14 The Senator's Toga

Adam Lander nudged his father's shoulder gently with his hand. The senator gave him a slightly startled glance before taking the tall glass from his hand.

The glass contained a Harvey Wallbanger: orange juice, vodka, and Galliano. It was the senator's favorite cocktail, but he grimaced after the first sip.

"Adam," he said "I've told you so many times: it's a Galliano FLOAT. You know what 'float' means? You splash some Galliano on top, not mix it in. Then the aroma -"

"Sorry, Dad," Adam Lander lied. He preferred scotch and soda. If the old man fancied a poncy drink, he could mix it himself.

They stood side by side on the back terrace of the senator's house, and looked at the setup on the back lawn.

The gaily-striped tent used for garden parties had been erected there. Its sides were rolled up to reveal a circular arrangement of the silvery mats called hiber beds. A gas-powered portable refrigerator purred soothingly next to a long table set with plates, glasses, dishes, assorted silverware and three large candle-powered food warmers. The pots kept warm contained lamb sirloin strips with green peas cooked in a thick wild mushroom sauce, a herby chicken casserole, and basmati rice with a touch of saffron.

A second table supported an array of bottles and cocktail gear: half-dishes of olives and pearl onions and maraschino cherries, a bowl of cashews, crackers, and the silly little sausages on sticks that were Debbie Lander's favorite.

She could have all the sausages she wanted, thought the senator fondly as he gazed at the feast laid out in the garden. It was all Debbie's doing, with plenty of willing assistance from Karen and some unwilling, grim-faced help from Bernard, the senator's younger son.

They had all thoroughly acquainted themselves with the contents of the documentation scrolls. They had discussed those contents in the early morning hours. They had all agreed to the senator's proposal: that the Lander family establish a presence in the New World.

Randy Trueman had made some noises about having to rejoin his unit in San Diego, but Karen had dealt with that. She pulled her husband aside for a short, whispered exchange after which a hangdog-looking captain Trueman apologized for holding things up, and put himself at the disposal of the assembled company.

There were some minor disagreements about details, such as the appropriate name for the newfound empire. The senator preferred something feudal-sounding, something that would allow him to call himself an emperor or at the very least, a king. Something that would give him a chance to use the coat of arms he had secretly designed for the Chateau Lander wine.

But the others balked at this, which he found very disappointing. In the end, everyone agreed to settle the name problem at a later date, and focus on practicalities first.

It was agreed that the first team of New World explorers would be composed of the senator, Randy Trueman, and the senator's sons. Debbie and Karen would stand vigil over the hiber-bedded males, and shake them awake after exactly one hour had passed. Then, once it was known that the New World was safe, the ladies would have a turn while the male pioneers refreshed themselves at the table.

When the ladies were woken up after another hour, there would be a quick council of war under the tent's striped canopy. Priorities would be established and tasks handed out. Establishing a launching pad for transport of New World resources was among the top priorities, for sure. As Adam Lander said, inter-dimensional travel that didn't bring a profit was a waste of time.

The documentation made it plain building a launching pad was simple. All that was needed was a structure built of something called tiger rock. The documentation included a picture: stones striped like a tiger's fur or, as Debbie Lander had observed, a tabby cat's.

The documentation stated that they could be found all over the New World, and just needed to be placed together to form an enclosed space. No ceiling or roof was needed, but the floor had to be big enough to accommodate whatever was being sent. Also, the walls enclosing the floor had to reach higher than the transported articles.

"Sounds suspiciously simple," the senator had commented. His children exchanged meaningful looks.

"There are no politics involved in this, Dad," Karen had said. "If we find enough of those rocks or stones quickly, we'll build a small launch pad and try to send something. I don't know, another stone or whatever, as long as it's inanimate."

"We'll have to choose the spot carefully, " Randy Trueman added. "Whatever we send will appear in exactly the same spot here on Earth. We don't want anyone to be brained by a rock arriving from outer space."

"From another universe," the senator corrected him crossly. What the fuck was that? It was up to him, senator Kirk Lander, to decide what and how was chosen or sent or wanted.

"Isn't an, an, another universe automatically located in outer space?" Karen asked. Her husband twitched as if she had pressed a hidden button.

"The term 'outer space' refers to the universe outside our own solar system," he recited.

Karen looked at him suspiciously.

"How would you know?" she asked. Randy flushed.

"Becoming an officer involves graduating a class in space warfare," he said curtly.

"Oh really? I didn't know."

"There are many things you don't know," Randy Trueman had snapped. He had been still wearing his new Christmas pyjamas when the conversation took place. He had become noticeably short-tempered. Karen didn't seem to mind.

He had finally changed his clothes later, along with everyone else. Debbie Lander went through an agony of indecision when selecting the outfit to wear for her interstellar, inter-dimensional journey.

Then she remembered that she would be actually sleeping while the whole trip was taking place. She put on her favorite T-shirt that dated back to her college days. It was white with a big juicy orange displayed exactly between her breasts, underlined by the caption: 'You sweet!'. She also put on a pair of panties and black socks and then her black silk pyjamas with gold trim.

Her husband didn't suffer any indecision. He put on the one-piece zipped camo suit that he'd had for ages, and his laced jungle boots. He could wear clothes like that for weeks at a time without suffering any discomfort.

Senator Lander's sons both opted for tracksuits. Adam's was black and silver, Bernard's - blue. His daughter was dressed in her hiking clothes, but her feet were sheathed in slippers.

As for the senator, there was only one possible clothing choice.

He put on the toga he had worn to costume party several years back. Like all of the senator's costumes, it was of very high quality. Its folds fell away gracefully from the diamond-studded clasp on his shoulder. For a moment the senator considered donning the gold laurel-leaf wreath he had also worn to the party. Regretably, it would be uncomfortable to sleep in. He left it on the shelf.

He put on the sandals that went with the toga and examined himself in the mirror. His ankles seemed scrawny. They hadn't seemed that way before. He frowned for a while, then exchanged the sandals for a pair of soft felt boots. They were meant for chilly winter mornings up in the hunting lodge in the mountains, but they constituted a big improvement on the sandals.

They were all ready and waiting for him when he came out. Randy popped the cork on the champagne, and they raised a toast to their great enterprise. Then the men all lay down on the hiber beds. On the senator's command, they all gave themselves the timon implants, and fell asleep.

Debbie Lander whacked the kitchen timer with her hand. It was an ancient wind-up model she'd had great difficulty locating. It pinged, and started ticking loudly.

The two women silently looked at the defenseless men sleeping on the silvery mats. Then Karen, the senator's daughter, picked up the knife lying next to a big bowl of fruit. After a moment's hesitation, she also picked up an orange.

Debbie looked at the orange in Karen's hand and laughed.

"You sweet," she said.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I think I'll have a Vienna sausage."

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