Terry Bisson: The Fifth Element

Airlocks equalized, and the two-story-high door opened.

The most eager of the shuttle’s passengers were already gathered at the door, waiting. When the door opened, they flooded off into the broad decks of the most luxurious liner in the known universe, decorated and appointed to resemble the fabulous Normandie of twentieth-century Earth.

Near the front of the crowd was Leeloo.

“Excuse me.”

At the back of the crowd was Korben Dallas. “Pardon me!” Korben jostled, hustled, fumbled, wedged and squeezed his way through the crowd of eager vacationers, trying to get to the front of the line.

“Hey, dude! You can’t just…”

“I’m trying to find my wife,” Korben muttered. He pushed the complainer against the wall. “Sorry!” At the end of the passageway, just inside the reception deck of the Fhloston Paradise, a phalanx of cops in full riot gear waited.

For what?

Leeloo saw them and stopped; she squeezed her-self against the wall and let the crowd go by. Meanwhile Korben had almost caught up with her. A gorgeous topless hostess in a grass skirt dropped a lei around his neck.

“Welcome to Paradise,” she said—and planted a kiss on his lips.

Korben’s eyes rolled wildly as he tried to break away. Where was Leeloo?

Then he saw her.

A fat man in a sarong—also topless—was dropping a lei around Leeloo’s neck.

He smiled and planted a wet kiss on her lips—

“A mistake,” Korben whispered, as he saw the fat man straighten up suddenly.

He was still smiling, but his nose was spurting | blood as he sank slowly to the floor.

“Never without permission,” muttered Korben. He pushed on through the crowd toward Leeloo, wiping the lipstick from his face.

But she was gone.

After decking the dude, Leeloo ducked around a comer and saw a door marked Personnel Only.

She stopped and punched random numbers into the code lock.

Nothing happened.

Looking over her shoulder, she twisted the knob. Crack!

She opened the door.

Oops.

Three cops sat on three toilets, reading mail-order catalogs.

They looked up at her.

Leeloo smiled and dosed the door behind her.

Where was Leeloo?

Always pushing toward the front, Korben followed the crowd through a high arched door, into the reception deck of the Fhloston Paradise.

Suddenly behind him he heard a shriek, followed by a chorus of oohs and aaaahsl It was Loc Rhod—and he was heading straight for Korben.

The crowd parted around him like the sea around the prow of a speedboat.

A talking speedboat.

“My main man!!” Loc Rhod said, grabbing Korben’s arm. “Please don’t leave me here alone!! My head is killing me and my adoring fans are going to tear me apart!! Get me outta here!!” Korben pulled back—then took pity on the DJ. “I’ll take you to the bar,” he said. “After that, you’re on your own. Okay?”

“Oh, green!” said Loc Rhod, clutching Korben’s arm as if it were a life preserver. “Do that!! You treat me right, man!! I need more friends like you!! So tell me all about yourself: your roots, your personal life, your childhood dreams!!” “I don’t think this is a good time,” said Korben distractedly. He was still scanning the crowd for Leeloo.

“You got brothers and sisters??” asked Loc Rhod. “What about your daddy?? Tell me about your daddy!! What was he like?? Physically, I mean!! Big, I suppose??”

“Yeah, very big…” said Korben, standing on his tiptoes, still trying to see into every corner of the crowded deck.

No luck.

No Leeloo.

He dragged Loc Rhod toward the bar, and cleared a space for the two of them.

Loc Rhod was still babbling.

“I never had a dad!! Never saw him!! Never even heard him!! Fifty billion people hear me every day, and he doesn’t hear me…”

“I understand,” said Korben, placing his hand on Loc Rhod’s shoulder. “You’re at the bar. Ciao!” Loc Rhod turned to thank Korben, who was already gone.

“How can he leave me like this!!”

A voice at his elbow interrupted the DJ’s self-pitying reverie.

“Mr. Rhod! I’m the manager of the hotel. Welcome to Paradise! The Princess Aachen of Minas Japhet would like to share a drink with you.”

Loc Rhod looked at the manager, uncomprehendingly. Then he looked down the bar to where the manager’s finger was pointing.

He raised his sunglasses and saw a young woman in an impossibly brief dress with an improbably welcoming smile.

Loc Rhod’s smile widened to match hers.

“Green…”

“Shit!” he said. “Parasites again!”

The copilot looked at the light, pressed a button for a location readout, and shook his head uncomprehendingly.

It wasn’t the wheel well.

He got out of his barca and walked to the rear of the cockpit. He reached up and unscrewed an overhead electronics access panel.

The door swung open and Father Cornelius fell out, dangling from a tangle of wires.

“Have we arrived yet?” the priest asked.

Korben had arrived.

He knew it as soon as the hostess opened the door of his complimentary stateroom.

He walked in, his eyes glowing. He had never seen such luxury. It was shameless, or shameful, or whatever—but he was not ashamed. What the hell! he thought.

But where was Leeloo?

The bellhop followed him, carrying Leeloo’s two bags.

Korben saw a formal invitation on the bedside table.

A complimentary box seat at Diva Plavalaguna’s concert, at 5:30. Black tie.

Korben looked at the hostess in confusion.

“For the concert it says formal attire. But I didn’t bring anything!”

The hostess ran a fingertip along a touch-sensitive latch, and the closet door slid open.

Korben saw twenty tuxedos, all in his size. In every color of the rainbow, plus a couple that hadn’t yet appeared in nature.

“Welcome to Paradise,” said the hostess, closing the closet door.

Korben just stared. BBBBRRRRRIIIllNNNNNGG!

The hostess put the phone in Korben’s hand before he could reach for it.

“Hello?”

“You little sleazebag!”

“Ma?”

Smiling politely, the hostess backed out the door, taking the bellhop with her.

Korben nodded his thanks.

“Don’t you ever ask me for another thing in my life again. You’ve killed your poor mother with your own hands.”

Korben found a chair and sat down.

He rolled his eyes at the ceiling, then put the receiver back to his ear.

“Ma…”

“All right, Father,” said the Fhloston Paradise Security Chief.

He motioned politely and Cornelius sat down in front of the cop’s desk.

“Let’s hear it.”

Cornelius was just about to speak, when the door burst open. A middle-aged cop whose uniform was festooned with communicators, bells,

whistles, chains, and security devices of every kind rushed into the Chief’s office.

Fog had been a policeman for almost twenty years but he had never lost his initial enthusiasm for the job.

That was the problem, the Chief thought.

“What is it, Fog?” he asked.

“The Diva’s ship is coming in, sir!”

“I want maximum secuirity,” said the Chief.

“Yes, sir!”

Fog saluted and turned to exit, but the Chief stopped him with a word. “Fog?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know why I told you that?”

“No, sir.”

The Chief sighed. Everything had to be explained to Fog.

“Well, listen up. This Diva sings only once every ten years For three minutes. I have eight thousand people here who have paid a fortune to hear her. Get the picture?”

“Yes, sir,” said Fog. He saluted, turned smartly (turning was the only thing he did smartly), and left.