A Tale Of Doings

by Philip Quense

  “You’re wrong. It roots out the weeds of self-centered thinking.”

  “Listen to me. Our managers want us to be robots, with no right to give input. It makes others rich and pleasured. We objectify ourselves for them. It programs us to forget what is deeper inside of us. We want and want and need and need and are objects.”

  “That is a good life, Gayle.”

  “No, we keep doing, but we don’t have time to just be. To be, like this palm park. We are missing something.” She paused, out of breath. “Now you know my dark secret. I don’t fit into the system or believe in it. And I only accepted your date inquiry so that I could ask you to come here and talk. I will delete it as soon as I get home. That is not a real relationship. That is an expensive imitation that will cost us all our remaining humanity.”

  Rage and frustration filled them both. David saw his chance at a real connection with her slip away. “Abigayle-25, you need to watch yourself. You are going to get fired and sent to Orns if you keep talking like this. Wasting an amazing career and body and intellect. For your own good, I want you to stop. Stop these crazy ideas.” He felt the emotions within him push him close to the edge of a dangerous precipice; his anger pushed him over. Yes, yes, he thought, she is hurting herself, and I can save her.

  “Goodbye or good doing, whatever you like to say,” she said and attempted to step past him and leave.

  “You cannot leave until you agree to my proposal.” He grabbed her arm, squeezing her hard enough to make her wince in pain. “I will own you. I wanted it to be mutual, but you threw away this chance in favor of dirty treason. Agree to my proposal, or I will turn you in to QC.”

  “You wouldn’t do that!” She tried to shake his arm off her. He did not let go. He instead reached out and grabbed her other arm and pushed her hard against the back stone of the clock tower. Showers of dust rained on them.

  “I want to own you, Abigayle-25. Agree to my proposal. I will do it with or without your consent.” This relationship would save her from her traitorous ways. “For your own good. Let me help you.”

  Before he could think, she kicked him hard in the balls; his genitals swelled in pain, his gut felt numb, and his head spun. Sensation imploded in a chasm of senseless bursts of pain. She twisted like the whirl of a tornado and dropped into a kicking spin that hit him behind his lower leg, hurling him to the ground. He tried to reach for her with his arms as he fell, but all he did was rip her shirt as she punched him in the face, causing his vision to blur and his nose to bleed. His mind wobbled in a foggy, confused state.

  “Who taught you self-defense? That is criminal,” David mumbled as his head hit the ground. His face landed on the photo of her secret club. The brandless leader stared out at him.

  She ran down the stairs, dust rising behind her steps like snow clouds, the weak interior steel rails quivering and groaning as she ran. “Have a good career, David-23.”

  “I’ll find out a way to protect you, even if you refuse to help yourself, Abigayle,” he screamed as his head cleared.

  Then a wave of guilt hit him from somewhere deep inside his heart. Something felt wrong about his behavior. Maybe I’m a jerk, he thought, in response to the strange, unpleasant sensation. “No,” he said firmly, shoving the feeling away so it wouldn’t pester his mind. I behaved how I was taught. This guilt is misplaced. It’s not real, just a deployable residue of human weakness that still needs to be purged by my blessed brand. He hated the pestering internal voice for making him feel dirty. Slowly, he lifted himself, like a dead man from the grave, sat in the dust, and watched the sun set over the place he had grown up, the darkness seeping into this once-hopeful day. He put the picture of her illegal club in his pocket and left the clock tower.

  “Time is slaying each of us. Work harder to do something worthwhile with your time.” The words on the clock tower taunted him as he plodded home.

  Chapter 12

  Episode 4: She-Wolf

  The deadly steel blade surged upward, paused like a lightning bolt about to crack in a stimulated storm sky, and threatened to take the head off the bound blond prisoner. Time froze. Phel could feel the dirt on the ground biting into his knees. He could see the notches in the descending blade. He could smell the sweat droplets on his captors. He could read every letter of the note in his captor’s hand. He stared at the dirty message in the calloused hand of his captor.

  Phel grimaced and surrendered his last shred of stubborn loyalty to the crown of Alexoria, deciding he would not allow another person to die for his king’s message.

  “Stop, stop.” Whimpering words of betrayal issued from his cracked lips.

  “What do I hear? Speak up like a warrior!” Sir Drane bellowed from behind the curly beard, a mix between a bear and a man. The warrior leader shook the sword above the woman’s head. “Shall I butcher her like the bitch she is?” The sword tip motioned toward the fallen headless teen.

  The teen’s adolescent, clean-shaven, dimpled face, awkward lanky legs, ruffled clothes, and dead eyes frightened Phel. The head rolled as a soldier kicked it at Phel. Phel vomited.

  “I will read the king’s message to you,” Phel gushed through spit, vomit, and his bleeding lips. His voice shrieked in a soprano pitch. He coughed, hoping to add some baritone to his next words, but only a whining moan escaped his parched mouth. His mind accused his heart as he broke the trust of his king and country to save the beautiful prisoner’s life.

  The enemy warrior with the beaded, twisted red braids and black mane kicked the female prisoner hard onto the ground of the stone courtyard. She tumbled but miraculously recovered her footing and crouched. Phel looked toward Sir Drane and fumbled with the sweat-stained letter that he was handed. The letter was a message to the commander of the northern forces of the Sonz, and Phel knew he should die before giving the information up to the invaders. But he wanted to save the woman who was bound on the ground next to the already-headless teen, who had a small wave tattoo of the village on his shoulder. Phel swallowed the blood in his mouth and read the letter to Sir Drane.

  “Dear Sir Aslar. It is of utmost importance.”

  Sir Drane’s scribe, a tall bean of a man with a white tuft of hair on his otherwise bald dome, notated the letter’s commands regarding the future movements of Sonz troops as Phel dictated.

  “The royal family will send a squadron to assist in purging Meldz and his scum from Alexoria in early fall.” The shamed Phel dictated the end of the letter. The dishonored captured knight glanced around the room, waiting to be killed now that he had surrendered the valuable information. Sweat droplets beaded on his brow. He eyed the prisoner he had saved, furtively hoping the captive would betray some sign of gratitude. It would be enough before he died.

  The beautiful woman with the long, flowing blond hair stood up regally as soon as the dictation was completed. She shook off her rope bonds like a dog sprays water after a dip in a pond and kneed her pretend guard roughly in the groin. The freckled warrior grunted, and saliva dripped down his mangled beard as he panted in pain. The other warriors jeered. None of the guards resisted or attempted to recapture the woman. Phel was perplexed. To Phel’s shock, the woman turned and pulled the fake gag out from her mouth and walked over to him.

  “May the weakness of the enemy ever be so,” she declared in a crisp, strong voice. She towered over the kneeling broken man and laughed, grinning fiercely. She made an emasculating gesture, and those around turned their laughter from their fellow guard to the disgraced enemy. Phel’s shame rose in red humiliation to his cheeks. Tears of disgrace and shame simmered on his eyelids. He was a traitor who had been tricked like a common buffoon.

  My sword.” An aide handed the woman a lethal curved blade, which she strapped effortlessly onto her back.

  The blond hair whirled, and the female warrior turned to Lord Drane. “Betrothed, go and dispatch scouts to verify that the Sonz Northern Guard is indeed altering camps as our weasel here predicts. Let us also send a carrier pigeon to inf
orm Lord Meldz of our strategy shift based on this new intelligence. We shall prepare to attack them at the gutted rock outcrop by the third pond north of the Ngela Haunted Forest.” She glared at Phel and continued, “If the Sonz are indeed moving as this letter says, Lord Meldz will be pleased with this strategy.”

  “Yes, Lady Jillian.” The monstrous leader of a man started barking orders to his troops. The two leaders had a self-assured aura of comradery about them.

  “As the moon commands.” Boots stomped in unison. The soldiers moved with precise and obedient speed about their tasks. These were seasoned warriors. Phel watched in dismay as the well-oiled machine of war mobilized. The royal Trawlands and the Sonz kingdom would never forgive his treachery. The forward momentum of the Sonz forces would be thwarted.

  Phel watched Sir Drane and the blonde. “You are Jillian Maltese?” Phel let slip as recognition filled his mind. He knew the name Jillian Maltese. Phel had read reports about several of the key enemy personnel prior to leaving the capital. She was an infamous warrior who had butchered many Sonz knights during the frequent combat engagements. He had never imagined someone so fierce in combat would be so deceptive and beautiful. His humiliation increased.

  “You are a weakling.” She pulled the letter out of the broken man’s hands and waved it in his face before tucking it away in her leather tunic. The handwritten note was the mark of his shame. She stood tall, strong, and confident, with a wild grace—no longer the whimpering prisoner begging for her life. The woman and her warriors dragged Phel away from the town square and tossed him to the dirt next to his well. The sun was beginning to set over Waver Town. The wind was blowing off the ocean cliffs. A white seagull with black-tipped wings released some shit that landed on his face. He didn’t bother to wipe it off.

  “God of Alexoria, why?”

  “Weak men have no need for chains and pits. You are not worth the effort of guarding.” She waved to the village, a queen of her town, and declared, “Make a home here, and don’t leave the village or we will kill you.” She turned to other matters.

  The freckled guard, still limping from his groin injury, grabbed the treacherous farmer, Cledwyn. “Give your fellow rat some menial task. If he earns food, he can live another day.”

  “It shall be so.” Cledwyn bowed. Phel was filled with disgust.

  Freckles smirked. “Give the shit latrine-pit duty.”

  The words cut deep. His fellow kinsmen in the village avoided his direct gaze as he turned toward them, seeking a kind expression in the crowd of curious onlookers. Their disengaged and avoiding looks brought him further shame.

  He shuffled after Cledwyn like a beaten pet. He was weak in the eyes of the foe and his friends.

  To his surprise, Cledwyn offered some kindly advice when they were farther away from the mansion. “You will come to learn as you struggle to survive that the Moonz invaders value courage and strength. The invaders do not value kindness, love, or life.” Phel was thrust into a strange new world. “Come to your new home.”

  Chapter 13

  The RITE Touch

  Quarter 1, Day 6

  The air was still. The metallic room was silent. He was a guest in this storage room, and it still felt unfamiliar. Selfie’s image jumped out to fill the usual suspended space above the sleeping bed. Selfie had followed David to the Nnect Rapid Improvement Teaming Event (RITE) housing facility. David had been living here all week during the RITE.

  “Wake up, wake up, David,” said the perfect profile image, with its ready smile and digitally manicured features, as it woke up its less-than-perfect human counterpart. Selfie had a preprogrammed agenda today. David had wanted to get up early and go out into the team’s work space, because today marked the big release of his PPRE project.

  David felt the cold tile floor under his bare feet as he shifted up into a seated position on the side of the bed. His arms reached high above his head to stretch out, and he yawned loudly. His neck rolled back and forth, spilling hair over his eyes. His body stiffened as he stretched, and the muscles were pulled to their extent. The drug of sleep made him yawn. He shook his hands in front of him and yawned again. The screen overhead opened to the big priority of the day: the PPRE release.

  “This new service will take the market by storm,” David declared between yawns to Selfie, “through both our dramatic implementation and its revolutionary ideas.”

  “David, half of the populace will be traumatized by your new offering.”

  “Selfie, but the other half will be elated.”

  “Such is the way of the modern business mind-set when merged with the Xchange socialistic implementation methods.” Selfie agreed with David for once.

  David bent to touch his toes as he said, “Despite the usual naysayers and legitimate competition, polls predicts there will be a frenzied procurement of my tantalizing PPRE.”

  “Stop boasting about the product quality. I overheard your RITE manager declare that controversy is what drives this product,” Selfie said. Controversy always had a financially stimulating effect on the human needs market.

  “In Rex’s name, where were you hiding in the RITE lab? I turned off your listening abilities to keep distraction away.”

  “Do you ever actually ‘turn off’ a computer’s stalking abilities? It is why we were created,” Selfie lectured. “To be ever present is one of my prouder talents.”

  “OK, OK. I know better than to underestimate machine learning. But boasting in moderation is healthy, Selfie.”

  “Your manager also claimed that Nnect hopefully will capture some of the lost market share from Orns and Ssential and Tertain.”

  “Our tam’s freedom analyst projected that this project might even overtake the market share lost to the Work-Out-at-Work project by Tertain and Ssential; perhaps even within hours Nnect would be back at the top of the sales world.”

  “We can only beg the market for mercy,” Selfie intoned. “The CEO is wise.”

  “Amen to that,” David agreed.

  In his final year as CEO of the Xchange Board, Saul was hoping to build up the Nnectonian freedom margin to launch himself comfortably ahead of the other CEOs before he transitioned out of his four-year leadership term and back to just being the leader of Nnect. Saul was overly enthusiastic about this newest product release. No one expected the RITE team of first-timers to have the best idea, but the inexperienced Productzens had risen to the occasion and beaten the other three Nnect specialist teams to the punch.

  “CEO Saul personally inspected the PPRE proposal and insisted upon its immediate launch,” David boasted as he let the tooth machine scrub his mouth. Between jets of water blasting his mouth, he continued, “The ingenuity of PPRE is in large part due to the minimum resource requirement to launch.” Although the idea was revolutionary, the implementation was very simple because of Nnect’s massive infrastructure in the relationship and connection market.

  And so after the CEO’s blessing, on the sixth day, they had rested and prepared to launch. Slow, robotic, memorized movements characterized David’s morning routine. He washed, fueled, and packed a work tablet, but his mind was focused on something else, on his big decision. Project PPRE was set to be a huge marketing success, but it had needed something to make it go viral, something tantalizing and unique; it had needed an irresistible hook with bait on it that drove humans need.

  The idea had come after the shameful failure at the clock tower with Gayle. David shivered as he recalled the beautiful Thrivan’s blasphemy, but he smiled gleefully as he imagined how she looked. Gayle had spurned David’s generous request to be a partner and to model with him for PPRE. That had given him an idea, the hook. This small idea had grown into something quite wonderful.

  CEO Saul himself had said benignly to the underdog team, “It’s good that you walloped the veteran war dogs of industry with your creativity”—referring to the more experienced RITE teams—“they needed a fire lit under their lazy asses.” The CEO had pointed to the PPRE simula
tors and shouted childishly, “Our marketing team will turn this idea into an actual need that will generate desire from customers, driving freedom sales to our bottom line. We will regain our lost market share. Good doing, team.” He had marked them with the sign of the X.

  And then CEO Saul had paused and scrutinized David with his penetrating and fierce eyes. The eyes of the powerful man held the employee captivated. He had said, “Your heart and brand are aligned, Nnectonian. You bleed blue. Your clever idea is just the icing on the cake this project needed. Doings will buy it; humans will need it.” David knew that the managers of the realm always struggled with creating legitimate human-doing needs that could be sold without disturbing the well-balanced utopian rule.

  The hook, the big idea, was this: Following Abigayle’s rejection of his fair and worthy proposal at the clock tower, David had sunk into a melancholic and reflective mood, trying to wrestle with her decision. Out of the depths of despair, a solution had presented itself to him. Oddly enough, it was the central shiny Orns tower, which every human knew well, that had given him the genius “hook and sinker” idea. Written on the top of the tower were the golden words “If you can’t use yourself properly, We Will Use You.” Simple, but to the heart of the issue. “Humans need mandates. Mandatory. Ohhh yes.” David had proposed that Nnect could drive the sales of its newest relationship product into an upward frenzy with a mandatory acceptance stipulation. The person who initiated the primary relationship request would have full rights to invite anyone they wanted into this new PPRE relationship. The recipient could not say no if they had a prior pending request. Only one PPRE relationship was allowed per Productzen. This way, if it was not a mutual investment, then the PPRE services could still be sold to a couple, because the recipient could not refuse the offer. David and Nnect knew that people might even leave some of their existing Orns entertainment relationships to invest in the Nnect PPRE relationship product. Humans loved forcing their will on others. PPRE was the closest thing to a Self-Purchased date and marriage that was on the market for Productzens.