“Orns is not allowed to influence the board’s decision.” Saul spat. “Orns follows the lead of the majors, Greg.”
Grandpa Greg defended himself. “Apologies, Saul, but Orns has the capital to invest into upgrading our computer infrastructure?” He mused as he wandered away from the group to stop and stare at a striking woman in Cell Arc. She was standing defiantly, looking out in all directions from her containment home, a grimace on her pretty face.
“Leave it be, Greg. Orns is allowed to operate at the board’s behest.” Saul murmured under his breath, “Damn tech people and their upgrades.”
“Team,” said Carl-63 at an indication from the CEO. “Let me lay down some background info about this project to put things in perspective before we begin formulating low-profit business schemes.”
Manda-18 added, “That Nnect has tried already,” as the two scientists handed each team member a tablet.
CEO Saul signaled Manda-18 to bring back Grandpa Greg from his blatant staring at the figure in Cell Arc.
“Get back here, you addicted Orns user,” the CEO yelled toward the older man. “I’ll fire your ass and send you to work as a garbage cleaner at Orns if you mess up any of my property.”
Grandpa Greg muttered something about Orns being the haven. There was some history here that went right over David’s head, and he doubted that the CEO’s reprimand swayed the older man at all.
David changed the subject as he stared at the tablet and asked, “Why is it not common knowledge that there is another civilization—this Tri-Coalition with all these human beings, as you call them?” Timid David was gaining confidence, his courage boosted by his reinforcing brand. The mustache of CEO Saul lifted, revealing a satisfied smirk. He likes when I support his arguments with questions. David was beginning to recognize where CEO Saul was heading with his rants. Encouraging the CEO seemed like a secure approach to these team discussions.
“Thank you for bringing me back to my point.” CEO Saul nodded at David-23. “As I was saying.” He stroked the navy, bushy hair patch under his lip and continued his rant. “Each of these newly acquired slaves was stolen out from under the protective care of the Tri-Coalition military.”
David interjected, “Have we sent Mindmonks to this other land to teach them about our ways? I always read in the history books that most of the world was destroyed in the great Brand Wars.”
The other three team members chuckled again and looked at David as if he were the lab experiment. Grandpa Greg went so far as to suggest that they add another containment home for David to stay in for the duration of the project. “He is too cute not to be on display. We should test him.” More derisive chuckles.
“You will have to relearn history, David,” the CEO answered.
The team walked back up the stairs to the lab rooms overlooking the containment compartments. Manda said, “The world is split into two major continents divided by a narrow ocean.” She let a camera scan her face before demanding, “Computer, pull up the restricted-access world maps.” A large globe popped up on the nearest projection wall just four feet from their position.
The globe rotated as Carl-63 waved his hands and twirled his command-prompt fingers. Two large land masses appeared, one with blue dots on it and one with red dots on it. A body of water split the two. Smaller land masses with no color markings dotted the fringes of the map.
Manda continued as Carl manipulated the illustration. “The red dots are the supercities controlled by the Corporate States. Together, we form a peaceful and profitable world. The Corporate States is not a country…”
Carl chimed in. “Not a ‘country’ in the traditional sense but a corporation that ensures and protects the perfect society.”
The CEO took up the narrative. “Xchange, my city, is one such city that forms civilized society. Human-doings, we have aptly named ourselves in our enlightened intellectual understanding of humanity.”
Grandpa Greg added in a bored voice, “The blue dots are the known cities of the human beings, or those that form Tri-Coalition.” David gulped as Grandpa Greg drew a line across his neck with a pudgy thumb.
Manda added, “Fortunately, our military power keeps them on their side of the Adriatic Divide.”
Carl said, “But regrettably, their military power keeps us on our side. We haven’t been able to gain ground on their side of the divide.”
Saul laughed excitedly. “Except for the occasional successful raid. Aren’t our slaves a thing of beauty?”
“So these human beings are from the blue cities?” David pressed as his curiosity and global perspective drastically increased simultaneously. The massive projected terrain rotated as the observers gestured. “Where do the ones we have now come from? Why are they so valuable, and why are they different, like you said, from others we have bought or captured before?”
Saul grasped his thick arms behind his back and sauntered in front of the glass units. “These people you see in the observation homes are the first people that we have captured who are not trained missionaries.”
Crystal said in an angry voice, “Missionaries are citizens of Tri-Coalition who voluntarily live near the edge of the water bordering our cities. They live there with very little military protection so that they can be captured by our raiding parties.”
“Why in the stock would anyone do that?” David asked, confused.
Slayer said, as he sat in a floating stool, “They have crazy ideas about us being created and not being produced by ourselves. They are culturally unstable. They want the disease of their ideas to spread to our utopia.”
The CEO nodded and said, “Missionaries believe in forgiveness and treating people with unreserved and undeserved equality because each person has innate value bestowed on them by a Creator. They believe people of all ages and abilities and health should be treated equally. They use laws not force.”
Grandpa Greg pointed at David and shrugged to Saul. “You letting this one lead our Lave Lab teams is a bit Tri-Coalition of you.”
“It is nothing of the sort. This is to punish your incompetence.” A look of bitterness.
Crystal explained further, “Tri-Cos have all sorts of wild notions. They’re like Mindmonks gone postal.” She shivered. “Imagine how horrible their ideas would be for the fabric of stability.” She paused, letting the lesson sink in.
David’s breath caught tightly in his chest, and a trickle of rage slid through his heart. “How dare they spread such preposterous ideas!”
Manda-18 joined in. “Those missionaries camped on the edge of the ocean are sick. They are willing to die in the hopes of infecting us with this cause of theirs.”
Carl-63 added, “From what we can tell, these missionaries don’t make any products or have any useful service. Imagine a whole group of unprofitable people just hanging out.”
Slayer jabbed Grandpa Greg in the side with a strong fist. “Spaah. Orns is like that.”
“Hate all you want. Orns is the future,” Greg whispered.
Crystal Ice declared, “No incomes.” She shuddered at the atrocity. The group shuddered with her at the audacity of a person that took a job that did not make profit. “Not only are these spies worthless. They drain other useful organizations by being supported by endorsements. Parasites.”
“Sick, so demented. They’d waste their only useful years.” Manda-18 had tears in her eyes as she glanced at the others.
The sheer audacity of these missionaries made David cringe. “Postal” was a term that referred to the socialistic government-agency mind-set that had crippled humanity for years; “going postal” meant an employee would get fed up with life and work and destroy those around them. Thank the stock that work environments had evolved to where they were today. Thank the stock for the protection of the brand. David could not imagine a Mindmonk gone postal.
“I see,” David said. “Spreading ideas counter to our productive society could distort the rhythm of life in Xchange. This is a sensitive task we have.”
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br /> CEO Saul said, “The long and short of it is that these human beings, and especially the radical missionaries, believe they will come here and help us or fix us or teach us. Outdated and ignorant. They try to get into our society and change the hearts and minds of the common stock who don’t have the experience and vision of us intellectuals. I tell you, if one of them ever gets into our system with these crazy notions, our system might collapse from sheer stupidity. Xchange has studied the human machine for years and is trying to get us all to a better place.” Gasping for breath after his angry rant, CEO Saul slammed his fist into the nearest cell control panel. Lights in the cells below flashed. The slaves leaped up.
“Those—these human being swine,” CEO Saul explained as the team looked at the slaves in their mirrored homes, “are family members of the insane missionaries. These aren’t missionaries trained against torture and thus are not warriors trying to infect our world.” He laughed at the irony, slamming the light controls again. He sneered as the slaves reacted with fear. “They are children, wives, husbands, and parents who were visiting their relatives and friends during some season called Christmas Holiday.”
As the CEO recovered his breath, Carl explained, “Our research revealed that the Christmas season was a vulnerable time in the defenses around Tri-Coalition. We intercepted a radio transmission discussing a symbol called a Christmas tree. Our team surmised the Christmas tree was active and concluded that Christmas season had begun. This is an opportune time for an offensive. We decided to fund an attempt to kidnap family unit members to make the missionaries pay.”
Family units had long ago been destroyed in Xchange’s forward-thinking culture; only free people could afford a modern-day family unit. David thought of Storyworld and the people that he followed in its episodes. David understood how weak a family unit could be, since they relied on one another. Family units were also very predictable; one could intimidate or pressure the stronger members of the family by abusing the weaker members. The weakest-link theory applied to a family unit.
Saul continued stroking his beard introspectively and said, “David, you are a cold bastard. I saw how you cornered the relationship market and that Gayle of yours. You wanted something, and you earned it. The company profited as well. You saved your neck at the MCM dinner disaster with some quick compromising and one hundred percent accountability. Most common stock operate below the productivity line, but you operate above the line. You are a product who has built his career on the solid virtues of compliance and self-discipline. You have self-preservation skills and creativity all in one package.”
David’s heart swelled at the praise from such a powerful doer. His brand fed him trickles of pleasure, which touched his heart like a serpent’s tongue, flickering in and out. His ego grew.
The CEO declared to the group, “Twenty-Three, you are going to take the lead on this project. You have the valued expertise of the others at your disposal.” A sneer. “Make sure you break these human beings before you release them to the system.”
Greg said, “Worst case, we sell them to Orns, who can use them in Storyworld or one of their shows. That is what we did with the missionaries we found.”
“Worse case only,” Saul agreed.
Slayer explained, “Lave Labs could not break the missionaries; they have some honor system that gives them satisfaction when they die for what they believe. It’s stupid and crazy, but there it is.”
“For the glory of Nnect, sir.” David bowed to the CEO. He felt empowered.
“You may kiss the key to the kingdom and accept my blessing for this project, Productzen 23.” In a moment of solemnity, David bowed and kissed the CEO’s sapphire armband. The team received the blessing of the X. All bowed.
Standing on the observation balcony, David looked down at the slaves in their home units, taking stock of his new project. But that one woman in Cell Arc stared with clear blue-golden eyes defiantly at the walls of her confines. He glimpsed at her demeanor and shuddered. David could not handle her stare, so he refocused on his questions to the CEO, the powerful CEO who gave him leadership over this huge project. “One last question, sir: How did we afford such an expensive purchase and extraction? It must be expensive.”
“It is very expensive indeed, my obedient minion.” The CEO patted David on the head. “Currently we are the only Major to have such potential captives.”
“Forgive me for sounding repetitive, but was PPRE such a success that it could front the immense military extraction costs?” David liked to stroke his ego by asking questions that enforced his successes. It was a healthy selfish habit. His brand normally rewarded such habits with a kiss of pleasure.
“Other groups can acquire missionary trash occasionally. But these other human beings—the kids, families, and associates of the missionaries—are a rare and expensive opportunity. The money you raised from your last project allowed us to use a new cutting-edge military extraction method and to deploy carrier copters that enabled us to briefly penetrate the Tri-Coalition’s defenses.”
Carl pulled up a video feed, showing copters flying in the dark of night toward a cliff-top settlement. “This allowed us to take the kids and wives and siblings who were visiting the missionary installment camps across from Xchange and leave the missionaries to regret their mockery of our perfect system.”
The team laughed a unifying devilish laugh. “It is a beautiful thing that you enabled here, David-23. Don’t shit it up.”
The CEO motioned on his way to the door. “I want power over this Tri-Coalition if it’s the last thing I do. Bring me leverage. Bring me wealth. Bring me something useful.” And his word was law.
In the silence that followed the CEO’s exit, the team of managers walked around and observed the slave containment homes. The humans inside each acted and looked differently. Lave Labs began its most important assignment ever.
Chapter 19
Episode 7: Boundaries
Boots clanked on the wooden floor of the mansion. Phel paused, the iron pot of chunky steaming stew swirling and a stewardship scroll pinched under his elbow. He listened. Jillian and Drane argued in angry tones in the next room. He leaned in closer to try and understand the nature of their words.
“This letter summons almost our entire armed force,” Drane declared. “Death be comin’ early this year.”
“How will we guard Waver Town?” Jillian demanded. “Meldz’s crazy order?”
A sword clanked behind Phel. He turned in shock, pretending not to eavesdrop. Slosh from his pot spilled on the floor.
“Bastard dog. Can’t even keep the meal where it belongs.” A guard brushed past Phel, punching him hard in the side with a gauntleted fist. He buckled to his knees. “Steward of the house, my ass.” As the guard disappeared around the corner, he yelled, “Clean that shit up.”
Phel crawled on his knees, using his frayed tunic to mop up the steaming, flavored sludge. He leaned closer to the door where Jillian and Drane spoke confidentially.
“To help invade a new territory for Lord Meldz,” Drane said.
“Drane, refuse this ridiculous order! It’s too much this time. Waver Town will be defenseless.”
“How can I refuse, Jilly? I’ll lose my head.”
“Instead send half of our warriors to assist his lordship,” she spat.
“Meldz’s power is not something I refuse. His word is law. He is the voice of King Eddard,” Drane argued.
“Meldz is leaving us completely unprotected. Aslar’s herd could take the village back,” Jillian countered. “Our supplies come to this port.”
“Meldz can get supplies at other locations.” Drane’s voice was a tired. “You stay with the village and the remaining allowed soldiers if you can’t stand Meldz,” The conversation ended. Phel snuck out the back hallway to complete his task, his tunic dripping.
“Shwww lookie at our piggie.” A burly kitchen maid pointed Phel out to the bean thin chef. “Gone and soiled itself.”
Phel fled the
kitchen to scrub his clothes, before returning to the house.
An hour later, the soldiers gathered in the yard, preparing to leave. Jillian stood on the steps with the few remaining soldiers. Shadows from the setting sun played fitfully over her serious face.
“Rule and guard. By the moon,” Drane barked from his black stallion.
“By the moon,” Jillian retorted. Her face was a mask of calm sarcasm. Phel counted the waiting warriors. Only six were left. It was a slim force.
I can flee, Phel thought from his seat atop a large wooden barrel in the yard. Such a small force will not be able to patrol the fortifications and guard prisoners. He pictured his secret leather bag with a day’s supply of water and three days’ worth of food. No one will know for at least a day or be able to give chase if I steal a horse and flee before the return of the army. But as Phel stood by the road, watching the warriors ride out, Drane reared his black horse in front of him and waved him closer.
“Protect our village. Protect my fiancée.”
Standing, Phel gaped. “Are you talking to me?” In response Drane tossed him a double-edged blade from the arsenal attached to the saddle. Fingers, too long deprived of a weapon, gripped the comforting steel.
“Take it.” It was not a dull practice blade but a stolen Sonz warrior’s sword. “Time to earn your place as a man.” Jillian and some of the other warriors spat in disgust, but several of the men with whom Phel had been training nodded in respect toward him.
“By the moon,” Phel murmured. A phrase he had heard leaped from his lips: “May my service reflect the rays until my last night.”
“May it guide you in the darkness,” Drane intoned as a blessing. With that, the army rode off to join Lord Meldz.
“So, you are a warrior of the Moonz now?” Cledwyn whispered when Phel returned from the courtyard with his gifted sword. Cledwyn beamed as Phel looked across the street toward Jillian and the remaining warriors.
A Tale Of Doings Page 23