by Karlin
Those were not just geniuses- they were dangerous geniuses that could destroy the entire system.
It was well known that shepherds tended to keep and breed sheep with thick wool, and sell the ones with poor, thin wool to the slaughterhouse. Over the generations this meant that the thick-wooled sheep lived longer and reproduced, and sheep slowly gained thicker and thicker coats of wool.
Here they had rewarded the slow witted ones, and exiled or destroyed the quick-thinking servants. Now all that were left were the thickheaded ones, the ones with wooly thinking.
Not that he himself was much better. He could also come up with a solution, at least in principle. Instead, he had made himself dependent on this bunch of fools, and had turned himself into the biggest fool of all.
Well, it was almost time for the meeting. The results were predictable: the same old ideas, but nothing that was right, nothing that would obviously do the job. When the right idea came up, he would know it, he would recognize it right away. He would give his thick-skulled servants their fair chance, but he was not going to settle for the same old ideas. Not this year.
He entered the Great Hall. The entire crowd was there. Old Hopi the wine server, Ptero the baker, even Potifar had shown up for the festivities. And festivities there would be, even if they were not quite the ones that the gang expected. He would show them what a festive occasion could be like.
As he sat down on the triple throne of the Nile, slave girls fanned him with the traditional Optifals, the peacock feather fans that had been used in the palace for generations. He looked over the set of guards that had been provided for his protection, and noted with approval the presence of Amnitohep, the ceremonial executioner. This would be an interesting test of his ceremonial function, and a good test of his memory as well.
A large group of noblemen had shown up for the occasion as well. It would be interesting to ask them for their ideas. They were very good at fighting with each other, quibbling over the pecking order, but the ability to really think independently had been bred out of them eons ago.
Well, it was time for the farce to begin.
“Welcome all, on this auspicious day. I trust that the augury has proven favorable.”
A thin man in the corner bowed, his nose touching the ground. As he rose, he nodded briefly at the Pharaoh. He was not overly fond of the man, whose professional duties often left bloodstains on the hem of his robe. Still, protocol was protocol, and the man was indispensable.
It was time to begin.
“So, my faithful servant Hopi. Have you come up with an original idea?”
Hopi bobbed up and down.
“Diamonds, oh Lord of the Nile.”
Diamonds? Diamonds? That was the best he could do? The Pharaoh glanced at Amnitohep, and raised two fingers. The entire room gasped. Two? The Pharaoh had chosen Two for his faithful servant? A whisper went around the room. Those who were familiar with Two were spreading the word. Hopi was to be thrown to the crocodiles, piece by piece. He would watch his severed limbs being swallowed whole, before being tossed in the pool himself.
Protocol required that Hopi maintain his composure during the announcement, and he did, though his face did go through several interesting colors. The murmuring in the room stopped when the Pharaoh glanced around the room. Nobody was going to take a chance on being noticed by the Pharaoh after Hopi’s fate was announced.
Still, he needed a solution.
“Ptero, what have you come up with?”
“Oh mover of the Sun, a hundred foreskins of uncircumcised Philistines!”
That? That was the best he could do? It was straight out of the Hebrew Bible. Samson maybe, or was it David? There weren’t even any real Philistines left anymore. He showed Amnitohep four fingers. And that was going easy on the guy.
The whisper went around the crowd again. Oil! It could take hours, if you were lucky. One of the slave girls fanning him passed out, and was carried away. It was a shame; she was one of his favorites. No matter. They could embalm her now, and she would await him in the Pyramid that was already being constructed.
“And you, Potifar?”
“Nubia, oh great giver of life”
Nice. Expensive, and impressive. But no soul, none at all. And not…not appropriate, that was the word. He needed something more. Where was the spark of creativity? How had they fallen so low? It looked like he was doomed, and along with him, the entire kingdom.
He used both hands this time, and threw a seven at Amnitohep. Amnitohep gave him one of his famous smiles. There were no whispers in the audience this time. Everybody had heard of number seven. He could hear somebody retching in the back of the crowd, but chose to ignore it.
He rose, and the entire hall fell flat on their faces. He left the room, his heart heavy, doom weighing on his head and on the kingdom. There was no escaping it. The date was fixed, the hour was reckoned, and he would remain empty handed when the sun rose. The sun would rise perhaps, but he would fall.
Oh great Ra, why? Why did you not give of Your wisdom to Your servant in his hour of need? Why have you cursed me with advisors whose tongues speak but trivia and nonsense? How have I sinned? What have I done?
With a heavy heart, unable to postpone the bitter end, Pharaoh stepped through the palace.
Both men and God had failed him, and he was doomed. He did not have the right gift for his wife’s birthday.
Fugitive
I listened idly to the bickering prison guards. They had delivered me to the court, this time to face new charges. What was the point? I was already condemned to thirty years without parole. By the time I got out, I would be eighty. Considering how my health was deteriorating, I was likely to leave sooner, but in a pine box. Much earlier, if one of my fellow prisoners decided to get rid of a rapist and murderer.
The guards were waiting for the court police to come and take me off their hands. I knew the procedure only too well. First the paperwork as responsibility was transferred. Then the second set of handcuffs and leg irons. Finally, the first set of restraints would be removed, and I would be led off to the holding cells in the court building, while the prison guards would head back to work, making sure to have a leisurely coffee break on the way back.
Escape under these circumstances was out of the question. Besides the guards, the courtyard was surrounded by a high wall topped with barbed wire. Once out, an escapee would be easily recognized in his prison uniform.
I didn't think consciously about the possibility of escape. I had gone through it a thousand times in my head, awake and asleep, and knew that it was impossible to escape. Impossible to escape, impossible to get a second trial, impossible to survive in prison, and impossible to remain sane.
My guards today were itching to go. I knew them pretty well. They liked to go to a doughnut place after dropping off the prisoners. The fat one liked cinnamon rolls, while the skinny guy who chain-smoked was into jelly doughnuts. For months they had been talking of doing something else on the way back from the court. These guys wanted to stop by a whorehouse.
I could tell that despite their bravado neither of them had actually done this before. They were very nervous, and worried that it would take too long, they would get back late to the prison, and face embarrassing questions. Somehow they had managed to get up enough gumption to actually do it today.
The guards' business was none of mine, though I enjoyed hearing their plans. It was a real-life reality show, though sometimes I thought of them as more of a soap opera, or even a sitcom. Let's face it - most prison guards aren't very intelligent. The only thing that keeps the prisoners from just walking out are the strict rules that the guards follow. If they ever had to think for themselves, disaster would surely follow.
In my case, this is exactly what happened. These guys were not very good at thinking with their heads, and apparently much better at thinking with their balls. Fatso kept looking at his watch, waiting for their relief to show up. Skinny-smoker went over the paperwork again and again, tryin
g to make sure that everything was filled out properly, so the police would only have to sign it, the work of a few seconds.
Fatso was really nervous. He had me sit down, and started taking off the leg irons. His partner looked up from the paperwork.
"Hey, watcha doin'?"
"Savin' time. These leg jobs always take forever to get off."
"Alright, but keep the cuffs on till the blues show."
The irons came off, and I started dancing around to loosen up my leg muscles. I managed to stay in pretty good physical shape by working out in the prison yard, but even an hour in those iron made my legs ache. Fatso gave me a look like he was going to tell me to sit still, but he kept his trap shut.
Finally we heard a couple of familiar voices from the building. My love-hungry guards' relief had shown up. Skinny smoker shuffled the papers into a reasonable sense of order, while Fatso unlocked my cuffs.
"Don't try anything funny. You'll have your new bracelets in a minute."
I nodded, trying to look as passive as I could, while my eyes scanned the courtyard. This was the closest I had come to freedom in two years. Could I do anything with it? Would they shoot me if I tried anything? Did I care?
Skinny noticed that my cuffs were off, and started yelling at fatso that he was taking a risk. Fatso turned aside to answer him. I didn't hear the words. My heart was thumping, irregularly as usual. I ducked under fatso's arm, sprinted the few