SUMMATION

by Daniel Syverson

  He was confident in who he was. His secret gave him strength. No one locally would dare challenge, and between his intelligence, upbringing, and ruthless command, he became very powerful. He demanded and expected absolute loyalty, and he had his most trusted lieutenant supervise an inner circle of security. The men answered only to this man, and they, and their families, were well cared for. He was moving quickly, and nearby kingdoms rarely hesitated to join him. Word had traveled fast about those that hadn't.

  Soon, he was worshiped not only as a king, but as a deity, a practice he found advantageous, and encouraged. Truly, he thought, his mother had been told the truth - he would rule. As far as there being another - that part must have been a mistake. He was not a precursor. He would be the one. Nothing would stop him now.

  * * *

  Especially a bent over, toothless, crippled old man.

  Chapter 17

  Explanations

  What happened? Tell me - this is too important, and we are too close." Gerhard was turned sideways in the back seat, getting little response from his son. "Listen to me. LISTEN!" He was becoming frustrated, and angry, now that the initial fear was past.

  It was almost as if the unbelievable events of the past few minutes had never happened. As if the boy's car wouldn't start, and his father had simply picked him up. Both father and son should have been struck with wonder, but somehow, neither were.

  His son had had a good life, a life of privilege and power. A life knowing he had a destiny, a destiny that would not, could not, be taken away. A life of knowing that there were others, some seen, others unseen, that were always working to protect him, support him, working quietly to advance their Master.

  Perhaps this was too much for a child, any child. How many spoiled children of powerful parents make the tabloids each day? Why should he be any different?

  A young man, filled with an unbelievable power within, having financial and other assets - without the maturity that he did not yet have, was a terrible risk.

  And now, even after this, he sat petulantly, as if just another child caught shoplifting penny candy.

  The father sat back against the seat. So close. SO CLOSE. There were signs that it was almost time. The power had been transferred, as it always had been, generation to generation. And it was stronger, as it always was, generation to generation. With the responsibilities, and the organization, and, yes, the risk of failure, always increasing, generation to generation.

  Yet this one sometimes seemed oblivious to his gift. His GIFTS. His POWER. All that previous generations had worked for, he seemed to simply take for granted. As many children, he supposed. His anger and frustration were tempered by that little bit of fear - the knowledge that he had indeed transferred the gift; the responsibility, the honor, and most importantly, the POWER, which, at a whim, the son could turn on him.

  Truly he was, in effect, powerless now. Wealthy beyond comprehension, with tens of thousands employed, it seemed incomprehensible that he could feel this powerless, yet here he was. Because he knew. He could see that in the eyes of his son.

  Yet, he would try. He had to try. To fail would mean hundreds of years, thousands of lives, wasted. It would mean He won. And that could not, would not, happen.

  "Please, son. Help me understand."

  Finally Hans turned, and his father noted, with surprise, was that a little fear in the corner of his eye? Was that a little shakiness in the always confident, even cocky, voice? Was something more perhaps actually going on inside there?

  "I'm, I'm not sure, Father. It was like before, only worse." He looked down, hands fidgeting. "I had been with Andrea, the one from school - you met her. We were together over the weekend. Everything seemed to be going fine. Then, Sunday, she said she wanted to break it off. Needed some space. Felt too restricted. She wanted to break up with me. With ME!

  "Who does she think she is? Telling ME she wants to break up. I was angry, so angry, so insulted, so, so..."

  "What did you do - did something hap-"

  "No, no, no. Nothing happened. It wasn't like that other girl. Andrea's fine. Besides, I couldn't do much with her friends all around, but I sure wanted to.

  "And I still may."

  "STOP THAT," Gerhard commanded sharply. "Stop that talk. That's all you would need. So, what happened?"

  "Well, kind of like before. I was driving back, thinking about it, and I was getting angrier and angrier. I was thinking about what I was going to do, and then, and then, well, I don't remember."

  Still angry, Gerhard was still frustrated, but at least -

  "Alright, son. We've talked about this. A lot. You are now The One. I can only advise you, and I have, since long before, and will, as long as you have me. The fact is, you are still too emotional. It's time to grow up. By now, you should have been past that. You know our family's history. How easy it is to fall. You know all too well that, tracing our family back, we are born of rulers, had not one of our family not lost it all in a moment of weakness. We would be rulers now, if not for that. Don't let that be our fate again. We have taken a very long time rebuilding."

  Hans looked sharply back at his father.

  "Hans, I'm sorry, but this is true, and you know it. You've got to get your emotions contained. Me, I think this is it, this is the time. Everyone always thinks that this will be the time, that they will be the one, and I did too, I prayed that it would be, but here we are. Still, the signs - they're all here, and it could very well be up to you. You, and I truly believe this, YOU will be the one to usher Him in. You will open the doors. However, your emotions - you have to focus. You MUST focus.

  "Have fun. Enjoy yourself. Take any woman you want. They are here for you. Eventually, you will need one to bear a son - you may still have to pass this on to YOUR son, so it will be required, but take whom you will - just don't get involved. Have your pleasure - you owe no one else. They are here for you. To serve you, as they have served me. For your pleasure, as they have pleasured me." He paused. "But..... you see the cost when you get emotionally involved."

  He continued, more quietly, with an uncomfortable look on his face.

  "I understand, I really do. I've never told you, and no one who was around then would ever mention it, but this has happened before. And it was also here, not so far from the compound, by coincidence. In fact, not far from that little town we just drove through. Beloit. And it was by me. Some thirty years or so ago."

  The son turned toward him, a puzzled look on his face.

  "No, it wasn't a woman. It was a man. A trusted man. A man who knew much, and could have been a danger. There have been defections in the past, but few. You can count them on one hand. But never someone at this level. I trusted him. You know how few men have my trust. Well, he was one. When I realized what he had done, I... I just lost it. I exploded. I don't even remember what I did.

  "We were both in the back of my limo, and I just, I just totally lost control. The bastard had betrayed me, after all I had done for him." He shook his head, remembering. "What I do remember is after arriving at the compound being taken back to my room, and seeing myself in the mirror of the bathroom. I was covered in blood. Soaked. At first I was terrified, but I was told that I was okay, the blood was his. I went to the window, looking down on the drive, and saw them cleaning out the car.

  "They removed him, but I wouldn't have known who "him" was - no one would have. There was no way to recognize the pulpy mess they dragged from the car.

  "No one said anything. No one ever even mentioned it. It was never discussed. The car was cleaned, scrubbed, shampooed. Then, after it was as clean as possible, it was taken out back and burned. No evidence, no DNA, no chance of any mistakes.

  Our people are good. They take good care of us. They knew that as well as they may clean, there was always the possibility of being found out. That wasn't acceptable, so they took the necessary steps. So I understand what can happen. Our people are here, now as then, to help.

  "I understood it b
etter then. I was deeply ashamed."

  "Ashamed?"

  "Not of dealing with the traitor, of course not. My shame was my loss of control, the resulting public display of power, and the risk of exposure. All my fault, and all unnecessary. All due to my immaturity, my emotional immaturity. My lack of self-control.

  "As a result, I vowed to never, ever let anything like this happen again. I would never again allow myself to lose control. To help prevent this, I resolved to never let anything or anyone put me in that position again. That new resolve has put me in good stead these many years. I trust this may be for you as well."

  Hans sat silently for a few moments, looking out the window. They were just passing through Beloit, cruising past the eastern edge of the city on I-90. There were still dozens of vehicles with red lights, blue lights, and amber lights flashing. The road was open, but only one lane. They were still cleaning up the mess from the night before.

  Hans could say nothing - it was true. He knew in his heart of hearts he was right. His father was undeniably, irrefutably right. And not only he knew it. He knew thousands of others were watching and waiting. And many would know, or could probably guess, what had just happened. And a very few would know why. A weakness. They would have recognized the weakness. This was an embarrassment not only to him, but his father, and to the entire organization.

  In a rare moment, he finally saw himself as others saw him. As those who knew him saw him. As a spoiled rich kid. As someone who was risking squandering all the work that those around him had so carefully crafted and supported all these years.

  Looking outside, he caught the ghost of his reflection in the glass. He wasn't proud of who he saw.

  Turning back, his father was still staring at him. Not in judgement, but with concern, and fear. Not for himself, and not just for him. For all of them.

  He looked down and away from his father, embarrassed. Not because of the girl, not because of the previous ones, or what happened after, but because of the weakness. It was true. He was now The One, the Guide, the Welcomer, perhaps the Proclaimer. His was the responsibility, the honor, the legacy. Almost disrupted by a girl. Silly, childish emotions. His father was right.

  He looked up, straight ahead, then slowly turned, and looked his father in the eye.

  "You're right," he said softly, looking down. He waited a moment, then again looked his father in the eye. "I AM the One. It is an honor. And that honor reflects on you and those who came before you. I have not respected it, or you, or those who have gone before.

  "I was wrong. But I tell you this - you will never again be embarrassed by me. You will never again fear my loss of control. It will never, never happen again. You're right - it is time. I feel it too.

  "I apologize, father, for this, and for the past. But it is done. You're right. It's time for me to move on. I am no longer a child. I am a man, and will act like one." He held his father's eye for another moment, then turned to look ahead down the now clear road.

  Gerhard looked back, and thought he saw something different in his son's eyes. Was it a determination? Was it purpose? Whatever it was, he saw that his eyes had hardened, matured. They were different, something was different. Perhaps, might it be that...

  During the ceremony, he had never really been convinced that the transfer had been complete, not as when he had received it from his father. All the steps had been followed, all had been done correctly and at the proper time, but...

  But now, he thought saw it. It was there. His son was ready. He had prepared him well, and his job was done.

  * * *

  He hoped.

  * * *

  Gerhard Richter turned and sat back in his seat. And smiled. Perhaps, now, finally, his son was actually ready.

  He certainly hoped and prayed it was so.

  * * *

  The dark blue sedan was cruising north on Hwy 251. He knew he was getting closer. He also had access to some of fastest computers available, and had a team who ate and slept with them. His latest attempt was bearing fruit - after so many years, this may be it. It had better be - he thought, time was running out. If he didn't find them, find HIM, there would be Hell to pay.

  Literally.

  Chapter 18

  A Visitor

  "I am here to see the King."

  The soldiers at the gate stared at the old, bent-over, toothless man leaning on a cane as bent and broken as he was and broke into laughter. The Sargent of the Guard at the gate came back to the entrance to see what the laughter was all about.

  "I am here to see the King," he repeated, not the least put off by the laughter.

  The closest guard, with a wide, sweeping motion, removed his helmet and bent at the waist.

  "And good sir, from what far-off country shall I say you are the emissary? Bearing gifts of great value, I see." The laughter continued. The Sargent smiled - let the guards have their fun. It always seemed to happen when the king and his army returned from another engagement - all the lunatics showed up. Some with advice on how to win the war, others with omens from God, a few offering daughters for a dowry - they were all here.

  "I am here to see the King," again, with no change in voice or delivery.

  "Move on, old man - we tire of you," replied the guard having delivered the grand welcoming gesture, and replacing his helmet. "Enough." He reached forward to give the old man a shove and-

  As the Sargent watched, the cane snaked out, hooked the guards leg, and he was tossed up and onto his back. In the same motion, he stepped forward on his left foot, turning right, swinging the cane, catching the second guard directly in the face. The helmet protected him, but the impact flipped him also onto his back, almost directly alongside the first. As the second was still falling, the old man grabbed the guard's sword and sliding it from its sheath, clearing it as he hit the ground. Pivoting, the old man placed the sword tip against the throat of the remaining guard.

  "I am here to see the King," once more, in the same tone as the first, as if nothing had happened.

  The Sargent was impressed, but dared not say anything. His men were embarrassed enough. He needed to end this, and quickly. He leaned over the short wall of the platform just above the guards and called out, "You there, old man!"

  The man looked up and said simply, again, "I am here to see the King".

  The Sargent drew his sword, and called out to other guards in the area, and all came running, quickly surrounding the man and his embarrassed victim, currently standing on tip-toe to keep the tip of the sword from penetrating under his jaw. The two downed guards got on their feet, and quickly back-pedaled to clear the area.

  "Old man, you are amusing, and have certainly put roses in the cheeks of these guards, but you will put that sword down now, and surrender yourself."

  The old man complied. As soon as the sword was surrendered, he was quickly and roughly bound at the wrist. The Sargent noted the initial guards got a few blows in during the process. Too bad. The old man shouldn't be wandering around here. After a few hours inside, he probably wouldn't be wandering back.

  The old man looked at the Sargent. "In my cloak I have a letter for the King. His eyes only. Be it known that if you or any other look at it before him, you will forfeit your lives. Not by me, but by him."

  They all laughed, and the second guard, having now retrieved his sword, reached inside the old man's heavy cloth topshirt. Sure enough, there was a letter, sealed with wax, though most of the wax had cracked and fallen off during the tussle. The letter looked old and worn - it was surprising that any of the wax had maintained at all. The document was handed to the Sargent. "Remember," warned the old man, "for the sake of your wife, your daughter, and your son."

  "Old man, nice try, but you have not studied enough - every man here knows my wife, and knows my daughter, and each knows I have not yet a son. You speak again out of ignorance, and have given yourself away. Silence yourself now before worse befalls you."

  Smiling, the old man replied, "Your wife i
s with child, your son. Now, to the King!"

  The Sargent paused, stared at the man. His wife had told him this very morning that she thought, she might...but, how....?

  "Who are you, old man? Speak quickly - you are raising my wrath!"

  "As you say, I am but an old man; here simply to deliver a letter. But," and he looked sharply again at the Sargent, "Beware my warning, or your wife will be raising two children begging."

  One of the guards drew his sword, yelling "You'll not insult my Sargent," and went to run him through.

  "STOP!" The Sargent raised his hand- stretching it out between the old man and the young shamed soldier looking to redeem himself with some of the insolent man's blood.

  "We'll soon see what this is all about. When I return, I will take great enjoyment with you." He looked into the old man's eyes. "Perhaps we will look inside YOUR belly for my son, and keep digging until we find him!" He nodded to the guard. "Hold him here."

  The Sargent took the letter and went inside the gate. The wax seal was broken, and parts were missing, but the letter was still sealed. Perhaps he should take a quick look before presenting it to the King. He did not want to look like a fool, bringing, perhaps, a child's cartoon or a senile man's rambling to the king. However, it seemed there was just…there was something...just maybe something....he didn't want to take a chance with - who was this old man, anyway?

  At the entrance to the throne room, he was met by the Commander of the Guard. He told the story, and the threats, explaining the warning, but not his concern, lest he appear frightened of the old man.

  "Give me the letter", said the Commander. "I will see if it should go to the King".

  The Sargent repeated the warning.