The Brotherhood #28

By Mark W. Meier

Part 28

Act IV

Windowed The Soul

“Human refuse, each and every one of them.”

-Ruax

Chapter One

Acoustical Tile

A ceiling or wall tile finishing material with an inherent property to absorb sound.

In the space between spaces a pair of beings met. They had no bodies, but material existence wasn’t possible in a place without matter.

The lesser of the two had been most recently known as Jeff Woods. The other hadn’t been called by name in hundreds of years. At that time he’d been known as Chamos.

Though sound didn’t exist, conversation – of sorts – could take place.

“That imbecile nearly ruined my plans.” Had Woods been corporeal, he’d have stomped in frustration. “He kept having that patsy’s equipment make noises.”

Chamos would have nodded, if he could manifest a body. “Nobody told Pop he was a part of a team. He was assigned merely to annoy your subject. ‘Never reveal to your underlings anything you don’t have to.’” The aphorism had been repeated so often it could be considered a rule.

Woods nearly ignited into flames. “Like telling me ahead of time an overgrown imp was supposedly helping me.”

A hint of humor came from Chamos. “Exactly. You had the authority to dismiss Pop at any moment. That you didn’t tells me what you’re capable of.”

“What did some poverty-stricken astrologer have to do with the overall plan?” Woods asked.

“‘Never reveal to your underlings anything you don’t have to.’”

***

Incrementalism is one of my favorite tools. I’ve used it for millennia, and it works nearly every time. You were a joy to use it on.

Most of my Brothers tried to be genteel, or at least fake it. You were a prime example of fakery, using your wealth and position as a bludgeon disguised as refined values.

The top floor of Grambic Tower held your office – and only your office. Ranked as the sixth tallest building in Savannah, Georgia, it actually should have been listed a bit lower. The construction only held twelve floors, but the spire reached to a little more than a hundred and fifty feet above ground level.

Can you say “compensating”? I knew you could.

Four blocks of tenement housing had been plowed under to make room for your Monument to Self. The city council overrode the planning department because of the tax base gained. That year benefited my Brothers in more ways than one.

You sat behind your massive polished snakewood desk and stared out your window. An expert at delegation, you had no duties other than to make sure others did their jobs. The inbox on your desk hadn’t seen a single page of paper in nearly a year, and your email inbox remained likewise empty – thanks to your very capable IT department filtering junk mail.

Across the thousand-square-foot room your executive assistant was nearly as idle. He’d been hired only to be the final gatekeeper. He controlled elevator access to your floor, read your correspondence, and screened your calls.

Day after day, week after week, your worldwide empire of acoustical tile manufacturing hummed along without need of your input. You didn’t draw a salary, but stock dividends alone pushed your income into eight figures. Owning nearly eighty percent of Grambic Tiles had its benefits.

And your life was empty.

You had no wife, no friends, and no willingness to socialize with the other members of your exclusive yachting club. Outside of household staff, the only people you saw on a daily basis were your assistant and your chauffeur. Both of them were so far beneath your economic stratum they didn’t even try to interact with you beyond the minimum for employment.

When Chamos assigned your fate to me I relished the challenge. You were so inaccessible to the outside world, your case wasn’t one for the lower levels of The Brotherhood. Certainly Pop wasn’t capable.

Nor, for that matter, was Woods.

The nineteenth century mahogany grandfather clock on the northwestern wall chimed 5:00, and you turned away from the floor-to-ceiling ballistic armored windows. “That finishes another Friday, Victor.”

Your assistant’s desk faced yours from the opposite corner of the room. He turned a control on his desk and the windows fogged. Another dial and half of the overhead LED lights switched off; the other half dimmed to one-third brightness. “Yes, Mr. Grambic.”

“Is my car ready?” Your Allen Edmonds clacked on the Katalox wood floor as you made your way around a small conference table in the middle of the room. Over the years the dark brown flooring had deepened to a near black.

“Schwartz is waiting in the garage, sir.”

Victor Howe had called the elevator five minutes earlier. The software in the controls defaulted to “express” when the destination or originating position was the top floor. You wouldn’t have to speak with anyone on your way to the basement parking area. Certainly Howe wouldn’t be sharing a ride with you.

I would be there, but I wouldn’t be speaking with you.

Not yet.

If you appreciate this story, please consider supporting the author's ability to write more stories by purchasing The Brotherhood, available in print and on Kindle. Please share on social media, and leave a review on the page linked above.

Tractors for Sale 2

Olburq squinted his suspicion and didn’t reach for the credit chip. “Whatcha want from me?”

Carnifor stepped in with the explanation. “We have a full load of farming equipment, from simple tractors to flexiblecrop harvesters.”

Olburq eyed the bribe, but still refrained from taking it. “That’s a lot of machinery, and won’t be doing us no good. We don’t have enough tillable land.”

Lannetay put the payment back into its hidden pocket. “We have a solution for that, too.” She turned to face Carnifor.

“We have a colonization kit.” Carnifor’s words were chosen with utmost care. Olburq hadn’t given much clue as to his thoughts about the Wantis taking over. The former administrator could be “all-in” for the new system. “We might be convinced to deploy that package, if the price is worth the effort.”

Olburq’s eyes widened, his interest nearly screaming. “Might be worth hearin’ more. Can you come back in an hour?”

Lannetay crossed her arms. “We’ll be charged another thousand credits if we stay on the surface that long.”

Olburq focused on the holo hovering above the desk. Displays flashed past too quickly to follow, then settled on the spaceport’s landing schedule. A number changed. “There. Now you can stay for hours. The timer showing how long you been here only counts one second for every four.” He smiled openly at Lannetay. “By the way, you just landed.”

Lannetay and Carnifor leaned in to get a better look at the display. The twenty-six minutes since they’d been cleared by customs had vanished.

“Thank you.” Lannetay uncrossed her arms and produced the fifty credits again. When she held it out, Olburq took it. “Nice doing business with you. We’ll be back here in one hour.”

Olburq had already switched his attention to the colony’s Core. He gave a perfunctory wave as the two turned away.

Outside the factory Carnifor asked, “What do you suppose a colony like this has to offer a traveler?”

“Not much.” Lannetay was still uneasy about the lack of people. “We could wander from dome to dome to check things out. Maybe find out where Mr. Nasal works.”

Carnifor scrunched up his face and imitated the customs official who’d made them wait so long. “Do you really want to know where I work? I can show you if you’ll pay five hundred credits.”

Lannetay laughed as they walked along with no specific destination. The two meandered, chatting aimlessly while they surreptitiously peered through ground-floor windows. Eventually they circumnavigated the colony’s main dome.

“This dome somehow seems even more deserted than when we arrived.” Carnifor pointed at three separate dormitories. “Each of those could hold hundreds of people. Bill told me Olmin Colony has five thousand residents, and everyone is packed into the other domes?”

Lannetay pondered. “It does seem unlikely.”

“I wonder why that is.” Carnifor peered in the direction of another dome.

“Let’s see what the next one has to offer.” Lannetay pointed toward an airlock. One hatch opened into the lock, three hatches lead to passages connecting with other domes.

Lannetay looked through the transparent material at the next domes. After studying them she couldn’t see any difference between them.

“What do you think?” Lannetay gestured. “Left, right, or middle?” Maybe another habitat could give them some idea as to why this one was so deserted.

Carnifor paused to consider. “Do you have any preference?”

“You pick.” Lannetay crossed her arms and gave a friendly smirk. Any of the choices would be okay with her. Part of being a good leader, though, involved letting others have their say – or at least the semblance of making decisions. She’d heard the same about raising children.

“Okay. Left.” Carnifor pressed the control to open the lock.

The colony’s Core intoned, “Authorized personnel only. To obtain authorization, contact the colony administrator, Shelle DoMinn.”

Carnifor frowned. “Who is Shelle DoMinn?”

The Core’s bland voice replied, “Shelle DoMinn is the administrator of all seven colonies on Rubineker. He also serves the Confederation of Wrantiban as the customs agent, chief of law enforcement, and planetary treasurer.”

“I’m surprised the Core responded.” Lannetay checked the time. “It’s only been seventy minutes. Even if we take our time going back, we’ll be twenty minutes early.”

“Then we’ll be early.” Carnifor turned back toward the main factory.

“We might have to sit and wait.”

“Then we’ll wait.” Carnifor lengthened his stride.

Lannetay managed to get a half-step ahead of Carnifor and stayed there. By the time they arrived at the factory’s main entrance, she heard Carnifor puffing for breath. She pulled open the swinging door. “After you.”

Carnifor gave a tight smile and walked inside. Olburq sat behind the desk beside a woman in drab clothing, though not stained like Olburq’s. The two looked up in surprise.

“You’re early.” Olburq stood, mostly hiding the woman from view. “I said an hour – a full one-hundred minutes – and I meant it.”

Lannetay fought a frown. “If you’ll provide us chairs, we’ll wait outside.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The woman stepped from behind Olburq and extended a hand. “I’m Grenwel Pop, former administrator of Pop Colony.”

Olburq was still obviously annoyed. “They do the farming for Rubineker. Those domes are ten klicks south of us.”

Lannetay took Pop’s manicured hand. “You don’t do much farming yourself, do you?”

Pop’s eyes twinkled. “It’s been a long time, I admit. We had a pretty good system here until the Wantis showed up. Can we work your bargain around that difficulty?”

Lannetay wasn’t about to let Olburq’s scowl worry her. “I think it can be managed, but I’m surprised you could get here at all. When Carnifor and I tried to go to another dome, your Core told us we weren’t authorized to do so.”

Pop took a step back, shock spreading across her face. “You . . . you tried to go to another dome?”

Carnifor answered. “Why shouldn’t we?”

Olburq stood, reaching into a pocket. He withdrew a credit chip and handed it to Lannetay. “You need to leave – now. Our colonists are being held captive, and the Wantis will interpret you trying to look in another dome as an act of espionage. They’ll be on their way to arrest you, and impound your ship.”

“And they’re not known for letting people go who were wrongly arrested.” Lannetay grabbed the coranium wafer. “Where would you like your new colony?”

Pop said, “Twenty klicks south of Pop Colony is a steppe surrounded by jagged hills. Put it there, but go. Now, before it’s too late.”

Carnifor leaped for the door, Lannetay a moment behind.

“I’ll override the block on the airlock,” Olburq shouted. “They’ll never know you left, and we’ll change your ship’s designation in our system.”

The door swept closed, and Lannetay passed Carnifor at a full sprint. “Don’t hold back for me.” She gasped, breathing deep. “Just run.”

The sound of boots grinding on gravel came from behind the two. Carnifor reached ahead to grasp Lannetay’s arm and pulled her behind one of the small shacks. Chests heaving, they peered back the way they’d come. A squad of Wanti soldiers took position outside the factory, and a woman with gold lieutenant pins entered.

Carnifor hissed in anger. “We should go.”

“In a moment.” Lannetay’s response was pitched for Carnifor only. If Wanti training had any similarities to her own, leaving now would be a mistake.

Two privates turned away to survey the vacant boulevards between silent, deserted buildings. They looked right at where Carnifor and Lannetay peered around the hut, then their eyes moved on. The factory door opened and the lieutenant prodded Pop and Olburq outside with her sidearm. The privates turned toward the sound.

“Now.” Lannetay ran, careful to place her feet quietly.

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.

The Brotherhood #27

By Mark W. Meier

Part 27

Act III

The First Horseman

That parade marked the beginning of your meteoric rise in popularity. Pictures flooded social media of you hugging a “regular” person. The t-shirts and caps identified you, and speaking with one child after another in subsequent pictures and videos sent fans into a frenzy.

We met in your office at the state Capitol building. You handed me an envelope filled with cash. I hefted it and frowned. We couldn’t talk, because recording devices saved everything you said for posterity.

I sat in a leather chair across from your desk. “Congratulations on the parade. You made quite an impression.”

“My numbers have me at plus twenty.” You grinned as you sat on the edge of your desk. “In fact, I’m thinking of cutting your pay.”

My firm received a fairly generous stipend from your campaign to allay any suspicions about our meetings being inappropriate, but you spoke of our other arrangement. “I’d be happy to look over our agreement and discuss things with you. Could you stop by my office this afternoon?”

“Can’t do it.” You stood and turned to glance at your printed itinerary. You no longer used an internet calendar – too open to hackers. Your secretary gave you an updated list daily. “Important meeting across town at six.”

More like dinner reservations with your mistress, followed by a hotel reservation under her name. “Remember what I told you about defiance?”

Though my tone was light, you didn’t react well. “Not defiance, Leo. I’m busy.”

“You could meet with me at four and still make it to your . . . appointment.”

“Strategy meeting at three.” From across the room I could see that time slot was open. “That’ll last until at least four-thirty.”

“I’m disappointed, Bob. You need me more than you know, and cutting my pay is the wrong move at the wrong time.” Your envelope went into my briefcase.

I glared at you a moment before I moved toward the door. My look must have concerned you, because your eyes widened. Your right hand twitched toward your chest. I smirked. “Think about what I’m saying, Bob.” You didn’t stop me from leaving.

I exited the building. While hailing a taxi I had an imp return to you and try to stop your heart. It returned to where I climbed into the taxi and shook it’s head. An imp didn’t have the strength, thanks to the parade lady.

I scowled and gave the cabby the address of the restaurant where you were to meet Sheila. Along the way I slowly morphed my clothing into a stretchy track suit and altered my hairstyle.

I waited in a park across the street from the restaurant. Squirrels approached, begging for peanuts. People fed them, for some unknown reason. Probably to make themselves feel good after ignoring the suffering of the human scum around them.

Just before six you parked an unassuming car a block away. Hundreds of similar vehicles clogged the city. Wearing a bland, off-the-rack suit further disguised you. Neither one of us wanted to be recognized.

You approached the park across the street from where Sheila waited, staring out the window for her first glimpse of your arrival. I stepped out from behind a shrub and blocked your path.

“Your envelope was light, Bob. I need more money if we’re going to continue with making you the first horseman.” Even if the Brotherhood could generate stacks of money, we needed at least the semblance of legitimacy in order to maximize our impact of corrupting people like you.

You glanced at my attire and hairstyle. “Nice outfit. Did you change your hair?” You looked over my shoulder and waved at your date.

I grabbed your wrist. “I told you what would happen if you broke our agreement. I can’t accept your rebellion.”

“If you could have done something, you already would have. Whatever trick you used on me before isn’t working.”

I shook my head. “I’m serious, Bob. Don’t defy me.” I was close enough now I could end your life without a third party.

You placed your other hand on my shoulder. “Leo, I don’t need you, your partner Sally Shoen, nor your firm. I’m successful enough to carry through without you. You’re never getting another cent from me. You’re fired.” You pulled your trapped wrist free of my grip.

A fire built up within me. I had worked too many years to get you into a position to corrupt or dispirit one insignificant guttersnipe for Chamos. You couldn’t be allowed to simply go off on your own.

I pulled you into the park, part of me noticing Sheila stand to get a better look. Let her. The man in the track suit would never be seen again.

“You can’t fire me. My people would destroy you. I’ve shown that to you over and over again.”

You scoffed. “Maybe at one point you could. Like that time in D.C. Seems to me you can’t do that sort of thing anymore.”

Thanks to the parade lady and her ilk, he was right. As I tried to reach into your chest something stopped me – a force field of sorts. That didn’t mean I was powerless, though. “Don’t push me, Bob. You’ll regret it.” But you ignored me.

As you stepped past me to reach the crosswalk I signaled one of my subordinate Brothers. A stoplight cycled.

“Bob, I hate to break it to you, but you’re never going to be the first horseman. That title doesn’t apply to any human being.”

You paused at the curb and turned to face me. “I saw your papers, the schedule. Don’t try to fool me.”

“That’s all a sham.” And with that I shoved you into traffic, directly in front of a fully loaded dump truck.

I heard your date scream. I didn’t care. A faint whiff of brimstone curled up from your corpse and I smiled before vanishing in a puff of ecru smoke.

If you appreciate this story, please consider supporting the author's ability to write more stories by purchasing The Brotherhood, available in print and on Kindle. Please share on social media, and leave a review on the page linked above.

Next week begins Act IV: Windowed the Soul.