Watching the video of the two of them, David recalled that Doc Gus had inspired a desire to take the long, narrow road. He had listed out goals: buy relationships, live in Freedom Purview, own sex, manage with power, have permits for kids, live in a house, have time for friends, and much, much more. A full life, the treasure chest at the end of the rainbow of a brilliant career. Saving was one of the paths that the brand was designed to lead him to.
“A pinnacle career moment.”
David watched the screen as scene after scene of brilliant success followed him. Each moment emphasized a crucial decision point—the cruxes where he had sacrificed himself for the company. He watched as his personality, habits, and character were molded. The brand had come alive in those moments in order to sustain him.
“Thank the stock selection.” Gratitude overwhelmed David. Gratitude for his chosen pathway. “Thank PPRE.” Its success had gotten him on track to potentially buy himself at the young age of thirty-three, years before the recommended retirement age of forty, when the useful years ran out for the average product.
Oh yes, David was invested in buying himself. And his brand sent a refreshing rush of adrenaline from his spine through his heart and down his arm so strong that he mumbled aloud, “Succeed.” A lustful smile simmered on his lips.
A final two images played on the screen. One of Gayle on their first date and one of Lave Labs. Two convictions filled him: First, this human-doing would be his. He’d buy her first. Second, this Lave Labs project would be his stepping-stone to success. He would unearth a technique to use these slaves; he’d change business forever. A paradoxically stormy and gleeful emotion welled up from his heart.
“I came in here with a lot of doubts, Doc Gus. I asked you a lot of questions about the effectiveness of our system, about the cultural war that will clash among our people if these human beings—with their beliefs—permeate our society, about the desire to be different for Gayle. I burdened you with my own doubts about our organization, but I see the beauty and need for our social structure now.”
“This is a space of renewal, my subject,” the bearded guide answered kindly.
“I needed to revamp my potential.”
“Take your renewal as a blessing from my mind palace.”
David swore, “I’ll get into the heart of these slaves. I’ll continue my relationship with Gayle until I am free and can invest in a proper contract.”
“I like to listen to your high aspirations. More human-doings should set the sky as the limit. Dream big, David-23.”
“Oh, I will have her, sir.”
“It will be expensive if she doesn’t earned her freedom and isn’t willing to coinvest in such a marriage.”
“I’ll have her if she likes it or not!”
“I’m sure you will.” The patronizing tone revealed little of the monk’s feelings.
Trying to convince his confidant, David explained, “Did you see how PPRE played out for me?” David smirked with arrogance. Dreams always motivated him. “CEO Saul was correct. Bless his leadership.” He rubbed his tattoo. “Those motivated enough can reach fulfillment. I’ll teach these slaves about true freedom.”
The monk concluded, “I care that you harness the power of positive addictions and discipline yourself to avoid the sins that grind us down, make us less human.”
“I’ll remember your warnings.”
“Good. Also, some practical advice. Ponder statistics from past projects. Lessons. Traps. Patterns.”
“Yes, Sensei.”
“You get dojo points if you do. If you’re not careful, you could pick up empathetic attachments and develop unrealistic relational fascinations with the slaves, which will quickly turn into bad addictions that tear into every area of your life. Then you’ll lose effectiveness, contentment, and mayhap even lose sight of your ultimate goal.” The man bowed. “This session is ended. Be about doing.”
David was renewed. Doc Gus said as he walked David down the hallway toward the foyer, “Another bird image to remember. A bird cannot fly if it is held down by a thick chain or even just a tiny thread. By the stock, remember that the threads are sometimes harder to see.”
“You are a wise man.”
“We are only as wise as our habits. Continue to crowd out vice with clear purpose and good habits.” As an afterthought the monk said, “Send me a draft of the behavioral, sociological, and religious views that you discover from these human beings. I find the search for truth fascinating, and new data will help me as I work for posterity. I’m on my own journey of discovery, just as are you.”
“Doing onward.” David said in farewell.
The golden monk waved, saying, “Keep getting up if you fall down. Come back and talk soon. You’re high profile now.”
Chapter 28
Episode 11: Mastan Again
Time had run out for the men in front of the inn. Flight was impossible. The gravel in the yard crunched under warrior boots shuffling into fighting positions.
Phel, Drane, and Mark ceased their arguing; all thoughts of flight vanished as the captain bellowed for his men to cut off the retreat. In an orderly manner, the knights surrounded the company.
“You’ll pay for your arrogance, Phel. Even in the darkness of night, the moon reveals all.” Drane tightened his calloused hands on the hilt of his ax. Phel felt a tinge of uncomfortable guilt.
“May the darkness ever be pierced by the moon,” Mark huffed. His left arm hung limp, wounded, but he took a brave stance.
The Sonz warriors calculated their next move. “I know you!” declared wiry Faral, in a surprised tone, standing to the left of the captain. “Look, Eddy! Phel’s alive!”
“Quince? What are you doing here? We thought you were dead,” Eddy chimed in from behind him.
“Hey, boys. Still alive,” Phel responded, hoping to distract the knights. “Let’s talk this out.”
The tone of his training friend turned sinister, “Why are you here, Phel? Why are you with these pigs?” freckled Eddy demanded.
Swords swished, coming free from scabbards. Long, straight, shiny Sonz blades reflected the light like diamonds. Phel pressed a long dagger into Drane’s hand as he stepped out in front. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Drane and Mark were stiff from the stockades and had been injured in their capture. This would be a massacre.
Villagers gathered around as news of a disturbance spread. Roland corralled the serving girls back into the inn. Orai and Melase screamed as the aggression built. They poked their frightened faces out a nearby window and gawked.
A few farmers came out of a nearby hut and shouted, “Beat the devils to the ground and hang them.” The cackles of the angry crowd set Phel on edge.
In desperation, hoping his training mates would listen, Phel lowered his sword and stepped forward in an act of friendship. “It’s true—I’m one of you! I have a message.”
Demtor, the foremost warrior, didn’t take the bait and attacked with a swirl of his blade. Due to his Moonz and Sonz training, Phel anticipated the attack and sidestepped, but the passing warrior’s blade caught him in the upper left shoulder blade. A sting. Warm blood trickled between leather and skin. Before he could stop himself, he swung instinctively in response, slashing the man across his back and knocking him to the ground with a thud. Demtor pushed against the ground, but something in his spine crunched and he collapsed. The long-haired warrior behind the first knight paused his attack as his fellow failed to rise, a wary look on his face.
“Name your intent, traitor,” said the long-haired soldier at the forefront of the Sonz troop in a gruff voice, angry and filled with adrenaline.
“I have a message for the king of Alexoria. I’ve successfully infiltrated the Moonz and need an audience. These men behind me are no friends of Lord Meldz.”
“All men claim secret messages and matters of importance when backed into the corner of death. You’re no different, coward,” the captain declared. “Cowards kill their own kind.”
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br /> Drane tensed and hefted the ax. He stepped beside Phel. “This man is a backstabbing traitor. You’d do well to believe his story before I kill him and you.” The jeers of the crowd made Drane change his mind. He howled over the laughter. “The rage of war is upon me. Come, brats, let’s see this to an end. I’ll kill him myself after we kill you.”
Two of the warriors rushed to attack Drane, but a woman from the crowd of onlookers ran unexpectedly into the ring. They stopped as she threw herself between the two forces. The maid had long brown hair, was in her early twenties, and was very comely. She turned in her light-blue dress and looked Phel in the eyes. “Phel lived in this village. He is known. He speaks the truth. He is a knight of the Sonz. He trained here two summers ago as a defender of the realm.”
Phel thanked the heavens and fate. “Danielle!” he gasped. He hadn’t seen her on his way into town and had figured she no longer lived in the red-roofed house. He loosened his grip on the sword at the sight of her. It was good to see her. Her hair was braided down her back and tied with a simple green rag.
To Phel’s dismay, Drane pushed her aside and killed Faral with a single stroke that cracked the young knight’s helmet in two.
“Enough of this maiden banter!” The long-haired knight stepped up, striking Drane with a fierce blow that threw him off his feet. He held the razor tip of his sword to Drane’s throat. Phel bent over to lift Danielle to her feet. He knelt beside her.
“Are you OK?” Her brown eyes were dazed.
“Why are you with these men?” she asked.
It was a good question. There was no simple answer, so he simply held her hand.
“Have you returned to our village on the king’s command?” She lifted to her elbows. “Phel, something roams the land. Hunters from the forest speak rumors of a sinister band. This sinister group has attacked nearby cottages. It is whispered that they take people. We fear for our lives.”
The reunion of lovers was interrupted. “You were reported dead after that failed mission last fall,” Eric said, his voice tense. “We tracked your horse to the enemy’s camp. It appeared you’d been ambushed. Dragged a mile by the looks of it. Drabor was wild with fright, tangled in vines. By the Creator, how are you alive?” He was all but shouting. Drane tensed on his back, but the tip of the sword poking into his neck kept him down.
“Eric, I was ambushed.” That was truth. Too much spun in his brain at the sight of Danielle, Faral, and Eric. With lifeless eyes, he watched Faral twitch, then lie still. So still. Dead. Phel did not know what to do.
“Eric, bind these three and bring them to the castle,” the commander demanded, with a cool battle edge. A veteran of war.
“Sir, we should kill this beast.” The long-haired knight smirked and pressed his sword against Drane’s throat. Blood oozed at the point.
“No.” The commander waved. “Alive, if they’ll come. Men above my station will want to torture them to learn the truth of the situation. This Phel must be a traitor.”
Need drove him to action. Phel shifted away from Danielle and raised his sword. “I’ll come in, but not in chains.”
A horn sounded, interrupting them. And screams were heard down the main road of the village. A dozen black horses galloped into view. The people in front of the inn looked at one another, confused. “Who are these intruders?” the commander barked.
“I have no idea,” Phel said. “Ain’t with us.”
Chaos followed. The sinister black-robed riders attacked the group of villagers and knights with long whips and javelins. Roland was the first to die. A javelin pierced his heart. He landed with a soft plop against the doors to his inn. The doors creaked, and his body disappeared from view. Orai and Melase screamed in panic as a black-robed intruder entered the inn and dragged the girls into the yard by their hair.
The Sonz knights turned to defend themselves and the villagers. Danielle screamed and picked up a stick to swing at three intruders who surrounded her. Dust from the hooves clogged the air, making it hard to see or breath.
Eric yelled, “For the light!” Swords clashed, but the new attackers were too strong. Two Sonz knights were dead within the first minutes. Phel, Drane, and Mark backed up from the fight, killing one of the black riders each and stealing their horses.
A man from the crowd of locals, whom Phel recognized, shouted wildly. Danielle’s pa. He looked at the retreating Phel. He begged with sobs and screams for Phel to help his daughter.
Could he help? Should he help? This was his chance to flee with Drane. Phel turned to watch Eric, the commander, and the other Sonz knights being surrounded and whipped to the ground. He looked over at the farmer’s daughter. She was bound to one of the horses.
He recalled Danielle’s words: “They take people.” She was being kidnapped; four other villagers were also being bound to horses. “By the Creator,” he said. Phel couldn’t save them all and get out alive with Drane. To his shame, he fled.
The three of them turned away from the attack, using the confusion to gain freedom. “Drane, who are these men in black?” Phel asked.
Drane responded only after they had crested the hill on the northern side of the village. “No idea. May have something to do with the intrigues of Lord Meldz. But I have never seen those robed monsters before.”
From their vantage point, they watched as the intruders rode south with four captives, leaving some dead and many wounded. The village was stunned and in shock. Phel turned from his people and galloped into the woods with Drane and Mark, leaving Mastan for the second time. His heart was in shock that he had so easily betrayed Danielle and left Eric. He wanted to go back but was scared for his life.
Chapter 29
Lonely
Quarter 1, Day 13
The blue-robed minions crawled efficiently about the testing facility, silent like spiders on a web, focused on their linear tasks. Their heads bobbed up and down between the rows of analytical projection simulators and down the hallways separating various specialized research laboratories. Occasionally a manager would bark commands that could be heard from the four research teams’ centers. The spiders would scuttle to obey.
He wondered again if he was making the right choice or making a fool of himself. The sterile white-walled interrogation lounge was a bit crowded for David, Manda, Mop, Gimp, and Arc. Oh well. David needed results to ease his trepidation before the looming meeting with the other managers. He had to save face in front of Crystal, Slayer, and Grandpa Greg. He blushed as he thought about getting humiliated by Grandpa Greg.
Regardless of his fears, he continued to be fascinated by Tri-Coalition civilization. Their foreign ideas and methods of social integration mesmerized his energetic mind.
“How long has it…?” He couldn’t hear the rest of the hushed conversation. Arc was the ringleader of the three slaves. Her unusual white hair seemed to glow as she spoke quietly to Mop and Gimp. David flipped through his prepared questions, trying to decide where to start. Arc’s glowing hair and dark skin distracted him.
Against his best professional conscience, David was becoming attracted to Arc, the beautiful, aloof, defiant, and passionate Tara Joan. That was her full name.
He was also beginning to respect and envy all three of them. Each one of them taught him something about himself. “Taught” was the wrong word. Revealed? These foreigners continued to trigger insecurities within his well-cultivated worldview. The questions he attempted to quell resurfaced like an itch he couldn’t scratch but which festered.
“Get more info on government policy.” He read a reminder on his tablet from Manda. Delving into conversation with these three had yielded remarkable insight and information. He was able to learn a lot from them with the stipulation that he gave them information about Xchange as well. It was an even trade, and he felt like a negotiator for a business project merger. The interrogations were invigorating.
David thought, After all, what will they be able to do with the information I divulge, since they’re mere
slaves disconnected from their homeland?
Picking a topic, David asked, “Question one: Why are your civilization’s scraps, the old decrepit people, free to roam about and visit any place they want?”
Domin shifted his leg and leaned forward to sip the flavored hot water he’d requested. His white gown had a large stain from the drink. He hmphed.
David tried to clarify his question. “For example, I don’t understand why four senior human beings, now our slaves, were visiting and living at your missionary establishments. Shouldn’t old people be caring for the children or working on phones in call support centers with large heaters and easily accessible rooming quarters to increase productivity as their physical energy levels diminish and their mental capacity depreciates?”
He chuckled. Out of spite, he had assigned Grandpa Greg the responsibility of testing the “senior slaves.” Grandpa Greg had not been pleased.
David glanced at the glass walls and thought about how Xchange increased productivity for the elderly. “We utilize our retirees in Xchange in several creative ways that benefit society. We even use old unpurchased products as administrative filing associates or for other useful tasks. Every resource counts.” David’s argument would hold water. He had studied degeneration in human products as an upbringing elective. He knew the theory behind productivity life cycle curves.
Gimp took the lead. “Again, David, we don’t own each other or brand each other.”
Arc added, “That tattoo you have is a horrible human rights infringement.”
“Relax, Tara,” Gimp said before explaining patiently. “The founding fathers of Tri-Coalition formed our society to protect freedom, stability, and moral beliefs.”
Mop said, “Tri-Coalition beliefs emerged during a time in history when humanity was erroneously trending toward giving power to large corporate enterprises.”
A Tale Of Doings Page 37