The Failed Fellowship

by Michael R. Underwood

"What will happen to my team?"

  "Ricardo Mendoza will oversee your team, with Ms. Tehrani as his second. Mr. Mendoza is a loyal team leader with decades of experience and a cooler head."

  Cool head, my shiny ass. Mendoza's beat included the most commercial, most mainstream sub-genres. He drove his team hard, flew off the handle at insubordination, and refused to think outside the box. He created cookie-cutter patches, one-size-fits-all solutions to nuanced narrative conundrums. He was a blunt instrument; King's team was a twenty-tool Swiss army knife.

  "Councilors, with all due respect..." King started.

  "You've proven you have no respect for the authority of this Council, King. You are dismissed. Stand down until we call for you again to determine whether your role in this organization can be salvaged."

  And with that, the screens blinked out, going dark.

  "Pardon my saying, sir," Deanna said from behind him, "but you didn't need to goad them. I've never seen that go well for anyone."

  "That's never happened to video of yours, right?" he asked, rubbing his head, six weeks of growth making a mess of his hair.

  They'd taken his team from him. They were his world. The team, the work. All because of Raven and her machinations. He thought he'd won the battle even if Raven escaped to fight again. Now he saw that she'd played him with the dragon and the portal.

  "From the ground, everything you did is right. But the Council sees everything from ten thousand feet up. We believe in the mission, believe in the Council's judgment."

  "I got tired of waiting for permission to do my job. And this whole thing stinks. If there's more going on at the top level, they need to read us in, or our experience and judgment count for nothing."

  Deanna joined King as they walked out into the hall. "I get that, sir. But right now, you need to debrief your team before the Council tells me to escort you from the premises. I wager you have about ten minutes."

  King swallowed his anger and started jogging again, this time to his team, the one thing left in the organization that made sense.

  ———

  Shirin broke out the emergency wine.

  Leah shouldn't have been surprised that there was emergency wine, but she was glad that it existed.

  Looking through the ceiling light through the three-quarters opaque red liquid, Leah tried to reconcile her emotional high with the instant shock and dissonance that had come with their so-called welcome back to HQ.

  "Did you all know we'd gone rogue?" Leah asked, finally.

  "No," Roman said. "But you saw the breach. We all did. We needed to be there."

  "Then why forbid us?"

  Shirin paced. Her comfy nook lay barren, pile of biographies and histories piled around the bowl chair like the arms of a throne. "Let's wait for what King has to say."

  Mallery returned to the ready room, dressed in a fresh set of clothes, towel-drying her hair from the shower.

  They were back, but not Home. Home was a place where the problems were familiar. Maybe all wasn't at peace, but you knew the score. Uncertainty tore away the protection of home like a grumpy bear ripping the top off your tent as it looks for your picnic basket.

  HQ had become more like home over these last months, but only because of the people. But this room wasn't home, not now, even with Mallery, Roman, and Shirin around.

  Without King, this was just a room, they weren't quite a team.

  They'd saved the world and lost their true north in exchange.

  This isn't how the story was supposed to go.

  But she was a Genrenaut.

  A Genrenaut could change a story when it went off track.

  "How do we fix this? Talk to the Council? Write the most amazing mission report ever? Fly to London and browbeat them directly? We just overthrew a world-threatening sorcerer. We can fix some red tape. Did anyone get footage of the Tall Woman's team? Audio? Anything?"

  Shirin didn't miss a step. "We can check, but King's camera broke, and with all the energy I was throwing around, nothing of mine could record. For now, we wait for King."

  Mallery got a blow-dryer out of a drawer that Leah swore had been filled with office supplies. "The Council is as high as it goes. They have their reasons for doing what they do. A year or so ago, we held off on a mission to Science Fiction's world for two weeks. Just like this time, we were climbing the walls, desperate to deploy. We realized that a meteor had hit the region, that that was the breach. All of our sensors were down, no intel. We had to wait while the Council sent drones through and collected data, figured out where we could deploy.

  "They lost three drones to stray fragments, smaller meteors the big one had gathered in its wake; they kept hammering the world for ten days. But eventually, they found survivors and we had our answer. We deployed, gathered up the survivors—all scientists, not a leader among them, overwhelmed by fear and grief. We got them onto their Ark and sent them on their way."

  Mallery continued. "If we'd ignored orders and deployed right away, no chance we'd have been able to find the survivors. Probably would have peppered by meteorites."

  Roman piped in from the treadmill, even at a sprint, feet pounding. "King made the call, and we did the job. But he didn't trust the system. And the system works. It's worked for thirty years. We all do this because we believe in the system. What he did was brash and dangerous. He put us all into a vulnerable position. But he didn't abandon us, and we won't abandon him."

  As if on cue, King slid through the door, slowing from a jog.

  "I don't have long. Security is coming for me. But I'm not going that way."

  King looked both ways, up and down the hall. "I'm sorry for misleading you. I had to track down the Tall Woman. I don't have any doubt. Not anymore. You cracked this, Leah, and now we're on to something big. If you don't want to stake your careers on it, I understand. But you know they're out there. Next time, you'll be prepared."

  Leah walked up to King. "How can we help?"

  "Do your jobs. Follow Mendoza or whoever they give you. But don't forget what we saw there, what we've seen building for months. Those people are making changes to the multiverse, and we need to know why. That's what I'm going to try to figure out."

  King extended a hand. "Ms. Tang, I'm sorry that your apprenticeship has been so troubled. As far as I'm concerned, you've earned your wings. It has been an honor to have you on the team."

  Roman killed the treadmill and slid off, landing both feet at once on the carpet. Shirin met their leader first. She leaned into him and they hugged. They spoke at a whisper, and Leah refrained from eavesdropping, stepping back to let her teammates have their moment with the boss before he went off to do whatever it was.

  Roman went next. The men exchanged a hearty handshake, then into a hug. The former soldier teared up.

  "Thank you for giving me a new purpose and a new family. If I can't be there to watch your back, you've got to do it yourself."

  "I will. Look after the team for me."

  "Always."

  Mallery stood on her toes to kiss King on the cheek, then buried her head in his chest. "Come back to us, boss. I can't go back to Broadway. I've gotten too used to playing the big parts."

  "If I can, I will."

  "Do or do not; there is no try," Mallery said, eyes puffy.

  King glanced to the side, then sighed. "Time to go. Thank you all. It's been an honor."

  And then he was off at a run. Headed for the quartermaster's wing.

  Leah pointed in King's direction. "What is he doing? Should we follow? I feel like we should be following."

  "We don't follow. We stay right here and do our jobs," Shirin said. She crossed the room, sat down in her chair, and picked up a book in the most dejected fashion possible, curling into herself and disappearing into her reading.

  Roman returned to his treadmill, and Mallery retrieved a pair of beers from the fridge, opening them on the way and slipping the opener back into her pocket.

  "This sucks," she said, taking a
seat. "I say we drink in protest."

  Leah raised a bottle and toasted.

  The beer was cold. So cold, almost unbearably cold after six weeks of lukewarm ale and barely cooled wine. It was too bitter, too sharp, too full-bodied, and it was perfect.

  "Do you always get reverse culture shock coming back from Fantasy-land?" Leah asked Mallery.

  "Not always. Sometimes, we get the job done in just a couple of weeks, and it feels more like coming back to work after vacation. Though to be honest, nothing's been normal for a while. My hospital stay aside. You figured out the trend of breaches early, and now we’ve got real evidence. And if there's one thing I know about King, it's that when he's got a lead, nothing will stop him. Not even the High Council."

  Klaxons filled the room and hallways.

  But they weren't a breach alarm.

  This was the security breach alarm.

  "Roman, on me," Shirin said on the way out of the room. “Mallery, Leah, stay here."

  "What the hell is going on? Did we come back to the Bizarro-verse or something?" Leah said, totally adrift.

  "Stand down, both of you." A confident, barely familiar voice cut through the alarm from the hallway. "Charlie Team, attention."

  Ricardo Mendoza filled the entrance to their ready room, arms crossed behind his back. He was younger than King, mid-forties, hair full of product and locked into a perfect early Mad Men–era style. Leah'd never seen him look particularly happy, but right then, he looked like someone had just handed him a bag full of crap and told him to paint with it.

  The team stood, beer and books and treadmills forgotten.

  "Angstrom King has been relieved of his position as Team Leader. So now, your team falls to me. I know that King kept you all close. I am not Angstrom King. You are specialists, and I will value your skills and your judgment. But I am the final arbiter for all mission-critical decisions, and you now report to me. Are there any questions?"

  Silence.

  "Good. I want your mission reports in the next hour. Then take two days off. Thirty-two hours of comp time will be added to your records as recognition for the long hours. King swears that none of you knew he was deploying without leave, and he's a man of his word. The breach is sealed and the world stable. Let's just hope that King didn't set off an unforeseen ripple and put us all in more trouble later on.

  "Those reports are due in an hour. Good night."

  And with that, he left.

  Leah waited until his bootsteps faded into the distance, then picked up her beer and took a long, cold swig, already assembling her thoughts for the report. "Well, this is going to be a barrel of laughs."

  Paperwork. After all the adventure, suspense, and danger, it all came down to paperwork.

  Leah finished her beer and retrieved her tablet from her locker.

  She opened a mission report template and started typing.

  Once upon a time, we were forced to wait for two days while a breach got worse and worse, then our boss decided to throw out the rulebook and do the right thing, even though we didn't know we were breaking the rules at the time...

  She sighed, deleted the paragraph, and started again.

  Mallery came over to join her.

  "As soon as we're done with these, I say we blow this popsicle stand."

  Leah looked to the door, where King had left. "Do you mean...quit?"

  A shadow crossed Mallery's face. She was considering it. "I mean leaving work at work and reminding ourselves that we have lives beyond being Genrenauts. Lives together."

  Her heart was racing. This was all wrong. They'd fixed one story and come to find their own had careened off course.

  Leah nodded, squeezing the comedienne's offered hand, using the touch as an anchor.

  Her mind was everywhere but in the present. The past, her time on the team, the lessons she'd learned from her teammates. Mallery's smile, Shirin's quick wit. Roman's silent strength and wicked moves. And King, the friendly rulemonger gone rogue, and the wonderful turn her life had taken since that open mic at The Cellar.

  And now King was gone, off to put things right. He'd brought her in, trained her, and she'd made a place for herself on the team. He'd led them to victory even when they weren't supposed to be fighting, and they'd done the work. But now he was gone, and they were on a short leash, tethered to a drill sergeant-slash-nanny.

  Screw this, Leah thought. They'd take the time, and then figure out what the next chapter would bring.

  As she powered through the report, her mind drifted back to King.

  Knock 'em dead, boss.

  Epilogue

  Boldly Going Somewhere

  King dropped from fifteen feet in the air, instinct taking over as he landed into a roll.

  Head snapping up, he scanned around him in all directions. Sand and dirt, as far as the eye can see. Rolling dunes, nearly faded tracks, and wreckage, rusted and burnt-out skeletons that had been cars, once upon a time.

  The sun beat down like a jackhammer, punishing waves of heat sapping his energy. He took the sunglasses, jacket, and wide-brimmed hat out from his bag. Then he checked his waterskins, uncurled the belt. He slid the machete into one side, sawed-off shotgun into the other.

  His Road Warrior ensemble in place, King checked the compass on his pocket watch. His bolt-hole was a mile northwest. Assuming it was still there and unmolested, he'd have gear needed to track Raven and her team.

  He started singing a spiritual, mind drifting back to church as a kid, the choir singing up front, a hundred voices joined as one.

  And he started walking. Every three steps counted as two, sand robbing him of inches every bit of the way.

  But it wasn't far to the cache, even in this heat.

  And he had plenty of thinking to do along the way.

  Find Raven and her people.

  Beat them, trap them, and drag them back to HQ.

  Drop them in the Council's lap.

  And get his team back.

  END SEASON ONE

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  Acknowledgments

  Here we are, at the end of the first season of Genrenauts. It’s been an exciting, winding road, and I’ve learned a lot in the 10 months since the series launched last November. I’ve learned about the joys of writing serial episodic fiction, the challenges of promoting that kind of fiction, and I’ve learned that I can succeed as not only the author, but the publisher of my own fiction.

  These two episodes draw on my life-long love of the fantasy genre. I’m a writer because I love fantasy, so it only made sense to send a love letter to the genre which set me on the path to being a storyteller. The Failed Fellowship draws from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, Dungeons and Dragons, and many more heroic fantasy adventures, especially those of the role-playing persuasion. Many other fine writers have written loving parodies of the genre, and it has been an utter delight to add my voice to that chorus celebrating and gently tweaking the genre.

  I’ve written before about how fantasy’s escapism is far more often one of liberation than one that’s about abandoning the world. Professor Tolkien started that line of conversation, and like so many of us in the genre, I find myself continuing the conversations he got rolling. The Tolkien tradition and D&D have given us a lot in the genre, and while we’re moving the genre forward into new and interesting directions, it’s also fun to remember how we got here, and to keep those balls rolling.

  The biggest lesson I’ve learned this season is that I have a wealth of people rooting me on and supporting me every step of the way. From the 321 fabulous Kickstarter backers to my marvelous production team, beta readers, and more. Thank you one and all for what you’ve done in supporting me as I tell this sto
ry.

  Some specific shout-outs:

  Big thanks to Effie Seiberg, Beth Cato, and Jay Swanson for their great notes on Episodes 5 & 6, helping me dig deeper with characterization and clarify places where the story had been lazy or lacking depth.

  A hearty cheers to Bryon Quertermous, my editor, for riding with me again and posing great questions about how I could make these episodes stronger, and in doing so, elevate the entire season.

  Richard Shealy is a freaking copyediting wizard. He’s learned my style and his copyedit passes help me do a better job of telling the story the way I wanted, without any prejudice or desire to exert influence. His addition to the work is seamless, invisible, and essential. Thanks, man.

  I lift a great tankard of ale to Sean Glenn for once again providing the cover for this episode.

  And to my fabulous wife, Meg White Underwood, my eternal thanks. Meg was my first confidant with the finale and my diligent final proofer before the book went off to press.

  And again, thank you to the fabulous Kickstarter backers of Genrenauts: The Complete Season One Collection.

  Now onward, to season two!

  Michael R. Underwood

  Baltimore, MD

  September 14th, 2016