26. Wyman the Galactic Worm

 

Sipping on a strawberry smoothie got me thinking about Octlyn’s blood splatter suddenly, even though it was just two days ago. 

“Are you inventing something, right now?” said Meeroc, dressed in a dark orange bathrobe. 

“I just faded into my own mind, cause the reality of right now has recently gotten boring,” I jested. “What made you think that, Meer?” I added.

“Your sudden silence for one, and your unmoving eyes usually indicates that you’re brainstorming something.”

“Busy minds often wonder in unpredictable patterns, and theres only so many facial expressions I can do. So having my complex thoughts translate onto my face is most times inaccurate.” 

“I’ll diagnose that as something called face freeze.”

“And what is the definition of a face freeze?”

“When a human thought is too complicated to share via a mere set of facial expressions.”

“Chuckling would usually be my response to one of your weak jokes, but humour me with a little seriousness, please?” I didn’t mean for it to sound too snide. 

“Then on a serious note, that dress you got on looks tight as a boxers fist.”

“I like to get intimate with my fabrics,” I smiled in return. 

“Can’t believe you got me jealous of a dress,” he waved his head sideways in disarray.  

“So what were you really thinking about back there,” he asked.

“About how Galaxins have already started approaching a few Earthling Kings to form a deal that could turn Earth into another capitalist world.”

“What trade?” 

“Animals, or meat as they call it.”

“Fat chance that will happen, Earth forbids it remember.”

“The chance of that happening is higher now, since the Larferna Tree is gone. Earth needs another way to make them financially powerful again.”

“Why do these Galaxins want their animals here again? The air on Earth is lacking now, ever since that Tree departed.”

“Thats only on Larferna lands, mind that theres the other Vingt Kings who owns a Tree each, even if they are only half a quarter size of the Larferna Tree. They still produce enough air to make certain parts of Earth liveable. And farming animals on their Earthy soil produces an exquisite taste to the meat, something all Galaxins would hurry to buy.” Vingt means Twenty  in French, last month was Veinte, in honour of the Spanish King. Every month the numeric title changes to the national language of each of the Twenty Kings. 

“I thought Remipor has the final say? Isn’t he King of this World,” asked Meeroc. 

“Only if his Tree is brought back.” 

“Is that why he bailed out of Earth so soon? To retrieve it?” I nodded without much energy.

“So who’s in charge of the Larferna Kingdom now?”

“He left it to me.”

“Wow, wait. How can he give you charge over his lands if he doesn’t even own it anymore?”

“He legally is still a King, unless the Larferna Tree is completely gone or destroyed, which it isn’t, yet. Its just that, if he stays here and does nothing but rule, then he’ll lose his Kingship faster than when the Reduntians stole the Larferna Tree.”

“But leading an army to retrieve it still gives his people reassurance to keep him as their leader?”

“Pretty much,” I answered. 

“They don’t really need to breed livestock on Earth for it to sell well, they can just stamp Earth’s name onto and it will still sell fast.” I nodded in agreement.

“Who are these Galaxins again? Those who aim to turn Earth into another capitalist world,” he asked. 

“They’re from Planet Sankto.” 

“Do you support them?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever have the power to ban meat universally, but I thrive to be one of the many that will inspire the people who will ban it eventually.”

“So you are supporting them.”

“Not doing so would lessen my influence on the third richest Planet, Meer.”

“And what influence is that? Mass murder of defenceless animals?” he giggled.

“Allowing Sankto to breed their livestock here would allow me to query them for an alignment of our armies. I’m meeting their ambassador at the Ingredient Auction House later today.” Just waiting on Annel with the time details… 

“There’s nothing to defend anymore, the Larferna Tree is gone.” Why is he just full of questions today, were is my slacker carefree boyfriend gone to?

“Are you sober,” I asked. 

“Whats that got to do with this?”

“Cause you’re asking a lot of questions that benefits you none, you acting as my therapist or something?”

“So your own boyfriend is not in league to talk politics with you? Shut out much?” 

“It’s not talking if you keep asking the questions, thats just plain interviewing,” I said it in a playful manner, to ease the sudden tension. Tension seems to be the norm when someone gets assassinated in front of you. I never really knew Octlyn, but since he was the current heir to the Larferna Kingdom. I kinda prepared myself to be close friends with the boy, so a slight attachment still lingered even after his head exploded just a few days ago. 

“This war between Remi and the Galaxy has changed our usual good moods into tension magnets,” he said. 

“And wars this big don’t usually end fast either, so imagine what our vibes would be like in a few months and onwards.”

“F**k a few months, I want to know what we’ll be like in 300 years.” Why 300? Been watching that spartan movie to get you in the mood for war, Meer?

“Live in a secluded cabin for that long doing the same s**t everyday, then I predict you’ll be bored. But if you do what befits the current need in your present mind, then you’ll never be able to know how you’re going to be like in 300 years time. Maybe you’ll have an idea, but definitely not the full picture.”

“It was just a rhetorical question babe.”

“Babe? Am not a piglet you goat fiend.” Why hasn’t Annel texted me yet, these daily lunch dates with Meer has suddenly extended from forty minutes to an hour and a half! I’m now the Regent of Earth, mainly just the Larferna lands. Having this much time spent on a lunch is not efficient for a person who owns Planet Moore, and rules over another. I should be busy as f**k solving world problems, not having long lunch dates with my childhood friend turned lover. It does feel like my connection with Meeroc has diluted ever since Sergusto took the Larferna Tree from Earth. My unconscious mind is prioritising the survival of our only eternal resource (The Larferna Tree), which will keep our immortal vessels afloat on this dying Planet. Thinking about anything else would be inefficient. To regain the time to enjoy my infatuation with Meeroc, I would require myself to get back the Larferna Tree, not merely relying on Remi’s small inexperience mind to retrieve it. But the People of Earth would flutter mass disapproval if I was to get it back than that of their King. They’ll rather prioritise pride than strategy…  

Annel texted me soon after my mini plotting scheme came to a halt, she texts, “The auction house has just started letting people in, we should slowly make our entrance now.” 

“Annel just texted me,” I informed Meeroc.

“What about?”

“The auction in where I’m to meet Planet Sankto’s Ambassador.” The corners of his mouth began to open and I quickly spoke up, “I’ll be back tomorrow, Meer.” If I never spoke soon, then he probably would have offered to come too. Annel was waiting in my room by the time I got there.

“Annel?”

“Boss,” she replied, awaiting whatever she thinks I have to say.

“Shorten up my lunch with Meer from now on please, at least until we get back the Larferna Tree.” 

“Okay, sure. Your outfit is by the dresser room.” She looked disappointed in herself, no doubt it was her that purposely extended my lunch dates with Meer. Thinking that it would help relax me from the stress of the aftermath that took place two days ago.  

“Annel, if you really want me to be relax about what happened with Octlyn, then helping me find ways to up our advantage on getting back the Larferna Tree would be better suited than extending my lunch dates.” She nodded and attempted to hide her embarrassment.

“The name of Sankto’s Ambassador,” I asked. 

“Mr Wyman.”

“Detail his profile for me, in brief form.”

“He’s 45, has no family but has named his favourite writer as his inheritor. The man likes to eat, hence why the meeting is taking place at a food ingredient auction house.” I should note that since Earth is so rich, the rulers of this world provides everyone with free food. So no commoner would waste money buying ingredients to cook, though the rich look at it as a luxury. Food ingredients is now considered fashion, they even have auction houses for certain rare ingredients, like pink carrots and blue cabbages.

“Is this writer his close friend or something,” I asked.

“No, he’s just a big fan of the writers book.”

“Wait, Mr Wyman is a very rich man. Why would he give his whole inheritance to a writer he hasn’t even met yet?”

“I’ve got his book downloaded onto your solar phone, it’s called ‘How to Capitalised the Galaxy’ and the writer has only one book.”

“I’ve read that book before, and to be honest, it’s not even a book, more like a detailed manual lasting only under a hundred pages. What is his net worth,” I asked.

“Close to seven hundred million,” she replied.

“And does this writer know about this?”

“No one but Mr Wyman and his lawyers.”

“How did you come to find this out, Annel?” 

“I’m a professional information seeker remember?” I smiled in reply. 

“Your transportation is ready whenever you want to head out.”

“Lets go now,” I said. 

The location in which the auction took place matches up with the same complexity and luxury as Remi’s Palace. We entered through the back, as allowing the public know that their Regent is attending an auction house party, than that of planning how to rule a world that I wasn’t even born on, might erect some angry anti-Earthling mobs. No one approved my succession as Regent when Remipor assigned it to me, but no one approves anything if they can’t comprehend it to a healthy level. 

“Just through this way Madam,” guided one of the butlers of this establishment. Annel was tailing me from behind, and as many bodyguards they allowed me to bring in.

“Where are you guiding us,” asked Annel, showing a faint hint of worry, she’s been like this ever since I’ve been named Regent. 

“The Meeting Hall, Madam,” the butler informed. 

“Annel, I hope we don’t have to mingle about until we bump into Ambassador Wyman,” I whispered.

“I’ll run ahead and locate him now.”

“Good girl,” I patted her to go in front of me. When I got to this meeting hall, I had my bodyguards form a visual barrier blocking any view of myself. I’d imagine it was attracting some attention, but the oddness of this can only hold so much attention. So people got used to it and moved on to more interesting things, such as the rare food ingredients on the glass displays.   

“It’s Annel.”

“Let her in,” I said, and my bodyguards wobbled her into my cosy circle of privacy. 

“I’ve never seen a potato put onto a fancy display glass before,” she laughed out.

“That potato is worth more than this whole house we’re in.”

“Mad respects to the person who grew it.”

“I’ll rather give respect to the merchant who manages to sell it,” I said.

“I found Ambassador Wyman, he wants you to come to him.”

“Is he doing this for the sake of a power play? Or is he indisposed to show himself publicly?”

“I didn’t actually come face to face with the guy, it was his assistant that informed me.”

“Where are we meeting him,” I asked. 

“Upstairs, the room in which the auction will take place, its empty right now.” I nodded her to lead the way. While walking there, I realised that I haven’t even planed what to say to Mr Wyman. It was him who approached me with this meeting after all, and I knew roughly what he wanted to talk about. If it wasn’t for the long lunch I’d had with Meer, then I would have had some time to plan my dialogue, guess I’ll have to freestyle.  

“Is that Ms Moore amidst the circular barrier of human meat?” shouted Mr Wyman.

“It is, Ambassador,” responded Annel. I signalled my men to break up the formation and leave us be at a healthy distance. 

“So how long do we have until this auction room starts filling up, Wyman?” I left out the Mr on purpose, as speaking with other rich people usually enables us to sometimes forget formalities. 

“Enough time for us to become close friends, Madam Moore.” I cringed slightly.

“I guess we’ll just have to cancel the auction for today then, as making close friends usually takes a few months for me,” I jested. He laughed at my bad joke, and started walking up towards me. 

“Sorry to have you come to me, instead of I to you.”

“No worries Wyman, what is it you want to talk about?”

“Well, as you know, and everyone knows, I work in the meat industry, and I am actively seeking a new breeding ground for my next livestock harvest.”

“For a man that is responsible for the mass slaughter of innocent animals, you seem quite the polite man, Wyman.”

“Social studies show that most sociopaths are known to be most polite in formal gatherings,” stated Annel.

“Well, we do it to blend in.” He smiled widely, showing his big rounded teeth.

“Lets not try to profile one another, Annel.” I waved her to step a few yards back, far enough to let her hear the conversation, and far enough so that we wouldn’t have to see her facial reactions to whatever is to be said here tonight. 

“That your assistant, or are you her judgement preventer?” he jested, and laughed to himself.

“Both,” I smiled a fake smile.

“Why come to me if you want land? The other Vingt Kings has better air and therefore better living conditions for your livestock.”

“King Remipor made you Regent, meaning you will always have the final say on what goes on in this green filled world.”

“So you came here for permission before you ask the Vingt Kings of Earth?”

“I know you won’t just grant it freely, so I came to buy your permission.”

“Wyman, I’m the richest female on this Galaxy, why would I help turn Earth into another destructible, capitalist world, simply for money that I don’t even have the time to spend.”

“I didn’t say I came here to buy your permission with mere cash, Ms Moore. Plus, If you really are immortal, then you can never have too much money.”

“What are you planning to offer,”  I asked.

“Look, the chances of Remipor retrieving the Larferna Tree is calculated to be very, very slim. And we have great ties to the Galactic Government, whom also has the Larferna Tree right now.” 

“I thought Sergusto Reduntia had it?” I turned around to see if Annel has any answers, and she looked wounded by the act of not having any. 

“I thought you said you were a professional information seeker?” I taunted her. 

“Anyways, how did this come to be,” I asked Wyman. 

“Sergusto took it from Remi, and the G. G. took it from Sergusto.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t know, but I’d seen it myself, and once I breathed the air it produces, I knew I needed to breed my livestock near it. But the Galactic Government is keeping it off limits to businessmen like myself. They did however, recommended me to breed it on the land of the Vingt Kings, with your permission of course.” I’m guessing the G. G. is sending in industry leaders to see how much we bend to their capitalist schemes, before they actually move in and take things over.  

“So what do you offer in return for my permission, Wyman?”

“Give me the permission I need, and the Galactic Government will give you the permission to reside near the Larferna Tree, for as long as you will it.”

“When does the auction here begins, Annel,” I asked.

“Five minutes ago, people are awaiting to come in.”

“Wyman, seems like we’re done with this room, because I think we’ve just established that we will be close friends from now on.” I smiled and shook his hand in confirmation of his proposal. 

“I’ll send your lawyers the details,” he smiled greedily. I waved my bodyguards to open the doors in this room, and the people waiting outside started walking in slowly. 

“I thought your against animal agriculture,” asked Annel, once Wyman walked away.

“If I didn’t accept, those poor animals would be breeding on a Planet thats got barely any air, but now they can eat the best grass, and breath the best possible air.”

“Animal agriculture always results badly for the environment though, I thought you wanted Earth to be our sanctuary?”

“Our sanctuary is located wherever the Larferna Tree is. This deal that we made with Wyman, isn’t permanent.” A women’s shout distracted me from seeing Annel’s reaction to what I’d just said. I nudged Annel to find out what is happening.

“Go find out what the fuss is,” Annel ordered one of my bodyguards, the guard came back shortly stating, “A women named Craneri Watson is looking to speak with you, Ms Moore.”

“I was looking for her,” I smiled relief. “Send her through to the waiting room, now that its empty due to everyone being in here.” The guards nodded. When I got there, I was greeted by a kneeling Craneri, she looked up just enough to sneak a peek at me.

“I swear to be in your service for life, Ms Moore, provided that you give me an avoidance of the financial difficulties one experiences when immortal.” 

“This isn’t the eightieth century Eri, or whatever century that still condones sworn lieges to serve lifetime services, but I could hire you as one of my close assistants, if you have a knack for it?” I offered kindly, and mockingly looked at Annel like I wanted to replace her, due to the incompetents that she instilled by not finding out about how the Galactic Government has the Larferna Tree. Annel approached me gently and asked,

“Are you going to offer her the same training and tests that you commissioned me to participate in?” 

“F**k no, she’ll mainly just run simple errands,” I whispered back. Craneri got up then,

“What’s the pay, and what is the job details,” she asked politely and innocently.

“Simple errands and such,” Annel answered for me.

“Before I come up with a reasonable starting salary, tell me why you want a job from me,” I asked.

“You offered me unlimited Exporta’s because I saved you from rape. I was rich enough to live only one lifetime of luxury and wellness. Now that I’m immortal, I have to worry about my financial security once I’ve spent it all, in which I have, due to buying the entry fee ticket to come to this auction.”

“I’ll reimburse you for the entry ticket, what are you good at?”

“When I was a slave, I worked every night just to make enough to survive the day or week. But once freed, I began to work hard enough to achieve a goal that only enables early retirement.” I giggled at her hustling philosophy.

“What did you do to gather the cash you’ve come to require?”

“I did what most ex-slaves do, I stole from my old masters.”

“How much did you stole,” asked Annel.

“Enough to last me six centuries if I spend it wisely, or enough to last me one lifetime of living in luxury, in which I dearly preferred, that is until Ms Moore made me immortal.”

“If you work for me for one year, then I’ll give you enough money to retire luxuriously for a year, if you choose to be in my employment for 10 or 50 years, then I’ll retire you for 10 or 50 years. For the amount of days or centuries that you remain as my employee, I will match up your retirement time according to how long you worked for me.” 

“That suits me perfect, Ms Moore, but what is it you require me to assist you on?”

“Tag along wherever I go, and always be eager to help me with whatever I deem you capable of achieving.” 

“Can I start the job right now?”

“Sure, go find out which ingredient is the most expensive and report back to me.” She ran straight back upstairs to the auction room as soon as I gave the command. 

“Some training would still be required though” asked Annel.

“You can see to it then. You think you’ll like her,” I asked.

“I already do,” she smiled.

I never actually needed a new assistant, but when I blindly offered Craneri unlimited Exporta’s, I wasn’t expecting her to suffer financially, or at least come to worry about the never-ending thought of needing to pay the monthly bill. I did it out of pity, and I hope she would be an invaluable edition to my massive list of employees. Annel is the only one that stands out the most, though I do hope Craneri can offer Annel some competition, at least in terms of work ethics. 

“Annel, any useful updates on Remi,” I asked. 

“He landed on Gallois Space Hotel just yesterday, and is speculated to be holding a war council with a Galaxin, which could still be a rumour.”

“Did you look further into whom he could be meeting?” 

“I’ve tried calling Remi’s communications team, but they just said that it was a rumour.”

“Did you try calling the Head War Chief Kinvame?” 

“He said that it’s the first time he’s heard of it.”

“Did he tell you that via phone call or text?”

“I have his audio message here,” she gave me her solar phone and pressed play. It basically repeated word for word of what Annel just said, short and brief.

“He’s lying, Annel.” 

“What revealed it,” she asked.

“Why would Remi rather have his communications team deny it than himself, as well as his Head War Chief denying it also. Just moments ago, we had a meeting with Ambassador Wyman, who is a Galaxin.”

“You’re theorising that the Galactic Government approached them too?”

“Could be.”

“What is it you think they want from Remi?”

“I don’t know yet, but Remipor doesn’t even know that G. G. has the Larferna Tree.”

“Should we tell him?”

“I’ll think about it, I need you to get me more information first,” I instructed. 

“The Yellow Potatoes are going for half a million, it’s the most expensive ingredient,” interrupted Eri. 

“Annel, send for it to be purchased in my name.” She went to get it done.

“Eri, has any of your past employers cooked for you before?”

“Vice versa actually, I’m a good cook if you want a meal made.”

“Nah its cool, I’ll make us some mashed potatoes for dinner tonight.”

“Is it some kind of personal tradition to cook each and every one of your new employees a meal,” she asked, shockingly.

“Only the employees I surround myself with on a daily basis.” It’s a good way of holding an interview without the need of stating it an interview. Keeping things friendly usually gets a more honest and expressive answers. Interviews can always produce some sort of nervousness on the interviewee, and I do hate talking to the insecure. Take Quent for example, I took out the foundation of his shyness cell, not just to help the boy out, but to help me quicken the many conversations I would have to have with him, because insecure people usually take too many pauses when talking, leading to hesitation and therefore a recalculation of their original response. And now Quent’s the boldest King I’ve met yet.