UNLIKE OTHER MONDAY MORNING staff meetings, Sara was particularly nervous. Although her team had spent hours developing and executing their comms plans, she knew her ass was once again on the hot seat.
It was twenty after nine, and Ron was never late to his meetings.
“Does anyone know where he is? He’s usually here before anybody,” Sara inquired.
She scanned the room. Edgar was smirking at her as if he had obtained special secrets in her few days of absence and was waiting to pounce and expose her failings.
“Oh, I think he has reasons,” he smirked. “He’ll connect with us.”
“Connect?” Sara was peeved and puzzled. What did ‘connect’ imply? Was Ron not in the compound? Since her head was on the line, as maybe were the heads of other ministers, she continued talking.
“And Gloria isn’t here. Has anybody seen her today?”
The only other woman at the table, the Minister of Agriculture, shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Not here any longer.”
Sara could tell she was angry, and that would mean only one of two possibilities. Gloria was either put out to pasture, some safe place where she’d be no threat to Ron, or she was no longer with them in the corporeal sense. Sara felt it was likely the latter, a very bad signal if so. Although rare, Ron had gone that route before, mostly to teach everyone a lesson about his power, wrath, and irrational decisiveness.
Suddenly, Ron’s image popped up on the large vidscreen at the head of the oval table.
“What the fuck’s the banter about?” he barked.
Sara didn’t flinch at this intrusion, but she quickly assessed the circumstances. Ron was employing the enhancement technology she always preferred to use when projecting deep fake images of him to Vista’s citizens. It was old tech by now but had been upgraded so much that few AI systems could easily distinguish the actual image from the deep fake. Most information, at least that which she influenced, was awash in deep fakes in both content and image, and everyone was so accustomed to them that they could no longer tell truth from lie. Nor did they care.
For Sara, deep fake technology was no different than someone putting on make-up before going on camera or even using shoe inserts or clothing augmentations to appear taller or stronger. She had only seen Ron use this imaging once before in staff when he was about to lay the hammer down on his previous Minister of Security.
To her, the amplification tech made Ron look silly. He didn’t need it to enhance his real image. For years, Ron had implemented the latest body tech to improve his musculature, height, and looks.
By any historical measure, Ron was a Roman god, a god gone insane from using his enormous power to enhance the image in the mirror that peered back at him every day. Yet these additional on-screen deep fake modifications distorted his body’s size and build so much that it was almost comical. She couldn’t help but release an imperceptible laugh, despite the terror of the implication.
“Oh, Sara! Lovely Sara. Is that with and ‘h’ at the end, or did somebody lop that off for you somewhere along the way? I’m pondering the thought of lopping something else off.”
She knew either he or Imp noticed her minor indiscretion, so she sat up straight in her chair, stone-faced. “Sir?”
“Don’t ‘Sir’ me, you lazy-ass bitch. What the hell have you been doing the last few days while my world was going to hell? Do you know how much I’ve had to do already to make up for your ungracious visit to a presumably sick sister? Do you understand how bad the timing was? We’re in a fucking crisis that you and your buddy Edgar initiated with your marvelous, unvetted ideas. I didn’t agree to any of this shit you put out, and the rest of you motherfuckers at the table should have called out the idiocy from these two cretins. But you’re a herd of cock-sucking sheep, aren’t you? Do I keep you on board only to shimmy up to me when you want something, then be silent when you think the shit will hit the fan or you might take on the slightest amount of real responsibility?”
All faces were somber in the room. Sara felt herself sweating as Ron continued his tirade.
“Are you here to play politics as if we’re running a board game? I pay you well. I give you all the luxuries anyone could want, and I grant you in heaps that elixir you savor the most. That sweetest nectar called ‘power.’ And what do you do with it? You use it for your own benefit. To boost your status and self-image. To satisfy your unholy proclivities and lusts. But not for me. You don’t use what I give you to help me at all or elevate my status. Not for Vista, either.”
He paused. Sara was not about to respond until given a direct queue.
“If the mental fucks in California and Hedron would let me, I’d fire each of your personally, right in your boil-encrusted faces. Then I would send you out to pasture, a dark and cold pasture, letting you toil away the remainder of your days wading in the mutton shit of your lives. Yeah, just like Gloria’s ill-fitted fate. Not the first time I’ve said it, but I can run this domain by myself, just me and Imp. But no, I’m forced to keep a staff of imbeciles and ingrates on board to appease those Westrich assholes. Bad enough I have to deal with their legislators and judges and other life-appointed scum of the Earth. Makes me sick.”
Sara had heard this rant so many times, but it was always in his presence. The fact that he was not physically with them sickened her.
Ron continued. “I know more than they do and am more capable than them. And they know I know that, and it is a fact. The only fact. Imp is the best. No other AI like him in the universe. And there’s no other ship’s admiral like me. I should be steering this fucker by myself, the whole lot of Westrich. Instead, I’m given this diseased domain of gluttonous pigs, umpteen squealing citizens begging for handouts and food and medicines and jobs from me. Don’t you know how I’m spending my own money, my own wealth, to prop-up these millions of docile, worm-eating dolts you call citizens? I could give a shit about any of them and prefer to rule over slime mold. Much more intelligent and responsive. But I’m forced to, forced to, because I don’t have the power to take control over things like I should. This is a fucked world, to have so much knowledge and capability and not be able to use it with purpose and gain the glory and respect I deserve. This measly domain with all its boring, repugnant problems. Humans, hybrids, malodorous genetic crap thrown across my border.”
Ron was out of breath from his tirade. “Imp, what the fuck’s going on with the oxygen content down here?” he yelled.
Nobody on the team dared move their heads to look at each other, so they shifted their eyes to see if everyone else understood what his last comment implied. Ron was in a bunker, perhaps the one a mile below the compound. The one drilled through layers of Texas limestone and bedrock. The one for use only in the most dire of circumstances.
Edgar, ever the lone wolf, decided to be bold for once. He took his eyes off Ron’s image on the screen and moved his head slowly to the right, then left. He knew what wrath this slight movement might bring upon him, but he wanted to see if the other ministers were as startled. If Ron felt at such risk, why didn’t he at least invite him to the bunker as well?
Staring at General Vasquez momentarily, Edgar tried to get a sense of whether Ron had already given the order to respond militarily to the impending threats. He got nothing.
“Edgar!” Ron screamed. Imp had amplified the bass intentionally, and the entire room shook from the reverberation. “This was your lovely idea, no?”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Hoping he’d not need to respond, Edgar played it safe. No response was often the best response, and his AI directed him to be silent.
“Probabilities,” Edgar thought. “Always playing the odds with this insane creature.”
“Are you planning on answering me, little boy? Edgar. Ed-gar. Ed-gar the gar. Ed-gar the gar fish that swims in the putrid waters next to the compound. Prehistoric, witless, vicious animals. Do you know that once, as a child, I fished with my father in those rivers? Caught a gar, an Ed-gar. Know what it did with those teeth that protrude so menacingly from its mouth? It rattled its head as I tried valiantly to remove the hook from its mouth. And what did I get in return for my sweet, considerate, and humble efforts? My compassion? I got its tooth embedded in my thumb. Then its fins tore my left hand open. I wasn’t even going to eat the slimy, ancient monster. I was going to put in back in the water to have a nice life.”
Edgar was actively querying his AI on multiple fronts. Where, in all likelihood, was Ron? What unilateral actions had he already taken that might put him in the bunker? Was his voice unusually stressed, indicating he’d made a highly risky decision? So much data to process and such little time to analyze. He was having trouble keeping up with the alternatives, decision nodes, and possible outcomes.
“Yeah, that’s what I got for being so generous. For being the nice guy. For caring about a fish whose day should have come and gone millions of years prior. Shall I do to you what I did to that gar? Shall I fling you far up onto the shore, flapping away and sucking for air? No, no, I have a better idea! Yes! I’ll do the opposite. You’re my Ed-gar. I’ll slap a hook in your mouth, a woefully heavy one, and set you back in that very river. I’ll tie your scrawny mech arms and legs together so your hands and feet are the only things that can flap, just like that gar’s tiny fins, then I’ll dump you right over there, right into that river. And you can try to swim, flapping away. My Ed-gar. Happy, flappy, fishy Ed-gar. What the fuck did you get me into, Ed-gar, and how are you getting me out of this disaster?”
Sara’s heart was beating out of her chest. Ron had never gone after Edgar like this. She knew Imp was monitoring her every move and every metric it could derive via its room sensors. But Imp didn’t matter at this point. If Ron was angry enough to threaten Edgar with a tortuous death, given all the goodies he had on Ron, she could be next. And there’d be nobody volunteering to help Edgar escape from his pit. Or her.
“Sara’s fault,” he barfed. “It was only a momentary idea. I’m not even sure it was really mine. I only said we needed a plan that might keep Southern on their toes. We needed something beyond the usual. As I recall,” he regurgitated, “Sara was the one who embellished the idea of Vista having one hundred percent perfect prediction capabilities.”
“Bullshit!” Sara spat. “I’ll gladly pull up the recording now.”
She smiled slyly at Edgar’s surprised look. “You think I don’t record what goes on in my office? You think you’re little AI is the only thing that controls all the world’s data? Fuck you!”
“Fuck you!” he screamed back. “Even if I did generate the idea, it was one of dozens I mentioned in the course of our conversation. You were the one who wanted to implement it, to amplify it. You were the one who started this entire mess! Had you and your prissy team of hormones not gone overboard with the idea, Southern would hardly have noticed. But you blasted it out, you bull-horned the narrative, and now we’re up shit creek. And it certainly wasn’t me who started that cross-border bullshit story that has Southern and Bolivar at each other’s necks. That was entirely your mistake.”
“Kids, kids, kids,” Ron interrupted in a patronizing manner. “First, Ed-gar. I suggest you don’t go mentioning rivers or creeks, even shitty ones. That idea of dropping your fat ass into the water, fit to be tied, and watching you try to disengage the leaden hook in your mouth? Well, I was just getting past that wonderful thought when you reminded me. And Sara, dear sister Sara. Although Ed-gar lied, as expected, about his role in the genesis of the predictability claim at the core of our impending skirmishes, he is correct about your role in the ‘cross-border bullshit,’ as he puts it.”
Sara’s eyes moved back to the screen. She was again struck by the full-body camera shot. Why would Ron want to amplify himself to this team? They all understood his grotesque insecurities and attempts at covering them up. What message was he sending?
She decided to placate him with compliments. That always worked well, as she knew he could never stop thinking about what others thought of him and his performances.
“Yes, I had a role in that one, sir,” she admitted. “It’s part of the much broader and meaningful set of narratives we’re running, and you’re at the center of everything. I’m sure your face is being shown on hundreds of channels right now, amplifying all you’re doing to help the citizens of Vista and our other typical narratives. Look, this story was a minimal plug, a minor distraction. We were only placing a tiny leech on Southern’s ass and letting it suck a bit of blood, but in no way did it get top billing above you and your vidscreen time. In fact, I just checked the numbers and we’re doing far better on the RQ metrics as we speak.”
“RQ?” he interjected.
The deflection worked. She knew he was now off-balance. “Our various cohorts are eating up what we’re saying about you. They love you. You’re their hero, and we keep repeating the messages that elevate you. Who anticipated that Bolivar would glom onto one or two nominal inserts about Southern in the midst of the usual narratives focusing on you? This scratching at their scabs is so typical of what we do, and nobody could have predicted Bolivar could find any truth in the story or that Southern might react so quickly.”
“Well, I clearly expect you to be highlighting me constantly. You damn well better be. I’m the only one that matters to this Vista rabble, and I always need to be front and center. Hell, I am Vista. I am more than Vista. I am Westrich or will be when I finally get the chance. So, thanks for telling me you’re only doing your job to highlight me, but it provides no insights.”
“Damn!” she thought. “I am so hobbled without an AI to feed me ideas. What can I use to distract him next?”
Ron continued his rant. ”Yet, don’t you see? All of what’s happening this minute could have been pre-determined since we now have perfect prediction capabilities, right Ed-gar? With these amazing new algorithms, we surely knew Southern would place troops along our border. We knew they’d decide to play their menacing war games in southern Texas on my fucking territory! Yes, we were so smart about everything with your collective ‘narratives.’ Sara darling? Sister Sara? It’s all about your narratives. You’re the narratives girl. You’re the minister tasked to lie and lie, then lie again. To lie and make people happy they heard it. To tell them exactly the opposite of reality and get them to eat that runny dog shit like it was chocolate pudding, the pudding of the gods.”
“Let him continue, Sara,” she told herself. “Get it out of his system. This will be over soon.”
“Fucking, ignorant swine in Vista. You can bullshit them until they’re blue in the face, blue-faced swine, then force-feed them more lovely bullshit. Oh, those endorphins! We love those endorphins, don’t we, girl! Those confirmations of belief. How powerful and strong it makes the swine appear to themselves. What a bundle of necrotic joy! But make sure these precious narratives don’t go too far or get us overextended beyond our intentions, because when they do, the ghouls arrive en masse to suck out your souls. You idiot! You fucking should have continued to focus on me. You can never go wrong focusing on me. It’s proven. Does anyone disagree with that?”
Sara did not respond since the question was not directed to her. Luckily, his short attention span focused on another target.
“General!”
General Vasquez was sitting at attention, as always. He never was seen at-ease in Ron’s presence. Ron had a very troublesome, quarrelsome history with his military commanders, and this poor relationship extended into the command structures in the California and Hedron domains.
“Yes, sir?” Vasquez replied.
“You know I hate looking like a loser. I’m not a loser. Never have been. Never will be. I win at any cost. Any cost. Get that? I don’t care if you all must fucking die, as long as I win. And guess what? I haven’t even raised my fists yet. I haven’t even stepped into the ring, and I feel like this fight has been called. Your lack of vision has made me look like the punching bag for Southern before all who matter. That’s making me very angry. I’m inclined at this point, very inclined, to unleash my fists, my stockpiles of dread, in recompense. And boy, do I have stockpiles.”
Sara’s mind was wandering, dangerously. “Why has Vasquez never used his special forces, the dark forces, to assassinate this lunatic? Stop! No more! Water-mind, girl. Go no further lest your thoughts betray you, literally.”
“I have the best stockpiles. I have magic pills of bioweaponry and nano and conventional and nuclear that I can unleash at will. At my command! I only need to tell Imp to press the button and ‘poof’, you’re gone, your proud mech’d army is gone, Southern is gone, and my snorting, gullible piglet citizens are gone. Better yet, my troubles are gone, and I’m a happy guy. I have a vault of horrors waiting for their day in the sun. I have a decoupler, and it does things.”
At this mention, every minister was on highest alert. Sara surveyed the mood of the room, and it appeared that the General understood what Ron was talking about.
“Decoupler?” she wondered. “What the hell is that? I’ve got this sinking feeling his insanity has created an abhorrent beast. Knowing him, he’ll give it try somewhere.”
“So, mi amigo General, Generalissimo. Although Imp provides me with better, more accurate information than the pathetic military systems you spend so much of my money on, please share with us your most learned wisdom regarding what the hell we should do now that Southern is about to rip us a colossal new asshole all across our border with them. I’ll set aside for a moment my infallible intuition regarding the actions I plan to take and give you a few minutes to redeem your fat brass ass, as if you have any credible ideas that exceed my own."