The Four Kings

by Scott Spotson

  “Not much more,” the present-day Indie told Amanda. “We’re almost done.”

  There’s more? thought an incredulous Amanda.

  Together, the two women disappeared, and then were outside once again. Squinting in the direct sunlight, Amanda made out a brick one-story building sprawling out across the parking lot. Now the younger Indie, stood adamantly in front of her parents. The words across the front entrance of the building struck fear in Amanda’s heart: ORLANDO POLICE STATION NO. 2.

  “Hannah” was screaming at her parents in the parking lot. She was no longer afraid, and had a defiant stance. “You don’t love me!” she yelled at them.

  “You don’t understand,” her mother held out her hands, pleading, “You’re dangerous to us. You have powers. What’ll become of us?”

  “I don’t care!” “Hannah” shrieked.

  “Get in there. Now,” her father ordered, angry beyond belief. “Watch out for her!” he shouted to his wife while trying to protect them both from their daughter.

  Reacting to the commotion, two male police officers were running out the front entrance of the station, now within about a hundred feet of the younger Indie.

  Seeing the police encroach upon her rapidly shrinking perimeter, the younger Indie grew desperate. Aiming her left hand at her father, she blasted him off his feet, knocking him about twenty feet to land upon the pavement. Her father, now dazed, struggled to raise himself off the hot asphalt, showing a blood stain through his shoulder of his gleaming white business shirt. Gasping, her mother slightly retreated, placing both hands over her mouth. Despite her mother’s submission, the younger Indie’s anger swelled within her, and she also pummeled her mother with a blast of wind, depositing her brusquely atop the windshield of a nearby car. Her mother groaned with pain, closing her eyes. A hairline crack stretched from end to end on the windshield due to the impact of her body.

  The two police officers closing ranks on the younger Indie, stopped suddenly in their tracks, disbelieving what they saw. Allowing a short period of time for the initial shock to pass, they withdrew their guns and pointed them at the younger Indie.

  Swirling around, the younger Indie held out her hand in front of the two officers, and both guns were sent flying away, landing with two thuds against the outside wall of the station. Her eyes blazed, knowing she was fully in control, the younger Indie laughed with glee.

  “Try this,” she told herself, no longer afraid. With a tiny movement of her hand, she created a blast in the front lobby of the police station. Broken pieces of brick and wood showered the air. The two police officers, panic-stricken, collapsed to the ground and held their hands over their heads. Through the debris, several more clerks and police officers were streaming out of the building.

  She discovered she was able to magnify her voice as if she had a public announcement system in place anywhere she desired. She declared, “You in the police building, get out. Now. It’s bomb time. Two minutes left.”

  The effect was dramatic. Dozens of workers and police officers scrambled through the destroyed front entrance, or through the emergency exits. They gathered far away from the station, whispering in hushed tones among themselves. They all had heard the blast that occurred mere minutes ago and weren’t taking any chances.

  One of the two initial police officers observed the chaos, then braving the threat, ran back to the side of the building where his gun lay. As he bent over quickly to pick it up, the younger Indie glared. Pointing at him, she unleashed a torrent of force that smashed him against the wall, knocking him out cold. His colleague, watching in shock, ran over to drag the unconscious officer along the ground as rapidly as possible, away from the doomed building. The two abandoned guns were left behind.

  The child glanced in the other direction to search for her parents. She spotted her father by the edge of the parking lot, grasping the arm of her mother, dragging her on his back. Her mother appeared to be shaking her head and moaning in anguish.

  As people continued to congregate in a ring far detached from the station, the younger Indie ensured that two minutes had passed. Further, she satisfied herself that it had been a long time since anyone was seen departing the building.

  “Time for fireworks,” she said.

  She flipped her right hand up.

  The entire police station blew up, spewing tons of debris into the air. Fireballs ensued everywhere, one after the other. In the place of the former police station was a smoking, smouldering wreck of assorted piles of fractured bricks, torn linoleum, splintered furniture, smashed asphalt roof tiles, and twisted metal.

  Laughing uncontrollably, the younger Indie disappeared while the chaos stumbled on.

  Seconds later, before they had a chance to look at each other, the present-day Indie and Supreme Liaison Amanda Fullerton also disappeared.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In the Retreat Room at the Liberators’ Headquarters, a tense Amanda allowed herself to sink into the lush leather couch against the glass windows of the luxurious enclave. It boasted luxurious chocolate brown carpet; a gas burning fireplace with a clear glass mantle and a foosball game table in one corner (a foosball table was one that held spinning rows of miniature plastic football players, all aiming to kick a tiny ball into a goal on either side). A few steps up lay a kitchen counter with mini-stove, mini-oven, microwave, and dishwasher. In the middle was a circular sunken floor encompassing a large area with a huge round oak table, surrounded by modern office chairs. Next to the glass walls on one side were items of comfort: several leather ivory-colored armchairs and plush sofas. On a utility table lay three computers, accessorized with all the latest in monitors and Wi-Fi equipment.

  Standing around her, and still admiring the plushness of the space, Amanda’s family members – her mother, father, and brother – finally decided to sit down close to her.

  “Holy geez,” her father, Trevor, said, “you’ve got it made. It’s like you were appointed Ambassador to Liechtenstein or something.”

  “I’m very jealous, Amanda,” her brother, Adam, added.

  “What’s up?” her worried mother, Maggie, asked.

  Amanda brushed aside her hair. “I’m learning a lot about the Liberators, and some of it is good, some of it bad. I want you to swear absolute confidentiality to me.”

  Her parents and brother looked at one another. “Would we be placed in the position of having to –” Adam struggled for his thoughts, and paused. “– choose between you and the wizards?”

  “No.”

  The three of them looked at each other again and nodded. “You got it,” her father said.

  “Well,” Amanda started, unsure of what to say, “I had thought the Liberators were like gods, that they were perfect.” She gestured with her hands, showing she was mentally torn. “Now, I’m finding out they’re just as human –” she chuckled without intending to, “– as we are.”

  “You mean they don’t really have magic powers?” Adam asked, confused.

  “No, no. They do! It’s just that they’re as imperfect as we are. They get angry. They make mistakes. They get jealous.”

  Maggie chuckled. “Well, Amanda, what’s so surprising about that? That’s exactly what I was expecting. Just because they have magic doesn’t mean they’re perfect.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “You’re so naïve,” Adam said. He smiled. “I remember when you were a teenager, doing this or that project; you always wondered why people didn’t work as hard as you. You always questioned why you ended up doing the work.”

  Amanda looked up wistfully.

  Her brother gazed at her lovingly. “I always loved that in you. You were the optimistic type.”

  Trevor sat back, nodding his head.

  Adam pointed his finger. “In fact, the Liberators loved it when you started talking about Ayn Rand. That’s when you got them hooked.”

  Maggie opened her eyes wide as if a revelation had occurred. “Yes, I saw that too.”
r />   Amanda gazed at her family, each in turn.

  Maggie said, “You were so nervous, so you didn’t notice. But I saw the whole thing. When you spouted off about Ayn Rand, that blond-haired guy in red—”

  “Demus.”

  “Yes, him. He was definitely into you. The other wizards, too. You sure had their attention.”

  Trevor said, “I knew the interview was over at that point. The next round with that communist guy, they were just trying to hurry it up so they could pick you.”

  Amanda placed her hands to her side, appearing as if she was about to stand up, but didn’t. “But I still believe in Ayn Rand.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. “That bitchy, right-wing kook? Please. Amanda, you need to broaden your horizons.”

  Trevor said, “I don’t know much about Ayn Rand, but I gather she was some sort of fascist. Look, Amanda, she was pretty extreme. It’s one thing to say government should get out of the way, but the reality is we all need each other. We need some sort of glue to hold us together.”

  Amanda shook her head. “No. We need to give it a try. It’s only three years. So far, it seems to be working. What’s wrong with that?”

  Everyone started speaking at once, shouting over each other. “Oh, oh, no, no.” They all clamoured to be heard, and competed with each other. Finally, after several moments, her mother and father nodded at Adam, letting him to go ahead.

  “You don’t know, Amanda. People I talk to are quite uneasy about the Liberators.”

  “They’ve passed the fifty percent popularity mark in the most recent poll,” Amanda gently retorted.

  Adam shook his head. “I know, but these people may only be voting that way because things are going well now.”

  “Thanks to the Liberators.”

  Trevor interjected. “But, Amanda, the very basis for their power was an illegal seizure of our democratic institutions. That is fundamentally wrong, and always will be.”

  Immediately, Maggie and Adam vocalized their support, attempting to wade into the debate, but it was clear that no one had the upper hand.

  Trevor said, “You should hear what people call them. They say the four dictators or—”

  “I’ve heard worse,” Maggie said with a smile.

  “—the four fibbers, a play on their name…” her father continued.

  Adam grinned, “But the most common name, in the newspapers anyway, is the four kings.” He reflected. “That was a clever pick-up from that guy on the first debate, when he sarcastically referred them to the four philosopher kings. From then on, the name just stuck.”

  Amanda felt as if she had to defend them, but she was fascinated by the refreshing rawness of the discussion. She was so shielded down there at Liberators’ Headquarters. “Actually, that’s so incorrect. They should be referred to as the two kings and the two queens.”

  Adam shrugged. “Yeah, but you know how it is. And that Indie…”

  Maggie jumped in. “She’s such a character!” She laughed. “She comes across as an ice cool queen, if you know what I mean. She’s the real leader of the group.”

  “A royal bitch,” Adam said with a smirk.

  Maggie added, “She certainly has her opinions. She doesn’t suffer fools gladly. No one comes even close to matching her.”

  Trevor asked worriedly, “Is it hard working with her, Amanda?”

  Amanda replied thoughtfully. “To be honest, no. She’s far more approachable in person. Yes, she’s very opinionated. But she’s also very confident of herself.” She thought some more about how she had glimpsed some of the pasts of both Indie and Demus. Her stomach sank further when she remembered she still had to do Justica and Regi. And Demus still seemed to have the hots for her. She wondered how that would play out for the rest of the Liberators’ term.

  After deliberating some more, she was still curious. “Okay, we’ve discussed Indie. What do you think of the others?”

  Her family members all appeared uncertain, conferring quick glances at one another. “Well,” began Maggie, “like we said, Indie’s by far the leader of the group. The others don’t seem to stand out much.”

  “Regi seems to be on the hot seat these days for his bitcoin revolution,” Adam said.

  Trevor startled everyone by saying, “I like it. It’s pretty cool.” After his family conveyed surprise, he shrugged. “Well, it makes sense. Why not capture every transaction, and feed it all in? I’ve been using it a lot, and I’m always checking on my tab.” He held up the device in his hand, apparently familiar with it. “It’s pretty addictive. You know, how much water I used last night, or how much it cost the gym for me to use their weightlifting stuff…” He trailed off.

  Maggie spoke up, “I’m worried about it.”

  “Why?” Trevor asked.

  Maggie frowned at him. “You know our cousin, Shirley?”

  Nods affirmed her short query.

  “Well, she has Audrey, her eighty-six-year old mother who’s suffering from Alzheimer’s. Since the state cut off funding to the nursing home, she’s really been struggling with finding anyone to take care of her.”

  “I understand,” Amanda said, “The idea was to have a caring community band together to contribute the bitcoins necessary for the nursing home. The intent is to shift taxes from involuntary to voluntary.”

  “Well, it’s not working,” Maggie snapped. “Poor Shirley’s been phoning people, asking them to make donations in bitcoins. She’s teamed up with other caregivers at the facility. But it’s not enough. They’ve even arranged to take turns to go begging outside in front of all the department stores and so on.” She shook her head. “What’s more, even Audrey’s medication isn’t paid for by Medicare anymore, since it no longer exists. Shirley and her husband have been giving up a lot of their bitcoins to keep Audrey there.”

  “Yeah!” said Adam, “Where I work downtown – thank God I’ve never worked in government – I always see throngs of beggars, well mind you, they’re not homeless people, but rather they’re all middle class people begging for bitcoins for benefits they used to have.”

  “Really?” Amanda replied, eyes wide open. The news hit her like a brick dropped on her head.

  “You want to go back to the age of the 1920’s when people went out on the streets to ask for food?” Trevor asked, a little angrily. “Well, we’re there. The people that don’t need government, they no longer have to pay taxes. And they’re happy. They’re spending their extra money on steak dinners and fancy cars.”

  Amanda was stunned. “But…” she said, “the reports we’re getting show people are happier, and the economy’s really picking up.”

  “There are always people left behind in a new revolution, Amanda,” her mother said sadly. “The question is, do these wizards care?”

  “I’ll check when I get back to the office,” Amanda promised, although she had no idea what she would do next. She ventured another question. “What do you think of Demus?”

  “The red guy?” Trevor asked and then frowned. “He seems nice.”

  Nice? Amanda thought. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “I like his spirit in the games,” Adam said with a grin. “Like when he singlehandedly wrestled with that huge bull. And stabbed him in the heart.”

  Trevor held out his hand. “One thing’s working, for sure. Their games are the draw. The ultimate reality TV. They’ve been the top-ranked television show ever since they first aired.”

  “I know,” Amanda said. She was deep in thought. “So you think Demus is okay?”

  “A little cocky,” Maggie said, “but the ladies like him. He’s one of the more popular ones. Probably because of his looks and athletic ability. The newspapers say he’s received thousands of marriage proposals.”

  Amanda’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “How do you know this?”

  “How do you not?” Adam asked, snickering at her. “The tabloids pick up the antics of his fan clubs.”

  “He has fan clubs?“
<
br />   Adam scowled. “Doesn’t he get anything? Thought you’d handle all the fan mail?”

  “I’m not responsible for everything,” Amanda conceded. “I deal with the more serious stuff, like international relations, inflation, infrastructure…”

  Adam teased her. “Oh yeah, Ms. Big Shot. You’re too important to deal with little people like us.”

  Trevor and Maggie laughed, although they restrained themselves. Amanda’s face grew red.

  Maggie attempted to defuse the situation. “As for Justica, she’s barely visible. People don’t talk much about her.”

  “The Latino one?” Adam asked.

  “Yes. She’s from Mexico, right,” Trevor said. “She’s quite popular in the local papers. Every time a hospital or an intensive care unit opens, her face is always in the paper. She’s sure busy. She seems to open up about ten facilities a day!”

  “Only on Progress Days,” Amanda noted. “I think it’s slightly more than ten, on average. But you’re right. We try to show a face to all the accomplishments we’re having.”

  “Cool,” Adam said, “Tons of new community centers. No male chauvinist construction workers to worry about.”

  Amanda ignored his verbal jab. She registered a thoughtful expression on her face. “So, what you’re all telling me, despite the good news we’re getting in the office, there’s still some resistance out there.”

  “Actually, a lot of resistance,” Trevor said, scratching the back of his neck.

  “Yes,” Amanda blurted tersely, not wanting to hear any bad news.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Amanda,” Maggie said, “There may be some good things the wizards are trying to accomplish. But it’s a very mixed bag.”

  “Very,” Adam said. “So far, things are just starting to go their way. There’s fierce opposition to how they took power, but without a functioning alternative government, public opinion is making it more complicated.”

  “Because it’s divided?”

  “Yes. The riots that have occurred on a weekly basis have turned people off. You’re so lucky –” He pointed to the sky. “The wizards are so unreachable that all people can do is turn upon themselves, and damage their own institutions. It’s not working. People seem resigned.”