197

Bjorn sat down at his desk. And with the numbers in front of him, he started to estimate the value of all the services he got from the state, so as to come up with a more correct number for his actual net income.

He made a list of all the free stuff he was getting from the state. Then, next to each service, he put an estimate of what the service was worth. For health care, he came up with a ball park number of how much it might cost for a lifetime. Then he took that number and divided it by eighty years to get what may be a fair annual price for an insurance policy. For his pension, he put down fifteen years of modest consumption, and divided that price with forty years of work. And for old people care, he put down a ball park number for what two years of home care might cost, which he also divided by forty.

For his two children, he estimated a price for putting them through school, and divided that with forty. Then he added some numbers for police protection and defense. Finally, he threw two years of unemployment into his calculations. He added up the numbers and divided it by twelve to get the average monthly cost of all the services.

It was a significant number, equivalent to one third of his gross income. But he was being taxed much more than that, so he looked through the numbers again to see if he had greatly underestimated any of the costs. He added to the numbers to make the total bigger, but there was no way to come anywhere close to his total tax rate without putting down ridiculously big numbers.

Somehow, at least half of what he was paying in taxes were going to something other than his welfare. Some of this might be going to the poor and needy, he thought. But even then, the total tax rate seemed more than a little excessive. And this was just the tax on his income. In addition to this, there was sales tax, property tax, licenses, fees and so on. All adding to the total cost of the supposedly free stuff handed out by the state.

Bjorn adjusted his tax rate to reflect what it would have been, had he not been in the unfortunate situation that he was, with back taxes on his inheritance. But there was still a lot of unexplained overhead. Even at a typical tax rate, the numbers were hard to explain.

"So, where does all this extra money go?" Bjorn wondered. Then, he realized that he had not added in the bureaucracy required to process the tax returns, and funnel the money into the various services, and for a moment he thought that this needed to be added to his list. However, when he thought about it a little more, he realized that it would be a mistake to include the bureaucracy as a service. He had listed each actual service with generous numbers that should easily account for their internal administrative overhead. Adding a separate line for bureaucracy, as if it was a service in itself, would be wrong. It added nothing to his well being, and was therefore not a service. Yet it consumed more than half of his taxes, and even in an ideal situation with a typical tax rate, the bureaucracy was consuming at least thirty percent of the taxes.

"But that means that there must be at least one bureaucrat for every three individual working," Bjorn thought. "That's crazy! Surely, the bureaucracy is not that inefficient. We are talking actual bureaucrats here, not people like myself, providing one of the services listed here."

Bjorn had defense as a distinct item on his list of services, so he was not himself a bureaucrat. He was a service provider. The bureaucrats were overhead, pure and simple. And they were, according to his numbers, consuming a large part of people's income. So much so that Bjorn got a distinct feeling that something sinister was going on. "Someone is siphoning money out of the system," Bjorn thought to himself. "There's simply not enough bureaucrats in this country to account for this big number. Something else must be going on. Some fat cat out there is having his pockets lined at the public's expense."

196

Bjorn went back to his room after dinner, sat down on his bed and turned on the TV. However, he kept the sound off and watched the news channel as a sort of distraction rather than as a source of information. His thoughts remained centered around what had been discussed around the dinner table.

The atmosphere had been surprisingly relaxed, despite the big differences in perspective. Thomas had made some rather provocative claims, especially in the ears of people like Frank and John, but no one's feelings had been hurt. It had all been quite civil, despite the frank language used, and Bjorn wondered for a minute how that could be. Then a thought struck him, that it might have been Ante, or rather his food and wine, that had set the stage for the open and relaxed atmosphere.

The feeling of wealth and plenty that Ante's meals always conjured up set the stage for the sort of frank and open exchange of ideas that Bjorn had just witnessed. One could not help feeling content and pleased sitting at Ante's table, and with such a cushion to lean on, as it were, mere words and ideas were nothing to be overly worried about. The world would not end, one way or the other. And to think that anyone actually had a say in the matters discussed was delusional anyway. No one at the table had any real influence on the world of politics. Everybody knew that. And in that respect, it mattered little what Thomas or anyone else might think about the state of the world.

But before Bjorn had time to think more about Ante's ability to create a good atmosphere for discussions, he was suddenly distracted by the word Lundby on a banner being waved on TV, and he turned on the sound to hear what the news was all about. However, there was nothing new being said. The protests against the colony was continuing, mostly in Oslo, but other places too. People were gathering outside asylum centers, repeating the same mantra about the Lundby colony being cruel and uncivilized.

"We can't send people to the arctic, just like that," people said. "It's inhumane. It violates their rights. It's fascist. It's not worthy of a civilized country like Norway to treat people like this."

But the project had not lost any of it's popularity among the general public, despite the protests, the anchor woman noted. Then she asked a news reporter in front of a gathering of protesters why she thought the general public did not object to the cruelty of sending people to the arctic, noting that many of the refugees were indeed from warm places like Africa and the Middle East, making it all the worse to send them to a place so cruelly different from where they were from.

"It is hard to say," the reporter answered. "It may be the crisis. It is certainly not natural for us as a nation to be so indifferent to people's suffering as we are today."

And with that reply forming the final note on the matter, the anchor woman thanked the reporter for her insights before switching to economic news where the big headline for the day was a private pension fund that had gone bankrupt. Having made tremendous losses on financial papers tied to European debt, the pension fund could no longer meet its obligations, and with the new right wing government unwilling to pick up the pieces, the bankrupt fund had been liquidated.

The assets were already being transferred to another insurance company, the anchor woman explained, and new contracts would soon be issued to the unfortunate pensioners, however, at a substantially lower monthly payout than what had been the case up until the bankruptcy. The pensioners were in essence left without a say in the matter, and when interviewed about it, one angry old lady described it as daylight robbery and a gigantic failure of capitalism.

Bjorn turned the sound off again, having heard enough to feel relieved that he never payed anything into any pension fund. Except, of course, the mandatory monthly contribution to the state pension fund. But that was state run, and could not fold in the same way. Its pay outs were guaranteed, not by some private company, but by the state itself.

And while thinking about the convenience and security provided by the state run pension fund, Bjorn was reminded of all the other services provided by the state. Health care, old people care, schools, police, courts of justice, fire fighters and defense were all provided by the state, free for all. And in that light, Bjorn's salary was not bad at all. To think that he was no better off than people like Aung in Lundby, was just plain silly.

Why had he even thought such a silly thing? Bjorn wondered. Salaries in Lundby were horrendously pitiful. And they had to pay for everything. Nothing was free down there. They didn't even have schools. That's how bad things were. And then, for some reason, Bjorn had nevertheless managed to imagine himself no better off than them.

Bjorn turned off the TV, shaking his head in silent recognition of his own silliness. Then he got up from where he was sitting, found the letter from Oslo on his desk and looked through it again.

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.

173

Still feeling uncomfortable about the things said during breakfast, Bjorn appeared at the glass cage with his PC and charger tucked under his arm, a thermos with black coffee in one hand, and an ham sandwich in the other. He excused himself for being late to John, briefly mentioning the new instructions and Frank's insistence on everybody following the new rules.

"He'll go through all the details with you and Geir later today, I'm sure," Bjorn continued, dropping off his things on the ledge by the window.

John handed the automatic pistol that was hanging across his abdomen over to Bjorn. "Okay, put this on, will you," he replied, eager as always to get out of the cage and back to the barracks. And as soon as Bjorn had tossed the belt of the gun over his shoulder, John was out of the office and heading quickly back to his other colleagues.

The gun felt clunky and uncomfortable, but he quickly go used to it. Sitting down, the gun rested across his lap where it did not get in the way of his movements. Bjorn plugged the power supply of his PC into a free socket by the door, and put the laptop itself on the narrow shelf-like desk in front of him. He turned it on, and knowing that it would take a few seconds before he could use it, he looked out at the view in front of him.

The sun was shining, and the view was as stunning as always. The great landscape, so indifferent and peaceful, was soothing to watch. "There are no rules or regulations out there," Bjorn thought to himself. "Nothing complicated to keep in mind. Just the natural order of things, intuitively known by all beings." Bjorn heaved a great sigh, and was about to return his attention to his PC when he spotted a small gray ship over by the narrow strait to Kirkenes.

Bjorn picked up the binoculars to take a closer look. "It must be the coastguard," he thought to himself. And he was right. The coastguard had already taken up its position by the straight to make sure no one could enter or leave the colony by boat without proper documentation. The ship, with its small artillery gun at its bow, looked uncomfortably menacing, and Bjorn was again struck by a sense that things were getting out of control. The sight of the ship should have given him a feeling of control and order. However, much to Bjorn's own surprise, he was feeling quite the opposite. Watching the gunboat float almost motionless at the mouth of the narrows, he could not help thinking of it as a predator laying in wait for its pray.

Bjorn put the binoculars down, and was about to return his attention once more to his PC when a car, coming down from Neiden, pulled up next to the glass cage. He recognized the driver immediately as the man who had offered him a pack of cigarettes the other day.

Bjorn opened the window. "Your passport please," he said, pretending not to know the man.
"Ah! But you know me. We're friends, remember?" the man said with a broad smile.
"Sure. But I still need your passport. And you have to stop taking so much stuff with you out of the colony."
"Really? Why?"
"New rules. Effective from tomorrow. Lundby will be treated like an airport. You can't take with you as much as you please. And you'll have to be down there for at least 24 hours to get your quota."
"No exceptions?"
"No exceptions."

The man handed over his passport, and for a moment Bjorn did not know what to do with it. He had not logged into the web site yet, so he had nowhere to register the passport number. However, he soon found a pencil and a scrap of paper to note it down for later. He would punch the number into the database as soon as he was logged in.

"We'll be registering everybody going in and coming out of the colony," Bjorn explained. "So there's no way around this, now."
"Not even between friends?" the man asked cheekily.
"Like I said. No exceptions."
"But today is still all right?"
"Yep. Today is your last day of freedom," Bjorn said, handing the passport back to the man.
"My last day of freedom, aye?" The man said with a cheeky smile.

Bjorn had no idea why he had used the word freedom as he did. It was silly of him. And having nothing more to say, he closed his window and opened the barrier for the driver without saying anything, ignoring the man as he sent Bjorn a friendly wave of his hand before heading into the colony.

The car drove swiftly down the curvy road, and soon disappeared behind the hill to the right, leaving Bjorn once more to himself. He returned his focus to his PC, pulled up his favorite browser, and proceeded to punch in the web address given to him by Frank.

The web site was hosted by the department of justice, and once he was logged into it, Bjorn had no trouble finding the right place to type in the passport number he had scratched down. And the response was pretty much immediate. A copy of the man's passport was presented on his screen, complete with a little comment in a yellow banner at the top of the page. "Warning:" it read. "3 past convictions. Smuggling (2 counts), Possession of narcotics (1 count)."

Bjorn thought for a second that he had made a mistake in letting the man into the colony, but once he clicked on the warning, he found to his relief that he had done nothing wrong. A pop up explained that yellow warnings were simply helpful remarks. Then, clicking on a link for further help, Bjorn learned that the web site operated with three different banners. Green banners were all clear signs. Yellow banners were warning signs, and red banners were immediate action signs. Typical action on a red banner would be either denial of entry or arrest.

Bjorn clicked on the phrase denial of entry, curious to learn more, and found himself immediately presented with a searchable database. It was the blacklist that Frank had mentioned. He had several fields he could use to search. And he could even browse if he so wished. One field was fixed, though. He could not change his own location from being Lundby. The database was in other words set up to give different results depending on location, and the only location Bjorn was allowed to browse was Lundby.

Bjorn did not immediately know of anyone he would like to check. But then, remembering the nervous looking woman and her daughter that he had let in the other day, Bjorn chose to try out the database by typing in the woman's name. He typed in Cecilie's full name, hit return, and was immediately presented with a copy of her passport. It had a red banner. "Warning:" it read. "Immediate arrest on charges of: Kidnapping (1 count), Assault (1 count), Harassment (5 counts)."

172

There was a moment of awkward silence in the kitchen as the implication of Thomas' confession was sinking in. He had said what everybody must have sensed for a while. But the mention of it had nevertheless come as a shock. And Bjorn, admitting that he too had no idea why he had been selected above all the other applicants for the job he was holding, did not help the situation. There was something not quite right about the checkpoint, and everybody knew it.

Frank scratched his neck nervously. Then he broke the silence. Completely ignoring Thomas' remark, and pretending not to have heard Bjorn's response, Frank started to lay out the new rules for the checkpoint, as prescribed by their superiors in Oslo.

Lundby was from now on going to be classified as a tax free zone, a giant airport as it were, which meant that the checkpoints would from now on act as the customs offices at international airports. And this in turn meant that everyone entering the colony would have to show their passport. Furthermore, to combat crime and smuggling, every passport must be scanned both on entering and on leaving the colony. That way, there would be no problem monitoring the traffic, making sure that criminals don't enter or leave the colony. Keeping track of how long each person has been in the colony would also be easy that way, a useful feature considering that the right to a tax free quota only applied to people spending at least twenty four hours in the colony.

However, since the scanner required had yet to arrive, the passport numbers would have to be typed in by hand, and Frank handed Bjorn a piece of paper containing a web address with a user name and password.

"You have your own laptop I take it?" Frank asked as he handed the piece of paper to Bjorn.
"Yes, I do," Bjorn answered.
"And you're fine with using it for now?"
"Sure."
"And that goes for all you others as well," Frank continued, looking at everybody around the table before returning his focus to Bjorn. "If you just leave that note in the glass cage for everybody else to use, we'll all be using our own lap tops until we get the scanner."

Frank paused for a moment to let his instructions sink in. Then he continued by letting everybody know that the new rules would only come into full effect the next day.

"We will only be warning people of the new rules. However, we will start recording passport numbers, and we will have to detain any criminals that may try to enter or escape the colony," Frank continued. "The database will tell us if we are dealing with a criminal, so we don't need to memorize a long list of faces. However, the website contains a searchable blacklist of people wanted by the state, and it may be a good idea to memorize the faces of the most dangerous ones on that list."

Bjorn was for a moment distracted by the mention of a blacklist, and the fact that the rules would start being enforced on Tuesday. Was this the test that Pedro had in store for him, he wondered. And the blacklist, surely it could not be the one used by the people in Lundby. But his attention soon returned to Frank who revealed to everybody's delight that the extra work implied a higher salary for everyone.

"We will all get a raise due to this," Frank said with a smile. "However, we will also have to be less fraternal with the villagers. We are from now on obliged to wear our uniforms and carry our handguns whenever visiting the village. No more civilian clothes for us when going down there, in other words."
"Not even when on official leave?" Ante asked. "Like holidays?"
"Not even when on holiday," Frank added.
"But it's my home village, sort of," Ante protested.
"And people weren't very happy about our uniforms when we were down there yesterday," Bjorn added. "I don't think wearing our uniforms down there is going to make them like us more."
"And who's saying anything about us having to be liked by them?" Frank retorted.
"Well... Why heighten the tension?"
"Heighten tension? Come on! We have to demonstrate that we're in charge. If we don't they will surely feel emboldened, and that's the last thing we want to happen."

And with this Frank terminated his little talk. "You better get going, Bjorn. John must be getting impatient out there," he added.

171

Bjorn felt unusually well rested going down the stairs on his way to the kitchen. His weird dream was all but forgotten, and his mind was firmly set on the day ahead of him. He had noted with pleasure that the sky was without a cloud, and the thought of six hours in the glass cage, all to himself, was making him almost lyrical. "It is not a bad way to spend a few hours," he thought to himself. "Not a bad way at all."

Ante had just finished frying the bacon and eggs, setting them out on the table, when Bjorn entered the kitchen as the first of his colleagues. They greeted each other cheerfully and exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather before sitting down to eat.

"Have you tried the ham?" Ante asked, breaking the silence that descended on the two men and stuck with them from when they started their breakfast. Ante pointed to a tray full of finely cut slices of cured ham at the center of the table.
"No, I haven't," Bjorn answered.
"You should! It's very good."
"I'm not very fond of cured ham," Bjorn commented, finishing his bacon and eggs. "Dry and salty. Never liked it."
"But this is different. It's not your average Norwegian piece of meat. This is straight from the best butchers in Spain."
"Really?"

Bjorn looked at the meat, still skeptical. Then, before he had time to say any more, Frank appeared in the kitchen.

"Isn't that right?" Ante asked, looking at Frank as he sat down to eat. "The cured ham I got the other day is really nice."
"Sure is," Frank replied. "Why?"
"I'm just telling Bjorn, he should try it."
"And you should," Frank agreed. "Here, try a slice!"

Frank picked up a slice with a fork and dropped it on Bjorn's plate.

"Okay, since you insist," Bjorn said with a smile, realizing the silliness of the situation. He was being treated as a child. But it was all in good humor. And when he picked the slice up from his plate it struck him as being softer and more moist than he had expected. Quite appetizing in fact. He tore off a bit and put it in his mouth, playing along with the situation, pretending to be more reluctant to try it than he actually was.

"Well, that's very nice actually," Bjorn said, genuinely surprised by how good it tasted.
"Not your average dry piece of meat, is it?" Ante asked encouragingly.
"No! This really is very nice," Bjorn agreed.

Bjorn put the rest of the meat in his mouth. "So this is how it's supposed to taste?" he asked.
"It sure is."
"So why haven't I had this before?" Bjorn wondered out loud.
"It costs a fortune," Frank noted dryly. "That's why."
"And yet we can afford it?" Bjorn asked. "Is this one of your tricks again, Ante?"
"Tricks? No, no. I got this from Pingo. And it didn't cost a fortune, by the way. It cost less than the Norwegian stuff."
"Really?"
"Well... I don't know for sure, since Pingo does not even have the Norwegian stuff. But the only reason this Spanish ham is so darn expensive in Norway is the high tariffs. I'm pretty sure the Norwegian ham is more expensive than the Spanish, though. Without the tariffs, that is."
"Yeah, and even if it cost the same. Who would choose the Norwegian over the Spanish ham?" Frank added. "Without the tariffs, the Norwegian cured ham industry would be out of business in no time."

Bjorn cut a slice of bread for himself. He wanted to try more of the ham, and a thin slice of bread would do nicely as a base for piling up a juicy little heap.

"And this is exactly why we will have to stop people smuggling in food and drink from Lundby," Frank continued. "It's official now. We have to start confiscating stuff that people take with them from the colony."
"Really?" Ante asked. "So they finally got around to dealing with this problem?"
"I got a long mail from Oslo yesterday evening. We've basically been reclassified as a customs office."
"No big surprise there," Ante said. "You've been predicting this for weeks now, haven't you?"
"I sure have," Frank replied with a smug smile.

Bjorn took a bite out of his ham sandwich. "It's kind of unfair, isn't it?" he commented, savoring the delicious flavor of the ham.
"What you mean?" Frank asked, puzzled by Bjorn's comment.
"I mean. Why can't people have this ham if they want to. We'll still be having this, right? We won't have to pay any tariffs?"
"No, we're fine. We're actually inside the colony, so we can just keep shopping at Pingo," Ante replied. "Isn't that so, Frank?"
"Yeah... Well... Even if we weren't. It's not like we'd report ourselves, and tax ourselves. But anyway... We're definitely not bound by the import regulations. Of course not."
"So we can have this nice cheep food. But anyone living in Neiden or beyond will have to pay prohibitive taxes," Bjorn commented.
"Sure. But that's true for everybody. Everybody in Norway have to pay their taxes, including tariffs and other fees. What's so unfair about that?"
"Well... It just seems unfair."
"You know. You're starting to sound an awful lot like Thomas," Frank noted, looking critically at Bjorn, and then over at Ante who appeared to agree with Bjorn.

"You're talking about me?" Thomas asked, appearing in the doorway together with Espen, as if the mere mention of him had made him magically appear.
"Yes, we are," Ante replied with a broad smile. "Frank here, was wondering why you're even at this checkpoint. So why don't you tell him?"
"Is that so?" Thomas asked, looking over at Frank, heading for his regular spot.
"Well, not exactly. I know how you got here."
"You do? Well... why don't you tell me, because I have no idea how I got here."
"You're kidding?" Frank chuckled. "Of course you do. You're not that absent minded."
"No. But I actually made an effort not to get this job, yet I got it anyway."
"Really?"
"I made no secret of anything. I told them truthfully that my only reason for applying for this job was that I had to in order to keep my unemployment benefit. Yet I got it. And then I was trapped. If I refused to take the job, I'd loose my benefit. So here I am. And I have no idea why. I'm sure they must have had better candidates than me."

Thomas started eating his breakfast. "Come to think of it, I have no idea why you are here either," Thomas continued, looking over at Bjorn.
"Me?" Bjorn replied feeling strangely hurt by Thomas' flippant remark. Then, realizing that Thomas had a valid point, Bjorn pretended to shake the remark off by an equally flippant reply to the effect that he too had no idea why he was given the job. And to Bjorn's quiet horror, he realized that what he was saying was entirely true. He had no idea why he got the job, and seeing that he was not very good at it, and that other candidates must have been younger, fitter, and better qualified than him, he was suddenly struck by a feeling that he was somehow hand picked by someone. Not for his abilities, but for his lack there of.

170

Bjorn woke up right before the alarm on his mobile was about to go off. He had slept like a log and felt superbly well rested despite having had one of his uncomfortable dreams. The medicine must have taken the sting out of the dream. He had been more active in his dream than usual, defending himself as it were, holding the goblins at a distance and refusing to succumb to despair.

There had been the usual episode with him and his ex. But this time he had a ready answer for her. He was where he was because he felt like it, and with that simple answer she was gone. However, she returned later in his dream, this time with a sheet of paper in her hand. It was the official inheritance document which he had sent to the local tax office for them to calculate the inheritance tax. It was the document that had put him hopelessly in debt to the tax office, and when she asked him why he had signed it Bjorn was again lost for words.

But he did not react in despair. He simply observed that his ex had a point, and that he should not have signed it, at least not before checking that the stipulated value of the inheritance was in fact correct. It was a stupid mistake, a ruinous mistake, but nevertheless an understandable one. He had acted in good faith. He had nothing to be ashamed of. If anyone should be ashamed, it was his ex for abandoning him as soon as it was clear that he was bankrupt and in eternal debt to the state.

The thought of his hopeless economic situation did not bother him even as he rose out of bed. The situation was as it was, and he had to deal with it as such. Lamenting the situation was not going to set anything right. And this insight was strangely liberating. There had to be a solution to the problem, he felt, and he could almost hear his children beg him to do it, whatever they meant by that. "Do it for us," they had pleaded in his dream, begging him to take some action, and Bjorn had replied, "yes of course," as if he had understood exactly what they meant and knew exactly what to do.

However, these were but episodes in a larger dream dominated by the citizens of Lundby, but also featuring people like Odd the painter, and Ingunn with her wild and surreal interpretation of the world. Odd had painted a ship for her on a large canvas, and she stepped into it as if it was a real ship. "Let us join Jesus and Mother Earth in holy matrimony," she exclaimed from the stem of the ship. And with those words it sailed out of the canvas on a cloud of frothy water. Then, to everyone's consternation, she vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving a large blank spot on the canvas.

The vanishing act took place in Pedro's apartment. Bjorn was there together with a large group of people. They had come to see the painting, and now it was ruined. Odd was there too, and immediately picked up his pencils to repair the damage, excusing himself for having painted the ship a little too life like.

"This is what happens when you invite people like Ingunn to your house," Frederico commented dryly to Pedro in the back of the room.
Pedro chuckled and shook his head. He did not seem the least bit concerned about what had just happened. "It is a good thing we have Odd here, isn't it?" he commented. Then he pointed to Bjorn, calling out his name and telling him to behave on Tuesday, making it clear that it would be a grave mistake to disappoint him.

Bjorn did not know what to say, but Katinka was suddenly there, right next to him. "It's quite simple, really," she explained. "The whole thing is a network. If you push the red button and then make a quick calculation before pushing the green button, you'll be fine. But whatever you do, do not push the green button before the red."
"Is that so?" Bjorn asked, puzzled.
"Nah, just beat him about the head with a plank," Einar suggested. "That's the quickest and easiest solution."
"You're mad," Bjorn protested.
Then he heard a cold feminine voice asking "who you calling mad?" When Bjorn turned to look, he stared into the ice cold gaze of Jan's two daughters. Behind them stood Ane and Ola, both dressed like villains from an old Western. "You should be a little careful about who you call mad down here in good old Lundby," Ane added, putting her hand on the handle of the large pistol strapped to her thigh.
"Oh my. Here we go again!" said another voice. It was Olga, and she was clearly unimpressed by the other ladies. "It's all show and no substance. Take no notice of them."
Tyrone was there too, chuckling to himself. "If you think Lundby is crazy, you should try Liberia," he said, smiling from ear to ear. "That's crazy, if you know what I mean."

And then there was suddenly music. Elisabeth and Aung started singing, and everybody were praising the Lord and swinging from side to side. "Hallelujah, hallelujah. Praise the Lord. We are the citizens, and we will inherit the Earth."

There was much more to the dream, but Bjorn was getting ready for breakfast, and his memory of the dream was fading rapidly. However, the overall feel of the dream stuck with him. The fact that he had not woken up with a start was a victory to him. He had observed and even enjoyed the challenges in his dream. The medicine had definitely helped calm his nerves, and he felt ready to face the world. Not with apprehension, but with anticipation. He was genuinely looking forward to what the day might bring.

154

Bjorn looked over at the casino as Ante drove by at low speed, and a thought struck him about Jan and Pedro. The two men were no doubt in charge in the village, dominating its commerce with their money and influence. Yet they did not seem to engage in any kind of direct taxation. With the exception of Pedro's attempt to get rent from the stall owners, the two men were leaving everyone alone. And they even appeared in Frederico's church, as if to underscore their willingness to adhere to the golden rule. But why would they do that? Why not tax people? Why not establish a kingdom of their own? They could easily do that, with Jan having acquired special rights due to his Sami origin, and Pedro having a free pass to do whatever he pleases with the colony in return for taking care of the asylum seekers.

"Maybe they have some other and better way to make money?" Ante suggested when Bjorn aired his thoughts. "Or they may be up to something that we have no idea about."
"Like what?" Bjorn asked.
"Something sinister, like... you know... like something out of a Bond movie."
"Dr. Evil and Mini Me?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's stupid. What sort of evil are you thinking of?"
"Maybe they are building a nuclear bomb so they can take over the world."
"Are you serious?"
"Not really."

Bjorn couldn't figure it out. But the idea that someone would spend a fortune building a doomsday device in order to take over the world was just right out lame. Especially considering that Jan and Pedro had not even bothered to take over Lundby.

"But if Pedro is right, you'll be over at the airport on Wednesday. Maybe you'll pick up some more clues then," Ante continued. "Who knows what he's up to out there. It has a nuclear bunker after all. Just the sort of place that Dr. Evil and Mini Me would love."
"It looked pretty abandoned when we drove past it last week."
"That's true. But something is going on out there, with that airplane landing there in the middle of the night and all."
"You're right," Bjorn admitted. "There's something going on. And if I am indeed asked to go down there on Wednesday..."
"Provided you behave properly on Tuesday," Ante interjected.
"Yeah. That's kind of creepy, isn't it. And he said that so shamelessly too."
"Like he owned you," Ante suggested.
"Yeah... well... he probably owns Frank."
"True. That would explain it. But you know what you should do?"
"No?"
"You should ask Frank casually about Tuesday and Wednesday, and see what he says. That way we'll know if Pedro had it from Frank, or from someone else, someone superior to him."

Bjorn thought Ante's suggestion interesting, but a little too confrontational to his liking. However, he nevertheless nodded in agreement as if he would in fact make such an inquiry.

The two men sat in silence until they reached the billboard welcoming people to Lundby and its casino, the back of which was now covered with another giant poster, thanking them for their visit and wishing them back soon.

"That's new, isn't it?" Bjorn said, pointing to the welcome back poster. "We haven't seen that before, have we?"
"No, it wasn't there Saturday night," Ante said in confirmation.
"And you are right about the armillary spheres," Bjorn continued. "They are everywhere... Just look at that!"

The welcome back poster was full of them, all subtly weaved into the background image. And when Bjorn turned around to have another look at the front of the billboard, he saw that the background image of that picture too was full of the gold colored spheres.

"How could I have missed that?" Bjorn continued rhetorically. "Now that you've mentioned it, I'm seeing them everywhere. Even Peppe's had one on a shelf."
"And the stickers in the windows," Ante added.
"Yeah. Together with the Lance stickers," Bjorn continued. "It's kind of creepy, don't you think?"
"Not really," Ante said, dismissing Bjorn's concern. "It's no worse than any other kind of patriotism. I mean... Look at our uniforms. We carry this little flag on our shoulders, and lots of people use flags whenever they have something to celebrate. We got our flag. They got their sphere."
"But they're mixing religion into this, with all that talk about the empire and the golden rule and stuff like that."
"Sure. But weren't you the one wanting to become a citizen just now?"
"Ah... Just to try it out, you know..."
"Anyway... there's much less difference between religion and politics than most people think," Ante continued.
"You think so?"
"Yeah. Frederico is right about that. In politics, people believe in the social contract. That's a superstition, isn't it?"
"So you listened to him while he was going on about this?" Bjorn asked. "I thought you weren't paying attention."
"Well... I've heard it all before, you know, so I was only listening with half an ear."
"Thomas has been preaching for you?"
"Exactly."

Coming down to the fjord, passing the luxury apartments, Ante continued on his thought.

"The golden rule is not much of a superstition when you think about it," he said in a quiet voice. "The social contract, on the other hand, is quite bizarre. How can anyone be tied to a contract they never signed? Unless, of course, the social contract is simply the golden rule, and that politics have changed it into meaning obedience to authority and self sacrifice."
"But even then, it would be strange to assume that newborn babies have signed onto it," Bjorn added.
"Exactly. That's why Frederico insists that everyone have to voluntarily embrace it."
"But what about those who refuse? What about people like us, who either refuse, or simply can't embrace it due to our profession?"
"People like us will always be viewed with suspicion, I guess... Which we were, right?"
"Yeah. Were we ever? I mean... That Einar guy was pretty fierce... And Katinka."
"It was unpleasant at times, wasn't it?"
"Not too bad... but yeah."
"And we haven't even done anything for real. Imagine how these people will treat people who more blatantly break the golden rule."
"It won't be pleasant."
"It won't for sure," Ante confirmed with a nod. "They will kick you out if you don't behave. They will refuse to deal with you, and they may even kill you if you keep breaking the law."
"You think so?"
"I'm sure of it."
"Isn't that a little harsh?"
"Not really. We are talking about deliberate aggression, robbery, theft, extortion, that kind of things. People like that will have a hard time in Lundby."

Bjorn looked out on the fjord, to their left. Then, struck by a thought, he continued the conversation.

"So they are in a sense worshiping their legal system?" he mused.
"That's a good way of putting it," Ante said with a nod. "Like I said, there's very little difference between religion and politics. It's all about law and ethics in the end."

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.

125

Bjorn quite enjoyed his conversation with Frederico. There was nothing pushy or pretentious about the way Frederico explained his theology, and Bjorn found it quite refreshing to be able to ask straight forward questions without feeling a need to watch his language or defend his secular views.

Frederico did not seem the least bit anxious to convert anybody. He was obviously convinced that he had it all figured out, and that people would see things his way once it had been explained properly to them, making it quite counter productive to be pushy in any way.

But the conversation was broken off just as Bjorn was starting to warm up to the idea of the empire and the kingdom. A tall black woman entered the church from the side, shortly followed by an Asian woman who Bjorn immediately recognized as Aung.

"Isn't that just typical?" the black woman said. "You go off ahead of us, saying you will get things ready, and then you just hang around talking to strangers... You haven't done a thing, have you?"

Frederico did not answer, but told Bjorn and Ante that this was his wife, Elisabeth. Then he turned to Aung, introducing her too to Ante and Bjorn. And for a moment they all did their little polite routine, shaking hands while telling Elisabeth and Frederico how they knew Aung from Nora's place, and that Bjorn had even met Aung at Ane's factory on Wednesday.

"It's a small place, this village," Elisabeth commented. "Not exactly São Paulo."
"No, you're right about that," Frederico said with a nod and a smile.
"So you're from São Paulo?" Bjorn asked.
"Yep. That's where we met."
"And you're from Burma, aren't you?" Bjorn asked, turning to Aung.
"Well, how did you know?" Aung asked.
"Didn't you tell me that yourself?"
"Did I? I don't know."
"Well, anyway, with a name like Aung..."

Aung nodded, clearly pleased with Bjorn's attention to details. Then, Elisabeth called off the small talk, noting that people would be coming to the church any moment, and that there was no time to waste.

The two women disappeared into a small room to the side, emerging a little later, each wearing a robe, covering their semi-formal attire.

However, Frederico did not let his wife's playful nagging distract him from continuing his conversation with Bjorn. Frederico lit two candles, one on each side of the alter, and proceeded to turn on some lights in the ceiling, while continuing on his little lecture.

"Any entity trying to interfere in our direct communication with Him is by its very nature evil," Frederico explained. "And the greatest and fiercest entity of this kind today is the state."

"The state tries to deceive us into thinking that there is somehow a need for authority above and beyond Jesus and His law. And the state makes the claim that our belief in God and the Golden Rule is somehow occult and irrational, while in fact, it is the state that is based on an irrational and deeply occult presumption."

"The state assumes authority where no authority has been given, and the state enforces its authority by systematically breaking the Golden Rule."

"The state is in fact a false religion, demanding everyone's loyalty from the moment they are born, claiming a contract exists between it and every person born within it's realm."

"It is perverse to the extreme. Imagine the insanity of such a claim!"

Bjorn looked blankly at Frederico, not quite getting what he was driving at. But once again, Frederico did not mind Bjorn's reluctance or inability to make sense of what he was saying.

"You are Norwegian, I take it," Frederico asked.
"Yes I am," Bjorn confirmed.
"So you have to pay taxes to the Norwegian state, right?"
"Yes, like everyone else in Norway."
"And why exactly do you have to pay these taxes."
"Well... It's the law."
"And you will be put in jail if you try to avoid this, right?"
"Yes."
"Which violates the Golden Rule, does it not?"
"Yeah, I guess so."

Frederico took a short break to let this last point sink in. Then he continued.

"The state claims the right to your hard earned money based on a fiction called the Social Contract. And to believe in this fiction requires such a leap of faith that the resurrection dims in comparison."

"How can anyone really believe that a newly born baby has signed a contract, and that this contract requires it to live a life in bondage to the state?"

"Only the most evil of religions deny a person the right to leave."
"But that's not true," Bjorn protested. "Anyone is free to leave, if they wish."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I can change my citizenship if I please."
"But then you're still the property of some state. Change of citizenship does not free you from the state. It merely moves you from one jurisdiction to another."

Bjorn nodded.

"Okay. So what?"
"Well, don't you see? The state insists we must believe in the so called Social Contract, and that we are tied to it from birth. Yet, no such contract exists. It is as occult as it gets. Believing in it makes you an idol worshipper, and makes you accept laws that are in direct violation with the Golden Rule."

"The state drives a wedge between people and God, obscuring the eternal truth, while seeking to replace it with its own phoney theology."

"The state is also dangerous in other ways," Frederico continued. "By its claim that it holds authority over us, and that its laws are valid despite of being in direct violation with the Golden Rule, it inspires blind obedience in its worshippers, an obedience towards evil, no less. And countless are the people murdered and slaughtered and imprisoned by the followers of the state."

"The state is of Satan, no less. It is pure evil, even in its most moderate form."
"Well, that's a bit rich isn't it?" Bjorn said, a little amused with Frederico's hyperbole.
"You think so?"
"Yes. I think you'd be more convincing if you did not exaggerate so much."
"So why don't you give me an example of a moderate state, and I'll show you how evil it actually is."

Bjorn shook his head.

"How about Norway?" he said.
"Well, that's easy," Frederico said with a smile. "Even I have heard about Odd and how he's being tortured for not paying his taxes."
"But tax evasion is a crime," Bjorn protested.
"Says who?"
"Well, the state."
"Exactly."

Bjorn, seeing how he was trapped in Frederico's logic, gave his defence of the state a final go.

"So, what are you suggesting?" Bjorn asked. "That we stop paying taxes? How will that work out?"
"It will work out just fine," Frederico replied. "I know, because that is what Jesus would have wanted."
"Chaos?"
"No. Order. It is the state that throws innocent people in jail. Jesus never suggested anything like that."
"So we should just abandon the state? Is that what you suggest?"
"That is indeed what I suggest."
"So that is what this whole Fifth Empire thing is about?" Bjorn asked. "You suggest we all join this empire as an alternative to the state. Isn't that the same as just joining nothing, becoming a recluse as it were."
"No. There is a big difference between becoming a recluse and being a citizen of the empire. A citizen is not merely against the state, a citizen is for the Fifth Empire, the community of people living together according to the Golden Rule."

116

Bjorn went straight up to his room after dinner, and feeling fully satisfied by the meal, and a little drowsy from the wine, he prepared himself for bed. Having to get up in the middle of the night, it was pretty much ideal that he felt this way, since it would allow him to have a proper rest before getting up.

Bjorn turned on the TV to have a quick look at the latest news before calling it a day. But there was nothing new going on apart from a few developments in ongoing news stories. The most noteworthy development being the sentencing to life in prison of a man who quite randomly killed a child in a play park some months ago.

The details of this story were never told, but rumors had it that he slashed the little boy's throat for no reason whatsoever. However, others held that he was an aspiring Syria fighter who could not wait to claim his place in heaven by killing an infidel. And with all the talk of what to do about returning Syria fighters, this latest rumour had caught on to the extent that many believed it to be an established fact.

One thing was certain, though. Whatever happened in the play park that day was not to be officially confirmed or denied by anyone. The court case was held behind closed doors, and apart form the accusation of premeditated murder, and the guilty sentence that had just been announced, nothing was neither confirmed nor denied about the rumors.

But Bjorn was beyond being shocked by the story. It was already an old story, and the announcement that the perpetrator was finally found guilty did not stir up any unpleasant feelings. Rather the opposite was the case. Justice had won the day, and an evil criminal was put behind bars.

In other news, there was the continuing story about the crisis, which for some reason had recently had its name changed to the recovery. One had to be an idiot to believe that things were actually getting better. But the recovery was, according to the news, now evident in everything from the stock market and commodities prices, to the ever falling gold price and stabilizing house prices. Very soon now, the man in the street would also be able to see that the recession was over, and that a new economic dawn was on its way.

The very latest political invention which would allegedly help the recovery on its way, was a proposal to outlaw the use of cash, thereby forcing every transaction to be electronic. The banks, having long ago made all electronic payments free of charge, were fully equipped for such a change, and with only the black market in contraband and illegal services really needing cash for their opaque business transactions, there was nothing to loose in a right out ban on cash.

The savings to the banks and the central bank in administrative overhead alone were phenomenal, and the tax man could easily pull in several percent more in revenue through an increased power to monitor and track every transaction. Criminals were in fact the only ones who would loose anything by a move to a cashless society, and the bill was already well on its way to become law, which would make Norway the first country in the world to fully embrace such a system.

Bjorn felt a sense of pride swell up in him on digesting this latest statement. As a Norwegian he would be taking part in what was truly a great leap forward, and although this was not in any way his idea, he could not help take pride in the forward looking genius and pioneering spirit of his fellow country men.

And with this sense of achievement, as it were, Bjorn turned off the TV and the lights in his room which pretty much immediately had him fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

108

Bjorn found a red pen next to the fridge, and noted down the change of schedule on Frank's spreadsheet. Feeling peckish, he proceeded to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich, which he brought with him back into the living room.

There was still nobody there, and the comfy chair was where he left it, squarely in front of the large window by the coffee table. The sleet was giving way to a light drizzle, and there were hardly any snowflakes fluttering around outside. But the drab view had a sombre fascination to it, and Bjorn was happy just siting in the easy chair for a while, munching his sandwich while contemplating the grand silent nothingness of the arctic.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Bjorn was suddenly reminded of the slogan used by David's Pharmacy. "The sky is not the limit," hovered in his head as a quirky thought, and he found himself wondering what the limit is, if not the sky. "What a silly slogan," he thought as he contemplated the absurdity of the quote. "Why would anyone want to go beyond the sky?"

Then, waking up from his meditative state, he realized that the slogan was actually staring him right in the face all along. He had put the Lundby Gazette face down on the coffee table, and the ad for David´s pharmacy was right in front of him, with the slogan as its title.

Having finished his sandwich, Bjorn picked up the newspaper and after a brief look at the ads on the back, he started reading the articles, starting with the front page headline which read: "Will the boom turn to bust?"

The article was all about the spectacular increase in commercial activity that had blessed the little community with plenty of business and job opportunities. And retail had been particularly blessed with ever growing demand for all the cheap products available in the village. People were coming from all over Finnmark county to buy cheap stuff in Lundby, and a new make shift supermarket had been opened in an abandoned warehouse at the port in order to handle the expected all time high influx of shoppers over the weekend. An improvised petrol station had also seen the light of day over at the port.

Entrepreneurs, both local and not so local, were scrambling to take advantage of the unique tax benefits offered in Lundby. However, the article pointed out that the current state of affairs would not likely last for much longer. Competing businesses outside of Lundby were petitioning government agents in Oslo to crack down on the village and level the playing field by introducing tariffs and taxes. And it would be naïve to think that the central government would not act to save and help struggling businesses in Kirkenes, Neiden, and even Alta and Tromso by introducing tariffs, not least because this would add to the coffers of the central government in Oslo.

The article concluded that things would soon become much harder for businesses in Lundby, and that exuberant investments into retail businesses at this point was extremely risky. The retail market could easily be reduced to just a fraction of its current size. And with popular support for such an action from local merchants outside Lundby and ordinary people living far away from the village, unable to take advantage of the great bargains to be had in Lundby, the likelihood of high tariffs being introduced seemed a near certainty.

The article was level headed in many ways, but Bjorn found its aggressive tone towards the government in Oslo surprisingly harsh. The journalist was completely ignoring the fact that the government had actually created Lundby in the first place. Levelling the playing field, as it were, made perfect sense, both from the viewpoint of local disadvantaged businesses and from the viewpoint of the government. And with most people unable to take advantage of the bargains in Lundby, the new regulations would have little political impact. Bjorn agreed with the article's conclusion, but did not see it as necessarily a bad thing, considering how many people would actually be better off by an intervention.

100

Geir left the two men, clearly upset by Bjorn's apparent inability to recognize even the most glaring security issues, and there was for a moment an awkward silence between Thomas and Bjorn.

"So, I guess we should report this to Frank when he comes back," Thomas said with a sheepish grin, revealing that he too might have missed the glaringly obvious had someone told him about the boat service last night.
"I guess so," Bjorn said, also starting to grin.
"Why did you suddenly feel the urge to bring up this whole taxi thing?" Thomas asked. "The man was leaving. Why ask him about the taxi service?"

Bjorn took another bite of his sandwich, not quite sure himself why he felt it a good idea to bring it up.

"Well... We used to have this kind of services in Oslo too, you remember? Until right after the election when the government felt it necessary to show that they would be tough on crime, cracking down on all sorts of illegal activities, including the taxi services."
"Yeah?"
"And I was thinking that the crack down must have been just the sort of thing that Geir agrees with."
"And it probably is."
"Yet his colleagues were using it last night, to the great benefit of us all."
"And?"
"Well, don't you think that's a little hypocritical?"
"Sure. But do you think Geir is concerned about that?"
"No... You're probably right... He did avoid the question, though. Did you notice?"
"Yes, he did."
"So he can't be entirely happy about his double-think."
"I'm not sure. I think you might be reading too much into this."

Bjorn reached for the thermos in front of him. "More?" he asked, before pouring coffee into Thomas' cup and then his own.

"So why are you in the army if you are so against much of what the government does?" Bjorn asked.
"It was pretty much the only job vacancy I could find?" Thomas answered. "I used to be a car mechanic you know."
"Really? But there must be jobs to be found as a car mechanic. I mean... the crisis isn't that bad, is it?"
"Sure. But it isn't worth the bother anymore. Too much fuss."
"You think so?"
"Think? I know! There are so many rules and regulations these days. And if you don't do things right, they'll get you... I had a colleague who failed to properly warn against a worn wire, and he is now serving time for manslaughter."
"You're kidding?"
"No. The car he had signed off on as being safe to drive ended up in an accident, and when they discovered the mistake, he was nailed for it."
"But that's nuts."
"To you and me, maybe. But most people actually want this kind of law enforcement. It's all to the benefit of the consumer, they say. Consumer protection is the big thing in politics these days."
"Well, what isn't?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.

Thomas took a sip of his coffee before continuing on his rant.

"Well, anyway. Poor Nick going to jail and my boss getting a hefty fine was the end of it, both for my boss and for me, and all my colleagues too... My boss closed shop, and is now working as an assistant manager for one of the big guys... I think he actually makes more now than he was making as an independent."
"So it turned out all right for him in a way then?"
"If you think pushing papers around for a living is meaningful, or if money is all you care about, I guess you could say so... But poor Nick is still in jail. He'll be out in another three months though."

Thomas looked genuinely upset where he was sitting.

"But aren't the big guys hiring? And protecting their employees... I mean... Not all jobs at a car mechanic is paper work. How big a burden is it really?"
"Yes, but the real jobs are not very well paid. And you feel like a criminal charging insane amounts for even trivial things, like changing a light bulb... And you can't really escape the paper work. It's everywhere."
"But that's the way it always was," Bjorn commented, thinking back to his own career as a software engineer. "You can't really escape it."

Then Bjorn started talking about his own reason for joining the army, pointing out that it was pretty much the exact same reason that Thomas had outlined for himself. But in addition to the dreary bureaucracy of always having to keep track of everything, and always knowing that one was on line for any mistake, having to take full responsibility if anything bad should happen, Bjorn had the added dis-incentive of his perpetual debt to the tax man.

"They took pretty much everything," Bjorn said, not really expecting much sympathy on this latest point.
"They did?" Thomas asked, showing interest but no genuine compassion.
"It was my own silly fault for signing for the debt, though," Bjorn continued, parroting the narrative that he had constantly been presented with from both friends and bureaucrats. "I mean. If you sign an agreement to pay a certain amount, you're obliged to pay of course."
"Or go away," Thomas suggested.
"And that's pretty much what I did. I guess I'm here because I can't be bothered to make a real effort to pay my debt."
"And why should you?" Thomas asked rhetorically. "You were fooled."
"By myself... By my greed," Bjorn added, not really believing what he was saying.
"No... By the system, you fool," Thomas protested with a cynical smile. "You are here for the exact same reason I am here."

Then, with a dramatic gest, Thomas reached over and patted Bjorn on his shoulder. "Welcome, my friend," he said with a genuine yet ironic smile. "The empire is waiting for you."

99

Bjorn carved several slices of his favourite cheese, making a sandwich for himself, when a thought struck him about Geir's presence.

"This is the first time I've seen you in the kitchen, I think," Bjorn said semi-curious about Geir's habits at the checkpoint.
"That's right," Geir answered with a smile. "I'm always in the glass cage when you have dinner. But I'm not very fond of hot food... Prefer sandwiches, really."
"You do?"
"Yeah!"
"So you will not be joining us for dinner on this your day off?"
"No... I don't think so."
"You're missing out on some really nice food," Thomas commented. "Ante is a great cook."
"You think he'll be up in time to make dinner?" Bjorn asked.
"Oh yeah... He'll be up before noon."

Bjorn finished making his ham and cheese with his two colleagues watching him in silence.

"That looks good," Geir commented as Bjorn took a greedy bite out of his creation.
"It is!" Bjorn said with a mouthful of bread.
"You see, there's plenty of good sandwiches to be made too... I'd prefer that one you've just made to a hot meal any time."
"Well, I'm not sharing this one with you if that's what you're driving at."
"No, no, of course not... That's not my point."
"I know," Bjorn said with a smile.

There was again a spell of silence among the three colleagues, and Geir was just about to take the opportunity to leave the table when Bjorn suddenly tossed out a question regarding the subsidized cheese he was eating.

"So what do you think about the export subsidies?" Bjorn asked genuinely curious about his colleagues' opinion on the matter.
"On the cheese, you mean?" Geir asked.
"Yeah."
"So Ante has been telling you about it too?"
"It's his favourite piece of trivia fact, I think," Thomas answered on Bjorn's behalf.
"Well, I think it makes a lot of sense," Geir answered. "It's good for the country."
"Really?" Thomas asked sceptically. "In what way?"
"It helps the farmers," Geir explained. "Keeps them in business."
"At everybody else's expense," Thomas added dryly.
"Well, the alternative would be a lot of abandoned farms all over the country... And that would clearly be a bad thing."
"But don't you think it a bit immoral that people are forced to pay for cheese that is sold to foreigners in far away places?"
"Not, considering the alternative."
"I'm sure the farmers can find other things to grow," Thomas said, getting a little irritated with Geir.
"So, now you're suddenly an expert on farming?" Geir asked, sensing a victory coming his way. "I think the farmers and the people in the Department of Agriculture know this better than either you or me, Thomas."
"But that does not make it right," Thomas said, leaning back in his chair and throwing up his arms.

"Well!" Bjorn said with some amazement. He had not expected something as trivial as cheese subsidies to touch such a nerve with Thomas. Then, deciding to put a positive spin on it all in order to defuse the tension he remarked that the subsidies, at the very least, were to the advantage to everyone at the checkpoint.

"We wouldn't be eating nearly as well if it wasn't for our proximity to Lundby," Bjorn said with a smile.
"You're right about that," Thomas said with a nod. "But I still think... Well... Never mind."

Thomas took a sip of his coffee, making an effort to calm down, and Geir sat again up in his chair, ready to leave.

"Well, I'll see you guys later then," Geir said, rising from the table. "I'll be in my room if you need me... you know... regarding the world and stuff."
"Okay," Bjorn answered. "We'll keep that in mind."

Then, as Geir was leaving the room, Bjorn tossed out another question.

"And what do you think about the taxi service down there?" he asked.
"I'd hardly call Igor's car a taxi," Geir said, turning and looking over at Thomas. "It's a rusty old Volvo, isn't it?"
"Well... It got us home last night," Thomas said with no intention to get into another argument.
"Did you know that they even have boat taxies going to Kirkenes, right from the harbour."
"What harbour?" Geir asked, suddenly looking concerned.
"Down by the fish factory... Next to it."
"Really?"
"Yep! Some kids from Kirkenes came in with their boats last night."
"But that's terrible!" Geir exclaimed, clearly upset by what he had just heard.
"How?"
"Well... My God Bjorn... What planet are you from?"
"Planet?"
"You're a boarder guard for heaven's sake."
"So?"
"An unregulated taxi service to Kirkenes? Hello! That's a giant hole in our fence right there, and you didn't see it?"

Bjorn was suddenly speechless from embarrassment. Geir was right. He had learned of a giant hole in the border control, and the obvious problem with this had not occurred to him.

"Well, I sure hope Frank returns soon, because this needs to be reported back to Oslo immediately," Geir said, now being the one fuming with frustration.

95

Bjorn walked up to the car that had stopped in front of the casino entrance. It was an old rusty Volvo, and there was no sign of it being a taxi. However, Bjorn was used to these kind of unregulated services from Oslo where illegal cab services had been quite commonplace until the new government had made a point of shutting them down, and when Bjorn learned that they had a taxi service in Lundby, this was exactly the sort of thing he had expected.

"I´m going to the checkpoint up the Neiden road," Bjorn said to the driver, who he immediately recognized as the driver of Pingo's grocery van.
"That will be forty MG," the driver said with a smile, apparently recognizing Bjorn from their brief exchange up at the checkpoint the day before.

"Well, that's practically nothing," Bjorn thought to himself as he stepped into the back seat of the old car. Then, while buckling up he commented on how he keeps bumping into the same people over and over.

"Well, that's because Lundby is a village," the man said before putting the car in motion. "We're only a few hundred people all together... I'm Igor by the way. And you must be the new guy up at the checkpoint... Bjorn, right?"
"That's correct," Bjorn answered, surprised to hear him say his name. "How do you know."
"Ante told me... Made excuses for you making yourself difficult up there."
"And Ante told you my name?"
"Well, I asked him about your name. I like knowing the names of everybody... It's a thing. A hobby if you like."

Bjorn looked out at the moonlit surroundings as the car drove up the road to the construction site, and noticing a shimmer of dawn to the east, Bjorn checked his watch.

"Kind of early for the sun to be rising," Bjorn commented as Igor turned east, towards the deep red glow.
"Well, this is the arctic," Igor said. "Another five weeks and we will have midnight sun... Besides, we are much further east than most people realize, so morning comes early."

Bjorn felt strangely happy where he was sitting, and the big Russian driving the car fascinated him.

"So, where are you from?" Bjorn asked, hoping to start a conversation.
"I´m from Nikel, just across the border."
"And what brings you to Lundby? You're not asking for asylum, are you?"
"Oh no!" the Russian replied. "That would be stupid."
"Why?"
"Well, you would not let me out again, would you?"
"No, that's true," Bjorn conceded.

Igor had a good point. Anyone asking for asylum would immediately have their passport withheld, and without a passport there's no way to get out of Lundby. Besides, Russia was, as far a he knew, not on the list of places considered dangerous enough for people to qualify for asylum, so he would probably not be taken seriously even if he had applied. But Bjorn had no time to dwell on this as Igor happily continued the conversation.

"I'm here to make some money," Igor explained. "There's no work to be found in Nikel these days, and Kirkenes is just as bad."
"It's the crisis, isn't it?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"Sure is. Things are getting pretty desperate."
"But isn't it terribly difficult to find work here in Lundby too?" Bjorn asked. "I mean... Ane at the fish factory is paying a lousy hundred MG per day to her workers. That's saying something, isn't it?"
"Ane is a crook!" Igor said with contempt. "But she won't be able to keep her racket going for long."
"No? Why not?"
"People will find other things to do."
"Like what?"
"Well, I'm not working for her, am I?"
"No, but not everyone can work for Pingo."
"But everyone can start their own business if they like."
"Doing what?" Bjorn asked. "This is the arctic. There's nothing here but rocks and ice."

Igor smiled as if he was harbouring a secret.

"They could make little toy animals to sell to tourists for instance," Igor said casually. "Or T-shirts with popular slogans on them, or underwear to be exported all over the world."
"And does that pay any better?" Bjorn asked.
"It does," Igor answered with a big smile.
"How do you know?"
"Because my wife runs a cooperative making these kind of things."
"She does?"
"Yep!"
"And what does she pay her workers?" Bjorn asked.
"Nothing... She only pays them for what they produce. But if you got a sewing machine, and you're good at what you do you can easily make three times as much as what Ane offers her workers."
"But what if you don't have a sewing machine? Or if you have one, but aren't very good at using it?"
"Well, then of course, you´ll have to find some other kind of work."
"Then you're screwed?" Bjorn asked.
"No. Even then there are better jobs to be found than to work for Ane. Heck... I know house maids who make more money than Ane's workers."
"So why are people still working for her?"
"Beats me."
"She's locking them in, isn't she?"
"No! I don't think so... That would be illegal. And everyone would know by now."

Bjorn had been getting so used to thinking of Lundby as a place where everything goes that he found Igor's use of the word "illegal" almost misplaced in the whole conversation.

"Illegal?" Bjorn asked, unable to formulate a good question around the term.
"As in against the law," Igor explained, as if unsure if Bjorn was struggling with his English.
"What law?" Bjorn asked.
"The legal code here in Lundby."
"There is such a thing?" Bjorn asked, genuinely surprised.
"Yeah, sure."
"And who's in charge of it?"
"Who?" Igor asked, as if he had not thought of this question before. "Everyone, I guess."
"Everyone is a lawyer?"

Igor chuckled at Bjorn's genuine puzzlement.

"I know what you're thinking," Igor said while suddenly slowing down to avoid a couple of particularly deep potholes that he evidently knew the exact location of from having driven along the road many times before. "But it's quite simple to explain, really."
"So, go ahead, educate me!" Bjorn said, challenging the man to give him a quick introduction to Lundby's legal code.
"Well, we basically stop dealing with people who don't behave," Igor explained. "If you steal or hit or imprison people, you'll soon find yourself without any friends."
"But how does that prevent people from behaving badly?"
"Well, how well do you think you would be doing without anyone wanting to do any business with you?"
"Not very well, I guess. But what if people decided to gang up on me?"
"And why would anyone want to do that?"
"I don't know. To get some kind of advantage over me maybe."
"Like what?"

Bjorn could find no answer.

"So you basically isolate people who behave badly?" Bjorn asked, not at all convinced that this qualified as a legal code.
"Yep, that's about it."
"And do you have any objective criteria for what it means to behave badly?"
"No, not really... There's always the golden rule of course."
"And that's your legal code?"
"Yep... That's all you need to know."

Bjorn shook his head in disbelief. Then, tired of the subject, Bjorn returned to what Igor had mentioned about his wife.

"So your wife runs a clothing factory here in Lundby?" Bjorn asked.
"Not a factory exactly," Igor corrected. "She runs the business from here, but many of her workers actually live in Nikel, and do all their work over there... They all work from home."
"Really? So why are you her? Wouldn't it make more sense to run it from Nikel?"
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Igor answered. "But there is so much red tape, and they will tax you even before you make a profit. They are ruthless."
"So your wife is here to avoid taxes."
"And all the paper work they force her to do. If it was only the taxes, I think Olga might have put up with it. But all those taxes comes with so much paper work. It's just too much... And now that we got Lundby, why even bother."
"But the authorities over in Nikel can't be too pleased with this?" Bjorn asked.
"Actually... They are turning a blind eye to this at the moment... They know that if they clamp down on this, they will only spark resentment... And since there's no factory or headquarter to crack down on, it's hard for them to even start controlling this, short of going door to door to see if anyone is sewing stuff."
"But your wife runs a headquarter of sorts, doesn't she?"
"Yes she does. That's why she's here and not in Nikel. She organizes everything via the internet. The girls come to her to deliver their finished products and pick up new assignments. Olga and I haven't been back to Nikel since we left two months ago."
"And how do the girls bypass the border patrols? Why aren't they stopped at the border with their bags full of stuffed animals and underwear?"
"Well, that's one of Olga's little secrets, and I'm not going to share that with you. You are a border guard, after all."

87

Bjorn leant back in his chair, sipping his beer in silence. He felt a fuming frustration with Thomas and his definition of slavery, but also a sneaking suspicion that the real source of his frustration was Ola and Ane, and that the thing that was really upsetting him was a jealousy of their youth and success.

Bjorn was not the oldest one in the casino, but he was clearly a good deal older than most. And what did he have to show for it? Nothing. For a few weeks he had lived under the illusion that he too was rich, when in fact he had signed the papers that would bankrupt him. And the fall had been horrendous, brutal and unyielding, with the tax man showing no mercy as he rejected every single one of Bjorn's arguments. The inheritance tax could not be recalculated. It was set in stone as it were, and would never be forgiven.

Ola's great sin was simply to be the man that Bjorn would liked to have been. His success reminded Bjorn of his own failure, and it was this more than anything that made him feel so edgy and hostile towards both Ola and Ane. But this was neither the place nor time to dwell on the past. Bjorn was on a journey of his own, he thought, even if he was just an observer. Lundby was an exciting place, and the casino was full of life and energy. He was an explorer of sorts, and his success would be a private one, not measured in wealth, but in experiences.

Sipping his beer, Bjorn convinced himself that he would be successful in his own way, and that his life was as exciting as anyone's. And pretty soon he felt almost relieved to know that Ane was living her own life, quite separate from his, for he had better things to do than to be together with a woman obsessed with fish and profits. Bjorn was free. And his very lack of material wealth was the source of this freedom.

Looking out on the dance floor, with people dancing and moving about, some hoping for love, and others looking to make some money, Bjorn felt relieved to know that he was above this. He was beyond this hustling and sentimental nonsense. Bjorn was the observer, separate from the daily struggles, hopes and fears of the people around him.

Bjorn took another sip of his beer, enjoying the sense of calm that was starting to fill his every fibre. Then Espen made a comment out of the blue.

"They were both from Fredrikstad," Espen said, as if announcing something deep and significant.
"Who," Bjorn asked.
"Ola and Per."
"Yeah? And?"
"Well, they said they were from Longyear... But no one grows up in Longyear. It's not a place where people raise families."
"True... The place is so far north it's a wonder anyone lives there at all."
"Yeah! Compared to Longyear, Lundby is almost a tropical paradise." Thomas added. "But what makes you so sure they are from Fredrikstad?"
"Their dialect... I got family in Fredrikstad, and they talked just like them... Toned down a bit, but still..."
"So you think they were lying about Longyear?" Thomas asked, confused by Espen's story.
"No, no... I'm just saying that they must have grown up in Fredrikstad. I'm sure they've been working the mines up at Svalbard. But that's not where they are from originally."
"Okay?" Thomas answered without any sign of interest in what Espen was talking about.

Bjorn didn't find Espen's comment very interesting either and slipped back into his meditative mood rather than making any effort to keep the conversation going. Bjorn looked over at the table where he had last seen Frank and Ante, thinking that it would be nice to have Ante back at their table, but the table was empty. He looked around, but could see neither Frank nor Ante anywhere in the room. However, Bjorn didn't feel like making a point of their disappearance, preferring to sit quietly and enjoy his meditative state instead.

"It's nice how they keep the music down enough for us to be able to talk without shouting on top of our voices," Espen commented idly, apparently trying to start another conversation.
"It's the way they positioned the loudspeakers," Thomas explained. "See how they hang right above the dance floor. That way it is loud where it matters, and more mellow out here."
"So that is how they do it," Espen answered in apparent wonder.
"Yeah, there are no loudspeakers out here, as you can see."

Bjorn looked up to verify Thomas' claim, but felt immediately dizzy.

"Oh my! I'm more drunk than I thought," Bjorn said, turning his gaze quickly to the floor to fight a sudden spell of nausea.
"You're all right?" Espen asked.
"Sure... I just have to stop drinking."
"Need some help getting out in the fresh air?" Thomas asked.
"No, no... I'm fine. I'm not sure why I feel this way... I haven't drunk all that much."

Bjorn quickly regained his balance. "What was that all about?" Bjorn thought to himself with an uneasy feeling that his sudden spell of dizziness was more than just alcohol related. But Thomas broke Bjorn's line of thoughts with a question before he had time to even start speculating on an alternative cause.

"Where is Ante?" Thomas asked. "He's not getting drunk again, is he?"
"I don't know," Bjorn answered, feeling less dizzy by the second. "I haven't seen him in a while."

The three men looked around, unable to find any trace of Ante. And Frank was also nowhere to be seen. But just as Thomas were about to get up to go looking for the two men, Ante appeared from the back of the room, all smiles and with a glass in his hand.

"Is that a cocktail, you got there?" Thomas asked as Ante presented himself at the table.
"No, it's a long drink," Ante answered with a broad smile. "A Rum Fizz to be exact."
"But you are our designated driver!" Thomas said with quiet despair.
"Sure... But I'm not drunk... I'm fine... I'll get you all back safe and sound to the checkpoint when the time comes."

58

Knowing that Frank's bridge playing colleagues would soon appear, Bjorn rose from his chair and headed back to his room. But just as he was about to go up the stairs he heard Ante swear loudly in the kitchen. Suddenly remembering his desire to talk to Ante, and curious to know what made Ante so furious, Bjorn turned away from the stairs and entered the kitchen instead.

"So, what's going on?" Bjorn asked.
"These darn peppercorns refuse to go into the grinder," Ante replied. "And now I managed to drop the whole bag on the floor."

There were little black peppercorns everywhere, both on the counter and on the floor. But the paper bag was still intact, with most of its content inside of it.

"You want some help with that?" Bjorn asked.
"Yeah, if you could," Ante replied before picking up the paper bag. "Can you hold this funnel for me while I pour the corns into the grinder?"

Happy to help, Bjorn did as he was asked, and pretty soon the grinder was full of pepper.

"So what do you think of us soon having to act as customs officers here at the check point?" Bjorn asked as Ante put away the bag with the remaining peppercorns.
"Are we?" Ante asked. "That's news to me."
"That's because we haven't actually been asked to do it yet," Bjorn replied. "But Frank expects it to happen quite soon, and I think he's right. There were quite a few cars coming in from Neiden, and returning with cartloads of cheap stuff."
"And we can't have that, can we?" Ante replied dryly while picking up a small handheld vacuum cleaner from a cupboard.
"Exactly! Its smuggling. And we will surely have to deal with it, sooner or later."
"Yeah, because cheap stuff is bad for people, right?" Ante said with a big smile to soften his sarcasm.
"Eh... but the smuggling will hurt the economy," Bjorn ventured.

Bjorn felt less than sure of his last statement, and Ante did not seem bothered to go directly into any discussion about it, turning on the vacuum cleaner to rid the counter and the floor of the spilled peppercorns instead.

"And in what way will the smuggling hurt the local economy?" Ante asked as he turned off the noisy handheld device.
"Well, its unfair for the local merchants in Neiden and Kirkenes, isn't it?" Bjorn suggested. "After all, they have to pay taxes, and that gives Pingo an unfair advantage."

Ante put away the vacuum cleaner before turning to Bjorn.

"So, we will soon have to tax everyone leaving the colony with more than a minimum of stuff in order to help the merchants in Neiden and Kirkenes."
"Yeah. I mean... Or else, they will go out of business, right? And that would hurt the local economy."
"So, why not give the merchants in Kirkenes and Neiden a tax break. That way everybody would be happy. People would get their cheap stuff closer to home, and the merchants can compete on an equal footing with Pingo."
"But we have to pay taxes!" Bjorn insisted. "I mean... how else are we going to pay for schools and health services, and..."
"And the poor?" Ante suggested helpfully.
"Exactly!"
"How, indeed!" Ante confirmed with a smile.

Bjorn was a little confused by Ante's lingering sarcasm. Was he serious, or just pulling his leg?

"So you agree that we will soon have to act as customs officers in order to even out the playing field."
"We will indeed," Ante replied, still smiling. "I'm sure Frank is right."
"So what was all that about?" Bjorn asked, still puzzled by Ante's sarcasm.
"I've been listening too much to Thomas lately, I guess," Ante replied. "That man is an anti-tax fanatic, and I thought I'd try out his logic on you."
"He is?" Bjorn asked, curious to hear Ante's view of Thomas.
"Haven't you noticed how he always comes up with those so called voluntary solutions to everything?"
"Yeah, now that you mention it... He's not a great fan of government solutions, is he?"
"Not at all," Ante confirmed. "He has some valid points, though."
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I do... Once you start thinking of government agents as a bunch of corrupt crooks, all sorts of things suddenly start to make sense."
"Such as?" Bjorn asked.
"The war in Libya for instance."
"Yeah?"
"Well... It's all about the oil, isn't it. Why do you think the foreign minister is so eager to send troops down there?"
"To protect our interests and help the people rebuild their nation," Bjorn replied, parroting what he had heard the foreign minister say on TV.
"And what exactly is our so called interest in Libya?"
"Oil."
"Exactly!"

Bjorn shook his head. Ante's point was just too simple minded. The profits from the state controlled oil company was after all funnelled into the national coffers, thereby providing vital funding for social services such as education and health care. Without the profits from oil wells abroad, much of the welfare state would have to be dismantled. Protecting the oil fields from terrorists was clearly of national importance, as well as a good thing for the locals in Libya.

"Okay! So they are all a bunch of crooks!" Bjorn replied, this time being the one with heavy sarcasm in his voice.