* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * SEX, LIES, AND NECROMANCY by Daniel Parsons and Brandi Weed Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense. -- Gertrude Stein * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * "Good morning, no. 11." Angel turned around. "Oh, it's only you, no. 2. Though I don't know why I should bother to respond to that number you've bestowed on me. My name is --" "Of course, no. 11." He smiled very placidly. "I came to speak with you. Would you like to sit down?" "No, of course not. I was going to the gymnasium, as I had intended to do before you so rudely interrupted." "A healthy body is a reflection of a healthy mind. But both may be more difficult to maintain in the future, if you continue to antagonize your fellow citizens." "I'd be more worried about what I intend to do to your precious village, no. 2. Your puppet rubber-stamp committee doesn't frighten me, nor do these sheep you lord it over." "No. 11, I'm afraid your course of action is most unwise. You are obviously unaware of what being disharmonious means." "Nor do I care." The smile never wavered. "A citizen considered disharmonious has declared, through their words and actions, that they do not consider themselves part of their society, and will not submit to the rules and requirements which all citizens must observe. When an unsocialized individual appears, just as they will not treat those around them with respect and equanimity, the society as a whole has no option but to withhold the advantages reserved for its members. Do you understand what this means?" "If it means the cattle wish to be rude to me, they can go right ahead. I've faced much worse than they can dish out." "Ostracism is only part of breaking the social contract, no. 11. Many of your material needs are also supplied by your community, which has declared it sees no further need to provide your support." With a sorrowful shake of his head, he added, "And you must realize that I am only an administrator. The decisions of the community are made by the community, and I am powerless to influence or alter them in any way." Angel's eyes narrowed. "So I'm to be starved out, then?" "You are not a hunted animal, no. 11. Merely recalcitrant, and reluctant to accept your place. You must understand, the council only has your best interests at heart." "I can buy food at the general store." "I'm afraid you will find that your banking account is empty. When the citizen's council decides to officially re-harmonize you, your balance of units will be restored." She laughed. "That'll be the day. And I suppose I get knocked out of my flat so someone else can sleep there. That's a very foolish course of action, no. 2; I'd have to stay out after curfew, and who knows what mischief I'd get into after dark, when all good citizens are asleep, tucked all nicely into their beds." "Heavens no, no. 11," no. 2 purred. "Though your apartment will be without power or heat, you would not be expected to sleep on the grass. One of the greatest features of any civilized society is its character of charity and mercy." "And I suppose anyone who provides me with food or shelter will also be considered disharmonious?" "Of course. All for one, and one for all, and all for one is the only way any society can continue to exist." "Now that's very strange, no. 2. You repeated 'all for one' twice. Are you sure you're not becoming dyslexic?" No. 2's smile broke into a small, sick-looking grin. "It's a local expression. I'm sure you'll hear it again." "I'm sure I shall. Everyone here uses exactly the same local expressions, despite the fact that they obviously aren't local at all. Have you any idea why that is, hmmm?" "There is little mystery to it, no. 11. Many, when they first come here, behave much as you have, and make many attempts to violate our social norms. But in time, they realize they can express the full range of their individuality well within the accepted bounds of our very modern lifestyle. You have no doubt noted that individuals of many ethnicities and cultural origins coexist peacefully here." "Different origins, yes. But they all act the same." "Not at all. In every case, everyone came here with certain rough corners, which provoked their fellow citizens, until time and patient understanding smoothed them down. This occurs whenever two or more cultures come together, and always has, and always will unless some way is found to eliminate it. One can think of our Village as an experiment in global living, on a very small scale. I'd invite you to our upcoming Multicultural Festival to see for yourself, but as a disharmonious citizen you'd be unable to attend." "Not to worry, no. 2. I think I can stand to miss it." "As you wish. Your contribution will be greatly missed." Angel smiled sweetly. "Oh, I'm sure." No. 2 bowed a little courtly bow and sauntered off. Oh, of course I'd *love* to see your little Multicultural parade, you bald stick-insect, Angel thought. Costumes and cooking and little plays, probably, cultures with all the life sucked out of them. Not that cutting down on stupid nationalistic wars would be a bad idea, but this was most certainly not the way. * * * Ardrin stuck around the town hall for a little while. There wasn't much to do, besides watch bureaucrats in action. The council was arguing about what the specialty store would be selling in two weeks. He hadn't even known there was a specialty store. Earlier, they'd been talking about whether they should put a Pengo game into the Palace of Fun. Somebody thought a game where you had to squish things with ice blocks might be too violent. After the very civilized argument was over, the chairman hit the table with his gavel and adjourned the meeting. Ardrin got up and started making his way out when the chairman said, "No. 10! Might I have a word with you?" Shit, Ardrin thought. What the fuck does he want? With a sigh, Ardrin turned around and went up to the council table. The guy who'd called him up, no. 9, had just put his stupid hat down and was grinning inanely at him. He was wearing red glasses too. "Good morning, no. 10! I am no. 9, council head!" "Yeah, I noticed." Ardrin shook his hand. After weakly shaking Ardrin's hand, no. 9 continued. "I'm also the head of the employment committee!" "Employment committee, huh?" Ardrin surreptitiously wiped his hand off. "You want to talk to be about a job?" "Yes, please! It's a little tradition we have here, trying to help people whose numbers are close to yours. I was trying to do the same with no. 11, but you saw how that turned out." "Yeah." Ardrin laughed a bit. "So, what do you want?" "You don't know no. 11, do you?" "Kind of." "What an atrocious female. Still, rather attractive, eh?" Ardrin blinked. "Uh, yeah, whatever. You said you had something for me?" "Mind you, there's nothing wrong with a girl having spirit. Nothing wrong with that at all. But as the duly elected head of the Village town council, I have responsibilities to keep peace and order which I must take very seriously! A brave young girl, her head raised in defiance, is all very fine in the novels, but simply can't be allowed in the real world." Ardrin nodded. Those red glasses were really distracting. The guy must have some serious vision problem. "So, uh, you're on the employment committee." "Am I?" No. 9 looked confused. "Oh, yes, of course I am!" He laughed, with a bit of a wheeze in it. "Of course. I actually head the employment committee!" "And you said you were looking out for me 'cause I had a number close to yours." "Yes, yes of course! Now, I understand that, since arriving, you've made no effort to get a job!" "Nope." "Well we can't have that! You need something to do, to help contribute to the welfare of our village. Now, according to our file, you're something of an outdoorsman, am I right?" "Yeah, I can do all kinds of stuff. Backwoods tours, cross- country hiking, mountain climbing, scuba diving would be great." "Um, yes. No, nothing like that. We have an opening for a groundskeeper." Not exactly surprised, Ardrin eloquently replied, "Yeah?" "Hmm. You're a man of few words, aren't you?" "Yep." "I see. Well, we need a groundskeeper. You report to no. 220, he's our head groundskeeper. He's waiting outside." "Right. If I see no. 11, I'll tell her you said hi." "Ah, thank you! Oh, and don't tell her I was looking out for her too. I, as the head of the Village town council, have to maintain my objectivity where everyone is concerned." "Yeah, sure. Be seeing you." Outside, an old guy with a big mustache was in one of those little electric cars. The back was filled with rakes and shovels and other stuff. Ardrin went up to him. "You 220?" The old guy glowered, and tapped his badge. "What's it look like to you?" The badge did indeed say 220. "Right. I'm supposed to report to you for a job." "Good for you. Whatcha want it for?" Ardrin shrugged. "Dunno. Something to do." With a skeptical harrumph, no. 220 glowered at Ardrin. "Chance to get your hands on some tools, find out where all the cameras and underground cables are, dig your way out where no one can see you?" Ardrin shrugged again. "Not much chance of that, I guess." "No chance at all! You don't know how society works." He threw Ardrin a large, loose-bristled broom. "You go sweep the beach now." He looked at the broom. "Sweep the beach?" "Yes. Clear up all the debris. Put it in the waste can. And sweep the beach so the sand's smooth and beautiful. Start by the lighthouse." "What's the point of sweeping the beach?" "So it looks nice! Our orders are, to sweep the beach so the sand is smooth and clear." "What about all the people on the beach?" "Sweep up after 'em! When curfew's called, orders are to have all the sand smoother than your pimply arse!" This made no sense. But somehow, Ardrin knew this was a guy he could talk to. "Right. Sweep the beach. What time do I show up tomorrow morning?" "9 o'clock." "Right. More beach sweeping?" "Probably. Or killing weeds. You up to it?" "Sure. Killing something would be pretty cool." Ardrin grabbed an empty garbage can off the cart and headed down to sweep the beach. Daniel Parsons Brandi Weed Questions or comments to dparsons@netcom.com Available for ftp from ftp.cs.pdx.edu, in /pub/frp/stories/SLN