From Red to Green

When they arrived in “the land of the tree-huggers”, as the sergeant liked to call it, a pub moved on board the Wan Chai No. 7623; the cargo ship on which Colenzo, Edgar and the Sergeant were working. After a long day of giving evidence to the authorities about the actions and wrongdoings of certain passengers Colenzo made his way back onto the Wan Chai and made his way to the new pub. It was nice – old fashioned, retro as some would say. A handsome young man with facial hair and a beautiful woman with enhanced breasts serviced the bar. By coincidence Edgar and the Sergeant were already there. As was typical of his drunken state, Edgar was talking to the woman’s breasts and Colenzo picked up on the conversation with only a nod of greeting,
“And so they pay you more if you have breast enhancements?” He asked amazed yet obviously delighted.
“Well of course,” she said, “In the same way they will pay me better if I have a good reputation or customers like me.”
“Makes sense I suppose,” The sergeant interjected. “I mean, look at this dopes face, he is glowing simply because you have nice breasts! And as for that guy, great specimen of the male animal, I assume he gets paid better because he works out?”
“Naturally.” She said and then added, “Although his looks are not from working out, he is unnaturally enhanced.” The sergeant’s face dropped a bit.
“It’s a shame.” He said. “It would take a lot of work to look like that and would inspire a lot of respect.” She raised an eyebrow. “Well people are generally lazy nowadays.” The sergeant continued, “They want everything done for them and aren’t prepared to put in any work.” She snorted before retorting,
“I’ll have you know he pays for that. He has to put part of the money he makes from working here into maintaining that body. You might not respect that but I do.”
How is this adding value? Colenzo thought as he watched the argument develop. She got more heated and so did the sergeant. He was adamant that respect for a good body could only be given if the body was built through sweat and natural hard work. She was convinced that this was a product of the sergeant’s Administrative Echelon (bourgeois) thinking and lifestyle. Eventually Colenzo intervened, “But if he pays for this better body of his, then surely he isn’t actually getting paid more for having a better body because the extra pay just disappears into maintaining the look?” This stumped everyone. Edgar laughed and said, “Col, you think too much.” The sergeant and the woman were slightly annoyed, their argument was nothing more than sexual games and now an outsider had upended her position. The power play had taken on an awkward dimension. She looked at Colenzo and took a seductive swig of her drink. “Can I get you something?” She asked. He missed it completely. “Yeah, I’ll have a…” His thought processes ran like this ~ a beer would make him drowsy but more sociable, a whiskey is what he would prefer but then he would remain quiet, perhaps a shooter of sorts.
The bar lady meanwhile looked at a display on her retina, it was a live feed from scanners all around the bar. They had explored Colenzo’s body language, pheromones and other chemical levels and would make a suggestion. This suggestion would also be influenced by market information based upon Colenzo’s previous choices but this input was highly deflated as Colenzo had recently experienced a Life Event; Life Events often changed peoples drinking and entertainment habits. Either way the suggestion given to the bartender was probabilistic and impacted upon by sponsors and marketing fees paid by the large breweries. It provided three options, she would choose from those: Etruscan Bile, Johnny Walker or Tuskers Beer. She chose Tuskers and picked it up from a tray that had floated to her side. When she placed it in front of Colenzo he took it without really noticing. He was engaged in a conversation with the sergeant and was used to such personalised service, all he gave her was a “Great. Thanks,” his action acting as acceptance.
The bar lady then logged onto Colenzo’s file. She was mildly surprised that he didn’t have a neural uplink but the Local Information Systems Provider still gave her access to his account. She charged him for the drink and it was deducted directly from his bank account. Scanners on the bar had picked up the radio frequency identity tag on the item and somewhat like a barcode scanner had registered that a drink had crossed the counter. The unique id would ensure that it would not be double counted and auditing systems would ensure that the relevant transactions had indeed taken place.

A bit later they had moved away from the bar and taken a table in the corner. Edgar was pretty drunk. The sergeant was drinking Russian Bear on the rocks, with a naartjie peel – sold completely by their marketing campaign. He identified with the bear – the power, the speed, and the solitude. He switched to the live feed that came through as long as he was drinking Russian Bear. The images were being projected from a sanctuary in Northern Russia back on earth. They were broadcast live but were naturally pretty old. The bear was digging up some roots. The sergeant loved this unique companionship he was sharing with all other Russian Bear drinkers over the explored galaxy. And he loved the fact that his drinking was supporting such a great cause. He always went for Russian Bear Black as the bear had “more character than those snobby Grizzlies.”
A Localised Electronics Fault Repair Technician came into the bar. She was working; this was obvious because she was wearing overalls that had animated company advertising on the back. They were no doubt paying the pub for the right to advertise to their cliental. It was also obvious that she was working because her Toolbox floated behind her. It had the Toolbox trademark logo down the front in large letters. The woman wandered over to one of the far wall panels and waited as the Toolbox removed the pseudo-wooden panel that covered the wiring she was there to repair.
Edgar nudged Colenzo and said, “Electronic Fault” pointing over at the woman and nodding in a drunken knowing kind of way. “I used to do exactly that.”
As they watched the oval Toolbox sprouted a sucker arm that attached to the wood. It then sprouted another arm that deftly removed the securing hinges on the panel, which came away – attached to the sucker. An acrid smell filled the air and the bar lady made her way over to the Technician.
“I hope you are going to compensate us for that smell.” She said, in hushed but not quiet tones.
“Not my problem.” The Technician said in a nonchalant almost apathetical way. She closed her eyes for a second as she retrieved her superiors business card and mentally passed it over to the bar lady.
Colenzo made his way over to the bar, partly to order another drink, but partly to get a view into the veins and muscles of the pub. He was always blown away by the amount of wires and machinery that lay behind every single wall panel and façade in everything he encountered. It made him think of a childhood trip to a Buddhist temple. The temple had originally been in China but had been extracted with about one square kilometre of the surrounding earth. Colenzo remembered marvelling at the giant stonewalls, meters think and made of nothing but solid rock. Colenzo examined the barman, who he noticed was wearing only a sarong, around his waist. The lighting moved with the barman and accented his physique whenever he did something. A group of gay guys at the end of the bar were giggling with homoerotic pleasure. The barman came over to Colenzo who then ordered another round of the same. As the drinks passed over the bar they were logged again. “Are you getting this round?” The barman asked.
“No.” Colenzo replied and turned back to the table. The barman allocated the costs between the three and sat back in a floating barstool, watching soccer on his neural connection.

Meanwhile Edgar had made his way over to the Technician working in the corner. As he came stumbling closer the one and a half meter floating toolbox came to attention. Logging onto the bars LAN it heightened the lighting on Edgar and requested some information from the judicial LAN. It was charged a minimal fee. When Edgar was about two meters from the Toolbox it projected out holographic red tape and a mildly comical sign from the twentieth century. The sign was on a triangle and pictured a man working with a spade. Below it, in Edgars home language it read: “Person at work.” This comic element had been shown to have a greater effect as a deterrent that simple bureaucratic red tape.
Edgar stumbled, caught slightly off guard by the suddenly clattered local environment. Then he got annoyed. “Hey look,” he said to the non-sentient ToolBox, “I am just coming over to give some advice. I used to do this you know.”
Nothing happened.
So Edgar continued to approach passing through the holographic red tape. As he did so the ToolBox snapped out a set of structures much like some lizards and dinosaurs would do when threatened. These structures where somewhat like the support struts on an umbrella and held taught a thin rattling material between them. In a mechanised voice the ToolBox stated, “Mr. Rice. Please step away from the worksite. Only authorised personnel are allowed to cross the holographic line. This is for your own safety.” It then spurted out a holographic fine print stating the parent companies lack of responsibility in the event of accident.
Edgar stepped back but started shouting to the technician. “Hey comrade, what is this? I am just coming over to have a look! I used to be a technician myself.” The technician who had her head and parts of her upper torso within the wall extracted herself and turned around.
“Do you have a complaint?” the technician said and then tried to telepathically send her superiors business card to Edgar. Discovering that it was not possible she ordered the Toolbox to print one. “That’s my boss, talk to him.” The technician then turned back to her work.
“No man, I just think I know what the problem is.” Edgar sounded exasperated and was looking around for support. The sergeant was making his way over.
“Really. Well so do I. What do you want - my job?” The technician spurted from half within the wall – she seemed a bit angry.
“Hey cool it. Just trying to help.” Edgar retorted. The sergeant was about two meters behind him. The ToolBox tried to give Edgar the recently printed card, but Edgar knocked it aside.
“Look if you want a job, talk to my boss.” The technician said, “Otherwise I have a job to do and am getting billed for this time.” The technician turned away again.
Edgar prepared to move forward; he was angry now, feeling rejected and especially hurt as he had felt a connection with the technician due to his previous work experience. He never made it though. The sergeant placed a hand upon his shoulder and using a very advanced pacify ring with Soberquik chemicals he brought Edgar’s mood under control and his mind back to normality. Edgar stood for a few seconds with the confused look of one whose subjective state has just altered beyond the scope of a natural transition. Unlike a natural chemical and neurological transition that would take the subjective state slowly through a series of inter-leading states, Edgar’s experience was more like going straight from Red to Green. His reflections upon a few seconds earlier made no sense and he stood dumbfounded.
“Colenzo put your drink at the table.” The sergeant said in Edgar’s ear and Edgar turned with an “Oh” and headed over to the table. As the sergeant intended he was completely unaware of the fact that his psychological and physiological state had just been unnaturally altered. Instead he felt like one feels, standing at the top of the stairs thinking, “what did I come upstairs for?”

About fifteen minutes later Edgar was trying to explain his recent experience with the technician to Colenzo. “So I wandered over and was trying to get that chick to pay some attention to me. I was getting a bit agro because she wasn’t really listening. Then bam, I am back at the table having another drink.” Colenzo did not really understand; he was completely drunk. Whilst they were chatting the sergeant looked distracted for a second and rose from the table, heading outside. As he walked the bar lady skipped over happily with a shot of Clarity. The sergeant downed it and walked outside. His eyes had the glazed look of a person conversing on the neural net. When he returned five minutes later he ordered a round of Russian Bear Black Special Reserve and made an announcement. He looked very excited, yet also slightly apprehensive. “Guys. We are going to Shalamari Four. I have a contract and I am taking you with me.”
“Hey cool. Thanks dude.” Edgar said and slapped the sergeant on the shoulder.
“Shalamari 4?” Colenzo asked. “I thought there were only three.”
“Yeah, so did I but it is there. Look on the map.” He pulled out a holographic projector and set it on the table. He buzzed it with his thoughts and it brought up a holographic map. It showed Dot Three one of the terraformed outer planets and zooming in it showed a series of interlinked asteroids in orbit. These it outlined and attached the label Shalamari 4.
Colenzo was impressed. “Well, as you say, it’s on the map. Why haven’t we heard of it?”
“I asked the same question.” The sergeant replied, “It seems the holding company has a market shy label attached to the name. Information and advertising agencies won’t bring it up or refer to it unless they are asked directly about it. So if you search for Shalamari; they won’t bring it up. But if you search for Shalamari 4, four as a number, they will. It’s called a marketing blackout. Costs a fair amount.”
“But surely they can’t pay all information centres to avoid them?” Colenzo replied.
“No, they just pay the main ones; Google, Yahoo; Ubuntu…”
“But why do it at all?”
“Well unlike Shalamari one to three, that all function as a form of tourist entertainment asset, Shalamari four is defined as a Reserve. It is a non-profit land, owned by the wealthy Powell Trust. Look here.” The sergeant touched the hologram screen and the hologram altered. Boring times new roman font size 12 text appeared. Both Colenzo and the sergeant where suitably unimpressed, Edgar was staring into his drink. The text read:

“Shalamari 4 is a category z reserve owned by the Powell Trust. Its function is to act as a Reserve for central African species whose habitats resemble those found in the equatorial regions. The territory is the sole property of the trust and due to the trust clause 14.2 no person, other than a beneficiary (as defined in section 2.3b) or a trustee (as defined in section 3.1.2, 3.1.3 and 3.1.4) may transverse the property. As exclusive property human rights are suspended. Anyone found on the property will be punished, as the Trustees deem appropriate and necessary. The Corporation’s Investment Unit controls the Powell Trusts assets and through these covers fixed costs. End.”

Colenzo sat back and took a sip of his drink. “Is that all? Definitely market shy, that is the worst sell I have ever seen!”
“Yeah. That’s all… we should probably be going. Two day trip there and admin to do.” The sergeant replied and then rose. The others rose with him – the Russian Bear had contained Clarity and they were all sober and thinking clearly again.