|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- OFFICE COMPLEX--CUP 22--"THE POLANTS" <-------  ||  Severe Repair  ||  Office Complex  ||  -------> (Cup SRoc022, Created v2 (6/7/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Home... Ferrajalt thought back to the events just preceding his entry into Overwhelm Associates and Aconck... Prince Ferrajalt walked up the stairs, but his mother managed to yell after him as she always did. "Oh Ferrajalt! The Polants called from the road. They'll be here in fifteen minutes, no more than twenty." Queen Ibnia said. Ferrajalt stopped, frustrated. "So what do I care?" "It's high time you grew up and realized your social responsibilities. You're not a child anymore." "Okay, Mother, I don't want to argue. Just tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. Is that fair?" Ferrajalt squeezed the exquisite banister in restlessness, waiting for the Queen to respond. "Ferri, that's an awfully mean attitude to take, don't you think?" "I'm just--" "You are heir to the throne, after all. And it's high time you started acting like it!" Ferrajalt waited, a very unhappy look on his face. "Look Mother, I don't feel at all like you want me to. Not by a kiffin long shot!" "Ferri, don't cuss." "Just tell me what you want and I'll do it! I can't help the way I feel, but I CAN help the way I act, dammit!" He waited for a few moments, then continued up the stairs. "You're to entertain the Polants, dear. Your father and I have to go to the Capital to meet with the Secretary of Defense." the Queen said, having walked over to the bottom of the stairs now, looking up at her son. "Top priority, you know, Ferri. In the national interest. You understand, don't you?" Ferrajalt had a sinking feeling. "What exactly am I to do to entertain," Ferrajalt said, and then with exaggeration, "the Polants?" "I know it's tough for you dear, with all your siblings off at school." "Mother, what have you planned for me to do?" The Queen looked down. "I promised Edna and Showam you'd take them down to the beach in the Balsativan." "The Balsativan!" Ferrajalt exclaimed with disbelief. "Well yes dear. Your father has been teaching you to drive it, hasn't he?" The Prince looked around, angry as hell, trying to find the words. "Why does it always come to me, TO ME, to do all your, your..." "Now honey, if you can't drive it, the Polants will understand. They'll be a little disappointed, but they'll understand." "Oh I can drive it. You know I can drive it. It's just, THEM." "Now, now. The Polants are very important people. And they're our friends. You used to be quite fond of their boys when you were young." "We were all just kids! They didn't have the chance to become little evil clones of their parents yet." The Queen gave a little face of shock, which implied concordance at some level, as she turned to leave. "Whatever your problems with them, you WILL show the Polants a good time. That Balsativan costs us plenty, and I'll be damned if I let it rot out there." "Don't worry. I'll make sure they're impressed." "You do that." the Queen said, and she was gone into another room. Ferrajalt walked slowly up the stairs, a draining wave of dread preying upon him. As he approached his quarters, he felt something close to panic at the thought of driving the Balsativan by himself. He had no confidence in his ability to drive it, even though he understood all the controls, at least at an academic level. But the thing was so damn big and there were so many sheer dropoffs on the way down from the mountain! But for the moment, Ferrajalt took solace in his amusement park studies, in his models, in his blueprints. And he thought, down at the Hay-Hengren Seaside, where he'd take the Polants, he could slip away and meet Martha, his secret girlfriend. He thought of her face and body, and his fear faded a little. He could do it. -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----