Post Script Analysis: Hasta Luego
July 25, 2024
10:09 A.m.
My office, Icy Sherries Publishing Division Building, Portland
“Their own pearl of great price, a peace worth even more than the lives they worked so hard to live. For as much as a man is worth, it’s true value is not measure in how much he does for himself… but how much he does for another person?!?!?
“Boss… this is the most corny, vomit inducing luvy duvy crap that I’ve been forced to read since Twilight. Are you freaking kidding me?”
I am sitting with the one eyed man himself in the storage room that has been turned into my own personal office, having adorned it and upgraded the room slightly since the publication of The Ryloth Rebirth. While that simply meant my internet didn’t go out every five minutes and I now had security cameras to oversee the other projects I had been assigned too, I don’t think I was given anything that actually made my life easier.
So reading what was effectively one’s confession of love to another, something I didn’t tolerate on a good day, was not particularly enjoyable. I was already on edge; this was simply pushing me further.
“The rest is good though… right?”
“The rest would be great if we get rid of Padma. She doesn’t do anything besides serve as a distraction from the plot… and explain a bit more about who you are. Couldn’t you just make up a scene where you tell all of this to Fabio though? Not like the audience would be able to know when you’re telling the truth and when you’re not.”
Jack, dressed in a flannel shirt with the sleves rolled up for once, scratched his beard as he yawned and shook his head. “The principle is to record the truth as is… how it’s presented is the matter. We’re keeping the romance in, even though you seem to detest it Mr. Johnson… Unless you feel like deleting it and writing another ten or fifteen thousand words.”
“Nope! Nope nope nope!” I replied, my eyes growing wide as I did my best to deter the mad man from that terrible idea. “We are nearly at the goal of 70,000 by this point. I will take romance over an extra week’s worth of work.”
“Good. Then how about-”
My laptop buzzed, a Red light glowing from its camera as I raised a hand forced the visitor to cease midsentence. “Sorry, but I’m stuck overseeing the training of Sherry’s so called Reality Regulators. Only one of the fifteen or so people she has so far know how to fire a gun; I’m keeping them in the shooting gallery until they can hit the target at least half the time.”
“That’ll take a while.”
“Six hours by my estimate… could you wait one second?”
Tapping the speaker button, Sherry’s lovely squad of the smart, slim and overall incompetent looked up to the camera that was their overseer as I announced
“I have good news and bad news. The good news is that Cynthia Fredrickson has once again placed herself on the top of the leaderboard… with a whopping thirty two percent accuracy. While that means you could hit the broadside of a bar, less than one in three does not bode well for your future survival.
“On the flipside, Perry Degum has shown a impressive jump to ninety eight percent… that would have been commended, if she hadn’t cheated and used her built in dancer targeting system. The next joker who tries to cheat and break the system is going cause the whole squad to do one hundred pushups. Do you hear me?”
I was greeted by several middle fingers and tongues, the trapped victims locked out and unable to escape the torture room until I said so, though I could care less. I was in charge of training only; once they were in the field, I would have nothing to do with them and their violent antics.
Perks of being an author. You only write about wars, not fight in them unless your name is Frank West.
“Thank you for your attention. Please direct all complaints to the Ice Queen, Lady Sherry Sears. Have fun!”
I pulled my finger away and let the dorks get back to their shooting, my attention turned once more to Jack, the man having kept himself entertained by playing on his smart phone. Someone clearly loved the more advanced eras of timelines.
“Anyway, the rest is good. Love los latinos, love the hunt for Rodrigo, the violence was sufficient and the plot was simple enough. Not really any true plot twists outside of Voldemort, but that was enough of a distraction that I don’t think we’ll be marked down too much in the reviews.”
“Voldemort?”
“Volgin. Voldemort. Same difference.”
Jack snorted at that. “Just the fact that one couldn’t kill a baby… and the other has threatened the world with nuclear Armageddon repeatedly… and is responsible for the deaths of nearly everyone I’ve ever loved.”
“Well, until Volgin generates a body with a nose and the schmucks you call employees stop referring to him as he who shall not be named, they’re interchangeable for me.
“Now, besides that, anything else you want to address?”
The man, his glass eye rolling about, shifted in his spinning chair I may have robbed from a cubicle outside my closet office. “Normally I hear that you have a million complaints about the manuscripts you throw together… You’ve barely said a word outside of Padma… Any reason for that? You aren’t still intimidated by me… are you?”
“Of course I am, and anyone who hasn’t either has never read the bible for themselves or has no idea what you’ve done.” I began, taking a pen and writing out on a paper in front of him the names of various groups. The man followed along, simply reading until I finished, moving from the top down as I explained
“Here are the markets we go for. From the top; the YA audience, 18-30, our primary buyers.
“Your book is dumb enough that our readers aren’t going to get bored and will speed through it at the expense of not receiving a single award, while challenging just enough that I’m still going to get some OCD dude with way too much time on his hands sending me a email complaining about how I should have focused more on the Latin aspects, or the border conflict, or something else that you lightly touch upon without ever going deep enough into.
“Which is good and bad. Good in that we’ll get sales, bad in that I don’t doubt this is going to turn into another cluster of mixed reviews and angry emails to ruin my nonexistent vacation days. So we start moving to the problem sectors.”
Next up with a big circle around their titles, “Atheists and Religious readers. The former are going to be pist because of how much time we spend talking about god, while the latter is going to yell at me because not only am I considered a heretic for suggesting that god has parents, grandparents and a whole genealogy of ancestors that came before him, but that you, a man born into sin, would actually be the one to eventually give rise to the perfect omnipotent being everyone cares about.
“Which then begs doctrinal questions that flies in the face of everything that everyone in the world believes, save for maybe one or two religions that almost nobody cares about. So, alienate them.”
I was nowhere near being done though. “Now we get into politics! Republicans are going to call me a traitor because I suggest that if god were here, he’d help illegal immigrants cross the borders while Democrats will keep calling me a Right wing sympathizer given how the whole premise of the book is caused because of illegal immigration. Can they see that I’m trying to make a point that I want something in between? Nope!
“Because I’ll include this little conversation afterwards in the final draft and they still won’t accept that I’m anything other than the devil trying to teach what is contrary to their own belief.”
I could end there… but I do enjoy these little rants. “Then we just get into the specialty groups; old people think there’s too much action, young people will argue there’s not enough. Readers want it to be more like traditional novels, while those who indulge only in the biggest franchises want it to be more like their weekly dose of Marvel and DC, Star Wars and Star Trek, and whatever other property m
akes billions of dollars these days.”
“Mr. Johnson… is there a point to all of this?”
“There is, actually.” I answered, looking down to find a mess of scratches and streaks across a now unreadable, illegible paper. Crumpling it up and tossing it away, I leaned back into the chair that was far beyond my paygrade as I clasped my hands together in a mixture of authority and reverence.
“Your story is strange, odd, and a mixture of clichés and surprise. No denying that. Does it meld well… that’s debatable? It is, however, the story you wanted to tell, and I have done my part in presenting it in the best manner I could with the tools available at this time.
“I still argue it’d be better without the romance, but in the end the mark of whether a story is good or not is if it’s one the author is content with. You didn’t send me complaints when I sent you a draft, and I am more than happy with how it ended up beside a few minor asides.
“If anyone else likes it… well, that’s the financial and critical aspect. In terms of your duty to tell the tale though, our involvement is done; now it’s just the matter of waiting to see what the masses say.”
Jack was a soldier, not an author. All he could do is shrug, accepting for word for what it was worth as he yawned and slouched into his throne. Seems this wasn’t something he was prepared for; he wasn’t exactly sure what to say.
I threw him a bone that Max would have caught had he been here. Even a loyal mutt can’t outlive his lifespan.
“Anyway, that’s all I have to say. Take the usual turn around, editing, marketing, all of that… it’ll be a month before it’s published here, another two or so before it’s in the markets in all of the other timelines. Nothing to do but go on with your daily life… unless you’re looking to help around a little bit.”
“Depends… what kind of work do you need done?”
“Just to make sure these clowns stay alive.” I replied, motioning to the security feed displaying the wasted ammo and unbroken targets in the basement. “Assuming your skills haven’t degraded in the last twenty years or so, Sherry could use someone else that’s competent for the Regulators besides Akioo.”
“You just read how Roger and Richard wish to keep me out of the field.” Jack answered, already chomping at the bit as he perked up. Wouldn’t take a lot more to reel him in completely, just as his granddaughter had intended. Stealing a glance at my own camera, one mounted in the corner and watching me just as I monitored those below, I said for the sake of both the one eyed man and my boss
“Well, one assignment can’t hurt. Especially since it’s your fault we have to deal with it in the first place.”
Jack Wallace flashed an eyebrow, his mouth contorting into a frown as his bored demeanor became absolutely negative. If I wasn’t in the process of finishing his book, I might have even been a little scared.
“Explain.”
“That girl Bibiana? Well, she was supposed to be one of Oliver’s victims. Because you killed him early, she went on to live a long, wonderful life.
“Which sucks, because one of Volgin’s cronies managed to find her years later. You see…”
Epilogue: el camino al infierno
May 24, 2008
1:06 P.m.
La mecánica Baja, Los Angeles, California
Lots of things can change in seven years. Languages, customs, even the way people move and work will shift with every passing year, though predicting whether it shall be for better or worse is often as difficult as foreseeing the weather. Often, it’s simply somewhere in between; good and bad melting into varying shades of Gray.
Of course, that is a little detail that goes unnoticed by many, especially immortal vampires who treat ten years as little more than the briefest of segments in the long periods that they called their half-lives. Towards the start of the decade, she had done a lot; she joined Shadow Bastion, took the fight to the Robber Barons and all the other secret clans that tried to take over in their absence, and even met the infamous Adrian Vantel.
That ended in 2004 with the betrayal that nearly wiped out their entire race. Were there only fifty of them now? Twenty? All the now Green eyed FTM could think is that their era was over, their fun expired, with nothing to do but live out her life in peace or risk a poisonous bullet to the head.
So she watched telenovelas while her growing company worked. After a substantial investment from the MIA Constantine Moore, she had no more to do than simply boss around a few dozen employees in a garage that rivaled any Les Schwab she’d ever been to. In fact, just to outperform her competitor, she had gone so far as to invest in a three floor shop bought off of some millionaire who died in the cross fire of the wars past, besides pretty much buying out about half of the mechanics and garages in LA.
Did she need three floors? Nope. Yet if Bibiana had the time and money, no reason not to invest for the day when she had the need or business to make full use of the building. For now, she simply enjoyed watching television being projected onto the north wall from a lounge chair, catching up on the old twists and turns of Marimar. It may have simply followed the same standard plot of all the fellow series just like it, where the rich prideful man must overcome his ego to gain the love of the poor, beautiful damsel…
It was comforting nonetheless, giving the distraction and the peace that the vampire so sorely missed. At least until the knock came at her door, causing the woman to pause her DVD and yell
“Si no es algo importante, puede regresar en dos horas.”
“Señorita, voy a ser la persona mas importante que le encuentro en su vida.”
An unfamiliar tune, though one that sounded more English than Spanish. Making some remark to come in, the girl still stuck in overalls found herself underdressed as a tall, handsome and exquisitely dapper man came strutting into the private office, cane tapping against the tile as the suited gentleman straight out of a forgotten past made his way across the room. With a curly mustache that just seemed to testify to his villainy, the girl nonetheless found herself lost in his starry eyes, shining Purple with power as Bibiana found herself catching the scent of a friend long forgotten.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing. Approaching the lounge chair, the man took off his top hat and gave a graceful bow, revealing a set of trimmed yet combed Brown hair that covered pale skin that matched the moon, introducing himself as such “My dear Bibiana, allow me to make my acquaintance. I am Sir Stan Universe, a traveler and wandering vampire in need of your expertise… and likeminded kinship.”
“I would say mi nombre, but you already know it. Take a seat, hermano. You don’t have to put on a show for me.”
“No act to follow, my lady. Just a man giving the respect that a countess like you deserves. Not many of our kind left; we have to treat each other right, especially as our numbers continue to dwindle.”
So he certainly was a vampire, though Bibiana still thought that something about him was off as he extended a hand to shake. Though she took it graciously, she found his touch to be as light as a child, as if nervous to shake her paw… or as if it wasn’t as meaty as it appeared to be, causing her to almost wonder if he was hiding something beneath the dark suit or pristine, White gloves.
Yet, with so few vampires, it wouldn’t be wise to upset him and risk losing what could be a great friend. Never could have too many of those, especially in her life; though once plentiful, all of them had dropped like flies over the past few years until only she remained.
Now was a chance to start over, the girl making the intention clear as she threw her legs over her chair to better face the now sitting gentlemen. “So, hermano Stan, what brings an ancient one like you to LA? Here to check out las chicas? Eat a few tasty mortals?”
“Perhaps, though it wasn’t originally my intention.” The devilish individual replied, his long lean nose flaring up at the thought of his failure. “I was traveling across the plains of Egypt the other week to check in on one of my old students, only to fin
d nothing more than a tomb stone. As I inquired of his death, I was brought to the attention of another Vampire with a cursed V on his neck by the name of Oliver Cage. I came here to avenge my befallen student, only to learn that a certain Jack Wallace and Bibiana Garcia had already done my work for me.
“So, given the absence of so called Damned Boss, I thought I’d give his driver the thanks for me… and to inquire in his whereabouts, in case she were to know.”
“Sorry for you changeling, and sorry about Jack. No idea where he is.”
Mr. Universe seemed to deflate, but only for a moment. Perking back up, a rapturous smile coming forth once more, the gentleman vampire reached into his suit coat as he commented “Well, I thought as much. No such thing as luck anymore in these days… God has made sure of that.
“Yet, if it’s all the same, I wish to give you these two envelopes. One for you, one for Jack in case you ever see him.”
Envelops was understating their girth, for the two slips he took out seemed to be bursting at the seams. Thanking him as Bibiana took them, she set the one for the one eyed man to her side as she cut her own gift open, the smell of freshly retrieved money hitting her like the scent of blood to a shark or… well, you know.
That stench only became stronger as she took the bills out, finding clip after clip of hundred dollar bills as she tried to count them, holding so many that she quickly lost count.
“How much is this?”
“Oh, nothing much. Hundred grand or so; I just told my butler to throw together whatever I had lying around my jet.”
Bibana had counted past that within thirty seconds, her estimate coming much closer to nearly three hundred thousand by the time she began to drop the stacks of bills onto the floor. No doubt about his power or status, the money continuing to fall from the envelop and to her lap as it rained onto the floor; the White slip was just as enchanted as its owner, producing the impossible one after another as she finally found an end at half a million dollars.
More than she ever made under Shadow Bastion. Looking about at the sea of paper around her, she found her arms hugging herself as she bit her lip and looked at the kindly stranger. “Mr. Universe… this is too much. I wanted to kill Oliver; I shouldn’t be given this for doing something like that.”
“Nonsense.” The devil replied, scratching his chin as he prepared the next trap. “Men like Adrian and Jack get paid more for their bloodlust; why not share in their fruits? It’s not like he won’t get his just reward either; I have even more credit to give to him, the one who put the monster down.
“Yet, I suppose you’re right in that this is a lot of money for one simple killing… which is why I also come to you in hopes that some of your mechanical expertise that can help me finish a little project of mine.”
After this kind of cash flow? Bibiana could only dream of the rewards that came out of it. Still, moving ahead with a little bit of caution, knowing that not every Vampire was just as he seemed, she blew a whistle as she pulled her overalls tight, rolling her uncovered shoulders as she asked
“Well, depends on what you have.”
“Oh, it’s nothing much. Are you familiar with the Centurion combat system developed by The Robber Barons?”
“Of course. Worked on them all the time back in my days at Shadow Bastion before… you know.”
“Yes, before the desolation at the hands of her. Well, I too was a part of Shadow Bastion, working out in the field under Constantine’s orders as you fought the Barons with Adrian. Yet, before he disappeared in the ruins of Grand Boss’s base in the Atlantic Sea, I was entrusted with the plans to a weapons system that would surpass both the Centurion System and the Metal Tank units that the Barons deployed. Care to take a look with me?”
Given how much he knew, he had to be telling the truth… right?
“Sure. No hay dolor en pensamientos.”
“Estoy en acuerdo.” Sir Stan Universe replied, moving his hand as his eyes began to glow. A White light, similar to Jack’s own signature yet a tad less vibrant, enveloped his hand as the vampire summoned a blue print from the great beyond, filling the whole of his hand before the glow disappeared.
Satisfied, the man spread it out onto a side table holding Bibiana’s beer as Miss Garcia leaned in, gears already turning as she thought about how to make the suggested upgrades. It wouldn’t be too hard; the supplies were beyond her income, though she imagined this wealthy Vampire Lord probably could acquire them with nothing more than a simple phone call.
“Well, if you can bring me a long list of tools and materials that’ll run you about ten million… I could have this done in two, three weeks.”
“Really?” The devil asked, honestly surprised. “The last man I asked said it would take him years. Seems I was right in coming to you, my lady.”
“Yeah, well, I could make a basic suit of Centurion armor out of some copper wire, a garbage can, and a flip phone at this point. This is going to be much more complicated, but nothing I can’t handle… Centurion Mors Thanatos. Certainly had Constantine’s flavor in naming.
“It’s packing some serious heat though. You were right in saying it could take down a Metal Tank, no problem. Constantine ever mention what it was meant for.”
The Devil, with his victim clearly wrapped around his finger and caught now in the trap of her own curiosity, had no problem telling the truth that suited his purposes. With a bright smile, one that showed off a perfect set of teeth that only the morning star could have, the ruler of Hell leaned backwards as he looked into the distance, out the window and over the sea as he commented
“No, not much. Only that he needed it to kill a man named Volgin.”
The Worth of a Man, End
To be continued in other Adventures of
The Mercenary’s Salvation
Thank you for Reading! Rest, until we meet again!
En Passant
A Side tale
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