Chapter 5

Nikolai finished the leg-press device and moved over to the free weights. It was almost one o’clock and the “negotiations” between Duke Faust and the leader of the teachers’ union would start soon, so he decided to request that the displays be changed to the frequency of the ANN (Associated News Network). Different rooms which held displays, like the room Nikolai was currently in, produced an electromagnetic field that bracelets could send messages to. With a few keystrokes, Nikolai sent this message.
Please change the frequency to 143.62 in the financial room of floor 30. -Nikolai Volkov.
Just as he was about to lift a weight off the ground, his bracelet beeped. This was the signal for him to take his next nutrition tablet. By the time Nikolai had swallowed the horse-pill, every display had changed to the ANN’s frequency. He had no delusions that the frequency would be changed that quickly if he were lower on the corporate ladder, but this did not stop him from enjoying the celerity.
Some guy in a gray suit and checkered tie was introducing the two parties in the negotiations, “Martin Reynolds, Duke of the Faust Estate,” and, “Madison Jones, Head of the Allied Teachers’ Union.” Nikolai knew that one of these participants would be operating at a pretty clear disadvantage, a Duke would have to remain civil at all times while the leader of a union could say whatever she wants. Something told him that this would eventually devolve into a scenario with equal parts yelling and equanimity. Yes, composure versus belligerence was what Nikolai would call the argument after its conclusion.
Nikolai had hefted an eighty kilogram weight onto his shoulders when the image flipped to one with Duke Faust and Miss Jones sitting across from one another on expensive leather couches. What most people saw as the beginning of a civil debate, the next Duke Faust saw as the beginning of a boxing match between two heavy hitters. Much like when the two fighters touch gloves at the beginning of a fight, Duke Faust and Miss Jones shook hands before the verbal blows started flying. By the time Nikolai had reached “five,” Duke Faust had taken a shot to the gut.
“I’m really glad we could sit down and talk this over, Miss Jones. Our administration is willing to listen to your grievances and do anything we can to help the Allied Teachers’ Union,” Duke Faust started the rumble with a feint.
“With all due respect, Mr. Faust, I believe we have reached a point beyond pleasantries,” that was dirty, Nikolai thought. “Allow me to ask you this one question. You claim to be willing to listen to what the ATU is saying, but what are you doing to help raise the quality of life for teachers on this ship?”
“Five,” Nikolai exhaled as he straightened his body, never breaking eye contact with the display.
“Of course, my wife and I are willing to do whatever it takes to make the lives of hard working teachers better…” Duke Faust continued without batting an eyelash. Sometimes, Nikolai was completely awestruck by the amount of composure career politicians like the Fausts could muster up in such a stressful situation. With horror, Nikolai remembered that he would eventually have to face situations similar to the one Duke Faust was currently facing.
“But your previous actions have shown that you view the rights of corporations over those of individuals,” Jones cut him off in a manner that made it obvious that she completely lacked any political ability.
“Let me finish,” Duke Faust said with an almost imperceptible amount of venom in his voice. It wasn’t enough to be threatening, but it was enough to remind Jones who she was talking to. “We will do whatever we can to make everyone’s life better, as long as it doesn’t compromise public well-being.”
Madison Jones continued with the same amount of insolence she had shown through the first lines of dialogue; she was completely unabashed by the command and anger. She asked, “How could raising the salaries of teachers by five credits per hour possibly ‘compromise’ the economy?”
“What the Allied Teachers’ Union is asking for is a pretty significant pay hike, in comparison to what they make now, for all one-point-two million teachers who are employed by the government,” Duke Faust said with equanimity that straddled the edge with condescending without falling over. “Funds need to be moved around before anything can be done.”
“Going off of today’s Government Spending Report,” Jones continued, it was obvious that she had prepared for this moment, “other publicly-funded organization like the STS and unemployment benefits are still getting the same amount of funding as they always have.” She gestured toward her bracelet, “You are just stalling until you can get to a point where it is possible to deal with this without having to disrupt your precious budget.”
If Madison Jones thought Duke Faust wasn’t ready for that, she had another thing coming. In fact, from what Nikolai had heard in the speech-preparation room before, this was the next logical step in the negotiations. Many citizens of the Goliath didn’t understand the amount of preparation career politicians went through before doing anything.
“We can’t just move that much money without planning. The political process if much more complicated than many people believe. Doing anything when this much power is involved requires deals and maneuverings behind the scenes.” Nikolai thought this statement might have been a mistake. Obviously, she would bring up the extremely wealthy corporate lobbyists next. Politicians who never had to run for reelection didn’t have to worry about funding for their next campaign, but companies with enough capital (like the Volkov Group) could spin public opinion against anyone that did something they didn’t like.
The look of anger briefly left Jones’s face and was replaced with pleasure for a moment when she saw her opening. She swung directly at Duke Faust’s jaw, “We all know about the deals you make in the shadows with big businesses. Will these negotiations get your daughter a job with the Volkov Group?”
Nikolai had just reached “fifty” when he heard this; the shock of the blow plus some fatigue caused him to drop the weight. It landed with a thud as Nikolai said, “That’s cheating!” despite no one being close enough to hear him. She was obviously going after the fact that the next in line for the Faust Dukeship, Nikolai, was the Chief Financial Officer of a large corporation.
“I never said anything about big businesses,” somehow, Duke Faust managed not to sound defensive. It took Nikolai a minute to realize that he had prepared for this exact argument days ago. “I was referring to political interest groups that might not look favorably upon the Faust Estate if my wife and I were to suddenly move a large sum of cash into the education system. This may be hard to imagine, but not all lobbyists are owned by big businesses.” Nikolai had to resist the urge to whoop or jump in the air like an idiot.
Madison Jones was the leader of one of these interest groups, so this statement hit just as hard as the “Volkov” statement without too much effort. All of a sudden, the image of Duke Faust moved from a corrupt politician who works with big businesses to one of a kind ruler who listens to his people. “Either way, today we are here to talk about when the Faust Estate can raise the wages,” Jones was not quite as good at keeping the venom out of her voice.
“Of course, let’s move away from this talk about large businesses and my reliance on them, okay?” Duke Faust flashed the winning smile that every good politician had mastered.
“So, where do we stand on the issue regarding the five credits per hour?” Jones said with an oddly cordial tone. It seemed like the unfavorable outcome of the previous clash had pushed her towards taking a slightly less intense approach to negotiations.
“Glad you asked,” Duke Faust said, “my wife and I are prepared to raise the wages of every teacher on the Goliath by three credits as soon as the protests stop.” Nikolai remembered the old man referring to them as riots earlier, but no one knew better than him that public and private personas were usually radically different for career politicians. “Now, I know this isn’t quite as good as you wanted, but it’s the best we could do.” Duke Faust passed a small rectangular envelope across the table to the leader of the Allied Teachers’ Union.
The look on Jones’s face told Nikolai that she wanted to deny the offering right there, but she didn’t have the authority to do so. “We’ll take that into consideration,” she said.
It was at this point that Nikolai stopped paying attention and got back to the weight he had dropped at his feet. He knew the rest of the negotiation would just be more politically correct dialogue where nothing gets done.
He hadn’t even reached “ten” again before his bodyguard, Damien Osiris, walked up to him in his full three-piece suit. “Excuse me, Nikolai?” Osiris tried to get his attention.
“What?” Nikolai wondered why his bodyguard/secretary would approach him when he was in a gym. However,it would be improper to answer with any less politeness than Osiris showed him.
“We have a problem,” the tone of Damien’s voice made it completely clear to Nikolai that something was wrong.
“Like, a legit death threat, or did someone post an angry comment on my fanclub’s website?” this was the sort of question most people never have to ask. This was actually less than Nikolai’s usually level of smartassness. Nikolai understood the gravity of the situation, so he tried his very hardest not to make fun of how seriously everyone else was taking the situation.
“The Anarchy Movement,” Damien said with some finality.
Nikolai wanted to say something that expressed his unflinching determination in the face of threats by a terrorist sect. He thought for a moment before saying, “Oh,” this was a big problem as far as Nikolai was concerned. To call the Anarchy Movement a terrorist sect would be like calling the Second World War a minor disagreement. In reality, it was somewhere between a full guerilla insurrection and a rebellion against the one percent. After the current Duke and Duchess Faust took control, the Anarchy Movement became much more militant than it was before. Now that they were gunning for Nikolai, it was just as dangerous as it sounds.
“They released a video calling for the immediate execution of the what they called the ‘Prince of Capitalism,’” Damien kept the air of professionalism that the Osiris’s had perfected with a century of experiences. His body language and tone made it obvious to Nikolai that this wasn’t a joke.
“You know, that might not be about me,” Nikolai knew that the threat could only be about him. However, he also didn’t want to be followed around by a bodyguard who would probably just get in the way in the event of a firefight.
“We need to put a bodyguard on you at all times,” Damien couldn’t hear it, but Nikolai quietly made a sound like he had just been punched in the stomach. “That and you will have to wear one of your kevlar jackets whenever you’re in public.”
“First… I already wear my jacket just about everywhere,” he gestured briefly to his overcoat. “Second, I can’t bring a bodyguard everywhere just because someone threatened me over the Internet.”
A twitch in Damien’s right eye was the only thing that told Nikolai of his annoyance, “You don’t seem to understand how dire the situation is. Anyone could just walk up to you on the street and put a few slugs in your chest.”
“And you don’t seem to understand what it’ll do to me politically. There already exists the public opinion that I’m just as paranoid as my father, and me suddenly eliciting the help of an Osiris would just make it worse,” Nikolai said, turning the tide of the conversation around.
Damien Osiris was both annoyed that yet another politician refused his help and proud that Nikolai wasn’t afraid. “I can’t make you use a bodyguard, but I have to strongly suggest the use of one.”
“Look at it this way,” Nikolai responded almost instantly. “If I can’t protect myself, then what was the point of all those combat tutors?”
“Fine,” Damien knew from experience that Nikolai would not be dissuaded once his mind was made up, “but you’re going to have to have some extra protection in the event that a member of the Anarchy Movement becomes too zealous.”
“How about the Keepers?” Nikolai was referring to the .50 caliber machine guns which could be found spread throughout the ceilings of some of the more economically stable Floors. Whenever a sufficiently extreme crime was committed within range of a Keeper, be it terrorist action, treason, or political assassination, the criminal would be taken care of with due diligence.
“That is…” Damien Osiris almost growled, “acceptable. I’ll make the request right now to change your status to ‘politician.’”
“Great,” Nikolai said before Damien stomped out of the exercise room.
By the time the clock reached thirteen twenty, Nikolai wasn't quite done with his usual work-out, but his schedule demanded he leave for the locker room. His bracelet blasted a harsh beeping noise directly into his auditory canal when he fell more than ten seconds behind schedule, so he walked with a certain amount of speed to his next location. The delightfully ambiguous changing room was easily accessible by Nikolai and just as devoid of people as before. He changed quickly to make up for the ten seconds he spent putting the weight back on the rack. When Nikolai shifted the overcoat back on to his shoulders, he felt better about the now-looming death threat.
The rest of Nikolai's time at work passed uneventfully. He filled out some paperwork, he signed off on some budget reports, and he checked on the status of the money submarine. Nikolai was pleased to see that the status of the Volkov Group's submarine filled with hard currency was sent to him in a sealed envelope with the word CONFIDENTIAL written on the front of it. The envelope was titled "Offshore Accounts." Technically, this was accurate. He was certain that if the general public was made aware of the money submarine, it would be touted as the "pinnacle of capitalist excess" or something.
Nikolai's work day ended and his political day started at sixteen hundred hours. He probably would have slotted his punch card if he was part of the working class, but he was a part of the executive class so he filled out a form. Left at four o'clock P.M. Writing this down was only a formality because Nikolai didn't actually make a salary. He was really paid based on how well the Volkov Group did, and for as long as Nikolai had worked there, business had doing very well.
The executive elevator opened automatically seconds after Nikolai stepped in front of it. With a speed that was the norm for a place as regulated as Floor 112, the elevator reached the lowest floor of the Volkov Group building in a matter of seconds. On certain days when either Nikolai did something to interest the media or nothing else particularly interesting was happening, he would have the pleasure of meeting three or four reporters immediately after leaving the elevator. This was, unfortunately, one of those days. The negotiations between Duke Faust and Madison Jones had ended earlier, leaving the afternoon portion of the ANM’s broadcast open for new stories, and this recent threat against his life made Nikolai a primary target for news coverage.
“Mr. Volkov!” it was Sharon the reporter from earlier. The doors of the elevator hadn’t even slid open all the way before he was verbally attacked by a group of four very stubborn people with camera attachments hooked into their bracelets. Nikolai walked forward through the reporters, making sure not to touch any of them, so the elevator doors could close. “Are you worried about the threat against your life?”
“No one can even be sure that I am this ‘Prince of Capitalism,’ so I think worrying about what is no more than a possibility would be pointless,” the air of familiarity was gone from Nikolai’s voice now. Instead of sounding like an over-confident smartass, Nikolai sounded more like a poltician who wasn’t worried about anything. He smiled and waved to the cameras before jamming his hands into his pockets and walking toward where he knew his Mover would be.
Suddenly, Nikolai was very aware of the fact that his collar was down. If he were to take a bullet in the neck, he would have no protection. This thought confused Nikolai just slightly, but nevertheless he popped his heavy collar and put his hands back in the pockets of his overcoat. However, not even further armoring himself against an imagined threat could curb Nikolai’s paranoia. He had never before felt like he did at that moment, a pure wave of dread pushed its way into his very pores. Every part of Nikolai, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, fill with an immense foreboding of what was about to happen. The feeling itself was absolutely incomprehensible, but what the feeling meant couldn’t be more clear. Something was about to go horribly wrong.
This feeling of unadulterated horror reached its climax when Nikolai realized that his Mover wasn’t where it was supposed to be. He was standing in the open with potential threats on all sides; an echo of Damien’s voice rung in Nikolai’s mind, “...anyone could just walk up to you on the street and put a few slugs in your chest.” Almost subconsciously, he gripped his chest; imagining the deadly cop-killer high caliber bullets tearing through his kevlar vest and piercing his vital organs. For the first time, Nikolai felt completely vulnerable while wearing his military-grade body armor. A scenario played out in his mind’s eye where Sharon shot him in the back with an anti- aircraft round, where a sniper shot him in the head from a kilometer away, where his own bracelet injected him with a deadly neurotoxin. Nikolai’s heart rate skyrocketed and his adrenal glands began working overtime.
He looked right, he looked left, he looked down, he turned around to keep an eye on the reporters, but he couldn’t perceive any obvious threat. Nikolai knew something had to be out there so he quickly dialed Damien’s number, “Damien…” his breathing was very heavy, “where the hell is my Mover!?” he shut off the transmission. By now the reporters were looking at Nikolai like he was a crazy person. What was he doing? DId the death threat get to him? Should we be filming this? These thoughts filled the minds of the reporters before something much louder took precedent.
After looking around for about ten seconds, Nikolai began to think that he was simply losing his mind and there was no real threat. He was probably the first person ever to be happy to learn that he was crazy. Unfortunately for him, the newscasters in front of him, and the man behind him, Nikolai was incorrect. Just as he was certain none of the shadows were about to kill him, a voice which could only be described as one of absolute defeat sounded from a short man who had materialized behind him, “I’m sorry.”
Nikolai snapped to face the voice to see someone with all the characteristics of the upper Floors. Shorter stature, stouter frame, all this made it abundantly clear to him that he was about to die. The man wore canvas pants which had probably been stitched together from a tarp. On his chest was a hand-crafted white shirt which was two sizes too small for his already small size. The poor short man’s expression was the most interesting and frightening part of his entire body. He wore what was a mix of grim determination and complete surrender. It was the kind of expression that could only be found on the face of someone who found himself at the end of his life. There couldn’t be more of a dichotomy between the two. On one side was the epitome of success in designer clothing who had his entire life in front of him and on the other side was an angry man who never had a chance of making anything of himself who was facing what had turned out to be a relatively short and painful life.
The two polar opposites stopped and stared at eachother for a moment, neither one spoke because they knew that their differences were so great it would be implausible that they could ever understand one another. To the surprise of neither one, the poor man pulled an ancient six-shot firearm out of his pocket and pointed it directly at the Prince of Capitalism. It amazed everyone, executive, worker, and laborer, that someone as insignificant as that man could threaten the life of someone as important as Nikolai Volkov. This amazement certainly helped the assassin, while everyone else looked on in confusion through the cameras behind Nikolai, the man pulled the trigger until there were no more bullets in the chamber.