- AG -

Dawn rose for yet another day across Uni-states, and Ysadora walked into her office, the morning’s sunlight flooding through the full wall’s windows. She sat at her desk, her steaming coffee mug in one hand, and booted her computer. She scrolled briefly through her mails, then clicked a window to see the national news:

“Breaking News: The Anonymity Alliance has leaked documents linking several members of the Presidential Council to various doubtful expenses. Notably, Council member Jones has been linked to several offshore bank accounts, all of which served to furnish weapon supplies to Euphratia in the 80s.”

Ysadora smiled. Abraham Solomon had accomplished Randall’s mission. She lingered on this thought, despite herself, remembering their fleeting meetings with a growing liking. She quickly pushed that thought aside, almost ashamed to even think about it, especially considering their last conversation at the cafeteria. She sighed as she laid back into her chair. She couldn’t really blame him for his opinion, and could hardly expect him to understand her reaction; but why did she felt that way in the first place, when she already had made peace with her unexpected life a long ago?

And why did she wished so hard to understand him, while at the same time desperately trying to find a fatal flaw?

She shook her head in confusion. Her youth was one of training, missions, tactics, reason. Meager human emotions had no role to play; and to this day, she still couldn’t allow them into her life. So what was it with her nowadays?

The news changed, and a live report came in, a reporter standing in front of a burnt building, its familiar silhouette bringing Ysadora’s mind to attention:

“Meanwhile, in Amaesteldam, we are reporting the sad development of the incident at the famous nightclub Delicatue. If you remember three nights ago, the firemen had received a call from an outsider about the nightclub succumbing to a growing fire. The rescues arrived, but too late, as the club was already engulfed in raging fires. When the firemen finally put it down, it was already too late for many of the clients and workers trapped inside. Today we have the list, and the toll amount to 61 people killed, and 216 severely injured; amongst the deceased bodies was found the famous Hollandt entrepreneur Jan Andersen, and his aide Hinrich Strömberg, whom were on visit to finish negotiations with the International Federation of Gnasci for the right to establish Andersen’s planned space colony. Other members included Puertugal’s State Secretary Cabral de Silves, Cruithinian

chef Miranda Cox, and ex-Olympiad athlete Veronica Smith, amongst many others; you can see the full list in our Interweb channel.

» To conclude, the authorities ruled out the fire as an accident, resulted from a likely contact between alcohol and the other volatile components of which Delicatue was reputed for, with unfortunate repetitive uses of lighters.”

“A sad outcome indeed,” the studio’s newscaster sighed; she turned to the camera: “Following that incident, the IFG has regrettably postponed their acceptance of Andersen’s nation, until the Andersen organization found a new leader, and most of all, can come up with a complete set of constitution and regulations, something that was the job of Andersen and Strömberg. Now, to the other news of the day...”

Ysadora closed the Interweb page, and laid back victoriously in her chair.

At that moment, Randall’s voice appeared in her mind:

“I see your mission went well.”

“Perfectly, in fact,” Ysadora answered proudly. “The news even left out where and how exactly Andersen had been found dead, I imagine in a wish to keep his reputation intact as a faithful husband and virtuous man. As for the witnesses of my presence, no one will bother about that after the shock of surviving a deadly fire.”

“Good thinking to hide your mission with that incident,” Randall admired.

Ysadora smirked.

“Nightclub fires are much more common than people are aware of; such clumsiness to combine alcohol and fumes with fire to light such fumes...”

Someone knocked on her office’s door, and a male Britannian voice announced, in a tone which was cold, almost monotonic in nature:

“Ma’am, I have Mr. Abraham Solomon’s files, as you requested.”

“I have to take care of something else; was that all you wanted to contact me about?” Ysadora asked.

“Yes, for now. Thanks for taking care of that little problem,” Randall replied, before his voice disappeared.

“Come in, it’s open,” Ysadora answered back.

The door opened, and a tall man entered. Looking in his early fourties, his medium-short hair was hay blond, combed professionally to the back; he stood, and was dressed, in a military manner, his silver-grey officer-style uniform reflecting his sea-blue eyes. He walked to his boss’ desk, and placed upon it a small folder.

“That’s it?!” Ysadora wondered with surprise.

“Yes, ma’am; his history is concise and without any major trouble.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” Ysadora distractedly thanked her assistant, taking immediately the file, filled by curiosity.

“You are welcome, ma’am.”

And Daniel stood in front of the desk, staring at her with a blank face.

“You can sit, you know,” Ysadora said without looking up.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

He quickly looked around, searching the room, found a seat a dozen pace away from Ysadora’s desk, and sat down rigidly on it, back upright, hands on his straight knees, his eyes never leaving Ysadora. Used to this, Ysadora continued nonchalantly to flip the folder’s pages.

“Parents, birth, blah blah, towns, schools, blah blah,” she quickly resumed out loud the first page.

Daniel reacted with a puzzled expression at her resume.

“Forgive me, ma’am, but I do not recall any categories or mentions of ’blah blah’. Where have you seen it?”

“Nowhere, it’s an expression. Ooh, he was a chaos theory teacher and advisor!”

“Yes, ma’am, at the QOEC, in 2029, before he…”

“Yes, I know, I’m reading it right now, idiot,” she exasperatedly replied.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Ah!” she suddenly exclaimed, finding the part she was interested by:

“Psychological Profile:

Mr. Solomon is the archetype representation of a lifetime partner. Confident about his abilities, but respectful of a person holding higher ones. As he will make his own decisions and plans, he will nonetheless listen to suggestions that are viable, or will follow someone else’s plans, if they reveal themselves to be more logical. He has the mixture of obedience and individuality, which makes him an excellent partner in business; the ability to make decisions, but also to follow those of his partners or superiors.

Mr. Solomon show signs of the lack of father figure, an important aspect of a person’s growth. Coupled with psychological and physical bullying in his childhood, Mr. Solomon exhibits an unconscious need for a strong father figure; and such lacks causes occasional outbursts. But once Mr. Solomon will find a strong figure, he will be completely loyal.

One major aspect of Mr. Solomon, when tested against the Zelekov Scale, is his lack of desire for extreme power. He will rather physically and mentally work hard, and in a team, to accomplish a project, than become a leader. Such a position doesn’t give him any accomplishments, unlike seeing a result from his hard work.

Mr. Solomon is ideal for positions such as…”

Ysadora overlooked the rest, which was a long list of potential positions, as well as the various historical figures he was likened to.

“Nice,” she commented appreciatively. It explained Randall’s choice; and part of her also sighed with relief that Abraham’s profile didn’t revealed a hidden persona or ambitions. She could now allow herself to begin to trust him just as Randall did.

“To what are you referring to, ma’am?” Daniel’s question pulled her away from her thoughts.

“What?”

“Your sudden comment, ‘Nice’, ma’am.”

“Oh. I find Mr. Solomon to be promising for our plan. I needed to confirm whether Randall’s people made a right decision.” She paused, and realizing he was still around, she asked: “Why are you still here?”

“You gave me the permission to sit, ma’am,” Daniel replied.

“Yes, I already told you, you can always sit; but what are you doing here after giving me the file?”

Ysadora sighed discreetly. Though he was a useful and indispensable assistant, he could sometime be thick.

“I was waiting for you to finish reading, ma’am,” Daniel answered, as if it was the ultimate answer to Ysadora’s question.

“Why?”

“In case you further needed my assistance, ma’am.”

“Well, I don’t. And if I would have needed your assistance, I would have told you at the start.”

“As you wish, ma’am.”

Ysadora stared at him, expecting him to leave her office; but he kept seated, staring back at her. She sighed, and finally ordered:

“That means you can leave, Daniel.”

“Yes ma’am,” he acknowledged, rising from his seat and walking out of the office.

Ysadora sat back in her chair, and stared at her computer. This day was exceptionally calm, and she found she had nothing to do or sort for Randall. Her thoughts came back to Abraham, and the file she read. Despite the new knowledge, she was having a harder time trying to put away his unexpected appearance. She and Randall searched for loyal allies since the Society’s genesis,

and the ones they gathered after all this time was Scott Johnson, their superiors’ emissary (whom was more a spy than an actual ally); and her assistant Daniel Fitzgerald, with incredible mental and physical abilities, yet considered a thorough failure by the military to which he belonged.

And here came a perfect man, with all the right profiles for what they were looking for, flawless yet obedient to Randall’s ideals.

Too perfect, Ysadora decided, rising from her seat. She needed to know him hands-on; Randall’s game was too important to be ruined by a single pawn.

“Daniel, tell me where is Abraham Solomon,” Ysadora called her assistant.

Silence ensued for some seconds, until he answered:

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“In Corridor 3-11, walking with Mr. Redspear, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Daniel,” she replied, leaving her office, making sure to lock the door.

“My pleasure, ma’am.”

**********************

“The new recruits you requested should arrive between this afternoon and tomorrow morning,” Abraham announced to Randall.

They were strolling down a long corridor linking two sections of the Capitoline; the walls were made of glass panes, looking out on both side to a strip of garden passing through the building.

“Perfect, thank you,” Randall thanked him, his cold eyes lighting up in a rare smile. “What about the senators and the counsellors against Bohm’s leadership, are they all eliminated?”

“Not all of them, no,” Abraham sighed in disappointment. “I spent the last two days trying to find a speck on them, but they’re too careful.”

“Hmm,” Randall acknowledged, his brow furrowing.

“Don’t worry,” Abraham reassured him, “with enough pressure, they’ll expose their flaws by themselves.”

“Do you have an idea on how to do that?”

“It’ll take some time, but I think I can coax them. Sudden transfers of money, unplanned trips, things like that which will reveal their guilt.”

“Please try to hurry; time is a much more dangerous enemy than people,” Randall replied.

“Of course.”

“Next thing on the list. What of the money? Did you get to formulate a working plan for that scenario of yours?”

“Yes, I put some time into it; I predict it should take about two weeks to become fully functional. Although I would need to meet those investors you mentioned.”

“They were last expected to arrive within three days,” Randall reassured him.

“Are you boys talking business without me?” a female voice interrupted them from behind, at quite a distance.

Randall and Abraham turned around, and the latter fought to keep himself focused as Ysadora strolled elegantly toward them, her tailored dress and jacket showcasing just as much her physique as it did the last two times they met.

“Of course not, I would not dream of keeping you out of this,” Randall replied, smiling broadly as he gestured her to walk by his other side. “We were merely resuming the last two days’ work.”

“A most amazing feat, may I say,” Ysadora appreciated, smiling at Abraham.

“Thank… thank you,” Abraham stammered. He silently cursed himself for losing his cool in front of her; but everything about her made him lose his words. Their last conversation also managed to make him feel like a fool: a feat he hadn’t experienced since college.

He was glad when they resumed walking, for Randall stood between him and her, so he couldn’t see her as well.

“I was browsing through the reports, and I couldn’t help but notice something, and I’m not sure what are your intentions about it,” Abraham carefully said.

Randall smirked.

“Who says whatever you read was my idea?”

“Well… In all honesty, sir, I doubt anything in this country happens without your knowledge. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“Oh?” Randall asked, an eyebrow raised, while Ysadora discreetly snickered. “You learn quickly. But any typical man would be appalled by that idea. Why aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say I have first-hand experienced what a world without order is like. Humans are very instinctive, and it doesn’t take forty years of freedom that they already start derailing down into a chaotic and self destructive path. To live an orderly life is only detrimental to those that lives in chaos and decadence… No other lives should be left in the dark because of the few that resist order and law.”

Randall smiled proudly.

“So what did you see that bothers you?”

“There seem to be no true regulations against certain forms of drugs; and reports show increasing mental instabilities in the entire Norr Americae population. The numbers are quite high...”

Through the glass panes’ reflections, Abraham noticed Ysadora jerk her head toward Randall, her jaws clenched; he pretended not to have seen their interaction as Randall gave her an ever-so-discreet nod before replying:

“I’m afraid I cannot yet tell you the reasons and the plans. But let me ask you something in return. How do you see the world, Abraham? When you watch it, the people, and yourself, what is the image that best represent it?”

Abraham thought about it, but it didn’t take long before he answered:

“Right now, the world feels to me like a detuned clock. Every lives, including my own, must follow a straight path of evolution and knowledge from birth to death; that is our worth, our destiny. Every day must count as something sacred, to not be wasted. Every seconds must be used to better not just ourselves, but the world around us, not just for our generations, but those in two hundreds, three hundreds years. If everyone would do that, the world, history, would be an ever-ticking and expanding clock, carrying the past into the future, creating the best outcome possible, where every lives is a crucial gear, each day is directed toward a common goal and worth.”

“But?” Randall asked.

“But right now, the lives that should become those crucial gears are doing nothing but spending their lives in laziness, and as if they have all the time in the world before them. And before they know it, they wasted fifty, sixty years doing nothing important, nothing worthy, and they became only burdens to the overall welfare of the world. They became faulty parts.”

Another silent nod happened between Randall and Ysadora, as the latter relaxed. It wasn’t hard for Abraham to understand that she was performing to perfection her role as a bodyguard and warning Randall of not exposing so much. He continued to look ahead and ignore their otherwise discreet exchange, and Randall replied:

“It goes without saying that one has to be able to not only find these faulty parts, but sift through them as well, so only the functional and worthy ones remain.”

Abraham suddenly understood; Randall winked at him, knowing he had found the answer to his original question, even if he didn’t say in any case of outsiders listening in to their conversation.

“I see. Well, since it has nothing to do with our plan to bring back the economy of the Uni-states, it’s not really worth my further attention, if you don’t mind,” Abraham simply said.

“You’re the Public Advisor, your call,” Randall answered as simply. “I need to go, I believe an investor already arrived. I’ll also arrange with him, and the others when they will arrive, a meeting in your office for tomorrow morning. I’ll call you when it’ll be done.”

“Thank you,” Abraham said as they shook hands; Randall then held lightly for a short moment Ysadora’s arm before leaving, a cellphone already in his hand.

Abraham watched as Ysadora looked after Randall until he entered an elevator.

“You’re extremely protective of him, aren’t you?” he asked her, amused.

Ysadora looked back at him, her turquoise eyes staring deep into his, as if trying to size him up.

“It’s my duty. I owe everything to him.”

“How come?” Abraham asked her, resuming walking.

“And when something is too good, he can sometimes blindly put his faith into it,” she continued, averting the question. “I’ve read your profile, so I can understand what he sees in you as his potential partner.”

Abraham smirked.

“But you don’t trust me.”

“You shouldn’t be surprised, I’m sure you have seen it from the start,” Ysadora replied teasingly.

“And I’m sure you’re aware that most betrayals come from people like you, people who worked for years to become extremely close to the target,” Abraham equally teased.

Ysadora’s eyes flared in pure anger, and she stopped right in her tracks.

“Be careful of your words,” she warned him.

“You should’ve expected them, considering you accused me first,” he replied, a small innocent smile on his lips. He wasn’t as much accusing her as teasing her; he felt he could see her true personality: fiery, passionate, and like no one could boss her around. Something that suited her much better than the obedient assistant personality she put on around him and Randall.

Somehow she seemed to see what he was doing, and she relaxed.

“Quite right. It is true that I was testing you,” she conceded. “We have trusted people in the past, especially Randall, but these people ended up betraying us,” she finished, her face becoming somber. “I’m just making sure it doesn’t happen again; Randall’s worked too hard to achieve his goals. And as I’ve said, I owe him, so it’s my duty to look after him.”

She walked up right to him, her eyes drilling into Abraham’s, and he felt deeply in his spine the sudden cold and merciless glare that she gave him as she finished:

“So know that if you’re doing this for your selfish ambitions, and you end up betraying Randall, I will personally make sure you end the rest of your days alive but completely crippled from head to toe in your bed.”

She turned on her heels and walked away without looking back:

“Have a nice day!”

Abraham stood there slightly shaken (though a part of his mind admired the sight of her figure from the back), and he replied:

“You too.”

He let out a sigh. Although her threat was clear, he nevertheless felt relieved. Those people had backbones and weren’t scared to let it show. True change came from these kind of people, and he had the fortitude to work with them. Whatever it took, he decided, he would show them he belonged in their world, in their ideals. He would show he was a crucial gear to the perfect clock Randall was creating.