“Well,” Sophie said, biting her lip. “Other than Angie, they did all arrive with me. And it is what I do, after all.”
“Let us know whatever you need, and we’ll provide it.”
“Marshal?”
The dictator sighed as Gladys returned.
Sophie smiled at him. “Heavy weighs the crown. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Marshal nodded, then turned. “What can I do for you, Gladys?”
“Sorry dear,” the old lady said, smiling apologetically at Sophie. “I know you’re tired, but there are some matters we need to discuss. Dr. Burke woke up for about fifteen minutes today.”
“Really? That’s fantastic news! How coherent was he?”
“Practically normal,” Gladys said. “He’s still feverish and a little disoriented, but what I really wanted to talk to you about was… well, it’s Eric.”
“What happened?”
“It’s been a while since his legs were injured,” Gladys said, her face troubled, “and they’re not getting any better. For the last two days, he’s been in terrible agony. We’ve given him painkillers, but they don’t seem to help. It’s worse when I try to clean his injuries. The flesh is rotten, Marshal, and the smell is horrendous. He insists that they’ll need to be amputated before gangrene sets in. I keep holding out hope, because the antibiotics seem to be stopping the spread, and if he’s still feeling pain, then…”
She paused, shaking her head with tears in her eyes.
“I tried to ask Dr. Burke,” she continued, half-sobbing through her words. “He could barely understand me, but he said… he said that the rotten flesh had to be cut away, that… that amputation could be the only option. Eventually, the antibiotics will lose their effectiveness and… and the poison…”
She stopped, folding her arms and covering her mouth with her fist.
“Gladys, I’m sorry,” Marshal said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I know that, for a short time, it was just two of you under all that rubble, and that-”
“That’s not it,” she said. “Eric isn’t asking for an amputation, Marshal. He’s asking for his gun. He’s convinced that he’ll be a liability to the rest of us if he has no legs and… and he wants to…”
She couldn’t continue.
“That is not going to happen,” Marshal told her in a soft voice. “All right? Under no circumstances are you to bring him his gun. It may take time, but we’ll just have to convince him that he’s wrong. I’ll talk with him, but you need to keep reminding him how much he’s still needed. Even without legs, the man is a hero, and we need as many of those as we can get.”
“Thank you, Marshal,” Gladys said, wiping one eye. “But if it comes down to it… do we have the right to stop him? After everything he’s done?”
“It’s way too soon to answer that question,” Marshal said. “Just keep giving him painkillers, and we’ll see what the doctor says when he wakes up. All right?”
Gladys nodded, and then turned and moved away.
He turned towards Valerie, who’d been watching him closely, when God returned, looking thoughtful.
“Fine young man,” God said, scratching his beard. “Sad to see him in such a self-destructive mood. I’ll need to come along with you tomorrow, Marshal, when you go out with Crapmobile. There’s something I need to get, if I’m to keep my promise to the Corporal.”
“What promise?” Gladys snapped.
“Oh, I promised to save his legs,” God answered. “It’s kind of a deal-breaker, as far as he’s concerned. Without them, he thinks he’s doing you a favor by committing suicide. He’s wrong, of course, but without his legs, he won’t listen to reason. So I’ll need to fix them. In order to do that, I’ll need to go with you tomorrow.”
Marshal exchanged puzzled glances with Valerie. “Um…” he said.
“Say,” God said, clapping his hands together. “Do you mind if I join you for dinner? I’m starving. Angie said it was this way? Wonderful. Such a lovely home you have here, Marshal. You must be very proud. See you in about an hour.”
With that, God ambled down the hallway towards the main apartment.
For a second, Marshal and Gladys stared after him, dumbfounded. Valerie’s smile, on the other hand, grew larger.
“I’d better go now,” Gladys said stiffly, “before I say something unbecoming of a lady. Thank you for listening, Marshal, and thank you for Eric as well.”
She stormed off, leaving a very tired and despondent Marshal in her wake.
“You need me,” Valerie said, out of nowhere.
Marshal looked up at her again.
“Hello, Valerie,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“What can you do for me?” Valerie seemed to consider as she straightened up to reveal her near-perfect figure with a feline stretch. “Beyond leading all of us from darkness? Hmm. I suppose I could think of a half a dozen things. You’re pretty good-looking, and you have that lean, disingenuous, gunfighter thing going on. Even so, I’m not sure you could handle what I bring to the table.”
She placed her fists on her hips.
“Excuse me?” Marshal said. “You... uh... I’m.... what have I got going on?”
“Focus, Marshal,” she said, ducking her head with a playful smile. “What you should be asking at the moment is ‘what I can do for you?’”
A montage of inappropriate images flashed through Marshal’s head, and the blood rushed to his face in a flush of self-recrimination.
“Uh...” Marshal swallowed. “Whu… what do you mean?”
“I’ve been watching you, Mr. Wizard,” she said. “I’m very impressed. I’ve worked for lots of dictators, but you might be the first one I might actually like. I can’t tell if you’ve bitten off more than you can chew yet. It’s obvious you have a pretty fine set of teeth. But since we’re all in big trouble if you don’t succeed, I’ve decided that you deserve my help.”
“What?”
“That whole dictator speech,” Valerie said. “That was mostly bullshit, wasn’t it?”
“No,” Marshal said, feeling a flash of irritation. “I meant every word.”
“That just means that you’re sincere in your bullshit.” Valerie cocked her head with a smile. “It doesn’t alter the actual concentration of excrement in what you said. For example, if you’re a dictator, than I’m a sumo wrestler.”
Marshal scowled.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I didn’t say that I disapproved. Dictators are so boring. I’m so much more intrigued by the man I’m seeing, than the man you’re pretending to be. And as bullshit goes, it was clearly bullshit we all needed to hear. All the best leaders throw bullshit around. Bullshit is the glue that holds people together.”
She flashed him a brilliant smile, and Marshal was struck by how attractive she was. She was dressed in an immaculately pressed grey business skirt that hugged her curves, stopping just above the knees of her long legs. A matching gray jacket over a spotless white blouse somehow managed to display her sizable chest without showing an inch of cleavage. Or maybe, Marshal thought, feeling a bit guilty, it was that his own eyes just seemed to travel that way. She looked professional, and would have appeared equally at home speaking to a boardroom, delivering a closing statement, or passing a dossier to the President of the United States.
He realized that he’d been staring a little long at her chest region, and looked away, raising a hand to rub his eyes and to hide his embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m a bit tired at the moment. I understand that you were a… a receptionist in a legal firm?”
Her gaze strafed the floor with a tolerant smile.
“You are forgiven for that misunderstanding,” Valerie said. “I was a personal assistant, Marshal. To the casual observer, this might indeed look like a receptionist. We both, for example, have desks. We both use telephones and notepads. These similarities are tantamount to those that you might find between a five-star general and a high school p
rincipal.”
“How? I mean… what? What exactly did you do?”
“Many, many things,” she said, “but my primary function was to be my employer’s pre-frontal motor cortex, and the team of people I managed were, for all intents and purposes, the functioning mechanisms of his or her brain. When my employer wanted something done, I was the one who informed the VP’s, arranged the distribution of resources, collated, prioritized, and composed the reports they would read, and then administrated all the details. Some people would have called me an aide, although that was more appropriate during the two political campaigns I helped manage. Sabbatini Incorporated might have called me a consigliore or a fixer.”
She raised her chin slightly.
“And I was the best. The dictators I served became stronger because of my effort. I was their spinach, and even the most ego-driven psychopath among them was smart enough to know it. I was receiving six figures, before my employer got eaten alive while speaking to me on the phone. This was not as uncommon an ending as you might think in my line of work, but I still interpreted it to mean my early termination.”
To Marshal’s startled surprise, she stepped forward, snaked an arm through his elbow, and started leading him from the front hall. Her touch was warm and strangely intimate, making his skin shiver and the hairs on his arm stand on end.
“Now,” she said. “I’m proposing that I work for you. I can organize and administrate for you. I can intercept, interview, and schedule the Brad’s and the Sophie’s of the world, isolate their demands, and research all the background material pertaining to them.”
Several faces looked up in surprise as they entered the main apartment with elbows linked together. Kumar, playing Call of Duty with Jackie on the couch, died in a spray of gunfire, as he did a double-take. Brad elbowed Luca in the middle of their chat at the bar, and the two turned to stare. Glancing over at Kumar for his virtual death, Jackie noticed what had distracted him. Her eyes sparkled with humor.
Marshal opened his mouth to explain.
“Let them wonder,” Valerie murmured, before he could speak. “As dictator, you don’t have to explain yourself to anyone. Just continue talking, like this is the most natural thing in the world. Remember, image supersedes reality in every respect except the real world, and most people choose not to live there. And honey, thanks to me, the optics of your image just went through the roof.”
Marshal looked at her accusatively. “You’re... um....”
“Brilliant? Fabulous? Beautiful and stylish?” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“I was going to say ‘dangerous’,” Marshal murmured.
“Hmm,” she said, frowning. “He’s insightful as well as intelligent, motivated, and altruistic. These are not bad things, but they do complicate matters in so many ways.”
“And,” Marshal added, as she walked him across the floor, “he has ears.”
In response, she gave his arm a gentle squeeze and then leveled him with another megawatt smile that hit somewhere below the knees.
“Time to stop being clever, honey, and start facing the facts. If you’ll let me, I can help you do what you need to do. In fact, I already have. I’ve organized your records on viable salvage sites, high value targets, versus places you’ve already investigated, and replaced them with a completely new structure.”
“You did what?”
“Your former system,” she continued, wrinkling her nose, “if we can call it that, consisted of large, blobs of notepaper with scribbles on them, most of which had fallen between your work desk and the wall. I transcribed them onto one of Kumar’s downtown maps, labeled them, and downloaded the grid into Crapmobile’s on-board computer. I also put Kumar onto adapting the program so that you can input new data directly and rid us of this paper fetish of yours altogether. I’ve itemized, totaled, documented, and organized all of our existing supplies, resources, and materials - your records were almost non-existent there - and I’ve had your ‘Rules’ condensed. You were a little too wordy in outlining them, by the way. They’ll be posted at all our various locations by tomorrow. Brian said he’d put a copy up in the hospital earlier today, and there is already one in Luca’s pack for his trip to the gymnasium.”
“But... that’s not possible!” Marshal shook his head. “We only just decided that plan when we were out on the road today.”
“No, you decided that plan,” Valerie corrected him. “Luca made the decision to propose it the night before, and knowing your preponderance for practical solutions, I anticipated your decision ahead of time. I’ve also just now booked your first discussion with Ms. Wyatt’s class for the day after tomorrow, seven to eight am, before you go out for your daily a-roving. Assuming you don’t have any objections, I can inform Sophie.”
Marshal was speechless. She patted his arm.
“This is what I do, Marshal,” she said, “and I am very, very good at it. I suspect that, in your case, I’ll be especially useful, since you obviously intend to run off and build electrical systems and habitats and solar arrays all day. Most of my former employers preferred golf, networking, or business trips, which puts you several notches above them in my book.
“Now my conditions are these. I will require my living quarters to be strategically appointed near your own, and since this space will function as my office for the time being, it will need to be equipped with a desk, a computer, a coffee maker, and of course, a wardrobe. I am a fashion vampire, I’m afraid. Shoes, clothes, and accessories give me life. If I had my own coffin, it would no doubt say Versace on the side. Therefore, I will also require, as a part of my compensation package, several trips to a list of stores that I will be providing for you later. On a side note, sometime in the future, when I find the right candidate, I will be investing heavily in that person to manage a clothing store. It is shoes and boots, my dear Marshal, that are the true benchmark of civilization, and not literacy, agriculture, and science, like you’ve been told in school.”
“Wow,” Marshal said, blinking as he tried to process all he’d heard. “You inventoried all our supplies? In a day?”
“I wanted to impress you,” Valerie replied. “Have I succeeded?”
“I think so,” Marshal said, rubbing his neck. “It all happened so fast.”
Big, green eyes sparkled with humor. “The correct answer is ‘yes’, Ms. Hunter, you’ve blown me away. I’m lucky to have someone of your talent, brilliance, and beauty willing to work for me at this time.”
“Can I say that?” He frowned. “Isn’t that... harassment or something?”
“I’ll write you a permission note so that the dictator won’t shoot you.”
“Okay,” Marshal said. “Then, Ms Hunter, my answer is yes. I’m lucky to have someone of your talent, brilliance, and beauty willing to work for me at this time. I’ll spread the word that you’re now my personal assistant and anointed second-in-command. You’ll need the authority to be able to do your job.”
“Second-in-command?” She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Won’t Luca complain?”
Marshal shook his head.
“Not the way he’ll see it. By his math, I’ve just made you our second-in-command, and should I become incapacitated, he’ll naturally gravitate to being your right hand man. He won’t want to be the leader, and the fact that I’ve promoted you will probably be a relief.”
“My very own thug,” she said, seeming to think it over. “How generous.”
“Just remember,” Marshal warned her. “He’s still Luca. Handle with care.”
“I’ll try not to break him.”
“Good. Of course, the promotion is conditional.”
“Is it?” She looked at him suspiciously. “All right, then. What are your conditions?”
“There are two of them. First, after I speak to the children tomorrow morning, I want you, Jackie, and Sophie to join me in Crapmobile for the morning drive.”
“Just us girls, eh?” A notepad appeared in her palm and she scribbled. �
�How fun. Marshal’s Angels, is that it? What will we be doing and/or discussing?”
“Nothing so gender specific,” he said. “Jackie, because I’m thinking of tapping her to head up her own scavenger duo down the line, and I want her to become familiar with the rituals and regimen surrounding Crapmobile. Sophie’s worried about Angie, and I felt it might make her less nervous if she saw her in action firsthand. And you, because a trip through the Eaton’s center Mall to see what can be scavenged might make sense later in the day, and I just thought-”
“Ooh!” Valerie clapped her hands theatrically. “Shopping trip!”
“A deal is a deal, after all,” Marshal said.
“What was the second thing?” she asked, holding up the notepad again.
“It’s non-negotiable.” He looked up with a smile, meeting her eyes directly with his own. “I would be honored if you would join me for dinner.”
The pen hovered above the pad. Her gaze did not lower.
“Would this be business? Or pleasure?”
“Oh, definitely,” Marshal answered. “it would be my pleasure.”
“I see,” she said, a little color rising in her cheeks, and the notepad snapped shut. “You do realize that, as your employee, any overtures on your part constitute an act of harassment.”
“My personal assistant assures me that, as dictator, I don’t need to explain myself,” Marshal answered. He frowned. “Besides. I’m pretty sure somebody wrote me a permission note a little while ago.”
“That’s...” she hesitated, trapped by her own words, “... entirely accurate. Very well, Mr. Wizard. You shall have your pleasure dinner. I shall be sure to dress accordingly, so you’d better remember to wear your sunglasses. And just remember what’s not on the menu.”
“Only the finest fare that Sabbatini’s restaurant has to offer,” Marshal assured her. “And remember that we won’t be alone, so of course I’ll be on my best behavior. The aristocracy of New Toronto shall be in attendance, and I have it on good authority that God himself will be joining us. I promise to have him update my halo.”
“You do that,” she laughed. “In the meantime, my tyrant boss has given me my first assignment, so I’d better hop to it. I look forward to seeing you later, Mr. Einarsson.”
From Oblivion's Ashes Page 29