Last edited 02 Dec 2001 02:45 PM

Prolog

Somewhere, children were shouting, playing some sort of game which required the loud vocalizations that the most popular children's games require.  Further in the distance, there were auto horns, backfires, vehicles with bad clutches loudly up- and down-shifting.

The old man -- short, even for an old man, and stocky, dressed in a neat, worn, but presentable green suit, a small tweed hat with a tiny feather in its band -- sat on the park bench.  Wrought iron and wood, the way they used to make them -- none of this modern concrete or plastic.  The autumn sun was warm on his skin, on his closed eyelids.  He enjoyed places like this.  They were a good idea.

In front of him spread the Lake.  A morning breeze send as many ripples across its surface as the few rowers out did.  Behind him, tall, woody bushes loomed, and beyond them, trees and artificial hillocks.  Leaves, feeling the first touch of chill after a long, hot summer, were beginning to take on a sprinkle of color.  And, beyond them, the swank -- or at least pricey -- buildings that surrounded Central Park.

A park in the middle of the world.  The old man smiled.

The bushes rustled.

The old man's smile grew still more broad.  It was a good smile.  It lit up his face, and even seemed to light up the area around the bench.  It was a good, grandfatherly smile.  A hint of mischief, a dash of love, and a big dollop of sheer delight.  "You found me," he said.

There was only more rustling.  "It's all right," the old man continued.  "You actually did it faster than I thought you would."  He chuckled, a warm, happy chuckle.  It went with his voice.  Cultured, but whole-hearted.  If he laughed, it would be a deep-throated roar of laughter, and it would be wildly infectious.  "Well, you know what I mean."

"Something is wrong.  It distracted us."  The voice from the bushes was -- different.  Soft and sibilant.  Almost a hiss.  "It drew us near, and so we found you."

The old man sighed, the smile gone.  He sat up straighter, looked about him -- at the children playing, the boats on the water, the people walking about, singly, in pairs, in groups, hurrying or just enjoying the morning sun.  He lifted his eyes, west, north, east, then south, then dropped them again.  "Yes," he said, simply and sadly.

"You will act now?"  There was something beyond simple query in those words, their tone.  Though the voice was odd, it was still possible to sense fear in them.

After a long moment, the old man shook his head.  Pain flickered across his face, a deep sadness as profound as the joy of moments before.  "No.  That does not -- fit.  Not the plan.  And you are not ready, yet.  Nor are they."

"We are -- pleased."  The bushes shook a bit more.

The old man shook his head.  "Don't be.  This will make things harder for you.  And them."

"We are strong."

A grin touched the corners of the old man's lips.  "So are they."  He stood, stretching his weary bones in the sun.  A balloon vendor was walking near.  "I think I should like a balloon.  A red one.  Would you care for one?"

There was silence, and stillness, from the bushes.  Whoever had been there, was gone.

The old man smiled  again, and shook his head with amusement.  Another glance about, another twitch of sadness, and then he walked over to get a balloon.  

*     *     *

The office was larger than many apartments in the city.  Once, one of his lieutenants had joked that, if an economic downturn should occur, they could probably fit several dozen telemarketers in, between the space and the large number of phone lines routed there.

He'd fired the fellow immediately.  And ruined his credit record.  Faked some evidence that the man was having an affair, so that his wife left with the kids.  An unfortunate mix-up of files at the FBI sent a drug kingpin strike force bursting down his door in the middle of the night.  The man had a few brief moments to wonder why there was a gun in his hand before he was permanently put out of his misery.  

Well, permanently was probably an overstatement.

The man behind the desk sighed as the memory cross his mind.  It was a matter of respect, after all.  It actually hadn't been a bad joke.  Just ... disrespectful.

The ceiling was high, an elegant mix of indirect lighting, cannister down-lights, and a rather elaborate, modern crystal chandelier over the conference table some ways off to the right of his desk.  

The walls were also an elegant mix.  Deep, cherry red paneling with chrome and glass accents.  Bookshelves, filled to the brim.  A few, tasteful niches with simple Japanese art.  And windows.  Lots of windows.  That was one of the reasons the office was so large -- because the occupant wanted lots and lots of windows to look out of.  "Out on his kingdom," another lieutenant had commented.

That lieutenant hadn't been killed.  It was the truth, of course, and hardly disrespectful.

The man sat behind his desk.  Many people -- rich and powerful -- ate at tables smaller and less expensive than the desk.  Not that the size was ever a trouble.  Nothing on the desk was ever out of his reach.  Indeed, it was rare that there was anything -- or anyone -- on his desk.  He liked it that way.  Neat.  Simple.

Besides, it was all for show.

Something caught his eye outside.  He looked out over the city from the center of a broad swath of windows.  It was a glorious view, from the proper perspective, high above it all.  You'd think his window was on a much higher building than it actually was.  It was all, he considered with a smile, a matter of perspective.

He gazed at the city.  He sat in his neat leather chair, in his well-pressed, immaculate, conservative navy blue suit.  His hair was white, cut short and clean.  His face was weathered by time and experience, perhaps appropriate to a sixty-year-old -- or a hard-living man of fifty.  As to what the true answer was,  nobody was likely to find out from his lips.

The game was beginning again.  A new chapter was starting.  This one would be much more exciting than the last.  Errors had been made, and he would take advantage of them.  That was, after all, the surest path to power.  He could certainly speak to that, from both sides of the equation.

A smile twisted his lips.  It did not touch his eyes.

*     *     *

Yet another man sat in a darkened room on metal chair.  He reached forward and adjusted the console in front of him.  Pictures, photographs, videos, flickered on the wall-sized screen before him.

The designations were all arbitrary, of course.  To call the individual a man, to refer to the chair as metal, or information flowing before him as pictures would certainly seem accurate to some.  Others might disagree.

He rose, to look at the pictures more carefully. Shadows stirred in the darkness behind him.

"Sam."  A woman stood in the doorway.  Consider the same caveats on the woman, doorway, and the name "Sam" as on everything else mentioned so far.

Sam grunted.  He didn't really grunt, of course, but just go along with the picture.

"Sam.  It's starting."

He nodded.  The woman came over to him, barely visible in the darkness.  About her shoulders, shadow rippled.  "It will work.  Bob guarantees it."

Sam grunted again, then added, "Bob guaranteed a  lot of things, as you'll recall."

"That's not fair.  We all agreed.  We all asked."

After a moment of studying the pictures again, he sighed.  "We all asked.  But you're right, Ella.  It will work."  He turned to her, and now he smiled.  He put a hand on each shoulder. "It will.  I've chosen well.  The plan is in action.  The Purpose will be fulfilled.  Then we'll all be together again."

She pulled away, started studying the photos and video clips herself.  "You think that's what's going on?  It's a test for us?"

He frowned. "It's  not our place to question."

She turn back to him, quickly.  "No!" she said, alarmed -- though it was unclear whether it was by the concept itself or by his anger.  "No, of course.  I question our lack of knowledge.  There is much we have lost by our choice."

His frown as quickly turned back into a smile.  "But to gain -- all this!"  He gestured around them at nothing particularly visible.  "It is worth it.  Especially if -- when we fulfill the Purpose."

She smiled briefly at him, as though having appeased him, then turned back to the displays.  "And these are the --?"  She paused, waiting for him to finish the sentence.

"The soldiers," he complied.  "The leaders.  They will break the opposition, and usher in everything we've ever dreamed of."

"You vetted all of them?"

Sam shrugged.  "Karen rejected these."  He gestured.  "Death awaits them too soon."

Ella was grim.  "Nice to still know that much, I suppose."

"She thinks so," Sam replied.  Then, more softly.  "It's her way.  Her part of the Purpose.  Just as you have yours.

"I like mine better," Ella said, sourly.

"Of course.  That's your part."

She stuck her tongue out at him.  "Well, Bob wanted me to tell you it was all starting.  You going to join us?"

"In a minute.  I still want to check something."   

She smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek.  "Soon, then.  Don't dawdle.  Mia has something special to celebrate, and Bob was going to do some entertainment."  She swept out of the room, the fabric of the very air seeming to waver behind her.

Sam sat back down in the metal chair.  His gaze looked at the figures with green frames around them, indicating which were to be selected.  Their voices flooded over him.  Their faces, forms, flashed before him.  He knew all it was possible for him to know of them.

He made a particular gesture with his left hand.  Another face appeared.  Sam smiled again, though this smile was not particularly pleasant.  "Hello, old friend.  I promised you once you would be involved in an enterprise like this.  At my command."  

A memory came, unconjured -- a high mountain, overlooking the sea far below, so high that the sky was a dark violet above them.  Flashes of fire and steel, howls of anger and pain, and, at least, the inevitable defeat.

"I always keep my promises," Sam said, softly.  He gestured again, and the new picture was framed in green.

He rose, slowly.  Many things were new to him these days.  Worry.  Uncertainty.  And, sometimes, confusion of purpose.  But what he felt now, yes, that was a feeling that he was well-acquainted with.

Satisfaction.

This page and its contents, except as otherwise noted, are
Copyright © 2001 David C. Hill