Your task is to help prepare a user guide application, which will help all these newcomers to integrate into society. It should explain how to obtain housing, access food and water, and all the other basics of life that we all take for granted...”
“I don’t know the first thing about this place,” Janice said, trying to interrupt Trev.
“..and the customs and traditions that newcomers will be expected to follow. We have called it the Skidian User Guide, or SKUG for short,” Trev continued, speaking over the top of Janice.
“If the controlling AI is so clever, why can’t it write the manual?” Janice asked. “That would make more sense, then we could simply fact check it.”
This would have made a lot more sense, Trev thought and wondered why he and Sue hadn’t approached the challenge this way. Sue should have fronted up to the discussion, because she had taken it upon herself to get the work underway, but with time running short before Bruce’s wedding, she had decided to go and get her hair done instead.
Because you are an idiot. I’ve already drafted a document. Remember?
“Because..” Trev hesitated. “Because it was decided the manual needed a human touch, but I think we can revisit this.. er.. constraint,” he finished lamely.
“I am not sure we can add any value. I’ve only been here a few hours and there seems to be a lot to learn in a very short time,” Morris replied.
“You guys are all nuts,” Mitch chimed in. It wasn’t immediately clear who he was talking about, or what part he would have to play in developing a manual.
All these guys have to do is crap test it. When will you and Sue ever learn to follow instructions?
“I was misinformed! A document has already been drafted. All that is required is for you to review it and add any suggestions.” It was too late for Trev to save the situation and avoid looking even more stupid than he already did. An application came to life on all the tablets and the television simultaneously.
The Skidian User Guide
Introduction
Welcome to Skid, the most technologically advanced and sophisticated society in the known universe, where you have embarked on an exciting new chapter in your life. We understand this may cause some distress, but we also note you all made a conscious decision to leave your old life behind when you either joined the MFY movement or joined the stream of undocumented migrants and refugees headed for the European mainland. Consider your arrival on Skid as another step on your journey to fulfilling your dreams of interstellar travel, and/or finding security and prosperity for yourself and your families.
Purpose
The purpose of The Skidian User Guide or SKUG is to help you to settle in to your new life on Skid. It is a primer of dos and don’ts and documents some key elements of Skidian culture you need to be aware of. More detailed information is available from other sources which can be accessed directly from your Book.
The Basics
Books
A Book is the tablet or smart phone-like device you were issued with on arrival and that you are using to access this document. Your Book allows you to tap into all the resources enabling you to live a fulfilling existence on Skid. Use the apps downloaded to the SKUG folder on your Book to access key information and services.
The Books are also utilised to order goods and services, for example clothing and equipment required for recreational activities.
Accommodation and Housing
Skid has an almost infinite supply of housing. Once you locate an unoccupied dwelling, simply register possession using the Housing Req(uisition) App in the SKUG folder on your Book. This will give you residence rights in perpetuity. The housing stock is owned by the state. There is no concept of personal ownership of property on Skid.
Victuals
All food, water and beverages are available from dispensers in any occupied residence. The dispensers are located in the dining and living areas of your residence.
Health Care
All new Skidians are infused with medichines which circulate in your bloodstream. The medichines continuously monitor your bodily functions and autonomously address any health issues until natural senescence.
Government
Skid is a Constitutional Monarchy. Traditionally a single house of hereditary representatives, the Senate, is presided over by a chief minister, known as the Chief Mati. The Chief Mati provides overall direction and the casting vote in the Senate in the event of a tie. Given most of the former representatives were victims of the famine, the seats in the Senate are now open to anyone and newSkidians are encouraged to become part of the Senate. As the population increases, this position will need to be revised, and an electoral program will be developed and implemented after consultation with the relevant stakeholders.
Religion
Organised religion is unknown on Skid. newSkidians are free to follow and practise their native faith and all Skidians are required to be tolerant of other Skidians beliefs or lack thereof. Conflict arising from religious differences and any attempts to proselytise will not be tolerated. The construction of dedicated houses of worship is forbidden.
Travel
newSkidians are free to travel anywhere on the planet and around the local system. Travel back to the offworld solar system is not permitted under any circumstances.
Skid has an extensive mass transit network for local travel. Check the Transit app on your Book for further information.
Other Essential Material
Employment
The concept of work and employment as understood on Earth is largely unknown on Skid. A few Skidians have technical, security and space flight and exploration roles, and there are a few administrative roles in government. All other Skidians have no occupation, paid or otherwise.
“So, what do they do with themselves all day?” Janice asked aloud. “And how do we get involved with the space flight roles?”
Communication
Books have multiple purposes. They are primarily a communications device but fulfil all the functions of a smart phone and more. There is no facility for two-way communication with Earth, but all links remain open to receive data and information. All dwellings contain large screen devices and there are numerous feeds from terrestrial organisations for entertainment purposes.
Leisure, Recreation, and Sport
Historically, Skidian entertainment revolved around Stim events and historical dramas glorifying Skid’s heroic past. Given the impact of the famine on the population, there are currently insufficient suitable Stim participants to enact meaningful events. However, some exhibition matches are planned soon. With the population expanding, it is hoped the influx of newSkidians will help to address the current lack of depth in participation numbers. It has been mooted participants be imported directly from the indoSkidians home planet to bolster rosters in the interim.
newSkidians are free to pursue any recreational pastime but indoSkidians have few pastimes or hobbies other than attending Stim events and roaming aimlessly around the planet on the underground mass transit network.
Appendices
TBD
“Bloody hell,” was all Morris could think of to say at first. “Do you think anyone is going to take any notice of this guide? I don’t think people are going to get much past the introduction before throwing their toys out of the pram and demanding to be sent home. I can just imagine the uproar. There’ll be a riot.”
“But who is going to listen? The local authorities? People are just going to be stuck here. If it becomes known we helped with the guide, we’ll become the local authorities by default, whether we like it or not.”
“Everyone will have to get used to the way things are done around here,” Mitch said. “There is no going back to Earth, unless you are one of the inner sanctum and can pretty well do what you want. I know this piece of work talks about getting involved in the government, but don’t for a moment think it’s going to make a difference. It’s all for show. I’ve seen and dealt with th
ese people in the past.” Mitch paused to catch his breath, almost became overcome by emotion, and then continued. “Most of them have no idea what they’re doing, or what running a government entails. They have nothing better to do with their time than spend it pretending they are important. None of the new migrants will be able to find an established authority who will hear their protest. They could take a seat in the senate, but nobody is likely to pay them much attention, and that’s not where the real power lays anyway. Even Trev here is just a bit player in the greater scheme of things.”
“Oi! That’s not fair,” Trev protested.
“Come on son, you know who the main movers and shakers are as well as I do. You and your piece of fluff aren’t one of them,” Mitch reminded him rather brutally, exposing the harder edge lurking behind the outwardly placid, vaguely jolly, grandfatherly demeanour he normally had on display.
Trev’s face went red and he gulped like a stranded fish gasping for air. He stepped backwards and for some reason held up his hands to ward off an imaginary attacker, before composing himself.
“This planet is overseen by an AI who answers chiefly to Bruce Harwood, and to a lesser extent a couple of other characters, one of whom is this dipshit's brother. There are a couple of others involved who I can’t really get a handle on.” Mitch continued with his interpretation of the Skidian power structure.
“So, we really are stuck here then?”
“That’s about the size of it. Mr Zarif, you’ve been pretty quiet,” Mitch said, turning to Zarif. “Do you have anything to say?”
Zarif shook his head. He was still trying to comprehend what was going on. The last few hours had passed by in a blur and he didn’t know what to think. He was also suffering from a decent hangover after discovering alcohol was available in his quarters. Free from the normal constraints of his religion and community, he had quietly indulged himself but vowed it would be the last time.
He hadn’t intended to drink, but he couldn’t stop himself after inadvertently pouring himself some beer instead of water from the dispenser in his suite. After sampling a few different brews, he found one he liked, which encouraged him to have a few more. The stress of the last few days and the fact that alcohol consumption was not frowned on in this society further reduced his inhibitions. In the end he had drunk far more than he should have, never having touched alcohol before, and a humungous, debilitating hangover was the result. He wasn’t really in any condition to make a useful contribution to the discussion.
He had other problems too. While he understood and spoke English reasonably well, he was struggling with the different accents. He was also somewhat starstruck by the presence of the former President of the United States, and even more so by the very attractive western woman who was paying him attention.
There was one thing he was sure about. The people from his village wouldn’t react too kindly to any restrictions or limitations on how they chose to worship. However, he was too shy to voice this opinion.
“I’m quite happy to tidy the language up,” Morris offered. Morris thought it couldn’t hurt to stick his hand up and get involved with the SKUG. It could maybe lead to future opportunities with their new leaders. It never hurt to have a few Brownie points stashed away. Trev nodded his assent and deciding his work was done, wandered off without a word.
“So how do you think we should go about this?” Morris asked, turning to Zarif and Janice. “I’ve had a quick flick through the appendices and I think we need to put some meat on the bones of the guide and create some visuals.”
Twenty-Six
The wedding didn’t evolve quite the way Mavis had dreamt of all these years. To be fair, this time round it was close to her idea of perfection, notwithstanding her misgivings about the bride and the bride’s family. She glanced across at her husband, who wore a satisfied smile on his face. He shared none of her concerns. Cyril didn’t seem at all worried that the guest list had swelled to include half the district, and the bride’s whanau* came from far and wide. The cost had swelled to twice the original budget, and he, a notorious tight-arse, had agreed to foot at least half the bill for it without batting an eyelid.
Mavis gripped her husband’s hand tightly and dabbed away a stray tear with her free one. She was determined not to cry and smiled dutifully as the happy couple came abreast of her and smiled in her direction on their way down the aisle after the ceremony.
She made sure she looked happy for them, for the flashing smart phone cameras, the official photographer, and the videographer. Mavis and Cyril stood and followed the happy couple outside and stood on the steps of the chapel. They watched as her son and his new wife mingled with the crowd and then edged their way closer to a ute adorned with streamers of toilet paper. The vehicle would take them down the road for a moment of peace and quiet and a few more photos, while everyone else made their way to the local community hall where the reception was to be held, a few hundred metres away. No doubt many of them would be making inroads on the bar straight away.
“Thank Christ for that,” Bruce muttered, sliding into the back seat. He waited until his new wife had joined him and closed the door, before flicking open the small chilly bin on the floor and grabbing a beer.
“Do you think you could show a little bit of respect, Bruce, and wait until we’re out of the car park before having a drink?” Ngaio asked.
It had been a sore point with Mavis Harwood that Bruce and Ngaio had decided to marry in the old Ratana chapel on the local marae, rather than in the happy clappy church she frequented in town. But they had eventually agreed that Ngaio and her family would decide where the ceremony was going to take place. It was also a clever way of getting the community involved in restoring the old chapel, something Ngaio’s father Rangi had been trying to get locally funded for years. Bruce owed him a favour, as Rangi continually reminded him, and this was a way of repaying the debt. Bruce could have easily have restored the building himself with the resources he had at his disposal, but this wouldn’t have generated the evident community pride with the result once the work was completed.
“OK love.. do you want a beer?”
“Bruce! You know you shouldn’t be drinking or smoking on the marae grounds,” Ngaio reminded him, as Bruce pulled out a packet of cigarettes. “I thought you promised me you were giving up anyway?”
Bruce sighed and put the bottle back in the chilly bin. As they waited to be driven to the beach where the bulk of their wedding photos were going to be taken, Bruce spotted Myfair talking to some of the local senior rugby team and wound down the window. “Hurry up, man!” Myfair wasn’t difficult to spot, since he towered over most of the guests. “Oi, let’s get a fucken' move on!” he called.
Ngaio leant forward and gave him a friendly nip on the ear, just to show she wasn’t being too serious while they waited. Myfair eventually pulled himself away from the crowd and got in
*Whanau - an extended family or community of related families who live together in the same area.
behind the wheel. As they drew away, Bruce opened each of them a beer.
“Cheers, love,” he said. They clinked bottles and then he downed most of his in one long gulp. “Ah. I needed that.”
Bruce reached for another bottle out of the bin and felt a keen sense of déjà vu. It didn’t seem that long ago he had been sitting in the back of a big limousine with another new wife, on the way to a wedding reception. Myfair had also been with him then.
Bruce had come a long way since then, he recalled an old saying: a lot of water had flowed under the bridge since then. This wedding was different. Last time around, he was already harbouring doubts he’d made the right decision to get married. Today, there was no doubt in his mind whatsoever.
It was still a bit of a mystery how he had got married the first time around. He sure as hell didn’t remember proposing. It just seemed to be the right thing to do at the time, given he and his former wife, Sue, had a boy together.
Bruce glanced at Ngaio. Thei
r eyes met, and they smiled at each other.
“Where’s Little Bruce? Shouldn’t he be with us?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be along soon. Please take it easy on the drink, Bruce, we have the rest of the afternoon to get through.”
Bruce had been led astray the night before, and still felt a wee bit green around the gills. He didn’t want to spoil Ngaio’s big day by getting pissed and making a dick of himself.
“Yes, love,” he replied, and meant it. He had earlier requested his medichines not to give any relief from his hangover as a form of self-inflicted punishment. On reflection, on this day of all days, this was a stupid idea. Who in their right minds would deny themselves a hangover cure at any point in time?
Bruce felt a pleasant wave wash through his bloodstream. The AI controlling his medichines read his mind and made the necessary alterations to his blood chemistry to alleviate the impact of over-indulging the night before.
He settled back in his seat. The rest of the day was going to be a much more pleasant experience than his first wedding. For starters, he wasn’t expecting to discover a huge asteroid was on a collision course for Earth, like last time.
It was the culmination of weeks of intensive planning, and innumerable trips to the dressmaker and suit shop to ensure the bride and groom were dressed just right. There had been multiple meltdowns as Bruce and Ngaio battled to contain the power-struggle between their mothers and get the wedding they wanted. Bruce had seen the writing on the wall early on and gave up trying to influence events he had no control over. He had suggested Ngaio do the same.
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