who?
She was dressed for maritime fun, but her adventure on the seas with the 2 boats was over, landfall made. She was a company of one and Al was her boss, subordinate, in turn, to Thomasina, formerly Thomas Boyy. Or the same as Thomas Boyy — whatever. TOM, anyway, the archetype, the overarching thing. Back to Al: “We assemble here in the sim of Tigger, you and I, to end the threat of being cowed once and for all. The renegade treatises of Bart and his more learned but less psychic sister Lisa will not be tolerated here. Is that cleeearrrr!?”
“Clear sir,” she said crisply, eager to get on with the job. At least it beats cleaning up Dukie in Hypolazy, another part of the FILE. She could have remained there for a proper reboot. “Yes sir, clear sir.” Then she remembered to salute. Crisply again. She wasn’t use to a military regime regiment but surely she could get use to it (as her back began to ache a bit from standing rigid so long). Surely she could.
He looked her over good. “Did you bring any other *clothes* with you, er, private?” He lorded over her, acting like he controlled the many instead of just the one. He wasn’t Thomasina in other words. He’d have to report back to her soon. Weekly, instead of bi-weekly like Shelley in her individual one. Because more would be added soon, he knew. He didn’t ask to be head of a religion without a price.
“No sir, sorry sir.” She saluted, not knowing if it was needed again but doing the act anyway. “Maritime fun and adventure I was dressed for, nothing more… sir.” Another salute after a quick pause.
Al would turn and look at the boats she brought but couldn’t break protocol. Do we just stand here the rest of the day? Shelley-as-Jennifer thought on her part. And… she better select a name soon, or decide on a name. Probably Jennifer. All grown up from Jenny. Yes, I believe that’s what Thomasina would desire. And she’s the most important one now, the new big boss, same as the old big boss.
(to be continued)
Zero Hero?
Desk job to begin, Al said. “Others are coming,” he reiterated. “Check them in, fill them in on what you know, which isn’t much (he admits) but do your best. If you get stuck, Tigger can step in. He’s been in this sim since the beginning. We aren’t sure if he created the sim or the sim created him he’s so old in the time of Our Second Lyfe. And, sad thing, he can’t recall himself at this point. You may have to sift through the garbage that’s in his mind to get to the nuggets of truth. Lord knows I spend a lot of *my* time doing so.” Was this a lie? Al pondered. And… he better get back to the dock. More are coming, he was promised. 2 boats already, but just one passenger, much to his disappointment. Takes at least 2 to form a proper company, he knew. And Tigger doesn’t count. Not even up to one.
(to be continued)
5th
It was her 1/2 hour “lunch hour” and she decided to explore the sim, mainly remotely but with some direct teleports. She’d discovered Tigger Peak, currently covered up with false landscaping. And a larger club and bar in the ne corner of the sim — maybe she could get a job there to earn a living instead of working for Al the slave driver. Then, the last parcel she checked (she was going to be late getting back but who cares at this point, she thinks), the Land of the Cows. And she’d found their throne tucked away in the loft of a barn. Seeing no green dots indicating other residents nearby she dared to directly sit in it from her remote viewing spot.
She looked down and counted her white gloved fingers. 10 instead of 8. Good. She was still whole. Like proper milk, 5 percent instead of 2, or at least 4 to make the ratio come out correct. She’d held out her number challenge hand and someone grasped it. She was saved by the FILE, she knew. She had to keep abiding by the golden rule. But nobody said she had to keep working for *Al*. Heck, she could work here, with the cows, be a type of secret, inside agent uncovering their inner workings, including 4 stomachs we assume. But everyone knows that. Deeper secrets; beyond strange body workings. She could see into the soul of the cow, beyond the black and white, and peer deep into red, the ultimate unity. Like alchemy. But… where was the citrinitas? she wondered with this train of thought. The yellowing? The missing 4th? Ah… “Eureka!” she shouted, leaping out of the throne, attracting the attention of at least one other. Someone named Beckett, an expert on historical. An expert on all things missing in the now. Including himself.
(to be continued)
reaching out
Arthur and Edward had an eyefull. “Constantyne, huh?” Arthur, the hubby, finally managed about the creator of the thing. “Queen of the cows, eh?”
“*I’m* queen of the cows,” crowed Jennifer to this, author of 37 romance novels, almost 38. “Or will be. Once my infiltration is complete. This is just step 01 of a 03 or 04 step process.”
“No need to bring zeroes into this.”
“No,” said Shelley, thinking Arthur’s sentence was more compliment than criticism. He was reading into what she said, seeing between the lines. However thin they may be. He looks again, then looks over at Edward doing the same. Might as well be a much thicker line drawn down the center of the room between them, real on his side, irreal or fantasy on the other. Romance novels, pheh. 2 boats in one, hmph. Both 6’5″, both the same size and shape. She *manufactured* him. But then he had a rethink. Both of them? She claimed she was now Jennifer after all. Not Shelley. He questioned further, not persuaded despite all the evidence.
“Will you still work for Al during all this? You said Thomas Boyy — whatever he’s called –.”
“She,” said Jennifer to this. “He’s also a she.”
“Whatever (again). Anyway, you were assigned to Al by him… or her.”
“TOM calls the shots, the male-female synergy at the top of the pyramid that is also the pyramid itself. He/she said to stay in FILE, in the column that is centered upon Constantynople, upon the Temple of TILE there to be specific. Upon the *front door* of the place to be even more specific. Right on the equator. Kenosha is at the top, Tomasina is one down, then Tigger after that.”
Tigger, she thought. Zero Hero! Arthur’s sentence back there was more criticism than complement, she realized. She must return…
She stopped her stands and indicated the filing cabinets in the corner of the 1 room building, a tiny house the owner calls it, neighbor to the Land of the Cows in Tigger as it turns out. The obvious “secret” agent who also owns the body swapping machine Arthur and Edward stumble upon to find out they were one and the same deep down. Thus the logical progression to *here*. “See what you can find in (those cabinets) — probably another clue. I’ll check back, say, tomorrow. Stay *put* until then. Maybe play cards with each other to pass the time, get to *know* each other better. Understand differences as well as sameness. You have your assignment. *Subordinates*.” She took her leave with that.
(to be continued)
00380705
“Cheer up, Al. *I’m* back. You’ll get more recruits. Already we have Tigger, we have, um, his friend. Does he have a name?”
“We just call him — Friend.” Al didn’t mention Tigger and Friend weren’t technically recruits to his new style Xian religion. Came with the territory as it were. So: still down to one. At least Shelley-as-Jennifer came back, cow suit ditched along with the attached barn and throne. She was raised in a barn with 2 sisters. She decided she didn’t need to return to one, even if the situation was only temporary and an undercover sort of thing. Too easy to be absorbed in the past.
From their position just up the hill, they kept glancing toward the Northern Nautilus Sea. “Maybe Beckett will show up soon with that missing file,” Shelley-as-Jennifer offered. “Then we’ll know how to proceed.”
“Maybe so.” They had hope still and maybe that was enough. Citrinitas.
END OF “SUNKLANDS 2023 MIDDLE”!
Sunklands 