“This was from Halloween last year. Seth dressed as Votary, of course, and we dressed Emma as a pea pod.”
“So cute . . . wait . . . is that Pam?”
“Yup. She’s the mother of those two rascals, so I kinda had to let her in the picture. She woulda photo bombed it if I hadn’t.”
Gallery nervously chuckles. She looks at the picture of a classmate long forgotten.
“She’s so beautiful.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“I don’t want to see pictures of all the supermodels you hang out with, so you don’t have to pretend to care about Pam.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m not mad. I know you’re just Ashley, but Gallery has star power and actual power. I don’t want to risk pissing you or your fan base off.”
“Jerk,” Gallery says as she playfully slaps Jeff on the sleeve.
“So, I gotta ask, is your concert tour on hold until the Malignant leave or permanently?”
“What?”
“Do you plan on going back to music when all this is over?”
Gallery considers this for a moment. Music was her life, but her life has changed. She honestly can’t see a scenario where she’ll ever be a performer again.
“I think music is lost to me now,” Gallery admits.
“That’s a shame. Everyone who knows you can see how much you love being on that stage.”
“I did, but it just feels selfish now. I’m one of the lucky ones. Mother will spare me . . . if I just ask. To pretend that my perfect little life can just go on feels wrong.”
“Nobody’s perfect, Ashley. You don’t need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
“No, I think Votary has that job covered,” Gallery jokes.
“All the more reason to keep singing,” Jeff says.
Gallery watches as Jeff’s eyes light up with what he must consider a genius idea.
“You must sing from outer space,” he announces.
“What?”
“Think about it. You would be the first singer to perform from there. Lock it down now and be a legend.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Why? You already know people will listen. I’m sure that fancy spaceship can blast a signal over the whole planet.”
“It can, but—”
“But nothing. Butts are for shittin’ and hittin’, you can do this.”
“You think?” Gallery asks.
“Do you think you could make the moon your second stop on the outer space tour?”
“You might be pushing it now. I think I’ll take up your offer. I’ll set it up for a concert in a few nights. Make sure you tell everyone you can.”
“So, I’m your promoter now?”
“Sure.”
“Awesome. I demand seventy percent of the ticket sales.”
“Since we aren’t selling tickets, I’ll give you the full hundred.”
“Ha!” Jeff shouts as he slaps his knee. “You’re a terrible negotiator.”
“I’ve been told that before,” Gallery says with a laugh.
“Miss Gallery, could I ask you for one more little favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Could I get you to sign my yearbook?”
Jeff pulls an old yearbook from the passenger seat of his pickup truck. He flips to Gallery’s senior year picture.
“I’ve already signed this one,” Gallery says.
“Nah, only Ashley did. Now I want Gallery’s signature, too.”
Gallery laughs. “Okay, but on one condition.”
“Shoot.”
“You take me to meet your family after this.”
“Sure, Ashley. I think even Pam would enjoy that.”
“I knew there was a reason I always liked her. I’ll follow you there.”
“Like hell you will. I’ve always wanted to drive one of these. You can’t take that away from me.”
“You sure you can handle a machine like this?” Gallery asks as she taps the cherry red hood.
“If I can’t, you can always buy another. Don’t get cheap on me, Hollywood.”
Gallery laughs again and tosses the keys to Jeff. He snatches them out of the air.
“Hot damn!”
To Gallery’s great annoyance, Jeff slides across the hood of her car like a television good ol’ boy. Gallery decides to let it go as she takes a seat on the passenger side. She watches Jeff’s smile widen as he turns the ignition and listens to the engine roar.
Darsh walks through an open market in India. His chakra hangs from a plain belt wrapped around his white dhoti. He also sports a white achkan. Most people he passes recognize him as he moves among them. Pictures are taken of him with each step. Darsh considers it’s probably due to how many clones he’s generating. Each step sends another clone to spread throughout the city. A lesser mind would lose track of the total number, but Darsh knows it. He currently has 872,319 siblings meandering throughout all of India. It’s his home, and he’ll protect it from the Malignant when they come.
Darsh is instantly aware of the experiences of each clone. A young child poses in front of a Darsh clone for a selfie in Mumbai. A clone uses sticky spider silk to capture a thief in Bengaluru. Another entertains a couple on their wedding night in Surat. All minds are one, and Darsh is happy that most people take comfort in his presence. Unfortunately, it’s only “most people.”
One of his clones has been spotted by overzealous police officers in Kanpur. Darsh Prime closes his eyes and transfers his soul to that clone. When he opens his eyes, he sees .45 caliber pistols drawn by six police officers aimed at him. Darsh sees the obvious hesitation in four of the police officers. They don’t want to engage a Templar, despite that he’s only wearing simple white garments. Perhaps this lack of armor is what emboldened the two steadfast police officers.
“Darsh Johal, you’re under arrest,” the sergeant says.
“We are not Darsh Johal. We are Lottery.”
That statement alone has the intended effect. Two police officers turn and run away. Of the remaining four, only the sergeant still possesses any resolve in his duty.
“You stole property that belongs to the government of India,” the sergeant says.
“This belonged to our ancestor. We will keep it. We will resist any attempt to take it.”
The police sergeant unexpectedly shoots at Darsh. Darsh Prime is pushed back as a clone appears and absorbs the bullet. The clone “perishes” and disappears. Darsh sighs as he presents his chakra and flings it.
The elegant weapon sails through the air and easily decapitates the police sergeant. The weapon flies back to his hand before the severed head comes to a rest on the ground. This quick death steals any lingering courage from the remaining three police officers. They sprint after their two colleagues who had already escaped.
Darsh watches as the people closest to him stand absolutely still and wait for him to make his next move. Darsh is unconcerned with what they want. He smiles and continues his pilgrimage of spreading Lottery protectors throughout India. Each step generates another clone. The crowd parts whenever they must to avoid accidental contact with him. Darsh accepts this as his new reality.
Claire sits on the floor of the Womb’s bridge in utter boredom. She’s lost track of what day of the week it is. The question is soon answered when a portal appears, and Claire sees Abel appear for his Sunday conversation with Mother.
Abel looks at Claire, then disapprovingly at Mother.
“Ot Her, I do not pretend to understand your games, but Claire Kennedy is a friend of mine.”
Claire suddenly finds her shackles removed, her body cleaned, and her hair and makeup perfectly matching her orange pantsui
t. She isn’t even hungry anymore.
Iris, although unable to transmit to Larry anymore, is with her again. Iris floats diligently over Claire’s right shoulder.
“Do not meddle, Father,” Mother warns.
“I am not. I let you have your fun at our last visit, but you will not treat her as an animal in my presence,” Abel says.
Claire feels complete warmth from the actions of her champion. She uses her recently acquired vigor to push Mother’s buttons as well.
“Thank you, Father. At least one of you knows how to treat a guest. How is it that you never serve refreshments, Mother? Doesn’t Father warrant a little hospitality?”
“I could enjoy a sip of honey or two,” Abel adds.
Claire is just happy to feel a little power again. Abel definitely brings out the best in her. She understands how he so easily attracts the finest augments of Earth to his cause.
“Leebuch,” Mother says, “please bring me and Father some nectar and ambrosia.”
“Some for my friend as well,” Abel says and winks at Claire.
Mother is clearly displeased, but apparently protocol demands that she oblige the request. Leebuch returns with the refreshments and serves both Abel and Mother. After serving them, she brings a jewel-encrusted goblet of nectar for Claire and a silver bowl filled with ambrosia.
Claire selects the matching silver spoon and scoops a mouthful of pure heaven. Despite the fruity salad she equated with ambrosia, the meal before her is equal parts sweet and savory. She isn’t sure what animal is mixed in with the decadent fruit and nuts, perhaps she doesn’t want to know, but everything complements perfectly.
The sweet nectar fulfills the ultimate flavor profile as she washes down the most amazing meal. Claire internally scolds herself when she realizes that she hasn’t been paying enough attention to Abel and Mother’s conversation.
“—more than a few relics,” Mother finishes. “The signature that my analysts have regarded suggests you found most of the relics from the Olympus and even Whiro’s unit. So, I ask again, why do not all of your Templars have their corresponding ancestor’s weapon?”
What? Claire wonders.
“Ot Her, not all of them are ready for the enhancement. I develop them, then present them with the next level of power.”
“That sounds unlike you, Father. I am sure the casualties that you currently celebrate would have appreciated the help.”
“I truly regret they perished due to my decision. I feel I would have regretted it even more if one who was unprepared turned against the Templars. The humans of Earth have a saying that is extremely poignant, ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely.’ I do not wish to harm this planet any more than you wish to spare it.”
“I will spare the planet. I only wish to extinguish the vermin. A kaufiebuck has no place in life. Neither do ISH.”
“And here I thought you did not use profanity,” Abel says.
“Perhaps my familiar is beginning to transform my demeanor.”
“I apologize for having to call this meeting short,” Abel begins, “but Gallery wishes to perform a concert for the planet. I do not want to miss it and look forward to helping with preparations. You should listen to it. She is an augment, so I assume that makes her music an acceptable choice for your distinguishing tastes.”
“Perhaps I will regard the performance,” Mother says with a nod.
Abel stands from the throne brought out for him. He glances at Claire one more time.
“Are you alright, Claire?”
“I am, thank you, Father.”
“For you, it will always be Abel. Please remember that.”
Claire has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Mother’s face was priceless when Abel gave her permission to use his name. Claire decides not to press her luck.
“Thank you,” Claire says.
Abel looks back to Mother. “Claire believes in reporting a story, so I will allow her to remain here, but I will be most displeased if I ever regard her shackled to the floor with a soiled bucket as her only companion.”
“My familiar will be treated as I wish, but if she means so much to you, I will attempt to give her more Malignant benefits.” Mother addresses Claire now. “You will hopefully show me the same respect, and we will not have to alter the arrangement again.”
Claire hears the threat. Mother is only nice with Abel around.
“Yes, Mother. I appreciate your trust.”
Mother smirks.
“Forever enemies,” Abel says.
“Until our celebration,” Mother responds.
Abel leaves. Claire continues to eat her meal. She’s amazed that the dish is still warm and the drink is still cool. This one meal makes up for days of buckets and urinary tract infections.
Drorus addresses Mother. “Mother, Father openly mocks you. That is a violation of Our Contest.”
“A mild one,” Mother agrees.
“Some of the Malignant argue that we should attack without waiting the full celebration period.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I want to bring you all rumors and musings of the crew.”
“What do you think, Admiral Drorus? Should we attack now and sacrifice our principles?”
“Absolutely not, Mother.”
“Then why bring it up?”
Why indeed? Claire thinks.
“The crew is not one entity under your banner. The overpowered Gudz Templars may attract more than we are comfortable sacrificing to Our Contest.”
“We have already discussed this, Admiral Drorus. The force will have to separate to make Our Contest fair. Iron sharpens iron. All Malignant agree that two balanced forces will give us the skills to repel the animal encroachment.”
“Yes, Mother. You are ever wise.”
“Admiral Drorus, you will give a final warning to the Malignant of Earth. Send them a message to inform them that we will no longer give any warnings. You are responsible.”
“I am responsible,” Drorus repeats.
Mother stands from her throne.
“Leebuch, I believe it is time for us to contemplate a private instruction again. Follow.”
“Yes, Mother,” Leebuch says.
Claire watches as the two women exit the bridge and throne room to study whatever a genocidal queen needs to eradicate a planet. Claire shifts her attention to Drorus. He stands before the empty throne as a recorder similar to Iris floats in front of him.
“ISH of Earth. This warning is meant for your comprehension. It will be the final interaction with the Malignant Empire until your eradication. You cannot beat us. You are already dead. You must urge your loved ones who are real people to surrender themselves to us. Forever enemies, until our celebration.”
The recording ends. Claire thinks she sees regret in Drorus’ eyes as he assumes his position on the bridge.
Papa Nutmare watches the presentation of Drorus’ final message. He’s disgusted by the display and throws stale pretzels at the flat screen television hanging from his wall.
Shattered Blanket enters the office with a somber face.
“There’s no easy way to say this, Jimmy, so I’m just gonna say it,” Shattered Blanket begins. “I’m out.”
“Out of what?”
“I’m out of the business.”
Papa Nutmare pivots his chair to face Shattered Blanket.
“What? Why?”
Shattered Blanket points at the television for emphasis.
“The TV just told you why. They’re gonna kill all of us, and there’s nothing we can do about that. If I’m gonna die, I want it to be with my family in Memphis.”
Papa Nutmare now stands from his seat and meets his friend in the door frame.
“You can’t abandon me. Everyone else has completely given up on life. You
were the only baller willing to stick around.”
“I’ve got to go, Jimmy. You deserved to hear it from me. You should get out, too.”
“I’m not going to do that, Jason. Run away like a little bitch if you have to, but I’m going to keep the show going until the end.”
Shattered Blanket spreads his arms.
“Look around here. It is the end. Nobody is in this building except the two of us. The trash just piles up, and every day we come in and see more equipment is stolen. It’s over. Now, maybe mankind can survive, but life will never be the same. First Votary saw to that, then the full Templar team, and now the Malignant.”
“You forgot the animals,” Papa Nutmare says with barely held contempt.
“What?”
“If you want to wallow in self-pity, don’t forget about the animals that were so ruthless they kicked the Malignant off their home planet. I mean, you have to forget the part about them looking so weak that normal humans could already beat them, but if you need to cry. Just don’t be speciesist.”
“I don’t want to leave like this. Give me a hug and tell me that we’re still friends.”
Shattered Blanket holds out his large arms. Papa Nutmare wants to hate his friend, but it wouldn’t be genuine. He grabs the muscular man in a fierce bear hug. The two stand there silently for several moments.
“I love you, Jason. You better come back here once you get your senses back.”
“You know I will.”
“I’m not finished. Once you get your senses back and your balls.”
Shattered Blanket laughs. “You mean I get to keep them this time, Papa?”
The two men share a laugh and end their embrace. They both find a reason to look away and erase any evidence that they just showed physical proof that they care for each other.
“You sure you won’t go home, too?” Shattered Blanket asks as he turns to leave.
“I’m sure. It wouldn’t be me. Hell, you’re the only real family I have.”
“Then come with me.”
“No thanks, bro. I’ve got this. You just be safe out there.”
“You, too, Jimmy. I’ll see you later.”
Shattered Blanket leaves the office. Papa Nutmare listens to the sound of his heavy footsteps on the floor as he walks down the hall.
Our Contest Page 24
