THE GUARDSMAN: Book 1: Honor of the Fallen – Chapters 38-40

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The Guardsman, Book 1: Honor of the Fallen:

Chapter 38)

Samson reminded, “This is a really bad idea.”

Persephone snapped, “Well, you just get used to it, Samson. I’m just full of bad ideas. You will need to deal with them and there is nothing you can do about it. How much farther is it?”

He told her, “About ten more stops.”

She complained, “Good I can’t take much more of your ‘bad idea’ speech; you have repeated it at every stop all the way over here.”

Samson agreed, “Well, it’s true.”

Leaning closer across his lap, she whispered, “Why are there so many people here?”

Samson let her know, “There aren’t that many. Most people have been at work for forty-five minutes already today. The morning rush has been over for a while.” Samson sat straight back on his newspaper weather section, with Persephone perched on his lap. “That’s why we are all grumpy; we’re all late to work.”

Persephone’s second lesson in commuter life happened when she was not watching where she was going. She was busy leering at the filthy corridor walls and her shoe landed in and stuck to ‘something’ on the ground in one of the dozens of foot corridors they had to traverse to the office after the tram ride ended.

Both Persephone and Samson assumed that she was already security flagged for vid, as a matter of expediency by the Citadel. So, her hood remained up at all times. Her hood shaded her face from any potentially operational security feeds. As low as they were in the underbelly of society, that was unlikely. Both because their cameras were unlikely to still be operational or that they would have the infrared face recognition capability required to tag her face for the security grid. Samson had learned long ago that risks, while a part of life, needed the most mitigation possible if one wanted to survive.

Tomposo Investigations was another matter altogether. Since the day was well underway only two of his six coworkers were present with Mario. Samson was not accustomed to doing parlor tricks with his blade and had kept it firmly secured since he had drawn it seven weeks prior. That did not stop his coworkers from hoping for another show. They usually stuck around hoping for another show.

Before he could fully clear the door, he was accosted with “John! Where have you been? I have cases piling up that require your talents. You’ve been missing forever!” Mario’s chatter ground to a halt when Samson was followed through the door by another person, shorter and hooded.

Samson diverted, “Remember I told you about that ‘private security contract’, a few weeks ago, Mario? Well, it just landed in my lap again. Sorry I haven’t been able to contact you, but I have been busy with that.”

Tomposo barked, “You’ve been gone almost two weeks. I was getting ready to write you off as a ‘resignation’.”

Tomposo probably already had dropped him from rolls, but was weaselly enough to fudge the documents for another commission.

Samson ignored that and corrected, “Only eight days but we can’t have that; a man needs employment after all.”

The small, hooded shadow asked in a female voice, “Where do you sit, Samson?”

Mario asked cautiously “Who is this?” He knew the rules about the dishonor of the ‘John Smith’ name. Anyone who violated those proscriptions was subject to punishment on their own. Using a given name as opposed to the earned name of ‘John Smith’ was almost a capital sin, a sin much greater than Mario’s employing a John Smith. Choosing to employ a disgraced man only rubbed the disgrace onto the employer, but violating the edict assigning the name was a violation of the law and could result in that person losing their name too.

Momentarily ignoring the rotund, shorter man, “I’m the one on the back-right side of the central aisle.” Turning back to his boss, “She is the client, Mario. Being anonymous is one of the best ways to maintain her security. I apologize for the lack of a proper introduction.”

Stepping up to the cue, Persephone extended her hand, “Please call me ‘Jane’ for the time being. I hope I can meet your acquaintance properly in the near future.”

Mario took her offered hand, “And you will be employing John in the near future?”

Persephone declared, “Yes. If you don’t mind, I would be pleased to engage Samson’s services for a few more days.”

Stunned but remembering to release her hand, “I… ah, well… I suppose we can manage with Sam…” Mario cut off and corrected himself, “Ah, John in your employ.” While Mario was speaking, Persephone had passed behind Samson. She dipped her left hand into her pocket and slipped a coin into Samson’s right hand. She caressed his thumb with hers when she rounded his back to his console.

Samson’s hand closed around the weight of the coin.

Persephone sat and waved her hand at Samson from his office chair, and he produced his comm unit. While she plugged it into the console Samson and Mario retreated into Mario’s office. Samson laid out the current employment scenario as Persephone and he had discussed and covered everything he could ‘share’, with Mario.

When Mario started to balk, Samson tossed the gold ten thousand credit coin onto the desk. The coin slipped across the stacks of mismatched reports and paperwork that poured out of every possible receptacle, onto and then over, every inch of available space. “This is payment for the last few days and a few more to follow.”

Tomposo questioned his sanity, demanding, “Are you kidding, John?! This will buy you, and almost everyone else who works here, for almost a month and a half! Full-time… you would have almost a… well months even, before you needed to consider coming back. Expenses? How are you going to handle those?”

Samson genuinely laughed, “I don’t think you will need to worry about that. You could probably book it as ‘client funded’.” Samson looked over his left shoulder, out the door that had remained open to where Persephone was seated, poking with growing irritation at his console touch screen. “I don’t think that one will be wanting as far as expenses are concerned. Besides, I don’t eat too much, so I think that will be a non-issue.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, “If you say so… If you don’t mind my asking, why does she call you ‘Samson’?”

Samson looked back at him, “Mario, if I mind, I won’t answer.” The large man behind the desk nodded his acceptance of the point, “She prefers to call me that name and is somewhat intractable on the subject.”

Mario seemed a little confused and asked, “How do you mean? Should I call you Samson too?”

Shaking his head he answered, “No. You should call me ‘John Smith’. That is my legal name and that is the name you need to call me, by Hegemony Edict. She has other ideas though.” Samson looked back out the open door. Her posture and mannerisms were becoming more and more aggressive and frustrated. “She can be stubborn on the subject.” Samson shook his head, rolled his eyes, and looked back at Mario. “Frankly, she doesn’t really care about getting in trouble over it. You and I on the other hand… well… the law is the law. And the law at that level tends to squish little people like us. The law is the law, and it treats everyone the same, but people themselves are not all the same, that one in particular.”

Mario admitted, “I understand.” The thump on a desk drew both men’s eyes back into the office to look at Persephone as she growled her displeasure and slapped the console a second time. “Is… Is she going to be alright?”

Cringing, Samson answered, “No… We’d better get out there before she kicks the thing until she feels better. She has something of a temper when it comes to insubordinate electronics.”

As both men reentered the main office Persephone looked up from her irritation. “Gods below! How can you possibly tolerate this impertinent piece of shit machine?!”

Samson consoled, “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

She snapped instantly, “Don’t patronize me! This is the most annoying piece of uncooperative, infernal, aggravating, worthless piece of junk I have ever encountered!”

Trying to placate her, Samson agreed, “Yes, it can be annoying. You just need to know the tricks.”

Infuriated, she added, “And did you know this screen is blown?!” She pointed irritated between the horizontal flicker and the vertical yellow band. “These stupid things are supposed to have a longer life than, well, I don’t know what, but this isn’t supposed to happen!”

Samson agreed, “Really. Look at that. Close your eyes, boss.” Before either Persephone or the boss could do more than look at him as if he had told them, he sprouted wings the night before, he kicked the floor-mounted console to the right of the chair, with his heel.

Persephone leaned over the monitor, the flicker had disappeared, and the touch screen registered properly again. She nodded once approvingly. When she looked up again from the shadow of her hood, “You and I, ‘Sir’, are going to get you a new comm and dump this waste of materials into the recycle bin. Today! As soon as we leave here, you are getting a new one.”

Meek John protested, “I can’t afford a new one in my budget. It is all right, you just need to get the hang of it. I have been working on that one for a while but…” Her raised finger silenced not only Samson but the rest of the room.

The heiress snapped, “Don’t argue with me! And don’t give me any ‘budget’ nonsense. You are getting a new comm, right now. I can strip the identification coding out of my personal unit and forge a new identification code from sand and floor junk faster than I can clear the pop-ups and ads from this thing!”

John reminded her, “I told you, it works fine for me. You just need to delete them all at once, after you turn it on in the morning and it is fine.”

She growled at each word, “I don’t care. You are getting a new one, right now.”

Samson protested, “It has all my work on it.”

Her left index finger formed a dagger under his nose and ended the complaint. She drew a rapid circle with her right hand on the touch screen, slapped the center of the circle with her three middle fingers, and pushed them off to the left side. “Fixed. I moved everything to the console.” Persephone turned to Mario, “Sir, could you please throw this down an incinerator shoot or give it to a child to use as a building block or to some… bad person you don’t like,” handing off the comm to Mario. Persephone tracked back to Samson with her now free hand and accusing finger, “And you. We are going shopping right now.”

John protested stupidly, “But, I…”

He immediately ran into stubbornness to match his own, “To Hades with your budget!” Pointing, “Out the door you!” Persephone turned to the rest of the office, “It was a pleasure meeting you all. I will see you soon, I hope.”

 Chapter 39)

 Persephone lay warm and comfortable. Her cheek was against Samson’s chest while her left hand idly stroked fingertips down and backs of nails up and down his chest. The figure ‘8’ he drew again and again in the small of her back had her ready to fall back to sleep.

She was highly amused by the soft purr she could hear through his chest every few breaths. She was tempted to tease him about it but knew he would try to stop the perceived silliness, and she liked knowing she could make him purr.

Persephone gave a singsong request, “Baby…”

Samson whispered back, “Yes Persephone?”

She prompted, “We need to go out today.”

He reminded her, “It has only been two weeks. We were out at the office and shopping just the other day. And we have already been going out since you got here. This sounds more ominous than usual. What do you have in mind?”

Persephone started laying out the plan, “We need to start going out so we can be seen,” she felt his chest tense, and stroked his cheek and chin before he could move, “Please hear me out, Babe.” Satisfied he wasn’t going to move she continued, “I need to be seen. Remember when we came back from my last outing and people looked right at me, recognized me, and then shook it off like I was some imaginary dream fantasy?”

He questioned, “I remember, Love. What does that have to do with anything? We are trying to keep you safe.”

She objected, “I know and you are. The problem is that eventually, someone will track us down. The reason I left was, so I wasn’t a stationary target for whoever is trying to kill me.”

He folded, “Alright. I don’t have to like it but go ahead. What do you have in mind?”

She laid out the intent of her plan, “I need to get out and be seen. I need to become ‘real’. I need to be something more than just a picture on a vid screen or print publication’s cover magnet. People need to know that I’m alive and I exist as a person, not just a name. People need to feel a real connection to me, to know that I am alive and I’m a part of their lives.”

Samson demanded, “Persephone!? What the hell does that matter?”

Instead of protesting his objection, she was more irritated by him moving under her, her hands wrapped his chest and pulled him back to where she wanted him, and she continued. “Once people have that connection with me and see me as a person, not a news story, and assuming they like what they see, of course, I will become more popular, not just a popular face. I need people to love me. I need our citizens to love me.”

He placated, “They do love you…”

She interrupted quietly but emphatically, “No! They love the ‘idea’ of me. They love the stories they read, and the public relations clips that are released on my behalf. Since I am just a story that is all, I am right now, I’m just a public relations story. I need to be much more.”

Needing more, he asked, “Why is this all of a sudden so important to you, Love?”

She began slowly, “Samson… Someone is trying to kill me, someone who is very powerful. Powerful enough to turn my personal assistant and create an augmented assassination machine out of her. Someone who is powerful enough to arbitrarily violate that many Earth-mandated technological prohibitions. Then keep it quiet. They set the assassin to self-destruct if caught, they inserted… no… ‘maintained’ that assassin in the staff, all while avoiding security checks, and any evidence we could find. I have no idea how many others there are. Eventually, one of them will get through and kill me.

“Don’t forget how we ended up here in the first place. We were set up Baby. Sure, ‘she’ was an idiot and ran with our clothes, but the vid teams were there before the security detail was. Someone called the vid teams, to set me up and discredit me. And I have no idea if that was an attack or a random chance at Vlad’s that could be a second attack to discredit me or just some opportunist looking for media credit.

“I need to be so beloved by the citizenry that they will laugh off any smear campaigns against the two of us. I need people to consider me more than what I am now. I need them to hold me dear in their hearts.”

He coaxed out of her, “And how do you plan on accomplishing that Love?”

She fussed, “I need to be myself, Samson. I need to let people see me for who I am. I can’t just be a story people read.”

He challenged, “What’s wrong with being a story? Fairy Tales are stories.”

This got Persephone’s attention and irritation enough for her to lean back and look him in the eyes. “That is correct. And what happens when a fairytale ends abruptly in murder?”

It took a few seconds for him to run the lines of her logic back to the origin, “Persephone, are you making a purely Machiavellian assumption that people could love you so much that they would riot in every structure in the empire if anything were to happen to you? Making it so dangerous for anyone to hurt you that it would severely alter the risks associated with removing you politically?”

She casually mentioned her audacious goal, “Yes I am.”

He started to get it and muttered, “Ah.” Samson’s head fell back to the pillow and she could see his eyes moving as he traced the logic and made plans of his own. She waited for him to speak, not wanting to interrupt. “What do you have in mind? Specifically, I mean.”

She was clear, “I need to get out into towers and meet people in factories and in public.”

Samson started thinking out loud, “I think we will need to get some equipment together. There will be a lot of risks to this, and we need to be very careful not to pattern ourselves, no point making the bad guy’s job easier. This is not something we can just walk into. We need to run multiple entry and exit routes. We’ll need to run cutouts and travel widely circuitous routes so that if security in the Citadel is compromised, they can’t use those assets to track us. We can’t draw a circle around ourselves with your appearances either. The appearances need to be totally random and unpredictable. Most of all, we will always need a way out; some predetermined exit, and a backup to that exit, at all times from everywhere we are planning on visiting.”

She lay her head back down and relaxed as that particular tension was lifted from her mind. After a few minutes more relaxing, she gently shook his shoulders, “Okay you, time to get started. We will do exercises first, then we can play with your new comm and start working on our project.”

When Persephone left the bathroom, Samson was checking equipment he had placed on the couch, while she finished her shower, after their workout. Pistols and weaponry were completed first. He was currently occupied with maintaining their anti-gravity harnesses.

Her warm comfortable robe made joining him on the couch no chore at all. As she tucked her right arm under his left she asked, “Why are you working on those?”

He told her, “Well, I thought of a few changes that might help. I want to make them so we can wear them under our clothes and tie them to other equipment.”

She complained, “Why bother? These things are so unsafe that even military units are reluctant to use them routinely. Civilians hardly ever use them. There is at least one death a week from someone trying to fly with one of these.”

Samson admitted, “I know. That is why I like to have ours in good working order. If you need a way out, this is a nice crazy way no one will expect.”

She asked, “What is this new strap?”

Samson flipped the harness he was working on, “These are leg straps that connect to the belt front and back. I want to make them so that they are stabilized and supported under and between our legs, so the belts don’t ride up, and the seat is more solid when the harness activates. I don’t want the belts riding up on us if we have to jump a long distance.”

She kissed him on the neck and detached her arms.

They discussed their first visit while she dressed.

She was happy with their route and already familiar with the area. Samson had his last black and gold tunic under his dark broken-in overcoat, and Persephone was tucked into her own warm travel coat. Samson removed the plastic bottle from his doorknob and set it on the counter behind the swing of the door.

She mocked, “You ‘Sir’,” her pointing mock accusing finger under his nose, “Are silly. I don’t even know why you bother with that.”

As he opened the door, with his right hand on his pistol, he checked both ways before retreating into the room. His hands turned her to the opening, “I do it because it is cheaper, and poops less than a guard dog. And paranoia is only paranoia if they are not actually after you. I know for a fact that they definitely are after me.”

Samson started her moving out the door with a gentle shove on her shoulders, her hand mimed a talking puppet, opening and closing to her syllables, “You are crazy, good Sir.”

Samson reminded, “No, I’m not. I’m just prepared.”

She hooked his arm after he locked the door from the outside, “Yes you are, but I forgive you.”

Chapter 40)

The man occupying the superior position mocked, “Hey, would you look at this. More low-life mist scum, come dragging itself out of the shadows to knock on my door.”

Samson snapped, “Go to Hell, Miller.”

Miller gestured broadly with his left hand while leaving his right ready on his rifle, “You truly are dumb. I commute to Hell every morning. Didn’t you get the memo?”

Samson chimed, “Apparently not.” Samson and Persephone worked their way closer to the guard point. They shed the encircling mists while stepping over the tracks, around the mixed-laden and empty iron cars.

Miller flexed his ego, “Well, you should have. That is why I’m so slim, trim, and beautiful.” His partner chuckled and shook his head while leaning against the side of the door. “All the stairs I walk up every morning leaving my humble abode, walking up to the tram, then all the stairs walking down here to clock in. And then I get to stand around waiting for your ugly mug to make an appearance.”

Feigning frustration, Samson barked, “Shut the hell up and press your red button Miller.”

Miller mocked, “What’s the matter? Are you all worn out after your fun-filled frolic-filled night in the mist-dives? Where are the rest of your club rats? The scavengers get them?”

Samson’s sarcasm oozed, “Yes, you big dummy. I’m on security detail and I actually allowed paying customers to be eaten alive by an undiscovered race of subhuman predators that live secretly shrouded in the city mists. The same ones that steal and eat naughty children at night when they refuse to go to bed on time.”

Persephone and Miller’s partner coughed laughs at the same time. His was more of a bark that drew Miller’s accusing glare, “Traitor. You’re supposed to be on my side…” The other man shrugged and smiled. “In that case, I’ll give you my address. Bring your subhuman cannibal monsters over; we’ll see who lasts longer, your mutants or my rug rats.”

Samson jabbed, “Well if your kiddos are anything like you with your nasty disposition, bad looks, and revolting personal hygiene, I don’t think the cannibal monsters have a chance. So, are you going to hit that little red button of yours? Or do I have to shoot you and throw rocks until I hit the button for you?”

The watchman complained, “Keep your pants on!” Miller slapped the button and the angry sanitation field snapped out of existence. “Same as always, get moving and yourselves up here before a creepy-crawly does.”

Samson followed Persephone up the metal walk, “A big ugly guy like you and you’re scared of a little creepy-crawly? Are you sure you’re not an eight-year-old girl? Scared if some bug is going to make you piss your panties?”

Persephone stopped and turned on the upper third of the walk, her disgusted groan was punctuated by her slapping Samson’s shoulder, “That is absolutely disgusting Samson! You need to stop talking like that. It is revolting and it’s rude.”

Miller’s hand on Persephone’s right shoulder caused her to turn to face him and Samson automatically leaned to his left, clearing the draw for both his sword and his right hip holstered pistol. Miller did not see Samson’s movement; he was focused on Persephone. “Little lady, you need to watch what you say. It is very dangerous for you to use something other than a legal name for one of the fallen.”

Persephone’s crisply snapped, angry reply to Miller, surprised all three men. “That’s all bullshit! He’s no more fallen than I am!”

Carefully placing his left hand on her left hip, maintaining his right on the pistol, Samson leaned to her, “My Lady, he is correct. Everyone must obey the law. A name is important. It speaks to who a man and family are.”

She went supernova hot in an instant and snapped, “Samson Rockpoint you sanctimonious jerk! Don’t you dare tell me about the law!” In her fury she crushed her hood back against her neck and hair so she could glare at and see him better; her hair fell in long loops with the force of her hand discarding the hood. Both guard’s jaws dropped as they instantly recognized Persephone for who she was, “You know full well I know exactly what that law says, and that I care even less about it. I know! To Hades with the Law!”

Samson tried to placate, with “My Lady…”

Persephone’s accusing finger snapped down into Samson’s face, “Don’t you dare ‘my lady’ me! You… you infuriating… man!”

Persephone stomped up the last two steps and was confronted by the dumbstruck faces of the two door-security guards.

Samson groaned to himself.

The intercom by the field’s kill-switch button crackled, “Ground door report. You lazy bastards, the security barrier has been deactivated for three minutes and generated a management flag.”

Miller snapped out of his shock first and slapped the intercom button before his partner, who was closer, could reach it. “Roger, this is the ground door, we, ah, thought we heard someone messing with the cars and while my partner was checking it out he stopped to piss.”

The voice snapped, “You incompetent moron! You know you are supposed to turn the barrier back on if one of you goes down. Both of your files are now flagged for your next management review!”

Both guards cursed under their breath, “Roger control.” Miller Lee looked to make sure Samson was clear of the incineration field and nodded to his partner, who slapped the button with the back of his arm while shaking his head, at his pending loss of employment.

Incensed, Persephone pulled herself up to her full regal height, which added significantly to her ‘physical height’, “If either of you two suffers repercussions because of my visit, I will hear about it. That is an order. I will deal with those arrogant suite dwellers myself. I will also check periodically to ensure my instructions have been carried out, in full. Is that clear gentlemen?”

Still in shock but conscious enough to reply, Miller spoke for the two, “Yes my Lady Persephone, perfectly clear.” Both men tucked their chins to their chests averting their eyes in a modest bow on the cramped landing.

“Samson.” Her snapped use of his name was an abbreviated command telling him to collect their information.

Samson held out his hand to Miller first, “Your personal comm unit, please.” After receiving the unit, he swiped his own over the back of his device and scanned the carrier and frequency into the new device Persephone had instructed him to purchase. He waved his hand to the second guard, who had his comm out and waited after Samson returned Miller’s comm unit. After he scanned it and returned it to its owner, Samson’s fingers danced, on his own comm setting several automatically scheduled contact reminders.

Samson’s nod indicated he was finished collecting data. Persephone was back in motion an instant later, “Please, open this door, now.” From someone else that statement could have been mistaken for a request. Persephone’s mood and swirling aggravation were cutting through her typically genial and polished surface.

Once she was inside, Persephone’s polite demeanor and pleasant greetings for the employees she met left none of them with any reservations that she was exactly who they thought she was. The narrow steel catwalks and railings working their way up to the five-hundred-meter level of the structure were packed along the route of her winding procession up with workers who crept, crawled, leaped, and climbed every piece of equipment that would support their weight to her path.

Since she made no effort to disguise her presence the crowd gathered in force.

The massive ceramic and steel organs of the two-kilometer-tall, vertical smelting operation twisted and turned on its own as it digested the raw ore from above, heated, molded, and churned out refined iron to the rail cars waiting below. The smelting plant’s machinery operated easily and continuously while the workers mobbed Persephone.

While climbing the metal walkway Samson patiently scanned the crowded and turning switchbacks that were the other metal walkways. He repeatedly started at the ground and worked up, through the crowd and back up the dizzying heights of the factory. They had climbed a little over three hundred meters when he spotted the gaggle of managers above, milling about at the bottom of the ceramic concrete exit ramp.

The managers seemed reluctant to enter the smelter even though they had obviously been alerted to the presence of and could clearly see the Heiress to the Empire now slowly working her way up to them through their lowly employees.

Persephone was hard to miss even at the substantial distance across the width of the furnace and down several tiers of the winding catwalk. She was the radiant one, the one everyone was drawn towards. She was also clean and stunning, relative to the dust-covered workers. The managers still held their ground and reluctantly milled about.

Samson kept his eyes on the managers and the throng of workers mobbing Persephone. The cynic in him judged the second waiting, higher standing, group to be the more dangerous of the two groups, but that was a misstatement, and he knew it. They were just more annoying.

Persephone and Samson had made another half-circuit around the smelter. They passed underneath the managers, along the steel catwalks, before returning to their view.

It took some time before someone of enough rank or courage arrived to set them in motion. They gingerly worked their way down the now entirely too narrow walkways. The catwalks and walkways always appeared perfectly adequate when viewed safely behind security and management video monitors. They did not seem quite as safe now that they were standing on them in person. Then, there was all the heat, and vapors, and flying things, and dust, and burning boiling metal splattering everywhere.

Samson was amused.

Samson was amused, right up until he noticed the pinched look in Persephone’s eyes between pleasant greetings. Then he noticed the set to her jaw as they got closer to the approaching pack of managers. Finally, Samson noticed a tense line of muscle under the skin of her neck as they neared. No one else would have noticed, but Samson did.

Her celebrity smile and charm, coupled with her intelligence and ability to absorb the intricacies of the labors that workers described to her, followed by her incisive and pointed questions allowed her to quickly grasp the facility’s intricacies. This caused Samson to wonder precisely what she had in mind for the inevitable meeting with management in a climate-controlled meeting room somewhere far above their current hot dusty and dangerous level.

She had been painfully adamant that this be their first public visit. She had been intractable on the subject, since there was no way that he could justify a hostile presence he had been unable to divert her attention.

Persephone began to politely disengage from the workers. She started using subtle comments about ‘not wanting to make the workers walk any further than necessary for fear of tiring them so they could not walk all the way home at shift change’, and ‘how if she wanted to really have fun they could all turn around and start walking back down’, and ‘how sorry they all would be if one of the managers fell and someone had to walk all the way down to the factory floor to sweep up the fallen bits and splatter off the floor’ and that would only make more work for them.

By the time she received the group of managers all the workers had begun receding to their workstations. Persephone was again a mask of distant schooled politeness.

The lead manager gave an investor’s tour. It was purely a set piece and scripted. Samson had not been paying any attention to the worker’s comments because he was more concerned with Persephone’s physical security. He did pick up some glaring discrepancies between what she was now hearing from the managers and what they both observed as facts on the ground while walking up. Then there was what the workers, who were in their company for the last two hours of their climb, had told Persephone and Samson. Even while he was focusing on security, he knew this would be an interesting meeting because of the number of discrepancies he passively detected between what management was saying and his firsthand experience with Persephone.

The din of babbling did not cease during the trek up the ceramic corridor. The verbal rambling assaulted his ears all the way up the high-speed lifts. It drowned out the whistling of the air displaced by the car as it traveled fifteen hundred meters to the top of the tower. Persephone nodded and smiled at all the right times.

The conference room was like a million others scattered around the upper floors of almost every structure on the planet. The three sides of the conference room that fronted windows framed the same skyline view. Samson assumed the fourth side would have viewed the receiving port for new raw materials. The broad half-circle of the room abutted the solid wall where the elevator banks were reopening admitting a tide of managers. The far side of that wall could only have been the control tower for the delivery freighters and the receiving pad itself. The room was equipped with the same chairs and water pitchers every few seats that were the standard issue all over the empire.

The part that irritated Samson was the same insincere pleasantries and droll company that were standard issue in similar rooms all over the empire too.

The difference this time was that Persephone paced to the far side of the room, on the opposite side of the elevator doors. The skyline was to her back and framed her on both sides. She looked at the men and women who had followed her closely. She then looked at those late arrivals, one of whom was hustling, to move and intercept Persephone’s chair at the head of the table. Persephone was not amused.

This meeting started badly. The manager could not reasonably reach the chair in time before Persephone sat unless she double-timed her step and physically pulled the chair out from under Persephone before she could sit. Samson sighed knowing it would be a long day.

While Persephone was still standing, Samson behind her to the right, she said simply, “Please be seated. I have a few questions I would like to ask.” His eyes followed the movement that closed with the chair behind Persephone. Samson could see from behind her as Persephone’s head tracked to the same individual. It was one of the latecomers, an older woman. She was stopped and pinned in place by Persephone’s politely spoken, but clipped second request, “Please be seated.” Persephone faced the older woman eye to eye. With her outstretched right hand, she indicated a vacant chair at the table. Persephone made it obvious she would not surrender the chair at the head of the table.

Persephone had hardly settled into her seat when the older woman demanded, “By what authority do you demand anything out of this Corporation?”

Samson did not think that his groan was loud enough to be heard, but it was. The older woman’s eyes flicked to him and back to Persephone. Even though he was behind her, Samson’s mind’s eye could see Persephone flash an evil smile for that microsecond, even through the chair and her hair that blocked his view. Persephone leaned forward, propping her chin on her hands, and with a forced smile in her voice, she said extra sweetly, “Really? You don’t know who I am? That’s so cute. I can’t imagine how that could be though.”

Samson stood to her right rear with his hands impassively folded in the small of his back inside his overcoat.

Undeterred, the older woman said, “You know exactly what I mean, Lady Persephone. You know full well that this is a freely traded corporation. We are resident subjects of the Chroynos hierarchy; we are free to operate our own legitimate business for the good of our shareholders, without harassment, or coercion.”

Persephone flopped back into the chair, setting it to slightly rock.

Samson’s hands were impatient, rubbing thumbs over fingers behind his back, while still tucked into his overcoat.

Persephone mocked “Wow! That was a mouthful. Let me make sure I am following you. I don’t want to seem confused. This is a ‘freely traded corporation’ and ‘free to operate your own legitimate business for the good of our shareholders’. Did I get the general gist of it there?”

The older woman’s reply dripped with supreme self-confidence, as she snapped, “Yes Lady.” That was highlighted with a smug self-assured smile when she finished speaking.

Persephone cocked her head, at the other woman’s intended slight, and more hair fell to her shoulder. Her sigh was followed by her suddenly leaning forward, setting those seated at the table back into their chairs. Persephone stood and stripped her overcoat.

Samson’s fingers started to drum and slide over the blade’s hilt.

Persephone looked right and left and saw nowhere for her coat, so she dropped it on the floor to the left of her chair. She slowly sat and leaned back comfortably again. “Since we established who I am, why don’t you do me the gracious favor of introducing yourself, since we have never met.”

The older woman sat ridged and defiant. She said with an air of superiority, “I am the President of the Board and CEO of this corporation.”

Persephone mocked the woman’s second slight, “Well then Madam ‘President of the Board and CEO of ‘This Corporation”.” Not only had she failed to address Persephone with the respect she had earned, but she was also not providing a proper name for herself. Persephone returned the barb to its sender, “You seem to have an adequate grasp of the Empire’s laws of corporate governance. I wonder if you care to enlighten us on the status of publicly traded ownership of your ‘This Corporation’. Since you pretend to be so well versed in corporate governance you should have no trouble elaborating that which is, by that same law, publicly available on any comm unit with a power charge, relating to the ownership percentages of ‘This Corporation’.”

Several faces of the more aware around the table paled as they perceived where Persephone was going. Samson continued caressing the hilt of his blade, behind his back.

The CEO’s frosty tone could have frozen oxygen, “If you must know, in this setting, the primary shareholders for this entity are corporate pension funds, institutional investors, individual retirement funds, other corporations, and a variety of individual large net worth investors.”

Persephone stated calmly, “Oh, that’s right,” while she leaned forward and poured herself a glass of water, “So it is a standard investor corporate portfolio then. No real deviation from what you would see anywhere else, in the investment world.”

The venom in the CEO’s voice had grown exponentially while Persephone continued to toy with her in front of her underlings, “Absolutely correct!”

Persephone sprung her trap with deliberate ease, “‘Madam President of the Board’, if you would be so kind as to share with me the name of the largest pension fund on our Imperial Exchange, please? I seem to have misplaced the name of that pension fund…”

The color drained from the face of the livid CEO as realization finally struck past her blinding anger, “The House Chroynos Military Services Pension Fund.”

Sipping her water, Persephone laconically replied “Oh. Is it still the Military Fund?” Persephone lied smoothly, “I have been away and not able to check on that for a few days now. If you don’t mind, I seem to recall a familiar family name somewhere in that military fund title you just mentioned. Am I mistaken?”

the elder ground out, “No, my Lady, you are not.”

Persephone’s casual ire oozed, “So when I ask you what the second largest pension fund is, you would probably be able to tell me that it is the Chroynos Generation Pension Fund. And as I recall you mentioned the second largest class of investors in ‘This Corporation’ was institutional investors. Did you know we have a few institutions too? Not all with our family name on them of course, that would be, let me just say ‘pretentious’. For practical purposes, we can’t run around having our name stamped on everything, you see. As much fun as that would be. It would cause confusion after a while sorting between them all on the family ledgers. As I recall my corporate law lessons, the ‘owning corporations’ are not allowed to maintain more than ten percent of their own corporate equity in their pension fund’s value in order to enforce diversification. They can however ‘request’ that the fund’s Board of Governors vote one way or another. That means a corporation can request that its entire pension holding vote one way or another when it comes to corporate leadership and Board of Directors elections for the corporations where they invest. Does that sound accurate to you?”

The clipped tone returned with a vengeance, “Yes, my Lady.”

Persephone drew her corporate governance blade slowly so everyone in the room heard and understood the rasp, “I seem to recall owning personally something on the order of twenty or twenty-two percent of the Empire’s Military Holding Corporation equity.” Samson could see her shaking her head, and again his mind could clearly see her rolling her eyes sarcastically while still facing the other way she surely smiled airily, “I really don’t pay attention to the exact percent; it just gets tedious after a while. But as I recall I own a few percent in each of the subordinate military arm corporations: fleet, ground forces, and support corporations too. I hold them mostly because I like the pretty full-color paper reports they send me every year. I didn’t know just how rare those reports were until only recently. Did you know most annual reports are sent out digitally? I suppose you do. But did you know they only send out the pretty ones to the top thousand shareholders by volume… But that’s not what I’m getting at. I apologize; I digressed for a moment.” Persephone’s blunt reference to her massive ownership stakes in all three of the smelting operation’s three largest customers was not missed. “I own an even twenty-five percent of Chroynos Power Generation. That is a nice round number and is fun to look at in my portfolio statement; the number of shares is actually absurd. I have never even tried to say the number; I can hardly count the number of commas. I just look at the percent controlled because that is really all that matters anyway. Did you know that?”

The older CEO’s near whisper could not hide itself in the silent room, “Yes, my Lady.”

Persephone kept playing with her food, “So, interestingly, do you know what that means madam ‘President of the Board and CEO of ‘This Corporation’?”

The rasped reply could have come from a boot over a rough walkway, “No, my Lady, enlighten me.”

Samson stepped once to his right, keeping his head down but watching the room through his brow.

Persephone coldly showed her teeth, and calmly threatened, “It means that I personally own eleven-point two seven percent of ‘This Corporation’, which constitutes a substantial controlling interest through my direct personal investment and proxies. Of course, that is before I ‘ask’ anyone, I know or who ‘just happens to be in my family’ to vote with me to form a shares block. Did you know that CEOs generally tend to operate on options sales for their bonuses? And not based on a long-term equity stake in the corporation they manage? By the way, what is your personal ownership stake in this corporation?”

The CEO lunged to her feet and slammed her hand on the table, “And just what is it you are trying to say, Missy?!”

Samson could not tolerate this. It set his blood to boil. Some second-rate CEO slamming her hand on the table before yelling at Persephone, he would not tolerate it!

The ring of Samson’s cold steel blade cut the words off before the echo from her slammed hand died from the room. Samson would cut her in half before she took a step forward. His arms folded, left resting over right. The blade was cradled along his right forearm, in his typical reverse grip. His left hand had dropped the tail of his overcoat allowing him to draw the blade smoothly and decisively. Now Samson pulled the shoulder-holstered Gauss pistol with his left hand and rested its barrel parallel to the gleaming blade. The lethal sliver of light from the polished shine of the blade was unmistakable against his black overcoat, his black clothing, and the clear blue sky that framed him from behind through the windows.

Persephone rocked slowly forward in her chair. She calmly picked up her glass of water, leaned back in her chair, and took a long sip.

The other occupants in the room had paid no attention to the shadow until the grubby layman’s overcoat fell fully open revealing the thin gold trim on the black interior. They had recognized her as the Heiress to the Empire, but they had foolishly discounted an armed Guardsman.

Settling the water glass into her cupped hands in her lap, “Chroynos likes to have a stake in suppliers that tie into our military arms. We feel it is just good business. Sound fiscal management, and all that stuff. Granted, it is not something we advertise, but that makes it no less true. So, as I was saying, given my personal stake and status as a substantial investor I would like to make some requests or suggestions,” Persephone let that little bit quibble for a moment before offering “Take your pick. I would like to see if we could start a pilot program to improve our Empire’s workplace standards.

Persephone calmly and clearly stated, “But let me make this perfectly clear. If you force me to turn them into demands, I swear by Athena’s polished spear that every one of you in this room will be unemployed before the next shareholders meeting in twelve weeks.”

The stunned executives were silent. Their CEO sank back into her seat. She flicked her hand at some underlings indicating they were to take notes, “Yes my Lady. How may we help you?”

The strained but marginally acceptable tone of the CEO was just enough for Persephone to tolerate before she began. “Did you know our smelters are called ‘Hell’s Cauldrons’ or ‘Crucibles’?”

Someone down the table interrupted with a laugh, “I didn’t even know they knew such big words.” His whispered gibe was echoed by a few others. All were silenced in the all-consuming deep space vacuum surrounding Persephone.

She seemed to have drawn the light out of the room from her end of the table, like a black hole. “May I continue without interruption?” Her pronunciation had as much enthusiasm and compassion as a death sentence, “Good. They are called that because in the event of a catastrophic failure, the place fills with molten iron, and everyone is flash-boiled and flushed out the bottom of the plant. We, meaning ‘The Chroynos Imperial Hegemony’, have and enforce safety regulations for a reason. The easy conventional wisdom, followed by this corporation and every other that I have seen, does not meet the spirit of those regulations.

“I would like to propose two adjustments. First, in the event of a catastrophic failure, we should vent the spill through an alternate port, located somewhere else in the facility. Perhaps there is a way a drain or series of drains could be retrofitted into the structure. These new ports could be capped with a light metal with a low melting point, so when large quantities of molten iron hit them they burn through and dump harmlessly. At the same time, I propose using the existing vent system as a lower-level escape route. Perhaps devise a method of attaching concrete or ceramic steps and platforms up the side of the structure to allow evacuation from additional ports added to the structure. I’m not an engineer but perhaps by periodically adding upward-sloping escape corridors to the building exterior along the catwalks it could save hundreds of lives in an emergency. That would also save the bother of hiring an entirely new workforce every time there is an accident, while coincidentally preventing the massive pension, health care, and insurance expenses those accidents incur, and needlessly pass on to your shareholders.

“Second is more of an everyday adjustment. We all know the costs of injured workers in the form of pension, and disability payments. Many injuries could be prevented by improving our facility. For example, modify the crew support structures in the internal workings of the plant. Install a simple overhead cover to shield against falling or splashed debris. Such an improvement could save tens of thousands of credits a month in lost pension and health care payments. On the positive side, it could also probably generate a dozen times that much in increased productivity.

“As is, this plant and thousands of others like it in my portfolio are making the easy ninety percent and are leaving the last tenth of every credit on the table, every quarter. Do my materialistic statements appeal to your avarice nature? Just think what that would do to your bottom lines. This industry operates on a one to two percent margin on goods sold. Imagine if you all of a sudden showed a ten percent jump in profits. What do you think that would do to your stock price relative to your competitors?

“I wonder what that would do to your personal bonuses?”

Persephone sneered at the assembly as some of them finally began to see what she was saying, “Good, since I see some heads moving in agreement and lights going on behind those vacant eyes, I will conclude with this. The security men on the ground floor entry were under my orders when they were flagged for review. I was inspecting their station. I ordered them to remain quiet about my clandestine arrival. I will be checking on both periodically. If either one is disciplined or dismissed for following my express instructions while in this plant, I will personally see to it that those responsible are sacked, stripped of their position, and sent to stand that guard shift making Imperial minimum wage, under those men’s supervision. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

The stumbled, stammered, and fumbled chorus of affirmatives was a shameful display.

Persephone took a long slow drink, “Samson, don’t take too long.”

Samson’s blade arched out from his forearm and flicked out past the CEO’s cheek, sending her lunging for the back of the chair to escape. The startled scream was strangled, as Samson’s arm stabbed forward. The blade passed under her jaw, pressed her neck, and lifted her chin with the flat of the blade while the blade’s razor edge pressed the loose skin of her neck. Samson turned her unwilling eyes to face him, by slowly rotating his wrist and turning the blade under the soft flesh.

He informed the disrespectful CEO, “Madam, you forced me to draw in anger. There is an ancient warrior tradition regarding these blades. Once they are drawn in anger, they must taste blood, or the wielder will face bad luck and dishonor.” Samson’s expert flick of the wrist pulled the blade across her jawbone. “And since I don’t like cutting myself, you received that little bite.”

Persephone calmly sipped her water, while the blade trapped the executive in her plush chair.

The cut bled profusely. Dripping blood spilled onto her expensive clothing and splashed onto the leather chair. “If you ever insult my Lady again, I will remove your head before you can finish your sentence. Is that clear?” The welling blood made both her garments and chair sticky.

Persephone finished her water, calmly placed her glass on the table, pulled her coat up into her lap, and waited patiently for the answer.

Thank You!

Thank you for reading this chapter!

Your next chapter is HERE.

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Enjoy!