Slumrat Rising

Truth strode out into the regrettably necessary city of Gamphe. The immense concentration of raw concrete everywhere failed to inspire feelings of warm affection in him.

Must be miserable in the winter here. I can practically feel the wind freezing my bones even now.

The news was interesting but lacking. His interests were domestic at the moment, not international. He needed to get a sense of where Jeon was and where it was headed. If he was going to poison Starbrite’s food, he had to get a sense of how it tasted, as it were. Besides, he hadn’t lied to Merkovah. He really did want to see if he could nudge the country in a better direction.

He might not want to rule, but he had seen how the “future rulers” were making their preparations. He judged them unfit to rule over humans. And he was quite tired of being a rat. Tired of seeing himself surrounded by rats.

He looked up at the summer sun overhead. Shining away through the concrete mediocrity. There were lots of things he could do, should do, arguably must do. But right now, there was no one stopping him from looking up, and appreciating that brilliant sun in that brilliant blue sky.

“Thanks. You know. For doing your job. I know it’s your job and you aren’t doing me any particular favors, but thanks anyway.” Truth said. He was sure that Eminence wouldn’t hear or care, but he wanted to say it so he did. Chuckling at himself, he walked down the road once more, not noticing his steps were a touch lighter.

He had decided to drape Perks around his shoulders for the moment. Of course, sergeants in the Jeon Army did not wear snakes around their necks, so Perks went unseen. There was just Kvuth Pevichie, hat firmly and correctly on his head, hands out of his pockets and trousers bloused fit to make a Sergeant Major weep with joy.

He wanted to see how people saw him. How they reacted to Sergeant Pevichie.

He remembered driving his instructors a little crazy with the difference between a NCO and an officer, but since someone had ordered them to keep him in a classroom and not let him out until he was at least marginally informed, they were actually good about answering questions.

“I am a corporal, Recruit Medici. A Corporal is an NCO.”

“Oh.”

They looked at each other.

“You don’t know what NCO stands for.”

“I do not, no, Corporal.”

“Non-commissioned officer.”

Truth nodded.

There was another long pause.

“You have no idea what that means.”

“You don’t earn commissions, I assume, Corporal. Are their corporals that get paid per kill or something? I can totally understand wanting to be on salary. Much more dependable income.”

That got him a hard look. Truth just blinked back. The corporal took a deep breath and rubbed his temples.

“Anyone else, recruit, and I would think they were fucking with me.”

“I would never, Corporal!”

“I know. Which is, somehow, only the seventh weirdest thing about you. No, it has nothing to do with earning a commission. Nothing to do with money or even the job you do, in fact. It means that I’m a contractor. Sergeant Rikkits is a contractor. Even First Sergeant Kelp is a contractor. Major Fazchin, however, is a commissioned officer. Every officer from the most rookie second lieutenant all the way up to generals have a commission.”

“Understood, Corporal.”

“No, you don’t. Because I haven’t explained it to you. I am a contractor. I signed on for a six year hitch, renewable, terms and conditions apply. I am a specialist in the fields of, among other things, violence. It’s a job skill, one I use when and where I’m told.”

Truth nodded. He certainly could understand that.

“An Officer’s Commission, Recruit is not a contract.” The corporal leaned over the desk and carefully enunciated, tapping the desk to make his point.

“Officers are violence managers. They manage violence on behalf of Jeon, generally through contracted specialists like me. The President, not the Chief of the Army or anyone else, the actual, literal President, delegates a bit of his personal authority to use violence in the country’s interests. An Officer’s Commission is a little piece of paper that says that the holder isn’t responsible for blowing up your whole block, the Nation of Jeon is.”

The corporal tried to see if he was getting through, and figured it was a losing battle.

“Bottom line, Recruit, is that when I shoot someone, it’s my job. When my lieutenant orders me to shoot someone, it’s national policy. Now. Getting back to it. Which country does this flag belong to?”

Felt like a long time ago. A lifetime ago. He was so small then. Physically, but also mentally. The person who turned up for his national service… he really was a slumrat. He might still be a rat. The world might still be a slum. But he was climbing. Looking up at that Great One in the sky, and stretching his little paws up towards them. One day, he’d stretch so far, he’d stretch all the way into a man.

He didn’t understand then what the Corporal was getting at, or why the hard bitten man had thought it was so important to explain the distinction. He thought he did now, though.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Truth called in on a few shops along the way, making use of his ration gem. Small things, like toothpaste, comfortable socks, a few spare changes of “civilian” clothes. He was watched warily. He got the same polite smiles and fawning customer service he would expect in Jeon, but behind all that, he was watched very carefully. Weighed by all those public eyes.

The people of Jeon weren’t hostile to him, but they weren’t friendly either. They weren't quite sure if he was a guard dog or a wolf. Interesting. The people in Gamphe would be getting quadruple doses of propaganda to keep morale up. Truth was sure it was having an impact, but…

Time to see the real experts.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant, how can I help you?” The young man was alarmingly chipper, with a part in his hair that seemed cut with a straight razor.

“Hey, yeah, I didn’t want to ask the Chaplain about this, so I figured I would come to the source, you know?” Truth’s voice was a little queasy.

“I can arrange a meeting with one of the Fathers here, if you want to make a reservation?” The Church deacon was eager to help.

“I don’t want to spend that kind of money. Look, it's just a question about, you know. The mushroom thing.”

“Mushroom thing? Ooooh!” The relieved smile on the young man’s face was both charming and a little hurtful. Just what had he been thinking?

“You mean the pilot “Faith, Family, Jeon” campaign announced in Harban- the giving and public works drive we are doing in partnership with MegaShroom.”

“Yeah, yeah. That. I guess.” Truth looked around awkwardly, then dropped his voice. “It’s just, my wife, you see, I’m away so long, she needs something to do and wants to bring in a little extra cash. I told her, these MegaShroom guys, I’ve heard some not great things, but then she’s all “No, they're great now, they are part of the Church.” So, you know, no disrespect, but what exactly is the deal here?”

“Oh dear, we are hearing that question a lot these days. Hopefully we will get some leaflets to hand out about it soon.”

“So they are part of the Church now?”

“No, no, nothing like that! No, it’s just that in this time of national emergency, Megashroom wanted to show its total support for the war effort by propping up the home front and helping ensure the Treasury of God is well supplied to fight off the forces of evil.”

Truth nodded, mentally awarding several points to Neville for quick thinking.

“Basically, what the pilot is doing is setting up a fundraising system where MegaShroom Independant Networked Entrepreneurs can fundraise directly for the Church, while also promoting the traditional Jeon virtues. The big three being, of course-

“Faith, Family and Patriotism.” Oh yes. In addition to that sincere apology, Truth would have to get Neville a really nice gift.

“Yes, exactly. They are really encouraging a return to traditional Jeon values of self-reliance and community support to ease the burden on the country as a whole and bring back that famous spirit of resilience and moral strength that so many seem to have lost.” The young man’s eyes were both utterly glassy and completely sincere.

Amazing. He really believes all that, and I don’t think he knows what any of it means. They are just right-sounds to him. He knows those words are all good things, so what they actually mean is irrelevant. He just wants to share the good news. Somebody, somewhere, knows what it all means, and that’s plenty, right?

>

Since when did you- the golem. You are feeling bad for the golem.

>

“I’m so sorry we don’t have any leaflets for you to take. It’s just that it’s such a new program, and we don’t even know if they will be rolling it out here.”

“No, thanks, I get it. Thank you.” Truth escaped quickly.

Either they missed my raid on Megashroom, or they are giving Neville a lot of room to run. I can’t imagine it’s a trap just for me. Maybe they think it’s socially useful and don’t see the harm. All their spies will be telling them it appears legit, because it is. What Neville is running is not contrary to their interests. At this point, it’s not even contrary to Starbrite’s interests.

He was back on the street again, bouncing ideas around in his head. At this point, all he had was “encourage people to be nicer to each other,” which was nice and all, but not exactly a program. Hard to get people to reinvent the social order with “Commit to incremental efforts to reduce human suffering, broadly defined.”

Hard to fit on a protest sign, if nothing else.

Thrush popped out of his token and looked around a bit. “Master, might this little bird crave an indulgence?”

“Why am I suddenly worried?”

“I assure you it’s nothing dreadful. Quite the reverse, actually. I was hoping to do a bit of urban hygiene improvement.”

Truth parsed that out. “There is a particularly unclean place nearby?”

“Oh yes, utterly festering with corruption.” Thrush’s voice had turned syrupy.

“I know you guys feed on that stuff, but… why? You certainly aren't short of energy, with what I’m supplying you.”

“Master is peerless in his generosity. The merest crumb from your plate is greater than a mountain to this insignificant-”

“Yes, right, thanks, mmhmmm. Why?” Truth had an odd fondness for Thrush but Air Demons were who they were.

“I wish to be more than an imp. I have accumulated enough to make my… as you would term it, my breakthrough. Stepping from Level Zero to One is a reasonable metaphor.”

“Oh? Congratulations, I think.” Truth was about to agree, when his mind coughed and pointed him at a particular phrase that needed his attention.

“Accumulated what, exactly?”

Thrush hopped around for a moment, then ducked his beak under a wing and preened. “Remember our conversation about Hell? A place of profound chaos, anchored by islands of stability in the form of those Great Demons who rule over portions of it?”

“Yes?”

“My progression path is to become more like one of those immensities. I have finally accumulated enough experience, meaning, energy, wisdom, cunning, cruelty, brutality, gentility… accumulated enough self, that I think I am ready to embark on that perilous journey. And to that end, I would benefit from a medium of transformation. Like the utter accumulation of corruption two blocks down that alley, third door on your left once you pass the rubbish skip.”

“Ahah. Okay. Why would I come with you, exactly?”

“Because Master is looking to make the world more pleasing to his eye, is he not?”

“Manner of speaking, I guess?”

“The owner of that building is doing distressingly common things to refugee children, the least of which being forced labor. As a cost savings, he supplements their diets with the flesh of those who die in his factories. They are on a considerably high protein diet, compared to most these days.”

Thrush cocked his head at Truth. “I hoped that Master and I might both enjoy giving the place a good tidy. And of course, gain by the doing.”

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