Author's note: This is a novelette that will be broken up into several pieces due to its length. It is a humorous glimpse into the societal rules of a futuristic culture where everyone has something to hide.  This section continued from:

The Naked Truth- Part 5

Like a liquid in zero gravity, Phlegamon slid right up to Andela and unfolded his right arm so adroitly that she jumped when his finger-pads touched her chin. His height dropped by a few centimeters as the treadballs retracted smoothly allowing him to stand normally. His metal flake steel blue outfit, polished to a reflective shine, was so classy that it immediately drew everyone’s attention standing nearby. The usual external machinery present at the joints was all gracefully enclosed in aesthetically pleasing aerodynamic covers. A small family crest was etched over his left breast. His hair, the dark gray of a scorched landing apron, undulated slowly like a sea anemone. His perfect features (Were they really this perfect on the inside? thought Biko) including deep green eyes, a nose so straight and sharp that it looked like it could slice a fine steak and the ever present perfect large, white teeth palpably assaulted Biko’s senses.

“Andela, you are surely the most radiant star this system has ever seen!” Andela, not one to pass up a compliment or an opportunity to test Biko’s feelings about her, responded, “Phlegamon, how wonderful to see you!” They closed for a short peck on each other’s cheek. Andela’s facial holograph shimmered slightly as it neared Phlegamon’s metallic face. Biko looked away to keep from burning out a servomotor. He had actually bent one of his fingers backward at the sight of Phlegamon before and had to exit his encasement later to get the hand off – that had been his second Class II simple incident.

“So tell me, Andela, how’s your Travel Gate Inducement Project going in A Quadrant?”

“Why Phlegie, how nice of you to remember! It goes well. And you? How’s that little old asteroid you’ve been trying to grow something on? Wasn’t it Eemire II?” Phlegamon glanced at Biko to make sure he heard, “I’ve been nominated again for ‘Most Improved Project in the Sector’”.

Andela lit off one of her blowtorch smiles, “Why, that’s unheard of! Phlegie. I am impressed!” Biko couldn’t stand it any longer and knocked a fork onto the marble holograph of the floor.

“Oh, hello Biko.” stated Phlegamon dryly, “I didn’t see you over there. I was blinded by this angelic creature.” Sparla giggled. Greb looked on, seemingly even more wrinkled than usual. His image flickered for a moment and then returned.

Unlimbering a razor sharp comment, Phlegamon hurled it at Biko, “Did you clean up your mess on that still dead moon, my friend?” Greb did a poor job of hiding a frown. It was considered good manners to mention any proper names associated with a project when discussing it with colleagues and his friend had just been skewered. Especially in the age of electronically enhanced memory and decision-making, all Phlegamon would have to do was consult one of several thousand databases at a neural impulse’s reach and find the name of Biko’s moon.

“That wasn’t my fault, Phlegamon! The manufacturer of the synthetic soil we were using took full blame for our problems on Rhodastus IV!”

“Of course, my old friend. Yet, my department never seems to have problems with it.”

“Well maybe you’ve never tried to relight the molten core of a planet that’s been dead for millennia or-” Biko was cut short by an instantaneous chorus of delight. The Sector Chief mercifully walked onto the stage at the center of the gathering.

The Chief was known to everyone and yet well known only by a few. Through a combination of intelligent money management utilizing the residuals of an old inheritance, he had accumulated a foundation of wealth and power that had floated him to his current lofty position. His attachments, an area where he spared no expense, were legendary. Additionally, his annual sector updates (of which Andela and Biko were attending their first in his presence) were of such unrivaled pageantry that the sales of his performance recordings made him rich all over again.

Biko gaped openly at the paragon of visual creativity that held itself before the assemblage. The Chief stood, absorbing the admiration like a plant absorbing sunshine, knowing his holographic projection would amaze the audience. His visage was composed entirely of naked Benjalu, the curious tribe of little yellow nelaoids that inhabited the planet, Jendara, beneath their orbit. A Benjalu made up each leg, grunting and groaning to support two other Benjalu that stood above them, making up the torso. Two more Benjalu were attached at the “shoulders” to their torso counterparts with harnesses of their native rika fibers, their feet at the shoulder joints and their waists forming elbows. Lastly, the Chief’s disembodied head appeared to sit atop the Benjalu that made up his body artistically supported by the four small Benjalu hands. As he moved over to his holographic adapter, one Benjalu/leg would run, grimacing, while the other waited and then vice versa, simulating the Chief’s own stride. As he reached the adapter, a howling shriek resounded throughout the hall, startling several of the researchers.

Greb, a Xenozoologist, cried out, “He’s got a Jendaran tiger! A Jendaran tiger, everyone!” Everyone within earshot grinned in recognition. The holographic Benjalu did not smile. Instead, they grunted in terror and fell to the ground in heaps around the Chief leaving his head floating in mid-air. They quickly jumped up, as a holographic representation of the tiger swept across the stage and chased their screaming holographic avatars up through the crowd and out the door. Magically, the enormous mechanical embodiment of the Chief, fully twice the size of the head researchers and quadrant chiefs seated in the audience, materialized under his head. To Biko, given the Chief’s social status he should look like a giant. He towered in height over every other person in the room, the dark gold of his encasement and attachments gleaming brightly in the artificial light, elegant in their simplicity.

The Chief stuck his hand attachment into the adapter and removed it, leaving a small cap inserted. His visage immediately shimmered to life above the center of everyone’s table. Biko glanced at the undulating cap of white hair, the enormous nose riding a wild white moustache that dropped down over his mouth, and the intentionally apparent lines of knowledge that streaked through his tanned face, immediately recognizing the Chief.

The Naked Truth - Part 7