by Lee
Tomas wished he’d thought to get a glass of water. He was thirstier than he’d been in some time. “In return for this, I will not contact a representative for the Emperor-for-Life with news of my continued existence. I will flash the particular terms of this agreement to you once I have had time to form my thoughts more precisely.”
Alastair sat bolt upright. “You procreated with one of those savages from Latelyspace?” He could scarcely contain his contempt. “You have fallen so low.”
“You are as intelligent as ever, Alastair.”
The Yellow Dog Elder Katainn’s mind whirled with ideas. Why would Tomas want his daughter hidden from Spur? Were their claims of pure lineage false? Had the Emperor-for-Life changed his eternal mind? If not, if the blood claim was still being upheld, what was it Tomas feared? Would Spur kill the daughter? Yes, that was it. If The Emperor-for-Life still accepted the Kamaganas as family, as children, then their endless emperor wouldn’t allow one of his progeny to work for Jordan Bishop, not under any circumstances, nor for any reason. Spur would kill the daughter instantly, by hand, to assure the Emperor that the deed had been done.
“Before you begin imagining a world wherein you kidnap my daughter, Alastair, allow me to answer your earlier question as to why you cannot simply stroll into Latelyspace and add this system to your vaults.” Tomas grabbed a screenshot of Garth Nickels during his legendary fight in the Ring and sent it through the ‘LINKs to Alastair. “This man. This man and this man alone would undoubtedly take time from his busy schedule to destroy any effort you might make. Do you recognize him? Yellow Dog is in many systems in many galaxies, and, according to press statements, he has been in more of both than any man alive.”
Alastair thought he might, but he directed his house AI to run a search. The answer came up quickly. Garth Nickels, a member of the formidable Special Services operations team known as Armageddon Troop One. Families Hadiro, Takanawa and Maro had all fallen afoul of the man and his perverse sense of humor and justice more than once. In particular, Maro was likely to never recover. Alastair did his best not to blanch, but his fine European features went pale anyway. The Specter was in Latelyspace.
Tomas continued. “He is an ex-Special Services captain now. He resides here, and has, for whatever reason, taken an extreme liking to this system. Should Yellow Dog attempt corruption, he will intervene.” While Alastair worked through the ramifications of Garth Nickels’ presence in Latelyspace, he prepared another screenshot, this one of his daughter, hand in hand with Garth, as they made their way out of the shattered remnants of the Museum. He knew what Alastair was going to ask next because for all the years they’d both lived, Alastair had never really grown up.
Alastair rolled a hand magisterially. “I concede how it would be difficult, indeed, not worth the time or effort to attempt entrance into Latelyspace at this time. The ‘ex-Specter’ Garth Nickels is known to the Families. You cannot expect me to believe that this man’s … interests? Yes, his interest in Latelyspace extends to singular people, Elder Kamagana. Now that we know you have a daughter, and that she is, however improbably, in the employ of Jordan Bishop, it will be a simple task to find her. Slightly more problematic will be her, shall we say, acquisition? But take her we will. From there, though, the Katainn Family will suddenly find itself in possession of all that was yours. One young girl cannot withstand the concerted might of Katainn.”
It was unsurprising that everything aligned against the Yellow Dogs in this matter was failing to dissuade Alastair. The Families had already proven their willingness to fly in the face of convention by mounting the war against the Kamagana Family in the first place. Since –by the Emperor’s own accounts-, the family was dead and gone and punishments already meted out, there was little to force Alastair down the right path. They’d be able to open the locks on the vaults to the Kamagana treasure well before the Emperor could muster the necessary deterrents, at which point the action would become moot.
And then the Emperor would have Naoko. That could never happen.
Tomas exhaled. Children often needed to be shoved. So, he would shove. Hard.
Tomas flashed the image of Garth and Naoko clattering over broken rock and duronium through the ‘LINKs. He waited while Alastair had his AI determine whether the photo was doctored in any way. It didn’t take long, and for the first time in a horribly long time, Tomas found he missed artificial intelligence. His own avatars wouldn’t have taken much longer, but there was an … elegance … to AI.
“You cannot be serious.” Alastair choked the words out. The AI confirmed a heartbeat later that the picture wasn’t a forgery, and the Elder had no reason to doubt.
“I will expect routine reports on her safety, dear cousin Katainn.” Tomas nodded. “In exchange, I will offer you access to a Family Vault.”
Alastair chewed on his lower lip for a moment. So close and somehow even further away than ever. His house AI was showing scenes of devastation on the walls, moments in recent Yellow Dog history. In all of them, the black haired, blue-eyed Specter loomed larger than life, literally gutting Families thousands upon thousands of years old. The Katainn realized he’d sooner go against the Emperor a second time than deal once with an enraged Specter; the Emperor, at least, knew when to stop. The Specter kept going on until there was nothing but blood and ash. Sometimes less. Much less. “We want one of the big vaults, Elder.”
“She cannot know she is being protected, Elder.” Tomas was insistent. “She cannot know her lineage. She cannot ever meet with Spur. I do not care how it is managed. Wage war against BishopCo if you must, but manage it you will.”
Alastair wondered why that was, but said nothing. “One of the big ones, Elder. On Jade Song itself.”
“Of course.” Tomas nodded. “How lucky for you that I left … samples of myself on a few worlds against the chance I would need to barter this way.” Dozens of samples, in fact, spread throughout the systems along his flight from Jade Song, each keyed to a specific vault, each vault holding miraculous wealth.
Careful then, careful now.
“You should come back to us, Elder Kamagana.” Alastair meant every word. “The Yellow Dogs have been weaker without you.”
So much weaker. In their greed, they’d made irrevocable mistakes. The Emperor-for-Life had cast them away, forcing them to fend for themselves. With Tomas Kamagana back from the dead, perhaps their eternal monarch would welcome them back. Without the Emperor, they were little better than thieves and brigands with puffed up egos.
It was something to hope for. Alastair nodded. He’d do precisely as instructed. Until it was time to force the foolish old man into stepping back into the light. The Yellow Dogs would be loved by the Emperor-for-Life once more.
“Guard my daughter well, Alastair Katainn, or I will send the Specter after you.” Tomas bowed. “I will send coordinates. The sample I am giving you will unlock the vault in the basement of our summer home.”
“That is acceptable.”
Herrig Fills in the Blanks and Meets Some Unsavory Characters
Rewatching everything puff into a brilliant shower of light, Herrig reflected on the nature of his life since he’d quit the bank in favor of working for Garth Nickels.
Surprisingly enough, sandwiched between terror at what the man might do next and the horror of the world ending, the chubby, balding Latelian-by-design knew now he couldn’t do anything else, be anything else. Working for Nickels, overseeing the actual, proper operation of UltraMegaDynamaTron was the reason he’d wound up in Latelyspace.
Now they were all going to save the world. His part was being handled from an office while Garth and his new ‘security specialist’ were going to do something fiendishly clever involving stealing something weighing several hundred tons. That was just fine with Herrig.
Impending curfew and Martial Law had Herring squirming in his seat. Even if he wanted to leave, Herrig wouldn’t; Garth and Ute needed … tactical support. That almost certainly meant buying every
thing in sight. With Garth disallowed the luxury of wearing a proteus and Ute’s own machine not yet configured properly, it was necessary and important work.
Bizarrely, none of the other employees for UltraMegaDynamaTron had left, and they hadn’t even really met the man. Herrig wrinkled his forehead, trying to recall if Garth had even been in their offices. He shrugged. There were other things to take care of.
Herrig smiled as his employees came in. He stood, gestured for them relax, and began. “Sis and sas, thank you for attending. As you all know, some time ago, Chairwoman Doans issued an announcement that Hospitalis is going to be locked down, ‘protected’ by Martial Law.”
Everyone in the room muttered and shifted their feet. It was not a good idea, this Martial Law. They didn’t need reminding that they lived in a Regime. With the black-on-red flags every three feet and the ceaseless polite announcements from an endless and bewildering array of Ministries devoted to Pride and Glory and everything else, it was impossible to think otherwise. Most upsetting –at least to the UltraMegaDynamaTron employees- were the bits about them living and breathing at the Chair’s whim.
Herrig smiled and resumed. “I’ve familiarized myself with the basics, and it is a woefully worded and, dare I say it, poor accumulation of laws. Before coming here, to UltraMegaDynamaTron, I was a banker, but before that, I was a lawyer. The Chairwoman has left out many things. Many, many things. Of primary and utmost concern are the rewritten laws concerning groups of people and businesses traditionally left open during Gametime.” When they started muttering again, Herrig held up a hand. “There is no reason to worry about ourselves, sis and sas. One of the first things I did was request for and receive new designations for all of UltraMegaDynamaTron’s property holdings. Every building owned by our employer is now considered a ‘personal business front’, enabling employees to live and sleep on the premises.”
One of the younger women laughed outright at that, and a small wave of hilarity rippled through the assembled men and women.
Herrig joined in for a moment; he was quite proud of himself for having seen through that loophole. The whole process had been more than 90% automated, taking less than ten minutes of his time. “As we speak, construction workers are hurriedly preparing one of the outer buildings. It’s,” he flushed here, “it, ah, it isn’t pretty. A dormitory, really. No time for men and women separate.”
“We don’t mind, sa.” Herman looked at his comrades, who dipped their heads in agreement; when they had spare time –which wasn’t all that often- they talked about how it felt, working for UltraMegaDynamaTron and for Garth Nickels and Herrig DuPont. Somewhere along the line, it’d become apparent that there was nowhere else they’d rather be. Not one of them could articulate exactly why, except to maybe say ‘it was important’.
And they hadn’t even done anything ‘important’ yet.
“Er.” Herrig blinked. He’d been waiting for an argument. He’d even mentally prepared himself to offer everyone a considerable bonus to keep them under the same roof. He felt peculiarly protective of his staff, including Garth. He decided to give the bonuses anyway. “Yes. That is … that is fantastic. There will be Screens and other entertainments available, etcetera. Everyone who stays on premises will receive double daily pay.”
Herrig waited politely for the cheering to subside. When he continued, he did so cautiously. Here, now, here he was treading on thin ice. So to speak. “Many … many of you –if not all of you- already know that you work for Garth Nickels, the richest man in Latelyspace. Undoubtedly, you have all seen his epic fight on the ‘LINKs, have heard of or have been responsible for his continued payouts to people affected by the Spaceport Disaster. Some few of you,” he nodded at Herman, “have spoken with the man directly. Our employer, Garth Nickels is … different.
He is, at heart, a dreamer, sis and sas. He is impatient and reckless and a dozen different kinds of wild. Before coming to this world, before becoming a citizen of Latelyspace, he was a thing called a Specter. He was a soldier in the employ of Trinity, working in an agency called Special Services. This makes him dangerous. He is capable of things you or I would never dream of imagining, let alone making real.
When he wants something done, he calls and says ‘I need a satellite capable of high-resolution imaging and I need it in five minutes’. He doesn’t know –maybe can’t know- how much effort goes into something like that and it is my job to not tell him how hard things are. Why? Because, sis and sas, I have come to learn that Garth Nickels is risking his life in insanely foolish ways when he asks for things like that. He won’t ever say ‘I am about to go near something that can melt the skin off my bones in a few seconds and I need to know how the layout of the building looks so I can possibly maybe get this done’. He doesn’t have the time. For Garth Nickels, every second of his life is precious. He risks his life for us.
I will sacrifice my sanity, my sleep, my health and possibly one day my life for Garth Nickels. He has made me greater than myself, something I thought impossible. I used to imagine myself, going into the bank and … doing nothing. Smiling and nodding politely to non-Latelian citizens withdrawing cash money or going over someone’s accounts so they can understand how better to save. Working out the details of loans. Never,” Herrig gestured around him, choked up at this sudden, inexplicable baring of the soul, “never would I have expected this. I owe him. If … if Garth comes to you, or calls you on your prote and asks for anything … well, I cannot make you do as he asks. A lot of the time, what he wants isn’t even legal in how he phrases it. If you do decide to do as he wants, you, too, will see a side of this life never imagined. I … I don’t know what made me say that, sis and sas. I am sorry.”
Herman shook his head, and the others murmured their agreement. “No need to apologize, Sa Herrig. We feel like we are hovering on the brink of some great, fathomless adventure. I’ve spoken with the man, and you’re right. The warnings you gave me … I didn’t believe them at first. But ... Sa Nickels is … is wild, is reckless. But –and this sounds ridiculous- it’s exciting. I couldn’t –can’t- pretend I’d rather be anywhere else.”
Everyone nodded and voiced their opinions.
Herrig took off his glasses and wiped away a few tears. Who was Garth Nickels that he could inspire this kind of loyalty in people he hadn’t met? “Wonderful. Wonderful. Now, one last thing before this meeting ends. It has to do with the laws and the curfew. It is a thing most people will probably have missed.”
“Food. Supermarkets and groceries.” This, from a blonde girl.
Herrig blinked. “Err, that’s entirely correct, Si Jane.” Jane positively beamed. “Er, yes. Foodstuffs. We have,” he looked at his prote, “two hours before curfew. Each of you needs to go to as many different stores that sell food and drink, perishable or otherwise, and purchase as much, if not all, of what is left. In approximately fifteen minutes’ time, a fleet of trucks will be arriving. I will send a list of stores to each of your proteii. Further, you have all been given access to a petty fund that is considerably larger than you would expect. This is for the food and, well, for anything else that you think you will require. Operate within reason, sis and sas. While Garth himself may not question your need to buy the fastest car available so you can race around the complex at breakneck speed on your lunch break, I would. In fact, he might even suggest he strap himself to the roof while you try to do barrel rolls through hoops of fire while being chased by angry God soldiers.”
Jane and Herman, the assembled host of Garth’s frontline assistance, laughed loudly.
Herrig raised his hands, quieting them down. “Be sure to buy as much as you can. We are not purchasing for just ourselves. When the reality of Martial Law sinks in, when other men and women realize that they cannot buy food, panic will set in. Today, tomorrow, or whenever that happens, UltraMegaDynamaTron will open our doors and we will either sell or give away what we can. If you are full, return here, unload, and head back out. Men are also building large
refrigeration and freezer units for long-term safe storage.”
“Why are you doing this? Why are we?”
Herrig flashed a smile. “Because, sis and sas, it is what Garth would do if he wasn’t busy today trying to save the world from blowing up.”
The banker turned business baron smiled at their general confusion. He could hear them all wondering to themselves if he was being serious. He caught a knowing look from Herman; the man was no fool. He suspected –rightly, Herrig supposed- that Garth was responsible for the massive explosion that’d leveled the Guillfoyle Building and was keeping that secret to himself.
He made a shooing motion. “Now go, sis and sas. Go forth and spend your employer’s money until you can spend no more, for tomorrow, if there is one, we will probably need to spend more.”
Herrig waited until the last si had filed out through the door before sitting back down, weary. He heaved a sigh of relief and looked at his prote. Ten minutes to spare.
His next meeting relied on having an empty office.
xxx
Herrig flicked his eyes to the sas standing in front of him. It’d been surprisingly easy to find ‘reclamation specialists’ in the ‘LINKs. There was a whole side to life in Latelyspace that he’d never suspected. Exposure to Garth Nickels was changing him, turning him into someone … exciting. Wild images of him firing a laser pistol at invading maniacs forced him to stifle a fit of laughter; the men arranged before him weren’t the sort of people who had a sense of humor.
“You are representatives of Landmark Reclaimers?” Herrig asked politely.
Sa Candall jerked his head, once. He’d been eyeing the place since walking in. One of his operatives was in the other room, casually calculating the worth of everything. Six more were outside, guarding the perimeter. The four men with him in the room were the men he trusted most.
If this was a Regime operation, no one but them was getting out alive.
