One Nation, Under Jupiter

JANUARY 2, 2766

A sharp knock rapped on the door repeatedly, startling me out of my bed with a splitting headache. It had to be Turbidus. He can never just knock like a normal person. No, he always had to slam his huge meaty fist again and again until he broke down the door. On the nightstand next to my bed was a nearly empty bottle of Falernian. I swallowed the last of it, then made my way to the closet to find something to wear.

"Gyeeah!" I screamed as I opened the closet door. Staring back at me was a statue of a tiny old man with the kind of scraggly beard you only see on the gods and bums. If I'm going to have my own household, my mother told me when I first moved out, I'd need my own household god to watch over me. Been saddled with this gift of hers ever since. Even if I did believe in that stuff, my household god looked more interested in murdering me in my sleep than protecting me. Whoever sculpted him must have been a real bastard. I turned the statue around, so his eyes wouldn't be the first thing I saw every time I opened the closet. Throwing on some clothes, I made my way to the door. Turbidus was still beating on the damn thing like he'd caught it with his wife.

"Yes?" I asked, pulling the door open. My editor greeted me, a brown folder under his right arm.

"There you are, Diagoras," he panted. "I got all the people you asked for." He handed me the folder, which I started to thumb through. It was hard for me to believe, but Turbidus had actually pulled through.

"This many names already, huh?" I asked, turning the folder around in my hands. It was fatter than I'd been expecting.

"Your column attracted a lot of attention. Not all of it good, I might add." Turbidus wiped his forehead. "I've been getting a lot of angry letters."

"Any chance you can send me those, too? I've been trying to make a scrapbook." Behind me, I could hear the stirring of Servius coming to. "Oh, hey, did the Tribune say anything about my transportation request? I won't always be in walking distance of these people."

"Yeah, they did," Turbidus reached into his pocket, tossing me a set of car keys. "It's waiting for you in the parking lot."

"You're too good to me, you know that?" I placed the keys into my pocket. "And the Tribune agreed to cover my expenses too, right?" I could almost feel Turbidus' heart stop.

"E...expenses?" he stammered.

"Sure, gas, recording equipment...you know, any necessities I might need?"

"Oh, yeah, I...they've agreed they'll pay for your necessities." He pointed a finger at me. "And hey, wine is not a necessity."

"Clearly, you've never been a writer," I said, absentmindedly opening and closing the folder. "Hey, you know what I might need? One of those fancy computers the government has. I hear they make them small enough to fit on a desk now."

"This isn't a way to get free toys, Diagoras. If the Tribune's got to go a whole year without printing your column, they won't be too keen on throwing money at you."

"Oh, calm down a little. As soon as this book is out, you and all the boys upstairs will have enough to retire, I promise. Hey, what about one of those new portable telephones they've been talking about? Does that count as a nec..."

"All right, that's enough. You got your names and your car, go do some interviews. Have a good day!" Turbidus ran off, leaving me alone by the door. Hurrying over to my desk, I pulled open one of the drawers, fumbling through the scattered junk until I found my tape recorder. When was the last time I used this? I pressed the play button. No swearing, no threats to call the police, nothing being thrown...I suppose there was already a fresh cassette in there.

"Servius!" I called, stretching the recorder out to him. "You know how to use one of these, don't you?" The slave staggered over, giving the device a close look.