“Eminent domain?” echoed Polk.
Cthulhu nodded excitedly. “YES. EMINENT DOMAIN. I SHALL HAVE THIS PROPERTY BECAUSE MY SERVANTS SHALL TAKE THE LAND AND GIVE IT TO ME.”
“How,” asked Polk, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice, “are you going to justify taking my property?”
“I WILL USE LOCAL WORKERS TO BUILD MY SKULL OF THRONES. MY CULT HAS PURCHASED THE USE OF MANY A POLITICIAN. THEY WILL GIVE ME THE LAND SO THEIR SERFS CAN WORK.”
“First, politicians don’t refer to the voters as serfs. It would be bad form,” declared Buchanan. “Second, there’s no government benefit in taking from me, my land, and giving it to another private entity. No benefit, no rational basis for that governmental taking,”
“HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD OF KELO V. NEW LONDON?” Cthulhu asked, his voice oozing with smugness.
“Touche,” Polk said after a brief pause. “But it still wouldn’t work. They couldn’t actually justify the cost to their constituents since religious property is tax exempt.”
Cable saw Cthulhu shake its head. Orkney would not claim any special insight into the creature or its mind, but he did recognize the being’s posture. Every person on the losing end of Buchanan Polk had the same bearing. Cable had stood the same way any number of times. It almost made him feel sorry for the creature. Almost.
On the shore, the Ancient Evil was still trying to argue its point. “IT WOULD BE A JOB CREATION PROGRAM. LIKE DIGGING DITCHES WITH SPOONS. SO MANY JOBS WOULD BE CREATED, THE VOTERS WILL APPROVE.”
Cthulhu preened like a peacock. Buchanan nodded absently and then said, “There’s another small problem with that plan.”
Cthulhu looked as skeptical as a tentacled face could. “OH?”
“It’s the skulls. That means people would have to die. That’s not going to go over well.”
“WHY NOT? WE CAN SELL IT AS A WAY TO REDUCE THE WELFARE ROLLS BY CUTTING WASTE, FRAUD, AND ABUSE.”
“Oh, you’re good,” conceded the businessman. “You could do that. But, killing people would necessitate killing the elected officials’ constituents. Sure, politicos will lie to the people, but they generally draw the line at killing the people who vote for them. It’s known as the law of diminishing returns.”
Cthulhu didn’t say anything for a long moment before finally saying, “WELL, CRAP.”
Polk shrugged. “Them’s the breaks.”
“BUT THE PROPHECIES SAID I WAS TO BUILD MY THRONE HERE.”
“Oh, don’t feel too bad. After all, a delusion has no rights, especially when it’s claiming property by means of prophecy.”
“DELUSION?” Cthulhu thundered. “I AM A GOD.”
“I understood you were the dream of a dead god.”
Cthulhu shifted uneasily. “WELL, MY FORMER CORPOREAL BODY HAS CEASED TO BE. ONLY THE DREAM OF WHAT I ONCE WAS AND WILL BE AGAIN EXISTS.”
“So to review,” Polk said, ticking the points off on his fingers, “You are a hallucination emanating from a deity bereft of life, claiming title to land you don’t own because of an antediluvian augury?”
One of Cthulhu’s massive arms rose and began to scratch behind its head. “WELL, I ADMIT IT DOES SOUND A LITTLE UNUSUAL WHEN YOU PUT IT LIKE THAT.”
Even being so far away, Cable could tell Cthulhu knew it was beat. The shoulders were sagging and the face had a hang-dog look, or at least as hang-dog as a squid-shaped head can look. “Game, set, match,” he said.
Andrew looked up from searching online from Polk’s computer for a new smartphone. “Whatits?”
“You’ll be getting a call from your boss soon,” Orkney said as he watched the creature turn and begin stalking out to sea.
Buchanan Polk also watched Cthulhu until the creature had completely disappeared from view. He rolled his eyes in disbelief. “It takes all types,” he muttered, reaching for his phone and calling Andrew Adams.
After the second ring, his Vice-President answered, “Yes, sir?”
“Where are you?”
“Still in your office, waiting for you.”
“Is Orkney with you?”
“Yes he is.”
“Then put me on speaker.”
There was a long pause and then it sounded like someone had put his hand over the phone’s microphone as he spoke. After another brief delay, Polk heard Orkney. “It’s Cable, sir. Mr. Adams’ phone lacks a speaker. Apparently they were not in 1996’s top-of-the-line phones.”
Buchanan took the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Replacing the phone, he reminded himself, “All types.” To Cable, he said, “I want the workers on the job first thing tomorrow. ”
“Yes sir. Still at twice the prevailing?”
The laugh from Polk’s end was short, cold and dry. “No. First thing tomorrow or they’ll wish Cthulhu remained.”
Cable shook his head as his shoulders sagged. “First thing tomorrow.”
“Good. Put Adams back on the phone.”
There was another brief pause as the phone was passed. Then Polk heard his Vice President say, “Yes?”
“Everything is back on track.”
Andrew asked, “What about the angry god?”
“He was nothing. I’ve had harder arguments with anti-GMO nutjobs. At least Cthulhu was open to reason.”
“Where is it now?”
“Left for greener pastures.”
“Where?”
Polk turned and looked at the ocean. “Well, if it keeps walking in a straight path, I’m thinking Portugal. I don’t care. It’s not my problem anymore,” he answered and ended the call.
Adams slowly put away his phone. He didn’t see Orkney storm out muttering. Adams just sat back in the chair and put his arms behind his head. A smile started to cross his face. He had been right. He had finally been right. He wasn’t crazy after all. Andrew absently stroked his chin. “I wonder,” he said to the empty office. “I wonder if I should tell him about the pixies in the HVAC?”
About W.J. Hayes
W.J. Hayes is an attorney, originally from the Boston area currently living in the New York City area with his wife and daughter. He (semi)-regularly blogs about politics (and other ephemeral topics) and randomly comments about the universe on Twitter.
@WJHayesJr
fermentingpolitics.wordpress.com
Freedom's Light: Short Stories Page 23
