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                      SEX, LIES, AND NECROMANCY

                                  by

                    Daniel Parsons and Brandi Weed

             Woe to him inside a nonconformist clique who
                 does not conform with nonconformity.
                            -- Eric Hoffer

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"Good morning, Villagers, wake up, Life is for Living!  Today is the
most special of all days in Your Village!  It's Multicultural Day!
Time for all of us to spread the joy of the many cultures found in our
Global Village to all our fellow Villagers!  So wake up, brush that
sleepy feeling away, and come forth to greet the new day as we all
share in the joys of our Village!"
     The Village Voice droned on some more, about sunshine and happy
people and appreciation of all the benefits of civilization.  It also
mentioned that breakfast would not be served that day, so everyone
could get out smartly to share the culinary gifts of their fellow
villagers, happily provided outside.  This more than anything else
prompted everyone to get up.
     The Entertainment Committee really outdid itself; Multicultural
Day must be a serious holiday for the Village.  The band was in full
swing, displays of various arts and crafts were set up, and long,
cafeteria-style tables were all over the lawns, laden with food and
drink from just about every culture you could imagine.  Looking at all
the grazing Villagers, Angel idly wondered if they'd put a new drug in
each dish and drink in order to test their miscibility.
     Despite such unvoiced worries, everyone made a line for the food.
There was a lot of it, and most of it smelled good.  No meat anywhere,
of course, but most everything on display looked and tasted excellent.
Janie even ran into No. 55, the little old woman who called herself
Anastasia, behind a table full of cakes and pastries.
     "Hullo, Anastasia.  You bake these?"
     "Oh, of course, dear," she said. "I haven't a great deal else to
do with my time.  Many of our Villagers have become quite good at
cooking, or other crafts.  Why, I know a man who came here without
ever having used a tool in his life, and within five years, he was the
finest clock maker in the Village."
     "Oh.  What happened to him?"
     "He passed away some time ago, the dear man.  Died peacefully in
his sleep, and he has been greatly missed.  Would you like to try a
croissant?"
     "Sure," Janie said, taking one and biting into it.  It was a very
good croissant, delicate and light with a hint of butter.  Everything
being served was very good; Janie felt a little guilty about enjoying
it, considering what had gone into it.  But what the fuck, everything
here was made by prisoners.  Heck, out the in the real world, all her
clothes and electronic doodads were probably made by Chinese political
prisoners, or starving children.  Wandering on, she met No. 9, the guy
who'd been head of the Village Council.
     "Hi there.  Say, aren't you the head of the Council?"
     "Yes, I am!" No. 9 said enthusiastically.  "And a very important
position it is."
     "Uh-huh.  Mind if I ask you a question?"
     "Of course not!  Ask me anything."
     "Were you bullied at school?"
     No. 9 looked startled.  "I'm sorry?"
     "I was just wondering if there was some power thing here.  But
it's not important."  Grinning, she gave him a peck on the cheek. "Be
seeing --"
     Before the phrase was even out of her mouth, No. 9 had his arms
around her. "Well, I was bullied a bit as a child, weren't we all?
But that doesn't matter anymore."
     "Hey!" Janie tried to twist away.
     "I understand how my position and authority would be attractive
to you, believe me!  I can make things much easier for you here..."
     That was too much.  Janie stomped smartly on his foot. "Off!"
     He let go, hopping on his good foot and swearing.  Nearby
villagers stopped and stared.  They glared at each other for a moment,
Janie in bewildered irritation and No. 9 in a cold rage.  Then Janie
stepped away into the crowd, as someone else came to No. 9's aid.

     Ardrin was having no difficulty enjoying the food, but he wished
to hell it wasn't all bread and veggies.  He'd kill for a cheeseburger
right about now.  This stuff wasn't too bad, though.
     Down by the Bandstand, a little platform had been set up, and
some guy was giving a speech.  Ardrin ambled over.  It was some old
guy yammering about how the Village was such a great place, and a lot
of crap like that.  Then, Ardrin noticed the canopy spread over the
podium.  It was held up by four poles, one at each corner, two of them
pounded into the ground behind the podium, their ropes dangling loose.
     Seeing those ropes, Ardrin was seized by an evil impulse.  He
sauntered out of the crowd, then cut behind the podium along the edge
of the Free Sea, a little pond they had near the bandstand.  Crouching
down, the crowd in front couldn't see him.  Carefully, he got the rope
on one pole and pulled.  It was a slipknot, and came undone almost
immediately.  That corner of the canopy started to pull loose in the
breeze.  Grinning, he crept over to the other pole, and pulled the
other corner of the canopy loose.
     It was pure poetry, in motion.  The canopy flapped loose in the
breeze, billowed overhead, then settled over the speaker's head like a
giant parachute.  Pandemonium broke loose while everybody tried to get
out from under it.  The band stopped playing, and everyone stepped
forward to help, adding to the confusion.  That was fun, he thought,
but now let's get outa here, so Ardrin turned around to quietly slip
away amid the confusion.
     Unfortunately, he forgot about the Free Sea.  Tripping over the
edge, he fell full length in the water with a loud splash.  All eyes
not under the canopy were instantly upon him.  Shit, he thought, not
having a better word for what he was feeling, and got up out of the
water.  No. 2 was standing on the opposite side of the pool, staring
right at him.
     No. 2 was also soaked, head to foot.  And seemed visibly miffed.
     It was impossible to suppress a grin. "Uh, sorry about that, No.
2.  Hope that isn't silk."
     There was a short, very pregnant pause. "No, fortunately.  You
seem to be enjoying the festivities."
     "Oh, yeah!" Ardrin gestured about, happy as more water splashed
off of 2's glasses. "I'm havin' a good ol' time.  Have to go get some
clothes now.  See ya around!"
     No. 2 didn't smile. "Certainly."

     Paul went by a little stage that had been set up outside the Old
People's Home, and watched a fairly lame comedy act.  It was all quite
harmless stuff, and in the spirit of the Village no one was allowed to
make fun of any race, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity,
intellectual capacity, physical characteristics, or cultural beliefs.
The result was comedy more definable by its absence.  Even their
little five-piece combo couldn't liven it up.
     As he watched, No. 82 came up through the crowd. "Hello there,
No. 13!  Do you remember me?"
     Paul smiled politely. "Yes, you're the teacher at the Village
Nursery.  What can I do you for?"
     "You know the wonderful magic act you did for the children?  I
was wondering if you could do it again for us, out here on stage?
Nos. 120 and 87 are trying their best, but you're really good at this
sort of thing, and we would so appreciate it."
     After a moment's thought, Paul nodded. "Well, sure, that might be
fun.  Got any props I can use?"
     "Oh, good!" she beamed. "We have some things in our thespian's
trunk here.  I can be your assistant, too!"
     "No, that's all right, we'd have to rehearse for you to be my
lovely assistant.  What kind of stuff you got?"
     Behind the stage, they had an old steamer trunk, just made to
look theatrical.  Inside was a magic wand, a top hat, a white plush
bunny, some scarves, balls, and a few decks of off-the-shelf marked
cards.  The two comedians were visibly dying on stage, so Paul decided
to go with his usual routine, add some card tricks, and finish with
the old "rabbit out of the hat" trick.
     The band played a nice ta-ta-ta-dummm! as he went on stage, to
polite clapping.  He'd decided to play it mysterious at first, so he
just tipped the hat, letting the rubber ball inside roll out and
bounce on the stage.  He replaced the hat and caught it, feigning
surprise.  He removed the hat again, and another ball fell out.  Then
a third. "I guess I better stop taking my hat off," he said, juggling
the balls. "Can't afford to lose much more up there."
     That got some laughs.  Pity he didn't have any more foam bunnies,
but that was for close-up work, not stage magic.  After a bit more
juggling, throwing in a couple of fancy moves here and there, he
stopped, and looked up at the hat again.  Very carefully, he lifted it
off.  The audience held its breath.
     Nothing came out of the hat this time, so Paul reached in, and
palmed out a deck of cards.  They were almost new, and spread nicely
in his hand.  Replacing the hat, he took a card and threw it out over
the audience.  To their great surprise, it curved up in the air,
paused, and then flew right back to Paul, who caught it behind his
back.  Applause.
     Paul got a few more card throws, flips, and passes out of them,
milking each one for all it was worth.  With a grin, he palmed out a
fresh deck, and asked for a volunteer.  No. 82 came forward, and he
asked her to pick a card, forcing the three of clubs.
     After taking all the necessary steps to return the card to the
deck while assuring his audience he couldn't possibly know what it
was, he slipped it up his sleeve while he shuffled the rest of the
deck.  He picked a card: the four of diamonds.  Wrong.  Another card:
the jack of spades.  Wrong again.  The audience looked disappointed.
     Then he looked up at his hat again, as if in confusion.  Slowly,
he reached up to remove it, slipping the card to his palm, and reached
in.  Drawing the moment out, he looked at the audience in amazement,
and pulled the white plush rabbit out, with the three of clubs stuck
in its mouth.
     "Is this your card?"
     They loved it.  Paul took a bow, accidentally dropping the rabbit
into the tuba players' tuba, but they hardly noticed.

     Angel also stopped to watch Paul's show.  No. 2 walked by at one
point, soaking wet for some reason.
     "Good afternoon, No. 2.  Been enjoying yourself?" she asked, with
perhaps a hint of sarcasm to her voice.
     "Of course.  A relaxing holiday is always just the thing for our
Villagers.  Everyone has a chance to exercise their many impulses."
     "Is that why you went swimming with your clothes on?"
     "No.  If you will excuse me."  He strode off to the Green Dome,
looking slightly agitated.  It was a wonderful sight, Angel thought.
Must find whoever did that and congratulate them.
     "Hello."
     Angel turned around.  No. 65 had come up behind her, and was
smiling in a mostly inoffensive way. "Hello.  I haven't seen you at
the gymnasium lately."
     "Well, I've been trying to, uh, go to the weight room.  Since
yesterday.  I mean, I've been going, but I haven't been up on the
tumbling floor."
     "That's very good.  Have you been enjoying the festivities?"
     "I've always enjoyed Multicultural Day.  It's a very good day to
relax and go out and see things.  See people you like, I mean.  You
don't always get a chance to meet people, with all the work everyone
has to do."
     "Really.  I must go out and find work sometime.  I just haven't
been doing my duty to my fellow citizens."
     "Oh, I work, but there's nothing wrong with not working.  Maybe
you could teach Karate classes, you're so good at it.  There's a
shortage of teachers, I think, and everyone always want to learn."
     He prattled on, mostly complimentary things.  It was kind of
ridiculous, Angel thought, but one could ask for worse companions.
The conversation never took one of those strange turns that Janie
always put into them, for instance.


Daniel Parsons                                             Brandi Weed
                   Questions or comments to parsons@indigo.ucdavis.edu
        Available for ftp from ftp.cs.pdx.edu, in /pub/frp/stories/SLN