by David Larson
“Yes,” Mike said, “I’m aware of that group. It’s in Miami.”
“Humans spend every single day getting around rules that they have written themselves, so they can gain the things they want on a daily basis. You have an entire system that does nothing but make up laws, defend laws, prosecute those that break those laws, defend people on a technical basis so they can get away with breaking those laws, and imprison the ones that couldn’t afford the best excuse makers to get them off the hook. National, community and family laws are an everyday way of life that not only do humans simply accept, they wither and die without it.
“Now,” Serilda leaned forward and spread her hands apart, “let’s picture a species whose strongest sense is the ability to distinguish between right and wrong. This ability even supersedes its drive for survival. That society would look at laws, especially laws against murder, theft, rape, child molestation, et alia as inane. They couldn’t even begin to wrap their heads around the fact that there was a need for laws like this in the first place.
“These people,” she set back in her chair again “would never even begin to consider driving their cars fast past a school because they would instinctively know it was endangering others’ lives. They would never consider punching someone in the face because they understand their culpability for the injury they might inflict. They would never even make unkind comments to another person about their weight, or appearance, or life choice because they would understand that they were responsible for inflicting undue pain on a fellow human being.
“Just wrap your head around a species,” Serilda said, “that is entirely unable to grasp even a molecule of the concept ‘they had it coming’.”
“Are you telling me that this entire planet is completely lawless?” Mike asked in wide eyed amazement.
“I guess the answer to that would be a technical ‘yes’,” Serilda said. “But if I understand the translation correctly your term ‘lawless’ has a definite negative connotation.”
Mike nodded.
“While we have no laws, or no need for laws for that matter, we have a population on this planet that could never even begin to grasp the idea of laws.
“Let me try to explain it this way,” Serilda said as she leaned forward. “You and Bob here are neighbors back on Earth. Bob has a tree in his yard that has gotten old and part of it is dead. Eventually that branch breaks off and crushes your fence and a gazebo in your yard. You want Bob to pay to have it fixed, and Bob thinks that since it’s in your yard you should just have your insurance pay for it. You end up yelling at each other across the property line and eventually it ends up in small claims court. There you present all of your facts and an impartial judge weighs them against the laws in your community and makes a ruling. Usually you’re both unhappy with the outcome and end up living next to a new mortal enemy until one of you moves.
“Does that sound like a pretty plausible scenario to you Mike?”
“Of course,” Mike said, “and I must add that you’re pretty well versed on how things work at home.” Already the phrase ‘at home’ was beginning to sound odd in Mikes head.
“I spent many years running deep space projects to Earth before I agreed to take this position.”
“Now let’s walk through that scene here, but backwards. There is no ruling, because there is no court, because there was no property line in the first place, or private ownership of that property. The tree still fell over, and still crushed the above stated structures, but both you and Bob know the only important thing here is that they be repaired. If you have the time you both get together and fix it. If you don’t there’s a community repair team that comes out and fixes it for you.”
Serilda sat back and smiled warmly.
“Alright,” Mike said, “but who pays for it?”
“Fasten your seatbelt for this one buddy,” Bob said, “it’s going to be a bumpy night.”
“We don’t have money here Mike,” Serilda said. “Not as you know it, or in any other way, shape or form. We actually have no form of compensation, insurance, unified health care, tuition, or taxes. Nothing at all like any of that.”
“How in the hell does that work?” Mike asked in wide eyed amazement.
“Like I said before Mike, this population has an intense sense of right and wrong. And when it comes right down to brass tacks, that really is all you need. People see a need for something to get done here and they do it. There is no waiting to see if someone else does it. Or complaining that the ‘powers that be’ don’t accomplish their community service tasks. People here see something amiss and fix it.”
“That all sounds pretty willy-nilly to me,” Mike said, “and haphazard on top of that.”
“What do you think a place like this would need to keep it from being ‘haphazard’ as you say?” Serilda asked, smirking.
“I don’t know,” Mike said as he absently scratched his chin. “Somebody to, I don’t know, coordinate things maybe. A central…”
He looked back at Serilda.
“Yes?” she said.
“A facilitator,” Mike said.
“You are on fire buddy!” Bob said as he slapped Mike on the knee.
“Yes Mike,” Serilda said as she smiled at Bob, “a facilitator. But like I said before, this isn’t just this city, or this area, or this country. Well, mostly because none of those things exist here either. But, this is the way the entire planet works.
“Think of the possibilities Mike,” Serilda went on. “We have no wars because everyone is working towards a common goal. The goal is the betterment and advancement of our planet. We don’t needlessly kill off creative minds or influential people in some moronic conquest of land or conflict over ideals. We don’t put the majority of our creative initiative into developing better ways to kill each other off, or ways to defend ourselves from being killed, blown up, irradiated, or burned to death.”
“But how could just one person facilitate ALL of that?” Mike asked.
“One person couldn’t,” Serilda said. It’s a pretty complex organization and I’m simply the focal point. People here like to be productive, just like people on your planet for that matter. Let’s say that a child shows an aptitude for medicine. That child is guided toward the ultimate goal of becoming a doctor or some other type of health care professional. Let’s say they show a real interest in just being outside all day working in the yard. Then they’re guided toward horticulture of some type.
“Naturally we can’t have everyone here being an astronaut or cowboy, so we have people that are very good at coordinating and directing people toward the needs of the community. Also, the concept of an eight hour day, five day work week, definite vacation time, a weekend or sick days is totally foreign here.
“How much time have you spent sitting at your job just waiting for the clock to get to the exact minute that you were allowed to ‘clock out,’ Mike?”
“Only every day,” Mike said.
“Exactly,” Serilda said. “Here we work until the job is done, or there’s a good place to stop and start again the next day, or until there is other work to do that’s more important than the work you are currently doing. Everyone here multitasks Mike. When I have nothing to do here I’m a carpenter in my community. Bob over there is a plumber and musician.”
Bob smiled and waved.
“You said that not one person could facilitate all of that,” Mike said. “How does that work.”
“To keep it simple,” Serilda said. “I sort of manage facilitators in several different areas, those offices manage smaller ones and so on, right down to the single community level.
“Let’s say that there was a storm that devastated a specific area. There would be quite a high demand for specialists to fix the damage. The facilitator in that area would inform the facilitator above them what the needs of the community were, and depending on the scope of what needed to be done the message would continue to go up the chain until the needs of that community were met.
“If the demand for assistance were to be great enough, eventually the requests would get all the way up to me. It really is a beautiful system Mike, and the people here thrive on it. It also keeps life here pretty stress free.”
“I guess I can see how it would,” Mike said. “And I guess I could see how someone like me could be more than a little dangerous here. Am I ever going to be able to actually get out and mingle with the masses, or am I just going to get shuffled around from one person to another as they give me a powerpoint presentation of how things work up here? Because I’ve got to tell you that the prospect of the last part is pretty depressing to me. I really want to work at being a part of this for a time. I really want to completely learn how to live this way and try to affect some change at home.”
The little earthling that lived inside Mike’s head knew the insincerity of quite a lot that was coming out of Mike’s mouth. He knew that he already was trying to conceive ways of manipulating this situation so he could stay here forever. He also knew that the very things he was thinking were wrong on so many levels it could have been its own Escher drawing. But his Earth conscience was already justifying the need for subterfuge. He didn’t want to go back to that big blue nut house near the sun…ever. He liked it here and knew that he would like it here for the rest of his life.
Serilda raised one eyebrow, “The plan is to start easing you into society in the next few days Mike. We understand that to sell it you must live it. Of course, we’ll have to have you accompanied at all times when you’re in public, and the first hint we get that you’re trying to get over on the people, or manipulate things, or lose your temper all bets are off and you get a one way ticket straight back home.”
“Of course,” Mike said.
“Yeah,” Bob said, “don’t make us turn this car around sonny.”
“I’m certain that you have more questions than you can even begin to ask right now,” Serilda said. “But you can’t learn and entire new alien life style just by sitting here and talking to me. I have some ideas for people that I will put in contact with you and we’ll get his party started.”
Serilda stood indicating that the visit was over. Mike and Bob stood as well, and Mike extended his hand toward Serilda.
“It’s a real pleasure,” Mike said congenially.
Serilda just looked at his hand. “We have nothing that equates to that custom here,” she said. “We never had to prove we weren’t trying to kill each other. You should probably not do that anymore.”
She smiled and directed them out through the office.
Mike pulled down his extended hand and wiped it on his pants unconsciously.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No need for an apology,” Serilda said as she smiled. “The journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step. I think that was the Chinese Philosopher Laozi. I understand he asked to come back here as well.”
Seven:
Bob and Mike were standing inside another white, cornerless, edgeless, room with a silver spike in the middle of it.
“How do you like your new digs?” Bob asked.
“They seem to be a little spartan but I’m getting used to that,” Mike answered.
“You mean a three-foot-tall guy with a spear and helmet?” Bob said.
“What?” Mike asked.
“Never mind,” Bob said as he moved toward the door. “You make yourself comfortable here and I’ll be back in a few hours to take you out to dinner. I think you’re going to like it. While you’re at it, if you want music just think it, and it plays through your ceiling, same thing with the TV.”
“My TV plays through the ceiling?” Mike asked. “Why would it do that?”
Bob just looked at him for a few minutes. “No, numb nuts. The screen is just like the ones on the transporters. You can’t see it till it comes on.”
“Where is it in the room? Mike asked turning around a few times. “I don’t see anything.”
“Man, I just said you can’t see it when it’s off. Think it on and you can’t miss it. It will be the window looking thing with moving pictures on it. Don’t freak out, people talk to you on it too.”
Bob turned to walk out the door. “Peace out earthman. See you in a few parsecs.”
Mike could hear Bob laughing to himself as he walked away, “Parsecs…oh man…I kill myself.”
Bob cocked his head and looked at the ceiling. Lindsey Buckingham started the snapping dual note lead-in to Rhiannon as John McVie backed him up. Mick Fleetwood rolled in the cymbal and Stevie Nicks started that low smokie moan she was famous for, like smooth Kentucky bourbon flowing sweetly over gravel. Mike’s head began to bounce in time with Fleetwood’s beat.
He sank into an overstuffed, well-worn chair that was conveniently right where his butt dropped. Mike looked directly across from him and a floor to ceiling copy of Gainsborough’s The Blue Boy appeared on the wall. Instantly the floor was covered with a beautiful Brazilian Cherry Hardwood that was in turn covered with an exquisite Turkish silk rug. The pattern was red on gold, elephants carried British hunters in pith helmets as they kept a warry eye out for tigers around the periphery of the rug. As soon as Mike thought how cool it would be, the elephants began to actually move around the edge of the rug.
Mike smiled. “Of course,” he said to himself.
The central statue of the arm in the center of the holocaust memorial in Miami erected itself in the center of the room covering the spike. A beautiful vine began to crawl around the walls next to The Blue Boy, then they continued to spread around the rest of the room. The Blue Boy was replaced with a ballerina by Leonid Afremov.
“That’s better,” Mike said out loud.
Above him Stevie drifted into passive silence and an acoustic guitar soulfully pinged into existence. The bass line rolled in soft, low, and sexy. Then Dobie Gray’s voice blended with the rhythmic beating of a metronome.
Day after day I’m more confused, yet I look for the light through the pouring rain…”
“Not me Dobie,” Mike thought to himself “not any more. The light is right here, buddy. I just need to hold on to it.”
Mike snapped his eyes open. The room that he had been decorating slowly firmed itself into existence. The TV was on and a picture of Jerry Garcia was sticking his tongue out at Mike.
“Open the Damn door,” Bob said to Mike.
Mike thought about it and the door swooshed opened.
“OK ramblers, let’s get rambling,” Bob said.
“How much time did you spend watching movies when you were supposed to be working on Earth?” Mike asked.
“A lot,” Bob said, “get it?”
Mike shrugged.
“Wow,” Bob said, “how many dicks is that?”
Bob raised his eye brows waiting for Mike to answer.
“A Lot,” Bob said, then he paused for recognition. “Nothing? OK, let’s make like a tree and hit the road.”
“Where are we going?” Mike asked.
“Dinner dopey,” Bob said “Man you got a memory as long as your… Never mind. Let’s make like a sheep herder and leave.”
Mike and Bob walked out of the room into the fading light of the absolutely most beautiful evening Mike had ever seen. The sun was surrendering the approach of night by swimming in a flaming lightshow that took Mike’s breath away. Stars were beginning to explore the possibility of dazzling the night sky on the opposite horizon. The red moon was gone, and the ringed moon was barely visible as it acquiesced to the approaching darkness just above the ring of infinity that was the horizon. Another moon was rising next to it. This one was the deepest of deep black. It looked like a hole in space that was threatening to suck everything out of existence. Surrounding the outer edge of the circle of that moon was a flaming ring of silver that diffused into a soft shimmering glow.
Mike’s soul ached.
“Right this way,” Bob said, breaking Mikes’ reverie.
The two walked in silence down a beautiful gar
den path that was backlit by an unseen row of soft, ground-level lights. A small stream danced, and gurgled a laughing, playful sound as it rolled its way past them. On the other bank of the stream were two glowing rabbits quietly eating leaves. They had antlers.
“Jackalopes,” Mike said absently “Radioactive jackalopes.”
“What was that buddy?” Bob asked.
Mike just drifted down the path in stunned silence and said nothing.
After a very short time, or whatever time was masquerading as in this utopia, Mike could hear the soft notes of music. It sounded like a combination of reggae and a country music ballad. As he got closer he could hear the singer softly professing undying love for…
“Carrots?” Mike asked.
“Say what pard?” Bob said.
“Is he singing about carrots?” Mike asked.
They had stopped outside a large structure that looked like a giant tiki hunt. The place was filled with people sitting at several long tables. Some of them were carrying plates filled with brightly colored food through a line that was clearly a buffet table. At one end of the room the lover of carrots was sitting in front of a long rectangular board that, if it had keys, could have been an electronic keyboard. He was singing about the beauty of…water… The instrument he was playing was emitting some the most spirit-cleansing music Mike had ever heard. But the words were, for the lack of a better word, ignorant. They didn’t make any sense. And at times seemed a little, childish.
