking bay where a pressure hulled oar shuttle waits my being shoved through the hatch before uncoupling for the Moon to the accompaniment of another drawn out “Paaayyyyooooolllllll iiiiiiiiimmmm zzzzzzooooooobbbuummmmmm.”

So short of a stop at Balance station, no going to Utah, and I’m off with a free ride right to where I want to go anyway.

Strapped into a bucket seat. Good time to check my messages. Beneath ever watchful zoobum eyes I scroll the lists of blocked calls. Helen want’s to talk. Later. Chevrolet is on her way to the Moon with Space. Want’s to talk. Later. Demarist, Moody, and General Somebody. Later. Later. Later-est.

Holo message number 682 caught my attention with her gorgeous face. She explains that she is an unknowledgeist and that she doesn’t want to know what I know but what I don’t know. She studies not the unknown, the unknow. Once it’s known then she moves on to something that she doesn’t know or something that I don‘t yet know that I don‘t know. She represents the N.N. Taleb Permanent Government Anti-Library Database, which has no location and stores no unknowns.

“Of course how could you store what you don’t know!”

Everyone around me on this ore shuttle cargo deck nod knowingly. “In zoobum.” They murmur.

She feels very strongly that she should accompany me on my meeting with the “unknown”. She makes quote mark gestures with her fingers in the air.

Later.

Suit tells me that it has found my home tube systems intact. Only maint access has been allowed. New coms have been installed, the fridge quit, been replaced, the new decomp windows are caulked with fresh radiation putty. It’ll be good to be back to my old low-G air bed, which is also new cause I bought it yesterday to be delivered right about now.

I can’t resist this chance to learn about my religion. One of these combat chanters has to be a talker.

“So, tell me, why are you so heavily armed and ready to die for aliens?” I point to a random fanatic.

“They don’t understand us!” He gets bigger. I take that he means that they are misunderstood by every other human being. Or only several billions of them at least.

“Zubom is truth!” Some one of them shouts. “Zubstruth!“ They chant. This is a loud talking bunch strapped to the cargo racks in a rumbling pressure shuttle. “Zub is the vector to God!”

My new captors look like the characters of a bad futuristic apocalyptic drama entvid. Costumed by movie wardrobe department trying to imagine the stockrooms of a lunar mine supply/gun store. Armed most of them with good gear no doubt bought and delivered up from corporations on earth, likely ordered with the ease of pizza. The weaponry reveals that this group holds such firepower in large capacitor blasters that any sustained trade of fire would surely destroy structures to the point of certain depressurization. “Suicide focoist’s” suit calls them. Unorganized, unpredictable, lead amok by unspoken mutual agreement to spontaneous violent attack in defense of their common desire. They are happy to be killed as it is a faster way to get to where they want to go anyway. If they “convert doubters” on the way well so much the better. To be killed by a zubom is a direct vector to God, so they feel they are doing you a favor as they kill you. Gleefully. Giggling like drunken children. Reportedly. Otherwise very law abiding.

At Lunar Port arrivals ramp I was turned over to the local space marines and escorted home.