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Maxwell L. Neumann PhD --

 

I have gotten so used to not having a private office that the department lounge of whatever department hires me is my office. I have a spot at a couch, at a corner of a table, in a corner of the floor, on the sun deck, wherever I choose that suits me and that at a certain time of the day is mine. In nearly twelve years of being a dead man, I have become adept at an aferlife with no need for privacy or very little. There are some things I don't write about. Just accept my sense of decorum. It has been a long time since I wrote to the telegraph.

 

I'm in Malchi now at a fairly good sized university working in their communication arts department. Joshua Pfastis, who is often my collaegue has a job working for the newspaper in town along with Ilia daJabne. This should be a good combination and good cricumstances. Well most of the time it is, but the Warlords in Malchi are a greedy lot and of late they have been expanding casinos. Games of chance are popular here even without cash and if a player accumulates too mamy negative points (I play poker for points but we don't have numbers below zero. I know they exist but not for the purposes of our accounting.) the Warlords put the unlucky spirits to work to work off their debt. They get away with it too.

 

To Liyo, the unlucky gamblers are "suckers" who get what is coming to them. Liyo works for the Warlord on the game development board of several casinos. He has a degree in mathematics with a concentration in probability and statistics. Liyo's higher education is all posthumous. He tried to go to college right after the Second World War and flunked out. How he managed the second time, I don't know. He says it took one or two more false starts.

 

Liyo and I usually talk politics. Working for Warlords means switching jobs and relocating whenever your employer gets overthrown. This is traumatic for Liyo. He has run off to the corich more than once or just hung around unemployed for months on end. That much he has told me. He detests his employers. Warlords and fighting in general scare him. Gambling is what he adores.

 

So there was Liyo showing up to talk politics as usual. He had a bottle of chocolate milk (probably imitation but maybe not and surely not thought forms. Thought forms don't work for food.) under his arm. His broken nose was slowly easing back in to place and his black eye was gone. He had had one or two bruised ribs but they apparently no longer bothered him. The cut by his eye had half healed.

 

"You shouldn't be fighting with sonnambulants," I told Liyo after we exchanged greetings.

 

"I would have hated to see what that guy would have done to me had he been awake," sighed Liyo as he lowered his large frame daintily to the ground. Liyo is a large and superbly muscular black man with very dark skin and a big head with almost no hair.

 

"That gentleman you fought with was the sixth best lightweight boxer on Earth in the year 2000. A head injury sidelined him," I explained.

 

"How do you know?" asked Liyo.

 

I got up and went to the one of the department's computer terminals and checked my email archives. "The list is called either Ghostletters or the Spiritual Telegraph. Don't the living think up cute names for these things?" I asked.

 

I brought up Tareisia's Halloween story from Cheers and let Liyo peruse it.

 

"Fuck," he said. "Crazy Michalia....That Tareisia comes through her."

 

"Yes, I answered and her father was the boxer who nearly beat you while asleep."

 

"That man would be absolutley demonic awake," sighed Liyo.

 

"His ring name was K.K. Demon Simmons."

 

"Fuck," said Liyo again. "I know my folks took care of Michalia's baby and Michalia after I died... They both needed care and maybe it was a replacement for me. They figured at least she would not run off to California like I did. I'd come back and... I alaways played too much cards...." Liyo sucked his lips. He splayed his hands on the edge of the desk.

 

"I used to talk to Michalia righ after. She could pick me up like a radio station. She said that if you ran with demons ghosts didn't scare her. She didn't think I qualified for Heaven anyway..." Liyo laughed. He shook his head.

 

"I stopped," he continued "because I didn't think talking to her was helping her get any better. Her baby needeed her. I hope the kid was all right because I stayed away from all of them. I wouldn't even recognize Antoinetta if I met her."

 

"Antoinetta and Michalia are both still alive," I told Liyo.

 

"Shit," complained Liyo.

 

"And Antoinetta has younguns right."

 

"At least one youngun," I answered. "Her name is Julietta Ligeia Blackwell."

 

"My last name," answered Liyo.

 

"The middle name comes out of Poe. Antoinetta has your first name as a middle name."

 

"And Julietta is Tareisia's mother and that little yellow demonic exfighter was Julietta's husband."

 

"Ex husband," I answered. "Julietta has five children. Tareisia is the oldest. She takes after her father."

 

"Fuck," sighed Liyo. "Now I know I was beating on my grandson-in-law and with luck, he'll remember it and come looking for me when he's asleep."

 

"Dreamers are poor travelers," I consoled Liyo.

 

"What about the girl, Tareisia. She's on that list with you so she saw me..."

 

"Michalia must have told Julietta who told Taerisia about you. She'd know list or no list."

 

"This can't be good," said Liyo grimly. "I always wondered how poor Antoinetta managed. I mean how do you go through life knowing you're like the daughter of an afterthought?"

 

 

"Posthumous children usually do OK," I told Liyo.

 

Liyo sucked in a breath. "And to have a mother who's crazy."

 

I did not want to tell Liyo that Antoinetta and Julietta both inherited Michalia's schizophrenia. Let Liyo ask about such things.

 

"Dr. Neumnan," asked Liyo. "I don't want to have to beat the shit out of that little demon prize fighter and I don't want him doing any harm either. Is there a way you could put me on the Spiritual Telegraph so I could straighten this mess out?"

 

"Use your employer's internet connection," I answered and I wrote down the subscription information for Liyo Blackwell. What he does with it of course is his own concern.

 

Maxwell L. Neumann PhD

Dept of Communication

Walsh Hall

Malchi Comprehensive University

Malchi

Little World

 

Liyo Blackwell --

 

Dear Mendel and Tareisia,

 

I got on this telegraph to deal with a demonic lightweight prize fighter who is spoiling for a fight in the wrong place. I don't like fighting and I want for whatever it is between him and me to stop.

 

On the way, I get this letter with the two of you in it. Now, Tareisia, you know who I am though you spell my first name Leopold which is what it says on some official pieces of paper back in Mississippi. That was a long time ago and it's Liyo now. You don't have to use a Mr. because you and I are kin. Your great grandmother Michalia Cordes and I had Antoinetta Leopolda Blackwell who had Julietta Ligeia Blackwell who had you. That makes me your great grandfather, not just some exciting character in a story you told on Halloween so you could drink virgin Pina Coladas.

 

They serve those in the casino where I work, but that's another story. Taerisia, what kind of a crazy ugly crowd do you spend your time with? Looking for fights is bad business. I won't ask if your mother raised you right because I know she didn't. She's my grand daughter and I can say such things. That still is no excuse. When you hear people talking trash, you're supposed to walk away, and don't you go telling stories that I can tell myself either. That story doesn't count as far as what you are hearing and helping to feed.

 

Since you are probably clueless as to what you did, let me lay it out on the line and Mendel, you little stinking punk, let me tell you where you come in to things. This morning on the way to school you and Tareisia and another girl called Ba-Ba (How'd she get such a weird name anyway?) proceeded to talk trash about members of the service. Yes, I know they served a long time ago and for a different side, but they weren't the Pope and or the Generals. They were officers, officers and gentlemen and in one case some kind of chaplain.

 

I'm a veteran myself. I did two tours of duty in the Pacific Theater in the Second World War. I even went to college on the GI Bill. Now I know that your crazy great grandmother Michalia never told you that because she doesn't know. Now you're going to know. You don't go around insulting men who fight for their country. Mendel, you owe those brave men an apology, and I don't care if they fought long ago.

 

Do you understand me. And one more thing, there's a certain story I'd like you not to tell any more, Tareisia. I know you told it at Halloween but I wasn't on the Telegraph then. I'm on it now and it is my story. I get the rights to decide when and how and where I tell it. It's not just a story to me. It's a part of my life and one I live with. It's not just a symbol or a fancy word you learn in your social studies courses.

 

And you Mendel, mind your mouth because one day someone will take you in the alley and you better be ready to fight. I know no one where you lives believes in giving you a whupping, but sometimes it's better if a mamma or papa leaves off the strap and lets the other kids take care of it. They call that natural consequences.

 

Liyo Blackwell

Game Design and Implementation

City of Dreams Casino

Malchi

Little World

 

==Liyo Blackwell==

 

Dear Tareisia,

Why am always the one to give you advice, I'll never know but take it or leave it, and really, you ought to go taking it. Don't worry about the money and the people giving the money. If they cut you off, you go get another job. That's all. I've switched jobs. The people I worked for do more than cut people off though. It's not pleaseant and I won't go in to details. How do you say, "my private business?"

Also, you're going to be fourteen this spring. That means four more years until you finish high school and are an adult. You don't like eating out of the hands of the fat cats, well guess what, you can walk away from the whole pile of shit. It's called getting a job.

You don't have anything to be scaird of. Just let your Aunt Naama handle the money and sit tight.

Liyo Blackwell

Game Design and Implementation

City of Dreams Casino

Malchi

Little World

 

==Joshua Pfastis==

 

The lock on the two way fly in window to the office popped in an irritating way. "I thought Samuel got that thing fixed..." I announced. Celia who is head of the business department who was getting an ad so that our scanner would not mangle it and who had just had a breakfast meeting arguing our pointage pay for running advertising with a War Lord's Economics Aide who "handles" such things laughed. "Joshua dear," she said in Universal, "do you think Samuel fixed the stupid lock."

Meanwhile, my good friend, close associate, and once wife, Ilia let herself in the window and leaped to the floor. "You're in charge of sports coverage until further notice dear," I greeted her.

""As if I didn't know. That's what we get for using a newbie who got flight intoxicated. Heard anything from that Roman woman on the Telegraph of yours?" she asked. Ilia pulled off her orange paisley silk head scarf and let it rest about her neck like a bandana. She has bobbed her nearly black hair as short as a boy's and I don't find that attractive being a bit of a traditionalist. Ilia does not care.

"Not in a few days...Don't tell me you want to rescue her."

"I'd think that would be your department."

"I'm currently acting as managing or interim editor not clergy, Ilia."

Ilia laughed. "I don't think it would need much of a rescue. Unless she's nonlinear, she's had plenty of time to know the way out. She likes being based in a place she calls 'Hell.'" Ilia snorted. "Give her a job at this paper out of compassion and she'd be gone in two days. We get enough of that from newbies who can't help themselves. Of course we could invite her and let her find her work with the War Lords. She might have the makings of a good runner. Think Sandi needs a runner?"

"Emil covers the political beat," I commented. Emil sat hunched over his keyboard with the screen flat like a work board. No muscle fatigue means no back ache from lots of hunching. Emil looked up and toyed with his long dark brown beard which came to a very thin point. He wiggled his mustache. "If she's worthless don't inflict her on Sandi," he commented. "The last thing we need is someone outside our sabe taking a good job and then blowing it. Who is this person anyway."

"A fellow dead person who writes emails," I answered.

"There are billions of them, though not that many who write emails," Emil commented. "What makes her so special."

"She's bored," quipped Ilia "and she appears to live in Hell."

"Caves, nest, or dark rings?" asked Emil.

"None of the above. She doesn't share our geographic lingo," I commented.

"That could be real trouble," commented Emil.

"What if I invite her here, and let her find her own job," Ilia suggested.

"She'll last a week and go home," said Emil flatly.

"He's got a point," I backed him up. "Now while we're at it, shall we solve the Independent Rainbow problem."

Ilia laughed. "Tareisia has them nailed. Bite the hand that feeds you and it serves you right when you get slapped. If the hand is corrupt don't take the food unless you are starving. If you are starving, eat today, and worry about it later."

"That's not particularly insightful," commented Emil who is not on the Telegraph and has not read the letters we have.

"Sounds like you're discussing War Lords," Celia said. "Mind if I butt in?"

"Butt away," I commented.

"Well, first are all the War Lords on the same page. Remember today's allies are tomorrow's enemies. War Lords are competitive."

"Good point," I answered. "From what we know Independent Rainbow is NOT monolithic. There are divisions between Upstate New York and Washington, DC."

"Hey," cried out Emil. "Is this a parallel Earth?"

"It's pretty much the real Earth or as real as it was for any of us," I replied.

"OK, so it's living people we are discussing."

I nodded.

Emil gave a snort.

"Do they want to kill anybody?" asked Emil.

"They're more interested in power and money. Murder is inconvenient, too many legal problems if you get caught plus a body to dispose of..." I glanced around for newbies in the room. All our newbies were either on assignment or off somewhere flight intoxicated.

"If your living friends have any brains then, they'll play one faction of Independent Rainbow off against another," Celia solved the world's problems.

"What does that do in the long run?" I asked.

"Not much," she said, "but in the long run everything comes crashing down. You have been dead long enough to know that," she added.

"So you're saying Liyo's advice to Tareisia was sound..." Ilia caught herself.

"I think Celia is saying that. Keeping Independent Rainbow at bay and fighting with themselves for four more years might be possible," I mused.

"Bullshit!" Ilia exclaimed. "And you know why, Joshua." Ilia's eyes blazed fire. "One of Rose Among Thorns' top officers has something Independent Rainbow wants and something people here would want too if they could get it."

"What could that be?" asked Emil.

"The ability to call souls and retain past life memories in to physical form," I said.

"Fuck..." sighed Celia.

"Editor," commented Emil. "With all due respect if that is what is going on on Earth, than this is the story of the eon if not the millenium. What are we doing wasting our time with fashion and sports?"

"I need a good man on the war lords, Emil," I said.

"What about Ilia, she can cover something other than basketball?" clamored Celia.

"I've got a personal stake in all this...remember," she confessed.

""Naama Roth does not graduate until the end of May and she still has student teaching. Besides I'm not sure if she is fertile. Want to give this story a go?"

"Editor, who will do the sports?" asked Ilia.

I wanted to laugh. Then I had an idea. "Find me a sports reporter and the lore beat is yours, Ilia dear."

 

Joshua Pfastis PhD

Malchi Daily Phoenix

Bruno Building

Malchi

Little World

 

==Ilia daJabne==

 

Dear Ms. Arquitia,

I read your letter on the Telegraph with much interest. I too am a dead person or spirit if you prefer and I too lived under the Roman Empire, though my home was in Judea. I was born in the city of Jabne and hence my last name.

I read that you are currently in a place you describe as Hell. Clearly such a place can hardly be pleasant if you give it such a name. Perhaps you might benefit from a change of scene.

My newspaper, the Malchi Daily Phoenix, on Little World, one of the many worlds of the Other Side, is currently looking for a Sports Reporter. Athletes, performers, gamespeople, and those who manage them are among the most interesting personalities and your job would consist of interviewing them, watching and describing games, and writing copy. Having seen your work on the Telegraph, you have the makings of an excellent journalist.

If this sounds like it might interest you, please write back to me.

Yours,

Ilia daJabne

Sports Desk

Malchi Daily Phoenix

Malchi

Little World

 

==Ilia daJabne==

 

Dear Ms. deBatz Castlemore,

I see we both have Latinized last names. I learned Latin when I was in my teens and still think it is a pretty language as are most Romance languages.

The job I offered Ms. Arquitia is for dead folks only since the Malchi Daily Phoenix is in Malchi on Little World. I might consent to hiring a very accomplished necormancer as my replacement, but that does not sound like one of your skills.

If you would like to write, I'm sure your world (even though you live in seventeenth Century France) offers opportunities. Journalism is an exciting profession. Even if you needed to publish under a pseudonym, there might be a newspaper or magazine who would take your articles.

When I was alive, I handled translation and business correspondence. I wrote letters for those who asked and I also taught basic literacy and ciphering mainly to women. I also wrote my memoires, the Road Tales. I did a fair amount of traveling.

Please let me know of your literary adventures.

Ilia daJabne (And yes, I'm a woman)

Sports Desk

Malchi Daily Phoenix

Malchi

Little World