Chapter 20: Bad Business Practices Part 1
Derek got to his feet sobbing and attempting to communicate his regret at failing to toe the line of procedure. His shoulders were slumped under the weight of the cage strapped to his back.
Beckle flipped a negligent hand at the wreck of a man in dismissal,
“Stop wasting time. You have new duties to take up. Begone.”
Derek continued sobbing as he trudged dejectedly out the door. The light from the hallway dimmed as the man left the room.
“Good thinking, Sarah. Conserving minor manipulation may help us reduce the system's weight. Start a subroutine on the benefits versus logistics efficiency drop and put it in my inbox for review. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The scribbling of the scribe automatons had not stopped.
Do we need four of them? Triplicate after-action reports should be enough.
“Add another subroutine for analyzing efficiency for quadruple after-action reports. Find out who decided to add clothing to the fourth scribe. You know how I feel about aesthetic waste. Have the report also sent to my inbox.”
“Sir, I feel I would be remiss in my duties if I-“
“Command execution, override pennywhistle solo.”
“Command confirmed, rerouting needed computational resources.”
Beckle frowned at the response.
If such a simple computation requires shifting resources around, the system must be under more strain than we suspected. We must be missing a variable.
Beckle ignored the annoyance of yet another sign that the deadline was looming. Emergencies were the norm in his position, and letting minor details get in the way of accomplishing damage control never helped.
Ignoring them entirely is also a way to see the whole thing fall to pieces.
“Sarah, update the detailed conversation review tasklist to include this conversation.”
“Acknowledged, the total number of items to be reviewed on the conversation review list is three hundred and forty-seven. Would you like to start your review at this time?”
“Negative. Keep the scheduled time during my morning ablutions.”
“Yes, Grandmaster. Updating list for review during nasty-boy prevention time.”
“I’ve told you not to use that labeling system.”
“Apologies, Grandmaster. Your predecessor was clear that until you fulfill the requirements of your position, the highest priority commands she left in place were to be observed. As you have yet to-“
“Shut up, Sarah.”
A chime of acknowledgment sounded as Beckle returned to the console and pressed a control. A series of pages started printing from a slot set into the console’s base. Beckle carefully stacked them into a neat pile and then reviewed them. Clicking his tongue in distaste at what he found as he paged through the documents, he stuck a hand into the white-furred satchel at his side and withdrew a fountain pen.
Wetting the pen’s tip with his tongue and then spitting out the ink that landed with a sour face, he changed the pages as he progressed through the review. After a few minutes, Clarence politely leaned over and tapped the console next to Beckle. The clerk-quin’s crest a splash of color in the foreboding room
“What? Oh, yes. I suppose I should get on with that. Thank you for the reminder, Clarence. I don’t know what I would do without you.
“On that note, I must move your next free period to this Saturday. Now, now, don’t get your hissing started. I’ve extended it by an additional thirty minutes as well.”
Clarence showed little reaction to the news but did flip through his clipboard and make a note on one of the last pages. His large black eyes bored. Beckle briefly looked almost apologetic and added,
“And I did get a line on a possible new playmate for your group this week. I’ll research his background more, but he meets most of your requirements. He's fresh to the city, mildly educated, and has no training in law or contracts.”
Clarence stared briefly at the man while his necklace started to shine faintly, and he clacked his beak once.
Beckle winced,
“Fine, I’ll see what I can do about another addition, but no promises.”
Clarence nodded in satisfaction as the glow from the silver caplace at his throat faded. He flipped back to the page he had marked earlier. He drew a line through the note he had made. Beckle nodded his thanks at the clerk-guin’s professional understanding and pressed another button on the console before him.
Roaring from the bad-gir still futilely badgering at the barrier resounded through the room.
“Damn you, Beckle! How dare you show such disrespect!”
Beckle rolled his eyes at the theatrics,
“Don’t give me that, Mudstripe. If I gave you the chance, you’d eat my entrails without asking how do you do.”
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The bad-gir King roared one more time at the man calmly seated on the barrier out of his clawed reach, then abruptly calmed,
“With your diet? Not likely. I have standards. I much prefer the salamander-doms in the dungeon. They have a nice spice to them.
“Now that the audience is gone, can we get down to brass tacks? What’s with the backstab, Beckle? I didn’t think you could do that. We had a contract, and those are the only things you talk about these days.”
The bad-gir King reached to a line of fur on his hip, a color different from the rest of his pelt. Using the tips of his claws, he picked at the line for a moment before it stretched open, forming a wide slit in his fur, and he reached inside. The bad-gir withdrew a filing cabinet and an enormous pair of reading glasses. Perching the glasses on his face awkwardly, he opened the cabinet and rifled through it briefly. Finding what he was looking for, he withdrew a sheaf of papers that looked comically small in his sizeable clawed grip.
Mudstripe, king of the bad-gir, grumbled to himself as he read the documents. His spectacles wobbled precariously on his snout.
“Your end of the deal was to give the cubs a colony, not get them killed.”
Beckle smiled.
“Paragraph thirty-two, subsection c. The parties referred to from here on as applicants shall be afforded conditions that shall enable them the opportunity to achieve the goals stated by that party in paragraph sixteen subsection b. No guarantee is made for those goals to be fully met due to opposition.”
“That is ridiculous!”
Beckle’s smile grew wider,
“Is that your mana signature at the end of the document?”
Mudstripe glowered at the man out of his reach.
“…Yes.”
“Then this contract absolves me of your applicants’ failure to achieve their goals.”
“Opposition is a vague term. With that language, you could have set them up to fail from the start.”
Beckle made a gesture to encourage the enormous bad-gir to turn the page. With difficulty and more disgruntlement written across the mob’s face, he complied.
“Paragraph thirty-two, subsection d. Opposition referred to in the prior subsection is defined as external threats, any member of the adventurers guild, falling or flying kitchen implements whether self-powered or acted upon by an external force, natural disaster, or any act deemed that or deific in origin. Party A shall in no way encourage or participate willingly in any said undue opposition.”
The bad-gir blinked at the recitation of the subsection.
“Kitchen implements?”
Beckle scowled.
“I’ll not have my integrity in adherence to a contract questioned by a chance cooking pot or flung kitchen sink, not again.”
Mudstripe sighed in resignation. He removed his spectacles, placed the document back in his filing cabinet, and then stowed everything back into the pocket of space on his side.
“Alright, you’re ass is covered for the colonists failing to take the town. What about my son? As much fun as it is to sire them, my pups are a pain to train up well enough to replace me when I eventually fall. You can’t keep him.”
“Paragraph-“
The roar of the bad-gir cut Beckle off.
“Don’t quote that damn contract at me! Give me back my son!”
“No. Unless you wish to take his place.”
The bad-gir’s lips pulled back in a snarl. Beckle admitted that the fangs were impressive, if useless, in this situation.
“Why should I bother to dignify that with a response? He’s a pup. Far less valuable than a full-grown king.”
“You asked for him back. I am pointing out the only way that is happening. He volunteered to go on a mission to expand your colony. A mission to expand your colony was not guaranteed to succeed. The risks were clearly outlined to him and you. You all signed the contracts.”
The bad-gir king kept snarling as he gazed past Beckle’s shoulder at the much smaller and younger bad-gir lying unconscious in the cage of light. The purple-colored crown of light around the younger bad-gir was flickering fitfully. Mudstripe stopped snarling and sat heavily on his haunches. To Beckle’s eye, he looked to age a decade or two as he looked at his pup in captivity.
“Don’t make me choose, please.”
Clarence scribbled into his clipboard with an indifferent penguin expression. His beady black eyes showed no emotion. The scribe mannequins kept up their steady scribbles in one corner.
“Contracts are law in this kingdom. If I break them, we are all doomed.”
“You wrote it!”
“No, I swapped some names and a few details in and out to make it more favorable to the humans of the kingdom, as that is my duty. You agreed to it.”
The king of the bad-gir shambled to his feet. He shook himself as if getting rid of excess water and took a deep breath. He looked one more time at his pup, then trudged silently away from the barrier to a staircase along the chamber’s back wall. He glanced over to Beckle before descending.
“It won’t hold forever, Zuzu. We will devour you and all you strive to protect. I’ll be bringing this before the controller at the next council.”
Beckle acknowledged that the bad-gir King had lost the argument where it counted and nodded at the threat.
“I am sure of the contract. He will agree with my ruling.”
Mudstripe snarled again and descended the staircase, exiting the room. Beckle turned to his assistant clerkguin.
“Add that to the item list for the next council meeting.”
Clarence clacked his beak in irritation and squonked in protest.
“The dungeon council meeting, and you know you have to because Sarah isn’t authorized to meet agenda adjustments in this instance. She is for research, monitoring, and logistics easement.”
Sarah’s dulcet tones echoed through the room,
“Correct, Grandmaster. Rearranging meeting items is outside of my-”
She was interrupted by a great flapping of Clarence’s flippers as he squonked angrily at the air. His silver necklace started to glow again as flames erupted in a corona around his crested head.
“No, I will not shut up, you wobbly flightless fish humper! You don’t have the authority to say any of that, and I will not comply-“
The argument was interrupted by Beckle shouting,
“Both of you shut up!”
A chime of acknowledgment silenced further comment from Sarah as Clarence’s beak clicked shut, and the corona of fire flickered once before going out. The clerkguin huffed once at the console in distaste as he clacked his beak at it. Beckle hid a smile at the clerkguin’s final comment behind a raised hand.
“Very well, shall we greet our other guests?”
Clarence nodded to the grandmaster. Beckle turned to the console and started pressing controls. Another sheaf of papers printed out from it. He reviewed them quickly and then signed in a few places. He handed them to Clarence, who tucked them behind the other papers stacked on his clipboard. Beckle continued to press controls and monitor readings on the screen above the console. He spoke,
“Commencing interrogation and execution of prescribed protocols for Acquisitions and assessment series five, three, eight, zero, seven, one, one, two. Begin processing.”
Beckle touched a control slider toward the top of the console, and lightning coursed through the three containers before him. All three occupants started screaming in pain as the arcs of light danced across their forms.