by C. A. Pack
“Okay. Let’s go back to Town Hall and tell them the deed is done, and it’s their job to clean up the remains.”
Pye pulled the front of his T-shirt away from his chest and looked down at it. “I’m kind of dirty. I need a swim first.” They both looked at the pond and saw bits of vomit floating on the surface. “Or maybe I’ll just go home and wash up, instead.”
Marbol nodded. “Yeah.”
Chris watched Jackson climb the stairs to the cupola when it came time for his older brother to guard the portals. As Jackson disappeared, Chris entered the bedroom they shared and rummaged through their dresser drawers. C’mon, bro, you have to have some protection in here. His hand closed around something unusual, but it wasn’t the kind of protection he was looking for. Whoa! What are you doing with a gun? He turned the firearm gently in his hands, making sure he didn’t press the trigger by accident. He would never be able to explain that to his mother, or his brother. And he didn’t want to hurt himself before his big date with Brittany.
He smiled. He hadn’t found what he was looking for, but this was ammunition he could hold over Jackson’s head. Besides, he could stop at the drug store near school and buy the protection he needed.
“You decimated the time machine,” Ava said to Johanna.
“I doubt it. It may have just disappeared on its own. But I’ll check with Mal, just to play it safe.”
They turned when they heard Jackson thumping up the stairs. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Ava narrowed her eyes. “What do you care?”
“I came to guard the portals. I thought Johanna would like to go down for dinner.”
“And eat alone?” Ava’s comment dripped with sarcasm.
Jackson’s shoulders slumped. “This isn’t about you, squirt.”
Ava bristled. She hated when he called her squirt. “Do you want me to guard the portals while you go find your diary?” she asked Johanna.
Johanna smiled. “It will be more fun if you keep me company.” She handed the decimator to Jackson. “Here. It’s time for you to earn your paycheck.”
“Hey. You’re the one who told me to go back to school.”
The girls disappeared down the stairs.
Jackson sighed. His face clouded over and his lower lip trembled, but no one was there to see it.
Mysterian essential water turned out to be stronger than Mal remembered, and he woke in his Lumi apartment the following day with a blazing headache. It was early in the morning, but Pru Tellerence had left him a message asking him to go to Romantica with her for the presentation of uniforms.
He’d certainly enjoyed Hugh the Elder’s red bread stew, but it did nothing to ease the impact of the essential water. Mysterian fermentation techniques went a long way in ensuring their favorite beverage packed a punch, yet its taste rivaled only the sweetness of pure fruit nectar. It was the wallop that followed a few hours later that caused Mal’s suffering, and everyone else’s who drank it. But no one really cared, because essential water went down smoothly and made a body feel like a god in a world of mortals.
He took the Luminan equivalent of aspirin, put on his Chancellor of the Exchequer robe and chaperon, and headed out.
Pru Tellerence and Horatio Blastoe traveled with Mal to Romantica and led him to the clearing that had become the unofficial headquarters for the militairres.
They found that Furst had instructed some of the Romanticans to dig out and level a large area of land at the edge of the glade and pave it with uniformly-sized stones. Now, four large wooden tables flanked by benches sat in the space, and a large tent, usually used for village fetes, shielded them from the sun. The tent’s side panels had been fastened at the corners, giving it an open appearance. The women had erected poles in the middle of each table and fastened a handmade flag to the top of each one. A rust colored flag contained an arrow pointing straight up—bisected by a bow turned on its side. A yin-yang design on a green flag represented two people grappling. A red flag looked like it had a gold sunburst in its center, however, as Dame Erato pointed out, it was the blast of a decimator—representing the women in the weaponry division. The final flag was a beautiful shade of azure and contained a slender X representing crossed fighting sticks.
HB:✠ I see there have been some developments here since I left.
Furst nodded. “A sense of solidarity, they needed. A small start, this is.”
PT:★ We have something that may help with that, Pru Tellerence said with a smile. PT:★ Please have the militairres gather around us.
“If I might interrupt?” Mal asked the overseers.
PT:★ Yes, Malcolm?
“I’m sure the Romanticans will be pleased with their uniforms. It will unite them as a team and give them an instant identity as a group. They may not be as pleased to learn about a war tax. So I’m wondering if it would be better if I preceded you in today’s presentation, so we can end on a positive note, rather than something that will not be as well-received. From there, I’m hoping Horatio Blastoe will accompany me into Roma, where we can speak with residents who chose not to enlist and further explain how necessary it is that they support the militairres.”
HB:✠ I would be happy to do that with you, and I think softening the sting of a tax with the gift of uniforms is an excellent idea.
PT:★ Yes. Let’s begin.
Horatio Blastoe asked Natalia Dalura and Dame Erato to introduce the overseers and say they had two important announcements to make.
Once the militairres had seated themselves in a large circle on the grassy glade, Natalia Dalura introduced Horatio Blastoe.
HB:✠ I am pleased to see the progress you have made. It shows our faith in you is not ill-advised. Now that you are in place as this realm’s militia, there are steps that must be taken to assist you. I would like to introduce the Chancellor of the Exchequer for the first of our announcements today.
Mal talked about the history of how Johanna and Jackson unwittingly breached the portals, the “punishment” that followed, and how Johanna’s imprisonment on Terroria revealed a mounting invasion threat. He then segued into the need for a tax and explained how it would go a long way toward making reparations, as well as paying for supplies like tents and banners. As he predicted, the crowd was not very happy to hear what he had to say, but he remained upbeat about his topic and said he would be available for questions. He then introduced Pru Tellerence.
PT:★ Good morning. As I’m sure some of you have realized by now, hand-to-hand combat in skirts is less than desirable. Many of the women in the group laughed. PT:★ Several people have already pointed out how a uniform might be more beneficial.
One of the militairres groaned. “You seek to take away our individuality.”
PT:★ No. I seek to streamline your ability to fight as militairres, without losing the wonderful grace and style you all possess. Allow me to show you what we’ve come up with.
PT:★ Natalia, would you help model the new uniforms?
“Of course. Where are they?”
PT:★ Just stand here in the center of the circle. I will handle the rest.
As the militairres looked on, Pru Tellerence asked Natalia to twirl in a circle.
“As you wish,” the curator said, laughing.
By the time the rotation was completed, Natalia was dressed in the blue ombré uniform, complete with boots and cross-brace. Pru Tellerence described the features of the uniform as Natalia walked around so the militairres could get a closer look. As the overseer spoke of each specialty, the appropriate weapons appeared. Pru Tellerence asked Natalia to twirl again, and the militairres applauded when her uniform turned white and her boots gold. The overseer continued to describe the dress uniforms and the officer’s metal mesh cross-braces, and ended the presentation with the matching jackets that everyone would receive. Pru Tellerence clapped her hands twice, and enough uniforms for every militairre appeared on the tables under the tent. The women went in search of their uniforms and soon closed
the sides of the tent so they could change into them.
Afterward, Pru Tellerence visited with each militairre and used a special enchantment to make the uniform fit each woman perfectly. She asked them to sit at their respective tables and stopped at each one, where she stared at the emblem on the pole for a few seconds while whispering another chant. When she finished, she nodded, and the emblem of that unit appeared, embossed on the side of the militairres’ boots and the backs of their jackets.
The uniforms were a big hit, and as Mal had predicted, did a lot to remove the sting of his talk about taxes.
—LOI—
15
Nero 51 felt himself thrown against the interior of the time machine with so much g-force, his body flattened like a pancake. Suddenly, the velocity stopped, and he crashed to the floor.
Odyon resumed his human form. “This is no time to nap, Terrorian. We seem to have arrived someplace new.” He exited the time machine. “Ugh. And it’s filled with more of your kind.”
The decimator blast aimed at them by Johanna Charette had released them from their entrapment in between the layers of time and space.
Terrorian troopers crowded around the duo, all speaking at once.
“Nero 51, did you find a way out?”
“Yes, Nero 51, where did you go?”
“Have you found a way for us to exit the library?”
“What are you doing on the floor?”
They were all brimming with questions that Nero 51 chose not to answer. “I am going to my chamber. Under no condition am I to be disturbed.”
“Not even if we find a way out of here?” Odyon asked.
“I’ve had enough of you.” He turned to the troopers. “Seize him.” But before they could wrap their tentacles around Odyon, he disappeared into a pinpoint of light.
Mal left Romantica after explaining, ad nauseam, how a tax system would work. It was up to the citizens to decide who should pay and how much. He could do no more than guide them in their decision. He collected his thoughts and concentrated on his next stop of the day. A moment later, he appeared in Adventura’s town square, where Artemus Rexana stood waiting.
AR:∑ Have you ever visited Adventura before?
“No. But I read up on its history. Is everyone a hu*bot, or are there some humans mixed in?”
AR:∑ All humans per se have perished, but their minds and hearts live on.
“What about children?”
AR:∑ There are no children here.
“How do they perpetuate? Surely all the beings here can’t be several millennia old.”
AR:∑ The Adventurans are quite adept at cloning. When the human parts of an Adventuran start to fail, the hu*bot goes in for maintenance. Bits of brain tissue and heart muscle are removed and cloned. When total failure is imminent, the flawed parts are replaced with the cloned parts, and the hu*bot continues to thrive.
“That’s incredible. Are there as many hu*bots now as there were, say, a thousand years ago?”
AR:∑ It depends on your interpretation. The population of hu*bots is constant. However, the diversity of personalities is limited. Sometimes the cloning process fails completely and that personality is lost forever. However, there are multiple clones of several of the hu*bots’ more important predecessors, and if one personality dies out, the hu*bot continues to function with the clone of another noted ancestor.
“Are you telling me there may be more than one Prophet IAN c.?”
AR:∑ He wouldn’t be called Prophet IAN c. He would go by the name of the hu*bot who died. That is to say, if Prophet PATRICK c. died and a clone of Prophet IAN c.’s heart and brain is inserted into the dead hu*bot’s shell, he’d still be called Prophet PATRICK c.
“I can see how that could start to limit the Adventurans as a civilization.”
AR:∑ Possibly, but they won’t grow extinct any time soon. I dare say they’ll outlive you and I, even with our Longevicus Blessings.
They walked into the lab where the curator conducted his experiments. Prophet IAN c. nodded in acknowledgement but did not break away from what he was doing until he had completed his task. “Horatio Blastoe, is this the Chancellor of the Exchequer?”
AR:∑ Yes. Have you arranged a meeting with your peers?
“It is not necessary. We have discussed the need for tax and find there is none. Adventurans are each part of a communal society. We only exist to help the whole of our civilization continue to advance in science, mathematics, and engineering. We are not individually competitive, although, we must acknowledge that teams of Adventurans, especially those working in the pharmaceutical fields, have become somewhat zealous, if only for the honor of making greater advancements and discoveries.”
“Pardon me for my ignorance,” Mal interjected, “but if Adventurans are seventy-five percent robotic, why is it you need pharmaceuticals?”
Prophet IAN c. did not appear to be phased by the question. “We hope to discover ways to strengthen our hearts and brains and improve our ability to function. We do not wish to become a race of artificially intelligent robots. We embrace our humanity. And in order to prolong our existence, we are always looking for remedies to the problems that threaten our lives. Every so often, a congenital weakness hidden in an originator’s cells must be dealt with. Cancers, dementia, naturally occurring structural changes in cellular proteins. One lab discovered a way to strengthen heart valves. Another found a way to improve sinus rhythms. We are always working toward the perfection of being.
“The competition stems from the developer’s ability to produce stronger progeny. We are not paid in money but are rewarded by prestige. Our bodies are equal in strength and structure and are all equally provided for in their repair and ability to function. Our brains, however, even after years of evolving into a homogeneous civilization, are prideful and require praise. The greatest praise is in the continuance of our line. And the hu*bot with the greatest number of descendants is looked at with great reverence.”
Juveniles did not have patience for boring meetings, and it always took a long time to gather enough of them together in one place for what could be called a productive gathering. However, they adored the game Bullaroot, and wouldn’t miss a match for the world. Duddu, Pollo, Guffle and Marbol agreed to captain competing teams and would address the problem of disposing of monster carcasses during the pre-game build-up and the post-game toast.
A group of fourteen-year-olds formed a human perimeter around the field adjacent to the school to keep the overflow of Juveniles from spilling over onto the playing field. The field was surrounded by seatless bleachers, where everyone seemed smashed together—for row upon row—as they all clamored for a good place to stand and view the game. Those who didn’t arrive in time for a spot in the bleachers gathered on the grass directly in front of the square playing field, and the massive number of latecomers threatened to encroach on the field of play.
The game of Bullaroot was simple: four teams containing thirteen players each had an assigned color with a ball, a corresponding net on the field, and a color-coded target eight feet above the ground on the opposite side of the field. In a free-for-all competition, it was up to each team to score as many net and target shots as they could while facing interference from the three other teams. Net scores could be kicked in while on the move. Target scores had to be thrown from a stationary position. If a player threw a ball while on the move, he was immediately disqualified. The targets were fitted with pressure points so that balls that struck the outer rings did not score as many points as balls that hit the target dead center. The game was refereed by two dozen twelve-year-olds, six along each outside perimeter. Every referee swore to uphold the principles of the game and took his or her job very seriously.
The crowd cheered as Duddu took the field with a megaphone in his hands. He started by announcing the teams and the players and their respective colors. In a ceremony complete with horns playing, drums banging, and flags waving, each team ran out from a corner of t
he field, joining with the other teams to jog in a large circular pattern at its center, before splitting up again to form a cross—with the captain closest to the center of the field and his teammates extending outward toward their net.
The referees passed around cards and asked spectators to write their names and the colors of their favorite team. This was well-subscribed to because those who supported the winners knew they would receive extra leisure time and prizes for making the right choice.
After the cards were collected, Duddu motioned for the spectators to quiet down. “As many of you know, monsters have invaded the library.” Feet stomped the ground to indicate they were aware of the invaders. “Marbol and Pye trapped the monsters in the drainage tunnels and fried them.”
The crowd roared their approval.
Marbol took the megaphone. “It was scary and disgusting, but we did what we had to do. However, we can’t leave them in the storm drain ’cause they’ll clog it, so the losing team and its backers have to clean out the drains.”
This was met with some “boos,” some applause, and a lot of shouts and whistles.
Duddu took back the megaphone. “Everyone who voted for the top three teams will be able to celebrate this afternoon. Those who chose the losing team must carry out the penalty for losing. It is the way it must be. But once they are done, they can also join in the celebration because we will have beaten the monsters!” Everyone began stomping their feet, and the stadium shook with energy. “Play on!”
The Mysterian discussion rings were crowded the following day with people who wanted to learn more about the rumors they heard concerning a new currency and taxes.
“We promise you,” Hue the Elder spoke over the crowd, “that you will have a say in what you donate in taxes.” He explained everything Mal had told him about the currency system, including how they could barter notes.