Freehold

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Freeholders seemed to regard a park as the place to hang out. Hundreds of small groups, tens of entertainers and vendors, pets of all descriptions filled her vision in every direction. The simple geometric beauty of the park's architecture fought a fierce battle with chaos and lost. She found the central fountain, which was even fuller of bodies than the night before, and took the main path to the right and west. She shortly located the bazaar.

  The previous discordance paled in comparison. Tents, awnings, parasols, trailers, vehicles and the ever-present bicycles looked to have been tossed out of a bucket en masse. She wended her way in slowly, unconsciously keeping a hand on her pouch, and examined the signs (of those vendors who had them) and the wares (of those who didn't).

  Several merchants were selling UV-damping contact lenses. She compared prices on them, came back to the stall that had the best price on a style she liked, and was reminded to haggle by the actions of the customer ahead of her.

  "Okay," she began to the seller, "I like these, but fourteen just isn't in the budget of a bum like me."

  "Well, you get what you pay for," he returned, casually running a hand through his hair. "I've got the best price around and I really can't go much lower without a bulk sale. If you want three or four colors or different-shaped pupils, I'd be glad to drop ten percent," he hinted.

  "I'd like to," she agreed wistfully, nodding, "But I just unshipped and can't throw the dough."

  "All right," he said, "I'll drop them to thirteen, but only because you have such incredible eyes I'd hate to see them burned."

  She bit her lip, considering. It sounded like a good offer, but she really needed to be stingy. She also needed to protect her eyes. She haggled a bit lower, wasn't sure if she got a deal or not, but was satisfied for now. That was another thing to learn about. Task accomplished, she took possession of the contacts and popped them in her eyes. They cut the glare, deepened the blue of her pupils and were plain otherwise—no odd-shaped irises or strange colors or effects. He handed her change, receipt and a business card with a polite scan that told her it wasn't just her eyes he liked. Thanking him, she pushed on.

  There was no real style to the crowd, but she did notice hats and scarves being used more than cloak hoods. She found a stand selling light but well-constructed scarves and threw back her hood to try some on.

  "Oh, I love the hair!" the woman selling exclaimed. "Where did you pick that up?"

  She explained its Earthly origin and the static pin placement that held it up, and was rewarded with a considerable discount on three scarves. The merchant helped her arrange one over her hair and neck and thanked her for the style tips. It seemed the horsemane was just being imported from Earth and she was at the front of the fashion trend. Her morale received a much-needed boost.

  She hurried away as soon as was polite. She had been unable to avoid staring at the woman's naked, tattooed breasts and it had seemed very out of place to do so. No one else had given any indication of notice.

  She received quite a few looks from passersby and realized many of them weren't for her hair. She mistook them for critical looks and was oblivious to the real cause of the attention: her beauty. A self-assessment indicated that no one was wearing loose, floppy shorts. She sought another clothing display.

  She found an elasticized brief akin to those worn by many of the women present and bought three. After the purchase, she found her way out of the bazaar and sought a restroom to change. She headed in the direction she knew would find her such facilities—the park center.

  She got lost, reoriented when she saw the fountain erupting over the crowd and walked that way. As she passed the broad, shallow pool, something else surprised her. A woman, expensively dressed in a short blue liquid-sheen dress yelled a friendly obscenity to her friends, then peeled the garment over her head and tossed it onto a grounded cloak.

  She wore nothing underneath except subtle tattoos and unsubtle Celtic knotwork tanned into her bronze skin and protected with blocker. Unconcerned, the woman headed for the fountain.

  Kendra knew she should be getting used to it by now, but it was still a bit of a shock. Shrugging, she continued, entered the restroom, sought a stall, slid out of her shorts, slid into the stretchy trunks and pulled them on. She looked much closer to the local styles.

  She also felt ridiculous and dangerously exposed. Steeling herself, she stepped outside again and sought a new path—Rob had said he'd be in the park, but she had no idea where.

  * * *

  She awoke with blurry vision, confused, and grabbed for her pouch, which someone was removing from her waist.

  "Easy, lady," a voice cautioned her. She focused on the young man in military uniform, who continued, "I'm Medic Jaheed. You collapsed a few seconds ago." As he spoke he drew her pouch aside, lifted her head and rolled a cloak under it. Turning, he raised his voice, "I need some water!"

  Shortly, a girl ran up with a bottle. He made her drink several swallows, cautioned her, then dumped the rest on her head and chest. She recovered with a gasp, arching her back. As she relaxed again, Jaheed placed his hand in hers and told her, "Grip."

  Satisfied with the strength of her response, he nodded. He and a woman bystander helped her to her feet, escorted her to a water fountain and waited while she slowly drank several more mouthfuls of water. Kendra insisted she felt fine and Jaheed insisted just as firmly that she should be escorted home and rest.

  "Offworlder, right?" he said.

  "Just got here from Earth," she admitted.

  "You need rest and you need someone to go with you for safety," he reiterated. Kendra finally relented and was accompanied home by the woman.

  "Thank you for helping me," she said to her guide. "I'm Kendra."

  "I'm Alexia, professionally. It's no trouble. I have a client in this direction, anyway."

  "Oh? What do you do?" Kendra asked, looking her up and down. She was a bit above average height for Earth, had obvious Asian and Hispanic heritage, coffee-toned skin and a poise that took her from simply "beautiful" to "striking." Her eyes were violet from contacts and her hair was jet with purple flames dyed into it to match the shades of her lipgloss and makeup. Kendra would be some time getting used to casual nudity, she decided. Alexia's outfit was black leather cut away around the breasts, split and laced entirely down both sides, open to the mid back, broad shouldered and collarless. Real leather was illegal on Earth and the outfit itself would get her hassled by punks no end. Then, some nations still had laws against "indecent exposure." Bare breasts were technically legal in North America, but only a fool would exercise the privilege, with the risk of inviting attack it entailed.

  "Escort."

  Kendra caught on almost immediately and again said, "Oh!"

  "Alexia" realized Kendra's assumption and replied, "It's not what you think. I do have sex with some clients, yes. I also dance, hostess, act as tour guide for visitors and anything else someone wants. It's all done on my terms."

  "I think I see," Kendra said. "But it's definitely not my thing. They offered me that when I landed and I . . . didn't take the suggestion well," she finished. Yesterday. Had it only been yesterday?

  "Well, if you ever change your mind," Alexia fished out a card, "call me."

  "Right. Like I have the body for it."

  The dark woman whirled, looked stunned. "You don't think you're attractive?"

  "Hell, no!" Kendra responded vehemently. "I'm way too light-skinned, too skinny and too tall. You have a market for that?"

  "Kendra," Alexia said soothingly, taking her by her arm and guiding her back in the right direction, "I don't know Earth standards, but by normal ratings here, you are incredibly exotic. Besides which, talent is at least equal to looks and I think you could manage just fine. You could retire to the Islands in ten years. Think it over."

  Taking a deep breath and then deeper to compensate, Kendra said levelly, "I appreciate the offer. Thanks anyway."

  Alexia nodded and responded, "Sorry to offe
nd."

  Kendra changed the subject back to safer areas by commenting, "I can't believe how hot it is."

  "Yes it is," Alexia agreed, "When summer hits, it'll be unbearable."

  Shocked again, Kendra asked, "This isn't summer?"

  "Late spring. Summer starts in four weeks and it'll get hotter after that."

  "Ouch." Again Kendra felt that alienness that seemed to encroach everywhere. She almost missed her building, but the sight of a convenience store a block away reminded her she needed food. She thanked Alexia and went to grab some staples.

  Twenty minutes later, she was realizing that she should have bought a knife. The package of "mild" enchiladas didn't have a pull strip and wouldn't tear. As she fought with it, there was a knock at the door.

  She turned around to see Rob at the window and waved him in.

  "Are you feeling okay?" he asked as he entered.

  "Fine," she replied. Then she realized where the question came from and added, "How did you find out?"

  "There can't be many one-eighty-five-centimeter Earth blondes in this city. And if there are, I want their data codes so I can invite them to a screaming orgy," he said, approaching. Upon seeing the wrapper she struggled with, he continued, "That needs a knife."

  "I realize that," she said in exasperation.

  Rob reached past her with a knife that appeared to be the size of her forearm and sliced the poly open with the whisper of a really sharp edge. "You could have borrowed one from my kitchen."

  "Huh?" Kendra replied, confused, still focused on the knife. The blade had to be fifteen centimeters.

  He slid it back into a sheath at the waist of his trunks while explaining, "Walk next door and grab one from the rack above my sink next time. The door isn't locked."

  Again, culture shock hit her. The door isn't locked. Just go in and borrow whatever you need. She was silent for a few moments, placing the food on a plate and sliding it in to heat in the microwave. Finally she said, "Thank you. I'll remember."

  Her brain started working again and she turned to face him. "Did you come back just to check on me?"

  "That and lunch. Bring those next door and I'll whomp up some sides."

  A few minutes later, she was sitting at his table, biting into a wonderfully crisp salad to refresh her palate from the enchiladas and Rob's tacos. She could smell a cake finish baking for dessert. She was amazed at Rob's ability to cook from packages or improvise from scratch. He was amazed that she didn't know how to cook. She asked about the table, which had a rocky, pebbly blue-gray look under the smooth waxed finish. He told her it was "nuggetwood."

  After lunch, Kendra insisted on accompanying Rob back to the park. He insisted she bring a water bottle. The conversation continued as they walked along a different route to the east side of the park. This route took them through a wooded area, the somber greens and browns of Earth plants clashing with the riotous blues and yellows of native growth. It was cooler under the trees and they slowed their pace. Rob explained and named the exotic trees. Holding her hand, he pointed out nuggetwood, dragonwood, crazyquilt, pillar and bluemaple.

  "What's that bramblelike stuff?" she inquired, indicating an orange tangle set down in a depression. It resembled concertina wire more than anything.

  "Firethorns. Stay away from them," he warned. "That clump is one of several carefully maintained bushes kept here. They carry a formic acid sting and are very springy. If you get caught, hold still, because they coil and wrap you up tighter. They spread quickly if allowed and fertilize themselves with dead animals."

  Kendra stared in queasy fascination at the large plant. Freehold's equivalent of a Venus flytrap and large enough to eat people. Terrific. Terrifying.

  She leaned a little closer as the tour of the glade continued. He listed other trees—tanglewood, forker, smoketree. A long, looping vine called hangman's noose was usually found on the gallows tree. As she stopped to rest, back against a bole and gasping for breath, he pointed out several bushes and flowers—the long, warm summers and harsh winters, both with lots of ultraviolet from Iota, created a tremendous ecological diversity. She nodded, too worn to speak, as several small animals made brief appearances and Rob told her of the larger animals out in the wilds—ninety percent of the planet—that made necessary loaded guns for travelers.

  "And that's something you should take care of at your earliest inconvenience," he advised as they entered the open park center again.

  "A gun?" she asked, not entirely comprehending.

  "The city gets most of its labor in the form of petty criminals. You, as an indent, can expect to be in charge of those work details. And the perimeter park areas sometimes get wild animals, including rippers. You will need a gun."

  "Well, if I have to, I have to. But I don't like it," she warned him.

  "You'll get used to it."

  "I suppose." She shrugged.

  The sound of a local band interfered with further conversation and she sat with him to listen for a while. The music was dissonant, loud and odd to her ears and she wondered if Earth music had any following here.

  The performance wound down at just about the same time Kendra decided she could take no more heat. She walked with Rob to a vendor selling beverages and selected one.

  "Sure that's your taste?" he asked.

  "I'll find out."

  "Okay," he shrugged. They took their drinks and found some shade near a copse of trees on another artificial hill. Sipping, he explained more about the local lifeforms. There were two rabbit analogs. One was compact and looked a bit like an oversized kangaroo rat. It was known as a bouncer. The other, very leggy and capable of deceptive maneuvers, was called a bugs. Most of the higher animal forms were a variety of mammal analog that took evolution the next step. They had three orifices; one each for reproduction, urine and feces. Their liver functions were served by three different organs. And just about everything had enough extra bones that it slunk like a cat. The ripper was reminiscent of a leopard or a cheetah in movement, but looked more like a badger on steroids, only with long, muscular legs. It maxed out at better than 135 kph—Rob graciously translated, then gave the speed again as 365 kilometers per div. It had retractable claws and fangs and could bring down land prey the size of a rhino unassisted. Kendra agreed it might be an idea to carry a gun and hope she could think faster than an animal like that.

  As they stood, Kendra swayed, lights at the edge of her vision. "Woah!" she giggled. Rob helped steady her. She leaned on him and had to use him for support.

  "What's happening?" she asked. "Is the heat getting to me again?"

  "No, the Sparkle is," he told her, taking more of her weight.

  "The what?"

  "That drink is an intoxicant and mild hallucinogen. That's why I asked if it was what you wanted."

  "I didn't realize it was a drug!" she protested. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "It was on the vendor's sign."

  They began walking and Kendra marveled at another sunset. The colors were impressive and the hallucinatory effects were fantastic, in the true meaning of the word. She made Rob stop, and stared at the clouds as they writhed.

  It took quite a bit longer to get back to Rushton Avenue, Kendra leaning on Rob when the Sparkle kicked in and returning to her own feet as it faded. Apparently, the effect came through in waves. He helped her up the stairs and took her into her room. "You need to lie down," he told her.

  It took some time for the effect to wear off and she had the attention span of a goldfish in the interim. Rob left her to float back down—it was essentially a harmless euphoric drug. He checked on her periodically and brought a tray of food in afterward.

  While they ate and she vowed again to read signs, she asked, "Tell me about this 'voluntary' tax system."

  "Simple. You may pay fees or not. If, however, you are called into a legal action in any capacity, you must be able to document payment for the last three years or pay the amount due plus prevailing interest. That is a generic '
you,' of course, as yours will be deducted automatically until your indent is paid."

  "So if you don't do anything wrong and keep your mouth shut you can cruise?"

  "In theory. However, the chance of spending a year without going to Citizen's Court is negligible."

  "You're joking. Go to court every year?"

  "It's a different system than Earth. The Oath requires a court appearance, so does a documented marriage. Registering the birth of any children who will be able to inherit or of your own birth if your parents didn't. Traffic incidents. Use of force in self-defense may, if there are questions. Civil disputes over wages or benefits. The only reliable way to avoid the system is to move so far out in the brush that no one will encounter you. Some do that."

  "And the whole government runs on those fees?"

  "Citizens pay for the privilege of ruling, getting a small stipend in return and the court fees paid are more generated income. The military and safety patrols charge for any assistance we render on duty and most of the large corporations donate a small percentage to the military as an insurance against our need in industrial accidents. They also use us as testing and advertising for any products we may find useful. Our main exports are industrial and military technology, and our military is better than any media advertising. There is a strong charitable and cooperative tradition here—if people are done with something, they generally hand it down or leave it where it can be salvaged. Taxes aren't needed for welfare or to be wasted on second-rate education or artificial 'pensions.' You buy everything for yourself on an open market of companies that want your business."

  "I don't see how that can possibly work fairly," she disagreed, shaking her head.

  "Well, it costs less than half as much to educate a student here, who will score much higher on any aptitude test. Literacy is above ninety-six percent, and I believe North America is about eighty-nine percent. And no, it isn't fair. Some schools are better than others. But more depends on the student than the school, and people are not equal. I point out that our standard of living is considerably higher than anywhere on Earth and we accomplish it without taxing people into poverty."