191

Bjorn almost regretted making the calculations. Had he not worked out his change in salary in Grams, he could have fooled himself into thinking he was better off with his nominal change in wages. But now that he had worked out the numbers, it was clear that he was not all that much better off than the people in the village, and that his real income was actually going down, relative to the Gram.

"But the gold price is going down," Bjorn thought to himself. "So how can the Gram go up? It's just a casino token, redeemable in gold. Surely, it should follow the gold price."

Bjorn found a chart  on the web showing the change in the gold price over time, just to make sure he had his facts right. And sure enough, the gold price was showing a clear downward trend. So on the one hand, the gold price was going down, and on the other hand, the Gram was going up.

"This makes no sense at all," Bjorn thought. Then he convinced himself that things would have to balance up sooner or later, and that his salary would then return to its proper level. "It must be some sort of temporary imbalance," he concluded before closing the tabs with the two charts. And with that conclusion, he felt quite a lot better. "Things will return to normal," he thought. "It simply has to since nothing can remain out of balance for ever."

Having closed the tabs with the charts, Bjorn was again confronted with the Blacklist, and this made him think of the official blacklist at the department of justice. That, after all, was the blacklist with real legitimacy. Unlike the web page in front of him, which had no legal authority, and did not really represent anybody, the blacklist at the department of justice represented the law of the land and the will of the people.

Bjorn pulled the official blacklist up from his browser history, remembering that he had not actually looked up Gus and his helpers. And curious to see what the department of justice might have on them, he proceeded to type in their names. But it proved hopeless to find anything on them. With only their first names and their nationality to help him in his search, he either got nothing or too much, depending on what he was typing in.

Then he got an idea. Bjorn could look them up on the Blacklist used in Lundby, and find their full names there. That webpage had the advantage that it did not contain all that many names, and with it being possible to restrict the search to Lundby, the list of names would be very short. If they happened to have an account, or even just a mention, he was sure to find them.

And sure enough. After a bit of hunting around, he found the full names of all three. None of them were involved in any squabble, but had evidently taken the trouble to register themselves anyway. However, Bjorn wasted no time wondering why this was so. Instead, he pasted the men's full names into the database at the department of justice, one after another, to see if they had anything on them.

But nothing came up. The department had nothing on either of them. And Bjorn felt strangely disappointed at this discovery. He had nothing against the men, but a database that listed people like Cecilie, Einar and Katinka as criminals, should in Bjorn's mind at least post a warning about people so clearly involved in shady arms deals.

"It must be some sort of mistake," Bjorn thought. "An unfortunate omission." Then, for some reason, Bjorn proceeded to type in his own name. He hit return, and up came a list of people sharing his full name, all with a green all clear status, except for the one at the top which was marked in red. And to his great surprise, the thumbnail image was of him.

"That can't be right," Bjorn thought, feeling his veins slowly freeze in quiet anguish. He clicked on the link to read the details. "Warning:" it read. "Immediate arrest on charges of: Attempted tax evasion (1 count)." Bjorn stared in disbelief at the webpage in front of him. Then it slowly dawned on him what it was all about.

Immediately after getting his divorce from his ex, Bjorn had applied for a passport, thinking he could do with a break. A trip to a southern country for instance, to clear his mind and put things in perspective. However, he had been denied a passport on the grounds that he still had unsettled affairs in Norway. And thinking this had to do with his divorce proceedings which had not been fully completed, he had simply accepted this as just one more slap in the face from his ex. But now that he saw the text in front of him, he realized that the unsettled affairs might just as well have been a reference to his debt to the taxman.

But if Bjorn was on the blacklist for potential tax evasion, why was he allowed to work as a border guard? This made absolutely no sense. Were the people in Oslo really so incompetent that they would let a blacklisted person serve as a border guard, and now even as a customs officer?

Bjorn clicked on the warning in the hope that it might reveal some more information, but as he did this, the session terminated, and he was sent to the log in screen. "Oh no! Not now!" Bjorn though, his frustration and anguish rising quickly. Then he found the note with the log in and password details to log in again. But he was denied access. "No such user or password it said."

190

Walking back to the barracks with his PC safely tucked under his arm, Bjorn felt strangely satisfied with his situation. Things were not perfect. But they were not bad either. Life at the checkpoint was not bad at all, even with annoying colleagues like Geir.

Bjorn found Frank in the living room, watching sports on TV.

"What do I do with this box," Bjorn asked, dangling the empty package for the scanner above the coffee table.
"Ah... Just leave it there. I'll take care of it," Frank replied before returning his attention to the TV.

Bjorn met Thomas, Espen and John on his way up the stairs. They were on their way down to their regular bridge game, and Bjorn greeted them cheerfully on his way up. The daily routines of the place were comforting, almost soothing, and Bjorn was in a positively cheerful mood by the time he reached his room.

The TV was still on in Bjorn's room, and he was suddenly confronted with images of people in pickup trucks firing rocket propelled grenades and heavy machine guns in a dusty landscape of bombed out houses and sand dunes. However, he had no patience for this constant reminder of the war in Libya, and turned the TV off immediately.

Bjorn put his laptop on the table in front of the window. He hooked it up to the mains, and sat down, eager too double check that Geir had not been up to any more mischief on the Blacklist. Even the remote possibility that Geir might have initiated a law suit against people like Jan and his daughters, was a gut wrenching thought, and Bjorn was eager to free himself from this anxiety. However, the moment he sat down, the envelope he had put in his back pocket crumpled uncomfortably, and his attention was suddenly directed away from his PC.

Bjorn pulled the letter out of his pocket, and looked at it. It was from the headquarters in Oslo, and he was suddenly struck with horror at the thought that it might be related to the foreign minister's plan to deploy ground troops to Libya. Bjorn's heart started pumping hard, and he ripped the letter open with sudden urgency. However, he was immediately relieved to see that the letter had nothing to do with Libya, and his pulse fell back to normal almost as fast as it had risen.

The letter, it turned out, was simply a confirmation of his new status as a customs officer, complete with a calculation of his new salary. "Well, that's good news," Bjorn thought, relieved to see that the letter was nothing to worry about, and so he put it down next to his PC without bothering to read the details of it. Instead, he logged into the Blacklist to double check his activity log.

It turned out that his activity log was nothing to worry about either, with the only activity recorded during Geir's mischievous snooping around, being his attempt to add Mr. Clueless to his list of nick names.

Bjorn gave a sigh of relief. He leaned back in his chair, and let his mind rest for a while. Then he picked up the letter from Oslo to read it in more details. He looked through the salary calculations, eager to see what his new salary had been calculated to be after taxes and deductions. "Probably not a great difference," Bjorn thought to himself as he looked for the right number.

His new salary before taxes and deductions was highlighted and easy to find. It looked promising. But at the end of the day, only the net salary counts, and when he found that number, he could not quite see that it had changed at all. "Surely, they're not taking all of my extra income for themselves?" Bjorn thought to himself, feeling disappointed despite his low expectations.

Bjorn had to go through all the numbers in greater detail to see where all the money had gone. For some reason, all the numbers except the net total had a before and after column, and it was only by adding up the old numbers manually that he managed to calculate the old net total.

"I guess they simply assume that I know this number by heart," Bjorn thought for himself as he added the numbers. "But I really can't remember. I would have to look it up."

It quickly became clear that child support and back taxes were the main factors contributing to the disappointing final number. But Bjorn had also entered a higher tax bracket, and his social security and pension obligations had also increased. In fact, every single item on the list showed an increase in expenses, and the net total, when he finally managed to work out the number, had hardly changed at all.

Bjorn made a quick mental conversion of the numbers into Lundby's local currency, thinking that this would make him seem rather rich in comparison to the poor devils down in the village. But even that did not help much. He was far better off than Ane's workers. However, he suspected that he was in fact earning less than somebody like Nora, with her restaurant, or even Aung with her multiple jobs. And Bjorn's increase in salary was a mere two hundred MG per month. Hardly anything at all, even by Lundby standards.

So small was the change that Bjorn had to do some further calculations to see if his salary, calculated in Gram, had in fact increased at all.

Bjorn looked up the Lundby Gazette on the web and clicked his way to a chart, showing the Gram's performance against the Norwegian currency over the last few months. And his heart dropped at the sight. While his salary had increased by close to nothing in Norwegian currency, the Gram had gained a whopping ten percent over the last month. His salary in Grams had not increased at all, in other words. It had in fact fallen by quite a lot.

150

Ante signaled to Katinka that he was ready to pay by waving his debit card in the air, prompting her to come over with a terminal to take his payment.

"So, was everything to your liking?" she asked, handing the device over to Ante to let him type in his pin code.
"Oh yeah," Bjorn said with a smile. "And I really liked your little lecture on the ID chip thing. Very well presented, I must say."
"Well, thank you, I'm glad you liked it."

Ante handed the terminal back to Katinka who checked that all was in order before handing Ante his card back, together with the receipt.

"It's hard to believe you're able to make a living with these prices," Ante commented.
"Well, there's no taxes and no fees."
"Still... I'm sure you two have bills to pay like everyone else."
"Yes we do," Katinka answered with a smile reflecting her appreciation for Ante's implicit recognition of Katinka and Roger as a legitimate couple. "It's tough, but we get by."
"Don't you think you could raise the prices a bit without hurting your business?" Ante continued, pushing his chair back and readying himself to get up.
"Maybe... but we got Nora's Place to compete with, and they serve food at the casino too, and... well, you know. Even people form Kirkenes are feeling the pinch, with the crisis and all... And the Gram has appreciated quite a lot over the last few months."
"It has, hasn't it?" Ante commented, looking over at Bjorn. "Remember how upset Espen got on Friday when he had to pay more for his tokens?"
"Yeah, he got really angry, didn't he?" Bjorn confirmed.
"So, you see," Katinka concluded. "Upping our prices wouldn't sit well with our regular customers. And the appreciating Gram is actually making things a little cheaper for us. Things like flour and sugar and meat. It's all getting cheaper."
"In Grams," Ante noted.
"Yeah, but still. That's the money we use. So we are actually better off now than we were. And we keep getting more customers too."
"So, you're optimistic for the future?" Ante asked, finally getting up from his chair.

Bjorn rose from his chair too, but was immediately struck by a spell of dizziness, making him fall over to the side.

"Oh my!" Bjorn gasped clutching the table in front of him in order to keep himself from falling flat onto the floor, and he was immediately griped by a sense of intense embarrassment.

"You're all right there?" Katinka asked, clearly concerned about Bjorn's sudden dizzy spell.
"Yeah, yeah," Bjorn replied with a sheepish smile, continuing his hold on the table. "It's just a dizzy spell. That's all."
"You get this often?" Katinka asked, seeing that Bjorn was not letting go of the table.
"No, no..." Bjorn replied, noting with terror that the discomfort was lingering. "It'll soon pass."

But it did not pass for several long seconds, and even when the worst was over, Bjorn felt a lingering nausea.

"You look a little pale," Ante commented. "I'd have that checked if I were you."
"Yeah. Why don't you talk to David. He's good with this kind of things," Katinka suggested.
"David?" Bjorn asked confused.
"Yeah. He's practically a doctor. He knows his stuff."
"Really?"

Bjorn felt it a silly proposition. But Katinka was clearly serious, and when he looked over at Ante, it seemed that he too thought it a good idea.

"Just as a first quick check up," Ante noted. "What harm can come of it?"
"And it's free," Katinka added. "He's a serious guy. He knows his stuff."
"But... He's a drug dealer," Bjorn protested.
"No, no, no," Katinka protested. "He sells some stuff that's illegal in other places. But he's actually a very nice guy."
"Ah, well, I don't think we need to," Bjorn said, smiling bravely. "I'm better all ready."

Ante and Katinka looked at Bjorn quietly.

"You know, I'll hold your hand," Ante said with a patronizing smile. "It won't take long. And you know... I'm rather curious about the place myself. Let's have a look at it!"

Bjorn straightened up and pulled his jacket on. Then he collected the token's he had spread out on the table, leaving a ten MG token for Katinka.

"Okay. Let's go!" he said. Then, thanking Katinka for an excellent meal, he joined Ante out into the cold but sunny weather.

148

Katinka came back into the dining hall with a flushed look and a rosy nose from crying, sending Bjorn and Ante a suspicious look before going over to the couple by the wall. The couple were finished with their meal and ready to pay, which they did with casino tokens that Katinka checked with the same little device that Bjorn had seen used at Nora's place.

"I wonder how that thing works," Bjorn commented, breaking the silence between him and Ante, happy to have something neutral and harmless to talk about.
"What you mean?" Ante asked, munching thoughtfully on pizza.
"That thing to check if the tokens are counterfeit or not," Bjorn explained.
"Ah... well... beats me," Ante said, clearly more interested in his pizza than Bjorn's question. "Does it matter?"
"No... but I'm curious. You know... how difficult is it really to counterfeit those chips?"
"Pretty hard, I would guess."
"But they are just pieces of plastic. Not even very fancy," Bjorn continued, grabbing a few from his trouser pocket and putting them on the table between them.
"No, you're right," Ante agreed, picking up one of the tokens to have a closer look. "But that machine probably makes it harder to fake."
"Exactly! So, how does it work. Aren't you a tiny bit curious?"
"A tiny bit maybe," Ante said, still not looking very interested.

However, the appearance of tokens on their table had caught Katinka's attention, and having just ushered out the other couple, she headed over to them.

"Is everything all right?" she asked. "You're ready for coffee maybe?"
"Well yeah, that would be nice," Bjorn answered without waiting for Ante's opinion.
"And you?" Katinka asked, turning to Ante.
"Yeah, that would be nice," Ante replied.
"Desert too, maybe?"
"Um... no thanks," Bjorn answered, looking over at Ante who nodded in agreement. "But... I was just wondering. Do you have any idea how that thing works? That counterfeit check thing, I mean."
"How it works?"
"Yeah."

Katinka did not answer immediately, and Bjorn got a sinking feeling that he may have touched a nerve again, and that even this seemingly neutral question was a bit much to ask after Ante's interrogation. But just as Bjorn thought he had to back track on his question, or at least moderate it somehow to prevent another scene, Katinka replied that she did in fact know how the device worked.

"It's quite simple actually," she explained with a self conscious smile. "There's an ID chip in each of those tokens. You can easily see them if you hold them up to the light."
"Okay," Bjorn replied, lifting one of his chips up against the light outside. "There it is. But how does that guarantee anything? What if I got hold of a bunch of those chips? Then, what's to stop me from producing as many of these as I want?"
"Exactly. That was what I was wondering too," Katinka replied, happy to be ahead of Bjorn in her understanding.
"And?"
"Well... each chip is registered in a database over at the casino," Katinka explained. "And that's what the device does. It simply calls up the database and checks that the chip is registered there. If it isn't, it's a counterfeit."
"Ah... I see," Bjorn said with a nod, thinking that was the whole explanation. "So I can't just make a bunch of my own tokens."
"No, you can't. Unless you know what ID's are registered in the database, of course."
"Yeah... Of course," Bjorn agreed, realizing that Katinka had just undermined her whole argument. "Even knowing one ID would be enough for me to make a whole bunch of copies, wouldn't it?"

Katinka nodded with a knowing smile, clearly relishing the fact that she had understood this problem and knew its solution.

"Exactly. But the database does more than just check if the ID is registered," Katinka explained. "Because if it only checked the ID, anyone could do what you're suggesting, and we could have like thousands of copies of one and the same chip, all valid in the database."
"So there's a way to prevent that?" Bjorn asked puzzled.
"There is, and it's very simple," Katinka said with enthusiasm.
"Yeah?"
"They use a time stamp."
"A time stamp?" Bjorn asked, puzzled by Katinka's insight. "Where did you learn about this?"
"Well, I was curious. Just like you. So I asked Roger, and he explained a bit. And then I looked it up on the web. You know... to understand it."
"So you know what a time stamp is?" Bjorn asked, still surprised by Katinka's insight.
"Well... It's just the date and time. You know... when things have happened, like."
"Yeah... I know... I was just a little surprised to hear it from you. You talk like an expert."
"Well, thank you," Katinka said with a big honest smile.
"Anyway... so what's with the times tamp."

Katinka made a dramatic pause, not so much to impress the men, but to focus her thoughts into a concise explanation.

"Well, each chip comes with an ID and a time stamp," Katinka said, stressing this point. "Both are stored in the database and in the chip, and both have to match for the chip to be valid."
"Okay," Bjorn said, with growing respect for the young girl.
"The ID never changes, but the time stamp does," she continued, still speaking very deliberately to hammer in the information. "Every time I check a chip, the time stamp is changed in the database and on the chip."
"Yeah?"
"So if you want to counterfeit a chip, you have to copy the ID and the time stamp from an existing chip."
"Yes, right..."
"But the moment either the counterfeit, or the original chip is used and checked with our little device, all the other copies are suddenly having the wrong time stamp and can no longer be used."
"Ah! I see," Bjorn said, seeing dimly how it all works. "So if I take this token, for instance, and make a thousand copies of it with the same ID and time stamp. Then I can still only use one of them. The other ones will become useless the moment I use one, due to the time stamp."
"Exactly. The new time stamp will only match the one we checked, so you can never use more than one token. The other ones become useless the moment one is checked."
"Provided the chip is checked, right?" Bjorn continued. "If I use my counterfeit tokens down at the market, for instance. That may work."
"Yeah. That's true. But if that started happening, even the stall owners would get themselves these counterfeit checking devices, I guess. So far, no one has tried to counterfeit any tokens, though. And as long as the tokens are being checked regularly by some of us, the rest, like the stall owners, can be pretty sure there are no counterfeits in the system."

Bjorn leaned back, totally impressed by the explanation. The girl had figured it all out, and had explained it so well that he was simply speechless.

"So... you want some coffee now," Katinka asked with a satisfied smile.
"Oh yeah. That will be great!" Bjorn answered, looking over at Ante who still seemed to be struggling to understand how exactly the counterfeit checking worked.

Katinka headed for the kitchen and Bjorn asked Ante if had been able to follow what Katinka had said.

"Well... not really," Ante had to admit. "So it has an ID and a time stamp in it?" Ante continued. "And every time the chip is checked, the time stamp is changed?"
"Right," Bjorn said with a smile and a nod.
"And that prevents counterfeiting?"
"Yeah, it does."
"Because the copies will immediately have the wrong time stamp, once one of them have been checked."
"Exactly."
"Well... hey! Maybe I understood it anyway." Ante said with a smile.
"Good for you," Bjorn said with a patronizing grin. "That makes you almost as smart as Katinka."

111

"So, who's the one with limited observational skills now?" Bjorn asked with a malicious smile.
"Well, we don't actually know that he's corrupted," Ante countered while looking around for a place to drop the gun.
"No, but do you have a better explanation?"
"Not really."
"So you think I'm right, then?" Bjorn asked, delighted to finally being the observant one.

Ante did not answer, putting instead the gun down on the coffee table. Then, as Bjorn pressed him for an answer he had to admit that Bjorn had a good point. But it wasn't completely impossible that Frank was the kind of person who'd spend every penny of his earnings on immediate pleasures such as those available at the casino, so he refused to give Bjorn full credit for his conclusion.

"It amazes me that no one has seen this before, though," Bjorn continued. "I mean... He has behaved like this before, hasn't he?"
"Every single time we´ve been down there," Ante confirmed. "But this was definitely his most outrageous performance so far."
"And no one has wondered about this?"
"No."
"But now that I've mentioned it, you find my explanation entirely plausible?"
"Plausible, yes. But not the only possible explanation."
"And that is why you don't want to report any concern to his superiors?" Bjorn asked, looking around to make sure that Ante and he were the only two in the room.

Ante hesitated, as if he was unsure what exactly his concern was. "But we do not know who his superiors are, do we?" he ventured as an initial objection.
"But that is not very hard to find out, is it?" Bjorn countered.
"No, maybe not. But do we really want to have Frank investigated? You think he's dangerous?"
"If he's corrupted, who knows what he might do?"
"But do you honestly think he's dangerous?"
"I don't know."
"Exactly! So why should we do anything? As long as we don't know anything, we shouldn't say anything... And Frank is a good boss, he gives us all sorts of freedoms, and if they replace him, I'm sure life will not be as good."

Bjorn had to agree with Ante's final point. Frank was an easy going boss, never too picky about the rules, and having him replaced would almost certainly lead to less freedoms. And maybe this was why everybody else too were pretending not to notice Frank's self indulgent blowouts.

"It wouldn't be very popular with our colleagues, would it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"It would not," Ante agreed.

Then, as their mutual but unspoken agreement to keep quiet about Frank was sinking in, Bjorn was reminded of his conversation with John, and he broke the silence between the two by asking why Ante had offered him so little for the night shift.

"Oh... I don't know," Ante replied, clearly caught off guard by the change of subject. "I did not expect you to take my offer without haggling, I guess."
"Well, I'm not very pleased with it," Bjorn said, not hiding his disappointment.
"Yeah, but what should I have done? You accepted the offer and took the money. Should I have stopped you?"
"Yeah, you should. You should have offered me one G for the job."
"One G? Well... that would have been more than what I pay the others. Eight hundred MG would have been more like it."
"Okay... But that's what you should have offered me."
"I only had that five hundred MG token on me."
"So?"
"Well..."
"Anyway... Don't pull stunts like that on me again, will you? I like you, and I don't want to end up disliking you for stupid things like this."

Ante looked a little bothered, yet defiant. But he did not pursue the topic any further. Instead, he asked Bjorn if he had managed to change his night watch with John.

"Yes, I did," Bjorn said. "And I've noted the changes on the spread sheet in the kitchen."
"Good... And how do you plan to get your rest for the night?"
"I'll turn in early, I guess... Why?"
"So you'll be fine with a trip to Lundby tomorrow?" Ante asked.
"Yes?"
"How about us two going down there tomorrow, after breakfast?" Ante suggested. "We can have lunch at Peppe's, and explore the village. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Well, that's a great idea," Bjorn answered with enthusiasm.
"So that's a deal then?"
"Sure."

81

Thomas was clearly embarrassed by the prostitutes, and did not even reply to their advances. However, Frank and Ante made a few quick remarks that were neither rude nor dismissive, before entering the casino.

"Not now Ladies!" Frank said with a smile.
"Let us at least get a few drink first!" Ante continued.

The girls remained outside in the cold as the men entered the casino, and Ante asked a bouncer on the way in to keep an eye on them.

"Don't let them bother us," Ante said. "We're not really up for that kind of fun tonight."
"Sure," the bouncer answered. "We're keeping an eye on them. Just let us know if they get too offensive."

The casino was still relatively empty, but that suited the men just fine since it gave them an opportunity to find a table with a nice view of both the bar and the dance floor, as well as a stage that was hidden behind a velvet curtain.

Almost immediately on sitting down a very attractive black girl appeared from behind the bar, ready to take the men's orders. They all ordered a beer, with the exception of Ante who ordered an alcohol free cocktail.

"We prefer it if you pay as soon as you get your drinks," the girl informed the men in excellent English. "Alternatively, we can put it on your Gram card if you prefer."
"Nah, we all have plenty of tokens," Ante replied. "We'll pay as we go."

The men took off their jackets and laid them on a little shelf on the wall behind them, and Thomas put the weight of his balloon on top of the pile of jackets, so that the balloon became suspended above the pile as an easily recognisable landmark. And when their waiter returned with their drinks, they all paid immediately with their casino tokens. The woman was quick to find change for everyone, and disappeared quickly behind the bar again where she appeared to check the received tokens for counterfeits, just like Aung had done in the restaurant.

"So we can't smoke in here, but guns are allowed," Espen commented, looking over at Frank with his gun and gun belt clearly visible.
"Smoking kills!" Frank answered with a smile. "You know! Guns don't kill people... I kill people... with guns."

Frank leant back in his chair, pleased with his joke, and his colleagues smiled in response.

"But seriously! What sort of a twisted place is this, where smoking is forbidden, yet guns are all right?" Espen continued.
"I guess the owner doesn't like smokers," Thomas replied. "It's his casino after all."
"Or maybe he figures most people actually prefer a smoke free environment, and that he will get more people into his casino if he bans smoking," Bjorn suggested.
"Hard to say," Ante replied before taking a sip of his cocktail. "Only Jan knows... Why don't you ask him when you see him, Espen... I'm sure he'll appear again tonight."

79

Aung put a small chocolate cake in the middle of the table while the men were digging into their baked bananas and drinking their liquor and coffee to go with it. The cake had a single candle at its centre which Aung lit with a lighter before leaving the men alone with their deserts. But as soon as they had all finished their treats she returned, asking them if they would like to sing the birthday song for Thomas.

"Of course we do," Frank replied on behalf of them all, and immediately started waving his hands in the air as if to direct a choir. The men started singing, and the other guests in the room also turned their attention to Thomas, some of them joining into the short little song. And as soon as the song was over Thomas leant over towards the cake to blow out the candle.

Everybody applauded as the candle was extinguished, and Thomas got the task of cutting the cake into five equal pieces. An endeavour he managed to the satisfaction of his colleagues. They all got a piece of chocolate cake dished out on clean plates provided by Aung, who swiftly collected their used desert dishes, stacking them expertly up in her hand before disappearing back into the kitchen.

A little later, when the chocolate cake was consumed and the men all sat leaning back in their chairs, finishing their coffee, Aung reappeared, this time with the bill and five mint chocolates.

"Anyone want more coffee to go with that?" she asked as she put the tray with the bill and the mint chocolates on the table.

Frank, Thomas and Ante all accepted her offer with thanks, and while Aung went back to the kitchen with their plates, Ante grabbed the bill to see what it had all added up to.

"Almost exactly one thousand five hundred MG," Ante announced. "That's three hundred from each of us."
"That's all?" Espen asked, genuinely surprised.
"That's all!" Ante confirmed. "You are not being ripped off for a change, huh?"
"No, I guess not... But that casino lady... I don't know..."
"You know?" Frank said, leaning towards Espen as if sharing a secret. "Why don't you stop that whining? I mean... Things are dirt cheap down here... And nobody is forcing you to go here."
"It's not like this is your first time to Lundby either," Ante added. "So why are you so surprised? The tokens were a bit more expensive than you expected, but things are as cheap as ever."
"Okay, okay!" Espen protested. "I'm happy about this... I am!"

"So who has exactly three hundred in change?" Ante continued, focusing again on the bill. "My smallest token is five hundred."
"I got three hundred," Bjorn answered, tossing a two hundred and a one hundred MG token into the little dish where the bill and chocolate mints had been.
"Me too," Thomas added, tossing three one hundred tokens into the tray.

The three other men each put a five hundred MG token in the tray, removing two hundred of the change left there by Thomas and Bjorn, and pretty soon the dish contained exactly three five hundred MG tokens.

"It's a fortune for many people living here in Lundby," Bjorn commented to his colleagues just before Aung once again appeared by the table.

"You can keep the change," Ante told Aung generously as she picked up the tokens.
"Thank you," she replied with a smile. Then she pulled out a small handheld device, the size of a credit card, checking each token before dropping them into a pouch in her apron.

"Just checking for counterfeits," she explained, sensing the curiosity of the men at the table. "I haven't actually ever come across any counterfeits, but with this kind of money it is always good to know for sure."

Aung put the device back in the pocket of her apron, and thanked the men again for their generosity before going over to a neighbouring table.

"What sort of tip are we giving her?" Bjorn asked as Aung headed for the kitchen again.
"Twenty MG," Ante answered shamefully.
"But that's nothing!"
"To you maybe," Espen answered on Ante's behalf.
"Come on!" Bjorn replied, finding a twenty MG token among his remaining change and putting it on the table. "Anyone else have some spare change to give the girl for her excellent service?"

Thomas and Espen each had a ten MG token of spare change, but apart from that they were simply all out of small tokens, so there was noting they could do, short of asking Aung to break a bigger token just to get some smaller change. And finding that just as awkward as leaving a relatively small tip on the table, they ended up leaving the restaurant with just a modest sixty MG in total tip for the young woman who had taken such good care of them.

76

Bjorn too felt let down by the higher than expected price for the tokens, and ended up buying just 500 MG instead of one G which was his original thought. However, he found Espen's reaction ridiculous. Considering all the things they could buy for the tokens, they were still cheap, all be it less so than the gold price had led them to believe. And the lady behind the counter was right. It was not like they were asking for gold. They were asking for tokens, and the tokens were naturally priced according to what people were willing to pay for them.

But Espen kept going on about how they had all been scammed, and did not calm down before all his colleagues started ignoring him, focusing instead on the changes that had taken place during the week since their last visit. "Even the sun is different today," Thomas remarked as they walked in the direction of the bright red sunset. "It was dark by now last weekend."

"And in a month from now there will be no sunset at all," Ante added with a smile. "I love the midnight sun."
"Never experienced it," Bjorn remarked, glad to have something trivial to talk about.
"It's like the long summer evenings down in Oslo, only better!" Ante continued, still smiling.

The men stopped at the street corner next to the knoll with the parked cars, not so much to look out for traffic, of which there was very little, as for reading a sign on the other side, advertising the opening of a bowling alley in an old warehouse behind the casino.

"Anyone for bowling?" Frank asked.
"Yeah, we should do that one day," Ante answered. "But we're already a little late for our dinner at Nora's place."
"Maybe after dinner?" Thomas suggested.
"No! After dinner is casino time." Frank said resolutely. "We'll just have to note bowling down on our to do list."

The men looked at Frank, finding his resolute intervention amusing.

"And what about Thomas? Shouldn't this be up to him? It is his birthday after all?" Ante asked.
"Never mind," Thomas said, not waiting for an answer from Frank. "I'm fine. We can go to the casino as planned... It's not like I'm a die hard bowling enthusiast or anything."

They all continued down the shore line towards Nora's place which was situated directly across the water from Ane's fish processing plant. The little white church above and to the right of the factory was also clearly visible, flood lighted and literally shining as a pearl against the huge rock behind it.

It was a muddy gravel road they were walking down, full of potholes and with a soft shoulder that at places had slid out and disappeared into the water. However, it was not like the road was completely unfit for driving. In places, it was even wide enough for two cars to pass. And being a road only meant for access to a handful of houses, it was no doubt good enough.

Nora's place turned out to be the third house down the road, and was marked with a square box at the edge of the road, functioning both as a sign and as a lamp. It read "Nora's Place" in large friendly letters painted on the translucent surface of the illuminated box.

The restaurant was, as it turned out, simply the living room of a private house, converted into an open dining area with several tables. The house was, as the church across the water, flanked by a rock, all be it a much smaller one than the one by the church. Still, the boulder was as large as the house itself, and shielded it perfectly from any winds coming from the north.

But none of this came as any big surprise to Bjorn. He was getting used to things being ad hoc and improvised in Lundby, and there was nothing uncomfortable about walking into the private sphere of Nora's house. The front door was set with a large glass pane, with an "open" sign clearly visible. And a little desk with a book containing the appointments for the evening was visible through the window in the door.

Stepping into the hallway a bell signalled their entrance, and almost immediately a young Asian woman appeared, ready to help the men find their table. There was something familiar about her, but Bjorn did not immediately recognize her. Only after hearing her speak a few more words as she lead the men to their table by the window, did he suddenly, in a flash, make the connection. The woman was the same one who had welcomed Geir and him over at Ane's factory a few days earlier, and full of curiosity he immediately asked if she happened to be Nora.

"No, no..." she answered with a smile as the men sat down at their table. "I'm Aung. I help Nora out in the evenings."
"So you are still working for Ane?" Bjorn asked, still curious.
"Oh yeah. That's my day job," she answered. Then, taking another look at Bjorn, she blurted out "ah... I see, you are the one we had over the other day."
"Yeah," Bjorn answered with a smile.
She giggled. "Please excuse me... You really all look the same to me."

And with this the men burst out laughing, and the mood was set for a relaxing dinner.

75

There had been quite a lot of progress made at the building site at the top of the long straight road going down to the village square, and Bjorn, fascinated by the ambitious project, leant forward to take it all in. The concrete walls at the base of the building were in place, and the beginning of a stairwell and two elevator shafts could also be seen together with numerous columns.

Bjorn was about to wonder out loud about the insanity of building anything this large in a small arctic village when Ante made a remark about the road instead. "They really did do a good job of filling in those potholes," he said as he drove the car slowly down towards the village square. And shortly afterwards he commented happily on the activity down at the village square. "Well, things have clearly been happening while I've been away!" he said. "Just look at all those stalls!"

And even over the two days since Bjorn last was in Lundby, the village square had seen noticeable changes. There were more stalls, and all but a few of them were now under improvised roofs. It was now looking more like a real market, and business was as brisk as ever.

"Look at all those people!" Ante blurted out enthusiastically as they entered the road circling the square. "Are there anyone left in Kirkenes? It sure looks like everyone decided to come here for the night."
"Well, there were some people coming all the way from Alta this morning, up at the check point," Bjorn added, confirming Ante's impression that people were coming from far and wide to visit the village. "That's quite encouraging, don't you think?"
"Sure is!"

Cars were lining up for cheap petrol over at the petrol station, and Pingo was evidently doing well too, with people coming out with cartloads of stuff. Not everyone were in Lundby for a night out. Some were clearly heading back home now that the sun was setting.

There were a lot of cars parked over at the knoll down by the water, but there was no shortage of empty parking space to choose from, so Ante had no trouble finding a place for his car. And as soon as he stopped his car, everyone stepped out of it to stretch their legs, eager to get started on their adventure.

The very first thing they needed to do was to buy some local currency over at the casino, since everyone but Bjorn seemed to be short on Gram tokens. So they all headed across the square, skirting the market in order to get to the casino as quickly as possible.

"It makes no sense," Espen complained as they strolled along. "Why do they insist on using those tokens instead of real money? It only complicates things."
"It's to make it all the more difficult for the locals to escape this place," Thomas explained. "The tokens are not legal tender. They cannot be used outside the village, so if someone manages to escape, they will still be stuck since they will have no money to pay their way to Oslo."
"Is that so?" Frank asked, apparently new to this fact.
"The foreign minister said something to that effect the other day, on TV," Bjorn added helpfully, finding Thomas' explanation reasonable and logical, at least on the face of it.

The men walked in silence for a bit until they reached the casino with its new sidewalk being completed. The north corner was still being worked on, but the rest was fully in place, and it looked great. Ante was again enthusiastic about the changes, and was almost besides himself of praise for the fancy bit of artistry that had been accomplished since his last visit. But there was no time to dwell on this as they were all eager to get their tokens to start the evening.

The casino was nothing more than a large space divided into various sections, where the area close to the entrance was reserved for money exchange. There was a staircase going up to the next floor across from these counters, and beyond that there was a bar and a small stage, and off to the right, a section dedicated to gambling. There were hardly anyone in the bar, and only a few people by the slot machines, so the main activity in the casino was at the moment the exchange of real money for tokens.

Bjorn knew from experience, and from being told so by Ante, that many people would not accept any kind of real money, credit cards or electronic payments in the village, making it essential to have cash in the form of Gram tokens even for people like Ante who had earlier acquired a card for himself, as well as a card for paying for produces in Pingo. And when Bjorn's four colleagues lined up to get some tokens, Bjorn figured he'd buy some for himself too, just in case. Bjorn felt confident that he would come back to the village in the future too, so a few extra tokens would not go to waste. "Better to have a few tokens too many than too few," he thought to himself as he lined up behind Espen.

Thomas and Ante lined up at a counter to Bjorn's left, and Frank stepped up to a counter to Bjorn's right, marked clearly with a sign saying "Gold Members Only". Bjorn's immediate thought about this was that Frank must have overlooked the sign, but that was evidently not the case. Frank presented a gold card and was promptly given a small stacks of tokens in return.

Ante on his side, presenting a plain green card to the cashier was informed that he could better use one of the automatic teller machines over by the staircase, unless he had special banking needs he wanted to take care of as well. And realizing that the man in front of him was filling in a form to get a bank card, Espen too headed over to the ATM machines, followed by Bjorn and Thomas.

The ATM machines accepted various types of credit cards as well as real money and the local bank card that Ante was carrying, so there was no need to waste the cashier's time. However, Espen got very upset when he discovered that the exchange rate had actually gone up by a bit since last time he bought Gram tokens, despite the fact that the gold price had cratered a full twenty percent over the last week.

"What the hell is this?" Espen asked rhetorically. "They are ripping us off!" And with this he walked over to the cashier at one of the counters to demand an explanation.

"Well, that is the exchange rate we are offering," the lady behind the counter said blandly. "If you think it too much, feel free to find someone willing to part with their tokens for less."
"But that's absurd!" Espen insisted. "You're the only one selling these things."
"Exactly," the lady retorted, unimpressed by Espen's argument. "That's because no one except us are willing to part with these tokens at lower prices."
"But the gold price is down twenty percent," Espen protested.
"But this is not gold... These are tokens backed by gold... If you are interested in gold, we can arrange for that too. At the current spot price, you can get gold delivered in six months from now. However, if you want your gold now, you will have to pay the current Gram price, plus our service charge."

65

It was slowly getting darker outside, and Bjorn's reflection in the window was starting to bother him, so he got up of his chair and pulled the curtains shut for the night. Then, once he was seated again, he clicked his way back to the complaint made against Pedro.

From reading the complaint, it was clear that the journalist over at the Gazette had pick much of her material directly from the Blacklist. But there was also no doubt that the journalist had in fact been talking to both the stall owners and Pedro to get the full story. The complaint was relatively short and to the point, basically claiming that Pedro had no right to the village square, that the village square belonged to the people of Lundby, and that no one had the right to impose any kind of tax or restriction on the stall owners.

Pedro on his side begged to differ, of course, pointing to his claim to all the pubic areas of Lundby, including the village square. Directly below Pedro's comment, Jan had a short comment directed at both the stall owners and Pedro, suggesting they sort out their differences in his office in the casino. And directly under Jan's comment, there was a third and final comment written by the same Maria that had made a comment on Jan and Pedro's complaint against Ane.

Maria's comment was directed directly at the stall owners, basically saying that their complaint was confused and muddled, and lacking in precision, her main objection being that the village square could not possibly belongs to "the people" since no such entity exists. Then she went on to say that she would not touch the case before the stall owners sort out among themselves what exactly they were asking for.

And quite understandably, Maria's comment had a long tail of sub-comments, all from the plaintiffs, basically saying that she was the one confused, and that a further specification of who "the people" were was in any case besides the point. The stall owners had no intention of paying any kind of rent or tribute to Pedro, and would resist any attempt to force them into doing so.

"So, who is this Maria," Bjorn wondered. "Clearly some sort of self styled lawyer, judging from her pretentious remark about not wanting to touch the case." And with this in mind Bjorn clicked on her name in order to find out more which brought up the fact sheet on her, showing that she was not involved in any disputes at the moment. Bjorn clicked on Maria's name again to go to her personal details page which turned out to be surprisingly elaborate, with a picture of her face, a list of achievements and a whole lot of data on her career and education.

Maria was indeed a self styled lawyer of sorts, running a company called Independent Law. Maria offered what she called "arbitration services", claiming extensive experience with "private law", and her comments on the Blacklist were clearly all part of a marketing strategy from her side. By offering a quick initial analysis of the various disputes in the village, she was showing off her legal skills with a hope to attract paying customers for her arbitration services.

Bjorn looked at the picture of the woman with her thick black hair and almost child like appearance. She looked friendly and approachable, in contrast to her remarks on the Blacklist which had been pointy and almost aggressive in their criticism of the complaints. Then, looking over to the right hand margin of the page, Bjorn's attention was drawn to an ad that had stayed with him throughout his browsing of the Blacklist, but not caught his attention before now. It displayed a stylized icon of St. George slaying the dragon, under which it read Lance Security in gold letters, followed by a sub-title with the text: "To Serve and Protect".

"But isn't that Pedro's company?" Bjorn wondered, surprised to see an ad by Pedro on a web site containing a scathing denouncement of him. "Why is Pedro sponsoring a web site full of bickering and conflict mongering?"

Bjorn clicked on the ad to learn more about Pedro's business, which he now suspected to be involved in something different from what he had first assumed. Reading about Pedro as the CEO of Lance, Bjorn had simply assumed that Lance was a company involved in the prison and detention camp industry, which was one of the few businesses currently doing well, with economic crisis and political unrest spreading like wildfire everywhere. But it made no sense for such a company to have an ad on the Blacklist, so Bjorn was now very much doubting his first assumption. And as it turned out, Lance was not a private prison company, or any such thing.

Lance Security was an insurance company offering what it called "disaster insurance", defined as "high cost, low probability events", with "criminal loss" being its core business, and accident and health insurance being offered as add-ons. The idea was that a person could start off by insuring him or herself against criminal loss, and then add on insurance for loss of property and health as needed. The basic product would pay out up to a thousand Gram in the event of loss of life, health or property due to a criminal event. And this basic insurance cost a "mere" half a Gram per year.

The basic product could be scaled up, from a maximum of a thousand Gram to as much as ten thousand Gram, by agreeing to pay correspondingly more in premiums. Adding accident and health to the basic product increased the cost in a similar manner. The insured person could in other words not buy anything cheaper than the basic product, so Lance's target customers were clearly people for whom a disaster would result in losses up to or beyond a full Kilogram of gold. And the website confirmed this by stating specifically that losses below ten Gram would not be compensated. However, all criminal losses should be reported regardless, it said, since a group action against a criminal element may nevertheless result in a pay out, even for minor losses.

Bjorn leant back in his office chair, contemplating what he had just read, and feeling content that he had finally found something concrete about Pedro's business in Lundby. Not only was Pedro claiming ownership of all public property in the village, he was aiming to make money off of people's fears as well.

51

The foreign minister was busy defending Norway's military actions in Libya as well as his own involvement in it in what was clearly a well orchestrated interview with no surprise questions.

"Simply bombing rebel positions is not enough to ensure security for our national interests," the foreign minister explained. "We will need an additional five hundred men in order to defend our economic interests in that country, which coincidentally are one and the same as the interest of the Libyan people. Only a stable and peaceful environment can ensure prosperity for all, and as a leading peace nation we have a particular moral duty to make this happen."

The economic interests the foreign minister was talking of were of course the oil fields in which the state controlled oil company, Statoil, was heavily invested. However, this was not mentioned by a word, nor did the interviewer make any inquiry into what the foreign minister was referring to by his words. Instead, she moved on to ask him why he, and not the minister of defence, was in charge of the operations.

"The answer here, of course, comes down to the nature of our involvement in Libya," the foreign minister replied with a confident smile. "Since we are not at war, but simply helping the Libyans in their struggle to rebuild their national institutions after decades of neglect under the deposed dictatorship, our involvement can best be described as foreign aid, which falls under my department. What the Libyan people are labouring under on a daily basis is the absence of good national institutions, and the first and foremost of these is of course the institution of law and order which can only be achieved by legitimate and dispassionate force. Hence the involvement of our armed forces."

"Libya is not at war," the foreign minister continued. "It is burdened by civil unrest, and we have a duty to the world community to take our share of that burden. All of this has been laid out in detail by the UN, and we cannot simply ignore this and pretend that things will sort themselves out without our involvement. Such an approach has already been tried, with terrible consequences, and no one wants to see a repeat of that."

And again the foreign minister was referring to things without mentioning them. Neither the foreign minister nor the interviewer felt it necessary to explain that the terrible consequence referred to was a particularly bloody attack on a Statoil installation in the south of Libya where almost everyone had been killed in cold blood. Those that tried to escape were gunned down, and those that surrendered were ritually beheaded. The videos of the beheadings went viral on the Internet, and were in large part responsible for the surge in support for the foreign minister's anti-immigration party, which in turn won him a seat in the current government, and ultimately his current position as foreign minister.

Having risen to his current position on the back of the outrage that the bloody attack had caused, the man clearly felt that no further explanation was necessary. And the interviewer, presumably no big fan of the foreign minister, had even less of a desire to delve into the memories of the terrible incident.

After a few more questions about Libya where the foreign minister got the chance to repeat his objection to the word "war", re-emphasizing instead that this was all about foreign aid and nation building, the interviewer changed the subject to Lundby, which made Bjorn sit up and pay even closer attention. "Another mention of us," Bjorn thought. "We really are about to become famous!"

"Some say that the colony violates our constitution, and is in breach of basic human rights," the interviewer said with a stern face.
"Well, that is simply not true," the foreign minister replied, brushing aside the question. "Moving all asylum seekers to Lundby is a hugely popular move, with a recent pole showing more than seventy percent of eligible voters in favour of it, and it is in no way contrary to our constitution. Such a assertion is simply political nonsense."

"But what about the claim that the colony is in conflict with the indivisible sovereignty of Norway?"
"Well, first of all, Lundby is not a colony. It is as much a part of Norway as any other part. The fact that it has been turned into an asylum centre does not make it any different from any other place with special rules, such as airports, prisons, and, well, asylum centres. We have merely moved and co-located the centres already in Norway to a remote location where the inhabitants will be unable to cause stress or anxiety among ordinary Norwegians."

"And what about the claim that there is a casino up there? Isn't that in violation with Norwegian law?"
"Well, it is true that there is a casino in Lundby. Although, as far as I gather, it is hardly a place worthy of such an extravagant name. It is more like a bar where there is some gambling going on. However, the claim that this is in violation with Norwegian law does not take into account the Sami reparation act which give Sami people wide powers to regulate this kind of activities on their own land. The casino is fully owned and regulated by the Sami people, and as such completely legal."

"And the report that casino tokens are circulating as money, surely that is in violation of the recent amendment to the constitution making only Norwegian Kroners legal tender in Norway."
"But those tokens are not money," the foreign minister retorted with a big smile. "They are tokens. They have no value or use outside the asylum centre. Do you really think that anyone will accept a casino token outside of that village, far away from the casino? Of course not! The tokens are no more money than what similar tokens would be inside a closed club. They can be used inside the club, but have no value outside of it, so they are clearly not money. Only Norwegian Kroners are money in Norway."

And by this the interviewer had exhausted her questions related to Lundby and its constitutionality. She continued with a few questions regarding the centre and the claim that it was violating human rights. But here too, the foreign minister had no problem defending his position. And in the end, the whole interview seemed to Bjorn to be more like an orchestrated promotion of the foreign ministers policies than a truly critical inquiry.

Bjorn turned off the TV, impressed and a little surprised by what he had just seen. He had not expected such an open talk on Libya, and even less so on Lundby. But now that it had been aired, Bjorn got a strong feeling that the foreign minister was on the offensive, anticipating things to come, and positioning himself as best he could for some imminent storm. "He is a sly fox," Bjorn thought to himself. "This interview was no doubt carefully planned, putting him one step ahead of the rest. By answering questions before they were fully formulated by the opposition, he had effectively silenced most of his critics by making it very hard for them to come with a different interpretation of things."

The mention of more boots on the ground in Libya had left Bjorn a little worried, though. It was absolutely not a place he would like to be sent, and even the remote possibility of being sent there gave him the shivers. He had after all signed onto his three year contract with the army with the checkpoint along the Neiden to Lundby road specifically in mind, and he was at the interview lead to believe that this was indeed the only position he would ever be expected to fill. But the contract he had signed was deliberately vague on the exact scope of his duties, so he could possibly, at least in theory, be sent to Libya against his own wishes.

And with this worry lingering uncomfortably in the back of his mind, he set his alarm for the next morning, hoping that the spectre of Libya would not interfere too much with his sleep.

47

Bjorn folded the Gazette, and put it down on the coffee table in front of him. Seeing that it was still a little crumpled from having been in the pocket of his jacket, he gave it a few strokes with the back of his fingers. Then, looking over to his three colleagues, still waiting for Thomas, Bjorn was again struck by a sudden feeling of being lost in the world. Seemingly out of nowhere, he heard his inner voice once again ask critically of himself "why are you here?"

A sudden urge to have some time to himself gripped him, and so he rose from the sofa, excusing himself politely to his colleagues before heading to his room. Once there, he sat down in his office chair feeling strangely exhausted. He stared out of the window for a long while, letting his thoughts drift freely.

His lap top on the table in front of him remained closed, and the TV on his wall remained turned off. And the dead silence surrounding him felt soothing.

He was obviously tired from all the impressions of the day, but the recurring feeling of aimlessness was worrying. Not least because it reflected the truth. Bjorn's main motives for taking the job as a border guard were that it got him away from Oslo and that it required no special skills. He had no other reasons for being at the check point than that, and with no plans for the future he had effectively stopped thinking of his life as having any purpose or direction. This, as far as he was concerned, was the final stop of his journey.

Then, for some reason, he thought of the boy from Senegal again. His strangely positive attitude had made a strong impression on Bjorn. Clearly, the boy was convinced that circumstances would change, that things would get better. How else were he and his father able to deal with their terrible lot? And it struck Bjorn that he too had sensed an energetic excitement while down in the village. It had been quite an adventure, and the place was infected with a weird sense of optimism despite desperate conditions for most of its inhabitants.

It was the check point and his own lot that was depressing Bjorn. His sense of being aimlessly adrift had nothing to do with the village. In fact, the village was the only thing that seemed to promise something other than just an endless repetition of days with the same format and same content. Just knowing that he would soon return to the village to spend an evening out with his colleagues, going to a restaurant and probably to the casino as well, made everything seem worth while, even exiting.

While his own life was a mess and with no purpose, the village was a mystery, ready to be explored. "Who cares if life has no purpose," Bjorn thought to himself. "At least I have this village to decipher, and who knows, maybe I'll discover something significant. If nothing else, deciphering the village will be an interesting and pleasantly distracting undertaking." And with this in mind, Bjorn grabbed the casino chips he had in his pocket and spread them out on the table in front of him. "Gold backed casino chips," Bjorn thought to himself. "What a strange thing to use as money. Surely, using regular Norwegian Kroners, or US Dollars for that matter, would have been more practical."

37

As it turned out, the work being done in front of the casino was not nearly as nonsensical as it had appeared from afar. The men breaking up the asphalt of the sidewalk were doing this manually, but apart from that, the work made perfect sense once it was clearly explained.

What appeared to be an armed guard overseeing the work, wearing a modern looking gun belt with a hand gun, stood idly at the far end of the stretch of side walk being broken up, and Geir in his self confidence, shamelessly asked for this man's attention, demanding an explanation as to what was going on. Seeing that the man looked foreign, possibly from southern Europe somewhere, Geir chose to speak English, loudly and confidently in his thick Norwegian accent.

To Bjorn's surprise and relief, the guard did not mind at all telling Geir what the plan was, and quite happily explained that Jan, the casino owner, had ordered the sidewalk replaced with a heated one, decorated with black and white cobbled stones, in the style typically found in Portugal. The guard's English was even worse than Geir's, and with an accent Bjorn could not readily place.

"To do this," the guard explained, choosing his words deliberately, at times struggling almost painfully to complete the sentences, "the old asphalt has to be removed... sand has to be raked out to form a flat surface... on top of which specially designed electric heating blankets can be rolled out... and then... to top it all off... another layer of sand must be spread out before the black and white cobbled stones are put in place to form the patterns."
"And the old asphalt is used to fill pot holes up the road?" Geir suggested, to complete the guard's explanation.
"That is correct."
"And how long will this take before it is finished?" Bjorn asked out of pure curiosity.
"We hope to be done by Friday night. We want this place to look its best for the weekend guests."
"That's quick!" Bjorn exclaimed, impressed.
"We have many workers, you know," the guard explained. "With so many hands, we will get everything in place in record time."
"And what are you paying these people?" Bjorn asked, hoping he wasn't pushing the guard too much by this question that he could not resist asking.
"I don't know," the guard replied, not upset at all by the question. "These are Jan's workers. I assume they get the usual hundred MG per day."
"And you? You are getting more than that I assume," Bjorn ventured, still unable to keep his curiosity under wraps.

The guard looked at Bjorn for a moment, before deciding to tell him the truth. "Once this job is done, I get to take a hundred gram gold wafer with me back to Portugal," the man replied.
"Hey! That's pretty good," Bjorn exclaimed, honestly impressed. "Not bad for a few days work!"
"Not bad at all!" the guard agreed. "I came here on Sunday, and this coming Sunday, I'll be back in Porto with my gold."
"Just for looking after these guys?" Bjorn enquired, finding the pay excessive. The man was after all making almost as much money in a week as Bjorn was making in a month.
"Well, I'm the master coble stone layer in charge of this project. That's pretty much what I charge. Only problem is that there are few projects these days, with the economy as it is. I don't always have work. But when I do, it pays pretty well."
"So you are not guarding these people?" Bjorn asked, suddenly realizing that the man was not a guard, but a craftsman.
"Guarding?" the man asked puzzled. "No, I'm supervising the work and making sure everything is done correctly."
"But the gun?" Bjorn asked.
"The gun? That's for protection. There are no police here, so we have to do the policing ourselves."

36

Still waiting for the black boy to come back from the casino with his change, Bjorn finished his coffee, tossed the paper cup into a bin next to Peter's stall, and started unwrapping his cheese and ham baguette while looking around at the people coming and going through the little market place.

There were a large number of cigarette packs, stacked neatly on top of each other on the right hand side of Peter's stall,  flanked by a metal basket containing what appeared to be the latest copy of the Lundby Gazette. "Pack of 20 cigarettes = 20MG" a small sign read, taped onto the table in front of the packs. "Free news" another sign read, this one taped onto the metal basket.

"May I?" Bjorn asked, reaching for a copy of the newspaper. "They are free, right?"
"Yes they are," Peter replied while handling another customer.
"And a pack of cigarettes," Bjorn continued.
"That will be 20MG... Help yourself!"

Bjorn grabbed a newspaper and a pack of cigarettes with his free hand, put the cigarettes in his pocket, and proceeded to read the top headline, all while taking a first bite of his baguette. "Preparing for the big invasion," the newspaper read in fat types all over the top half of the flimsy paper. "What's this?" Bjorn thought, immediately curious to read on.

The article turned out to be a local angle on the fact that all the asylum centres in Norway would soon be shut down, with the asylum seekers having to choose between going to Lundby or leaving the country. And while the author assumed that most people would choose to try their luck some other place, he was nevertheless convinced that the influx of new residents to Lundby would be significant over the next couple of months. However, before Bjorn had time to read all the author's thoughts on the matter, Peter's little helper returned with Bjorn's change as promised, and Bjorn had to stuff the newspaper into his pocket, together with the cigarettes, in order to handle the change.

Geir who had been inspecting, as it were, the rest of the tiny market place while Bjorn had been hanging around Peter's stall, suddenly appeared next to him, just as he clumsily directed a small handfull of casino tokens, held in his right hand, into his left hand trouser pocket.

"Stuffing yourself with free stuff, I see," Geir said with a smile, obviously finding it amusing to see Bjorn's difficulty in handling all the things he had eagerly acquired.
"Yeah, they really are giving stuff away for free down here," Bjorn replied, also with a smile, realizing how silly he must look with a newspaper sticking out of one pocket, a baguette in his left hand, and his right hand crossing over to his left hand pocket in order to put away his change.
"Here! Let me help you with that," Geir suggested, taking the baguette out of Bjorn's hand for a moment to give him two free hands.
"Thanks," Bjorn replied, relieved to have full control of the tokens again.

Handing the baguette back to Bjorn, Geir suggested they cut over to the casino to see what the work in front of it was all about. "Yeah, let's do that!" Bjorn answered, eager to see if there was any sense in it all.

35

Bjorn and Geir headed straight for the little stalls occupying the centre of the village square, curious to see what kind of things they had on offer. The stalls, less than ten in all, formed a miniature open air market, doing quite well by all appearances, attracting the attention of a surprisingly large number of people out and about in the grey and threatening weather.

The stalls were positioned in such a way that people cutting diagonally across the square naturally had to walk in between them on their way to the other side, which struck Bjorn as a clever way of attracting maximum attention also from people who would otherwise have ignored them.

"This is new," Geir remarked as they approached the cluster of stalls in the middle of the square.
"What is?" Bjorn asked looking at the make shift stalls.
"All of this. There was not any of this last time I was down here.
"And when was that?" asked Bjorn as he looked over at a selection of Asian sweets and specialities offered at the first stall they passed.
"Last week. I came down with Ante to help him buy groceries at Pingo."

Bjorn stopped and looked over at the tiny super market, next to the petrol station. "Really?" Bjorn remarked uninterested. "And there were no stalls out here then."
"No."
"Not that these stalls look very new," Bjorn continued. "Flimsy, make shift things, aren't they?"
"They probably found these stalls in some abandoned warehouse somewhere," Geir speculated.
"Yeah."

A stall offering various snacks and refreshments caught Bjorn's eye. "That looks interesting," he mumbled, turning in its direction before excusing himself to Geir, who headed over to a stall selling cheese.
The snacks and refreshments stall was tucked in between a stall selling vegetables and another selling jackets and boots, as well as other garments, but Bjorn's attention was directed entirely towards a pile of baguettes and sandwiches being offered at the stand he was heading for.

"Ten MG for a baguette with cheese and ham?" Bjorn asked in English, surprised by the low price noted on the side of the stall.
"Yes, this is all ten MG," the short Arab-looking man behind the stall replied, pointing to his big variety of sandwiches and baguettes.
"And the coffee?" Bjorn asked, ignoring the little sign with "5MG per cup" propped up in front of the thermoses.
"That is five MG."
"Fifteen MG for a baguette and a coffee," Bjorn said approvingly. "Well why not?"

Bjorn handed his five hundred MG token over to the man, who reacted as if it was a fortune.

"Don't you have anything smaller?" the man asked, holding the token up against the light, as if to check for some kind of authentication.
"No, that's the only money I got," Bjorn replied bemused by all the fuss the man was making.
"Okay," he said. "But I will have to break this into smaller tokens. Do you have time to wait a minute? You can take your baguette and coffee while you wait."
"Sure!" Bjorn answered, feeling confident that he would soon get his change.

However, Bjorn felt suddenly less sure of himself when the man handed his five hundred MG over to a young, pre teen black boy who had been loitering in the background while Bjorn had been talking to the Arab. The man and the boy exchanged a few short sentences in Arabic, and the boy set off towards the Casino. Was this the last he was going to see of his five hundred, or would the boy return? Bjorn wondered, as he followed the boy with his eye.

"You gave my five hundred to that boy?" Bjorn asked nervously.
"Oh, don't worry, he'll be back," the Arab replied with a smile.
"But five hundred is a fortune to that boy!" Bjorn protested.
"Ah, but I know where he lives," the Arab replied with an even bigger smile. "Now, if you will excuse me, I'd like to help this gentleman over here."

Bjorn turned his head to face a tall blond guy who had apparently already signalled what he wanted since he got two sandwiches handed over to him as soon as Bjorn stepped aside. The man thanked the Arab, mentioning his name as he handed over a twenty MG token.

"Peter?" Bjorn asked, curious about the Arab's origin. "That's not a Muslim name, is it?"
"No, I'm Christian."
"From Syria?" Bjorn guessed.
"Yes. It is terrible what is happening there, you know."
"Yeah. So I've heard..."

Bjorn looked over at the Casino, but there was still no sign of the boy. He took a sip of his coffee, and looked around. There were young kids loitering everywhere, and it made him uncomfortable. Then it struck him that Lundby probably did not have any schools for the kids, and he felt again a sting of guilt as he realized the magnitude of the misery that he was being paid to sustain. "No school, no future!" he thought to himself, vaguely remembering a slogan from a political campaign he could no longer remember.

30

Ane looked very pleased with herself as she walked over to Bjorn, leaving the workers at the end of the production line to resume their activities.

"They were planning to park the fish outside," Ane explained. "A terrible idea. It is difficult enough to keep the seagulls away from the fish we're hauling into the plant, so you can imagine what would happen if we left these crates with finished product out there for the birds to peck into."
"It would be a right mess, wouldn't it?" replied Bjorn, stating the obvious.
"You could say that again. But some of these people have never seen the sea before, let alone seagulls, so I guess they can be forgiven for coming up with such a silly idea."

Bjorn was happy to see Ane so talkative, and eager to keep her that way he glanced over at two men pulling a cartload of finished product over towards the sea side wall.

"So you told them to put the fish over there?" Bjorn asked.
Ane followed his glance. "Yes, that's the idea," she concurred, joining Bjorn in observing the men. Then, as the men stopped by the gate, Ane raised her hand in approval, signalling that the men could go ahead and park the fish at their chosen spot.

The two men, an African and an Asian smiled and waved back at Ane, clearly happy for her approval, and this made Bjorn again curious about the sort of conditions the workers were labouring under. He could not quite make up his mind as to the nature of what he was witnessing. The smiles of the workers, taking pride in doing things right, did not quite square up with the drab and dreary vision of a gulag. But on the other hand, Ane was in possession of a gun, and probably for good reasons.

"How much are you paying them?" Bjorn ventured, hoping he wasn't overstepping his welcome by asking such a loaded question.
"Hundred MG per day," Ane replied without hesitation, clearly not bothered by the fact that so little money could hardly be considered a living wage.
"But that's nothing," Bjorn protested. "Nobody can live on that."
"Well, they are alive, aren't they?" Ane replied, with her cold stare returning in a flash.
"But you can hardly get a loaf of bread for so little these days," Bjorn continued, ignoring Ane's stare, feeling rightfully outraged on behalf of the workers.

Ane paused as if considering whether or not to bother a reply. Then, apparently sensing that Bjorn was genuinely interested in some sort of explanation, she continued.

"They are paid what they are worth. There is no shortage of labour, you know. And in a few weeks time, there will be thousands coming up here, and then I may well pay them even less."
"Less than a hundred MG? There is no way anyone can survive on so little," Bjorn protested.
"Want to bet?" Ane replied. "Do you have any idea what things cost up here?"

Bjorn was suddenly reminded of the five hundred MG that he was carrying in his pocket, which Ante had assured him was enough for a full night of fun in the village. And it suddenly dawned on him that prices may indeed be radically different in the village from what he was used to in Oslo.

Bjorn had to admit that he did not in fact know what things cost in Lundby. "But can people really live on a hundred MG a day?"
"Well, clearly they do," Ane answered. "Do these people look as if they are starving?"

21

Back in the common room, Bjorn found Ante leafing through a flimsy little newspaper in an easy chair over by the window, and Frank still sitting in front of the TV.
"So what does 500 MG stand for?" Bjorn asked as he sat down in the sofa across from Ante.
"It is short for 500 milligram," Ante replied without putting down the newspaper. "It is half a Gram."
"Half a gram of what?"
"Of gold," Ante replied, now putting down the paper. "You can get physical gold delivered in return for those chips over at the casino. They only accept round numbers, though. The smallest gold wafer is two and a half Gram, and is really tiny. And there is a fixed service charge of 100 MG for each wafer to discourage people from trading in their chips for gold."
"So if I have five of these, I can get one of their smallest gold wafers?" Bjorn asked, holding up the green chip.
"Well, it would cost you 100 MG, so strictly speaking, you would need 100 MG in addition to your two and a half Gram in order to get one of their smallest wafers."
"That´s kind of cool, though," Bjorn remarked. "But why are they doing this?"
"Beats me. Jan and Pedro just decided to do things this way, and that´s how it has been."
"Jan and Pedro?"
"Oh, you haven´t heard of Jan and Pedro, have you?"
"No."
"Well, Jan owns the casino, and most of the land out here. And Pedro is the guy who negotiated the asylum centre deal with the foreign minister. Pedro is in charge of the asylum centre. He is into all sorts of businesses, apparently, and this is his latest venture."
"Making a living off of other people´s misery?"
"Perhaps. I don´t know. How about you? Aren´t you too making a living off of this asylum centre?"
"Well... yeah... I guess I am, in a way."

Ante was right, of course, and it was silly of Bjorn to point a moralizing finger at anyone regarding the ethics of the asylum centre. He leaned back in the sofa, and put the green chip back in his pocket.

"So have you decided whether or not you´ll come with us to Lundby on Friday?" Ante asked, changing the topic to something less political.
"I´m not sure. What´s the plan?"
"I have reserved a table at Nora´s place. It´s a Philipino place. Very good food, they say. And then we´ll go over to the casino and have a few beers afterwards."
"That´s it?"
"Yeah. What did you expect?"
"Nothing really. Who´s going?"
"Me, Thomas, Espen, and Frank. There is room for one more in my car. You know. You really should come with us. It will be fun."
"So you are going too?" Bjorn asked, looking over at Frank.

Frank confirmed the fact with a short "yep", and for some reason, this was the bit of encouragement Bjorn needed in order to accept Ante´s offer.

"Okay. I´m in," Bjorn said with a smile.
"Great!"

Ante looked at Bjorn, very pleased with himself. Then he pushed the thin little newspaper he had been reading over to Bjorn, pointing to an article on the front page. "Five stars for Nora´s place," was the title, spelled out in English rather than Norwegian.

"Here, why don´t you read this? It will make your mouth water!" Ante said. But Bjorn´s eyes was on the title of the newspaper. "The Lundby Gazette."
"They got their own newspaper?" Bjorn asked puzzled. "In English?"
"Yeah. Its a free weekly thing, and it´s all in English. Most people in Lundby don´t speak Norwegian, so I guess that´s why. I picked this one up last time I was down there. You find them everywhere. Didn´t you come across this on the ferry. They have them there too. In those metal boxes, you know."
"Really?"
"The articles are mainly promotions of Lundby as a tourist destination. But it features real news too."
"And who´s behind this?"
"I don´t know. Who cares? It´s a pretty good paper, for what it is. You find them on line too, if you´re interested. I´m sure you´ll find out who runs the thing if you´re curious. I suspect it's controlled by Jan, though. He is the one with the casino, so he is the one most likely to benefit from the PR."

Bjorn picked up the flimsy paper, and started reading it, quickly noticing that the grammar was far from perfect. Someone with a fairly limited knowledge of English was behind this, and the spelling was probably only as good as it was due to automatic spell checking. But the layout and look and feel of the thing was as good as anything. It looked very professional, so it was painfully irritating that the grammar made it hard to read at times.

19

Bjorn was relieved from his shift by the chubby young man who had been sitting in the glass cage when Bjorn arrived at the check point with Ante the day before. The man introduced himself as Geir before excusing himself for being five minutes late, and he did this in a strange self important manner that Bjorn soon understood to be a part of his character. So when he explained that he had been delayed by Frank, it was almost as if he was referring to a great leader.

Frank had received news of a planned delivery of fish to the processing plant down in the village, and had stopped Geir on his way out to the glass cage to tell him that he had picked Geir to go down and inspect the site, making sure that the factory complies fully with the rules regarding the colony. He had also told Geir that he had picked Bjorn to be Geir´s assistant, since this would be a good opportunity for him to get familiar with the place.

The appointment with the manager of the processing plant was scheduled to twelve o´clock next day, and Thomas would be in charge of the glass cage while they were off on business in Lundby. Bjorn´s assignment for the next day would in other words be to man the glass cage until a little before noon, and then to spend whatever time necessary to make sure everything is in order at the plant, before returning to the regular schedule at the check point.

It all sounded fair enough, and Bjorn handed Geir the keys to the gun rack, before bidding him good bye. He walked slowly up to the barracks, lighting a cigarette as he went. The ground was soaking wet from melting snow, and the sun was pleasantly warm, contrasting the cool air. The thought of a trip down to the village the next day took hold as he stood in the sun by the entrance to the barracks, finishing his cigarette, and a sense of adventure filled him as he speculated on what it would be like.

Frank was sitting in front of the TV in the common area watching the news when Bjorn finally stepped into the warmth of the barracks. Frank confirmed what Geir had been saying, adding that he had chosen Geir because of his trustworthiness when it comes to this kind of things. No one was as well versed in the rules of the check point as him. Not even Frank knew the rules in such details as Geir, and he could always be relied upon to check out things thoroughly.

"Not like some other people who don´t seem to care one bit about the rules," Frank added with a louder voice as Ante stepped into the room.
"What? Me? Rules?" Ante asked, looking puzzled.
"Exactly!" Frank answered, with a broad smile. "You don´t care much about the rules, do you?"
"What rules?" Ante asked with an even broader smile.

Frank chuckled, and turned his attention back to the TV.

"There is left overs from lunch in the kitchen. You go and help yourself," Ante said, addressing Bjorn. "I heard you´re off to Lundby tomorrow."
"Yes, that seems to be the case."
"Do you have any Grams?"
"Grams?" Bjorn was suddenly confused.
"You know, the money they use down there?"
"Ah! No, I don´t. Do I need money going down there?"
"Only if you want to buy something."
"Like what?"
"Like cigarettes, for example. We are not going to provide you with cigarettes up here. If you want them you will have to get them yourself. And the closest place to get them is down in the village."

Bjorn had brought a carton of cigarettes from Oslo, which should do fine for several weeks, so he was not in any desperate need for more.

"Well, I don´t think I need to buy anything while I´m down there."
"Okay. But why don´t you borrow some money from me, just in case. If you don´t use it, you can return it to me."

Ante held a green gambling chip up in front of Bjorn, and Bjorn was again struck by the strange habit of using gambling chips from the casino as money.

"How much do I owe you if I spend it all?" Bjorn asked as he accepted the chip reluctantly.
"You can keep it if you take my night shift on Sunday. It buys you a night out in Lundby, complete with dinner and as much you can drink."
"Really?"
"Unless you go completely over board, of course."
"And what do I owe you if I spend just a part of this?"
"If you break it, it´s yours, and you have to take my Sunday night shift."
"That´s the deal, is it?"
"That´s the deal!"

Bjorn smiled and put the chip in his pocket. Then he headed over to the kitchen for some food. The memory of Ante´s delicious lasagne from the day before made Bjorn suddenly intensely aware of how much of an appetite he had worked up while out in the glass cage.

5

The ferry came to a complete stop at a wharf separated from the deep water harbour by a large round rock sticking half way into the water. The ramp was lowered, and everyone were allowed to leave, with the police officer escorting the Africans to a small office in the middle of the open area directly in front of the ferry, and the young woman, with her oversized suitcase, hurrying over to a waiting bus a bit further up.

Bjorn´s instructions, which he received a week before leaving for his assignment, were to report to the chief officer at the Lundby Port checkpoint, which had to be the office directly in front of him. But, seeing that the men at the check point would have to take care of the Africans first, he went over to the rounded rock to the side of the wharf to waste some time, climbing its moderate incline to get another full view of the port.

The deep water harbour looked completely abandoned with no sign of any activity, and if it had not been for two cars parked over by a shed at the far eastern edge of the port, he would not have guessed that anyone was there at all. However, just as he was about to turn and go back down the rock, he heard the distant clatter of a heavily loaded train approaching the port.

And as if this clatter had been some sort of signal, two men came out of the shed, heading across the tarmac of the port in the direction of the machinery designed to move iron ore onto the heap at the other end of the port. The train came into view from behind a hill to the east, coming to a slow stop as it reached the port.

Bjorn was at once fascinated by the scene where everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Even the men walking briskly over to the heavy machinery seemed to move slowly, surrounded as they were by big structures on every side.

Bjorn tossed a glance towards the check point to see if he could stand and watch the spectacle across the water for a little longer, but to his surprise, the Africans were already gone, and nowhere to be seen. He hurried down the rock and over to the office where he presented himself to the first man he met.

"So you are Bjorn" the man said, clearly expecting him. "I´m Trond, chief officer at this checkpoint."
"Glad to meet you."
"Can I see your papers."

Handing him his papers, he could not help noticing the police officer that had escorted the Africans, standing behind him. And still puzzled about their whereabouts, he asked about them.

"They are on their way to Lundby" the officer explained, adding "on the bus" in way of further explanation.
"You just put them on the bus? Just like that?"
"Yes."
"With no escort?"
"With no escort."
"No interrogation? No nothing?"
"We just hand out these tokens, one to each of them, and the rest is up to them," the officer explained, pulling a plastic chip out of his pocket.
"You are sending them to the casino?" Bjorn asked in amazement.

The officer smiled at Bjorn´s bewilderment, before explaining that the tokens function as money in the village.

"They can of course be wasted on the casino," the officer continued, "but I think most people have other priorities when they get here. We only give them enough for the bus fair, and a single night at the local hotel. The rest is up to them."

So this was the new Norwegian policy towards asylum seekers, thought Bjorn to himself, shocked to hear that people were completely left to their own devices in this terribly hostile environment, where a night sleeping rough on the streets would see you dead before dawn.

The officer turned to a colleague, asking him to call the Neiden checkpoint to pick up Bjorn. Then he turned back to Bjorn again, explaining that the company taking care of the asylum seekers have promised to arrange shelter and food in return for non-interference by the authorities.

"We do go into Lundby to check on the conditions from time to time. And so far, everything seems to be in order," the officer continued, noting that Bjorn was still quite stunned to learn the cold hard reality of the country´s new policy towards asylum seekers.

Trond excused himself, heading over to an approaching car. "I´ll let you know when your colleague arrives. Feel free to sit down in the office, or walk around as you please."

4

The ferry passed through a narrow straight, only a few hundred metres wide, before entering a wider and more open landscape. The mountains that had come progressively closer together, pulled back, revealing a port on the south shore, and a small cluster of houses on a low hill protruding into the fjord some distance further up.

Everything looked small in the grand landscape, but the port turned out to be quite a lot bigger than Bjorn had imagined. It was equipped to handle at least two ships simultaneously, with one part of the port dedicated to handling iron ore, and another part equipped with a large crane that could be used to unload containers.

It struck Bjorn as a bit strange to have a big crane on a port that had iron ore as its only export. However, considering how isolated the port was, it probably made sense to have a crane capable of unloading whatever machinery the mine might require directly from a ship rather than to have such equipment delivered in parts through alternative routes, and Bjorn let the thought rest with this as he proceeded to look for other land marks and tell tale signs of his future residence.

Bjorn was scrutinizing the hills to the south of the village for any sign of the check point where he would be spending the next few months when he was interrupted in his thoughts by the ticket controller.

"Is this your first trip to Lundby?" the man asked as he punched the ticket that Bjorn handed over to him.
"It is," Bjorn confirmed with a thoughtful nod.
"Are you planning to spend any time in the village?"
"No."
"Really?"
"No. I´m going to stay at the check point over at the road to Neiden."
"And never enter the village?"
"I wasn´t planning to. Why?"
"Well. It has some nice places to visit."
"Like what?"
"Like restaurants and night clubs and stuff."
"Night clubs? In Lundby?"
"Well. Only one."
"Lundby has a night club?"
"It does. It is not a bad place."
"You mean to say that Lundby, which was completely abandoned until just a few months ago, has a night scene with restaurants and a night club, and stuff like that?"
"It sure does. You should check it out."

Bjorn was stunned. This was very unexpected. No one had mentioned anything about restaurants and the like in Lundby, and he had thought of the place as a prison camp more than anything else. Yet, here he was talking to one with local knowledge, basically claiming that the place is an entertaining place to visit. Bjorn was tempted to have the woman sitting up front confirm what the man was saying, but seeing that she was still completely absorbed by her book, he simply told the man that he might consider checking the place out one day.

"Make sure you have some tokens if you do. Most of the places only accept Gram."
"Gram?"
"Yeah. They are like casino tokens. They serve as money in most of the places."
"Really?"
"All the places are basically owned by this one guy who owns the casino, and he insists on using the so called Gram tokens as money."
"So there is a casino in Lundby too?"
"Well. That´s the name of the night club."
"Oh. I see. Well. I´ll get some tokens when I need them."
"They are the cheapest if you buy them over there" said the man, pointing to a vending machine over by the stair well.

So this was what the man had been driving at all along, thought Bjorn with a smile as he thanked him for letting him know about the casino tokens. It was all a sales pitch for using the vending machine. A sales pitch that Bjorn chose to ignore.