...

The night of their fifth day, Luke was having dinner alone. Xolorrr didn't feel well and went to sleep early. This allowed Luke to have a reasonably good bottle of wine, which Xolorrr didn't approve of, and a steak with anchovy butter, which Xolorrrr didn't like the smell of. In addition, Xolorrr couldn't understand why people continued to express their carnivorous roots by making synthetic dead animals, as he put it.

"Where's your friend?"

She was quite a beauty. He'd seen her here once before, but he hadn't given her any attention. Well. Not much.

"Oh, he didn't feel too good. He's in the hotel."

She pulled up a chair and sat. "Where you from?"

"Bethnell."

"Oh, that's interesting. Not that I know it, but I imagine you must find it interesting. So. You here for work, or what? I mean, you act like tourists, but you ain't got the gear, so to speak. And besides, I can't imagine your friend coming here willingly. He's Urrr, right? There's nothing here for him. If it is a him. Do they have lady Urrrs? Man, he'd be wanting, after a while. You two are not an item, right? I mean. Well. I mean. Man." Here she'd crossed her arms in front of her tummy and was doubling up with laughter. The picture of him and Xolorrr as an 'item' was apparently too much for her.

"I believe their women are sub-sentient. They just produce spores. The men, if you call them men, band together to look after the young. The young men, that is. The young 'women' go off and do their thing, so to speak. Calling them men and women is by convention, but it's really meaningless.

"Apparently, it is a matter of charisma whose offspring gets to survive. You can't do it alone, so you need others to help you, and you can't force others, of course. Eventually, it became a religious aspect, which it still is, apparently. The women play no role in their social or religious life whatsoever. They're just there. Well, not here, probably, but around."

"Man, you sure know how to chat up a girl, .... Yeah, yeah. I did ask. Can I take a glass of wine," she asked, having filled her glass to the brim. "Have you been to see the Rotund? It's just around the corner here. You should. They do these lectures on earth art, but it ..., really ..., touches you. Well, me, at least. Are you going to finish that bread? I forgot to eat, and I might as well. It's a waste an'all that. Oh. And I know this place up Freemore. It's a Xeno place, so your friend will like it. Haven't seen any Urrr there, though, or any other aliens for that matter. Not many aliens around."

The conversation was entirely out of Lucas' control, but it was ok. He had been talking with Xolorrr only, essentially, for a week now, so he needed this. And she was great to look at.

As she wound down a bit, she became less nervous and more coherent. After a while, the conversation became bearable and exciting. She was an art student of sorts for seven years already, and she had two jobs: serving in a bar and cleaning outdoor art. Apparently, they used art students rather than robots.

Luke had ordered a second bottle of wine and was just about to tell about his quest when his 'partout interrupted. It was Xolorrr, and something was wrong. He said goodbye to her hastily, took his jacket, and trotted to the hotel. It wasn't until the next day that he would remember that he hadn't even asked her name.

...

Xolorrr lay in his bed -- they didn't have Urrr beds or anything here, so they had made do with towels and pillows -- and looked like shit, as far as Luke could tell.

"Was it something you ate? Can't be a virus. I mean, there are no Urrr here."

"No. It's not that. It's the prelation. It is supposed to happen, but not yet. In twenty years or so. My body changes. A bit like your larvae turning into insects, but not so drastic, of course. My reproductive organs wither, and I grow what you might call a womb. No. A pouch. And I become a senior in my clan. But it's not supposed to happen yet. So something is wrong. And I need a bath. I need medicines. I mean, I need to soak in organic slime. I've tried to call a doctor, but I can't seem to get through. Maybe you could bring me to a hospital."

Luke tried to call a doctor or an ambulance, but something was wrong. Then he contacted the hotel AI and explained what they needed. The AI asked him some questions and then simply said, "there is no such service."

Then he asked where a hospital could be found nearby and ordered a cab to take them there. It arrived within ten minutes at the exit on their floor. Within ten more minutes, they were at the emergency desk in the hospital.

While the doctors were checking Xolorrr, Luke walked around a bit. It was a tiny hospital. Three stories, and as far as he could tell from the map on the wall, less than thirty beds in all. Weird.

One of the doctors called him. "We have a problem. We understand the nature of his illness, or prelation, rather, and we understand that he does really need certain particular organic compounds. The thing is if we knew which compounds, we could most likely make them soon enough. But we don't know. For some reason, that information is missing from our data banks. We never see any Urrr here, and nothing like this has ever happened before."

Odd. The doctor was talking to Luke as if Xolorrr wasn't there. Or was his dog or something. "Is there anything you can do?"

"Ja, we're looking at two problems, really. Firstly, if he doesn't soak in this stuff, the changes in his body may be influenced. Damaged. Deformations might result. And secondly, if we wait longer, his bodily functions might deteriorate."

"When?"

"Ja. I'm guessing here because this information is also lacking, and he doesn't seem to know. I would say damage over the next few days and further complications within the week. And that's the real problem. If we order the materials now, it may well be a week before they arrive here. Even if we send for the data, it is going to take more than four days to get it off-world and instruct our synthesizers."

Lucas looked at his friend, who looked as if he wouldn't last an hour, let alone a week. Xolorrr said something, but Luke didn't catch it. He bent over to hear, but the doctor had understood, apparently.

"Ja, we'd also concluded that stasis is the only way to go. It's either that or face serious complications. Fortunately, we do have a facility to put you in stasis within the hour. We just need a few signatures. Will you be the guardian?"

"Sorry. What's that?"

"Oh. It's just a technicality. The guardian is the legal representative while the gentleman is in stasis. It's nothing but a formality, really. It means that you can make decisions for him so that we don't have to interrupt stasis more than necessary."

Luke bent over Xolorrr. "Are you comfortable with this? I mean. We don't have much choice, but still." Xolorrr let out the most profound sigh Luke had ever heard of him. "Agrrrrrr. I shouldn't go into prelation without the slime. It has implications. I mean, apart from physical. Please help me."

"Ok. Do it. Where do I sign."

The doctor looked vacant for a while, communicating through his implant. Then he took three paper forms and a folder from a drawer and handed Luke a pen. "You should sign there, there, and there. A chamber is being prepared as we speak. We don't have anything Urrr-sized, so we'll just use a regular chamber." He handed Luke the folder. "This has some additional information for you."

As they waited, Luke tried to get more information from the doctor, but he didn't seem to know much else.

After a short while, a stasis chamber was rolled in. Or rather, just a capsule. Lucas had never seen a design like this. Sleek. "Where's the rest?"

"Ja. In this model, the capsule is separated from the unit. The capsule can hold stasis for half an hour or so. That way, we can service a unit while the capsule is in another unit. The capsule doesn't require servicing. We don't have to interrupt stasis.

"The only thing is, the capsule can't initiate stasis, so we can join the gentleman where he'll be put in a unit down the hall."

The doctor had put Xolorrr on the seat in the capsule, and the technician had made some adjustments. Then they went out to a small ward down the hall. There were three stasis units, none of them occupied by a chamber. They wheeled the capsule into the unit and made all connections. A second technician checked a monitor and stepped back. Now the doctor said: "Ja. Here we go."

Luke said a final goodbye to his friend, and the capsule door was closed. Then the doctor pressed some buttons, and a loud humming was heard. Quickly the humming reduced in intensity, and the small window took on the characteristic distorted lens invisibility.

As they walked back to the doctor's office, Luke asked when they expected the compounds to arrive. "Oh, it varies. But it doesn't matter anymore. Your friend is in stasis. He could stay there for a century, and for him, it would be as if he just stepped in. You'd be surprised how many people ask when we start when they get out of it.

"Best you can do is to enjoy your stay, and feel free to contact me anytime."

And that was that.

...

His 'partout indicated they were only twenty blocks away from their hotel, and he felt like a walk to clear his mind. All in all, it had been too much. As he walked, he got doubts about getting the compounds. It was necessary, perhaps, but they still didn't know why the prelation started too early. A few blocks later, he was convinced that the compounds weren't what was needed at all. Xolorrr should be looked at by an Urrr doctor.

By now, it was well past midnight, but he would call the hospital first thing in the morning.

He passed a park. The first he'd seen since their arrival on Daimando. He entered the park and walked between the trees for a while. In a clearing, he sat on a bench and looked at the unfamiliar stars. He'd imagined his Khar differently, but then, maybe that was the point.

With a start, he woke up.

It was light again, though still early. That was a novelty. He'd fallen asleep on a park bench. He got up, joints stiffened, and oriented himself. As he walked towards the exit, he felt grateful that he'd slept here. The massive industrial weight of the city was getting to him.

It was only three blocks to the hotel. He contemplated going to the Pompidou immediately, to have breakfast, but what he really needed was a bath and a change of clothes.

At the hotel, something was wrong. The door wouldn't open for him. He pressed the intervention button, and the hotel AI addressed him. "How may I help you, sir."

"Well, by opening the door. I want to go to my room."

"I don't think you have a room with us, sir. Please identify yourself."

"I'm Lucas Goodholland, of Greater Bethnell, Bethnell, and I most certainly have a room here."

"I am truly sorry, sir, but you do not appear to have a room here."

"Yes, I do. My stuff is upstairs. I have been staying here for the last couple of days. Well. Not last night but most certainly the four nights before that."

"Well, sir, you sound most sincere, and I do humbly apologize, but you do not have a room here at this moment. If you did have a room here earlier and if you checked out, I wouldn't know, for those records are closed to me. Privacy, you see. I am only aware of our current guests."

"This is ridiculous. There must be some mistake."

"Well, sir, if there is anything further I can do for you, please do not hesitate to address me."

"You can direct me to the police. They'll soon clear up this mess."

"Excellent suggestion, sir. I can have a cab here in five minutes. You'd have to pay cash, of course. Or you might prefer to walk. It is only seven blocks North and three East from here. You can walk it in ten or fifteen minutes."

Luke chose to walk, and as he approached the police station, his anger gradually turned into worry. He thought everything over carefully, and as he saw the police station ahead, he stopped dead as the gravity of his situation hit home. He couldn't prove who he was. His node didn't work here. Normally a node could be interrogated by officials and would be sufficient in practice for most purposes. In addition, his passport with his triple quantum encoded bio sequence was with the stuff in his room. It contained a map of his DNA and could be interrogated by Federation Agency officials with a court order. Ultimately it was the evidence that he was who he was. But he didn't have it.

His 'partout could identify him for many practical purposes, of course, but that was the core of his worry. The thing was illegal, and the data contained in it was therefore suspect. And even if it wasn't, it wouldn't be legally sufficient anyway. And he wasn't sure he should be naively trusting in the police. Not that he didn't trust them, but he also trusted the hotel AI, and yet something had gone wrong. It was one of the things his father had taught him: when you don't understand what's happening, do nothing. Procrastinate. Be explicit and eloquent, but keep your options open. It had worked for his father in politics, and suddenly Luke felt it might apply here as well.

He turned about and walked toward, ..., well, he just walked. He had no idea where to go or what to do.

...

He checked the cash balance on his 'partout and Xolorrr's balance. A tiny bit of luck. It wasn't auspicious for Xolorrr to take electronic representations of money with him, but the Urrr scrip system was unknown on Daimando, and Federation checks were unsuitable for day-to-day use. As a compromise, Xolorrr had opted to put some cash on Luke's 'partout. It being based on Xolorrr's trust in his friend made the mechanism auspicious and reasonably practical.

His own balance was seventeen dollars, and Xolorrr's was just short of eighty.

And now he needed something to eat, and he needed help to find out the ground rules of his situation, and he knew where to get both. He kicked himself mentally for not asking the girl's name, but there was nothing for it.

At the Pompidou, he had breakfast and then took his coffee to the terrace. The weather was enjoyable, and he spent his time browsing the net to find any helpful information. He thanked heaven that he had bought an expensive model 'partout, which was chargeless.

The net wasn't very helpful, but then he remembered the folder he had gotten at the hospital. That, too, was less than helpful. It explained what he already knew about stasis, and it explained what he had already inferred about his guardianship: he was executor of Xolorrr's estate, and he was to keep detailed records which would be scrutinized by Xolorrr and by an AI judge when Xolorrr got out. Until that time, he would have to foot the bill.

He had a small lunch, feeling uncomfortable spending money until things were in perspective again. He continued to search the net without much success.

...

"Hya. How's your friend." He was disoriented for the briefest of moments, and then it came back.

She had just come here from work, apparently, still being dressed in the most unflattering coverall. "Well, **he's** ok for the moment. He's in stasis. **I'm** in trouble. I seem to be chucked out of my hotel."

"Stasis? What's the commitment?"

"Commitment ...?"

"You don't have a commitment. Oh boy. Man, you're deep in it. Jesus. They took you for a ride. So you have nothing? I mean. No clothes, nothing. This is it. Oh, man."

She was silent for a while. Thinking. Not the vacant look of access, but just ..., thinking.

"What's a commitment?"

"I'll explain later. First, we have to do some damage control. Do you have anything? Did they give you anything at all?"

He gave her the folder, feeling stupid and not knowing why.

"Oh, man. That's first class. Didn't you read what they made you sign? Your friend is in stasis for more than I make in a week. A day that is." She looked him in the eye, angry and pitiful at the same time. "You don't understand a single thing I'm saying, do you? Ok. Let's go. Are you going to finish that sandwich? No, I guess not. Well, waste not, want not."

With that, she left, munching his bread, and he could do nothing but follow her.

...

Her studio, if you could call it that, was tiny. A three-by-four room with one glass four-foot wall and two glass panels in the roof. A small kitchenette and a toilet and shower stall at one end. A sofa acting as her bed in the middle, and paintings in various degrees of completion on the remaining two walls, some facing the wall.

She folded her blankets and indicated the sofa. "Coffee?" Without waiting for his answer, she went to the kitchenette and started making coffee, old style. He'd never seen that.

"There has to be a commitment on their side, or else they won't do anything. And it has to be legally binding. Or they still won't do anything."

"They?"

"Yes. The company. The 'First Daimando Health Care'. They are the operator that has your friend in stasis. What's his name?"

"Xolorrr."

"Right. And you're his guardian, right? Don't you have health care, where you're from?"

"Yes, of course. I just don't think we have something like commitment."

"So what do they do then. They're just nice people who like to help you. How do they live?"

"You mean doctors?"

"Yeah. Doctors. The companies. How do they survive?"

"They get paid for what they do. They help people, and they get paid for that."

"Duh. I mean, apart from that. They can't survive on that. I mean. You aren't backward, are you? This Bethnell. It isn't some frontier settlement, is it?"

"No, it isn't. But, I, ..., the state. When you go there, your insurance pays for what they do for you, and the rest is paid by the state. I mean, research and education and stuff."

"The state. You mean the taxpayers. And that works for you? You should tell me someday. I have friends who would wanna know. Anyway. Here, the companies charge you for everything. The only way to make them do something is to get a legally binding commitment. They only get paid once they have fulfilled their commitment. You're certain there is no commitment?"

"Well. I asked when the material would arrive, and he said something vague like 'anytime'."

"Ok. No commitment. My guess is they got an injunction on all your possessions, which might imply termination of your contract with the hotel. I don't know, of course. It's not as if I'm a lawyer.

"Which brings me to the following. You need a lawyer. How much cash do you have?"

"About a hundred. A bit less."

"Well, that's something, but not much. Let's not spend it on a lawyer. We'll go for a pro bono AI, and if it's ok with you, I'll ask a friend to help." Her eyes became vacant. She was contacting her friend and perhaps the lawyer.

"Ok. My friend gets off duty at eleven tonight, and we can meet then. Let's go grab a bite."

As they stepped out of the apartment, he noticed a nameplate: 'D. Garibaldi. "Is that your name," he asked?

"Oh yeah. I'm Dawn. Dawn Garibaldi. And you are?"

"Luke. Lucas Goodholland. And I would like to thank you for helping me. I am sort of at a loss."

"Oh, don't mention it. You can buy me dinner. I mean, a hundred dollars is what I earn in a month."

...

They went to a place where they just had pasta, with a choice of blue cheese or tomato sauce. But it was delicious, and the place was crowded. They had a small jar of wine which was so rough it made his eyes water. But all in all, it was ok. He wouldn't have thought it possible to have dinner for two for less than two dollars.

They talked about anything but his predicament. She stayed clear of that, apparently avoiding thinking about it without her friend and the lawyer. At ten-thirty, she got up and said: "let's go. It's not far from here."

They went to a bar. A cube made entirely of diamond glass. It was suspended between two high-rise offices using monofilament. It appeared to be floating in the air. A platform going up and down continuously between the ground and the cube allowed people to go in or out. As they neared the platform, he saw that it did have a railing made of diamond glass.

Once inside, the sight was extraordinary. Every effort had been made to give the illusion customers were floating in the air. And the cube moved very gently to and fro in the wind.

"Hi, Richard. Meet my new friend Luke. He's fallen into the hands of First Daimando. He could do with some help."

Richard was a huge man. Not precisely fat, though he could lose a few pounds, but tall, thick-set, a bull's neck and hands like shovels. He dwarfed the chair he sat in, and in his hands, his pint of ale looked like a shot glass. He had a beard and wavy black hair, here and there speckled with early grey.

"Hi, Luke. Happy to make your acquaintance. What is it? Did they stick you and bleed you twice, or is it a relative?"

"He's not from here, so you have to take this slowly. Where he comes from, they don't have medicorps. He's the guardian of his friend, and he didn't know that he was supposed to require a commitment."

"How can you not get a commitment. Why would they do anything if they are not committed."

"Exactly. The thing is, this morning, he couldn't get into his hotel. Probably they impounded the lot. So he's stuck with the clothes on his back and some small change. Well, more than that, but he can't get a lawyer or anything."

"My goodness. Do you have folks who can help, Luke? Here or off-world. Did you already send a distress call? No, wait. Dawn mentioned that you wanted a lawyer, and I agree. Let's go upstairs to a booth. Then we can talk with a lawyer." All along the walls, stuck against the ceiling, was a circle of booths, small rooms with benches, and a table. Not exactly privacy, because they were also transparent and didn't have a door, or even a wall, on one end, but there was less noise. Apparently, people didn't like them because they were mostly empty.

They took their pitcher of beer and bowl of pretzels and occupied an empty booth. Then, finally, Richard said: "It's your choice, of course, but I would suggest that you go with Lindstrom and Mayhem. They're good people. Of course, you won't have anything to do with actual people, but that may happen nonetheless in the future. In addition, they only require a fixed entry fee. You'd be surprised how many pro bono lawyers charge by the hour.

"How can they be pro bono if they charge anything?"

"Oh, you're the plaintiff. And besides, a human lawyer will cost anything between ten and a hundred dollars an hour. A generic lawyer, which is what we'll be getting, would be anything up to ten dollars or so. Often a lot less. Lindstrom and Mayhem charge a single fee of five dollars. By the way, don't you have an implant, or is it out of order?"

"Sorry?"

"I can't seem to connect to you, and I see you're carrying a 'partout. Does the 'partout work for you?"

"Yeah. My node connects with the 'partout. It's limited, but I have visual and audio. Unfortunately, my node doesn't work with your net directly."

"Ok. Can you give me a handle, so we can talk to the lawyer .... Right, I have your 'partout. And here's the lawyer."

"Good evening. My name is Mustafa 17, and I am an AI counsel with Lindstrom and Mayhem. How may I be of service."

"My friend here would like to take you on. Please open a file and include this conversation for future reference. Present are Richard, Dawn, and Luke. You have our credentials. Does Luke's 'partout give you any ID?"

"No, sir. It doesn't."

"Oh, please call me Richard. Luke, you have to say who you are and request assistance."

"My name is Lucas Goodholland, and I am a citizen of Greater Bethnell, Bethnell. I would like to take you on as my attorney."

And then Luke told what had happened in the last two days, being helped by Dawn where possible, and she, Richard, and the lawyer asked hundreds of questions. And as the night progressed, Luke got answers to his questions.

First and foremost, his worry about Xolorrr. But they eased his mind there. Xolorrr was in stasis, and he could bank on him continuing to remain in stasis. If First Daimando could do one thing, it was that.

His second question concerned his possessions. Apparently, the contract he had signed could potentially add up to an arbitrary amount. First Daimando had checked whether Luke could pay any significant bill, and since he didn't have a source of income, they had impounded all his stuff. When Luke mentioned Xolorrr's health insurance, Richard said: "You're missing the point here. First, they challenge your insurance on some amount they are sure isn't covered. Then they impound, and they are still free to go after whatever amount the insurance is bound to pay at any later point in time. They have all the time in the world. In fact, their most important strategy will be to drag their feet. Simply because every day means two hundred dollars to them."

The lawyer proposed three approaches. Firstly, to get his ID back. He would issue two writs. One that the passport was federation property and could therefore not be impounded. This was true on Bethnell (as far as Luke knew), but not on Daimando, so the second writ said that though the passport was impounded, the information was unalienable and should therefore be handed over.

The second approach was to add a commitment. The lawyer was of the opinion that not having any commitment was a good thing because ultimately, a judge would void a contract that went only one way.

Thirdly the lawyer would use them to change the contract from first to third class, which was seven rather than two hundred dollars a day. In addition, he would sue them to retrieve the initial costs, which amounted to something like $700. He wouldn't get that but he tried nonetheless.

Luke's suggestion to pay whatever was owed now and ship Xolorrr to Manaat or any other world where they could treat him was ..., well ..., laughed at. Dawn said: "But you don't have any money. You already owe them $1000 or something. So where are you going to get that? And to get it, you need an ID. And to get that, you need to sue them for it. And by the time you have your ID, it will be a lot more than $1000. That's how they work."

"But I could send a message home, and they would send money."

"No, you couldn't. You don't have any money. Sending a message off-world will cost more than a hundred dollars, I believe. And you need your ID. So, what we do is get your ID, top off the worst-case amount with their commitment, and reduce the rates by going for third class."

When they were done, as an afterthought, Luke asked: "So when do I get my ID, back, do you think." Richard said: "Oh, anything between a month and a year."

"What?"

"It's what they do best. They drag their feet."

"But what am I going to do? How am I going to live?"

"Well, you'll have to find a job and a place to stay, I guess. You're an accountant, right? I'll ask around. And now I really want to go. I need to sleep. My dear." He kissed Dawn's cheek. "Luke. Not to worry. We'll get out of this. There are always people worse off than this. Remember that." And he left.

"I don't even have a place to stay. What am I going to do."

"Oh, that's ok. You can stay with me for now. Come. We should sleep and let it all sink in.

...

The apartment was as they had left it. Tiny. The sofa folded out to little more than a single bed.

"If you don't mind, I would like to go to bed immediately. I have to get up early tomorrow. Why don't you shower now, and then I will go in the morning. There is not enough water for the two of us."

While Luke was in the shower, Dawn got into her pajamas. When he went to the bed, dressed in his shorts and t-shirt, she was already asleep. With some difficulty he squeezed himself into the bed, but without waking she made room for him and then snuggled up. He wondered briefly if he would be able to sleep with the intimate touch of her body, but before coming to a conclusion either way, he had fallen asleep.