“We Arcadians are descended from what our scientists call Pongo Arcadis," the beautiful ambassador of Arcadia said in response to a question. "Actually, we believe that the direct genetic ancestor of Homo Arcadis, which is what we call our species, is Pongo Arcadis. Our scientists try to use your scientific terms and naming conventions as much as possible, as you see.” The reporters and other people in the audience laughed politely.

Someone else from the crowd raised his hand. “Doctor, I've never heard of… what was it? Pongo Arcadis? I know a little bit about Neanderthals and all that, but…”

“Ah, no, we aren’t descended from Neanderthals or the like… They aren’t part of… Well, let me explain.”

The little Arcadian stopped for a moment, collected her thoughts and started on a new tack.

“Several hundred years ago, small groups of Arcadian scientists were conducting several small digs in a portion of what is now Mongolia. During these digs, our people were able to unearth the fossilized remains of what you call Homo Erectus and Homo Habilis. Other fossilized remains were also found. These seem to be genetically related to the ohers but weren't from the same species. They speculated that they were the remains of what looked like another line of Hominidae - humanoids, too, but not Homo Erectus nor Homo Habilis nor any of the species that you know. But definitely not human nor Arcadian.

“In later years, when our people saw fit to retreat back to Arcadia and eliminate almost all excursions to the outside world, no other expeditions were mounted. In any case, during the eighteen- and nineteen-hundreds, and the twentieth century, we followed the research of your own paleontologists via publications we were able to get from time to time, and were excited when you made your own fossil discoveries. But comparing what we dug up and what you found...

"Well, as your scientists concluded years ago, not all present-day hominids are of the same genetic line. True, chimpanzees, gorillas, humans – they’re closely genetically related to each other, and you have called this line the hominis sub-family. At the same time, you also discovered that present-day orangutans are not part of this sub-family. Though orangutans are part of the main family of hominidae, the orangutans’ genetic line split from the hominids’ line about thirteen million years ago, and they evolved separately. Your scientists call this other line the ponginae, or pongo, genetic sub-family. The unidentified fossils that we found several years ago, which we eventually started calling Pongo Arcadis, is part of this line, so therefore, we Arcadians, or Homo Arcadis, are part of that line as well. The orangutans are to us what the chimpanzees and gorillas are to you. So, though we are ultimately related - both your species and ours are hominidae, but whereas you humans are from the Hominid branch of Hominidae, we Arcadians are from the Ponginea branch.

“As to why we closely resemble humans, our scientists can only surmise that, firstly, we are genetic relatives and, secondly, our ancestors probably went through the same kinds of evolutionary pressures and lived in similar environments that yours did, and nature therefore saw fit to evolve our form in much the same ways as she did yours, hence our close resemblance. Your scientists call this "convergent evolution."

“But there are a few noticeable differences – for gross physical differences, we have, on average, fractionally longer necks, limbs and digits than yours, and though we are omnivorous as well, we have less a preference for meats in our diet. We have weaker eyesight in certain situations compared to yours, but are better in discerning colors and details or seeing over longer distances. And though we are stronger and faster in short bursts, we have less endurance because of less muscle mass, a different diet and an inability to store as much energy due to smaller fatty structures. Also, unlike most mammals, both of our sexes sport functional mammalian breasts, allowing either the male or female to nurse infants. And though we make love and give birth in much the same way as you, our children mature more quickly and we have comparatively longer lifespans. And, of course, we’re not genetically compatible with humans.

“So, although our species come from the same genetic lineage, we are, at best, distant cousins. We are not humans. We are Arcadians. But despite this, we are very much the same in all the things that are important – we look much the same, we feel the same things, we enjoy the same things, and we think, we live, we work, we feel and we love in the same ways you do.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, our cousins, and we say hello to all of humanity.”  

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I couldn't get over how big this plane was. Its passenger cabin was as long as the cabin of two 747 cabin sections put nose-to-end, and as wide as five side-by-side, not counting the wings, of course.

According to the pamphlet, the cabin was roughly like a flattened rectangular cube (which I found out, according to the dictionary, was called a "cuboid") that was five hundred feet long, a hundred feet wide and sixty-three feet tall divided into five decks.

It didn't feel quite like a plane, actually, but more like an oceangoing cruise ship. And it's my understanding that it could accommodate two thousand passengers. And it had a cargo area the same cubic space as its passenger area – about 122,400 cubic feet or ninety cargo containers worth of space. Amazing. But that was necessary - there were very few commercial Arcadian passenger planes and flights, so each one needed do double duty, and take on the work of several cargo and passenger planes. In any case, I knew tickets for Strato-Liner flights were fiercely competed for. In fact, there were a couple of companies that did business by buying up tickets and auctioning them off, typically at three or four times the price. (They're currently under investigation by the SEC.)

Stewards were everywhere, and of course they were all Arcadians. Male Arcadians. The cabin crews of commercial Arcadian flights were almost always all men (I wasn't sure about the flight crews, though, since you don't really see the pilot or copilot - you just hear them over the intercom occasionally). I've tried to find out why no Arcadian girls were chosen as stewardesses, but I couldn't find any reason for it (and it seems the whole hullabaloo about calling stewards and stewardesses flight attendants instead wasn't an issue for Arcadians).

Though I knew the stewards walking around in the cabin were men, I couldn't shake the impression that they were women: It was well known that female Arcadians were relatively short, like five feet to, at most, five-five, whereas the men were at least five-eleven and usually much, much taller. Other than the height, though, they all looked and sounded like beautiful women. It was only the stewards' heights that betrayed their gender. At least to us humans.

But, even knowing this, I couldn't get it out of my head that they were women. Gorgeous, tall, elegant, statuesque women, like supermodels. I've heard actual supermodels were not too friendly to Arcadians, and lobbied to have the professions of modeling and acting be made exclusive to humans. And when the modeling and acting industries caved in, organizations like the Screen Actors Guild and the International Modeling and Talent Association passed regulations that modelwork and acting jobs be exclusively for human models and actors only. And though these regulations didn't have the power of law, everyone observed and complied with them.

The Arcadians didn't complain, though, because no Arcadian ever really aspired to get "human work." But then, when actors and models found their Arcadian equivalents, they clamored that they be allowed to apply for jobs in Arcadia. The thing was, the few that were lucky enough to land contracts or commissions found that they had to labor under massive inferiority complexes, and there were less and less humans trying to find Arcadian modeling or acting gigs. The only ones that found "acceptable" jobs were those applying for acting or modelling jobs specific to males (Arcadian filmmakers would sometimes attempt to make "human films," as they call them, and would naturally need male human actors and models because Arcadians trying to be human males was, frankly, ridiculous).

"Could I refill your glass, Mr. Barlowe?" one of the in-flight stewards asked in heavily accented English. The Arcadian's voice, like all Arcadians whether male or female, sounded like sexy human women's. And though his grammar was perfect, the accent was so heavy I had trouble understanding the words. I could only conclude that this one was new to the outside world and was just learning English. The grammar was spot on, but the accent… After a little more time, the accent would improve, I’m sure. But, to tell the truth, I didn't really mind. Most people find Arcadian accents femininely sexy, and I wasn't any different. To me it sounded like a cross between a French aristocrat, a Brazilian-Portuguese call-girl and a high-class geisha. Even if she was just offering me a stick of gum, it would be a turn-on. I meant "he"...

As was usual when I met Arcadians, I blushed and got all tongue-tied. But I must have said yes or something because she, I mean he, bent over and poured me another glass of that wonderful Arcadian mango wine that I loved so much.

The cabin crew's uniforms were made up of a tight, white, shiny-stretchy satin-like blouse with short capped sleeves, with a belt at the waist almost as wide as cumberbunds, in either solid fire-engine red, canary yellow or royal blue, with appropriately wide, decorative belt buckles in either chrome or gold. My steward was wearing a red one with a gold buckle.

They also wore something like a pastel colored cravat around their necks in solid pastel colors complementing the belt, and a pair of what looked like tight, opaque, matt-black spandex leggings or tights that made you wonder where he hid his... package.

The bottom part of the blouse that extended down past the belt was loose and billowy and extended down to just above his crotch, giving the impression that the steward was wearing a very, very, very short white skirt over the leggings, his cute tights-covered derriere often peeking out when he walked around, and especially when he bent or leaned down, as he did when he poured my wine. It was all very sexy, if you just don't think of him as a man.

And this ensemble was matched up with high, dark khaki, almost brown, leather boots that looked like suede riding boots with tall stiletto heels.

When he bent over and poured my drink, I couldn't help notice how... well his pants fit her, and as she straightened up, her blouse molded to what looked like spectacular B-size breasts, at least – maybe C. So, it was true - Arcadian men had boobies... Wait, I've been doing it again - sorry. I meant "her," not "him"... wait...

Arcadia's line of fruit wines were some of their best exports. No wonder - it was mildly sweet, effervescent like champagne, and had this kick that just gives you a kind of mild glow instead of making you drunk. And it was delicious. Sure there were a lot of imitations, but they couldn't hold a candle to the Arcadian original.

Actually, the few export products that they had were all doing well in the marketplace, many of them displacing their human-made counterparts. Consumers weren't really complaining - Arcadians make good stuff. But that's not the thing. What pissed the government off was that the stuff that Arcadians are rumored to have that governments around the world were really interested in - propeller-driven supersonic superfighters and superchoppers, supercomputers that were several generations ahead of ours, tank armor that was impenetrable but was thin and light as well, room-temperature superconductors (though many believed this one was not really true), environmentally-safe fertilizers, new crossbreeds of food plants and livestock, anti-pollution technology, high-performance supercars, weapons with specs that were suspiciously like rail guns the size of Glocks, cheap and super-efficient solar cells, high-capacity batteries, a rumored totally-renewable clean-burning fuel substitute, and, my favorite - non-rocket-based rockets (sorry!). Because they're all not for sale.

That's part of why State was happy His Excellency asked for me. Well, not me, specifically – anyone from State would have done. But since the Arcadians asked for me, the government quickly agreed, and then prepped me so that if I was lucky enough to get a peek at the goods, I’ll be able to take notes, and maybe even take some video and pictures.

- - - - -

I suppose I shouldn't drink in the morning, but it was still evening in my head (Arcadia's time zone was about twelve hours ahead of ours). So I continued to sip the delicate drink and looked out the window of the "strato-liner" as it cut through the clouds. I saw the engine pods attached to the wings and couldn’t see the propellers that I knew were in them - they were hidden by cowlings. But I could see the vapor trail that trailed the back of the propeller pods and made what looked like white plumes. I wondered why the condensation forms.

They must spin very fast in order to be able to propel the plane to over six hundred MPH. Our engineers were still trying to figure that out. How could propellers alone push air along with sufficient velocities? Our science said that was impossible. Propeller-driven planes flying faster and higher and longer than 747's... imagine a turbojet engine that didn't burn fuel and eject them for thrust, yet achieve thrust more than equal to a jet's. My understanding was their engines could accelerate them past mach one (several spysats haves tracked some of their fighter planes flying faster than mach two). In the case of the strato-liners, they were supposedly deliberately throttled down because of the plane's extreme dimensions and shape, and going supersonic would be dangerous.

But scientists say that, even if a propeller could turn fast enough and survive the catastrophic vibrations they could create, their cutting through the air, regardless of how they were designed, could not accelerate air faster than the speed of sound even if they didn't disintigrate from the intense vibration that a fast-spinning propeller would generate. But nevertheless, the Arcadians were able to do it.

Our direction of flight was east-south-east, and it felt like we were moving towards the rising sun. In front and to the right of us, the sun had just broken through the horizon. The colors were beautiful.

We've been flying non-stop for almost twenty hours. I didn’t mind. The “mall” on the deck below (just a couple of dozen mall-type stores and et etcetera) had lots of stuff to provide enough distraction. But unlike my little nieces who could spend days just trawling through malls shopping, eating, watching movies or stuff like that - that just wasn't my thing. On the phone, they sounded so jealous of me being able to go to Arcadia, and even more so when I told them about the on-board mall.

A few of the passengers were able to get cabins, but the government wouldn’t splurge for one for me. So I was stuck with the majority and made do in the main passenger cabin. Not that I was complaining – my couch was pretty comfortable and roomy, and I could stretch out completely if I wanted, and I didn’t need to share armrests – the seats had about a foot of space between them. And I had my own video player and little cubby table.

As the sun rose, I couldn't help myself and walked to a window.

I tried to see if I could spot the islands of Arcadia, but we were still too high and too far away. But the captain said over the p.a. a while ago that he was expecting us to land in a couple of hours. Or was it a she? Can't really tell.

Tiring of the view outside, I turned to look at the other passengers.

Less than a twentieth of the seats were occupied, mostly by American tourists. In fact there were almost as many stewards as passengers. My neighbor in the nearest chair said there was a steward per two passengers at the moment, or maybe four if the crew were doing shifts. No wonder I felt well taken care of.

Actually, very few people get to go to Arcadia. Some people in the government said Arcadia was isolationist, like the Ming Dynasty of China in the thirteen-hundreds, but those in the know say it's more like the Tokugawa shogunate of Japan of the seventeen-hundreds - where contact with the rest of the world was still there, but not actively sought out. Still, a lot of people continued to want to visit the newest recognized sovereign nation in the world, and the royal government obliged this by granting a lucky few visas.

- - - - -

For me, my own visa was a three-week one, giving me only a few days to do any sort of sight-seeing after I'm done with work. Still, it was issued by no less than the King himself.

My visit was work-related: the Arcadian government had asked the US to send someone to help them negotiate a commercial treaty they were making up to allow them to do business with China and Russia, as well as to give them a hand with similar treaties with other countries, too. They could have just negotiated directly with China but I guess they were still a bit skittish.

So, when they asked, the government "kindly" offered to send a large delegation, but the Arcadian Royal Government declined the offer, and insisted that only one person be sent, and they specifically requested for me.

No one knew how they got my name. And although many people in the State Department were qualified, at least I was one of them. So I was acceptable as the government’s rep despite my lack of seniority.

I had a chance to meet with the King during her, I mean his, last visit to DC. I and my staff of two had just finished briefing President Maxwell about some forgettable thing on imports from England. My staff and I were just about to leave when the King was ushered into the oval office with his entourage for a short photo op. Needless to say, he was the most drop-dead gorgeous woman I ever saw. It was too bad he was a man...

As he and his staff walked in, he sort of stopped short. He looked at me, with a look I didn't precisely understand, but it was definitely a look of surprise, of confusion and maybe something that I thought was a kind of hopefulness. He broke away from his group and went to me. He asked me who I was and what I did for the President. I told him that it was a pleasure to meet him, and said I worked in the State Department, on matters relating to trade and commerce. He reached out and we shook hands.

His Highness's voice and the touch of his hand - it was incredibly feminine. His scent, which Sherry from my staff said it was probably Flora by Gucci, was feminine but not overpowering. And the feel of her hand was so smooth and soft, softer even than Teddy's. And she was beyond gorgeous.

Teddy was my other staff and, unbeknownst to anyone, she and I had been having a secret relationship for a while now. But people in government frown on romantic relationships between staff, so Teddy and I have been keeping it under the radar. Thing was, it’s been growing serious. I even brought up the idea of her moving in with me last week, but she said she’d think about it first. So when the Arcadians came in, she looked at them with a bit of a frown, and I guess it was understandable given how obviously taken I was with them, especially Her Highness. Or, rather, His Highness. All of the visitors that came in were beautiful, and they were all coiffed and glamorous even though many of them were carrying briefcases and folders. It was like an office-themed fashion show in the oval office.

After some photos and an exchange of gifts, the President’s secretary ushered all of us out so he and the Arcadian leader could have a private chat, but the King asked for me to stay. So there were three of us left in the Oval Room.

Per Arcadian custom, the President and the King opened their gifts. The King had received a hand-carved hardwood sculpture of Abraham Lincoln from a new artist that currently had a display over at the MOMA in New York, a boxed set of cuisine-style American spices and condiments for the Queen, and two sets of designer kid’s outfits from American superstar-designer Percy Roth for their two children.

As for the President, he received four of the little handkerchief-size squares of cloth that Arcadians usually gave as gifts. They were simple cotton kerchiefs that had simple embroidered designs in the middle, usually pastoral scenes or a picture of the Lyssium Palace, or other scenes from Arcadia, and were highly prized.

The embroidery of these kerchiefs were all very well done, and we're told the design of these kerchiefs were hand-sewn by the family of the person giving them, meaning these particular ones were probably made personally by the queen.

Usually, people who received them would mount them in frames like you would a picture or a painting, and display them like that, and would be treated like family heirlooms. The pictures were all very pretty, and it was a happy family that had an embroidered Arcadian handkerchief mounted on their living room wall.

The King confirmed that it was the Queen herself who made the two kerchiefs for the President and the First Lady, and the two little ones were especially made by their two children for the President’s son.

The President’s thanks were so effusive - these were made by the Royal Family itself!

There were other other gifts, each in beautiful carved-crystal boxes. Originally, we thought the boxes themselves were the gifts, but it turned out they weren’t the real gifts, and were just the boxes that the gifts came in.

Inside one of them was a matching set of silver chain necklaces with sapphire and pearl pendants carved to look like dolphins (the dolphin was the current royal family's mascot), four thin bangles – two in silver and two in steel-blue, a pair of silver pendant earrings with small dolphins carved in sapphire and pearl, and two rings – one in silver and one in steel-blue.

The President commented that the First Lady will be very pleased and excited to receive the jewelry.

The next box contained a pair of heavy, carved-silver pens with cobalt-blue ends, a thin, silver pen that the King said was a mechanical pencil, a silver tie-clip with a tiny sapphire dolphin in the middle, and a pair of heavy silver cufflinks with sapphire jewels.

“The pens can use standard ballpoint-pen refills, and the pencil uses standard-sized pencil leads,” the King explained.

The last box contained a cell phone in a steel-blue case and a metal matt-black belt holster. “I’m sure that your son will love this,” the King said. “It can accept standard GSM-type SIMM cards so he can readily transfer his card into the phone. It also interfaces with Google so he can treat it like an Android phone.”

After that pleasant little chore, we all sat down. I didn’t want to be a third wheel so I tried to be useful and served them with coffee and the little biscuit squares I saw sitting on the table in front of us.

Anyway, I guess what I wanted to say was that my short "talk" with Her Highness... I mean, His Highness, that day, and sitting in at his tete-a-tete with the President was the extent of my contact and personal knowledge of the leader of Arcadia. And I guess that was the basis for their selecting me. Ridiculous, I know. But what else could it have been?

I got to stay and chat with His Excellency because he requested that I stay on after the photo op was done and he and the President had finished a short, very pleasant half-hour visit. He got me included in their conversation, too, but I deferred to the President whenever I could. As far as I could tell, they didn’t really talk any business - it was mostly small talk, except, of course, that the King invited the presidential family to visit Arcadia. Which, I suppose, was reason enough for His Highness to pay a visit.

When the President and the Arcadian ruler was done, His Highness insisted that I walk him out. And on the way to his limousine, he asked me a lot of inconsequential things, like what my hobbies were, the things I liked, where I lived, what my folks did for a living, that sort of thing.

For my part, I asked him what he was interested in, and he mentioned an interest in our history, specifically maritime history from the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, whereas the Queen loved the fashions and music of the twenties. That was something new, I thought.

The King signaled to his staff and an Arcadian (I knew it was a girl because she was only around five-three) dressed in the stereotype outfit of a secretary - simple blouse, skirt and heels (except hers looked like a designer blouse, skirt and heels) - came forward and gave him a crystal box similar to the ones he gave to the President. He then gave it to me with a flourish, and I bowed to express my thanks.

He looked at me with expectation so I opened the box and brought out an embroidered Arcadian kerchief. I looked up from the box and saw the King holding out his hand. I reached out and shook his hand.

“I am honored, Your Highness.”

“There is an Arcadian saying that goes, ‘the real honor is in the giving and not the receiving.’”

“Nevertheless,” I said and smiled.

The King chuckled and gave me a hug. That surprised me, but knowing this was royalty, I accepted it and lightly hugged her back. I meant him.

I looked at the embroidered kerchief again and noted that it was plain white. I could have sworn that the embroidery in the middle was colored. I guess I was mistaken.

The King mumbled something that sounded like “eu tinha j'avais razao raison.” Very few people understood Arcadian, and that included me. I think I’ll ask Teddy later – she knew a bit of Arcadian.

When I waved as his car pulled away (a sleek Arcadian-built limo-like car), a couple of Secret Service agents came over and asked me to accompany them back inside…

Half a dozen Foreign Service people talked with me, and I told them everything that we talked about. Everyone was puzzled - who was I, after all, to make His Excellency notice me. Afterwards, I was told to go back to the Oval again, and the President asked if I knew him from somewhere. I told him I didn't - it was the first time for me to meet him. Nevertheless, I found out that the Secret Service had double-checked my background, and had a complete recording of our conversation. They didn't find anything, of course (if they knew about me and Teddy, they weren't saying). But I couldn't blame them for checking. Like everyone, I didn't understand it, too.

Anyway...

Being the dutiful public servant that I was, I agreed to go and brief the Arcadians, and used up our one-week advance notice to bone up on the material that I thought was relevant, especially on any kind of precedents we had established doing business with China. I didn't know exactly what the Arcadians wanted me to do - conduct meetings, negotiations or conferences, conduct business classes maybe, or maybe to just attend some diplomatic whatever. Guess I'll have to play it by ear. Regardless, I was requested, so I had to go.

But I would have gone even if it wasn't work-related. Hey, I'm not proud - I'm just like everyone else: I wanted to see the land of the beautiful Arcadians. Sherry and Teddy wanted to go, too, but it was only me they wanted.

State had given me all the help I could have wanted. They briefed me and gave me a team of five, aside from my staff of two, to help me bone up on things, and they put together the material I requested: several dozen copies of all the current relevant legal and commerce reference material, dozens of copies of the books I wrote about my experience in the US diplomatic corps, and so many others. All public domain, of course. Together, the stuff I was bringing amounted to several hundred pounds of printed material and maybe a hundred digital copies on computer disks. The intention was to distribute these in Arcadia. That didn't include the several boxes of souvenirs that they said I might want to give away - mostly little statuettes of the Statue of Liberty, some pens, paperweights and little mounted souvenir-type tourist pictures appropriate for adorning the tops of office tables.

State had also provided me with some things they thought I might need - a fully-loaded laptop, a tablet computer, a fancy new satellite-enabled smartphone, and a nifty little MILC camera (in case I wanted to take some pictures, they said). I was, however, told I don't get to keep them after. Darn...

All in all, my stuff amounted to two crate-sized boxes plus a smaller, tinier one that had my personal effects and work stuff, but my Arcadian hosts said it wasn't any trouble, and my boxes joined several hundred crates in the plane's hold. Like I said, this plane was as large as a cargo ship. In fact, it was a cargo ship-slash-passenger plane. My people enclosed a list of the material in each box so that I could inventory them when I unpacked.

I was running low on my drink, so I signaled the nearest steward for a refill.

- - -

The captain made another announcement, that we were about to land, inside Crescent Bay, Arcadia. Strato-liners were so big, they only landed on water (which is sometimes an issue when the weather wasn't cooperating). Strato-liners were actually seaplanes.

This fact was used to great effect when a strato-liner, specially modified with a water scoop and its cargo hold reinforced and made water-tight, was hired as a water-bomber in that string of forest fires and wildfires in California a few years ago. Imagine bombing a forest fire with almost almost a million gallons of water in one go. Ever since then, that specially-modified strato-liner that grateful Californians nicknamed Smokey the Bear found regular work during the summer months putting out-of-control forest fires in the US, in Malaysia and Indonesia, in China, and in Australia during their summer months. Since then, most major forest fires were put mostly under control.

I was disappointed that we didn't get Smokey as our strato-liner - Smokey still did the usual commercial work of regular strato-liners as well as moonlighting as a firefighter - but I had no complaints.

The sea was calm and the landing was quite gentle, We barely felt our ship touch water. In a while, our plane was powering through the calm waters of Crescent Bay like a regular boat, or more like an ocean-going cruise ship. I looked out my window and saw the plane's wings had been collapsed like accordions, the one-eighth that was still sticking out had the propeller pods on them, and were raised up so they would be clear of the water.

"We're finally here," I thought. "Arcadia..."

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Yesterday, when boarding, we were taken to the plane via a small launch. This time the plane itself was making for land. And as I looked out, I could see what must be Callista, the capital, looming closer and closer.

At the last moment, the plane-slash-boat speeded up, and we felt a rubbery sort of bump, and we started driving up some sort of sea ramp. Our plane apparently had powered wheels, and they had touched down on a platform that dipped into the water, specifically designed to accommodate giant, amphipious vehicles like ours.

With a screech, our large plane's large wheels skidded on the cement ramp for a moment, but with our momentum and the tires' traction, we drove up the ramp and out of the water, and rapidly made our way to what I could guess was some kind of airport gate.

When the plane came to a full stop, the captain made an announcement confirming this, and we all undid our seatbelts and stood up.

I pressed the button on my seat's armrest, and the overhead compartment unlocked and started lowering itself down. I wish regular planes had these.

"Let me get your luggage for you, sir," the steward who poured me the wine earlier said. She... he reached out and effortlessly lifting and bringing out my two carry-on bags and coat. It's strange to see a supermodel lifting heavy bags as easily as a weightlifter.

I smiled my thanks when he handed them to me, and I started making my way to the exit. I had this sneaky feeling he was looking at me as I walked away.

"No need to hurry," one of the other stewards said. "The next liner isn't due for a few more hours so there is no need to disembark quickly." Some of the other stewards were circulating and distributing more drinks. I politely turned another drink down and just proceeded to the exit. After walking through a high-vaulted square tunnel with a slightly-squishy floor, a slight breeze and a couple of flashbulb-like explosions in my face (nothing was there, though), I came out into a bright and cheery reception area of sorts. I didn't see any kind of x-ray machine to put my bags through. Maybe they’ll be doing a hand inspection. I noted a digital clock on one wall (Arcadian time conveniently matched up to our twelve/twenty-four hour clock, and they accommodated us by displaying small Roman numerals underneath the Arcadian numbers, which were also decimal) and adjusted my watch and smartphone to match - it was seven fifteen AM the following day, according to my watch.

There were several Arcadians waiting behind counters, many of them females, I noted, judging by the fact that they weren't as tall as our stewards, and were more... voluptuous.

"Good morning, Mr. Barlowe," the sexy, female Arcadian who seemed to be in charge greeted me. Her accent was still there but she was perfectly understandable - just enough accent to make her sexy. She seemed like an old hand at dealing with foreigners like me. And this one's uniform was as captivating as the cabin crew's, but this time her blouse was modest yet at the same time revealing a lot of... herself – there was no cravat and her plunging neckline showed off just enough of her cleavage to great effect, and she was wearing high stiletto-heeled short-boots and a short, incredibly tight skirt in place of the leggings and high boots the stewards wore, which showed off her legs spectacularly. All the other Arcadian girls wore the same uniform while the boys wore the same uniform our cabin crew wore.

"Welcome to Callista, and to Arcadia," she said, in a voice that was not just gentle and musical, but authoritative as well. "May I see your papers?"

I surrendered my passport and boarding pass, glad that I didn't have to speak. If the stewards had me tongue-tied, that was nothing to what this gorgeous Arcadian girl was doing to me. If Arcadian males looked like unbelievably gorgeous supermodels, their females were beauty and femininity personified. I will have to try to find a way to get used to this, I thought, otherwise I would be totally useless and wouldn't be able to concentrate on my job. And the girl in front of me was the best looking of this group.

The Arcadian girl just glanced at my picture and the stamps in my passport, gave my boarding pass a cursory once-over, stamped something on a page in my passport, and then gave them back.

"Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Barlowe. Thank you for your cooperation. A vehicle is waiting outside to bring you to an apartment that has been prepared for you. It's in the Visitors Village near the outskirts of the city." That was where tourists and visitors to Callista were usually booked. "All your belongings will be there before you arrive."

"Thank you, Miss," I said, finding my voice. I was handing over my bags but she shook her head.

"That's it? Won't you be inspecting my luggage?" I asked.

"No need, sir. You and your baggage were scanned when you first boarded the liner, and when you went through the tunnel just now. You're set." Must have been the flashes.

I looked at her disbelievingly. "Really?"

She gave me a sparkling, delighted smile. "I guess we just don't want to inconvenience our guests. Yes, that's it. Just go through the exit there, and your driver will be waiting."

Wow. Total time elapsed: one minute forty-five seconds since I stepped out of our plane.

She handed me a small pamphlet.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s everything you need to know for your visit to Arcadia. And if you get lost, or need some more help or anything else, dial 1-5-8 on your phone if you brought one, or just approach any Citizen and they will direct you to the nearest aid station. 1-5-8 is similar to your 9-9-9.”

I chuckled "You mean 9-1-1."

She nodded. "Ah, yes. 9-1-1, of course. Anyway, I hope you enjoy your visit."

I smiled. “Thank you.”

I looked around, looking for the exit, and saw my fellow passengers starting to trickle in, and the other customs officers taking charge of them. They were being given the same treatment as me but it seems I was the only one the lady in charge helped.

I saw the exit sign, nodded to my customs officer and followed her directions. I wish getting through customs and airport security was always this pleasant and easy...

The other Arcadians nodded at me pleasantly, one of them politely opening the door for me.

When I stepped outside, I was greeted by bright morning sunshine, cool, fresh morning air bordering on cold, and a clear view of the city. I came out in an open platform maybe three stories from the ground, with cars and other vehicles parked by the railing. I walked to the railing and saw the city in all its glory. It would have been great if I could have seen it from a greater height but this was more than fine.

Callista was definitely beautiful, with wide boulevards dissecting a city populated by large buildings reminiscent of classic Greek structures and ancient Roman coliseums interspersed with tall glass structures like buildings that might have been lifted from the cover of some fifties sci-fi magazine. Mixed into the city layout were lots and lots of tall trees, and beautifully manicured grassy paths lined by neat, trimmed bushes. In the distance were more buildings, and beyond that, green mountains, with clouds licking their summits. I looked in the opposite direction and saw Crescent Bay and the sea. The sun was in the sky, at maybe the seven or eight o-clock position. It was still early in the morning. Back in DC, it would be just the time when the morning commute was starting to build up. Maybe that’s why the traffic was still light.

I would have said that, because of the absence of excessive noise, smoke, dust and dirt, and the absence of traffic jams or large crowds clogging the sidewalk, Callista had a feeling of a sleepy little old-world European town, but its size and high technology, and the busy activity were at odds with this impression. Perhaps more like one of our metropolitan cities just waking up in the morning. I guess I can’t explain why I had that impression. You have to be here, too, to understand what I mean.

The low Greco-Roman buildings were all massive, the glass towers tall and high-tech. Nevertheless, I breathed deeply and smelled only trees and mountains and cool, fresh morning air. It did not smell or feel like a city, or at least not like any I knew.

And it felt busy despite the paradoxical, laid-back ambience, surrounded by frenetic activity - like DC or New York: different kinds of vehicles - none I recognized - were zipping to and fro, and Arcadians walking around on sidewalks, most of them in office-type attire and a few in more casual clothes. There were young girls as well - too young for me to distinguish which were male or female - in what I felt sure were school clothes. Some were very young indeed, and were being carried or accompanied by adults.

There were Arcadians in sexy exercise outfits, and were jogging along some of the bush-lined paths, or riding bicycles or other manually-powered one-, three- or four-wheeled contraptions, getting in some cardio in the early morning just before the workday. Exercising seemed to be an important activity to Arcadians. Also the wearing spandex, apparently...

If I could have taken a picture and showed it to people, no one would have mistaken it for a scene from a normal city. It wasn’t just the buildings or the streets or the vehicles. The people were all women – or at least they looked like women. And they were all a little… off. The way they moved, the way they made their gestures, the way they walked up and down the streets – it was like each movement or gesture was delicate and, I guess, feminine. I suppose the slightly longer limbs that Arcadians supposedly had contributed to this impression.

And all of them were dressed in, what looked like to me, high-fashion clothes or, at the very least, high-end designer clothes. Not a one was dressed sloppily or was unkempt.

And it made me feel like I was some kind of monkey amongst a city filled with ballerinas. I felt so awkward and, I guess the closest word I can think of is uncouth. Unconsciously, that made me bring out my comb and get my hair untangled, fix my tie and try to smoothen out my crumpled shirt.

I thought of the camera that I was given, but recalled that it was in one of the crates along with the books.

So I took out my smartphone instead and turned around to snap a few pictures. I couldn't send them to my profile, though, or anything like that since there was no internet, naturally, and I didn't know how to run the satellite function, so I just saved them on the phone.

"Mr. Barlowe?" an Arcadian asked, and I looked back. Standing beside the door of this massive, luxurious open limousine was a footman in what looked like royal livery. A girl footman. In a sexy, tight skirt. Smiling her welcome, she opened the car door and waited for me to get in.

The limo was of a make I didn't recognize. It was luxurious, long, shiny and black, with half of the passenger cabin open to the sky. I didn’t know what make of car it was because it was Arcadian-made, but it reminded me of British royal carriages, or the pre-war luxury cars like the old 1930s Rolls Royce cars. I gulped because I didn't realize that I was going to get such fancy treatment.

"Would you like to sit in the open cabin, sir," she said, "or inside?"

I thought it would be pleasant to sightsee a bit in the open air and gestured to the open part. The footman nodded, closed the door she had opened, and opened the one for the open-air cabin right behind the driver's section.

Before I could step in, the tall driver stepped out of the driver's door and effortlessly took my coat and bags from me. "Let me put those in the trunk, sir," she... he said, and effortlessly slid them in the open trunk.

"It's a little nippy today, sir," the footman said, glaring at the driver, a little irritated. "It'll warm up a lot later in the day, but the temperature is currently around fifteen degrees Celsius, or sixty degrees Fahrenheit."

The driver looked a little chagrined and exclaimed something in Arcadian. He hurriedly retrieved my jacket and offered it to me.

"She is quite right, sir," he said, looking a bit embarrassed.

I accepted the overcoat with a nod of thanks and slipped it on. He went to the driver's door and got in.

"What did he say?" I asked my footman. "I didn't quite catch it."

"Your driver said that it was his mistake that he forgot, sir," the footman answered, ushered me into the car and closed my door.

"He forgot?" I wondered to myself. "Forgot what? The jacket?"

The limo started moving. The driver explained, via an intercom, that they thought I might enjoy a leisurely drive around their city before proceeding to my assigned apartment, but I should tell them anytime if I started to feel cold, if I wanted to go directly to my apartment, or if I wanted anything else.

I thanked her, and she pulled away from the parking slot. Godammit, I meant "him!"

I turned around and looked back to see the strato-liner I came in on parked on their airport tarmac. When you see these strato-liners, they're usually floating in the water or flying in the sky. They looked pretty big then, but this up close and out of the water, this one was gigantic. It was presently disgorging cargo from the back, with workers putting the cargo on open-pallet trucks, to be whisked away when the trucks were full.

There were two others parked there as well. Several buses were parked near the curb, obviously for the tourists I rode with. But in seconds the limo whisked us down a gangway, turned into the main road, and the enormous planes disappeared behind some buildings. I had glimpsed some other smaller planes but didn't have time to note the details. Too bad - that was part of my "secret" assignment, to note these things down.

Despite the brisk air, I enjoyed the ride. It was smooth and comfortable, and I got to see a lot of Callista.

We rode down wide boulevards with other cars cruising beside ours. Like the streets I was familiar with, traffic was segregated into two directions of traffic, but they were like British streets where cars stayed on the left. There were no traffic lights - cars just peeled away to the side when they needed to, and for those who needed to go to the right, there were plenty of little roundabout overhead overpasses, artfully constructed to blend in with their surroundings.

The traffic felt light - it's like there should have been more cars, although the streets already seemed full. I suppose it was because there were no cars that were standing still: no cars were stopped at red lights, no one was picking up or dropping off passengers, no one was pulling over, no pedestrians waiting to cross, and no traffic jams. And there was no exhaust, too. At least none that I could detect. There were traffic noises though, but not as much as I expected - no engine sounds at all. A kind of whispering and crunching, a whizzing as the vehicles flew past and cut through the air. The closest I can compare that sound to was the traffic on the Autobahn. And no beeping or horns! Either Arcadian drivers are very nice and forgiving, or they just didn’t outfit their cars with horns.

Occasionally, I would see a large, white car with stripes down its rear sides, and red-and-blue lights moving left and right around where the bumpers and the chrome sidings would be in a regular car, moving twice as fast as the rest, and it would zoom and zig-zag through the traffic.

I asked my “footman” what they were and she explained that they were either police, ambulances or emergency maintenance engineers. The pattern of stripes would indicate which was which. I asked about delivery trucks or buses, and she explained that cargo delivery and mass transport don’t travel on the highways.

"Cargo is transported by trucks in tunnels underneath the streets," she said. "As for your ‘mass transport,’” she pointed up and indicated what looked like a monorail maybe a hundred meters above the roadway, that that went around the many buildings.

I hadn't noticed them before until she pointed them out. I was shocked and was extremely impressed as well. I imagined I was one of the passengers, and imagined the convenience of being dropped off right at my building, not to mention the view. I went, “ohhh…”

On the roadway, many were riding in convertibles with their tops down, and I saw a lot of people looking at me. I couldn't blame them. In a city populated only by people who looked like gorgeous female models and actresses, I suppose the only male-looking person in a thousand miles would generate some curiosity.

I would wave, and various Arcadians would giggle and wave back.

We drove “downtown,” and my footman dutifully took on the role of tour guide, describing various points of interest as we passed them by, while I snapped photos with my cellphone, imitating a stereotypical Japanese tourist.

I had a special interest in the Lyssium Palace, the Arcadians’ equivalent to the Buckingham Palace, or the Tokyo Imperial Palace, since it was the residence of the royal family, but it was also the equivalent of the White House, since it was also the center of government, with the king being their equivalent to a president. President-for-life, I guess, since the king wasn't really elected, and would only be replaced upon by his designated heir upon his death. I specifically asked that we pass by the Palace, and as soon as I did, we switched lanes to whip around and get onto a separate spur of the main highway.

I heard my footman make a call, and we continued to travel away from the city. Soon, around us were rolling hills and wonderful looking plantations and wet fields full of what looked like rice. These gave way to what looked like mile-long gardens of mixed flowers and low, slender fruit trees. I asked for the limo to slow down, and I immediately heard the mixed buzz of bees and birds. I took a deep breath and the air was redolent of sweet fruit, flowers and perfume. It was wonderful.

Interspersed between the flowers were large trees with long thick branches that covered the wide, empty boulevard with a roof of branches and leaves. There were a lot of vines that wove in between the branches. There was some movement up there, too, which looked like monkeys or something, though larger and more orange than brown, but I couldn’t really identify them since we were moving.

My footman noticed my interest. "Orangutans," she explained. Orangutans? Really?

My driver kept the speed low and slow, and I basked in the fragrance and the riot of colors and green trees all around me, but when the trees gave way to sun and sky, we topped a rise and I saw the Lyssium Palace.

Later, I learned that it was supposed to be called just Lyssium. I knew what it meant to us, but I asked what the word meant to them, and it translated into “graceful" in formal Arcadian. And indeed it was. Graceful and beautiful and majestic.

The palace was made of what looked like white marble with streaks of pink and mocha, and it had tall, pointed spires that looked like shards of what appeared to be glass and chrome. It looked like a cross between Sleeping Beauty's castle, the Capitol Building, the Taj Mahal, and the Washington National Cathedral. It was amazing and, in the morning sunlight, it reflected the sun in such a way that it looked like it was glowing or shining with its own light.

We pulled up to the main gates that were as wide as a two-story building was high, and twice as tall as they were wide. It took a while for them to swing fully open.

Our limo went through and slowly started around the large circular drive. This allowed me to see the palace’s beautiful front grounds and forecourt. The compound was so enormous that it took us at least ten minutes to drive to the front doors of the palace itself.

I was also surprised because the drive was lined with people, all clapping and waving excitedly at me. My footman explained that these were the palace staff, and they came out to greet me. In my mind, I was asking why, but I didn’t ask it aloud.

My driver asked me to look up and I could see in the Palace’s main balcony was the King, and beside him was who I presumed to be his Queen. I thought that the King looked like the most beautiful woman in the world. I was wrong. I was so wrong.

Beside the incandescently gorgeous Queen were two attractive little girls who appeared to be between five and ten, and they were pointing at our limo in excitement and asking their parents things. I waved and the two children waved back.

Our limo slowed and stopped and I asked if I should step down. Our footman said no, so I just stood, faced the royal family and bowed.

This was greeted by a wave of cheering and applause. I didn’t understand it, but was glad that I did it right, whatever it was.

The King grinned and waved, and the Queen pulled a colored white handkerchief from her sleeve. She kissed the little kerchief and threw it down to me.

The colorful, delicate piece of cloth drifted down and my footman stepped out. She picked it out of the air as it floated down, went back to the limo and handed it to me with a bow. I thanked her and, not knowing what to do, I waved it high and everyone again broke into applause.

My driver smoothly pulled away from the Palace’s doors and drove back out. As we drove past the enormous gates, I could still hear the cheers. It was like I was a rock star at a concert, or some celebrity. What’s going on? And shouldn't I have gotten down and greeted them?

I sat down and wondered if this was the normal way they greeted visitors and tourists. This was too over-the-top weird. Wonderful but weird.

The cloth that the Queen dropped was made of some silk-like material, shiny and satin-like in feel, and very, very delicate. On the edges, it was covered with designs that looked like roses. But in the middle, there was a little design that depicted a scene of a little girl who was hanging from a tree by her legs and one hand. With the other hand, she was handing a single red flower – perhaps a rose, to a little boy that was standing below her. It looked a little like an illustration from a fairly tale book.

Originally, I thought that the kerchief was plain, but I was mistaken – perhaps the light changed how it looked from a distance and the flowers and the picture wasn’t too noticeable. I brought it to my nose, and it had a delicate perfume smell, almost like a trace of perfume, actually. It smelled of roses.

I thought that this was like the kerchiefs that Arcadians gave as gifts, but this wasn’t the same. The one I was given before was made by the Queen herself, and it was cotton instead of silk, and it had an embroidered design in the middle just like other Arcadian kerchief’s – this new one just had the color design in the middle, like it was color-tinted into silk.

As I was holding it, the colors were slowly fading away.

“Oh, no!” I said.

My footman turned around in her seat. “Is anything wrong, sir?” she asked.

“The Queen’s handkerchief! I think I ruined it!” In seconds, it was plain white.

“May I see it, sir?” she asked and I passed it to her.

She looked at the plain, little piece of cloth and paused for a moment. She shared a look with her partner. The driver smiled a delighted kind of smile. He picked up a phone from the dash and spoke to someone in Arcadian.

My footman sighed. She shook the plain-white handkerchief like you would shake crumbs off a table napkin, and held it up to the sun. And in the bright sunlight, as it flapped in the wind, I could see the designs on it again.

“It seems all right, sir,” she said, and passed it back.

I took back the handkerchief and, indeed, the designs on it were back. I looked at it and the little boy and girl were back, as well as the flowers. But as I looked, the colors started to fade again.

I didn’t know what was happening, so I held it by the edge with two fingers, and the colors started to come back. Except where I was holding the handkerchief. It was my touch that was doing it!

I didn’t know what that meant. I was so perturbed, I didn’t mention it to my driver and footman. I just quickly folded it and put it in my coat pocket.

I sighed.

We drove back to the city and resumed our “tour,” and that… whatever-it-was at the Lyssium – I sort of let it go. At least for now. Well, maybe I can try to subtly find out a little more about it later.

After thirty more minutes of driving around and sight-seeing, I started to shiver a bit. I would happily have preferred to be driven around some more, but my face and hands were starting to go numb. I tapped my driver's shoulder (when I handed the kerchief to the footman, she had lowered the divider between us, and they had kept it down ever since).

"I think I want to get indoors now," I said to my driver.

He nodded and smoothly turned at the next left turn.

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My limo pulled up to my assigned lodgings, and I was impressed right away.  Far from just being a suite in one of the hotels in the area, my place seemed to be a standalone, two-storey detached house in a decently-sized lot with lots of space all around, and marked off by a low hedge about as high as my hips.

It felt new and fresh, or maybe just newly-painted or cleaned. And, looking at the loose earth at the base of the hedges, and the still-visible square marks of the newly-planted sod reinforced this feeling. And it had modern-looking and high-tech look - still sort of classic-looking but more in the stye of a fifties future-house made of steel, glass, chrome, tile and concrete instead of a regular frame house with wood and brick or something. The little waterfall-thing in the middle, especially, made it feel like it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. And the three-storey-tall aerial or antena-tower in the back just added to the high-techy-ness of it.

It even had a big attachment on the side that looked like a big garage. Does that mean they're lending me a car, too?

My footman helped me down from the car (which felt a bit odd) and led the way to the house while carrying my two cases.  My sense of chivalry, as paltry as it was, made me feel awkward that a lady was carrying my bags and leading the way. But she carried them easily so I felt less troubled. I was in a different country and wanted so much not to go against any kind of mores, so I placidly followed my footman.

The girl did not turn any lock or use any key to open the front door - she just put her hand on the vertically-placed door handle, and used it push the door sideways.

A gentle, almost inaudible tone pinged before the door slid sideways in line with the girl's movements, and after it disappeared into the doorjamb, the girl stood aside to allow me to go in first.

I stepped in and looked around. It was all chrome, glass, steel and concrete, with white linen curtains and linen throwpillows on the chrome chairs and chrome-and-black-leather settee.

“If you can, sir, please put your right palm on this plate, and speak your name into this little microphone? This is so that all household systems will recognize you and allow you to operate them.”

“Does it matter which hand? I’m actually left-handed.”

“Oh, in that case, you can use your left hand. Actually, it may be better to register both hands.”

“Okay.”

I pressed my left hand into the panel and the panel lit up. After a second, the light went off and I put my other hand on it. When the light went off the second time, I then spoke into the microphone.

“Jay Timothy Barlowe,” I said clearly. A beam lit me from above and the panel blinked twice. I looked up and saw the lamp under the eaves directly over the doorway that hit me with the light. Somewhere a light flashed.

“That’s it, sir.” She reached out and pulled what looked like a car fob out of a cubby under the panel.

“If you would like to have others registered with the house, sir, just plug in the key and have your guest perform the same thing you did.”

I nodded my thanks.

Walking inside and to the dining table, I clicked my finger against what looked like a marble surface, but it was plastic. I checked and, yes, most of the stuff around were plastic, if they weren’t metal. This made me think that the various leather or cloth accents were probably plastic-based synthetics.

My footman noted me checking out things, and cleared her throat.

“I’d like to apologize, sir,” she said. “You were originally billeted in one of the hotels with the other visitors, but we were told at the last moment that we were to prepare special independent accommodations. A prefabricated house was the best we could do. I hope that you can make do.”

“Oh, no!” I said, “you got me wrong. I am completely impressed by all of this. Thank you for your lavish hospitality.”

“The fixtures and furnishings are all recycled plastics and other recovered and reclaimed materials. Arcadia is short on virgin and natural resources, so we use recycled or recoveed materials very heavily. However, your house is fully outfitted with all the amenities you could possibly need or want.

“By the way, sir, your boxes were delivered earlier, and have been unpacked in the library.” This was a "prefabricated" house. And it had a library. Wow.

She gestured to a door to the right of the living area, and I walked there, with my footman following.

As I went in, I saw all of the books, disks and other material I brought all out of their boxes and piled together on the floor. The original inventory sheets were put on top of the books and I went through everything, doing a count, and everything was there.

“This is everything,” I said. “Thank you so much. I was worried that I’d have to do the unpacking myself, or I might have missed something.”

“No worries, sir. Your valet and butler will be coming over later this morning. She is currently acquiring foodstuffs and other things to stock your pantry.”

"Acquiring foodstuffs?" I wondered to myself. “I have a valet?" I said to the girl. "You’re kidding."

“We have been given orders by Her Royal Highness, the Queen, to give you every convenience, sir.”

The Queen! I couldn’t react to that. I didn’t merit this attention.

“In any case, sir,” she said, “I will leave this phone here. Just press the green button if you need us.” She left what looked like a cigarette pack-size flip-phone on a table by the doorway, with red, blue and green buttons on its left edge.

“May I use it to call my family and friends? I just want to tell them I arrived safely. My cell phone doesn’t seem to work here.”

“Of course, sir. Just press the blue button first. This will connect you to your cell phone network back home, and you can text or call as you would normally.”

As I picked up the phone, my footman bowed.

“We’ll leave you now, sir. Just let your valet know if you need us, and we'll be here in twenty minutes or so, and then we can transport you to where you wish to go.”

I held out my hand.

“Thank you for such excellent service. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

She shook my hand, bowed and let herself out.

The first call I made was to the office.

“Hi, Sherry,” I said to my assistant.

“Hey, Boss,” she said, sounding slightly cross. “I didn't recognize the number. You realize, of course, it’s eleven PM.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just wanted to say that I arrived in Arcadia safe and sound.”

“You have? I was worried a little bit – According to your itinerary, you should have arrived there about three hours ago.”

“Sorry about that, Sherry. My phone doesn’t work here, and I hadn’t had any opportunity to get to another phone until now. I’m in fact using a phone they just provided me.”

“So, how’s it so far?”

“Well, I’ve had a short road tour of Callista. We even went to Lyssium.”

“The palace?”

“Yes. I even got to see the Royal Family.”

“Wow. Did you talk to them?”

“No, I just waved. But I’m sure I’ll meet them again at some point. But, guess what?”

“What?”

“The house they put me up in. It’s mine for the duration! And they said I’m going to get a butler!”

“Nice! I’ve never heard of any visitor in Arcadia put up in their own house before. And a butler, huh? A girl butler or a guy butler? What am I saying? That doesn’t matter, huh? Regardless, it’s going to look like a gorgeous girl.” Sherry giggled.

“Well, I still have to meet her. Hopefully, she’s going to be nice.”

“And cute, too, of course.”

“Goes without saying,” I laughed. “Anyway, can you tell the chief and everyone else at the office that I’m okay? And can you please contact Agent Tom Cullen from the FBI, and let him know I arrived safely.”

“FBI?”

“It’s just a new protocol for Federal officers working abroad. My phone isn’t working, and he said not to dial his phone except from my phone, so could you let him know I’m okay? You'll have to look him up, though - I don't remember the number.”

“No problem. I’ll call him after we hang up.”

“Good.”

“Any pictures?”

“Sorry, Sherry, I can’t send any. I’ll see if I can connect to the internet later and send you some.”

“Okay, Boss. Can I use this number to call you if I need to?”

“Yes. Please share the number with the guys, and with Agent Cullen, too.”

“Okay, Boss. Talk to you later, then.”

“Bye!”

I pocketed the phone, went back in to the little “library room” and started sorting out my stuff.

The people who unpacked my stuff were kind enough to have taken off the shrink wrap. I myself thought I’d leave the plastic on, but maybe Arcadians didn’t like that. In fact, the wrapping was off on everything.

I got out the... deconstructed boxes that the people from the Foreign Service gave me, assembled some and put one copy of the book and disk into one assembled box. These were gifts that I would be giving to the people I would be working with. However, I found one of the books had a broken spine, like someone opened it up too far and cracked the spine. I shrugged and told myself that I’d leave that for the last box I would give.

I then moved on to the little gift bags – each one had a little replica of the Capitol Building inside, or a Lucite paperweight with a miniature of the white house inside, another paperweight in the shape of a baseball (President Maxwell was a big baseball fan), or a postcard-type picture of one or other American landmark mounted in a tiny two by three-inch picture frame - all good for putting on one’s desk.

They all went into the individual cellophane gift bags that closed with a ribbon. Knotting the ribbons into bows was difficult for me, and I was far from finished when my “butler-slash-valet” arrived.

She knocked on the library door and I looked up.

Clearly, my hosts had seen pictures of the traditional British butler, and had made efforts to make mine look the part. The girl that was standing there was in a butler-style suit and black bowtie. Nothing as over-the-top as coat tails and white gloves, but still very butler-like. The cut of the suit was tailored to fit her figure, and didn’t look masculine at all, accommodating her very feminine figure and… chest. And, just like all of the Arcadians I’ve met, she was very beautiful. Since she wasn’t dressed a maid but a butler, then was she a he? Too bad… Or was he really a she? She didn't seem tall enough.

“Good morning, Master Jay,” she, or he, said in very clear American English, although with a strong trace of an Arcadian accent. “My name is Altara, and I am your butler for your entire stay here in Arcadia. Let me know what you need and I will take care of it.”

At five-five, she was quite short for an Arcadian man, and like all the Arcadians I’ve met, she was quite beautiful. He, dammit. He had her hair freely hanging, and fell down to the middle of her back. She kept it out of her face with the use of barrettes clipped behind her ears, and it gave her a fresh kind of aura. I mean him! Dammit!

So far, Altara seemed to be the most beautiful of the Arcadians I’ve met (with the exception of the Royals, of course), and that’s saying a lot. I found myself a bit tongue-tied.

“Ahhh, good morning Altara,” I said, standing up. “I’m Jay Timothy Barlowe, Although I prefer people call me Timothy or Tim. Or JT, if you can manage it.” I smiled. That last sounded a little lame.

“JT,” she said awkwardly, trying to sound it out, although with her, it sounded more like “zhey-tey.”

“Ummm… Altara? Can I ask if…”

She giggled, anticipating the question. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I am, indeed, a girl. Despite this, it was decided that my accouterments be more of a valet’s – our research indicated that a valet or butler is the more traditional assistant to a man, so the attire is a compromise, Master JT.”

I wanted to say “yes!” but I nodded soberly instead.

“You can also call me Tim,” I said. “But Timothy is okay.”

“Very well, Master Timothy,” she said. “Luncheon is ready, if you wish to eat.”

That sounded great. “Wonderful, Altara.”

She led me back to the dining table, and a four-course meal was set.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of deciding the menu. For your luncheon, I have prepared a seafood bisque to start. It’s similar to French bouillabaisse, but this is in the Arcadian style. As for your main dish, I have prepared a lobster salad using Arcadian lobsterfish. Lobsterfish are exactly like lobsters except these are raised in pens and bred to be larger with thinner exoskeletons. I have also prepared pork belly crackling with a liver sauce and crispy fresh vegetables and honey-mustard dressing on the side. There is also Arcadian soft-loaf bread, and for dessert, I have some imported Ben and Jerry’s banana fudge ice cream served with Arcadian whipped cream, cherry slices and cracked toasted peanuts. I also have two kinds of chilled Arcadian Mango wine, which I was told you liked – one is a very light Pink Mango wine, and the other is a thick and sweet Mango Liqueur. Coffee is in the pot, just let me know if you wish me to pour some.”

“Thank you, Altara.”

“Do you wish me to serve you?”

“Ah, no need, Altara. I can manage.”

She looked disappointed. “Of course, Master Timothy.”

“Have you eaten yet? Please join me.”

“I am fine, Master Timothy. I ate earlier. Please enjoy, and ring for me if you need assistance.” She left a little crystal bell near my hand and retreated to the library.

The dishes that she had prepared were familiar, but they all had their own little Arcadian twist, and I had to say that they were all fabulous. I found the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream on the table hilarious, but apparently Arcadians like Ben & Jerry’s, so much so that the ice cream was a fixture in their imports.

The combination of tastes was great, and I guess I ate too much. The Pink Mango wine was so mild but very bubbly, it tasted like flavored fizzy water, and went very well with the rich soup and mains. The soft-loaf bread tasted like buttery French bread except it wasn’t toasty or crispy – it’s almost pillowy in its extravagant softness. And it went well with the bisque. I thought I would have liked some mashed potatoes, but I didn’t miss it. And the ice cream just rounded it out.

I took my used plates and put them in the sink, intending to do them later.

I then went to the coffee maker in the corner. The machine was of a design I wasn’t familiar with, so I just turned off the power and took out the pot. I poured some into one of the available mugs (no cups were in sight) and dropped a couple of the sugar cubes from the service beside the machine in mine.

I took a sip and it tasted heavenly. I decided not to put any cream or milk anymore. As it was, it was perfect. I made up another one, black, and brought both into the library.

There, I found Altara sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, with several dozens of the gift bags around her. She had her coat off and she’d rolled up her sleeves.

“Altara!” I exclaimed.

“I apologize, Master Timothy,” she said. “But I only have three more to go.”

“Oh, no! I’m grateful, Altara, but you didn’t need to do that. Lemme put these away as you finish off the last three.”

I moved the fifty or so boxes of books and disks to the corner, piling them up on top of each other, and gathered all of the gift bags and put them on the table under the window.

“Here are the last of them, Master Timothy,” Altara said, and put them in with the rest.

“Thank you so much, Altara,” I said. “Take a break.” I proffered the cup of coffee I made.

“Thank you, Master Timothy,” she said, and we sipped coffee.

“By the way, that was a great lunch. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes. I had it prepared this morning, and just warmed it up when I got back. Oh! Before, anything else, a communiqué from the office of His Royal Highness arrived earlier. I did not want to disturb you while you were eating.”

She went to get her jacket, fished out an envelope and handed it to me.

It was a plain white letter envelope sealed with one of those wax seals. I always wanted to break a seal like this, and grinned as I snapped it.

Inside was a letter from the Royal Office. It seemed to have actually been hand-written. Talk about classy. And written in English, too.

On top was a welcome letter from Her Royal Highness, and it was the best kind of thing to hear such welcoming words from a Queen. She had said that I was welcome to come and visit her and her “wallinis” anytime during my stay. Altara explained the word meant young child, and depending on the context, it could mean baby girl, boy, or plural – baby girls or boys. In this context, it was plural.

I tried to get some cues from the letter itself, but it wasn’t telling me anything. Altara said the Queen probably meant baby boys since the Royal Couple had two little boys.

That surprised me since the little children that I saw with them looked like girls. And, according to our intelligence, they had two girls... Oh, no…

I had the bright idea of giving the Royal Family gifts, as was the custom, and I had prepared gifts appropriate for the a couple and two little girls.

“What’s wrong, Master Timothy,” Altara asked.

“I brought over gifts for the Royal Family, and the gifts I prepared for their children were for two girls.”

As she put her coat back, she looked a bit puzzled. “I have always wondered about that, Master Timothy. We Citizens have found it puzzling how the Outside makes so many distinctions between male and female – what one can play with, what one can wear, what one can do, and so many other things. It’s complicated and puzzling.”

I shrugged. “I suppose we do. Arcadians have the advantage that they look largely the same whereas Homo Sapiens males look extremely different from the females, and it makes the treatment of either different.”

“But Arcadian males have physical differences from us females as well. Males are taller and generally stronger whereas we females are shorter, generally have more endurance and larger breasts. Oh! And males and females have different genitalia.”

I was blushing nonstop. “That’s true,” I said. “I guess it’s difficult to explain why we make large distinctions between our males and females compared to Arcadians. We just do.”

Altara ignored my blushing, nodded and changed the subject. “Perhaps you can show me what you intended to give the royal children?”

I went to the piled items from the smaller crates and held up two cute dresses in transparent wardrobe covers.

She looked them over. “I see nothing objectionable to them, and no reason why the children would not like them.”

“But they’re girls’ dresses.”

“I suppose they are. But in Arcadia, such outfits are worn by both boys and girls.”

I sighed. “Are you sure?”

“I am quite certain.”

“Okay, you convinced me. I guess I should start wrapping them up, then.”

“I can assist you.”

Thanks, Altara, but I am fine doing this.”

“As you wish.” She went to the pile where I got the dresses.

“Do you wish these items brought to your room?”

“Yes, please. Thank you. Where is that, anyway?”

“When you climb upstairs to the second floor, it would be the first room to the right.”

“Okay.”

She then picked up the stuff and carted them away.

I looked at the letter in my hand. There was a second page, and it basically was my itinerary for my stay. For my first day tomorrow, I was to meet with my “staff” at the city’s capitol building, to discuss my “project.” In the evening, there would be a small cocktail reception to be held at the Papillion Gardens. During the following days were visits to a manufacturing plant, a ship assembly yard at a place called Pellegra, some place called Agilla, and several other places, but the rest of the time, it was just working at “my" office in the capitol.

“Altara?” I called.

After a few moments, she came in.

“Yes, Master Timothy,” she said.

“Can you look at this? I don’t know the places this mentions.”

She accepted the paper and read through it.

“The capitol building they mentioned is probably the main administration office of the government. I apologize – I don’t know what the word 'capitol' means. The main administration building is called Bellana. Papillon Gardens is a park on the northern part of the city, and is renowned for its beauty. It’s frequented by many royals, aristocrats and artists, and there are many popular restaurants and gathering places there.”

“Is it just for the rich and famous?”

“Oh, no! It’s open to all, and it’s in fact where most Citizens go to meet their idols and other celebrities.”

“Idols?”

“Celebrities roughly the same as your movie stars or pop singers.”

“Ahhh!”

She looked at the sheet again. “Pellegra is a ship-building facility at the South Island, and Agilla is an air-spaceport in the North Island.”

“Air-spaceport?” The word "spaceport" kept rang in my head.

“Like your Kennedy or Dulles airports.”

“Why would they want me to visit these places?” (Spaceports? Oh my god!)

“I’m sure I don’t know, Master Timothy.”

“Well, anyway, it seems I’m being given an office in, what was it? Bellana?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m being given staff.”

Altara nodded.

“Okay. Since we don’t know how big my staff is going to be and how many people I’ll be meeting, I’m going to need to bring all of these tomorrow.” I gestured to all the packages in the room. “They’re for everyone that will be working with me. As gifts.”

Altara nodded. “I will take care of it.” And she stepped out again, presumably to take care of my transportation problem.

I spent about an hour wrapping the four gifts I got for the royal family. One was a large, very expensive and detailed model of a Spanish galleon in its own display case. Another was a complete 1920s Flapper Girl outfit, including hose, shoes and costume jewelry (I prayed the sizes were correct). It came with a little pamphlet on how to put together a “flapper girl” costume. And, of course, the two girl’s outfits.

I thought of the model myself, but I had to ask the help of Teddy and Sherry to pick out the rest. Hopefully, the Royal Family would find them acceptable.

Just like the other gifts I got, the packaging had been removed, although for the clothes, they preserved the transparent wardrobe sleeves.

Per FBI's recommendations, I had not pre-wrapped any of my gifts to facilitate inspection by the authorities. So I took out the wrapping materials I brought and started my wrapping. My giftwrapping skills might not be the best but were at least passable, and I soon had them wrapped up.

It was around three in the afternoon when I finished, and despite all the coffee I drank, I was feeling tired. Jetlag.

I went up to my room, flopped into bed and slept until around eleven PM, local time.

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I woke up and was surrounded by darkness.

“Where am I?” I mumbled, forgetting where I was, and the lights turned on automatically.

As the details of the room registered, I remembered where I was. “Arcadia,” I whispered.

I sat up and then noticed I was wearing pajamas. I didn’t remember putting them on, nor even remembered packing them. I don’t even remember owning a set. But they sure were comfortable. They felt like silk.

All of the contents of my pants were on the bedside table – my wallet, keys, coins, comb, watch and assorted odds and ends, as well as the phone I was given earlier.

Altara must have taken off my clothes and put me in thee pajamas. I blushed big time at that thought.

I noted a pair of fluffy slippers next to my feet. I put them on and padded to the walk-in closet opposite my bed. Sliding the door open, I saw the shirt and pants I was wearing when I arrived, freshly laundered and pressed, hanging with the other clothes I brought.

I didn’t bring much, but the closet was filled with other clothes I hadn’t seen before.

They were very nice indeed, and when I had a feel of the cloth, they all seemed very soft and light. They seemed to be made of cotton, silk, and other recognizable materials but they also seemed to be a little off. They felt great on my fingers, but clearly the cotton shirts and pants weren’t really cotton, and the silk dress shirts weren’t silk. They were close, but slightly different. I wanted to try them on.

At the bottom of the closet were my dress shoes polished to a mirror shine. Right beside them, my canvas shoes and sneakers were so clean they looked new. There were also several slippers, of the kind you were given in hotels, as well as two pairs of casual shoes, another extra pair of formal oxfords and a pair of high-top rubber shoes.

If I knew they were going to provide clothes, I would probably not have brought any.

I opened my dresser and saw the shirts, underpants, socks and handkerchiefs I brought, all folded properly like you see from hotel laundry, as well as the underwear and socks I was wearing, again freshly laundered. And in the corner was a little parcel wrapped in something like cheesecloth. I brought it to my nose and it smelled of subtly of pine. It was a little potpourri bag.

Curious now, I inspected the rest of the room.

I first went to the bathroom, and it had everything you’d expect from a five-star hotel. My shaving kit, shampoo, toothbrush, roll-on deodorant and new soapbar were all in a big porcelain bowl, but I didn’t think I’d need them as the bath was completely stocked. I’ll check them out later.

I walked around my room, touching all the fixtures and furnishings. Like the rest of the house, it had everything I could think of but it all felt very high-tech and modern. The elegant, classic touches that you see in hotel rooms weren’t there, but that was okay.

I gravitated to what I thought was a long, horizontal rectangular mirror mounted in a chrome frame. I wondered why it was there, as there was a mirror over the dresser already. At the bottom and middle of the frame was a glowing red button. I touched it and the mirror lit up with a picture of some news progam. Wow! It wasn’t a mirror but a ginormous tv screen!

When I touched the button again, a rectangular device stuck out from the side of the frame. It couldn’t be anything but a TV remote control. I took it out and saw a glowing red button. I touched it and the picture on the screen was overlaid by instructions on how to operate the controls in English.

According to the instructions, the control apparently operated all the stuff in the house, and also doubled as my smart phone-slash-notepad-slash-electronic concierge; the smartphone touchscreen was on the other side, opposite of the RC buttons, and it seemed that there was a toggle on top. Depending on where it was switched, it functioned either as the house’s TV and remote control, or a smartphone. I guess I won't need to use the phone my "footman" gave me.

In the corner of the TV’s screen was a little animated figure – it was my electronic “concierge” and it would always be there to help with schedules, with directions or whatever else I would need. Furthermore, it was voice activated, and I found that she responded to English instructions as well, except it had that inevitable Arcadian twang.

She answered to the name “Mai,” and she explained that it was a common name for electronic helpers – it was from the initials for an Arcadian phrase that translated to something like “artificially intelligent assistant,” but she said I could pick any other name that I like so that she could be distinguished from other AI assistants.

“How about Samantha?” I asked the computer voice.

“That’s a nice name. Why did you think of that name, Master Timothy,” the AI asked.

“I’ll let you guess.”

The little animated figure on the screen assumed a pose that said she was thinking.

“Did you get the name from the movie ‘Her?’”

“That’s right,” I said, delighted. “How did you guess?”

“Well, the plot involved an AI computer program, after all. It seemed appropriate.”

“Ok, so from now on, you’ll be Samantha.”

Her little animated avatar disappeared, and when she came back, she looked a lot like Scarlett Johansson wearing a green dress, if Scarlett was a computer game avatar, that is.

“Is this better, Master Timothy?” she asked, in a husky voice very close to Scarlett Johansson’s, except that she still had that Arcadian accent.

“That’s great, Samantha!” I said.

The computer avatar bowed. “Thank you, Master Timothy.”

“Okay. I guess I’m awake enough for a cup of coffee.”

“A moment, Master Timothy,” the new Samantha said.

“Huh?”

“I am waking Altara so that she can prepare a meal for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. Let her sleep.”

“She will not be happy with me if I do that. It’s her job to assist, and Arcadians do not take it well if they are not allowed to do their work.”

I paused. I was given strict instructions not to rock any social mores.

“Well, okay,” I nodded. “Yes, please, Samantha. I think I’d like a bite. ”

The little animated girl on the screen nodded and turned to a little animated computer that appeared beside her and typed something up.

“Done,” she said. “Any preferences, Master Timothy?”

“I don’t know… I do remember this midnight snack I ordered while I was in a Berlin hotel - a nice, hearty potato soup with fresh oregano, sausages and half a loaf of great Italian bread and a big pot of Le Beurre Bourdier butter.”

Little Samantha nodded.

“Maybe some more of that soft loaf though instead of italian bread?”

Samantha nodded. “All right. Altara is asking if Callista North salted butter will do – she doesn’t know if she can get Bourdier…”

“Oh! Whatever she has on hand is totally okay. I didn’t mean for her to get some French butter…”

“Of course… Altara is also suggesting a fresh pot of our version of Peruvian Arabica coffee, and our equivalent of port with a serving of her meringue pie. She says it’s her own recipe.”

“Sounds great.”

“Altara is in the kitchen now. She says it’ll take about an hour.”

“All right. I’ll take a bath then, and freshen up.”

“I’ll turn on the water then.”

“You can do that?”

“Yes, I can – I can run the entire house.”

“Thanks, Samantha.”

When I saw the drapes, I pulled them aside to reveal a picture window. I also found that the window could slide aside like a door, and it opened to a balcony.

Stepping out onto the balcony and into the crisp night air woke me up. It was something I needed. My house was on top of a hill and I had a wonderful view of the city. It was bright with lights and I could see ribbons of light moving through the various twinkling colors. I wondered when would the the city ever sleep, if ever. It also made me wonder what kind of night life was out there.

“Samantha?” I called back, “would you know what kind of nightlife is out there tonight?”

“Well,” the slightly robotic voice of the AI responded, “there are a lot of things happening in the city, as well as many other cities in Arcadia, even at this hour. In fact, there is always … nightlife somewhere. Although, for Callista, most entertainment and eating establishments would close for the night at around four in the morning. Do you have anything in mind for tonight?”

“Actually, no,” I said. “I’m in your country to work. I guess I can, ummm, indulge after my work’s done.”

“That is very commendable of you. Oh! Your bath is ready.”

“Thanks!”

I went to the bathroom and found the bathtub full of warm, sudsy water. Samantha suggested I take the smartphone-slash-remote control, so I took it out of its slot in the TV, closed the door, put the device on the bathroom counter, took my clothes off and lowered myself in the sudsy water.

Dunking my head underneath a few times, I lay in the water and soaked for a bit, letting the dirt and grime from over twenty-four hours of travel, and whatever tiredness I had left, wash away.

I found myself dozing, and was awakened by a soft chiming.

“Huh?” I said, waking up.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, Master Timothy,” Samantha the AI responded from the remote control-slash-phone, “but you were about to slide underneath the water.”

“Oh. Sorry, Samantha. I guess I’m still not recovered from my jetlag, and the water felt so soothing…”

“I understand.”

“How long was I out?”

“You have been dozing for about half an hour now. Your fingers must be very wrinkled.”

“Haha,” I laughed sarcasically. “Very funny, Samantha.” On a side note, I was amazed that Arcadian AIs could also simulate humor.

After I scrubbed down all over with a washcloth, Samantha dutifully started draining the tub and activated the shower, and I started rinsing.

Fifteen minutes later, I was done, and had finished shaving. I was about to put my pajamas on again, but Samantha stopped me. a drawer of my new dresser slid out, and I took out a fresh pajama set, this one in a silky black color. A little portal popped open and Samantha told me to drop my used pajamas in there.

I did and, with an audible sucking sound, it took my used pajamas away.

"Where are they going?" I asked.

"They are going to be recycled," Samantha said.

I nodded, and then stopped. "Wait. What do you mean 'recycle?' You mean they're going to be washed, don't you?"

"No, Master Timothy. Washing uses up more energy than recycling, not to mention the water. We only wash clothes that cannot be recycled."

I was about to ask why that was, but Samantha explained. "Most of the clothes and other things made for personal use we usually make of recycled polymers. And it's quicker and cheaper to just recycle them again and make new clothes or whatever. Most regular Arcadian clothes and other things are produced by automated machines acccording to a person's specifications. As for your own clothes, you drop them into this other chute..." Another portal popped open. "... and they are whisked away to be washed, dried and ironed in the house's automated washer and dryer."

I nodded. "Thank you, Samantha," I said. "Sometime soon, someone needs to explain to me how the house works."

"I will arrange that as soon as you have time for it."

"Thank you, Samantha."

"You're welcome, Master Timothy. Oh! Altara has signaled that the evening meal is ready."

"Great!"

I was about to go downstairs, but Samantha did her version of clearing her throat, and I noticed that a pin light was shining on a robe that was hanging from a peg on the closet door. I took it to mean that I was suppsoed to wear it. So I did.

The robe looked similar to what I thought was a kind of smoking jacket, and went downstairs.

At the dining area, Altara was there and she had food laid out.

The spread was very inviting and impressive, more like something you'd see in some four-star restaurant but, at the moment, I was more captivated by my "butler:" She had put on a kitchen apron so that she could work, but she wore it over her sleep clothes, which looked like something similar to a baby-doll nightie.

I gulped.

"Is something wrong, Master Timothy?"

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The late dinner last night was wonderful, to say the least. The Callistan soft bread with the local soft butter went well with the sausages and potato soup, and the tiny amuse bouche-size meringue pie went well with the rich arabica coffee and the nightcap (which was some imported port). But if I was being totally honest, Altara in her little nightie-and-apron combination was the most memorable thing last night.

It was predictable that I would be tongue-tied, and it amused Altara, though she tried to be polite and hide it.

Still, it went well. Well enough, I suppose. At least I didn't embarrass myself much. In any case, I'm afraid I over-indulged a bit with the port, and I overslept. But my electronic... concierge, Samantha, woke me up.

With a couple of slices of toast and coffee, I was mostly okay, and had a quick shower and shave, and brushed my teeth with the conventional-looking toothbrush that was provided.

Returning to my room, I found Altara had laid out some clothes on the bed for me.

On the whole, it looked like a conventional suit, except that the tie was very wide by today's standards, or rather our standards, and the shoes were more slim-fit than the men's shoes I was used to, and this one had a heel that was higher than normal.

I decided not to question her selection and just put them on.

I found that the socks were more like knee-high stockings, the underwear was more like very tight but also very stretchy and comfortable Speedos - what my friends in my college swim team would have called "banana hammocks" - and the white shirt and dark jacket was also very form-fitting... I was worried about my little pooch, but the cut of the shirt and jacket camouflaged my stomach well enough.

I knotted the striped, red tie and then put on the pants. The pants turned out to be more like women's leggings but, looking at my reflection in the mirror, I guess I didn't look half-bad (though my package was faintly outlined in the relatively thin material of the pants). I then slipped on the feminine-looking shoes-slash-low boots over my... stockings, and I guess I was ready for the day. I got all my pocket junk, like my comb, wallet, keys and other things, but, because of the tightness of my... leggings, I put most of them in my jacket pockets. As a final touch, I went to the bath, picked one of the atomizers randomly, and spritzed a bit of the cologne in the hollows of my neck and my wrists, as Teddy taught me to do.

As I stepped out of the bath and moved to the mirror to check myself out, a quiet female voice cleared her throat. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Samantha, my little electronic helper said. That made me smile, amazed at the sophistication of the app - at least I think it was an app.

"Sorry, Samantha," I said, and got my combination TV remote control-slash-security lock-slash-house remote-slash-phone, and pocketed her in my jacket's right front pocket. I saw the little colored kerchief that the queen gave me on the bed. It was flat and smooth, like maybe Altara ironed it out or something. I guess I was supposed to bring it as well since she put it on the bed. So I got it, folded it and dropped it in my jacket's inner left pocket.

I looked at myself in the mirror and moved around a bit in my new outfit, and it seemed comfortable enough.

When I turned around, Altara was there watching me. She was in her butler's uniform.

"If I may be so bold, Master Timothy," Altara said, with a small smile flitting around her lips, "I think you look quite attractive."

I blushed. "Thank you, Altara." I cleared my throat and tried to change the subject. "I guess we better go?"

"Very good, sir."

I picked up my briefcase from the bed, and Altara, acting like the butler to the hilt, went to my closet and got what looked like a tweedy kind of gray trench coat for me, and waited for me to precede her. I gestured for her to go ahead, and she led the way.

As we passed the "library," I noticed that all the stuff we had boxed and packed last night were gone, including the ones meant for the royal family.

Noticing my glance, she cleared her throat. "All of the packages have been carefully packed into the car, Master Timothy," she said.

"All of it?" I said. "Did they fit in the car?"

"Why would they not fit?" she said quizzically. She led me through the front door and then to the limo I rode in yesterday, which was parked in the front of the house. I recognized my driver and my footman, standing beside the car, and they smiled and bowed to me. But the limo was changed a bit: the back of the car seemed to have been elongated (it was now about a third longer than before), and I could only assume that all my stuff was there now. No wonder Altara blithely asked why shouldn't my stuff fit.

Smiling, my footman opened the back compartment's door for me. I thanked her and stepped in. I was half expecting Altara to follow me, but the footman closed the door.

I was about to protest but then noticed Altara climbing into the front with my footman, making them three in front. I have to say, this was one roomy car!

We pulled out smoothly from "my" driveway, and went down the long street, passing what I assumed was the Visitors Village, because there were several humans milling about and climbing into several... tour buses. It was slightly embarrassing to see how noisy and comparatively unruly my fellow... humans were compared to out Arcadian hosts, but none of the Arcadians seemed to be bothered by it much.

"Wonder where we're going," I mumbled.

"We are going to your office in the Capitol Building, of course," Samantha said.

I smiled and brought my AI concierge out.

"Of course," I agreed, looking at her animated face on my "cellphone's" screen.

"Would you happen to know our itinerary today, Samantha?"

The little anime face in the screen nodded.

"Of course, I do." The face looked like it was looking down at a list that was off-screen. "We are to go to your office where you will meet your staff, and you will be briefed about what the government is expecting from you."

"Ahh, good. Will I have some time to distribute some of my gifts?"

"A moment, Master Timothy." And the little cartoon face brought up a cartoon headset and put it on. She then appeared like she was talking to someone.

"Sorry about that," she said. "Yes, indeed, Master Timothy, I'm sure you will have time to give away some of the packages. I will signal you when it is appropriate to give one of your packages."

"How?"

"I will vibrate discretely, and if you keep me in your jacket pocket, you will feel it. Also, Altara will be on-hand to help you with that as well."

"Ahh, good."

"Afterwards, during the mid-day break..."

"Do you mean lunch?"

Sam-the-AI paused for a moment, as if thinking over the word "lunch."

"Yes," she said. "During 'lunch,' we will be going to Lyssium, where you will share a meal with the Royal Family."

"What! But, but..." I was surprised, to say the least, but I couldn't do anything now. "Am I dressed properly?"

"Very appropriate. Altara selected your attire for today very well."

"Ah, good. Whew..."

"'Whew?' ... Ahhh! Indeed. Very droll, Master Timothy." Sam made a very genuine-sounding giggle.

That made me laugh. "Afterwards?" I asked.

"After your meeting with their highnesses, we will then return to your office, where we can begin work, and then in the evening, we are to go to the Papillon Gardens for a small evening garden party."

I remembered that place. "A party, Sam?"

"More like a reception, so that you can meet the people you will be working with socially, as well as meet some of the city's celebrities and other important people"

"Master Timothy," Altara said via a cabin intercom. I pressed the blinking button.

"Yes, Altara?"

"You can look out your window and see the Capitol Building."

I eagerly looked out and saw that we were approaching a very high-tech multi-level structure. It vaguely resembled the Lyssium Palace, or rather just "Lyssium," except this one seemed to be a smaller though a more high-tech version - but instead of marble and glass, it was made of cement, granite and steel, and instead of graceful lines, it featured straight and functional ones. And it was horizontally wider but vertically lower, and it only had a few spires and towers.

All around the perimeter of the building were multiple picture windows, and I could see people through a few of the nearer ones.

In moments, though, I couldn't see anything anymore since we seemed to have driven into a tunnel that went right underneath and through the Capitol.

My driver deftly drove us through a long underground parking structure, and then onto a long spiralling ramp inside that went up. In seconds, we came out into what looked like the top floor of the building. There was sunlight here - the topmost floor was open to the sky. But after a second look, I was wrong - seeing some reflections, I now knew it was covered by a glass ceiling.

We slid into one of the slots marked against the wall, and I stepped out as soon as Altara opened my door.

"If you will follow me, Master Timothy," she said, and led the way into the building.

The two of us walked down several hallways that were lined by what looked like nothing more than office spaces and a few meeting rooms (well-appointed office spaces, to be sure), and as we passed, everyone stopped what they were doing as they watched us walk by.

This was probably the first time they've seen a human, so that was understandable. I tried to be polite, like any good guest in their country should, and said "good morning" to the nearest ones that we passed. These girls (I hoped they were girls, although some of them were too tall to be girls) acted like I was some kind of celebrity, and giggled and smiled shyly.

Perhaps I am a kind of celebrity, sort of. I mean, there must be no other humans around for miles, which made me unique. And they probably heard I was specially requested by their king, making me even more special.

As we walked down the hall, I had this distinct impression that they were, ummm, giving deference to Altara, and I also felt this from my driver and footman. I mean, they weren't bowing to her or anything like that, but I had this feeling. Was it because she was my, ummm, butler?

Anyway, Altara led me to a large open common area that reminded me of a kind of office pool, with tables and chairs where a lot of people worked. No cubicles, though - just tables and chairs. Later, I would find that this was how most Arcadians preferred their office work environment, and that they didn't like private offices, even those who were managers or senior personnel.

We walked to the far wall which had a kind of projection screen on it, plus a low platform about two feet high just below it. The screen faced the rest of the office, with the tables facing towards it. I suppose the platform and screen were for presentations and speeches.

I looked at Altara with growing dread.

"You're supposed to make a speech, sort of to introduce yourself," she said. I gulped. "No need to worry - everyone here knows how to speak English."

I gulped again. Climbing up, I turned to face the office people who had gathered and were now looking at me.

"Microphone?" I whispered to Altara.

"Use your AI," she whispered back.

It goes without saying that all of them were gorgeous. I still had some trouble with that fact. I suppose, after a few more days of being surrounded by them, I will eventually get used to this, but for now, I'm still not there.

I took out Sam, my AI, and spoke into it, I mean her. Apparently, she was also useful as a microphone.

"Ummm, good morning," I said. "My name is Timothy Barlowe, but please call me Tim or Timothy. I am from the United States.

"I am a diplomat, and a specialist in commercial and diplomatic relations with other countries, and I was sent by my government, at His Excellency, the king of Arcadia's request, to assist Arcadia in its commercial and economic dealings with other nations.

"I am quite unfamiliar with you and your beautiful kingdom, but I hope to get acquainted with all of you in the coming days. I also hope that you will shepherd me along as I learn your ways, and, in turn, I will do my best to help your people in working with other countries."

I paused, trying to think of something more to say, but the people around me took it as an opportunity to applaud my little speech... Well, if nothing else, Arcadians were very polite.

"Any questions?" I asked.

A very beautiful Arcadian girl raised her hand. Her gesture was a little different than what I expected - instead of holding her arm straight up, she sort of bent it over her head, putting her hand directly over her head, and with the palm facing outward towards me. Not really weird, but, well, unusual.

"Yes, miss?"

"Sire," she said, "may I ask if you've been enjoying your time in Arcadia so far?"

I didn't expect that. Sire?

"Well," I said. "I only arrived yesterday morning, and I have not yet had an opportunity to really see Arcadia much, but I did have a wonderful drive from Crescent Bay to Lyssium and saw a little bit of your beautiful city and countryside, and had an opportunity to see the beautiful Lyssium palace... I mean Lyssium, and saw his royal highness and the royal family."

They ooohed at that. Maybe not many get to see the Royal Family.

"Did you and the royal family have a nice chat?"

Eh? "Well, not really. We didn't really meet," I responded, embarrassed.

"Well, what was it that you did in Lyssium?"

This is a strange kind of Q&A.

"Well, not much... We drove in and our car stopped in the courtyard. I saw the royal family, and we sort of waved at each other from across the courtyard. And her royal highness gave me a handkerchief."

The people in the room gasped. Huh?

Another Arcadian, this time a tall one - a male - raised his hand just like the first one.

"Yes?"

"May we see it, sire?"

There it is again - "sire." These people had weird notions about which nouns to use.

"May you see what?" I asked.

"Her highness's handkerchief."

That was yet another surprise. Why would they want to see the little handkerchief? I shrugged, not really understanding why, and brought it out. I had it folded so I shook it out. As I did, I noticed it was plain white again.

As I shook out the little white kerchief, everyone gasped.

That made me pause, and then everyone applauded. I suppose these little pieces of cloth had some meaning for these Arcadians that I didn't know about, which was probably why they like to give them away as gifts.

And then I noticed that everyone had similar kerchiefs, either folded neatly like pocket squares in their front shirt pockets, or tied around their necks like a bandana or a scarf used as a choker, or tied around one of their wrists. But the Arcadians I've seen back home didn't wear any scarves and kerchiefs this way. In any case, I guess I need to follow that style while I'm here.

All of their kerchiefs were colored in rainbow-pastel colors (that is to say, they were in rainbow colors but faded). I noticed that some of them had kerchiefs predominantly in reds and pinks, while some were in shades of blue. Others were in shades of green, and yet others had ones in shades of yellow and pastel orange. Maybe they stood for family lines, or perhaps it was connected to their positions or titles.

I looked to Altara, and I noticed that she, too, had one, in the form of a pocket square she had folded and peeking out of her butler's coat pocket. It was multicolored just like everyone else's, but hers had a predominant reddish-pinkish hue.

I suppose, since I was not part of any Arcadian family nor had an Arcadian title or position, maybe that's the reason my own kerchief was uncolored. Or maybe all my guesses were all based on crap...

Anyway, I continued on with this... unusual little Q&A.

Most of it was all personal, as they asked what my opinions were on this and that, or what my personal preferences were for food and other things, or what I thought of topics like pollution and the environment, capital punishment, gender equality, voting rights et cetera et cetera. I felt like I was being interviewed on the Ellen Show.

But I was game and did my best to answer all of their questions politely and honestly. And, soon, this supposed short speech became a thirty-minute interview, which stretched into an hour, and then two, and then three.

Altara had a little stool brought up for me to sit on early on, and then a small table with a little bottle of water. I needed it in order to get through this... interview. But it was a pleasant interview, as everyone was quite polite, and seemed to be truly interested in me personally.

As the interview progressed, many pulled up chairs and got comfortable, and as I sat and held forth on my opinions on things like the global trade, the current styles of clothes back home, the many wars and other things that they have heard about, they even asked about things like elections and religion, and capitalism, and communism and the global economy.

They also asked about my favorite kinds of music, books and movies, and my favorite TV shows and actors. I had to wonder if they were this interested in everyone from the outside.

I also noticed that most of the people that asked about music and TV shows and books and movie stars were the taller males, but I think it was more like the females also wanted to ask the same sort of things but just didn't know how.

I tried throwing back their questions to them, and they were also game. I learned that American, Japanese, Korean, French and British TV shows were very popular on Arcadian TV at the moment, and learned a bit about Arcadian TV preferences. I also learned that Arcadians liked 70s and 80s-style pop music, especially Japanese Anime themes, and most of Arcadian music were very much like them. As for movies, I learned about some Arcadian movies while some talked about their favorite Arcadian "idols." I made a mental note to ask Sam and Altara about getting some pictures of these folks, and maybe samples of their work. I wondered if they had MP3 music files that I could copy, and video files I could download. Guess I'll ask later.

Three hours into the... chat, we were getting pretty comfortable with each other, and my speech became more informal, with everyone asking whatever came into their minds, and me chatting back. But my AI, Sam, started to vibrated. She made a sound like she was clearing her throat.

I put her close to my ear and she whispered that I had an appointment at Lyssium.

I said I had to cut our chat short, saying I had a previous appointment, and everyone went, "awww..." Truth be told, I was very pleased with all this, but I couldn't very well keep the Arcadian royal family waiting. I looked at Altara, and she nodded.

"Are we running late, Sam?" I asked my AI partner.

"Not yet, Master Timothy, but we need to get a move on, as you Humans would say."

Getting down from the mini-stage, a small press of people came over to shake my hand. Some of the braver ones leaned over and bussed me on the cheek, murmuring Arcadian phrases that sounded vaguely French, but clearly wasn't. I couldn't remember everything that they said, but could only recall some of them.

"Tu nue hespoee von avec tu," a perfectly gorgeous Arcadian blonde whispered in my ear as she bussed me on the cheek and shook my hand. Another just said, "tu nue hespoee." One of the girls with midnight-black hair said "tooe nue peereis," while a male that was as tall as me, bussed my cheek, too, and said "nuee t'amo." while the brunette girl next to him gave me a very tight hug, and whispered, "zhe t'ah'mee."

After she released me, I looked into her eyes and saw an earnest, almost desperate kind of expression - a kind of desperate need that seemed to imply that I was the one that held the answer to it. She smiled at me, and she and her friend walked away.

Weeks later, I asked Sam to translate these phrases, and they gave me pause. However, I understood where these sentiments came from. Or, rather, will understand. There was going to be a lot on my shoulders.

For now, though, Altara had me hurrying back to my limo for my lunch at Lyssium, otherwise, I might keep the King and his family waiting.

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