121

The village was relatively quiet, but by no means dead. Several market stalls in the village square were open, with their customers a mix of tired night owls and perky early birds.

Ante drove around the square in the direction of the parking lot. But instead of driving up the knoll to park his car he passed it by.

"Let's see if we can find the bowling alley everybody were talking about," Ante said, as he drove past the knoll towards the narrow street leading in behind the casino.

Bjorn nodded, thinking "why not", and started looking for the bowling alley, which turned out to be very easy to find. It was located along the road right behind the casino with a big neon sign above it saying "bowling" in bold letters, with the o drawn in the shape of a bowling ball, and the i and the l shaped as pegs.

The bowling alley was located next to a large shed that served as an auto garage, and with Ante driving slowly passed it, Bjorn had no trouble getting an impression of the place. There were at least three cars in there, and two men were hunched over the engine of one of them, clearly busy at work.

"This place really has everything," Bjorn commented as Ante took another left to get back to the square.
"It does seem so, doesn't it?" Ante agreed. "And to imagine that these people would otherwise have been locked up in the old asylum centres. What a waste of human resources."
"Yeah, you got a point there," Bjorn said with a nod. "It's actually better for everyone, isn't it? Bringing them all up her, I mean."
"Well, I think so anyway. It is a shame the way they have been treated."
"So why do you think they're protesting in places like Lier?"
"Good question. They must be thinking that this is some kind of hell."
"And it is, in a way, isn't it?" Bjorn said cheekily, knowing full well that Ante was rather fond of the arctic.
"Careful now, Bjorn!" Ante replied. "You're talking about my parent's home town. I have fond memories of this place, you know."
"I know. I just couldn't help myself."

Then, as Ante circled the village square a second time, Bjorn noticed the young black boy who had begged for money the other day, still hanging around Pingo where the odd bargain hunter was coming out with trolley loads of stuff. And sure enough, he was already at it, running over to people to offer his help as they came out of Pingo.

"You don't see that much any more do you?" Bjorn wondered out loud as he saw the kid rush over to a man with a full trolley.
"What?" Ante asked.
"Kids offering to help people for a penny or two."
"No, kids stopped doing that long time ago."

Bjorn nodded thoughtfully. He could remember his grandmother telling him about these things still being quite common during her father's time, and wondering whatever happened to that kind of service oriented attitude. So even his grandmother thought it a forgotten habit. Yet, here in Lundby, the olden days were in some respect being revived. Kids were out in the streets looking for ways to make a penny or two.

The desperation caused by the rampant poverty in the village had revived the old and much forgotten habit of always trying to find a way to make a penny.

104

Thomas got up from his chair to leave for his room, and Bjorn joined him out to the hallway. But instead of going up to his own room, Bjorn entered the living room. There was nobody there, and the silent emptiness of it seemed just right after all the emotional bickering he had been subjected to by Thomas. Not that he minded it much, but Thomas was bitter, and some of his acid remarks simply felt uncomfortable, no matter how true they might be.

It was time to put things in perspective, and focus more on the here and now. Things weren't bad, all things considered, and there was really no reason to feel upset about things completely outside his control. And again he was drawn to the view to the north as an excellent way to sooth his mind.

Bjorn decided to pull the large easy chair from in front of the TV over to the coffee table by the window. It was surprisingly light, considering how bulky it was, and it took no effort at all to place the chair squarely in front of the large window. Sitting down in it, Bjorn immediately felt a sensation of well being, and watching the snowflakes drift by, obscuring, but not completely hiding the overall view, was soothing and meditative.

He remained seated, just watching the view, for some time before feeling any urge to do anything at all, and when he finally pulled his glance back from the view he absentmindedly picked up the first thing he saw in front of him, the stall owners' leaflet that he had dropped on the coffee table before going to the kitchen for breakfast. He did so mechanically, as if merely floating about randomly, a little like the snow flakes outside, and he proceeded to look at the leaflet as if the words were carrying no meaning, focusing on its form and its lettering rather than its content.

The whole thing was nothing more than a single sheet of paper, folded in the middle to give the impression of being somehow full of information. But the font size and the generous use of whitespace made it clear that there wasn't an awful lot to be said about the stall owner's position. Then, directing his attention to the actual message in the leaflet, he started to read.

"This Land is Our Land" it said in a big fat typeface, followed by a short argument in a needlessly bold typeface laying out the fact that the stall owners were the first ones to use the village square, and that Pedro never used it for anything. Being the first ones to use the village square productively, it followed that it belonged to the stall owners, and that Pedro's attempt to extract rent from them was nothing less than neo-medieval rent seeking. And having read this, Bjorn felt certain that the stall owners were in the right, and that no argument could be formed to counter this claim. Bjorn felt happy about having signed the petition. He agreed with it full heartedly.

The pamphlet also included a list of the stall owners who had joined together to form their union, and Bjorn found himself for some reason fascinated by the list of names. He soon found Peter's name on the list. There were several East Asian names too, as well as a couple of Russian looking names, but no Norwegians. The union was in other words a union of foreigners, all making exclusive claims to Norwegian soil, and this thought, although sinister in a way, did not worry Bjorn in the least. Rather, it got his imagination going.

Bjorn could suddenly see Lundby growing into a great cosmopolitan city with people from all over the world residing there, and he felt exited by his vision. "Was this in fact the project?" he wondered as he leant back in the easy chair. "Was Lundby in fact a conspiracy to create a huge city at the top of the world? A city to dominate the world. The heart of the empire, as it were."

Bjorn's visions expanded quickly where he sat, and he could see ferry services crisscrossing the bay in front of him, buildings everywhere, tall ones and smaller ones, industry, commerce, a great industrial and commercial hub right at the edge of the world.

94

Back inside the casino everything seemed louder and more intense than when he left, and Bjorn felt again a relief from knowing that he would not have to hang around there waiting for his colleagues. He was on his way back to the checkpoint, and all he had to do was to tell his colleagues that he had found himself a taxi.

"I haven't seen Frank anywhere," Bjorn told Ante as he reached their table.
"We know," Ante answered with a smile.
"Really?"
"Yeah, he appeared out of nowhere, and now he's out on the dance floor."

Bjorn turned around to see if he could see him, and there he was showing off to two girls as if he was some sort of gift to women. The girls on their side were more than happy to indulge him, but the dance floor was so crowded that it was hard to say if they were girls who just happened to enjoy his clownish behaviour, or if they were in fact impressed by his slick appearance.

"He is not exactly hiding his gun, is he?" Bjorn said as he turned back to Ante.
"No, he's not... He clearly thinks of it as a great girl magnet."
"And it seems to be working, doesn't it?"
"That, and his gold card."
"He's showing that off too?"
"Waves it about every time he's buying a drink."
"What a clown!"

Ante smiled, and nodded in the direction of Thomas and Espen sitting at the other side of the table, engaged in conversation with an attractive blond girl. "But we're not complaining," Ante added. "He's like a honey pot the way he attracts the flies."

Bjorn looked at Ante with a frown, finding his statement a little too indiscrete. "Oh... Don't you worry," Ante said with a smile. "They are all Russians. They hardly know a word of Norwegian."

Still, Bjorn found Ante a bit out of line with his derogatory comment and promptly switched the conversation to his latest discovery.

"They got taxies here in Lundby, did you know?" Bjorn proclaimed proudly.
"Really?"
"Yeah! The bouncers at the door will get you one if you need one, and I've ordered one for myself."
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
"All ready?"

Bjorn shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I'm an old guy I guess," he said, partly to prevent Ante from being the first to bring up his age.
"You're not that old," Ante protested. "Come on, why don't you stay. The party has just started."

Bjorn was happy to hear Ante's protest, but he had made up his mind, and the taxi was already ordered, so he excused himself, fending off Ante's protests, and headed back to the exit. He walked briskly out of the large room, noticing on his way that Jan was standing by the table where drugs were traded openly to anyone who cared to buy some. Jan was clearly engaged in some sort of business discussion, and it struck Bjorn as odd that this man who seemed to welcome both druggies and prostitutes to his establishment was at the same time a patron of the church charity, and also enforcing strict anti smoking rules on his premises. It made absolutely no sense. But at the same time, there was something refreshingly eccentric about these inconsistent rules, and it put a smile on his face.

Stepping once again out into the cold night air, Bjorn was told by the bouncer that his car would arrive in about five minutes. "Just enough time to have a cigarette," Bjorn answered, letting the bouncer know that he would be standing over by the paraffin heaters having a smoke while waiting.

The bouncer nodded silently, and Bjorn went over to the designated smokers' area to have his cigarette. There were several other people standing there, and some were sitting in the chairs that had been put outside with woolly blankets for the guests to cover up while having their smoke. But there were no familiar faces among the smokers, and Bjorn was no longer in any mood to start a conversation, so he smoked his cigarette in silence, looking idly over at the market, the church up the hill, the moon, and the people coming and going.

Then, just as he finished his cigarette, a car pulled up to the curb, and the bouncer signalled to Bjorn that this was his taxi.

92

Bjorn was in no hurry to get back to his colleagues in the casino, but the cold was getting to him, so he did not feel like hanging around outside for much longer either. What he really wanted was simply to get back to the checkpoint and into bed, and once this thought settled with him he immediately started looking around for a taxi.

But there was no taxi to be seen, and Bjorn quickly realized that the village was way too small to support its own taxi operator. He was in other words stuck in the village until his colleagues too felt like going back to the barracks, and he felt a sting of resentment towards them for it having to be this way. However, he quickly supressed this feeling, telling himself that it really was him who was the odd one out, and that he had no reason to feel any kind of resentment towards his colleagues who had been nothing but kind towards him.

Bjorn finished his baguette and tossed its paper wrapping in a make shift garbage bin. Then, taking a last wide look of the market, he made up his mind to go back in and join the others in whatever conversation they were having. But just as he was about to pace quickly over to the casino, he caught sight of the security officer that had stopped him and his colleagues over at Nora's place, and seeing that the security officer looked rather idle where he was standing, Bjorn decided to ask him how things went after their last meeting.

The security officer recognized Bjorn from their earlier meeting, and was happy to answer his question.

"I have no idea what they were up to," he explained. "The kids I mean... But I told them to go back home, and I haven't seen them around since."
Bjorn nodded. Then,  hoping to start a conversation Bjorn asked about the kids roaming around with no apparent purpose.
"Yeah, it is a problem. But many of them are finding useful things to do," the security officer explained.
"Like carrying groceries for people?" Bjorn suggested, thinking of his own experience over at Pingo.
"Yes, and other things too. Many of those dolls over there have been made by kids," the officer explained, pointing to the stall with the fluffy animals.
"Child labour?" Bjorn asked rhetorically.
"Yes, but it beats having them roaming the streets."

Bjorn was again shocked to learn about the hard reality of life in Lundby, but kept it to himself. And seen from the perspective of the security officer, having the kids locked up in factories all day must indeed be a good thing, so he simply nodded in agreement.

"And how are things going regarding the ongoing conflict with the stall owners?" Bjorn asked, curious to hear what this representative for Pedro was making of it.
"Not very good, I'm afraid," the man commented honestly. "They are pushing very hard for right out annexation."
"And you are just going to let it happen?"
"There's not really all that much we can do at the moment," the man continued, surprisingly open about the whole thing. "They are armed, so it is not like we can simply push them aside."
"And they outnumber you too, don't they?"
"Sure do! About twenty to one. Not the sort of odds you want to operate with."

Bjorn looked around, as if assessing the man's odds in a gun fight. Not that it was necessary in order to agree with the man's assessment, but more to get a full perspective on the hopelessness of Pedro's position.

"So, Pedro is going to give in to their demands?" Bjorn asked.
"No. But he isn't going to resolve this through brute force," the man explained. "It's not the way he does things, and it would be suicidal anyway. You won't see me opening any shots against these guys, and I don't think anyone else would be crazy enough to do that either."

The security officer looked over at one of the stall owners, giving him a friendly nod.

"So you are friendly with these guys?" Bjorn asked puzzled.
"Sure, I'm patrolling the square and the rest of the neighbourhood, and they appreciate that of course."
"And they are paying for that?"
"No, they aren't. But this is the centre of the village, and could easily become the centre of petty theft and thievery. Our clients are mainly people living in this area, and they are naturally interested in things being safe and orderly."
"And it does not hurt establishing a presence here in the village square either?" Bjorn suggested cheekily.
"Of course not."
"And the stall owners are fine with that?"
"Yes and no... They were sceptical to start with, but I think they appreciate my presence now. There is less petty thievery going on now after I've started patrolling this place."

Bjorn looked around again. The place looked peaceful and safe, and the teenagers who had previously roamed the place were indeed a good deal fewer.

"And the petty thieves aren't just doing their thievery other places while you are patrolling this place?" Bjorn asked.
"No... That's not how it works. The kids have started to look for alternative things to do. Crime has a tendency to stop once it does not pay to be a criminal."
"You're right," Bjorn agreed. "And I guess they risk getting shot if they try to break into any of those houses around here."
"Indeed, they do."

Bjorn could relate to the simple logic presented by the security officer. It resonated with his view of the world, and he felt a certain pride in being occupied in the same sort of business as the man in front of him. Bjorn too was an officer of the law. He too was occupied in the business of keeping the bad guys under control, and promoting peace and prosperity by forcing the would be thieves to find better things to do than to steal from people.

And on this happy note, Bjorn was again struck by a desire to return to the barracks. To get some well deserved rest. To celebrate, as it were, his return to society as a useful and productive member.

"There aren't any taxis in this place by any chance?" Bjorn asked, fully expecting the answer to be negative.
"Sure... Not taxis exactly... But those guys over there can get a car for you if you need one," the officer answered, pointing to Jan's two bouncers over at the casino.

91

Bjorn took a deep breath of air. He looked up at the moon, and then over at the church. Then a thought struck him. "That, of course, is the source of all this Fifth Empire talk," he thought. "That's no ordinary church... Newly painted and flood lighted... No shortage of money in other words... A sure sign of a cult.... That's not a church at all. It must be the temple of that Fifth Empire cult."

And pleased with his reasoning, Bjorn looked around for someone to casually ask about the church, and catching sight of Peter, the sandwich guy, he walked over to him as if he already knew him quite well.

"So Peter, who's running that church up there?" Bjorn asked, while looking over at the baguettes in front of him.
"You mean the Church of the Golden Rule?" Peter asked, looking over his shoulder as if to make sure it was still there.
"Yeah... The Church of the Golden Rule," Bjorn reiterated as if he had known the name of the church for some time.
"That's Frederico's church," Peter explained. "He's Brazilian."

Bjorn nodded thoughtfully.

"Third generation German," Peter continued helpfully. "All his ancestors emigrated to Brazil in the mid nineteen forties."
"So! How do you know that?"
"He keeps talking about it. He uses it as an example to explain the concept of original sin."

Bjorn picked up a baguette. "I'll take this one," he said, handing Peter a token which Peter reflexively held up to the light of the nearest paraffin lamp to make a quick check for its authenticity. Then, after receiving his change, Bjorn continued his questioning.

"So you've been to his sermons?" Bjorn asked casually.
"Sure! They are very good!"
"Really?"
"Yeah, I think he really nails it. They are really worth going to... And there's always this singing and dancing too. Very entertaining!"
"Singing and dancing?" Bjorn asked, a little surprised.
"Yeah... You know the sort of stuff they are into over in the US and Brazil..."
"Evangelicals?"
"Yes, that's the word. His church is one of those evangelical ones. Very close to God. No Pope or Patriarch or any of that hierarchical stuff. Just everyone directly talking to God. It's great!"

Bjorn took a bite of his baguette before asking the question he was itching to ask.

"And this Frederico is the one talking about the Fifth Empire all the time, isn't he?"
"So you have heard about it?" Peter asked with a smile.
"Yeah... Everybody seems to be talking about it."
"Well, that's great news. I'm sure Frederico will be delighted to hear that."
"So he's the one?" Bjorn asked, pleased to have his suspicion confirmed.
"Sure... But he did not invent it, if that's what you think."
"No?"
"No! The empire goes way back. It has no beginning and no end. It is eternal."
"The kingdom of God in other words?" Bjorn asked, checking to see if that idea too originated with Frederico.
"Exactly!" Peter answered, smiling even broader. "The Fifth Empire is the kingdom of God on earth. That's basically it. Once you realize that, you'll never view the world the same way again."

Bjorn half expected Peter to try to convert him at this stage, but Peter did not follow up on his explanation. Instead there was a silence while Bjorn downed some more of his baguette while looking over the crammed table that served as Peter's stall. There were several piles of different types of sandwiches and baguettes, and there were thermoses with different types of drinks, as well as two big coolers under the table, full of soft drinks and beer.

Peter had moved his cigarettes and magazines that previously occupied one end his stall onto an abandoned table next to his which made his stall a little less crowded than it would otherwise have been. And this made Bjorn wonder what happened to the owner of the stall that Peter was expanding onto. So, after letting Peter serve a young Norwegian couple, Bjorn asked him about this.

"We haven't seen him since Wednesday," Peter explained, pointing out the fact that the stall owner at the other end of the abandoned stall was expanding onto the empty table from his end too.
"Well, that's kind of convenient for you, isn't it?" Bjorn asked. "The extra space must come in handy."
"It sure does. I regret not having put up a bigger stall while I had the chance."
"But there's plenty of room. It's not like the whole village square is fully occupied."
"Yeah, but this spot is right in the middle, and I'd like to keep it that way. I don't want to let a competitor take over this spot."
"And your neighbour is gone with no trace?" Bjorn asked. "Have you tried to contact him?"
"Yes, we have, but he is not answering our calls."
"Strange..."
"But he was struggling, though. I think he might have given up. Poor guy, a Russian from Nikel... He was trying to sell those wooden dolls, and Russian looking stuff... Completely missed the market...
I don't think we'll see him back here ever again."

Bjorn nodded thoughtfully as he listened to Peter. Then, asking Peter for permission, Bjorn grabbed the latest copy of the Gazette, and wishing Peter the best of luck on his business expansion, he headed back in the direction of the casino.

90

Bjorn felt a god deal better just stepping out into the cold night air, and his curiosity about the market and how it had changed over the last few days soon made him forget all about his sudden spell of dizziness. He looked briefly around for Frank, but it was clear that he was not among the people strolling among the stalls.

The market was busy but not crowded, and most of the people out among the stalls were people catching a bit of fresh air or having a smoke before returning to the casino. A man having had too much to drink was sitting on a bench a bit away from the stalls, in the continuation of the diagonal going in the direction of the fish processing plant. He was sitting, hunched forward, with a friend at his side. But apart from him, there was little sign of people having had too much to drink.

Bjorn noticed that all the new stalls were placed along the diagonal in the direction of the casino, and that a new lane was about to be established parallel to the street in front of the casino. It was almost as if the casino itself was pulling the stalls in its direction, but it was of course only natural that the market would grow in that direction, with so many tourists and potential customers coming from that side of the square.

The new stalls were mainly selling touristy stuff, like little rag dolls, T-shirts and other gift items. A busker was sitting on a camping chair, playing his guitar, and a woman had put up a small table with two chairs under a paraffin lamp where she sat cutting miniature portraits of people. She was very skilled with her scissors, quickly cutting out impressively accurate profiles in black paper which she in turn glued onto pre-cut white backgrounds before handing them over to her customers.

Bjorn was for a while completely mesmerised by the woman's lightning fast handiwork, and was tempted to have his own portrait cut. But he decided against it after realizing he had no intention of hanging up a portrait of himself anywhere in his room. The portrait would simply disappear into a drawer somewhere and never again see the light of day.

Bjorn pulled a tiny casino chip out of his pocket and tossed it into the hat in front of the busker. Then he went over to a stall selling rag dolls, fluffy animals and T-shirts. There was a bunch of fluffy polar bears on one side of the stall, all wearing little T-shirts with "I Love the Arctic" embroidered on them, and next to this pile were some fliers protesting Pedro's claim to the village square.

"May I take one?" Bjorn asked the stall keeper, pointing to the fliers.
"Sure! And feel free to sign our petition too," he answered.

Bjorn looked at the petition, next to the fliers, and feeling generous and sympathetic towards the stall owners he signed his name on the list. Then he looked briefly through the T-shirts, most of which had the usual popular culture themes, but some having "I Love Lundby" on them too. And to Bjorn's surprise he also found a couple in military green with the single word "5th" printed on the front, and "citizen" printed on the back.

"5th avenue?" Bjorn asked, deliberately pretending to be clueless.
"No... 5th Empire," the stall owner corrected with a chuckle. "We can have your name printed on the back under the word citizen if you please."
"Really? You have a machine to do that here?" Bjorn asked, seeing no such machine in the stall.
"No, but I have a deal with the dry cleaners over there," the stall owner explained, pointing to the dry cleaner to the south of the square.

Bjorn looked over at the shop with its brightly lit store front before asking the stall owner what the Fifth Empire thing was all about.

"Oh... I thought you knew... It is the kingdom of God," the stall owner explained with no hint of irony.
"Is that so?" Bjorn answered sceptically. "And a citizen is a believer? Is that how it goes?"
"Yeah, that's about right."

Bjorn smiled. It was a neat idea if nothing else. But not being religiously inclined, and certainly not interested in associating himself with a cult, he explained that the T-shirt was not for him. The stall owner smiled and nodded. "You'll come to see it differently one day," he said. "I'm sure of it."

89

Bjorn looked again over at the table where they were selling drugs. From where he was sitting it all looked quite innocent, and to risk his life in order to stop it seemed right out absurd. However, it would not surprise him if an order to arrest David and Jan, and the two peddlers too, would come from Oslo one day, and was he then really going to risk his life in order to act on such an order? He doubted it. And thinking about it some more, Bjorn thought it an impossible idea. If Oslo ever was to issue an arrest order on those guys, they would have to send a proper SWAT team to do the job. Bjorn and his colleagues were border guards, neither motivated nor trained to deal with dope dealing gangsters.

Bjorn decided to go over to the men's room, both due to a sudden urge to go there, and out of curiosity for the drug dealing. But even as he passed the drug dealers' table, he got no sense that anything very sinister was going on. And on returning to his colleagues' table, he completely forgot about the drug dealers, suddenly being preoccupied by the whereabouts of Frank instead. He hadn't seen Frank in a while, and it struck him as odd that his boss should have completely disappeared, just like that.

"Where is Frank?" Bjorn asked as he sat down with his colleagues again.
"I don't know," Ante answered. "I last saw him in the room with the roulette table. Why don't you go and check, if you're curious?"

Bjorn did not feel like getting up right away, so he remained seated, listening in on his colleagues making plans for next Friday instead, which was what the conversation had moved onto while Bjorn had been away. Both Espen and Thomas were insisting on including bowling as a part of their program, recounting a favourable review by Ola and Per who had started their evening at the newly opened alley.

"We can go bowling before dinner, just like Ola and Per did," Espen suggested. "But where should we go for dinner?"
"I don't know," Ante commented thoughtfully. "There's only Nora's place and Peppe's Pizza. I don't think there's any other place to go... Unless they serve food at the bowling alley. Maybe we could eat there?"
"We could go to Nora's place again," Thomas suggested. "I wouldn't mind a repeat of what we had today."

And from here the discussion went on without much direction or purpose. And Bjorn quickly became restless, and even tired where he was sitting. He felt like going back to the barracks, and he realized once again that he was a good deal older than his colleagues. They were not likely to return to the checkpoint in a long while yet, and yet Bjorn was already starting to long for bed.

Still feeling a little dizzy and nauseous, Bjorn did not feel like drinking more, and with the conversation around the table not interesting him much either, Bjorn excused himself once again, this time to go and look for Frank. And thinking he might as well get some fresh air while he was up, he found his jacket in the pile under Thomas' balloon, and put it on before leaving his colleagues.

However, Frank was nowhere to be found. He was neither in the roulette room nor outside with the smokers. And looking over at the market, still open and busy over in the village square, Bjorn could not see any sign of Frank there either. But the market looked so attractive with its multitude of paraffin lamps and busy stalls that he crossed the road and entered it anyway.

80

Thomas tried to conveniently forget about the balloon on his way out of Nora's place, but was prevented from leaving it behind by his colleagues who insisted on him taking it with him to the casino. And seeing no way around this, Thomas put the weight at the end of the string in the breast pocket of his shirt. He then put his jacket on, zipped it up, and stepped out in the cool evening air with the balloon hanging above his head.

The air was completely still which made the walk back to the village square quite pleasant despite the low temperature. Even Frank, in his light summer jacket seemed to be doing all right in the cold.

Another family from Kirkenes, by the look of it, came walking up the other way, and the mother in the group asked if they were returning from Nora's place.

"Yes, we are!" Ante answered, delighted to help.
"So there will be a table ready for us when we get there?" the mother continued.
"I guess they are preparing the table as we speak!"
"Oh, that's good to hear. You see we are a little early."

Ante checked his watch. "Yeah, I see... We finished our seating early... I guess we could have hung around for another fifteen minutes."
"And it's right over there, right?" The woman asked, pointing to Nora's place.
"Yes! That's it... Enjoy the food! It´s fantastic."
"Yes, we will!" the woman answered before thanking the men and leading her group onwards to the restaurant.

The small talk put a smile on Ante's face, perking him up even more. "I love helping people out," Ante commented as he too was aware of his positive reaction to the woman's simple questions. And his colleagues nodded in agreement.

"There's something wonderful about being nice," Bjorn agreed. "I think that's pretty universal."
"And yet there's no end to the wars and riots, it seems," Thomas continued without dismissing Bjorn's thesis.

But before they had any time to continue their philosophical musings, they were again asked to help. This time by a man in a casual grey uniform, with the logo of Lance Security displayed both on his jacket and on his military style hat.

"Have you seen anyone loitering around here?" the man asked in broken English.
"No!" Ante answered, again quick to be of help. "Only a family heading for Nora's place."
"No teenagers?"
"Among the family members?"
"No. On their own?" the man corrected, looking anxiously in the direction of Nora's place.

The man did not wait for an answer, as he seemed to have caught sight of something, and left the men wondering what was going on as he started running towards the restaurant. Not being in a hurry, the men watched the security officer disappear around a corner, only to reappear a little later right behind the family at Nora's doorstep.

Nothing much happened after this, and the men resumed their walk towards the casino. The last they saw of the security officer was him first talking to Aung, and then remaining on the porch before drifting into the garden, disappearing behind the house, clearly still looking for the teenagers he was looking for.

"I thought they did not have any police in the village," Espen commented on the episode as they neared the village square.
"Well, that guy was working for Pedro," Bjorn replied, happy to show off some knowledge on the subject.
"Really?" Frank asked.
"Lance Security," Bjorn continued. "It's Pedro's insurance company."
"Insurance company?" Espen asked. "But that was a police officer of sorts, not an insurance sales man."
"Sure," Bjorn answered. "But there are no police in Lundby, so I guess the insurance companies have to pay for their policing themselves."

The men went silent on this latest comment until Thomas nodded in agreement. "That does make sense," he concluded, with his colleagues joining in with nods and grunts of their own.

The village square was as busy as always, and paraffin lamps, hung from the roofs of the stands, lit it all up in a pleasant warm glow. And some of the store fronts at the far end of the square were also open, with a few people window shopping in the cool arctic night. There was a kiosk selling all sorts of stuff, including PC's, mobile phones and other electronic equipment, a drycleaner, and a fashion store, all of which had escaped Bjorn's attention on his first trip to Lundby.

Pingo was still open across the square from the casino, and so was the petrol station, both still doing good business, although less so than when the men arrived earlier in the evening. And the men laying down the final bit of side walk in front of the casino were finishing up their work at the far end of the big building that used to be the local administration office for public services, according to Ante who pointed out the irony of a public building being turned into something as un-Norwegian as a house of sins.

"Everything goes in there," Ante said with a smile. "Except smoking your cigarettes."

Ante pointed to the familiar circular signs with a line crossing out a lit cigarette, posted on either side of the entrance and on every door going into the casino. And it was clear that people followed the rule, as there were plenty of smokers standing outside with their cigarettes in hand, huddling around paraffin heaters set out for comfort. But just as Bjorn was about to make a comment on this, they were all approached by two scanty clad black girls commenting on Thomas' balloon. "Hey birthday boy!" they said with mischievous glee. "Are you ready for a party?"

75

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

65

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

64

The article on the conflict between the stall owners and Pedro had a link to the formal complaint logged by the stall owners, and curious to see what this looked like, Bjorn clicked on it to have it come up on his screen. The page with the complaint was set in a dark frame, with "The Blacklist" written in grey letters, as if set in stone, at the top. The subtitle stated, also in grey letters, that "all are innocent until proven guilty." And next to the title, there was a search field, and an option to go to an advanced search page.

The complaint itself was tidy and clean cut, with its title displayed at the top, followed by some basic information, such as status and location, a full list of the plaintiffs and the name of the defendant. Each person in the list was highlighted with a link, presumably to get to more details on each individual, and still curious to learn as much as he could about Pedro, Bjorn clicked on his name to see what more, if anything, the Blacklist had on him.

But instead of going directly to more personal information on Pedro, the link directed Bjorn to a short fact sheet containing only his name and contact details together with a list of accusations and another list of grievances in which he was presently involved. To get more personal details on Pedro, Bjorn had to click on Pedro's name again, but the page on Pedro was kept down to a bare minimum with no more than his full name and minimal contact details filled in.

So it was clear that Pedro's personal information page at the Blacklist did not tell Bjorn anything new. However, the short fact sheet on him did in fact tell Bjorn a little more, because it did not only list the dispute with the stall owners under open grievances against him, it also listed a dispute in which he was a plaintiff. Pedro was listed as having a grievance against Ane, and this surprised Bjorn so much that once he saw it he clicked the link to see what it was all about.

And sure enough, there it was. Pedro and Jan were complaining about Ane's fish factory. They were concerned about the pollution coming from it due to all the untreated fish waste that she was dumping into the fjord, and they wanted her to clean up her act. Their personal grievance against Ane was that her disregard for the environment would soon cause a stench, and thus negatively affect the value of the casino and the village square.

Bjorn looked at the date of the complaint, thinking it odd that it had been logged so soon after the factory had been opened. The factory was after all, only opened the day before, and it could not possibly be the case that the environment was already affected by this. And it looked like someone had had the exact same thought, because someone called Maria had made a comment on the complaint, very much to that effect. However, while Bjorn was reading Maria's short comment, another comment appeared, this one directed to Maria, and authored by Jan, saying that "we don't need to wait for the inevitable. There is no doubt that the untreated sewage will cause problems, and that this will damage our properties. Ane cannot simply ship her stench over to us without any kind of compensation. And it is not like the technology to treat her waste does not exist."

"Boy! These people don't kid around, do they?" Bjorn thought to himself. Then, curious to see what the Blacklist had on Ane, he clicked on her name to get up her short fact sheet, and then on her name again to go to her personal details. However, Ane's personal details page was not filled in. Instead the page asked him politely to fill in the page if he happened to be Ane. However, right below the polite invitation to fill in the details was a stern warning. "Do not fill in this page if you are not in fact Ane, or a person authorized by Ane," it said in bold red lettering. "Any abuse of the Blacklist is a crime and will be treated accordingly."

63

Bjorn looked up from his computer screen while contemplating the arguments laid out by Pedro and the stall owners. The sun setting behind the mountains to the north west of Lundby made the sky flare up in the same dramatic fashion as it had done when Bjorn first arrived at the checkpoint, less than a week ago. It was a truly impressive view. Stunning and eerily cold and indifferent, as if completely immune to anything anyone might want to do to it. Watching it from the comfort of his office chair was delightfully meditative, making his thoughts move freely from one thing to another.

Bjorn found Pedro's argument quite revealing in that it exposed a motive for Pedro's decision to go into the deal with the foreign minister in the first place. The village was at the time completely uninhabited, and it was not unreasonable of Pedro to think that his promise to maintain public properties would include a right to "tax" anyone using these properties. And with a growing population, the money he could get through taxation would increase.

However, Pedro had not actually made his claim to the public properties widely known, so it was quite understandable that the stall owners felt that they had a right to use the village square without paying any dues to Pedro. And with this in mind, Bjorn returned to the article he was reading, feeling empathy for the squatters who were fighting for their right to be left alone.

The leaflets handed out by Pedro's men had come as a complete surprise to the stall owners, and feeling threatened by Pedro's sudden land claim, some of the stall owners had immediately gone ahead and bought themselves handguns over at Gus's gun store. And shortly after, the stall owners had formed a union, agreeing to stand together against what they felt was an attempt at extortion.

The union of stall owners, with its armed members, had in turn caused concern over at the casino, which prompted Jan to arm his employees, just in case the squatters would get the idea that they could do anything they wanted now that they have banded together. But the stall owners were quick to contact Jan, assuring him that they had no other agenda than to protect their right to be left alone. And having no interest in frightening their customers they agreed among themselves that they would keep their weapons concealed, and continue their peaceful activities as if nothing had happened.

Eager to find a peaceful resolution to what could potentially lead to an ugly situation right across from his casino, Jan volunteered to act as a mediator between the stall owners and Pedro, with a further suggestion that the stall owners not only complain directly to Pedro, but also make their case public by publishing a formal statement on the Blacklist, a website specifically designed for public grievances.

And it was the public statement made on the Blacklist that had drawn the attention of the journalist to the rapidly escalating conflict. It had prompted her to go out and get the full story, interviewing both the stall owners and Jan and his people. But, unable to reach Pedro, the only statement in his defence was the short reply made by him to the formal complaint on the Blacklist. Pedro's unwavering position was that since he had taken on obligations to take care of public properties in Lundby, he had in effect also received the right to demand rent from these same properties.

62

John's paranoid comment about Pedro made Bjorn curious to find out more about the man, so he looked him up on the wed first thing on returning to his room after dinner. Bjorn typed in Pedro's full name in the search field of his browser, and immediately got up several matches, the top one being a short encyclopaedic article on Wikipedia. However, it did not say much more about the man than that he was a wealthy Portuguese investor. And the picture included in the article was clearly dated since it showed a man in his thirties while his birth date put him in his mid fifties.

Bjorn looked through some of the other pages found by the search engine, but there was very little more on the man. The only page that seemed to be personal, in the sense that Pedro must have had a say in it, was a page for a company called Lance Securities, for which he was the CEO. His name was also listed among top shareholders in various company reports, supporting the Wikipedia claim regarding the man's wealth.

The description of Pedro as CEO of Lance Securities was even more brief than the Wikipedia entry, and it used the exact same picture, which made Bjorn think that the dated picture might be the only one of him. And this curious reluctance to show a more recent picture did indeed make Pedro's existence seem obscure, if not right out fraudulent. Bjorn had to admit that John had a point when he doubted Pedro's existence. But Pedro was surely not unique in wanting to keep a low profile, and concluding that someone does not exist merely because that someone does not want to keep a high profile was stretching the imagination quite a bit towards conspiracy paranoia.

Bjorn saw no immediate reason to go along with John's hypothesis, but he could not readily dismiss it either, so he let the idea linger as unlikely but plausible while he proceeded to look through news articles on the man. Most of the articles were old and about things that Bjorn was well aware of, but one stood out from the rest, not so much because it came up as related to Pedro, but because it was posted on the Lundby Gazette's online pages.

Bjorn knew that the Gazette had an online version, but this was the first time he had come across it on the web, and eager to see what it had to say about Pedro, he clicked on the link which brought up a professional looking blog. The layout was clean cut and simple, and the advertisements were small and discrete. The article itself was only a few hours old, and mentioned Pedro as part in a dispute with the stall owners down in the village square.

Apparently, someone had distributed leaflets to the stall owners to inform them that the village square was owned and controlled by Pedro, and while the stall owners were free to set up their stalls without having to pay anything at the moment, this was about to change. All stall owners would soon have to pay a "symbolic" sum to Pedro for the right to set up their stalls.

This announcement had made several stall owners furious, claiming that they were the true owners of the land on which they had put their stalls, and that they would refuse to pay any "tribute" to Pedro. However, Pedro's claim to the land was in his view a legally binding consequence of having received the right and duty to maintain public properties for the Norwegian government in Lundby. But the protesting stall owners did not buy this line of reasoning, accusing Pedro instead of neo-feudalist rent seeking.

49

"Ante sure knows how to throw a party," Bjorn thought to himself as he entered the kitchen where most of his colleagues had already sat down to eat. Only Thomas and Espen were still over by the stove heaping up generous amounts of steak, baked potatoes and vegetables for themselves. There was no shortage of whine either, but John and Espen were both having water, either for personal reasons, or in sympathy with the official rules banning any kind of alcohol consumption from Norwegian military bases. But Bjorn saw no reason to be any more prudent than Frank or Ante, and poured himself a big glass of red wine to go with the food.

The atmosphere was positively festive which made Bjorn almost embarrassed to think that he had suddenly felt so uncomfortable in the living room less than two hours earlier. "This is not a bad place at all, is it?" Bjorn thought to himself. "And they are definitely a friendly and polite bunch." And to encourage himself to be more positive in his view of things, he concluded his short lecture for himself. "This is far better than I had imagined," He thought. "So why not be a little more grateful over this unexpected bit of good fortune?"

Almost immediately after sitting down, Bjorn was bombarded by questions from his colleagues which served to underscore his deliberately positive view of his colleagues. They were all curious to hear what he had to say about Lundby, and genuinely interested in all he had to say. They were especially curious to hear about Ane's factory, which none of them had visited before. But Ante was also very curious to hear about the open air market, and everybody thought the replacement of perfectly good pavement with a Portuguese style cobbled stone alternative excessively extravagant, especially in light of the poor living conditions that most of the inhabitants were suffering under.

At one point, they all descended into a discussion on the environmental aspect of the fish processing plant, sparked by Bjorn's description of how all the waste was simply spewed directly and untreated into the water underneath the plant. They all agreed that this could not possibly be legal. But with the alternative being to send everything to China with no guarantee that the environment would be treated any better over there, they could not agree on the factory´s net effect on the global environment. The local environment would surely come under strain from Ane's careless waste treatment, but would things really be any better if the exact same was done in China?

This in turn brought up the idea of a global government. A government with global powers on environmental issues, but they all agreed that such a solution sounded too utopian, and that it had to be up to local governments all over the world to make sure that people like Ane could not go around polluting the environment without any kind of cost or consequence.

Having settled on a conclusion of sorts as far as the fish processing plant was concerned, the talk turned towards the planned outing on Friday night, with Ante raving about Nora's place for which he clearly had great expectations. And Frank was all enthusiastic about the casino, eagerly describing the place as he remembered it from an earlier visit.

Bjorn gathered from the talking that all of the men, except John, had been down in the village on one or more occasion. John, it seemed, was fearful of the village, and the enthusiastic raves by his colleagues made him only less eager to ever visit the place, which made Bjorn think that the young man might be fearful of a lot more than just the village. John, it seemed, was not only fearful of the village, he was fearful of himself.

41

Bjorn could not help admiring the boy's optimism in the face of the hopeless situation he and his father had gotten themselves into. With the minimal wages paid by Ane, neither the boy nor his father were likely to see their family in Senegal again any time soon. Certainly not as long as they were sending whatever little extra they were making back to their loved ones.

"Here is five MG for your help," Bjorn said, fishing out the smallest chip he could find from his pocket. "Keep the change!"
"Thank you," the boy replied, suddenly switching to Norwegian, and grinning from ear to ear.
"So you speak Norwegian, do you?" Bjorn asked, also switching to Norwegian.
"A little, I lived almost six months in Oslo before we got busted and sent up here."

Bjorn found the boy's story fascinating while Geir clearly found it less so. Impatient to get going, Geir demonstratively got into the car while Bjorn exchanged a final few words with the boy, encouraging him to keep up his Norwegian, and wishing him good luck for the future.

When the boy finally left, heading back to the village square, Bjorn discovered that he was holding the receipt from Pingo in his hand, and he was for a moment surprised by this before remembering that he had absentmindedly picked it out of one of the bags when putting away the groceries in the trunk of the car. He scanned the receipt briefly before entering the car, seating himself in the passenger seat next to Geir.

"That's interesting," Bjorn said, as Geir started the engine. "This receipt from Pingo has a field for the sales tax, and it is set to zero."
"And?" Geir asked with an irritated tone of voice that Bjorn chose to ignore.
"Well, it means that king Pedro is not collecting any taxes on the food. So we still don't know how he's making any money on this project."
"Maybe he owns Pingo," Geir suggested.
"You think he went to all this trouble just to open a grocery store in the arctic?" Bjorn asked mockingly.
"I don't know," Geir replied, even more irritated. "And you know... I don't really care either."

A bus had stopped to let out a fairly large number of passengers right next to the parking lot, and it took some maneuvering on Geir's part to avoid the many pedestrians crossing the road. Then, he drove the car over to the petrol station where a man greeted them at the pump. Geir rolled down the window on his side, and asked the man to fill up the tank.

"You don't see that very often anymore," Bjorn remarked as the man went ahead with the business of filling their tank with petrol. "In fact, I can't remember having seen this kind of service since I was a kid."
"We have thankfully progressed from back then," Geir countered while tapping the steering wheel lazily with his hand.
"Yeah," Bjorn agreed. "It is not hard to come up with this kind of services when salaries are close to zero."
"Exactly!" Geir nodded. "We have come a long way since the seventies."

40

Bjorn felt strangely exited as he stepped out into the grey outdoors together with Geir, with a bag containing three wine bottles in one hand and a bag full of carrots and cheeses in the other. Everything about the village felt both strange and familiar at the same time. Its exotic foreignness contrasting sharply with the drab predictability of its arctic setting.

A light drizzle had started once again, and Bjorn felt a sting of pity for the merchants out on the market place, struggling to keep their wares dry by covering their flimsy make shift stalls as best they could. An enterprising merchant had hammered together a roof of sorts, covered with canvas, which he slid into place with the help of three teenage kids. The others simply covered their wares with large sheets of transparent plastic.

Everything about the village seemed ad hock and badly planned. But there was no sign of despair anywhere. People seemed to accept their lot, some even with visible enthusiasm.

"You need help carrying that?" a tall black teenager asked, appearing out of nowhere.
"No," Bjorn answered instinctively, feeling uncomfortable by the sudden and uncalled for attention.
"One MG, and I'll carry it all the way home for you," the teenager insisted.
"One MG?" Bjorn asked, surprised by the miniscule amount asked for. Then, still feeling uncomfortable, he excused himself by saying he didn't carry such small change.
"That's all right," the youth continued. "I got change for as much as twenty MG." And he held up a handful of tiny casino tokens to prove his point.

The teenager smiled broadly as he nagged Bjorn once more, insisting on helping him carry the bags.

"You heard him, didn't you?" Geir said with an aggressive tone of voice, clearly in an effort to help Bjorn rid himself of the teenager.
"But you're not helping him, are you?" the teenager insisted, pointing out that Bjorn was carrying two bags, while Geir was not carrying any.
"He's my assistant," Geir proclaimed proudly. "Now, go away, will you."
"Is that so?" the teenager asked, looking at Bjorn with a mocking smile.
"Yeah," Bjorn admitted reluctantly. "But you know what?" he continued. "Why don't you carry these bags for me over to our car up there at the parking lot."

The teenager broke out in a big smile, took the bags, and started strolling in the direction of the parking lot, alongside the two men. Geir hissed a Norwegian curse. "Don't feed the stray dogs," he said, lecturing Bjorn on his mistake. "You'll never get rid of him now."

But Bjorn ignored Geir's whisper, turning to the boy instead.

"So where are you from?" Bjorn asked. "Your English is very good."
"Thanks! I'm from Senegal."
"Really? And you speak English in Senegal?"
"No. We speak French. I learned English at school."
"Comes in handy up here, doesn't it? Not very many people speak French here, do they."
"Quite a few do, actually. But English is the language that everybody understands."
"It is, isn't it?" Bjorn agreed. "And you are here with family?"
"I'm here with my father. My mother and sisters are back home in Senegal."

Bjorn had no idea where Senegal was, and completely clueless to its language, history or culture, he wondered out loud why someone would want to leave sunny Africa for the arctic.

"We were sent up here from Oslo, just the other day," the boy explained. "My father was working for a cleaning agency. But they got busted."
"Really? So you are not looking for asylum."
"Officially we are. But we are really just looking for work."
"Officially?" Bjorn asked, curious to learn about the boy's and his father's thinking.
"Well, with the new rules and all, we knew that we would be sent up here for free if we asked for asylum. So when my father got busted, he asked for asylum, and we got sent up here."
"But that´s hardly an improvement on what you had, is it?"
"We would have preferred to stay in Oslo. But since that isn't an option any longer, my father figured we'd try our luck up here."
"And how is that working out so far?"
"Not very well," the boy had to admit. "But at least my father still has a job."
"He does? Where?"
"At the fish processing plant."
"Not making very much money, is he?" Bjorn asked, looking for a confirmation for his quiet outrage over Ane's terrible wage policy.
"No, it is much less than what he used to get in Oslo. But it is still better than no job at all. And my father and I still have enough to send some money home to the family."
"Really? How is that possible?" Bjorn asked, genuinely surprised.
"We don't spend much money on ourselves."
"Clearly..." Bjorn nodded in confirmation.
"But things will get better," the boy concluded optimistically as they reached the car at the parking lot. "A lot better."

39

Approaching Pingo, Bjorn was struck by the low prices displayed for petrol at the petrol station next to the super market.

"Nineteen MG for a litre of petrol," Bjorn remarked. "Is that even possible?"
"Apparently," Geir replied. "That's what the sign says after all."

Then, suddenly realizing how the low price could be possible, Bjorn answered his own question with another question: "They are not paying any taxes here, are they?"
"Probably not," Geir answered. "Or very little?"
"To Pedro, maybe?" Bjorn speculated.
"Could be. How else is he making any money? Somebody has to pay him, and if it isn't through taxes, how else?"
"So you think this Pedro might be some sort of king down here?" Bjorn continued, fascinated by the implications of such a situation.
"Could be. Or this Jan and Pedro might be having some unholy alliance."
"The casino owner?"
"Yeah."
"Interesting..."

Bjorn could not help feeling intrigued by the village, and the murky circumstances that led up to its recent resurrection. "Come to think of it," Bjorn wondered out loud, just before entering Pingo. "I have not seen any sign of this Pedro at all. Wasn't he supposed to take care of the asylum seekers?"
"Well, that was the idea," Geir agreed.
"Yet everybody here seems to have been left to themselves," Bjorn continued. "Strange, don't you think?"
"Yeah," Geir nodded in agreement as he stepped into the store together with Bjorn.

Bjorn looked around in the brightly lit super market, half expecting to find some sign of Pedro. But here again, everything was as focused on the business at hand as everywhere else. The store was crammed, and felt disorganized, not for lack of effort to keep it tidy, but for lack of space. However, apart from it being too crammed, it did not seem very different from any other super market. Bjorn found it interesting that it had a whole aisle dedicated to wine, since wine can only be sold in special state run stores in Norway, but by now, Bjorn had gotten used to the idea that rules rigorously followed in Norway proper did not necessarily apply to Lundby.

There was plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables to choose from, and both the meat and fish counters were well stocked. But there was also a large sections dedicated to very cheap foods like dried lentils and beans, rice of different kinds, flour and similar basic ingredients. However, keeping in mind that so many in Lundby must get by with as little as a hundred MG per day, this was hardly a surprise. The store was simply stocked with the huge income disparity in the village in mind, with both high end food products and cheap bulk foods, laid out in separate aisles for convenience.

It all looked surprisingly cheap to Bjorn, though, considering that the super market was located in an arctic village, far from where any of the products were actually produced. Every last product in the shelves had to be shipped up to Lundby somehow, and yet the prices for some of the goods were well below what he was used to from Oslo.

"This is kind of expensive," Geir commented as if he had heard Bjorn's thoughts, and decided to deliberately contradict him.
"What is?" Bjorn asked surprised.
"These cheeses."
"Really?"
"They are cheaper over at the market," Geir explained. "And the same goes for the carrots."
"You want to buy this stuff over at the market?"
"No. I can't be bothered. It is not that big of a difference, and I got this debit card I can only use here at Pingo."
"Okay..."
"It is Ante's card," Geir continued. "I'm sure he won't mind if we don't buy the very cheapest of everything. It is not like it is a huge difference anyway."

38

The master stone layer excused himself before going over to a group of men, busy raking a heap of sand into place in front of the casino entrance, leaving Geir and Bjorn to themselves.

"Well, that sort of made sense, didn't it?" Bjorn said thoughtfully.
"If tearing up perfectly good asphalt in order to lay down cobbled stones is your idea of resources well spent, that is," Geir remarked. "I'd say it is a waste of everybody's time. Surely, there must be more pressing issues to tend to than this."

Geir looked around as if everywhere there were more pressing issues than replacing asphalt for cobbled stones.

"And you heard what he is making, didn't you?" Geir continued. "Yet he is not lifting a finger to help the people doing the real work. Just look at him, bossing those black guys around as if they were his personal slaves."
"Yeah, he is not going to break into a sweat any time soon," Bjorn agreed.
"And yet he makes as much in ten days as these people do in a thousand. Just think about that for a moment! That guy, bossing those guys around is making a hundred times more than them."

Bjorn nodded thoughtfully. Something was clearly not right, and yet he could not quite put his finger on it. Venturing an explanation off the top of his head he remarked that the big difference between the master and his slaves was the fact that the master was free to leave at any time, while the slaves were basically stuck in Lundy for at least the duration of their asylum application.

"And again I can't help thinking that we are partially responsible for their misery," Bjorn said. "Since our job is to make sure these people cannot escape."
"No, you are mistaken. The problem is that this village is completely outside political control," Geir corrected confidently. "There are basically no rules down here. Anything goes, and this is what we end up with. A few wealthy people taking advantage of everybody else. Their misery has nothing to do with us."

Geir's explanation was comforting and convincing, and Bjorn did not feel like questioning it.

"You think it's like this by accident, or is it all some sort of conspiracy," Bjorn asked, curious to hear Geir's thoughts on the murky dealings that lead up to the establishment of the Lundby colony.
"What you mean?" Geir asked, not understanding the question.
"Well... I mean... Did they intentionally leave the whole issue of law and order out of the deal?"
"But they didn't," Geir corrected. "They specifically left the issue of law and order to be dealt with by Pedro, the contractor in charge of the colony."
"So this situation is by design?" Bjorn asked. "Surly, the foreign minister must have known the consequences of such a decision."
"I'm sure he did. But he saved the Norwegian tax payers a fortune brokering this deal."
"So he put money ahead of dignity for these people?" Bjorn asked, feeling uncomfortable again.
"He put our money ahead of their dignity," Geir corrected. "You keep forgetting that we had a hell of a problem with these people down in Oslo, and everywhere else where we put up asylum seeker centres for them. And now that we finally got a solution you're concerned about social issues?"

Bjorn nodded in agreement. He was clearly the confused one. He kept feeling surprised and even outraged at times. Yet he was all for the establishment of the colony in the first place. The conditions for the workers were terrible. But at least they were doing something of value, all be it misdirected and frivolous at times. And the main issue as far as his fellow Norwegians were concerned, was that the old asylum seeker policy was in great need of serious changes, and this was clearly a huge improvement for everybody, not least because the colony was privately operated at virtually no cost to the tax payers. Two check points and a few guards was the total investment as far as the tax payers were concerned.

"I got a few things to buy for Ante, over at Pingo," Geir said, stopping Bjorn from analysing his thoughts further. "He gave me this grocery list. We are apparently short on cheese, carrots and wine."
"Okay," Bjorn responded, only happy to be distracted with another assignment. Then he turned around and followed Geir across the road in the direction of the tiny super market at the other side of the square.

36

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

35

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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