A Tale Of Doings

by Philip Quense

  Grandpa Greg and the other Nnectonian scientists gasped.

  “Heresy!”

  “Powers that be.”

  Several scientists in the hallway behind David bowed their faces to the ground and trembled in the presence of such power.

  Into the silence, Grandpa Greg pronounced doom on David. “You traitor, where did you get that control key? That is a CEO armband.”

  Those in the room signed themselves with the X to protect against blasphemy and dissociate from punishment. Two scientists fell to the ground, convulsing from a fear spasm, their brands pushing the poor creatures to desperation.

  “You stole that? I’ll report you to QC and the board.” David stood in shock, his brain scrambling to unravel the significance of what was transpiring. Grandpa Greg, on the other hand, wasn’t frozen in momentary shock, and he moved aggressively around David. “You’re a traitor and a weakling.” He then growled and grabbed Tara. His fist went up and then came down, slapping Tara to her knees.

  “Father,” she gasped. She couldn’t defend herself because she was holding on to her aging father’s arms. Her white hair shimmered in the light as she fell.

  “These are dogs to be beaten and used, not coddled and appreciated the way you do. We’ll never get anything useful out of them unless we take it. And I’ll take her the way she should have been taken a long time ago.” The blood rushed gleefully to his face. He raised his fist, intending to hit Tara again. Her dad moaned listlessly.

  David, snapping out of his shock, stopped the abuse, his body moving of its own volition. David felt for a moment like a knight in Storyworld defending a princess. He said in a clear, demanding voice, “I’ll seriously have you terminated and sent with extreme prejudice to Orns for the rest of your miserable retirement if you abuse my subjects again. You disobeyed a direct order. We specified in this project that the first days would have zero physical abuse. These objects are valuable property of Nnect.”

  To his chagrin, the brand didn’t agree with his actions. It began to fight against him. Searing pain roared through his tattoo. Pausing to take a breath, he felt an aching in his left arm. His brand was warning him against rage directed at other managers. He was violating his blood conscience by defending Tara. And it hurt. He had to subdue his emotions and trick his brand with a corporate act, or the pain would overtake his momentary adrenaline and energy.

  He thought quickly. What Grandpa Greg did makes no logical sense. He tried to reverse the pain from his tattoo. He lied to the entire room to trick his brand. “It’s a good thing CEO Saul gave me this key in case things got out of control.” David never lied.

  But his bluff seemed to work, and the team looked to him for direction. “We cannot brand these subjects. Not until we break the secret to that cross code they have tattooed on their backs. It protects the heart and keeps our branding machines from taking root in their DNA and central nervous system. I read the files. We killed over thirty of their missionaries trying every way we knew how to get that cross brand off and to instill our own brand. We killed all of them. Until we break the DNA key to that cross brand, we don’t try again.”

  “Saul gave you that?” Grandpa Greg seemed doubtful.

  “Yes, how else would an ‘upstart’ get such a device?”

  The dull, painful ache in David’s brand persisted as his affection for the slaves got the better of him. He forced himself to cease thinking affectionately about the Arc and instead replaced the thoughts with strategic business plans. A respite from the brand. Finally, something worked. Adrenaline and vigor pumped into him from the blue tattoo, and David declared with authority, “Get back to your team, Grandpa Greg, and obey Nnect protocol. Next time you try to kill our property so uselessly and waste our freedom investment, you’ll be terminated. I will bring this to the CEO himself if I must.”

  “You can try.” An evil look filled his eyes, but to David’s relief Grandpa Greg accepted the bluff and stamped out of the room in anger. Tara was left on the floor, and David stood still for a moment, gathering his fractured thoughts after his unusually passionate outburst. In the silence, he reached forward and touched the armband, which he now knew was a powerful key. “Everyone, out. Take the products back to their homes.” He waved toward Mop and Gimp, who were restrained in the hallway by a team of guards. He motioned to Arc as well.

  “Yes, manager, sir.”

  “Actually, Tara…”

  “Arc?” A scientist asked in confusion.

  “Yes, Arc shall remain a moment.”

  When the room was empty except for David, Tara, and the now-unconscious old man attached to the machine, David asked Tara, “What do you call this contraption in Tri-Coalition land? I can be terminated for having this in my possession.”

  “We call it the ‘Inside-Out.’”

  “Hmm, In Xchange armbands are sometimes referred to as ‘Outside-In.’ Usually they are called ‘keys to the kingdom’ or ‘CEO armbands.’”

  Tara explained as she caressed her father’s arm. “They were created during the scientific era that led to monopolies branding customers and employees. From the original testing period back before the great split. A moral dilemma and sociological horror began when the key to DNA branding was discovered. The Market Wars followed shortly after, and the four major companies you have running Xchange were the ones who funded all the branding research. They were driven to control the entire market. People were an entity to be produced, used, sold, and profited from. The opposing scientists from Tri-Coalition invested in ways to prevent the branding. The Inside-Out and the Outside-In projects were begun. It was a race to see who could save or own the human race. Brand raids began, the Brand Wars ensued, and the world fought until it split as you now see it.”

  David added a bit that he knew. “Neither side is strong enough to take over the other.”

  She nodded and said, “And so both live in constant tension, waiting for a moment to help or take over the other. That’s as far as my limited knowledge of history goes. So many of our elders refuse to speak about the past. Very few born today actually know all that transpired during the Brand Wars.

  She looked at her dad and said, “Human beings are not perfect, but at least within in our society, there is the opportunity to choose our path, our destiny. Patrick, for his own reasons, chose to be a missionary and try to figure out a way, with his professed brothers and sisters, to get into your Xchange system. They’re the people of the Cross. He believes people in Xchange can be shown a better way. He received his protection cross when he was just fifteen and training in the army. After his stint in the army, Patrick fell in love with me. When my career began, I moved to the city, but I still spend a lot of time in the missionary village. Now I’m here, and he is left across the water. If you summon within yourself compassion to aid us, then I’ll tell you everything.”

  Fascinating, David thought. Something inside of him hungered for knowledge of this past world that had created these armbands. Something about all of this felt unresolved. Something made him ask questions and want answers, some key to his own situation. But he was hungrier for freedom and purchasing himself, so he suppressed his fascination. He was afraid of being fired and sent to Orns. Slipping up and helping others was not worth a life of slavery. I’ve a real relationship and successful career path, he thought. Yes, David was comfortable. And comfort thwarted his resolve to change. The comfortable path is the only path. This he knew.

  As David struggled in his mind, the machine attached to Tara’s father by a few dangling wires beeped. The machine said, “Human body is too weak to be useful. Advocate termination.”

  “Time to go back to your home unit, Tara.” David was so tired now that the adrenaline had worn out. “This has been most interesting indeed.” He then said something he never said to anyone but in prayer to the CEO: “Thank you.” He lifted her up. “Thank you for helping me realize what this thing was.” He indicated the band on his arm. “This will cause an uproar among my staff. I�
��d better think of a good answer before QC officers arrive and take me away.”

  Tara and David shared a look of understanding as they moved toward the door. She smiled at her father, who was still alive.

  David smiled kindly despite the horrible circumstance they had survived and said, “I will help him get to a better state, Tara.”

  “You use my name a lot more now.”

  “I want to do something for you. To save you the act.” He didn’t want her to be the one to terminate her dad now that the machine said it was time. As they walked out of the room, David hit the terminate button on the machine. The mechanical arm twisted the old man’s neck, and it popped. The heart rate indicator went to zero.

  David smiled at the old man. “You’re welcome. He’s in a better place, Tara.”

  Tara stood in stunned quiet, mouth agape, as David sang a tune called “Waste Not” and briskly walked past her. He waved at his team to move her back to her home unit.

  Chapter 31

  Episode 12: Hands of Death

  Maple, ash, and oak trees stood guard. The leafy canopy waved gently. Draped in layers of dark green and speckles of brown, the umbrella of foliage allowed sporadic spots of bright yellow sunlight to penetrate to the soft, dry dirt. The silence of the deep woods once more surrounded Phel, Drane, and Mark. The three solemnly dismounted from their stolen horses. The animals snorted and shuffled, sensing the riders’ dark moods.

  “Stay with the horses, Mark,” Drane demanded, his voice grave. “Ride to Waver Town when our work here is finished. Carry my love and the telling of what transpires to Jillian and my war band.” Mark saluted solemnly and held the horses, but he loosened his sharp blade at his belt for easy access. His green eyes pierced Phel from underneath dark furrowed eyebrows.

  The tall maple trees opened before Phel and Drane to reveal a shadowed glen with twenty or more man-sized black granite stones surrounding a green patch of grass. There was no hesitation. Drane stretched his arms wide, tilted his head in a moment of surrender to his inner guidance, and drew his stolen ax. Its sharp surface was clotted with dark dried blood. His beard was knotted, and the bruises from his capture were swollen and blue. He stood taller than Phel despite his injury induced limp.

  Phel shuddered in regret and shivered from his wounded side. His heart wrenched for this plight. Drane held out his hand, which held a small worn parchment sealed with dark-blue wax and stamped with the ring from Drane’s right hand: a moon over a landmass. Phel knew it well. Drane said, “If by some horrible fated curse I should be bested, give this note to Jillian one day.”

  Phel looked at his mentor, the hardened warrior and leader of the Moonz. His grip loosed on his blade as he saw the handwritten letter. “Drane, I won’t fight you. I won’t. You saved my life last winter by mentoring me.”

  “You would sleep with my companion, but you won’t fight me?” Drane pressed the letter forward. “Come now.” He towered a head over Phel. “You will hold this letter, and I will pry it from your dead hands and put it back where it belongs.” His paw of a hand touched the leather pouch hanging around his neck.

  “We can work this out. I will not kill you. Jillian would not forgive me.” Phel gulped as he took the letter. A tear simmered in his eyes.

  “She honors our ways.”

  “I will not forgive myself.”

  “Don’t be so selfish. This is not about you. This is destiny.” The letter delivered, Lord Drane shifted his feet to a battle position. “Here is your final lesson: you must earn what you want with blood. There is no other way. Kill me and become a Moonz man. Become a true blood brother.”

  “Drane, Lord Meldz set you up to be killed, probably because you let me become a warrior in your camp instead of keeping me in slavery.”

  “Do not think so highly of yourself that Meldz would have me killed for that. It is true I have no love for slavery, but Meldz set me up because I didn’t go along with his newest project and insisted we stick to the original conquest plans.”

  “Meldz has been taking from our supplies and some of our best troops to support his new project but will tell us nothing.” Phel tried to gather the scattered information together in his mind. “Drane, we must discover this endeavor of Meldz’s.”

  “Would that we could live together yet a bit longer, but while you spit on my honor, we cannot. It is not destined.”

  “Do you know more?” Phel asked, because Drane didn’t seem surprised.

  “I know what the project is but will not tell a dead man.”

  “I should know.” A bird screamed into the peaceful surroundings.

  “I keep my vows. In another life, if you hadn’t betrayed me, I would have been glad to fight by your side. Come and earn what you have until now stolen from behind my back.”

  “I saved your life.”

  “I saved your life as well. We are even. Thanks, but stop living in the past.”

  The speech ended, and the swords clashed. Drane spun, stabbed, and punched. Phel dodged as best he could, only parrying defensively because he did not want to fight back. Drane pinned Phel’s back against an enormous rock. The attacking sword cut a shallow swathe into Phel’s thigh; blood dripped through the torn pant.

  “You dishonor me by holding back, thief. Honorable men fight for what they want in this life. Fight me,” the bearded man growled.

  “Honorable men can forgive and forget.”

  “Weakness forgives.” Sweat glistened on Drane’s brow. “That is not my way, not our way. And it is no longer your way.”

  Phel knew it was true. But he desperately didn’t want to kill his friend. The long blades clashed again and again. Phel barely stayed alive. Fear for his life rose within him. Phel began to fight in earnest. They were bruised and bleeding. Drane showed no mercy.

  “Who was that woman you let be captured by the men in black in the village, Phel?” Phel knew Drane was distracting him. Looking for a weakness.

  “A childhood fling. Years past.”

  “If that is how you will protect Jillian, then you deserve to die.”

  This angered Phel. “I owed her nothing. We are nothing now. I am a Moonz warrior now.”

  “Is that the sort of man you are? Will you earn the right to protect others? Will you defend yourself or die now a coward?” The large man sidestepped and punched Phel hard on his jaw. Phel fell onto his back. Drane’s sword swung down, and Phel barely escaped with a roll. The taller man tripped, landing near a sentinel rock as Phel’s foot kicked him, and Phel spun his sword up. The stumble brought Drane into Phel’s blade and impaled him.

  “No!” Phel gasped in anguish, angry at himself.

  Drane looked at the blade as he staggered to his knees. “Death, at last we meet. We have flirted these many years.”

  “No, Drane!” Phel cringed and tugged on the killing weapon’s handle.

  Drane smiled and grasped Phel’s trembling hands. “Become a man. You’ve earned my respect. Fight for what you desire. Protect what is ours. Protect her.” Drane grasped onto another choking breath.

  “Don’t die, Sir Drane!” Phel gasped.

  Drane reached up and touched the handwritten letter in Phel’s chest pocket. “Give it to her.” He paused in pain. And then as if in afterthought, he said, “Go find the black-robed men. Meldz will have betrayed Jillian to them. Go to the place where the woods meet the rocks in the hidden valley. South. Go south. You know the place.” With that warning, he died.

  Phel knelt next to the dead man and screamed out to the unhearing woods, “Why!” His heart tore in pieces. He had betrayed another person he loved—twice in the same day. The dark-wooded forest began to resemble the cloaked men who had taken Danielle and the other villagers of Mastan.

  He didn’t hear Mark’s footsteps until it was too late. Mark saw his dead leader and the blood on Phel’s hands. Mark came up behind him and kicked him to the ground. He pulled out his knife and cut the traitor’s brand deep into Phel’s left arm: a broken moon above a c
loud. The blood ran freely.

  “Now all men will know of your treason. Carry this mark of shame with you until you the moon shall call you to the other side.”

  Mark rode off into the woods to return to his people. Phel had no people. He stared into the leaves above until he blacked out from pain and exhaustion.

  Mark shouted to him as he rode away, “Live your tale of betrayal.”

  Chapter 32

  Working the System

  Quarter 1, Day 14

  Thirty minutes after the confrontation with Grandpa Greg, David and Manda marched through the hallways toward the command hub.

  “Greggy has it out for you, David,” Manda said, after he had filled her in on the most recent drama.

  “Not sure what I can do. He is bound to go the CEO,” David replied.

  Manda nodded, her feet shuffling along beside his. “Or blackmail you.”

  He said hopefully, speeding up his footsteps as he passed an employee cafe, hoping the gossip hadn’t reached this far, “Couldn’t I go to the CEO on him?”

  “Not sure. May not be a way either of you can come out looking better,” she said.

  “Best chance neither of us say anything.”

  “Maybe.” Their footsteps echoed off the walls in the otherwise silent wing. Manda spoke into the awkward silence. “It’s essential that you and I compile and submit a summary report of our current project status for headquarters before Grandpa Greg or one of the other managers sends a distorted view of what has been transpiring.”

  “Manda, I’ve never been responsible for a status report to Nnect headquarters. It seems important. What does it include?”

  “The CEO expects each manager to submit a synopsis of team behavior, a cost breakdown, and a milestone abstract. It always includes a freedom cost structure comparing actual versus proposed deficits.”

  “Urg, I hate feedback reports. Super condemning.”