by C. A. Pack
Perog 2 let go of the other soldier. “I’ve found another place to hide where we can actually breathe.”
“Where?”
“Follow me.” He crawled out of the pond and led Mope 98 into the storm drain. They traveled inside for a hundred feet or so, until they came to a junction.
“Which way?” Mope 98 asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I say we go right.”
Perog 2 started down the other tunnel. “And I say we go left.”
Mope 98 sighed in exasperation but followed the other Terrorian.
Mal returned to Mysteriose after discussing its taxation problems with the College of Overseers.
Sean of Oster, who sat at an outer tier observing a discussion, rose to greet him. “Do you have insight into our dilemma?”
“I do,” Mal answered. He pulled out a bundle of printed notes from his robes. He removed one and handed it to Sean. “It is made from your own briars using the same manufacturing process you use to make paper; however, these notes have been embedded with a special microscopic chip that cannot be reproduced in your realm. The notes are numbered sequentially, so they can be recorded as representing a specific resource in your reserve. Do you have a central vault?”
“The rare herbs, minerals, and chemicals are kept in a series of protected caves west of the city. An accounting of what is in the caves is stored in a vault somewhere in the Library of Illumination. It is time we visit Hue the Elder.”
“Your curator?”
“Yes.”
The two men left Town Hall and made their way to a small bookshop nearby. Behind a very long, narrow counter, a man sat hunched over an old book.
“Hue, we have a visitor from the College of the Overseers. This is the Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
“Since when does the College of Overseers have a Chancellor of the Exchequer?” Hue the Elder, who had looked diminutive hunched over a book, slowly stood up until he towered over Sean and Mal.
“I know I shrunk in height as I grew older,” Mal noted, “but you seem taller, if anything.”
“Malcolm Trees. How absolutely wonderful to see you. What’s all this talk about Chancellor of the Exchequer? If curators were allowed to apply for such a position, why don’t I know anything about it?”
“I’m no longer a curator. I’m working for the deans, now that the threat of war has forced them into asking realms to prepare for the inevitable. We’re creating systems that equally divide the burden of reparations, if property is lost due to an attack. I’m here to help with that. We have been calling it a tax, but in essence, your citizens would just be putting away a portion of your communal resources to make restitution to victims who might suffer unfairly.”
“Taxes? Restitution?” Hue leaned back in his chair. “How do you plan to accomplish that?”
“With a system of notes.” He showed Hue the same note he had shown Sean. “Sean says you keep a record of Mysterian resources in the library vault. These notes are numbered sequentially and also have a numeric value assigned to them. So, the lowest numeric value could represent a low number of shares of your most common resource— for example, a sheaf of grain—while the highest numeric value could represent shares of your most scarce and valuable resource, like rare minerals or gems. Each note should be backed by a specific reserve, which is put aside and will only be surrendered when the corresponding note is presented. Instead of the allotments of resources put aside for each citizen every year, the elders could hand out one of these notes, and citizens could choose which denomination they want to remit as taxes. Of course, diamond would be much more valuable than wheat on a general scale. But a baker may prefer not to pay in wheat, because he needs it to make his wares, while a blacksmith would be reluctant to give up the metals or coal he uses in his work. You could set up an exchange where citizens could barter notes among themselves so they could amass the resources they consider most necessary. But all should be asked, in some way, to contribute their share of “taxes,” which are to be held until they are needed. Is my explanation clear?”
“It is, Malcolm,” Hugh said. “Abundantly clear. And it sounds like it would not be too difficult to set up.”
Mal sighed as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. “As Chancellor of the Exchequer, I will help you in any way I can and act as liaison with the College of Overseers, if any difficulties arise. I am here only to advise you and keep a record of your tax system. I require nothing in return.”
“That’s a shame,” Hugh said with the hint of a smile, “because I was going to ask you to share supper with me. But since you require nothing in return….”
Mal’s eyes brightened. “A bit of, what is it you call it, essential water, would certainly help relax me after making this trip.”
“And maybe a little red bread stew would help soften the impact of the essential water,” Hue added.
“That would certainly be kind of you.”
“Come.” Hugh led Mal and Sean out of the bookshop and pulled the door closed. He threw an arm around Mal’s shoulder as he led him away. “Maybe a little essential water will go a long way in persuading you to enlighten me about why I’ve been thrown out of my library.”
Jackson’s face lit up with surprise. “You have an oracle? That is so cool!” Then he whispered to Johanna. “What is an oracle, exactly?”
She laughed. “How can you say it’s cool if you don’t know what it is?”
“Isn’t it Greek or something? Doesn’t it tell you the future?”
RS:⌘ There were oracles in ancient times on Fantasia, but they differed depending on the era and region. Essentially, oracles make predictions. Greek oracles were women—believed to be the mouthpieces of the gods—however our oracle is different. It is an object rather than a person. It is located deep within the Library of Origination and we meditate in the Oracular Chamber when we have a particularly difficult problem to solve. Our oracle is a gemstone that looks like a massive Fantasian opal, and it has the power to align our thoughts and remove distractions. The way to resolve a particular problem soon becomes clear.
“So it doesn’t actually speak or anything.” Disappointment tinged Jackson’s voice.
RS:⌘ Not out loud in words or sentences, but the outcome is the same. It helps us clearly see the path that must be taken.
“Then we shouldn’t keep you,” Johanna said. “We’ll await your return with advice on how to proceed.”
After Ryden Simmdry left, Jackson slumped onto the sofa. “I don’t mind telling you, I’m a little disappointed. No, wait. That’s a lie. I’m a lot disappointed. I was expecting an oracle to be some big deal, not just some stupid little stone they make jewelry out of.”
Johanna sat down next to him. “I’m sure it is a big deal. Ryden Simmdry didn’t make a fuss over it, because he’s used to it. But he did call it a major difference between our library and theirs. And it’s something they turn to when they need help. They’re overseers. They know everything. So if an oracle—regardless of what it looks like—helps them see an answer, then it’s a very big deal.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right. I guess I was expecting the Hollywood treatment. If a famous director ever put an oracle in his film, it would command center stage with a light show and lots of sound effects.”
“I think the overseers have a pretty firm grasp of creating special effects. Just think back to Plato Indelicat’s memorial and the Overseer’s Competition. Or were you too busy flirting with Natalia Dalura to notice what went on there?”
Jackson smiled. “Are you jealous?”
“Do I have anything to be jealous about?”
“I’m not saying,” he teased.
She pulled away to emphasize the space between them. “Then the next time you want to know why our relationship isn’t progressing as quickly as you’d like, think back to this conversation.”
“Ouch!”
Pru Tellerence put the duplicloners in t
he Library of Origination to good use. Before long, she had a large collection of uniforms and weapons ready for the Romantican militairres. All she needed was the delivery of the jacket prototype, and once she had replicas made, she could deliver everything to Romantica.
She telekinetically moved the uniforms to her quarters, and they floated behind her like a parade of laundry on washday. During the journey, Ryden Simmdry crossed her path.
RS:⌘ What have we here, Pru Tellerence?
PT:★ Uniforms for the Romanticans. Their gowns impede their fighting efficiency, however, I believe these will suit their aesthetic tastes while making movement easier.
RS:⌘ It appears we have mutated from a strictly advisory capacity to that of manufacturer of uniforms, equipment, and currency.
PT:★ Currency?
RS:⌘ Yes. Our Chancellor of the Exchequer has found that some realms don’t use currency, nor are they knowledgeable about the process of taxation. They need assistance. The Dramaticans have found a way to make their barter system work for them, but we had no such luck on Mysteriose. So Malcolm introduced them to the idea of paper notes that would represent the standard resources each Mysterian receives annually, and they will decide which notes they are willing to pay in taxes, yet still be able to continue their day-to-day productivity.
PT:★ Couldn’t they print their own notes?
RS:⌘ Mysterians are naturally resourceful, and the elders felt some citizens might take it upon themselves to manufacture their own currency. So I had a printer in the Besta outcrop create notes out of Mysterian briar. Each contains a mineral chip that is only available here on Lumina. Before a Mysterian can trade their notes for natural resources, it will have to successfully pass through a scanner.
PT:★ Calling them “resourceful” is very diplomatic. I would have said “greedy.”
RS:⌘ Diplomacy is a required attribute that serves me well. Will you be making a grand presentation of uniforms on Romantica, like the one on Dramatica?
PT:★ Yes. Proteus Bligh and I will be doing that tomorrow. Would you like to join us?
RS:⌘ I’m not sure I can. I’m on my way to consult the oracle. It may take a minute. It may take a month. I am hoping for expediency, but nothing is certain.
PT:★ What’s the problem?
RS:⌘ We believe Odyon—the Mysterian shapeshifter—is stuck in the time machine with Nero 51, and I am looking for a way to transport a black cube of my own creation into the time machine to absorb the essence of Odyon, so when we recapture the vehicle, we’ll only have one nefarious criminal to deal with instead of two. I seek clarification of the best way to proceed.
PT:★ Then I hope the oracle swiftly illuminates you.
Johanna’s remark about their relationship cut deeply, and Jackson slipped away to shoot hoops behind his house.
Logan rounded the corner. “What’s going on?”
Jackson tossed the ball cleanly into the hoop. “Need you ask?”
“Johanna, huh?”
“Yeah.”
Logan’s face lit up. “You know what you need?”
Jackson stopped dribbling the ball. “You’re not going to drag me to a tattoo parlor, are you?”
“That’s just plain freaky. How did you know I wanted to do that?”
Jackson shook his head. He’d never explained to Logan how almost everyone had lost three weeks in a temporal shift, and he didn’t want to start now. Instead, he thought about the tattoo. “Okay. Let’s do it.” He already knew which one he would get, but this time he would let the artist go to town embellishing it.
Jackson handled the process of getting tattooed like it wasn’t out of the ordinary, and Logan commented about how easily he had submitted to the pain.
“So why don’t you get one, too?” Jackson asked.
“I think I will.” Logan looked through a book of art and chose a freestyle black and white arabesque for his shoulder. He grimaced when the needle started puncturing his arm. “How long do you think this will take?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“Depends,” the artist said. “If you want a very simple-looking tattoo, a half hour. If you want the one pictured in the book, we’ll do it in a couple of hourly sessions.”
Logan grimaced. “An hour of this?”
“It would be worse if I wasn’t using the machine,” the artist answered. “This thing punches the needle in about a hundred times a second.” It would take much longer if it wasn’t for the machine.”
Logan winced as he looked at Jackson. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate needles?”
“Yes.” Jackson smiled.
“Why did I let you talk me into this?”
“I didn’t,” Jackson answered. “It was your idea. But, you know, you were right. I am feeling better already.” And he continued to smile as Logan scowled through clenched teeth.
—LOI—
13
Johanna saw the bandage on Jackson’s neck. “You didn’t.”
“It’s my neck and I will do with it as I please.”
“Wait till your mother sees it.”
“I’m not some seven-year-old whose only wish is to please his mother. I’ve traveled off-world. I’ve fought Terrorians. I’m graduating high school in a couple of weeks, and I’ll be eighteen in just a few months.”
“You won’t be eighteen for ten years,” she answered. “Longevicus Blessing. Suck it up, sonny, you’re going to be a minor for a long, long time.”
He glared at her. “I used to think I liked you.”
“I used to think I liked you, too.”
What is going on here? Jackson wanted to know. Someone had stolen the girl he loved and replaced her with Kate from The Taming of the Shrew.
He wandered over to the literature section and pulled a copy of Shakespeare’s play from the shelf, opening it to the middle. Petruchio and Katharina came to life. “Asses are made to bear, and so are you,” Katharina said to Petruchio, her words dripping acid.
Jackson shut the book. Yep. That’s Johanna.
He headed toward the hotel suite, hoping Chris was out. His neck bothered him and he wanted to take aspirin and a nap.
His luck held. At least I can rest for a while before I have to explain the bandage on my neck. Maybe I can figure out why Johanna is acting so cranky.
Jackson stood in the middle of a dance floor with strings of twinkling lights decorating the ceiling above. The air was misty, making the walls recede. He saw Johanna walking toward him. She looked beautiful. She wore a beaded crop top that twinkled liked the stars in the sky and a long flowing skirt. He reached out for her, but another male tapped her on the shoulder. She began dancing with the other guy. When the music ended, Jackson approached her. She smiled, but turned to yet another male and began dancing with him. Jackson started to worry. He felt like he had to dance with her immediately or lose her forever. The music ended again and she walked toward him. This time his gym teacher swept her off her feet, literally, and waltzed around the room carrying her in his arms. He didn’t even know his teacher knew how to waltz. The edges of the room began to swirl. Something’s wrong here, he thought. Maybe it’s a temporal rift. He chased after the waltzing teacher. The music ended and Jackson sighed with relief, but before he fully exhaled, dozens of guys crowded around her, blocking him. He elbowed people out of the way to break through to Johanna, but when he got there, he found her in a wedding gown kissing a groom who was definitely not him.
A messenger delivered the Romantican uniform jackets to Pru Tellerence earlier than expected, and she used a duplicloner to make jackets for all the militairres.
Afterward, she met with Horatio Blastoe, and they strolled through the gardens at the College of Overseers as they planned their visit to Romantica.
PT:★ We had what amounted to a ceremony on Dramatica, but that was only because its citizens were already having a meeting. It will be less formal with the Romanticans.
HB:✠ The militairres will be together, but not the g
eneral townspeople. Still—Romantica being what it is—word will spread quickly. Everyone will know about the militairres and their new uniforms before the day is out.
PT:★ If they like them enough, we may even find the outfits attract a few new recruits.
Horatio Blastoe stopped walking.HB:✠ We will have to broach the subject of taxes.
Pru Tellerence waved him off. PT:★ We don’t have to concern ourselves with that, now. It is a task best left to our new Chancellor of the Exchequer. He has successfully introduced individualized tax systems on both Dramatica and Mysteriose and appears to be at ease doing so. If he’s available, I’ll ask him to join us.
HB:✠ Good. We would have to propose the subject sooner or later. Best to do it now, if possible.
“Did you see these tracks?” Duddu asked Marbol when they returned to the pond. “They lead right into here.” He pointed inside the storm drain.
“How’d they fit? They’re really big.”
“I don’t know. Maybe they’ll get stuck.” The two boys laughed, imagining what a couple of stuck monsters would look like.
“Should we follow them in?”
“I don’t know. Do you have a flamethrower?”
“Wait, I’ll get one.” He ran to the old hollow tree. The Juveniles had stuck the flamethrower inside so they’d have their hands free to carry the floaty they’d found back to the owner’s cottage. He returned with it and motioned Duddu inside.
Duddu shook his head. “I’m not going first. You have the weapon. You go first.”
“Some leader you are.”
“Then give me the weapon.”
Marbol had to think about this. He didn’t want to go first, but he knew the one with the weapon would automatically get the bragging rights. “I’ll do it.” He pushed ahead of Duddu and proceeded cautiously.