Lise
Copyright© 2026 by D M Arnold
Chapter 19: Grand Plans
Megan approached Lise. “I have something to ask you,” she said in a whisper.
“What, Megan?”
“I’m embarrassed ... Lise — do you think you could take the twins overnight some night?”
“Overnight?”
“You see ... I have a boyfriend and...”
“Oh, Megan!” Lise threw her arms around her and hugged her. “Say no more. I’m so excited for you!”
“I’m not getting my hopes up ... not yet. We’d like an evening together to...”
“I understand completely. I’d be happy to take the twins. They’ll have a great time at the house on the hill. I never would’ve taken them into the Zone, but there will be fine.”
“Thanks, Lise. Let’s not say anything to them until I have something lined up.”
Lise looked into Megan’s face and couldn’t help breaking into a broad smile. Megan hugged her. “Oh, Lise — you are my best friend. My very best friend.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Megan. I’m honored.”
Lise hugged and kissed the twins. “See you tomorrow, gang,”
“Lise,” Geddes said, “can Rinn come over to play?”
“I’ll ask Ms Ramina.” Then, Lise headed out the door and to the corner where she climbed aboard a red line number four. The bus worked its route between Quadrants Three and One and began to make its loop at the end of the line.
She hopped off the bus at the bottom of the hill and climbed the steps to the house. Once inside she headed for the master bedroom on the third floor. There she kicked off her sandals and stripped out of her shorts and bandeau.
She knew she had a bit of time before Bryce would arrive, so she stepped onto the private balcony to enjoy the last direct rays of sunlight playing on her nude body. She found it a pleasant solar snack. The sound of a car in the drive alerted her that Bryce had arrived.
She stepped back into the bedroom, into the clothes-press and reviewed her choices. From the rod she picked a white, synthetic fibre dress and slipped into it. The hem came to her knees and the right shoulder had a little cap sleeve. Like most Varadan business attire the left shoulder was cut to reveal the wearer’s caste tattoo. In her case, it exposed her serial number. She fastened a belt around her waist.
Lise took a page from Thom’s book and tucked one end of a sash into her belt in back, then flipped the other end over her left shoulder. She found a pair of medium-high-heeled shoes and slid her feet into them. Then, she stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. With her finger she dipped into a pot of lavender metallic face color and smeared some onto her right eyelid, extending the line across her temple to her ear. Some brown gloss on her lips completed her toilet. She slipped on a pair of non-corrective eyeglasses and headed downstairs to the library.
Bryce met her there and withdrew his mediascreen. Lise picked up the control for the wall-mounted screen and switched it on. The image of a board room appeared.
“We’ll keep it short today,” Lise said. “First item is our investment portfolio. I’ve reviewed it. I’d like to sell all our Drumm Industries.”
“What do you suggest we buy with the proceeds?” a woman in a blue dress asked through the mediascreen.
“I think we should hold it in cash for the time being,” Lise replied. “At least until we know which way the political winds are blowing. Also, we should lighten up our luxury sector by forty percent and our heavy industry by twenty — also to be kept in cash.”
“What about agriculture?” a middle-aged man asked.
“It’s fine where it is,” she replied. “Even during hard times folks need to eat. Any objections?”
“No,” replied the woman in the blue dress. “It sounds shrewd to me.”
“What makes you think there will be hard times?” the man asked.
“The strike has unsettled people,” she replied. “Uncertainty breeds caution. We’re seeing it already on the Eastern continent.”
“Shouldn’t we stay the course until we see what direction...”
“It’s easy to gamble with someone else’s money,” Lise shot back. “Lloyd — would you put your life savings into Drumm Industries right now?” She looked at him through the screen. “I didn’t think so ... Next topic — Uncle Thom’s packaged meals.”
A woman in a red suit replied. “The focus groups have been very positive. They like the notion of meals that humans and novonids can share.”
“My gut tells me,” Lise said, “that the market for them is restricted to a fairly small sector of Vyonna. I think we should go with limited production and see if it catches on.”
“Here’s the suggested design for the package.” The woman in red tapped a key and an image appeared on the mediascreen. “We’d use the same layout with different color schemes for the red and white synthetemeat products.”
“I like the concept,” Lise said. “Let’s redo the artwork so the figures look more life-like.”
“But — we thought caricatures would have more impact.”
“I think they’re borderline offensive,” Lise replied. “Both the white one and the green one. They’re not dignified. Remember that — whatever we do, we do it with dignity.”
“I see your point,” the lady in the blue dress said.
“What if we used photoimages?” the man asked. “How about a pretty white girl and a pretty novonid one?”
“I know,” said the woman in red. “Just their eyes. We photo them dead on, with their eyes looking to the side — at each other.”
“I like the sound of that,” Lise said.
“We’ll have new artwork day after tomorrow,” the red-dress lady replied.
“Good,” Lise said. “Any other business?” She scanned the faces in the mediascreen. “Adjourned.” She pressed a control and the screen went dark.
“I’ve put a number of contracts that need your review in your in-stack,” Bryce said. “I’ll be at my desk.”
Lise dismissed him with a nod and he headed to a sitting room that had been converted into an office. She sat behind the large desk, pulled the mediadisplay before her and began reviewing documents.
A rap came at the door and a teenaged white girl with long blond hair stepped in. “Mam, your appointment is here.”
“Show her in, Leah.”
A novonid woman stepped into her study. Lise stood to greet her, and scanned her from head to foot. She looked no older than her mother, though Lise knew she had at least twenty additional standard years. The woman was wearing the traditional costume of bandeau and short shorts.
Lise extended her hand. “Margliss, pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine. I was expecting to meet someone who looked a bit older.”
Lise smiled. “So was I.”
“You’re too kind.”
“Please sit.”
“This is my first visit to the Bromen estate,” Margliss said. “It’s so very ... snug.”
“Yes. Lord Bromen sold the family manor and bought this property. He did so because it overlooks the Green Zone.”
“I’m pleased to hear things have returned to normal inside Zone.”
“That’s precisely why I wanted to speak with you,” Lise replied. “Things are returning to normal ... unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately? Why do you say that?”
“Conditions in the Zone were never optimal.”
“What today is optimal? The Green Zone does serve an important purpose.”
“What purpose is that?” Lise asked.
“It’s a safety valve. It’s a place where unregistereds can go, unharassed.”
“It’s also a place where renegades go to hide from bounty hunters, where street thugs evade the constables and where desperate girls sell their bodies to white men for pocket change.”
“Our society is not prepared to have unregistered novonids roaming the streets of Vyonna.”
“So, the solution is to hide them in the Zone — out of sight, out of mind. The plight of unregistered novonids is a particular interest of mine,” Lise said. “You and I are members of a second class of Varadan citizens.”
“As I know all too well.”
“Do you, really? Unregistereds form a third class. Those of us who are ... or, were members of that class live in constant fear. We learn to scan our surroundings for any suspicious strangers before exposing ourselves to the sun, and thus to possible capture.”
“And that is why we need safe harbors.”
“Like the Green Zone? Is this your position, Margliss? Or, do you speak for the BSS as well?”
“The BSS believe safe harbors should be encouraged.”
“I have heard it said that the BSS is more interested in maintaining the status quo than in progress. It appears that assessment is correct. Margliss — thank you for stopping by.” Lise sat at her desk and began reviewing documents on her mediascreen.
“You are a brazen girl,” Margliss hissed. “I am not accustomed to being dismissed so.”
Lise continued scanning documents. Margliss rose and headed for the door.
Bryce stepped in from his desk across the hall. “I can’t believe you treated Margliss that way,” he whispered. “She has powerful friends and can be a formidable enemy.”
Lise held up one finger. The sound of footfalls approached. Bryce ducked back into his office.
Margliss poked her head into the library. “Lise ... I don’t wish you to perceive me as opposing progress ... or, as insensitive to the plight of unregistereds. Perhaps we should make another try at our conversation.”
“We can try it as many times as you’d like.”
“May I sit?”
“Please.”
“It’s obvious,” Margliss said, “that you have a different vision for the Zone. Would you mind sharing it with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Lise manipulated her mediascreen and pressed a key. An image appeared on the wall screen. “This is an artist’s conception of what is now the Green Zone. We’ve removed the walls, fences and gates. The centerpiece is a replica of the old hotel, restored to its prime a couple hundred years ago. We believe with its location at the edge of the city and overlooking the pomma savanna, it will be a popular destination both for visitors to Vyonna and for city folk looking for an escape.”
“More popular than the coastal resorts?” she asked.
“If we offer the right value, it will be popular enough.” Lise pointed to the screen. “Here is the old park, restored, with new homes and apartments ringing it. All this was burned down during the strike. And at this end, the apartment buildings are to be renovated. All apartments and homes are to be equipped with power, water and sanitation. The streets will be open to traffic. The Zone will cease to be its own enclave, and instead be integrated into Vyonna’s fabric.”
“Will this be income-generating property?” Margliss asked.
“Yes ... We anticipate modest rents along the lines of the Rescue Towers.”
“How will you induce owners who’ve been accustomed to dumping their novonids in the Zone to avail themselves of these renovated properties?”
“We will ask Vyonna to require owners to provide housing.”
“And, if they can’t afford to?”
“We believe most can afford to. Otherwise, they can give up their novonids.”
“Give them up to whom?”
“To Novonid Rescue and receive a tax write-off. Novonid Rescue will then place them in housing and find work for them.”
“And, what of the unregistereds? How do they fit into this plan?”
“They don’t,” Lise replied. “There won’t be any.”
“What do you plan to do with them? Deport them? Send them to the hedgerows and forests beyond the pomma farms?”
“Of course not. There won’t be any unregistereds because we will register them. All of them.”
“How many are there?”