by R. E. Vance
“Colel Cab is correct. My company, Memnock Securities, has been commissioned to build an Other-only jail. We’re doing so because Others, unlike humans, can burn time and escape most facilities. We need a way to keep offenders in. The Hawar Jail isn’t operational yet, but when it is, it will act as a further deterrent—”
Mr. Yew rolled his eyes. “Deterrents, weapons … security apparatus. Call it what you want. My point remains the same. They hobble wayward Others and that, if you don’t mind me saying, is a good thing.” There was applause from the unseen audience behind the cameras. Mr. Yew turned his attention to the screen, ignoring the Others beside him now. “And one more thing—let me remind you once again that less than a month ago, a monster almost destroyed an entire city on its way to our homes. We must defend ourselves—and it starts with neutering their abilities. We must—”
“Neuter?” Colel Cab spat out. “How dare you use a word fit for dogs and—”
“Big words for a creature with pincers for a mouth!”
“How dare you? How—”
“Please, please!” Mr. Cain cut in. “We must keep this civil if we are to get anywhere—”
At that exact moment, the TV went mute.
“Hey, I was watching that,” I said to the cyclops behind the bar, who just pointed behind me.
“It’s such drivel,” a voice said behind me. I swiveled to see Mr. Cain staring up at the TV, remote in hand. “And I swear, sometimes I think all I do is debate myself. Security apparatus, weapons … Others and humans getting along. How do we do it? How can we bring peace between our races?”
Despite having lived since the dawn of humanity, Mr. Cain still had a youthful zeal to him. He wore a blue suit with a red striped tie and stylish glasses with a thick black frame to them. If I didn’t know how old he actually was, I would have placed him in his late thirties, maybe early forties. Behind him stood an Other named BisMark who, in stark contrast to Mr. Cain’s attire, wore his trademark suit made up entirely from peacock feathers.
Not that I had any right to judge. I was wearing black jeans, a white T-shirt and a black collarless jacket that somehow made me look like a priest, hipster-monk and valet all rolled into one.
“Our races?” I repeated.
“Yes, ours.” Mr. Cain pointed at me, then himself. “And theirs.” He gestured around the room. “We share the playground now, and as much as humans would like to bully Others around, there are too many Others with way too much power for that to be a realistic option.”
“And I guess you’re helping that conversation with your … your …”
“Apparatuses. I like the ring to that word, don’t you? Like I said—we must remove fear from the equation in order for there to be a conversation. Right now humans are very afraid.” He stuck out his hand. “Mr. Jean-Luc Matthias, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Please, call me Jean. My starship is in the shop.” I looked at the man’s hand for a long moment before taking it into mine. “And as for this meeting being a pleasure … is it, Mr. Cain? Is it really?”
“Oh, yes,” Cain said, grinning. “More than you can know.”
Refusing Offers You Can’t Refuse
The Other Place—how appropriate that we were meeting at the one pub in Paradise Lot friendly to both humans and Others. Most establishments in Paradise Lot catered to one variety of Others. The Perched Café was an angel-only venue that had no seats, only perches designed for angels’ eagle-like feet. The Stalker Steak House was a diner where Others could hunt their prey before eating it. It was run by Sandy, a former Victorian werewolf who, despite being human now, still liked to track down her dinner. And the list went on: Ali’s Cave had little shelves for genies to place their lamps. The Maze was a popular place for minotaurs who felt more at home with confusing layouts. And the Birdhouse was exactly that—a birdhouse big enough for a couple dozen or so pixies to sit around comfortably.
In contrast to those, The Other Place had seats of various sizes and shapes, from Barbie furniture all the way up to custom-made, reinforced steel-framed seats strong enough to support an elephant. As long as you were willing to move things around, you could always find a seat that was designed for your species’ butt.
The walls were decorated with all manners of seemingly random stuff. Specially designed bowls with three indents so the heads of a cerebus don’t fight. Satyrs, pixies and other nature-loving Others enjoyed the moss that grew on another wall. Sheets of metal and stones hung from heavy duty bolts in the ceiling—home-sweet-home for dwarves. Hell, even the floor had mirrors so nymphs and muses could gaze lovingly at their own reflections. And above the bar—just far enough to mask the smell, thankfully—a mural painted by our resident artist CaCa depicted a multiplicity of Others and humans living side-by-side in Paradise Lot.
The Other Place was a hodgepodge of decoration that at first gave off a chaotic feeling—until, that is, you realized that every part of it was carefully chosen for one purpose and one purpose only: to make everyone and everyOther feel welcome. The only thing that was missing from the hodgepodge of imagery was that of religious symbols. There were no crosses, crescent moons, Dharma Wheels or icons of any kind at the Other Place.
That afternoon the pub was practically empty. The only other occupants were the owner and two patrons: a passed-out genie draped from his lamp like a deflated balloon and a down-on-his-luck erawan who lightly trumpeted between the sips of beer with mint leaves that he drank through one of his three snouts.
We pulled together three human-size chairs and sat around a small wooden table at the far end of the bar. The cyclops brought over our drinks without asking what we wanted.
“Thank you, Milton. This is exactly what I would have ordered,” Mr. Cain said, sipping what looked like a Shirley Temple. Looking at me, he added, “Cyclopes … they’re a bit psychic.”
I looked up at the one-eyed giant handing me an apple martini. One sip and I had to agree with Mr. Cain. I thought I’d wanted another beer, but after tasting the cool, dry apple-flavored drink, this was exactly what I wanted.
“Thank you,” I said to the cyclops. “Milton, is it?”
The cyclops blinked, presumably in the affirmative.
“Did you know,” Mr. Cain said before the bartender could slip away, “that cyclopes are the only creatures who knew the gods were departing? Isn’t that right, Milton?” Mr. Cain gave the cyclops a curious grin.
The cyclops blinked.
“Not that they told anyone,” Mr. Cain continued. “You see, once-upon-a-time, even before I was born, they asked Athena for the gift of prophesy. They offered one of their eyes by way of exchange. But Athena, being the devilish little god that she was, only gave cyclopes the ability to see their own death. Imagine knowing for thousands of years how and when it will all end. And, given that the gods leaving was the harbinger of cyclopes’ mortality, Milton must have known the gods would leave. He must have.” Mr. Cain held his gaze on the cyclops, not quite ready to let him go just yet. “I am sorry, good creature, but I just wish we had had a little heads-up. I’m sure this is a sentiment that my fellow guests share.”
BisMark’s expression did not change. I, on the other hand, found this Mr. Cain asshole pretty damn rude. Even if cyclopes knew that the world was going to end, what good would it have done anyone to tell us? I knew the cyclops myth. Athena’s curse also included a clever little caveat that prevented anyone from believing them. So even if Milton had told someone, chances were he would have been ignored.
“First of all, seeing your death doesn’t mean you know all the circumstances that surround it,” I chimed in. “Secondly, there’s Athena’s curse to contend with and—”
Before I could continue, Mr. Cain held out his hand and bowed in contrition toward Milton. “My sincerest apologizes. I was rude. I know of the curse. You could never have convinced us of their abandonment”—Mr. Cain pointed to the sky—“and it was wrong of me to insinuate otherwise. Friends?” The first son of Adam h
eld out his hand and the cyclops looked at it for a long moment before taking it in his. “Friends,” Mr. Cain sighed in relief. “Again, so sorry.”
Milton nodded, blinked twice and returned to his bar.
“And my apologizes to you, Mr. Matthias. I just get so frustrated at the trouble the gods caused that I sometimes don’t know whom to direct my anger at. Anger is a terrible affliction … and my own has gotten me in trouble in the past,” Mr. Cain chuckled.
I took another sip from my apple martini. “OK,” I said, looking at BisMark and wondering even more why I was here. “Now what?”
“Jean-Luc Matthias. John, Luke, Matthew—only missing the Mark.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not like I haven’t heard that one a thousand times before.”
“I knew them all, you know. John, Luke, Matthew and Mark. The authors, I mean. John was concessionary, Luke a rule monger, Matthew a historian … and Mark—he was the most enigmatic of them all.”
“Good to know. Now if this little stroll down memory lane is over …” I made a get-on-with-it gesture. Sure, now I was the one being rude, but I really wasn’t in the mood for banter—repartee, as General Shouf had put it. Truth was, I wasn’t really in the mood for much these days.
“Fallen Fruit, Jean,” Mr. Cain said. “BisMark told me you were a man of action, but I had expected a little foreplay, at least. Very well, then, let’s get to it. Tell me … why are you here?”
“This is ‘getting to it’?”
“Indulge me.”
“OK … because BisMark asked me to come down and hear what you have to say.” I nodded at the peacock-feathered creature, who returned the gesture with a nod of his own. BisMark was, once-upon-a-time, the master logistician to the gods. Think of him as a lawyer, consultant and logistics master to the Divine. He brokered deals between pantheons and, as I understood it, helped shape the modern world. When the gods left, they didn’t take him with them, and that came as a shock to pretty much every Other who knew him. If it was a shock to BisMark too, he made no indication of it.
There was no doubt that BisMark was one of the most powerful Others in the world today—but despite that power, he didn’t seem to want to be in charge of anything; he was happy to take a backseat role in politics and history, a backseat roll that he was now embracing in his mortal form by working for Mr. Cain and only the GoneGods knew who else.
Mr. Cain nodded at my answer. “You could have ignored BisMark’s request.”
“I could have.”
“But you didn’t. Why not?”
“Because when the world almost ended for a second time—”
“Three weeks ago,” Mr. Cain laughed, evidently finding more levity in the situation than either BisMark or I.
“Yes, three weeks ago. BisMark risked his own life and burned a considerable amount of his own time to help. I owe him a sit-down.”
BisMark lifted his Escubac and tonic in acknowledgment. “Like I said to you before, Mr. Cain … Sacrifice. We must do so to achieve our goals.”
Sacrifice. The word grated my very soul and infused me with a bubbling rage that took all my self-control not to let out. One of the sacrifices he was referring to was the death of Medusa—my friend, my almost-lover and one of the brightest and best Others I’d ever known. But I did not sacrifice her. I lost her. She sacrificed herself so that we could all live.
I took a deep breath and let it go. Others have their own vernacular for these kinds of things; I wasn’t about to get into a semantics debate with a being that helped usher in language itself.
Mr. Cain must have sensed my irritation. “Yes … I heard about your loss. I am truly sorry for your pain. I know what it means to lose someone you love.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Mr. Cain returned my gaze with a conciliatory smile. “I loved my brother, Mr. Matthias. It was out of love, and the uncontrollable fury that often is born from it, that I lashed out against him in a moment of passion. But that is a very old story, indeed. I am here to speak to you about the future. Say what you will, Mr. Matthias, but you came here because you were curious what the head of the world’s largest security company would want with a hotelier such as yourself.”
“Maybe.”
“Like you, Mr. Matthias, I was born mortal. And as a mortal, I sinned—a sin so great that I was cursed to live forever. Humans are not meant to live forever, and so those years were … less than pleasant. And what did I do with those thousands of years? I wallowed. I bathed in bottomless pools of self-pity. More time given, it seems, the more time wasted. And waste, I did—so, so much time.”
Mr. Cain adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, fiddling with his cufflinks. On them was the Memnock Securities logo: three circles that made the points of a triangle, with adjoining lines connecting them.
Except there were diamonds in place of the three circles. I guess that was a luxury you could afford when you were as rich as Mr. Cain.
Gathering himself again, he placed the palms of his hands flat on the table and sighed. “And now that the gods are gone, it seems that their curses are also gone. I am mortal again. Mr. Matthias, I have done harm … and I wish to repent for those sins before I leave this Earth.”
Repenting for sins was something I understood. The GoneGods knew I had many of my own.
“OK,” I said.
He looked up at the TV, now playing a baseball game. Both teams were entirely composed of humans—Others had yet to earn the right to play mortal sports. “I meant what I said at the debate, Mr. Matthias. My apparatuses were created to remove the element of fear so that a discussion could begin. It is my hope that this discussion will lead to peace. But given Mr. Yew’s inclinations, peace will be hard-earned.”
“And your thoughts on this are …?” I said, turning to BisMark.
“Like I said to you on the beach: we are at the point of crisis, and history has taught us that true change can only be affected when the world is in chaos. Whether it shall be—”
“ ‘For better or worse remains to be seen,’ ” I cut in. I remembered his words perfectly. I didn’t know if I bought it then, but hearing Mr. Yew’s approach—Other registration, neutering, fear, hate—I was beginning to see BisMark’s point. Only thing was, I couldn’t see the better route. The path to worse, on the other hand, was clear as day to me. “OK, Mr. Cain. I am curious, yes. And despite my overwhelming desire to retire from this crazy life, I made a promise that I would do my best to help. I’m listening.”
“Excellent,” Mr. Cain said, rubbing his hands together. “I knew you’d see it my way.”
“I don’t see anything. I’m just willing to listen.”
“Here—” He wrote something on a napkin and passed it over to me. “I want to offer you this.”
I turned over the napkin and took a look at one of the biggest numbers I’d ever seen written down, with a big, heartily scrawled dollar sign in front of it. I scoffed before regaining composure. “In exchange for …?” I asked.
“Your consultancy.”
“He’s your consultant,” I said, pointing at BisMark.
“He’s my Other consultant. I need a human one, too. And my understanding is that your background in the military—”
I shot BisMark a look and the Other raised both hands up in defense. “I didn’t say anything to Mr. Cain. But the man is resourceful. Money can make anyone resourceful.”
Mr. Cain waved a hand. “Don’t you worry about that. Your past is your past.”
“Just like yours?”
“Just like mine. Future, Mr. Matthias. Future. I need someone to liaise between—” He gestured to us and then around us in the bar.
I nodded. “I’ve heard that a lot lately. Seems there’s a lot of people who need me to ‘liaise.’ ”
“Living Rights—it is more than a catchphrase, Mr. Matthias. When the prison is built, we’ll need someone to ensure that the Others interned there will be respected and properly cared for.”
“You make it sou
nd like they’re going into an old-folks home. It’s a prison. What rights do they have?”
“All of them,” Mr. Cain said, excitement causing his voice to rise. “At least that is my hope. Yes, it is a prison. Yes, they will be there against their will. But we will make every effort to treat them with respect and care.”
The first son of Adam slammed his fist on the table, and from the passion with which he spoke, I got the sense that he meant what he said. This wasn’t just lip service.
Mr. Cain unclenched his fist and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt again. “Will you, Mr. Matthias? Will you?”
I sighed. “What about you, BisMark? Are you a part of this?”
The BisMark turned the napkin around. His expression did not change when he looked at the figure. “No, I fear,” he said. “My attentions are needed elsewhere. We will not meet again for a long time coming.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To facilitate.”
“To facilitate … and then what?”
BisMark’s face betrayed nothing.
“More Other-related consulting?”
Still nothing.
“Off to find the gods?” I smirked.
BisMark said nothing—but I swear to the GoneGods, the green in his peacock feathers flared two shades darker. Then again, maybe I just imagined it … either way, I was getting nowhere with him.
I turned to Mr. Cain and said, “OK, so it’s just you and me.” I looked at the napkin again and thought about all the bills I had to pay just to keep the hotel afloat—then there were all the programs I was running—but if I was honest with myself, that wasn’t the real reason why the money was appealing. The truth was the last few weeks had taken the fight out of me. As much as I wanted to help, I just didn’t know if I had the will to do so. The money he was offering me could go a long way in setting something up so that if I left, I wasn’t just abandoning my post.
Still … that much money meant there would be strings attached—and I wasn’t a very good puppet. “I’ll think about it.”
