Veranda Incognita, Home of the Waverlys

[Malaclypse 666]

Reginald Waverly Esq. looked at himself uncomfortably in the mirror as he tried unsuccessfully to fluff his borrowed cravat; a ghastly dark blue affront, with tiny golden apples emblazoned all about like polka dots. His worn tan vest peaked out from beneath an old but serviceable dinner jacket. He appeared wistful and amused as he finally gave up on the cravat.

Reggie, you have guests. All manner of guests. And you must greet them all properly at table, as lord of this little Temporary Autonomous Zone. I only hope those fresh fish arrive on time; and the fisherman as well.

He had remained absent from the Villa that morning, allowing his guests to fare for themselves, to meet each other at their own speed, and at their own bidding. He had of course been apprised of the incident in the bar. Deckard most certainly was worried about the recent attack on Fnordie, and the bizarre behavior of Kitty. But the holo playback had shown once again the disarming affability and resilience of the Kusaran Ambassador. They had quickly become confidantes, sharing their histories at a prodigious rate!

Spike and Alan had organized a tour of the new construction just over the ridge; showing off the new concealed hangar built into the steep granite hillside. Jay had tagged along as well, after a hasty breakfast of warm beer and hot dogs. His interest seemed to lie more in the fields they passed on the way. He seemed most interested in our new stand of cacao bushes, and in the massive new coffee roaster set up in a nearby shed. He was later said to be mumbling something about elephants and Guatamala.

Fiona seemed enchanted by Ricks telling of the events which brought us Fnordie, the sentient pooch. Rick also recounted Fnordies time as the Ranger Epopt for ELF; and of the recent tragic events which almost brought Fnordies death at the alleged hands of his F-unit, Kitty. Their talk seemed to delve into cyber-sentience and man/machine relations in general. Of course the reasons for Fionas curiosity will be revealed soon enough. I trust we have chosen the right allies to understand and accept the revelation.

But now, Reggie, you may no longer be the reluctant Psychonaut. You must do your best to bind these people to a cause. Not your own cause. Not even the worthy Ms. deLunas cause, as urgent and compelling as it is. But of a cause which may determine the way we primates view Humanity from this point forward. Definitions must be rewritten. Paradigms must be rent asunder and re-actualized..

And we but a small band of conspirators to shoulder the Herculean task. If only Nick could have joined our rag tag band. And Fisherman, what does Nommo, the Fish Goddess of the Ancient Dogon have to say? A little-known countenance of Eris, true, but a fitting metaphor. We fish, my friend, for a new definition of life. We angle to know if this new element, this emancipated cyber-sentience, will become a blessing or a curse to the Evolution of our own primate house.

He took a quick scan of the bar, and seeing no signs of imminent famine or ennui, walked out front to the Veranda. He looked into the bright skies of Canaria, then down at the lake Fiona had noticed that morning. Had she looked deeply into the waters, she would have seen the flexi-crete lining of the lake; the deep indentations in specific places to accommodate huge scythe-like shapes. Oh, a lake all right.. Mals private landing lake. He sat in the wicker rocker where Fiona had napped peacefully this morning.
He could almost imagine her warmth still emanating from the loosely-tied cushions. And her scent.

He looked once more at the skies. Mal, where are you, you bastard? We may hold a lot of the Aces, but you are holding the Joker, the Trump Card, and The Fool.

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