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The Manager:
By Markus Thyme
Najaf, the Calanian manager of the farm and packing plant sat in his office. His face was dark and brooding. Laden, his aid sat meekly before him.
“That fool,” blurted the manager. “That simpering dandy fool.”
The manager was speaking of the Prince Zacarias, son of the Emperor of Calania and heir to the throne.
“What now?” continued Najaf. “The fool is dead, long live the fool,” he added bitterly.
The aid shook his head sadly. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he remarked. “Not even a fool could crash a two-engine computer stabilized flyer.”
“Ha!” roared Najaf. “You did not count of the Prince of fools!”
“Yes sir,” agreed Laden. “Yet, I wonder how he did it. Even if he attempted a stunt, the flyer would not let him.”
“Perhaps even the great Alloh cannot protect fools,” snorted Najaf.
The aid drew a sharp breath and cast his eyes down.
Maligning the Prince, and indirectly, the Emperor was bad enough. On Calania, it might have resulted in a loyalty trial. Now, to skip along the border of blasphemy shocked even the manager’s aid who had grown used to his boss.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked, Laden,” muttered Najaf. “No one is listening. Even the Cispa pimp wants no part of this.”
Cispa pimp was the manager’s way of referring to the representative for the Calanian society for the prevention of cruelty to animals (CSPCA).
“Even so,” offered the aid, “she will report this as quickly as she can.”
“Indeed she will,” agreed Najaf. “Then there will be questions, and we must have answers.”
“No one can fault you, Najaf,” insisted the aid. “You did everything you could. The Prince would not listen. He simply overruled you.”
“We know that, but we don’t know how the pimp will report it. We don’t know that, but we do have an inkling of how Emperor Ishmael will react to the loss of the heir apparent.”
“To be sure, he will not be pleased,” agreed Laden.
Najaf just rolled his eyes.
The two were indeed facing a serious problem. What the folk did not know is the extent of the damage Jack’s bolt had wrought when the flyer crashed. They had no way of knowing the Invader Jack has sought to kill and succeeded in killing was no less than the heir apparent to the throne of Calania. Along with the Prince, 12 of the court favorites and dandies were lost in the crash. It was a heavy loss to the royal household. Unknown to the Calanians, one of these lived and was in the keep of the Tunnel Folk.
The whole debacle began when the prince, who had never been to the human world before, cast a wager with one of the court dandies. Neither of them had ever tasted wild human, but they had heard and read stories by hunters who had hunted the human world in bygone days. It was said the flavors were intoxicating compared to the meat of the tame herd. It was something to dream of. Since the CSPCA movement began to grow on Calania, hunting of wild animals fell into disfavor. Not many who could afford the cost of a hunt would risk the condemnation of the society.
One day, when the prince was suitably intoxicated on Talonberry wine he made the brag that he would one day dine on wild human in spite of CSPCA. Of course, he was challenged immediately by one of his hanger on friends. They hassled, haggled, and ended up with a wager and an agreement to hunt the human world. Several of the court dandies were invited along and, in due time, the Prince’s royal yacht landed on the space pad of the farm and packing plant.
Although Najaf had tried to dissuade him, the Prince insisted he could handle a two-engine flyer without a pilot. Najaf was overruled and the Prince set out with his court dandies to hunt the wild game.
When the flyer did not return in a reasonable time, Najaf sent out a search flyer to see what had happened. The report he received indicated that the flyer had crashed for unknown reasons and all aboard had perished. There was not enough left of the crash to find or identify the victims. There was no evidence to indicate any attack even if those wild humans were capable of such a thing. Of course, the humans were clearly not a threat to a Calanian on horseback not to mention a flyer. So the flyer simply crashed for no know reason. That is all Najaf had to report to his managers.
The death of the Prince would have been bad enough in the good times. Now, times were hardly good. The Abdul-Aziz packing company was struggling. The human farm and packing plant was becoming a liability rather than an asset. It was all about cost and bottom line. At best, a facility so far from the home world was a marginal operation. Recently sales had fallen off. Najaf was facing the reality that the quality of his breed stock had declined. Not only were dressed weights down, but too many customers were not pleased with the flavor quality. It was a disaster in the making. He was looking at the closing of his facility, and a trip home with not much future.
Of course, he could improve efficiency and cut costs, but the Cispa pimp would be meddling in every detail. His hands were tied there and he had little hope of finding better breed stock among the wild humans. Now that pompous dandy Prince had killed himself and really put a hairball in the wine barrel.
“We may as well get busy with a report,” he said to Laden. “The only thing to do is tell everything we know just as it happened.”
“I agree, that is best,” sighed Laden.
“I am sorry my friend. I had hoped you and I would one day retire to the Calanian country side and share stories with old friends. Now we may become candidates for the house of poverty.”
Laden smiled wryly. “Do don’t despair completely, Najaf. “We had a good run. Who knows? Perhaps we have enough stories to do our own comedy routine.”
Najaf snorted in a burst of laughter. “Thank you Laden, l can always count on you to see the humor in things. Let us set to work on our report and see what may come. Perhaps the great prophet Moe-Hammer will intercede for us.”
At that Laden rolled his eyes and picked up his pad and stylus. As he began to write the report, an urgent knocking came at the door.
“What now?” groaned Najaf. “In!” he shouted.
The door slammed open and one of the herd handlers rushed in. He was excited.
“What is it?” demanded Najaf.
“Abdul is dead,” blurted the herd handler.
“What?”
“He is dead sir. I found him at the edge of the green. He was bleeding.”
“Bleeding, how?” demanded Najaf. “Tell it man!”
The herd handler took a few gulps of breath and calmed down a bit. “Abdul went out for air. He did not come back. I went to see why. At the edge of the green, I found him. He was lying there bleeding from a hole in his torso. He was not breathing. I left him and came immediately here.”
“Where is he? Never mind. Take us there,” ordered Najaf.
The clearly shaken herd handler led them to the edge of the green. There, in a space between the green and the forest, another herd handler Abdul lay face up on the ground. His fingers had clutched his tunic and torn it apart. There, as the herd handler had said, was a hole in the torso with blood oozing out.
“By Alloh’s breath,” whispered Najaf, “What is this?”
“It seems he was pierced by something,” said Laden softly.
“Pierced by what?”
“Indeed, by what?” echoed Laden.
“There is nothing here. Look about,” ordered Najaf. “What do you see? I see nothing.”
“I too see nothing,” said the herd handler.
“Nor do I,” agreed Laden. He looked furtively at the forest.
“Yes, I agree,” said Najaf. “Whatever caused this might still be out there. Come, let us get Abdul to the barracks.”
The herd handler helped Laden as they fearfully carried the body back toward the barracks.
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