From: braley@binkley.cs.mcgill.ca (The Didi-Sprite)
Subject: Song of Sixpence - Part Nine
Originator: braley@binkley.cs.mcgill.ca
Organization: SOCS - Mcgill University, Montreal, Canada
Date: Fri, 2 Oct 1992 20:02:51 GMT


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Jilara drops off a platter of pseudo-Mrs. Fields cookies, made from the 
new Mrs. Fields Cookie Cookbook she just got.  (Alaric claims he isn't into 
cookies -- foo on him, but more for us!)  She then puts down a box she is 
carrying, a box that looks somewhat like a conventional birthday present, 
but also looks like one of those brushed aluminum briefcases, tied with the 
sparkly holographic ribbon one sometimes sees, in a tasteful shade of blue-
silver-black.  

"This one needs to be opened carefully," she explains, settling it into a 
stable position.  "Allow me to demonstrate how it works."  She carefully 
pulls one end of the ribbon, and there is a CRACK! noise, almost like pulling
the string on a Christmas cracker, then the box starts to hum.  Slowly, its
halves part, like some sort of metallic flower, the ribbon sucking inside. 
Out of it fountains a telescoping column of metal, which begins to shuffle 
and shift, rather like the "transformer" toys so popular with children.  The
parts of the briefcase/box move also, like an oriental puzzle-box, and the
patrons of the The Place notice it is beginning to take on a distinctly 
human shape.  As its substance shuffles into its final form, they see a 
manniquin that looks like something halfway between one of those posable 
artist's manniquins and the liquid metal form of the T-2000, approximately 
Liralen's size and with a "skin" that is metallic blue-black, with arabesques
of silver decoratively swirled across its, like surrealist patternings of 
muscles.  On its face, two brightly-glowing blue lights open like shutters,
in approximately the position of eyes.  It walks over to Liralen, not 
jerkily as one might expect, but with a flowing sinuousness like coalescing 
energy.  "Please state desired activity," comes a voice, not quite 
mechanical, but strangely androgenous (not so surprising from an android!).

"It's programmed to be a perfect partner for playing soccer, practicing 
martial arts, various sports and activities," Jilara explains.  "It can take
just about any abuse you dish out, and is designed to be challenging 
physically, but not hazardous to life and limb.  All you have to do is 
state the desired activity.  Watch."  Her voice becomes authorative.  "Kata
1, Mantis Style."  The droid drops into a perfect stance and begins to go 
through the motions of the kata.  Jilara clears her throat.  "Change program.
Outfit for soccer."  Various simulated pieces of protective gear, such as 
shin-pads and knee and elbow pads suddenly "sprout" from the droid, without 
actually interrupting the smooth flow of metal.  "It's fun just to watch it, 
sometimes, too.  Like watching an instruction tape.  The command for that 
is "demo mode" and what you want to see."  She points at the droid and tells
it "Stay," and the droid obediently freezes.  "I borrowed it from a cyber-space
program.  Oh, it's also a very good dancer, and can interpret music into 
dance motions, as well.  Very entertaining."  She gives Liralen a hug.  
"Anyway, it's yours.  Happy Birthday, Lady!"  

She snaps her fingers, suddenly remembering.  "Oh yes, and when you want to 
put it away, just specify "Carry Mode.""  On hearing the command, the droid 
begins to reverse the generation process, folding up pieces and collapsing 
inward, until once again, there is a shiny metallic box tied with hollographic
ribbon.  "Very convenient for transport," she says, and presents it to 
Liralen with a flourish.

                                                    --- Jilara ---

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The Northern California breezes stir faintly across the mostly
blue skies.  The temperatures have dropped slightly,
it is still warm enough for shorts during the days but cool
enough for light blankets at night.  SEA looks through the X-window
into the Place (funny looking from this angle) and sees her friends 
scurrying along a new lane, then hurrying to and fro around the 
mellow field preparing an Oktoberfest birthday feast
for Liralen.  From her overly organized place in the world
(files and floppies and flyers for GYRO's World of Terror
IV surround her as do call sheets and her telephone headset
from her great new job at The Wollongong Group), SEA looks
at her best friend who is seated next to her.  Koally climbs
up into her lap and snuggles close.  "What do you say?
We've got sausages to grill.  Should we go?"  Reminding her of
all the deadlines, Koally offers another suggestion.

POOF!!!

A package arrives in the meadow at the DidiSprite's feet with
a note attached.  "Didi would you please see that these get
distributed in the most appropriate manner?"

Opening the package, Didi sets the sausages on the grill.
Another small package wrapped in colorful paper and ribbons
comes next.  The note attached is addressed to Liralen.  
"Liralen, Happy Birthday from Koally and SEA"
Inside the package is a small pendant, the pendant flashes
pictures that bring a smile to Liralen's face because they
are pictures of her favourite memories.

                                  --- a rather harried SEA! ---

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shadowshine loves autumn.  she always has, for many reasons.
she walks among the leaves, crunching some, loving the way they
rustle underfoot.  a friend once described them as dead soldiers,
a thought that makes her especially sad now.  but still she
loves autumn.  the leaves and her hair match color, red and
gold highlights blending into the brown that flows down her
back, glowing warmly as she passes through a patch of sun.

Didi said to bring food, she remembers.  well, the only food
have me, she thinks, is perhaps food for thought.  not much 
of a cook, me.  and she smiles gently.

"hey Liralen," she says quietly.  she stands under the shadow
of a tree which no longer has even autumn leaves on it.  it has
long been dead, and now stands only in her memory as it was cut
down, a hazard to a house (she guesses, she only knows she
walked by once and it was gone).  the tree is huge, big enough
around so that one slice of its trunk would serve as a card table.
it is old, the inside riddled with insects creating catacombs.
and it has a face, this tree.  a bulbous nose, huge, shaggy 
eyebrows, jagged lips, gentle, unseeing eyes, wrinkles that 
flowed into the earth, the smell of an old and favorite pipe,
and a spark of living and great, overflowing laughter, despite
great age.  like an old man, and like an old
man it greeted Elena each day when she jogged past it.  when she
could still jog.  she loved that tree dearly, and she brings it
here so she can stand under it, because she needs every pleasant
memory she can hold onto.

"Liralen..." and she is now just elena, elena in jeans and a 
hankerchief on her head and a backpack full of books.  "my
gift is this tree.  it was my woods when i lived in the most
goddawful suburb...it was a friend, and it only lives now in
me, and anyone i can pass its memory on to.  and now, if ever
you should want, it is yours as well."

and she is shadowme.  "if can me find the poem, will me send...
sending memory giving warning blessing words..." and she fades.

And she is Shiner.  "Blammor?  To invoke you here is, perhaps,
inappropriate.  But it is you who I speak to.  To you and your
lady, I give this."  She opens her left hand, which is curled
into a fist.  The right hand can never truly be other than a 
claw, but the left flattens out.  She lifts it to her mouth,
her fingertips brushing her lips, and she blows a kiss to be
caught and delivered by the autumn wind.  And she vanishes.

and she is shadowshine.  she hugs Liralen gently, then climbs 
the tree to sit among its branches and watch the celebration.
and when it finally ends, she will help pack up bits and crumbs,
and then go back to her rafters.

                                     --- elena/shadowshine ---

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As the throng begin to dive on the food, a few with sensitive noses notice
a strange, yet appetising aroma. Ignatz wanders in with a covered earthenware
pot, steam escaping around the lid, and a handful of warm baguettes.

He places the food on the heaving trestle tables, and wanders over to add his
greetings to the many Liralen has received.

Meanwhile back at the food, a few brave souls have begun to try the Jersey
Bean Crock, egged on by a couple of the other Callahanian Channel Islanders.

"Happy Birthday Liralen!"

                                          --- Simon/Ignatz ---

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Soprano looks around at all the yummies that everyone is contributing to the
potluck and sniffs the air appreciatively.  She disappears for a while, then
returns with her arms full of stuff that she starts laying out on a
conveniently-placed table.  Anyone who looks can see that she's setting up
what appears to be a buffet of some kind.

"Liralen, there's nothing traditional about the timing of this, but I
thought that I'd like to contribute something from my Hispanic heritage.
Starting on the left, we have tortillas (both flour and corn), a spicy
mixture of refried beans and onions and olives, shredded lettuce, chopped
tomatoes, sliced green onions, chopped white onions, shredded cheese, sour
cream, and several different varieties of salsa (from just the barest hint
of hot to pure distilled essence of jalapeno).  Yup, it's build-your-own
tostada time!"

Soprano steps back to allow anyone who's interested access to the table --
and as the air shimmers around her, she is suddenly surrounded by the other
nine members of the Claremont Camerata, who sing "Happy Birthday" ito
Liralen in 10-part harmony.

					    --- Soprano ---

~~**~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~**~~
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The Didi-Sprite
Montreal * Canada

braley@binkley.cs.mcgill.ca

Newsgroups: alt.callahans