I killed a dozen plants, and I burned ‘em to the ground
And now there ain’t no aliens, we’ve check it all around.
Yes, Now the plants won’t come, there’s no where they can grow
My Leader says it's best, but still I want to know?
Who’s gonna be a Captain, when the enemy is gone?
--Bathroom stall graffiti found just outside a military base.
***
A firm knock on my front door yanked me out of a dream where I passed judgment on cultists while playing chess against some unseen person. Meanwhile, Tara, Ginny, Kaitlyn, and the girl with the broken leg zipped by as they dangled from an overhead track. I lay there, trying to figure out a way to save my friends until another, louder knock reminded me why I’d awakened. “Just a minute!” I yelled while stumbling into a pair of sweats and to the door.
In the hallway stood Kaitlyn, Ginny, and Tara, holding up large bags and looking way too alert. “We brought breakfast,” Tara said, lifting up the tray of steaming drinks she held.
I blinked at them for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out how they had managed to get free from the track. Dimly, I noticed that the hallway behind the trio seemed busier than usual.
“Bad night?” Ginny asked. “We thought it might be easier to talk about the email you sent in person.”
Finally my brain started to kick in, and I realized I was awake. “You woke me out of a disturbing dream. Come in while I change.” I gestured a come-in motion, then went to the bedroom to get dressed. Before heading back to the living room, I splashed some water on my face, and I paused, looking into the mirror. The half-remembered details of the dream still had a hold on my foggy thoughts.
I dreamt often and intensely, probably as a side effect of not sleeping so much. But they rarely were so unpleasant or disturbing. A part of me wanted to pick at the dream to search for a hidden meaning, but more and more details faded, and I had guests.
Leaving the bedroom, I ran into a wall of strangers. Nearly twenty strangers in business attire had surged into my apartment while my back was turned. “Who the fuck are you?” I asked.
Five or six of the people all started to introduce themselves on top of one another. Through the press of people, I could see Kaitlyn standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed and glaring at the people trying to push past her. Over her shoulder, Tara had backed into the farthest corner, arms pulled in defensively. I sent a text to Ginny, asking that she call security. At the least, they could explain how all these people could get into the restricted access building.
“Silence!” I yelled, then pointed at one who had remained quiet. “You, who are you, and what are you doing in my home?”
The man stood tall and advanced with his hand out, which took all of half a step. “I’m Tom Johnson, and I’m here representing Nimbletainment. We’d like to offer you a very sweet deal for the use of your image in our products. We have a new campaign that…” At this point several others drowned him out while trying to make their own offers heard.
I let them talk over themselves for a minute before I waved my hand near my neck in a director's cut motion. Most of them shut up, but one of them persisted.
“...Arms of America is the best fit you will find, and we are ready to pay handsomely for just a few appearances.”
“I’m not interested. Can you please leave?”
The man looked me in the eye. “Just hear me out, and you’ll see that we’re the best fit for you, and like I said, our payout will be quite beneficial.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed several of the corporate types starting to shuffle towards the door. This guy, however, made no signs of leaving and started droning on about the virtues of his company. I could feel my hands wanting to clench as a desire to punch him started to overcome social restraint.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
--Sure. Let’s see what he has, ooh! His daughter’s pictures? How does that sound? She goes to a private preschool: New Day Montessori. The school’s waitlist is measured in years.
He just would not shut up or listen to any attempt to get him to stop talking. Rudeness of that order deserved to receive it in kind, so I loudly cut him off mid-word. “I will not be signing any contracts right now. If I did, it would be for the purchase of the New Day Montessori school. I’m sure that as the owner I can make sure that any student’s account is current and evict any that aren’t.”
The man’s mouth audibly slammed shut, and his face turned pale. “It’s just business. You don’t have to make this personal,” he said while the redness of anger flushed his face.
I cocked an eyebrow at him, then looked around at my home. I couldn’t believe he had the gall to make that claim right here and now. “You have invaded my home and refused to leave when asked. That’s as personal as it gets, so I figured you get what you give. Now will you all please get out of my home?”
“Are you sure you won’t…” started the Nimbletainment guy.
My eyes narrowed as irritation surged past anger and approached rage. My voice dropped into a hushed tone, and I felt my hands creep upwards, seeking the pistols I'd carried just yesterday. “Was my Oregon accent too thick for you? Do you want another? Or maybe my words were too large for you to grasp?
“Let me use smaller ones so you can understand. No! I will not. Is that short enough? I won’t accept any offers for the next three weeks. After that, you can reach out to my manager for review.
“Except Nimbletainment and Arms of America.” I pointed at their reps in turn. “They are permanently banned, along with all of their subsidiaries and parent companies.”
I grabbed Mr. Nimbletainment by the tie and shoved him towards the door, despite there still being several bodies in the way. “Kaitlyn, can you please do a social post or twenty to that effect? And while you are at it, start a public block list for corporations that I won’t do business with.”
She nodded from where she still guarded the kitchen entrance.
I took two steps back toward the bedroom and opened my gun safe. “Now, if you all don’t get out, I’ll show you why insurance companies call breaking into a Samurai’s house an attempted suicide and deny all related claims.”
From the open doorway, a loud clapping cut through the crowd. This caused a stampede as the salesmen, caught between the inside and outside forces, collectively decided on saving their skins.
When the room cleared, I saw a tall, lithe woman in skintight black leather leaning on the doorframe. She wore small black glasses that stood out against her pale skin and slicked-down hair. Whips rode on each hip. All her gear had a quality that spoke of Samurai tech. Opposite her, also still out in the hallway, stood a young man in army dress greens.
“You’re a Samurai?” I asked her once the last intruder left. “What brings you here?” The gun case made a light click as I slid the door shut again, and I felt the tension drain from my shoulders.
Kaitlyn let out a little squeak. In the corner of my eye, I could see her eyes dancing and her fist stuffed into her mouth to keep it sealed. At my raised eyebrow, she sent me a text message.
Kaitlyn: That’s Trinidom. Mega popular right now.
“Just making sure the corpos don’t enslave our newest Samurai. But you have this well in hand. I like that three-week waiting period idea.” She had a small half smile that would put the Mona Lisa to shame.
I shrugged. It had come out in the spur of the moment, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. I had too many changes going on with my life to know how much I could put into anything, whether that was time, effort, or materials.
“Thanks for the concern,” I said. Trinidom still muttered to herself, something about passing a law. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes. I’m with the Change League, and we wanted to provide you with a welcome package. It’s not much, just some info about the League and contact info.” She handed over a data card. She hesitated a moment before adding, “Free advice: you’ll want to bump up the security around here. Especially if you keep doing media appearances. Sad thing is that some people really do think that all they’re good for is to be dusted by a Samurai.”
“It’s on my list of things to do.”
She nodded, then strode off down the hallway. I turned to the remaining young man. I quickly read his insignia and spotted a couple of minor, but worthwhile, ribbons. His rank was a new one that had replaced lieutenant, but the exact name escaped me at the moment. “And you, trooper? What brings you to darken my door at this early hour?”
“Decurion Tolson, sir,” he saluted me briefly, not waiting for me to return it. “SamSyncCom. Your father indicated you would be amenable to coordination with the Cascadia Military, and I’m assigned as your liaison, if you’ll accept me. I only dropped by to give you my contact info.” He didn’t exactly stand at attention, but close to it with an unnatural stiffness, as if resisting the habit by sheer will.
“At ease, Decurion, I’m no officer.”
He did seem to relax a little. “Beg your pardon, sir, but all Samurai have a rank at least equal to a captain.”
“If I recall the new rank system correctly, captains only exist when there’s an enemy present. And for Samurai, that’s further limited to antithesis presence. Since I don’t see any aliens about, you can relax. To answer your question, I grew up with the military. Of course I want to help them when I’m able, so yes, I’d be happy to have you as my liaison.”
He handed over another data card, saying, “Let me know if you need anything.” Then he walked off, just as yet another person walked up to my door.