by Chris Ayala
Under her breath, Royal said, "Please don't use the Lord's name in vain."
Zharkova slammed her fist on the table, her wig wobbled and almost departed her head. "I've fought in six wars with bullets grazing near my ear, if you want to be heard…speak up!"
"I said," Royal spoke a little louder, "Please don't use the Lord's name in vain."
After the lady stared at her for several seconds, Royal wondered if she needed to repeat what she said. When she opened her mouth, Zharkova screamed, "Goddamnit! Shush! You come into my land and disrespect me? You are all the same. Oh, poor Americans with their nuclear blasts. Oh, poor French and British with their flu virus. Oh, poor Africans with their lethal locusts. What about Russians? Nothing. Chemical bombs have slaughtered 82 percent of our population and media forgets about us. No one ever bats an eye for goddamn Mother Russia."
Grasping Royal's arm, Adam tried to assure her that he'd handle this. "Your son said you're with Servo Clementia." He paused maybe expecting Zharkova to clasp her hands together and then grasp in a tight bear hug, but since no reaction crossed her face – he continued. "So am I. I'm 'the Source'."
Squinting her eyes, Zharkova stared at Adam. "Oh. I see now," she said softly, straightening her wig. "I recall this scheme clearly. The plan to stop the apocalypse by using a human from the future to foresee the mistakes. And then fix the mistakes. Is this why my boy thinks I'd be happy to see you bunch of weirdos? Because now I could just execute you all and change the future? You bring in a pyromaniac, a homosexual, a giant, and a clairvoyant? This sounds like the beginning of a stupid bar joke."
Straightening his back, Pierre reiterated, "Actually, Madam, I'm a pansexual."
Zharkova's eyes shot to him like lasers, "And you'll receive a pan to the side of your head the next time you interrupt!"
Bruno spoke up. "Bruno don't want to die on empty stomach."
Adam put his finger up, "We've come up with a better plan. All the ones on the Servo Clementia's kill list can be recruited to –"
"I don't care!" Zharkova shouted, throwing the cat that had been comfortably on her lap the whole time. "I don't care if you all live or die. It was a stupid plan! Charles Declan's plan! A stupid plan by a stupid man!"
Before she could take her next breath, Royal had picked up the steak knife, stood up, held it an inch from Zharkova's neck, and screamed, "Don't talk about my daddy that way!"
The Russian woman stared with wide eyes that made the wrinkles in her face droop. Royal's hand trembled as she held the knife near Zharkova's jugular vein. What just happened? An instinct? She'd never held a knife to anyone's throat before. No. Instinct, as her father would say, was something routine. So, holding an unsteady knife to someone's throat definitely didn't fit that description. Royal settled on the word impulse. But couldn't understand why. Why did she want nothing more than to slit open Zharkova's throat onto this perfectly white dining table cloth? An even more peculiar question in her head…why couldn't she?
Zharkova stared into her eyes as though she just discovered a blood diamond in her backyard. "I know you. Secretary Charles Declan's little secret. A bastard child. Royal, is it? You have his eyes. Those menacing eyes that turn a dark shade of brown when you aren't getting your way and action must replace hope. But why haven't you cut my throat open? I'm sure no one here would mind. Hell, even my son would clean up the mess and enjoy a hot bowl of Rassolnik right here, where his own mother perished. Just get it over with."
Royal's hand closed in, but stopped a centimeter from the vein in the witch's throat.
Zharkova asked, "Have you ever even killed anyone before? That's not what I heard about your 'daddy'. He went into a government building and shot over a hundred of the world leaders. Point blank with a shotgun, from what I hear. Heh, more blood than floor wax on the ground. Then he detonated a nuclear device. I bet his fingers didn't quiver like yours now. He did what was necessary. Though, even you have to admit, it was stupid. Because he didn't end the life of the world leader that actually matters…Mr. Marcel Celest. Now, because of your father, the world has a dictator."
A gentle hand touched Royal's. She flinched before realizing it was Adam. His hand reached up and grasped hers. For the first time, they shared a moment of sadness. Royal's father was a mentor to Adam. So, in a way, he lost someone too. He bit his lip and then shook his head. "We need her. She might be able to help us fix this."
Royal understood what Adam meant. She couldn't make a decision on impulse. That's what her father did, which led them to this predicament.
Zharkova scoffed, "My son is too weak to shoot just like you are too weak to slice my throat. Sit, before your leg goes numb from standing there."
Royal slowly put down the steak knife and sat down in a puff of cornstarch, sensing a tone of disappointment in Zharkova's voice.
"So, Miss Zharkova," Adam said, putting his elbows on the table, "what exactly was Servo Clementia's plan then?"
"I spent fifteen years as this country's prime minister before joining the organization. Back then, the goal was simple: stop the impending apocalypse. Of course, eventually there would be just one world leader. An 'anti-christ' some would call, which is silly considering the fight isn't against religion. The fight is against freedom. All government leaders want to strip away rights. The less rights, the less worries.
"Sensing that silly country accent of yours, Royal, I'll give you a relatable metaphor. Imagine, if you will, being left in charge of a farm. This farm is nothing but an open field. Ducks can roam free and fuck other ducks, maybe even fuck the pigs. There's no roofs, so the dumb chickens keep looking up when it rains and die drowning. Since there's no gates either, sheep keep escaping. And the cattle just keep attacking anything that gets in the way. So what do you do? You let this farm of yours collapse on itself? No, of course not. You build walls to separate the animals, install roofs, make houses, feed them to make them happy, and build gates so none of them escape. You make a…perfect…society."
Pierre said, "Sounds nice to me."
"It does, doesn't it?" Zharkova smiled. "Because perfection takes control. But does it ever cross your mind that it took only one person to accomplish it? So, in a way…you are the animals' very own 'anti-christ'."
She still hated her, but Royal could only admit to herself that Zharkova had a point. She asked, "But what if the animals wanted to accomplish that on their own?"
"Exactly!" Zharkova yelled, holding up a finger. "That's where Servo Clementia was born. Oh, we tried and tried, to dismantle governments from the inside. The attempts were as worthless as that damn boy of mine. While Charles Declan came up with his naive plan, we came up with a better one."
It felt less insulting to use the word naive rather than stupid to describe her father and his plans, but Royal still had the urge to cut this woman's throat.
"And what would that be?" Adam asked.
A wide grin revealed Zharkova's yellow teeth. "Gather as many sheep as possible to take the leader down."
Like so many, Royal couldn't comprehend if Servo Clementia were the good guys or the bad ones. Several terrorist attacks had been pinpointed to the group bent on ending a worldwide government before it began. Hundreds had died because of their missions. If they were the good guys, her ravenous father and this bitter woman didn't do well to justify that reputation. For now, Royal felt to completely trust their intensions would be naive.
Adam sat up. "That's my vision. A war. Right to the castle's doors. With the help of our friends."
Zharkova laughed. "What friends? You mean the ones sitting here?" She pointed at Victor, "This pyromaniac that hasn't listened to a word we've said because he's been staring at that same candle all this time?"
Victor whispered to the candle's flame, "Fire."
"And how about this brute who's stomach won't stop growling and he's been staring at my dinnerware like he wants to eat it?"
Bruno's eyes lit up. "May I?"
Ignoring him, she turned to Pierre.
"And what? A blind man will help you in a war?"
"I can see high intensity lights," the Frenchman said defensively.
Zharkova's lip curled as she looked at Royal. "And this one. She's supposed to have incredible aim. Yet, she couldn't even slice my throat."
"It's not about the aim, it's about the timing," Royal said, sounding routinely.
Adam interjected, "We have more. I even have William Cooper."
Zharkova rolled her eyes. "Oh God, Charles Declan always whined about how they could never track him down. William Cooper, the human conduit that controls electricity. Is that all you got?"
"No," Adam said, crossing his arms, "we still have a couple thousand inhabitants in the silo. They –"
Zharkova interrupted to finish the sentence in a way Royal assumed Adam didn't intend to finish it. "– Maybe willing to fight? You have no idea how to recruit followers. Not the way Lloyd and Nina did." For the first time this evening, Royal saw a twinkle on Zharkova's face that might prove she wasn't complete evil. It was at the mention of "Lloyd and Nina." The couple did everything they could to try and defeat Marcel Celest, but failed. Even though they had incredible powers that only those with an open-mind could believe. Royal saw firsthand when Nina made a white pulse glow from her bare hand to heal an open wound. That was just one of the many miracles they were capable of, including creating thousands of followers. "It's all just a waste. I cannot help fight a war that has ended before it began."
"Well," Royal hinted, "the followers are still around, right? I mean, there got to be like thousands."
Rolling her eyes again, Zharkova stood up using a walking cane. Her muu muu dress hung just above her socks revealing scabby knee caps. Probably in her early 70s Royal guessed from the slouch in her back. Not that folks at that age looked practically healthy in times like this, the elderly lady seemed worse off. Something about her made Royal wonder if she was dying. Maybe cancer, heart disease, or hundreds of other possibilities. She walked to a window and looked out. Anton could be seen, using a flashlight to find his way, "He takes too damn long, that boy."
"Miss Zharkova," Adam said, "we can do this. 6 billion, 287 million, 312 thousand, and 284. That's the last update of how many have died since Doomsday. Three billion, with a b. The governments of this world are responsible. This isn't just about securing our future...it's about avenging our past." After Sirius Dawson died, the rebellion elected a new leader. Adam had such big shoes to fill, like jumping on a rollercoaster while it was still moving. Moments like this, Royal could see the defeat in his eyes.
Without turning around, she asked, "And how exactly do you plan on organizing a movement in the hundred thousand number range? When do we attack? How do we attack? They've got big guns, we don't. They've got jets, we don't. They've got a man with the power to control elements…" she sighed, "…and we don't."
The room fell silent besides the contempt purr of the cats.
From the kitchen, Anton stepped out, coated in fresh cornstarch with a paper bag.
"Warm it up! It's probably cold!" Zharkova demanded.
Anton ran back into the kitchen.
The Russian Prime Minister turned to the group and said in her least bitter tone, "And what exactly do you plan to do with Marcel Celest? Kill me? Enslave him? Let the people decide? So many questions and yet so little answers."
Feeling defeated, Adam leaned back in his chair and bit his nails.
Zharkova continued, "Stay for the night but leave in the morning. Now, go. He only brought enough soup for me. There's a diner up the street."
"Bruno hungry," Bruno whined.
Adam gave out a long sigh. "Come on, guys, let's find a place to eat."
Losing a best friend meant as much as losing a family member. Royal sometimes gave herself a mental slap for thinking of Sirius' death more than her own father's death. Maybe it was the way they went. While Sirius Dawson lost her life in a defiant torture with the Union; Charles Declan lost his life by murdering innocent people in the Capitol Building. One peaceful and the other angry, but both lost in the end. What kind of fighter was Royal going to be?
The bathroom mirror gave no answer. It just showed a young woman with the same "tomboy" ponytail since she was fifteen and "girly" cute chin. Royal put her baseball cap back on and finished washing her hands.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, the diner was still empty of patrons besides her table of oddball friends. Adam blotted a napkin on the bloody chin. He had that same sad look on his face. When Adam thought of Brent, his lips would tighten and eyes would stare forward. If Royal thought of Sirius, her lips would quiver and eyes water.
Royal sat down next to Victor. "You okay, Adam?"
As usual, he snapped out of his mourning aggressively, "Yeah. Fine. What took you so long? We already ordered. Get something to eat." He held up his hand to the waitress without asking if Royal was even hungry. Which she wasn't, but he had a point.
After Royal rolled her eyes, she took a look around. Russia had some interesting diners. They had a thing for the color red. Their table cloths were checkered with red and white. The chairs were red. The bartender wore a red shirt. Even the waitress had a red lipstick. She approached with a digital tablet speaking in Russian.
"Um, hello." Royal swallowed and looked at the menu. All of it was in Russian and she immediately hated Adam for putting her in this predicament. "I don't really know you people's food…do you guys have hamburgers?"
The waitress nodded slowly, making Royal feel dumb for basically asking if there are cows in this country. "I'll take that please."
Without another word, the waitress grabbed the menus off the table and left.
Pierre straightened his sunglasses. Feeling his way around with the tips of his fingers, he found the creamer and poured it slowly into his coffee. "I recommend the both of you attempt to not be so...American."
Since the notion seemed directed at her, Royal asked defensively, "Why?"
"In case of you haven't noticed, Mademoiselle...you Americans are not exactly welcome in Europe."
Adam shrugged. "What did we do?"
"Have you seen the sky lately? Your nuclear war's ash clung to the clouds and put us all in darkness."
Holding his finger up, Adam corrected him. "Actually, ash clung onto the cloud seeds that were supposed to save our world from global warming."
"Irregardless, Americans are loathed here. Try an accent for the rest of your stay here."
Both Adam and Royal stared at each other with this blank stare like it was the final round of Family Feud. Royal said, "Well, I watched a lot of Downtown Abbey. Maybe I can do a British accent."
"Are you mad? That's even worse. The brits are responsible for the flu outbreak."
Adam held up a finger. "I know! I can do Australian."
The waitress walked up and placed everyone's dinner down. Bruno's plate had a stack of a dozen pancakes which he licked his lips at the sight of. Victor ordered a bowl of steaming hot soup. Adam's strawberry crepe looked so much more satisfying than Royal's boring hamburger and bun.
"Enjoy," the waitress said politely.
"Good day, mate!" Adam said.
Even though the diner was empty, Adam's outburst made the diner seem even more quiet. Royal sighed and covered her face. The waitress left the most awkward table she'd probably ever served.
Pierre sipped his coffee then broke the silence. "A pyromaniac, a brute man with strong teeth and even stronger stomach, and a gorgeous blonde with a knack for timing."
Royal felt her cheeks warm. Adam grunted.
Pierre continued, "But it's you I'm still unsure of, Adam. What is this 'Source' you named yourself?"
Adam thought for a moment before answering. "The Source is the outcome of a project to create time travel." Everyone stopped eating, except Royal. She heard the story a dozen times. He continued, "Essentially, I was born with memories from a future version of myself. Therefore, the source of Servo Clementia's outlook of the apocalypse
is…me."
She enjoyed this intellectual side of him. This confident side of him. Adam spoke like this around Janice. Women noticed these things.
"Interesting," Pierre said buttering his toast with a knife. Royal didn't like the idea of a blind man using a sharp object, but he did it with ease. "So this group is the last of the list? Sitting at this table?"
"Not exactly. There's two people not here." Adam explained. "One of them is William Cooper, who I sent on assignment."
Since he'd never mentioned this to her, Royal felt a slight betrayal. Sure it wasn't his duty to disclose information on the revolution's plans, but Adam could've mentioned the fact Willie had been on a secret job.
"Marcel Celest is last on this list." Royal interjected before Adam could speak.
Sensing a bit of power struggle, Pierre paused to take a sip of his coffee. "Marcel Celest? How intriguing. So the stories of his weather controlling are true. Far exceeds our special abilities."
Adam answered with his mouth full. "Yes and no. Marcel Celest wasn't born with that…magic. It was something he gained from his coma, Brent and I assumed. The ability that placed him on the Servo Clementia list was rapid healing. Very rapid. He's had a history of short visits to hospitals, leaving doctors scratching their heads."
"A politician that can't be killed and can control the elements, so the idea was to…go to war with him?" Pierre smirked. Royal expected at this moment for the frenchman to wipe his mouth with a napkin and walk out of the restaurant. Instead he smiled again. "Sounds fun."
Pleased, Adam smiled too. "Thought you might see our side of the game now. Thank you. Welcome to the People of Bliss."
"Better to have a purpose, than none at all." Pierre said, then changed the subject, "So, handsome, what is the future like?"
He may never been asked this because Adam paused for a long time before answering. "Before the war…horrific. After the war…amazing. You know all those colors on the spectrum you can see? There's more, in my vision of after the war. Truly incredible."