by Charles Dean
“That may be so, but if you didn’t give me the blessing, then either the gods or fate itself has gifted me this boon to better complete my service for the empire.”
“The empire?” Kitchens asked this time.
“Yes, sir. Darwin’s grand empire, the StormGuard Alliance,” Alex said with pride. “Sometimes the troops just shorten it and call it the Empire or the Alliance.”
“I don’t think those two usually go hand in hand.” Daniel’s face showed he was doing his best not to laugh at something Alex was so proud of.
“Why not?” Alex looked puzzled.
“Well, in our culture, a union, an alliance, a republic--they aren’t the same as an empire. Anytime you have a group that is represented as a bunch of people working together and deciding on things equally, they are always the good guys. On the other hand, empires, kingdoms or any group where only one person decides everyone else’s fate, well, those are the bad guys. We don’t often call one political setup by both names,” Daniel answered.
“That’s silly.” Alex’s mouth shot open and his eyes went wide as he stared in shock at Daniel’s explanation. “Everyone knows that masses of people generally make poor decisions and that the average person isn’t as well-informed on any given topic as an expert or specialist. Your culture has the two backwards. I’d much prefer the wise and benevolent dictator, our Great Lord Darwin, to track the course for our future over a group of my peers--even if you could get them to agree on a course.”
Darwin thought for a moment. Well, he’s not wrong, and it does make sense. Mob mentality is frowned upon and cursed as the smartest of people acting in the dumbest of ways. Then again, we also say democracy is the end-all be-all of good leadership. “Well, take it or leave it, Alex, but that is his people’s culture.”
“Not yours though?” Alex looked for clarification as if upon Darwin’s answer would satisfy more than simple curiosity.
“Of course not, Alex. I’m from the Empire, and our people have a mean but handsome leader who doesn’t tolerate group decisions,” Darwin laughed. He was rather liking the evil role he had assumed. If anyone ever had a question about moralities, ethics or philosophies, he could just take the barbaric and cruel way out of the conversation. This is definitely the time for a good ole’, deep-voiced ‘muwahaha,’ he chuckled to himself. “And speaking of not tolerating group decisions, why are we having this discussion when there is a city out there that needs razing?” Darwin said, laughing loudly.
“That’s a good point,” Daniel conceded and joined Darwin’s laughter. “Shall we serve the city with or without fries, Master Darwin?” He added the last like he was a waiter at an old-fashioned diner.
“Master? I’m quite sure his title is ‘Great Lord Darwin,’” Alex corrected Daniel earnestly. The fact that he was sincerely trying to edify Daniel about the title, and not just continuing the joke, only added to the humor and made it even more difficult for the other three men to stifle their chuckles.
“Of course it is, General Alex.” Daniel was, unsurprisingly, the only one of the three able to pull a straight face back together as he addressed Alex’s sober tone in like kind.
“Good,” Alex said to Daniel and then turned to Darwin. “We shall stall them with this ‘high school orientation speech’ and then leave to raze Peh-Ting Zhou. Will you be joining us at any point? Would you like a report of our success, or are you coming to visit the battlefield?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” Darwin didn’t want to mention that he was going to be inside killing the councilmen in case he failed and ended up respawning back at the main city.
“Then we shall depart. I’ll have a report of every group’s performance and the success by the end of the day.” Alex bowed and then left.
“I guess I’m off to stall a bunch of our new members while you two do, well, whatever it is.” Daniel sighed and followed after Alex.
“So instead of spending too much time here planning, how about we just go kill them and figure out how along the way?” Darwin asked Kitchens.
“Sounds good,” Kitchen agreed. “We have time to find those cookies, right?”
“Of course. The world always has time for cookies.”
Chapter 8 – Dungeons and Pandas: Dice, Die and Die
Kass:
Kass reached for her phone as soon as she logged out. Truthfully, it was more out of habit than any possible eagerness to accept Charles’s lucrative but rather shady offer. Ugh. Why does the right thing always have the wrong impact on my checking account? If only being a good girl with a conscience paid as well as the deviousness I’m expected to produce, I’d feel a lot less sick in the stomach about this, Kass grumbled. Alright, I suppose I need to call Dad first and then get the guy’s number from . . . Kass stopped as her thumbing down to find her dad’s number revealed that she already somehow had Charles's contact information in her phone. That’s not creepy at all. . . Kass frowned as she looked at the number. When did he even get my cell phone? Did he take it out of my pants pocket while I was asleep, crack my passcode and put his phone number in there? Kass began to feel a lot less comfortable about the decision she was making to work with him. Well, it’s more convenient, but still . . . Ugh. Eww. This type of behavior outside of a 1980s romantic comedy is just downright creepy.
“Hello, this is Charles’s phone. How may I help you?” a seductive female voice answered.
Wait, when did I dial the number? she looked at the phone, forgetting that she had even hit the ‘call’ button in her confusion.
“Hello?” the voice, clearly not anyone she knew, responded again.
His phone . . . Does he actually have the technology to make a sentient, artificial intelligence system to answer his phone, or is it like a secretary that just took on the identity of a phone? she wondered for a moment, then panicked. Crap, I need to say something or she is going to hang up. “Umm, this is Kass. I’m calling to speak to Charles.”
“Ahh, Miss Kass, I’ve been expecting your call. You’ll have to forgive me, but I had your service provider upload our contact information into your phone for you just in case no-one had delivered it to you.”
Oh, that explains how . . . Yeah . . . That’s a lot less unsettling, Kass said to herself, mentally toning down her level of creeped-out as the voice apologized. “Well, I’m calling because there is something I need to talk to Charles about,” she pressed once more.
“That’s wonderful news. He is actually really close to you right now and left instructions for me to have a car to pick you up for lunch if you called in the next fifteen minutes.” The voice was rather perky and happy about the whole thing.
Too happy. Kass didn’t get it. How does someone who has to work for that guy stay so cheerful and upbeat? Do they have special schools on how to sound polite and happy for an entire day of answering phones for a weird boss? She had experienced the phenomenon before when she called customer service, but it didn’t mean she had any real understanding of how it worked or was even possible. If I had to sit on the phone for twelve hours a day listening to annoying customers complain about problems that were easier to fix than macaroni and cheese, I’d probably shoot myself; but, somehow, they maintain that cheerful ‘all's right with the world’ attitude like you’re the only person who has called in the last year. She marveled at the concept, still distracted and a bit wigged out by the stress of the whole situation, and completely forgot that she was on the phone.
“Miss, I’ll be sending a nearby car to your location. Can you be ready in five minutes?” the chipper secretary asked, wanting clarification.
“Five minutes? Umm . . . Sure. Where is the lunch?” Kass asked, looking at the jeans and t-shirt she wore. She had thrown them on haphazardly, originally thinking that would be all she’d need to wear for the rest of the day but now she debated if she could change them to something fancier or more appropriate with only five minutes’ notice.
“It’s going to be at a hole-in-the-wall barbeque place ten m
inutes from your current location. Charles is scheduled to be eating alone, so I’m sure he’ll enjoy your company. The car will be there shortly. Have a nice day!” With that, the call finished with a click and silence took its place.
Well, that doesn’t even give me much of a chance to respond, does it? Kass was left feeling somewhat like a child being told when and where she was supposed to be. Okay, hole-in-the-wall barbeque with no notice. Screw it. I’m going to just . . .
Kass’s eyes wandered to the dress crumpled up in the corner of her closet from the night before, the fancy one she had hoped would impress her crowd of hopefully soon-to-be fans. No, I wore that last night. I can’t wear the same dress twice in a row, can I? She only had a moment to think about it before a car honked outside.
Crap, it hasn’t been five minutes yet, has it? She checked her phone. It has! What the heck? I’m spacing out way too much. She sighed in exasperation and dashed down the flight of stairs and out the door while squeezing her phone, half-afraid it would fall out, half-feeling kind of depressed that it was essentially everything she needed to leave the house with. Well, everything but the pepper spray my dad always insists on me taking anytime I have a date. I don’t need it though, do I? Kass looked at the giant, muscular bodyguard opening the door to the old-fashioned, tinted-windowed car. Nah, wouldn’t help me anyways.
“Watch your feet,” he said as Kass hopped in. He hadn’t even managed a ‘hello’ when she first walked outside, but making sure she knew how a car operated seemed to be important. I guess, to most of Charles’s henchmen, I’m just the kid who passes out too easily, she mentally reprimanded herself.
The ride was smooth--uneventful, but smooth. The whole ten minutes were filled with an awkward and permeating silence as she sat in the back of the vehicle. There was a blackened glass partition that didn’t let her see out the front and forced her to stare awkwardly out the window instead. Her attempts to strike up conversation with the driver fell on either deaf or uncaring ears. When they finally arrived at the destination, she found her door was locked, and she was made to wait as he walked around and opened it for her. Too bad my prom date never had this type of manners. She couldn’t help but laugh at the steroid-infused-looking suit-monkey as she climbed out of the car. “Watch your feet,” he said again as she exited the car, and this time her tennis shoes scrambled to find solid footing as she escaped the high-sitting vehicle.
You and the feet, she almost mumbled under her breath before catching herself. It probably wouldn’t be in her best interest to insult a man four times her size with some witty line about him and a Hollywood director.
“Miss!” A perky lady holding a clipboard holding a yellow legal pad shouted from over at the entrance. “Miss! I’m glad you made it on time. The meal is about to be served.”
“What did I order?” Kass looked at the buoyantly bouncing blonde staring back at her. That voice . . . This is the girl from the phone, she realized, suddenly connecting the dots. Her gaze drifted upwards as she looked up at the sign above the restaurant: Lester’s Creepy Cuts. The food must be really good for this business to stay open.
“Kale with apples and lemon water,” she said.
“At a barbecue spot?” Kass found the entire concept of ordering kale and apples at a type of restaurant notorious for sugar-coated slabs of meat to be ridiculous, but didn’t feel like pursuing the topic past the initial question.
“Yes, ma’am. Charles just doubled his order, so you’ll have to take up any bones you have to pick with him.”
Any bones I have to pick? The problem is the lack of bones. She groaned at her own pun. “Alright, well, thank you for calling the car,” Kass gave the assistant or secretary or whatever she was a slight nod of her head, which felt rather silly, and walked in to find Charles seated at a table alone near a window. The table in front of him was decorated with two massive racks of ribs that Kass could smell all the way from the doorway. It was as if they were heaven.
“I thought we were eating kale?” Kass asked as she sat down in the chair opposite to Charles.
“We are. Kale is the name of the pig that was used to make the ribs in front of you,” Charles replied with a grin. “The doctor said I needed to eat more kale, spinach and lettuce, so I talked to Lester and told him he needed to name some pigs Kale, Spinach and Lettuce. Now, I can truthfully tell my doctor at the end of each month that I’ve been eating plenty of each.”
“You know that you could just actually eat the green, leafy things the doctor insists on, right?” Kass laughed as she eyed the rack of ribs in front of her. I think Lester and Charles have a good idea here. I need to start renaming my food so I never have to lie to my dad or diet again.
“Don’t jest, Kass. We both know that a life without good food isn’t a life worth living, right? A hundred years would be too few to make up for the joy one would give up if he stuck to the diet the doctor deemed necessary.” Charles scoffed and then, with a sort of grace that should never accompany ribs, dug into his meal. He was the first person Kass had ever seen eat ribs without getting a single bit of the sauce anywhere but on the tip of the fingers he was using to hold them.
“If you say so,” Kass said, and in a much less refined manner, picked up one of her ribs and started eating. Needless to say, napkin sales would triple overnight if even a single sorority’s worth of girls ate the same way Kass was as she devoured the succulent flesh in front of her. Even a B-rated zombie flick didn’t have so much over-the-top tearing involved when the monsters tucked in to their fresh, meaty delicacies.
Charles, likely noticing the way Kass was eating, scooted his chair back half an inch. “It’s not going to run away, you know.” He gave her with a scrunched-up, patronizing look.
“I am told that they were born with legs, even if Lester fixed the problem, so you can never be too certain,” Kass retorted before taking another bite. She was positive she was being judged, but the way the flavors exploded like firecrackers of savory goodness in her mouth left her unable to muster up enough concern to curtail her embarrassing behavior.
“I am not entirely sure the pigs have been irradiated enough to worry about rapid regrowth. They weren’t slaughtered straight out of a comic book or anything.” Charles chuckled and then, after a moment of condescension, went back to his own meal.
It took Kass less than five minutes to fully consume the lunch, and, when she finally finished, she leaned back in her chair, wishing all the while she had a belt to loosen as her stomach assaulted the button tenuously fastening her jeans. “I thought about it, and I’ll take the job,” she said, watching Charles elegantly work his way up and down the rack of ribs.
“Mmmm.” Charles replied with only a sound, which didn’t come off as agreement, acknowledgement or even disapproval, without ever looking up from his course. After waiting a minute, he signaled one of the guards. “Get her a beer to wash down the meal.”
“Is it okay to be . . .” she began asking out of politeness, but then stopped short and scrapped the question for fear it might end up being misunderstood and rob her of a frothy, ice-cold refreshment. “Thank you,” she said instead, lowering her head ever so slightly again.
“It’s only polite,” Charles said, leaning back like Kass had after he cleared his own plate. “Do you read a lot?”
“Occasionally. I’m told I should do it more, but gaming eats up a lot of my book time,” Kass replied with a shrug.
“That’s good. Reading is good. It’s one of the few ways we can cram all the important parts of a lifetime’s journey into a midday afternoon and exercise the imagination at the same time.” Charles complimented her, and his patronizing look was all but gone as looked her and grinned.
“So I take it you read a lot?” Kass inferred.
“Occasionally, but I tell myself I should do it more.” He mimicked her first answer down to even the tone. “In fact, the other day, I was reading a story about a man who did the right thing and was punished for it.”
“Hmm?” Kass cringed. Why does it feel like I’m not going to like this topic? “If he did the right thing, surely there was a happy ending, right?”
“You’d think, but this particular man wasn’t the protagonist. In fact, throughout the history of our books, our religions and our stories, multitudes suffer for no other crime than the fact that they weren’t the protagonist. The author wasn’t in love with them like he was their main character, and as a result, they paid for it.” Charles sighed as he looked at the bottom of his clear glass of water. “To this day, I haven’t ever seen a hero in a sci-fi or action story, a religious text or fantasy book, or even in the news, that didn’t leave a trail of destruction the reader is supposed to just gloss over and ignore. It’s like it’s saying, ‘Don’t mind these people. Don’t mind their lives, their wives, their children. They don’t matter because they aren’t the protagonist.’ So we don’t. We gloss over it and ignore the family that was destroyed for some random trinket the protagonist wanted.”
Charles flicked his glass like it was a paper football and the water at the top splashed out and onto the table. “It’s actually rather a shame the way things are--the way we have to treat people like pieces on a chessboard.”
“Like pawns?” Kass tried to join the conversation by making the analogy more precise.
“No, just pieces. Every piece but the King, in fact. Even if the queen dies, it doesn’t matter as long as the King is still intact . . . as long as the protagonist, the player, makes it to the end.” Charles sighed again. “Is your beer good?”
“Yes, it’s delicious. But . . .” Kass paused. She wasn’t sure of what to make of Charles’s impromptu little speech. “But are you feeling like a side character?”
Charles looked at Kass and shook his head. “No, Kass, that’s not my issue at all. My problem is that I still have a shred of humanity left. I’m not entirely immersed into the story like a reader, like someone who can overlook the family’s lives, but I am interested in seeing the story progress and the protagonist get his trinket.”