Authors: Brian Darr
The
Troll came face to face with The Poet. “I don’t even know
where to begin with you. You had to beg to be a part of this thing?
That alone should tell you all you need to know, but you did it
because you’re a delicate flower and I made you sad with my
message board commentary? Holy hell Poet, I’m a troll. You
reacted in the exact way you’re not supposed to react if you
want to defeat me. I don’t hate all poetry. I only hate the 99%
of it that’s written by recently dumped teenage girls named
Madison or Brittany who wear black makeup and cut themselves, and how
a grown man falls into that category is beyond me, but I certainly
don’t think you’re a poet because you know a few words
that have been in a few poems. I think you have the best shot at
killing me out there, because if we run across each other and you
start talking, I’ll just kill myself. From now until the end of
my life, I can’t in good conscious actually call you The Poet.
You will be Brittany.”
“
You
will show me the respect I’ve earned or…”
“
Sorry
Brittany, I’ve got two left. Write it down for later.”
He
turned to The Weatherman.
“
And
look at you. You were too fat to take seriously, but you play at the
cool kids table because you get to remote control everything. That’s
just pathetic man. If you happen to catch me on your motorized
scooter and strike me down with a bolt of lightening by pushing a
button, is that going to be something you consider an accomplishment?
I know the food around here is pretty top notch, but miss a meal once
in awhile. It looks like The Telepath tosses you a doughnut every
time he fucks your mother
just
to buy your silence.”
Everyone’s
eyes went wide and suddenly, just about everyone in the room wanted
to kill The Troll. He didn’t react though. Instead, he turned
to The Magician.
“
Pick
a card,” The Troll said.
The
Magician laughed, but it was nervous. He didn’t like his own
sch-tick being used against him, and was even more unsure of how The
Troll planned to pull it off, but he was enjoying the rant the most
and played along. “Same card. Eight of clubs.”
“
Reach
in your inner pocket,” The Troll said, fixating on him.
The
Magician displayed a confused smile, momentarily thinking about what
could possibly happen. He reached in his pocket and when he pulled
his hand out, came up with nothing. “No card jackass,” he
said with a smile.
The
Troll stepped forward and raised his eyebrows. “A great
magician is always in control. A great magician never shows doubt.
You reached in your pocket. What kind of magician does that make
you?”
There
was silence all around,until The Poet asked the question that finally
silenced The Troll: “Now tell us about The Moderator,” he
said, leaning in with a smile. It was clearly a trap. To disrespect
The Moderator was to commit suicide. The Troll was on a roll and the
only reason he was able to go through with it was because no matter
what he did, he knew these ten men would try to kill him tomorrow
anyway. He’d tried being nice, befriending them, he’d
used every verbal weapon in his arsenal until all that was left was
to fight back. “Nothing to say about The Moderator?” The
Poet asked with a clever grin.
“
No,”
The Troll said. “I have no problem with him.”
Chapter
7
The
Troll returned to his hotel to find The Surfer sitting in the bed,
waiting. Something in his face was different—some kind of hope.
The Troll supposed while he was sabotaging himself at dinner, The
Surfer saw a small victory in his rant. He knew that hope wouldn’t
last. It was a matter of time before they realized he wasn’t
going to fight for them, and if he did, he’d be dead within a
day. Whatever hope he held onto that they would show mercy was gone.
He knew now more than ever that this was going to happen. And his
only hope for a plan was sitting in front of him.
“
I
think you made a strong impression,” The Surfer said. “I
see what Iris is after here. I don’t agree with it, but I see
what she’s hoping for.”
“
What’s
that?”
“
The
power of persuasion.”
“
You
don’t think that could work?”
“
Maybe
if you were on our side.”
“
I
don’t really have a choice anymore,” The Troll said.
“
You
need to embrace it.”
“
Impossible.
I can’t accept the situation I’m thrown into. I was
perfectly happy before.”
“
Are
you aware that your family and friends were all either enslaved or
murdered by The Moderator? You carry in your head the very thing that
caused the downfall of civilization, and while I understand why
people are afraid to rise up when all The Moderator has to do is fry
their brains, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t fight
when they take it out of you and give you the one
thing
that can
end it all.”
“
If
this was a message board debate, maybe, but it’s not a fair
fight.”
“
The
world will see that. The world sees an underdog without a chance, who
also happened to stump ten of The Moderator’s most trusted men
at dinner. It would have been nice if you would have dragged The
Moderator’s name in the mud too, but eventually you’ll be
angry enough. I have a hard time believing that most of the world
isn’t secretly rooting for you right now. Have you thought
about the string of events that would occur if you did happen to get
to Vegas?”
“
No,
because I won’t.”
“
You
shut Psi down, making you a hero to 99.9% of the world. You rescue
Wigeon, who is every male’s dream girl, the people rise up and
take back Chicago, recreate the world as it once was—probably
better, with you at the center of it all. If you want to retire in
the mountains or along the coast, you can do so peacefully. You’ll
be written about as a hero for the rest of time. How is that not
worth a shot? How is trolling on the message boards more appealing
than that?”
The
Troll spoke slowly, as if he needed to enunciate the obvious point
that The Surfer was constantly overlooking. “I. Won’t.
Get. There.”
“
If
you want to, you will.”
“
If
it were you, how would you do it?”
“
Without
Psi, you’re off the grid. They will count on the action of
others with Psi to find you—to see through their
eyes.
They know you’ll try to recruit the populations or find a
vehicle or weapon in a museum or a scrapyard. They’ll search
the grid for areas of movement.”
“
I
certainly can’t walk to Vegas. How can that be avoided?”
“
There
are a lot of resources off the grid that the folks in Circular Prime
haven’t found. We’ve found weapons, which we’ve
buried. The world was too big and the guys in Chicago to scarce to
confiscate everything. It's all out there to be found. We’ve
squirreled away many items that we planned on reviving when a day
like this came.”
“
And
how do I find them?”
“
Honestly
Troll, if you can get on board, I don’t have to coach
you
at all, other than to tell you where to go first. I have a group of
people who will stand with you. There’s a man who is called The
Guide. If he doesn’t find you first, I can tell you where to
find him. It’s likely that he’ll be racing them to find
you though. If you live long enough to meet up with him, he’ll
take the lead. You can hand off Rainbow and go into hiding until he
gets it to Vegas if you want.”
“
You
mean I don’t even have to do this?”
“
Not
if you find each other, but I think you’d make a strong
statement to the people if you went all the way. You're the face of
the revolution right now. You could do it with his help.”
“
You
still don’t even know whether or not I'll bother to try.”
“
I
wasn’t sure in the beginning, but after tonight, I’m
convinced you will.”
“
Because
I did what they asked me to do in there?”
“
You
went above and beyond. You don’t like them. You’re not
with them. Anyone can see it.”
“
Yeah,
well, I never cared about Psi,” The Troll said.
“I’m
pissed because they’re trying to kill me for no reason. I'm
pissed at Iris.”
The
Surfer leaned forward and with a seriousness that made The Troll
believe that he just might be capable. “Then don’t get
killed,” he said with a smile.
There
was no coaching that night. The Surfer only told him to get some
sleep…to stay sharp…to be smart. The Troll looked up at
the ceiling and his fingers moved as he motioned typing his thoughts.
His best bet was in finding The Guide and letting him take the lead.
He supposed if they were to meet, he’d go along for the
journey. He was safest in the company of others and on the off chance
that they did reach Vegas and shut down Psi, maybe he really would
get a parade in his honor and a holiday named after him. It was the
optimistic thinking that finally caused him to fall asleep and when
he woke up at eleven, he was surprised no one had woken him earlier.
He had assumed they were on a schedule, but it seemed as if
everything they were doing was by the seat of their pants. It seemed
as if they knew The Troll was at such a disadvantage that there was
no reason to kick him while he was down. They allowed him a delicious
dinner, a fancy hotel, and a good night’s rest. It was the
peace they’d allow before the storm.
He
sat up and turned to find The Pilot sitting across the room reading a
magazine, and at the moment The Troll saw him, The Pilot looked up
and caught his eye before he stood and waited quietly.
“
Do
you ever talk?” The Troll asked, rolling out of bed. He noticed
The Surfer was gone, which saddened him. No last words of advice and
no goodbye. The remainder of his life would be surrounded with people
trying to kill him—not assist him. Unless he could find The
Guide.
The
Pilot's silence answered his question. He waited, but watched as The
Troll got ready. “You going to follow me into the shower too?”
The Troll asked. No response.
He
tried to take his time, wondering if The Pilot would drag him out
eventually, but as he showered, he heard the hotel door open and
close a few times, followed by chatter from the other room. No one
rushed him. They allowed him the time to ready himself, but even the
Troll needed to get it over with.
He
exited to find The Magician and The Coach had joined The Pilot in his
hotel. Upon seeing The Troll, The Magician smiled as if the night
before was forgotten. “Good morning Troll!” he said, and
out of nowhere, a bloom of flowers appeared in his hand, impressing
no one. He handed them to The Troll, who accepted them but tossed
them in the trash a moment later.
“
We
were just discussing a wager on how long you’ll last,”
The Coach said with a crooked smile.
“
How
long do you give me?”
“
Four
hours.”
“
How
about him?” The Troll asked, gesturing toward The Pilot.
“
Eleven.”
“
He
take off his pants to count that high?”
The
Magician let out a burst of laughter. “I don’t care what
anyone says,” he shouted. “I like you. I really do.
Another time and place Troll…we could have had fun together.”
“
Then
talk to The Moderator and call this off.”
“
Round
and round you go,” The Magician said. “You’re
talking to a wall.”
They
led him into the hallway and to a cab outside. He was taken to the
city limits where a small crowd had gathered. The only friend among
them was The Surfer, who stood with The Moderator, his hands bound
behind his back. He watched without comment as The Troll was taken to
the gates.
“
Give
me a moment with him,” The Moderator said, stepping forward.
Everyone else held back as The Moderator came face to face with The
Troll. The Troll shrank, afraid of what might happen. Surely, The
Moderator had watched dinner the night before and was displeased. Any
amount of good will The Troll had earned by his acts of respect,
would be gone, but The Moderator wasn’t angry. Instead, he
seemed tired and defeated. Something The Troll had done had gotten to
him.
“
I
want to apologize to you,” The Moderator said. “I don’t
blame you for your outburst last night. I asked my men to be
respectful, but they seemed to feel the urge to play up their roles
in this.”