Life as a New Hire Ch. 33

"I would have never had fun at a strip club," Libra noted.

"I'd be dead," Oneida chimed in. Ignoring the fact that she put her life at risk because of me.

"He has pretty much screwed my life up," Hana noted.

"Yes," Rhada finally contributed. The ladies looked at her. "I'm happy," she added.

"Oh yeah," Brooke giggled. "I'm definitely happier." More chuckles.

"Hey now," Hana protested. "We haven't...you know." There was a moment of silence.

"That's good," Oneida nodded. "You don't need to."

"That's cold," Libra groused at Oneida.

"I agree with Oneida," Rhada chimed in. "He has enough girlfriends."

"Excuse me," Hana rallied. "He did ask me to marry him. That implies a relationship, sex and children - that sort of thing. Ring a bell?"

"He's already having children," Oneida moped.

"What?" was echoed by Brooke, Libra and Hana.

"It is not what you think," Buffy tried to head off the disaster.

"Please explain," Hana requested politely.

"What happened to Mr. Condom?" Libra prodded Buffy as well.

"These two," she motioned to her fellow Amazons, "know why this situation has developed and should have kept their mouths shut."

"Is this another episode of 'a group of super-scary chicks with guns show up at the door in the middle of the night'?" Brooke inquired.

"Yes," Buffy guffawed. "Hana, Cáel has inherited an obligation to Havenstone that includes him producing heirs to his seat on the Board of Directors."

"Is there a specific reason why our - Cáel's and my - child couldn't succeed to this station?" Hana proposed.

"Hmmm," Buffy procrastinated, "... Hana, Havenstone is a meritocracy. No one child - no daughter-child, will have a better chance by birth than any other to take Cáel's place on the...Board."

"Daughters?" Hana murmured. "Oh, thank God," she exhaled happily. "You really are some kind of militant feminist organization that has hijacked Cáel. I had this lingering fear he was a closet submissive masochist. And, Officer Kutuzov, why aren't you surprised by all of these revelations?"

"Cáel is part of an ongoing Federal investigation, so I can't comment on much of this," Nikita shrugged. "Suffice it to say, Ms. Sulkanen, you are only at the tip of the iceberg. It gets more...interesting the more you learn."

"Speaking of tips of the iceberg," Brooke asked, "where is our trusty lookout? Has anyone heard from Odette recently?"

"That's right," Libra added. "Why wasn't she invited?"

"Odette smuggled herself onto Cáel's plane to Europe," Buffy grumbled. "For reasons that escape logic, he didn't send her back when they touched down in Ireland."

"Lucky bitch," Brooke mumbled.

"Sure," Buffy growled. "Bullets flying, brawls, betrayal. And now our guy has abandoned all but one of his companions and dropped off the map while on a damsel in distress mission."

"Be honest, you wouldn't have him any other way?" Hana smiled at Buffy.

"Of course," Buffy confessed. "It just so fucking unfair that I finally find a man worth keeping, and he's dead set on personally saving the world." That they could all agree to.

(Meeting the Last One)

Katalin and I were a slow-dancing island in the chaotic rave currents. She had her forearms resting on my shoulders, her hands locked behind my head while we swayed to our own private harmony. My hands were gradually kneading every inch of her ass. When I looked over her shoulder, my eyes gravitated to a man across the street leaning against a courtyard wall.

He was dark-skinned, average height, compact of build and had short black hair. Had it not been for his intense magnetism, he might have gone unnoticed - rather plain to look at.

"Katalin," I spoke into her ear, "I see someone I need to talk to. Can I catch up with you later?"

She looked around, suspecting I might have found someone cuter, or more playful.

"Who is it?" she questioned me.

"That man by the wall over there," I directed her with a face-nod. She saw him, then regarded me with worry.

"Is he dangerous?" she implored. "Tell me if he's dangerous."

"He is dangerous," I related. "I think he wants to talk, not fight."

"Should I get Pamela?" she asked.

"No. I've got this," I grinned. I didn't want Pamela to die. I separated from Katalin and walked to the edge of the rave.

The man extended his arms toward me, showing his two empty palms. He had on a short tan T-shirt and forest camouflage fatigue pants. His boots were brown and something a huntsman would wear. I presented my left arm as he did, then tapped my right where my Amazon blade was kept. He nodded, so I crossed the street. Our identical eyes met.

"Care to take a walk?" he suggested.

"Okay," I accepted. He wanted to talk to me. I certainly wanted to talk to him. We strolled the streets of Mindszent for a few minutes.

"It is good to finally meet you in person," he began.

"Ditto," I concurred. "Initially, I was of the mindset that I'd be sending bullets your way...but things have happened." The man snorted in amusement. "Do you care that I call you Alal? Cáel is my name and it doesn't feel right calling you Grandfather, or Grandpa."

"I'd really appreciate it if you called me Grandfather, Cáel," he requested.

"Fine," I conceded after another minute's meanderings. "I supposed you've waited a damn long time to hear it, Grandfather." My Mother's Father took a deep, purifying breath.

"Thank you, Cáel," he grinned my way. He had to look up slightly. "So, what do you think?"

"I think you are fuck-nuts crazy," I unloaded. "Taking over the Human Race? No. Sometimes, the right thing to do is let people fuck things up. A global dictatorship isn't the answer," I shook my head.

"How many chances do they get, Grandson? Environmental catastrophes are looming on the horizon. Nuclear weapons abound. Political extremism. When is enough, enough?" he countered.

"And your solution is a global war and a top secret world-wide terror regime?" I reposted. He didn't laugh at me, which was a plus.

"Only idiots view justice and rights as concepts that can reach perfection," Grandpa chuckled. "Even you know better than that, and you are only twenty-two.

I'm offering far more justice than the world has ever enjoyed before. Corruption and greed won't be crimes that make headlines and lead to court cases devoid of law, or that drag on so long, no one cares that the perpetrators got off with a slap on the wrist. Under my plan, those people disappear, never to be heard from again," he promised.

"Putting the ultimate power in the hands of a few people, or even one person, isn't the answer. Those people can be just as venal and corrupt as the madhouse we have now," I stated.

"When a kingdom was in trouble, they blamed the impiety of the peasants. When a democracy is in trouble, everyone blames the elected parliament - don't you see the insanity in that?" Grandpa kept swinging.

"Democracy solved nothing. Marxism solved nothing. Global religions are more a detriment to public order than worth-while...and all of that is because of," he was saying when I interrupted him.

"Stupid, corrupt children?" I said.

"No Cáel," Grandfather shook his head. "People want their needs met without sacrifice. They want to blame someone else for their misfortunes. They don't want to be held responsible for their own actions. That was one of the greatest lessons I took from Rome."

"There will always be wolves and there will always be sheep," I quoted him from memory.

"Exactly. No matter how much you educate them, provide for them, and foist responsibility on them, they will remain sheep. The wolves are the ones you have to rein in. You let them harvest some sheep from time to time because you never know when you might need a good wolf. Besides, a population of sheep and sheep dogs would be detrimental to the race as a whole," he related.

"That's the difference between me...and just about everyone else," Grandpa continued. "The rest of the Illuminati are enamored with mercantilism, commercialism and capitalism. They believe that violence can be, and should be, contained. They don't understand wolves. Western Europe has tried to kennel their packs, so the Arabs have picked up the torch once more. Now Islam is kicking in their doors and they don't know what the fuck to do when the answer is obvious," Alal grinned.

"Kill them all?" I guessed.

"Atta boy," he chuckled. "It is a tried and true method of dealing with your foes. Sympathy for your enemies is idiotic," he added.

"No, genocide is stupid," I countered. "It is massively wasteful in both resources and population. The Nazis tried and failed."

"No, Hitler was a lunatic," Alal shook his head. "He should have put his women in the factories and armed services like the Communists did. He thought he could fight the whole damn world. Hitler's fault wasn't that he tried, it was that he didn't try hard enough."

"Screw Hitler and the Nazis," I grunted. "What you want to do is still nuts."

"Then why haven't you turned me in?" Granddad inquired. I sighed.

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"I do," he smiled. "You are my Grandson. You will never take the easy way out on things that matter. You are as scared about what will happen if you stop me as you are worried about what happens if you let me win. Sucks to be you."

"I am my Father's son first," I reminded my supposed-O'Shea patriarch.

"I trusted your Mother to pick a good man for the task," he mused. "Definitely not someone like me. I was a lousy father and I knew it. I never emotionally bonded with my son, or daughters."

"What are you going to do about your - my aunts?" I asked.

"I plan to hold their well-being over your head for a while longer," he honestly replied.

"What about Sakuniyas? That's my name for Shammuramat," I told him.

"Beautiful name," he looked down the street. "What is she like now?"

"Violent, impressive, used to having her own way and nice to children when she thinks no one else is looking," I informed him.

"Wonderful. Thank you, Cáel," he was smiling once more. "What about my Great-grandchildren? I've heard some rumors you are working on one." He saw me tense up. "Honestly Grandson, after spending so much of my life alone, I'm not going to start killing my actual family, now that I have one...Fine, I swear on your Mother's life, I will not harm your offspring."

That was less useful than it might have been. Grandpa didn't value the lives of his genetically manipulated creations/daughters greatly.

"Its offspring-s," I clarified.

"Boys? Girls?" he paused for a second. "...Hello Pamela," he smirked. "It is the soul resonance that gave you away. It is something I cultivated over the centuries."

"Good for you," Pamela slipped out of shadow. We all remained unsure of what to say, or do, next.

"I wanted to talk to my Grandson, Pamela. That is all - this time," Alal told her.

"He is a good man, Alal," Pamela moved closer to us.

"Surprising, isn't it?" he laughed. "Considering what a bastard I am, the crowd he's fallen in with and that bitch of a Goddess who has sunk her claws into him."

"What are you talking about, Grandfather?" I smiled. "Dot Ishara is a peach. Gazing into her eyes damn near drove me insane, she requires me to have cranial trauma to talk with her and she's rarely helpful.

The difference between you and me is that I am not bitter about people trying to manipulate my life. Kind of the way you and I are talking right now," I kept the happy face. "Though I don't think you want to admit it, that is why you are talking with me - because given the same stimuli, I'm not like you."

"Children make the difference," he regarded me sternly. There was that deep, soul-wound that he'd carried for thousands of years - loneliness. I stepped up and hugged him.

"It is okay, Grandfather," I patted his back as he patted mine. "I'll see what I can do about you holding a few of my sons and daughters before..."

"Before," he pushed me back to arms-length and gave his own...proud (?) look. The 'before' was the before one of us killed the other. Did I have a chance? Yes ... and Aya had explained it better than I could have. I wouldn't give up. Until I died, I wouldn't stop fighting him. I was wondering why Pamela let him walk away without comment, until I noticed there were shadows within shadows receding into the blackness of night.