Rudy Rucker - The Ware Tetralogy

Onar went off for his shower and Yoke got a bottle of soda from the kitchen fridge. She sat on the porch and looked at the ocean and the sky, with the endless puffs of cloud marching out over the Pacific forever. She picked up a handheld fan, a woven palm thing with feathery fringed edges. She waved it gently, enjoying the gentle pulses of air.

A vortex is like a boulder, mused Yoke as she played with the fan. If you hit a boulder, it breaks into smaller rocks; if you jolt a vortex, it decomposes into a pack of smaller vortices. The vortices coming off the edges of the fan would be interesting to model.

Overhead the light breeze rattled the leaves of the palms. It was so wonderful to be loose in the open air of this great living world. After a lifetime in the pawky corridors of the Moon, Yoke couldn’t get over the oceanic dimensions of Earth’s atmosphere. The lucky mudders walked around at the bottom of a very sea of air.

Around four o’clock the “limo” showed up, a tiny electric car like all the others, chauffeured by an enormous Tongan man named Kennit. He had generous Polynesian features, and his curly hair stood up in an Afro. He wore a shirt with a necktie and a blue serge skirt. Over the skirt he had tied on a tattered palm mat, some kind of ceremonial thing. He was formal, though with a cheerful twinkle. He had a funny accent; he said “yis” instead of “yes.” Onar already knew him. Apparently Onar had once won a little money from Kennit in a pinochle game—and didn’t want to let Kennit forget it.

Hearing Onar and Yoke preparing to leave, Cobb perked up and poked his head up out of the puddle. “Am I invited?” he wanted to know.

“You definitely should follow us down to the Foreign Ministry to register,” said Onar. “But as far as dinner goes—I mentioned you to HRH’s secretary, Cobb, and of course HRH would like to meet with you, but I’m afraid our little party will be for humans only.”

“I’m human,” protested Cobb, his plastic old man’s head bulging out of the shiny patch on the ground.

“Maybe you should try making friends with the Sea Cuke dive moldies,” continued Onar. “Or if you want to be with humans, you could go to a bar. The Happy Club is quite colorful. There’s a lot of fakaleitis there.” Onar looked over at Yoke and explained, “That’s the Tongan word for transvestites. Boys raised as girls. It’s not uncommon. They’re quite promiscuous. Takes some pressure off the women, I suppose.”

“The Happy Club’s a dangerous place, Mr. Anders,” put in Kennit.

“But isn’t it true that moldies are welcome there?”

“Maybe a little too welcome,” said Kennit, making an abrupt slicing gesture down his front.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Cobb in alarm. He’d grown himself back up into human form.

“That happens here too?” said Onar.

“Yis,” said Kennit.

“ What happens?” asked Cobb.

“Oh, you know,” said Onar. “Sporeheads slitting open moldies to get all of their camote at once.”

“God,” said Cobb, looking down at his body. “If they want those little fungus nuggets so much, they only have to ask me. I gave some camote to my great-grandson just the other day. Randy Karl Tucker. He’s a little that way. It comes from being a cheeseball. I just hope he’s staying out of trouble in San Francisco. That boy.” Cobb sighed heavily. “I better not go to the Happy Club.”

“Whatever you like, Cobb,” said Onar. “But right now you should follow us to the ministry so we can get you a chirper. According to Tongan law, moldie visitors have to be tagged. It’s like an electronic visa.”

“I don’t need no stinkin’ visa,” said Cobb. “You go on without me. I think I’ll fly around the island. See you here in the morning, Yoke. We’ll go for a dive.”

Onar shrugged. “I thought you might feel that way. Just as well if you don’t come at all.”

The elevator in the Foreign Ministry building had a marble floor. It was possibly the only elevator in Tonga, and it was manned by a dignified man dressed like Kennit: white shirt, tie, and blue serge skirt.

“Hello,” Yoke said.

“ Malo e leiei,” said the elevator operator, kindly but firmly. “You must learn to say hello in the Tongan way. Malo e lelei.”

“ Malo e lelei.”

A trim Tongan woman in a gray dress greeted them near the elevators. She was wearing an uvvy.

“Hello, Mr. Anders, I’m glad to see you. We are on the point of closing down for the day. Quitting-time is the one appointment that Tongans observe punctually! But I believe Mr. Olou is still here. And first we have our little business with your friend’s visa.”

“Excellent, Eleani,” said Onar. “Let me introduce my friend Yoke from the Moon. Yoke, this is Eleani Matu. She’s a Vice-Minister.”

“Did Onar get you a contract from Meta West Link?” Eleani asked.

“No, I’m just a tourist along for the ride.”

“Yes, yes,” laughed Eleani. “Of course you are. Step into my office and I’ll give you the visa.” Eleani led them into a cool, dark room with elegant modern furniture. “Sue Miller,” she said, nodding to Yoke. “It’s all set.”

“Huh?”

“It’s your identity of record,” said Onar. “Eleani’s in charge of Tonga’s interface to international ID protocols. Tongan counterintelligence, that is. She’s setting up some one-month ID viruses for you and Cobb.”

“Why?”

Onar looked cagey. “You’ll find out later on tonight. When we go to meet the King. Suffice it to say that HRH wants you to help him with a mission that could lead to you getting hold of something extremely valuable, and he doesn’t want any off-islanders hounding you for it. It’ll be for your own good if nobody can recognize you.”

Eleani looked hard at Yoke, then gazed blankly at the wall for a moment, off in the cyberspace of uvvy. “Yes,” she said presently. “It’s all here. Sue Miller died in a fire and shipwreck off Tongatapu last year and our navy recovered her body. She had a sailor moldie named Squanto who was also lost in the fire. We’ll morph you into Sue and Cobb into Squanto, Yoke. I’m releasing the ID viruses now. They’ll live till next month, and they’re smart enough to actively search and replace any images of you two. That way if any person or moldie happens to video you, Yoke, the transmitted image is going to show Sue. This means that for the next month nobody’s going to be able to take a picture of you. It’ll look like this.” Eleani uvvied Yoke an image of a skinny woman with short, dark hair.

“But isn’t Sue Miller on record as being dead?” asked Yoke.

“No, no,” said Onar. “In this day and age, an identity is a precious thing. When the Tongans find a body, they always incinerate it and base an ID virus on that person.”

“This is creepy,” protested Yoke. “You’re not planning to murder me or something, are you?”

“Of course not,” said Eleani. “Silly girl. This is for your protection, I’m sure! All right then, Yoke, I’m going to uvvy you the Sue Miller and Squanto identity codes now, in case someone directly asks you for ID. Very good. You have a registered Tongan visa in the name of Sue Miller for thirty days. Now let’s see about Mr. Olou.”

“If I have this fake ID,” said Yoke, “does this mean I have to call myself Sue while I’m here? And have to call Cobb—Squanto?”

“Too much trouble,” said Eleani. “On the islands nobody pays so much attention to details. My understanding is that we only need the fake ID for the rest of the world. In case someone takes your picture after you get hold of whatever it is you’re supposed to get. With the ID virus nobody need ever know it was you. You’ll be able to return home and live peacefully.”