“The attack plan, yeah.” Gatsby conceded. “But what about everything that comes after?” Gatsby walked over to a table covered with papers and started shuffling through them. “If we topple Invictus and don’t have a plan to put in place once he’s gone, this will all be for nothing. Now, I have a list of slogans we could use to let the world know that we’re a free city once again.”
“Slogans?” Fahrenheit chuckled. “Are you serious with this?”
“Yes,” he said, and began to read some of the ideas. “Niagara’s Back! The Falls Have Risen! What Went Down Has Now Come Up!”
“Those are terrible, man.” Fahrenheit said.
“They are pretty bad,” Pride agreed.
“I thought the last one was pretty clever,” Gatsby said. “It’s an idiom. But, like a flipped idiom.”
“You’re an idiot,” Pride said.
“It’s idiom,” Gatsby explained slowly.
“It’s stupid is what it is,” Fahrenheit replied.
“Well maybe instead of pissing all over my ideas, you’d like to contribute some of your own.” Gatsby didn’t take criticism well. He didn’t really do anything well. The kid wondered how he had even become the head of the council.
“I don’t know,” Fahrenheit mulled. “How about, ‘Niagara Falls. Free again.’”
“Actually, that’s pretty good,” Gatsby admitted. “It’s not that poetic but straight to the point may be what we need. I’m going to submit it for consideration.”
“This is a waste of time,” Pride said and started rifling through the paper herself. “Flags. Uniforms. Are these lyrics to an anthem?”
“Yeah, Rise Up Niagara Falls. It’s an id—“
“Shut up,” she said, and slammed the papers on the table. “None of this matters if we don’t rise up and take the bastard down.”
“Hey, Oliver.” It was Fahrenheit that saw him first. The man walked over and tussled the boy’s hair.
Oliver hated that. It was condescending. Just like his codename. Which he didn’t get to pick. He had wanted to be Harry Potter. But they said there was already a Harry Potter in the Resistance and it would only lead to confusion. “There’s another kid in the Resistance?” he had asked.
“No, Harry’s like 40 or something,” they had explained.
“You’d think he would pick something different then.”
They shrugged and told him it was the only book Harry had ever read. So that guy got to be Harry and he had to be Oliver. Like the damn orphan. And they tussled his hair. And he hated how they treated him like a kid. Sure, he was a kid, but he was a part of the Resistance, too. He should at least get to pick his own name. But, as much as he hated the tussling and his name, he liked Fahrenheit well enough. “Hey, F.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to Pride. Do you think it will be much longer before she puts Gatsby in his place and he just gets mad and gives up?”
Fahrenheit checked his wrist for a watch that didn’t exist. “It shouldn’t be much longer now.”
And it wasn’t.
“We need to do something!” Pride pounded the table with her fist.
Gatsby countered by mocking her fist smash. “We are doing something!”
“Keeping your piss in glass jars isn’t what I’d call doing something,” Pride snapped.
“That’s because you’re forgetting that I know how these things work. I marched with the Resistance for eight years. We stood up to tyranny then and that’s what I’m doing now.”
“Why do you keep your pee in jars?” Oliver asked.
Gatsby noticed Oliver and looked annoyed at the interruption, but he answered anyway. “So you can throw it on fascists.”
“Why? Does it hurt them?”
“No, it doesn’t hurt them,” Gatsby mocked. “It’s because it’s gross.”
“Does that make them stop being mean?”
“What? Of course not, Oliver!” Gatsby shouted. “If I threw pee on you would you still like me?”
“I don’t like you now,” Oliver said.
Gatsby swore under his breath and then addressed the room. “Look, the piss, the slogans, these are all proven tactics, okay? If only we still had hashtags, that would be something.”
“What are hashtags?” asked the boy. “Will they stop people from being mean?”
Gatsby threw up his hands in frustration and turned away from the discussion. Pride did her best to hide a smile and waved the boy over. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”
Even coming from her, he hated the sound of his nickname and it made him wince. She caught the wince.
“Is something wrong, Oliver?”
“No.” He wasn’t normally shy. Shy went hungry in Alasis. But around her, he often found it difficult to find his voice. He was only ten but he wasn’t blind. She was beautiful. “It’s just that…I don’t really like my codename.”
“What’s his problem now?” Gatsby asked as he got over his tantrum.
“He doesn’t like his codename,” Pride said.
“So?” Gatsby asked. “Who cares?”
“Easy for you to say,” Oliver snapped. “You picked your own.”
“So what? I picked yours, too. What are you complaining about?”
“Don’t you think naming an actual orphan after a Dickensian stereotype is a tad cruel?” Oliver asked.
“Quit trying to sound so smart,” Gatsby said. “We all get our names from books. So, I’m sorry I couldn’t name you Autobot or something. When you grow up and read a book, maybe then we’ll talk about you choosing a name. Until then you’re the adorable little orphan, just like in that movie with the cat. What do you think about that, Oliver?”
“I think you’re an ass,” the boy said.
“Oh, what the hell do you know? You’re just a kid.”
Oliver took a deep breath and said, “Whenever you feel like criticizing someone, just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Gatsby asked.
“He’s quoting the book, genius,” Pride said.
“What book?” Gatsby asked.
“The Great Gatsby, Gatsby,” Fahrenheit said.
“Oh,” Gatsby waved it off. “I never read it.”
“Then why did you pick the name?” Pride asked.
“He was the hot guy. All the chicks wanted him. Because he was a magician or something.”
Fahrenheit laughed. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Gatsby shrugged. “What?”
“He wasn’t a magician,” Fahrenheit said.
“Oh no? Then why did they call him The GREAT Gatsby, smart guy?”
Fahrenheit doubled over laughing. “You are some kind of stupid, man.”
Gatsby rushed across the room to argue closer and Oliver was left alone with Pride. She knelt down and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. That made his knees weak. “You didn’t come all the way down here because of your name. What is it?”
Oliver looked around and decided to whisper the answer for effect. “He’s here.”
Intrigued, she leaned in closer, and that was a point for Oliver.
“Who’s here?” she asked quietly.
“The Librarian.”
“The Librarian?” she asked loud enough for everyone to hear. “Where did you see him?”
This brought Gatsby back into the conversation. “What’s he talking about?”
“Over at Charlie’s Arm. He was talking to Liv like they knew each other.”
“I don’t think it was him, Oliver,” Pride said with a degree of sadness in her voice. Most of it was intended to comfort him.
“You don’t think it was who?” Gatsby asked.
“The Librarian,” Oliver insisted. “I saw him at Charlie’s.”
“The Librarian? You’ve got some imagination, kid.” Gatsby laughed then grew even more condescending. “I know, why don’t you put that imagin
ation to good use and imagine us up some lunch?”
“But it’s really him,” Oliver insisted. “I heard them talking.”
“Another Librarian?” Gatsby put his face in his hand. “That’s just great. I don’t need this right now.”
“What does he mean, ‘another one?’” Oliver asked.
“We’ve had a lot of people claiming to be the Librarian.” Pride explained. “But it’s never been the real one.”
“That’s because there isn’t a real one,” Gatsby said. “Now where’s that lunch?”
The boy looked at Pride. “What’s he talking about?”
“He’s a myth, kid,” Gatsby said.
“You don’t know that.” Fahrenheit made the argument but didn’t sound convinced.
“Oh, please. He’s a boogeyman dreamt up by Invictus and you know it. The Librarian is just his excuse to have his forces constantly shaking us down without looking like a complete Nazi.”
“If he’s not real, why did you name the Resistance after him?” the kid asked. “Why do you tell people he’s going to come one day and save us? Why are you lying to everyone?!”
“We’re not lying,” Gatsby said. “We’re using him as a symbol, just like Invictus does, but we’re doing it for good. And the more Invictus paints him as an enemy of Alasis, the bigger a hero he becomes for us. People need a symbol, kid. They need something to believe in, even if that something is complete bullshit.”
“He’s real,” Oliver said. “And I saw him at Charlie’s Arm. He’s here to save us all.”
Gatsby laughed and turned to Fahrenheit. “Great job on the propaganda, Fahr. It looks like your stories are really sinking in.”
“He’s real,” Oliver repeated.
“Listen to yourself, kid,” Gatsby said. “You can’t really believe it. Even if the Librarian was real you can’t possibly swallow all the stories about him.”
“Of course I can.”
“You believe that one man fought off a whole city of plant creatures all by himself?”
“He wasn’t by himself. He had three bears helping him.”
Gatsby laughed. “Right, I forgot about the bears. That was a nice touch, Fahr.”
“I just published what I heard,” Fahrenheit said.
“Okay, kid. So was he a bear-training plant fighter or a knight in a magic kingdom? Or a fighter of crocodile-man monsters? Or the leader of countless rebellions? Or rescuer of lost children?”
It did sound difficult to believe. But, even if he was wrong, Oliver wasn’t about to let Gatsby be right. “He could be all those things.”
“Oh,” Gatsby laid the sarcasm on thick. “Of course he could be all of those things. I don’t know why I doubted it. How could I be such an idiot?”
“I don’t know,” Oliver spat back at him. “Practice?”
Pride didn’t even try to hide her smile this time and Fahrenheit laughed out loud.
Gatsby’s expression turned from mockery to anger. “Listen, you little shit. I suggest you get out of here before—“
“Gatsby,” Fahrenheit interrupted. “You’re threatening a kid, man.”
“So?”
“So, it makes you look like an asshole,” Fahrenheit explained slowly, with extra emphasis on “asshole.” It was the slowest and most drawn-out of all the words.
Gatsby huffed. “Fine. I’ll lay it out simple then. Even if the Librarian is real, it doesn’t make a bit of difference for three reasons. One, no one could pull off the things they say he did. Two, no one would be a big enough idiot to get messed up in that much stuff to begin with. And, three, no one would be dumb enough to come here and help us. We’re on our own. This is all up to us.”
“But—“
“No but, kid. I’m done with this. Pride, get him out of here.”
Pride led Oliver back through the crappy door into the hallway. There she lowered her voice. “Don’t pay any attention to him.”
Oliver wanted to say he didn’t, but it still hurt to be called a liar. “Do you think the Librarian is real?”
“I do,” she said in a sweet tone that didn’t sound nearly as condescending as it was. “I think the Librarian is real. And I think he’s coming to help us.”
“But, Gatsby.”
“Gatsby has a hard time seeing past himself,” she said. “He can’t imagine a man capable of such great things because he’s not capable of them himself.”
“I think it’s him, Pride. I really think it’s the Librarian.”
“I know you do. And I hope you’re right.”
“So what do we do now?”
She thought for a moment and said, “Why don’t you head home and get some rest. I’ll check it out when we’re done here.”
“Yeah, gotta get that slogan just right.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know, right? Gatsby seems to think leading people is more about symbols and chants and uniforms than actually leading. I can guarantee that’s not what Invictus does all day.”
6
Being a tyrant wasn’t all beheadings and big speeches. Terrifying the people and keeping the underlings in line was certainly part of it, but an empire did not run on grand gestures alone. It took subtlety to pacify a populace. And getting the tiny details just right could go a long way in preventing an uprising. The right color cape could make his Legionaries more intimidating. A proper phrase could reassure his citizens that he had their best interests at heart. Even when he really didn’t. The proper festival or performance could quell unrest much like the circuses of old.
These decisions were an important part of ruling. But that didn’t mean they weren’t boring. He had zoned out more than a few times already.
“…and that’s the grand finale!” the young woman said.
A silence followed. The silence was the only thing that made him realize the presentation was over. He had drifted and now realized that the whole room was staring at him, waiting for his response.
He didn’t stammer. He remained silent. These idiots would think he was lost in deep thought and not desperately trying to remember what they were talking about in the first place. Not enough people appreciated the power of a good long pause, and that was to his advantage.
Just after it caused panic but a moment before it became terrifying, he filled the silence. “That all sounds fine.”
The young woman and her associate let out such sighs of relief that one would think they had been pardoned. And they may have; he couldn’t remember what he’d threatened this particular pair with at this point. He had someone else to remember those things for him. Either way, the world had been lifted from their shoulders and they smiled broadly. The woman clapped once and said, “Wonderful. When people watch this race they won’t have a worry in the world.”
The race. Of course they were talking about the Niagara Regatta. He knew if he waited long enough it would come to him. They had held the event for several years now and it proved to be a popular distraction for the people of Niagara Falls. They spent weeks building rafts and boats in hopes of winning the grand prize. Which was food, or something. Maybe clothes. He couldn’t remember. Races such as this usually occurred in the warmer months, but he insisted they hold it as winter loomed since he thought it was funnier when people fell in. Plus, people got restless this time of year. The citizens of Alasis, not to mention their extended empire, were getting irritable. This distraction was exactly what they needed. People would come from all over his empire to see it.
“And what do you think of the name?” The woman’s associate asked.
Ah, dammit. He had missed that too. “Say it again.”
The assistant put on his best scary voice. “Niagara Regatta 7: Revenge of the Falls.”
“Yes. I like it even better the second time I hear it.” He didn’t really care one way or the other. Invictus waved the pair out of the room. “Make it happen.”
The couple quickly gathered their presentation materials and rushed from the room full of excitement and
an energy that can only come from not being summarily executed. It was how most people left Invictus’s presence.
They passed through the door and another man strode in full of confidence. He wore a big grin on his face and kept it there while he set up an easel with several presentation boards. He took a deep breath, pointed a finger at Invictus and said, “You’re human garbage.”
Invictus shot him.
The Praetor stepped next to Invictus’s throne and waved at two guards to dispose of the body.
“Who the hell was that?” Invictus asked.
“Your head of sanitation, Great Lord Invictus. I believe he was here to present the new cleanliness campaign.”
“Oh,” Invictus set the gun down. “So that was his opening?”
“I believe so. I think he was going for a shame tactic to get people to dispose of their trash properly.”
“Oh,” Invictus watched them drag the body from his courtroom. “That’s not bad, actually. I think shame is a great motivator.”
The Praetor stepped across the room to the easel and turned the first presentation board around. It read, “You’re human garbage…if you don’t toss your trash.”
“I like it.”
The Praetor thumbed through the other boards. He stopped about halfway through the stack. “Oh this is cute.”
“What’s cute?” Invictus asked.
“Yeah, he had a cute little raccoon mascot and everything.” The Praetor turned the board to reveal a cartoon raccoon named the Trash Panda. The critter was pointing an accusatory finger at the viewer under a caption bubble containing the slogan. “It looks like that was the little guy’s catchphrase.”
Invictus nodded his approval. “A judgmental critter. I like it. Approve it.”
“Feel bad for shooting him?” the Praetor asked.
“Meh.” Invictus shrugged. “The only thing I’m feeling right now is boredom. I’m bored. I tire of these trivial meetings.”
The Praetor pointed to the body as it was hurled out the window of the tower. “I’m sure he would tell you that sanitation isn’t trivial. If you hadn’t shot him dead.”
Revenge of the Apocalypse Page 5
