CHAPTER 14

There was a time when Bruce Arbuckle actually liked coming to Phvengs. One of the many perks of doing what he did for the NSA was that he got to visit some very exotic locations and, they didn’t come any more exotic than Phvengs. The former plantation had been turned into a sleazy little resort kind of place that not only could offer the raunchiest of entertainment but, it was one of the few places, on either world, where so many different races actually mixed. Of course, the naughtier activities mostly went on in the little out buildings behind a tree line. The main building, where Bruce was now, tried to maintain something of a clean reputation. It was mainly a bar, restaurant, and a few meeting rooms with the kitchen and offices hidden down a corridor that was just off the main dinning room. That was where Bruce was heading.

As he walked through the dinning room he saw a familiar face sitting at a table. The guy saw Bruce as well and raised a drink to him that was followed by a nod. Bruce gave the guy a smirk and a nod back. He had no idea what that guy was doing back over here and, more important, Bruce did not want to know. He had never really liked the guy in the first place but, more important, if Bruce didn’t know about it then he could not tell anyone. That was his primary concern these days. Personality conflicts, pissing matches, and turf wars were small potato’s right now.

Bruce stopped at the door to the main study and hesitated before he knocked. When he did he heard the familiar voice call for him from inside. The guy sounded pissed off and, why not? The guy was always pissed off about something. Bruce walked in and sat down on the dirty couch that was just across from the guys desk. Ian Balfour did not even bother to look up from what he was doing, let alone say hello.

What Ian did say was, “about fucking time Arbuckle. I might get the impression you don’t like my company anymore.”

Bruce squirmed and said, “well I do have my day job and it’s pretty busy these days. In case you haven’t noticed, there is a war going on.”

For a change Ian tried to sound pleasant when he said, “you don’t say.” Then he went back to his usual bitchy tone when he finished by pointing out, “don’t look to me like much of anything has goddamn changed. Course, that is, except for the fact that there are too many of you Americans here right now.”

“Oh come on Ian,” Bruce tried to laugh that off, “all that means is more customers for you.”

“Yeah right,” Ian complained, “they build that big fucking base out by the temple and it comes complete with it’s own entertainment. The last thing I wanted to see here was the goddamn internet. You know what that means Arbuckle? Do you?”

“Um,” Bruce shrugged, “not really.”

“It means people don’t talk in pubs anymore,” Ian grumbled, “no they’d rather pussy out and go to a damn chat room where they don’t have to look each other in the eye. Do you know what that does to business, for a guy like me?”

What could Bruce say to that. He just shrugged and said, “well it’s not like it’s your main business Ian.”

“Shut the fuck up Arbuckle,” Ian told him. He knew exactly what Bruce meant by that and he replied, “and just cause I know the whole temple thing with the elves, wasn’t your goddamn idea, doesn’t mean I don’t think you had a say in it.”

It wasn’t Bruce’s idea. He found out about it at the same instance as Ian. He defensively protested the obvious, “I thought you’d be happy about that. You know America, land of religious freedom? It gets you right around that damn law.”

Ian slammed his fist on his desk, “who the fuck says I wanted to get around it? I liked the damn law. You guys already got your own dope business plotted out. As long as it’s all illegal my profit margins are through the roof. You let the damn elves get their grubby little fingers in on it and I’m going to have to be splitting my profits with fucking goddamn Quintescau. I bet he’s laughing his ass off at me, right fucking now.”

What could Bruce say to that? There was nothing he could. In fact, there was not much of anything he could say about any of this sorry mess. Bruce had been doing exactly what his bosses back at Fort Meade had told him to do. He had been setting up an intelligence network and, for the most part, that’s exactly what he had done. Unfortunately that meant dealing with guys like Ian, and in this case, it was even more critical than it would have been in some places. In fact, Ian was the only guy they could deal with here. Nothing, legal or otherwise, went through that Dell that he did not have some say in or know about. That included intelligence and hence, Ian could charge any price he wanted.

Unfortunately for Bruce, the price was way too high by his estimates. It not only made his agency vulnerable to the man, it made him personally so. The worse part was that Ian was all to aware of this and he was using it for all it was worth. That included getting his “dust” around customs and, not just in the US.

The NSA was supposed to be, primarily, a signals intelligence outfit, meaning they mostly intercepted wireless traffic. Besides the obvious problems of doing that in Feyland, the bureaucratic turf wars back home had led to the NSA dealing in human intelligence as well, or at least, when they could justify it and the CIA didn‘t bitch too much. Both agencies were constantly competing for a bigger budget from the same limited pie and, not just with each other. The military had their own Defense Intelligence Agency, the DIA, and then Homeland Security took their slice as well. That didn’t even count all the independent contractors out there, most of whom subbed out with the governmental departments. Yes, the spy world had their own temp agencies.

All of this put pressure on Bruce. His bosses wanted results in an arena where they had an obvious handicap. He was making them happy right now so, they were willing to not look so carefully at the price, as long as it wasn’t money. Favors were cheap, or, so they figured but, Bruce didn’t share that opinion because it was his ass on the line if something went wrong. He had almost thought that would happen when congress passed that law because, suddenly, that favor was illegal. Bruce had expected them to tell him to stop and, in turn, that would probably cause Ian to tell his two Orc’s to cut Bruce’s pecker off and feed it too sea monsters. That’s what the man always threatened to do.

Now Bruce was figuring he knew why, maybe. It still made him uncomfortable when he had to come here. It also caused him to look around, notice that the Orc’s weren’t here, and then ask, “where’s Steekin and Buleets at?”

“How the fuck should I know,” Ian replied. “Probably out shitting in the yard or whatever it is Orc’s do when their not working.”

Bruce had always noticed that Ian got touchy on the subject of non humans in general and Orcs specifically. It was quite obvious that the only use the man had for elves was when they were paying him money. He constantly referred to the Gnomes as, “greedy little bastards” and when not saying that his second favorite comment was, “sorry little pricks.” He seemed to be quite ambivalent about the ape like Yangani even if he employed quite a few of them. Bruce had never heard him mention the little dragon guys, with the name he couldn’t pronounce, and so it seemed he was ambivalent about them as well. Ian did, however, always get touchy about the Orcs. Bruce thought it strange.

If the chatter was to be believed, Ian only gave a crap about any of the non humans when the rent was due. He owned a good number of the hovels in Kalean-Erc and most of his customers were not human or elf. Bruce was really coming to think that was not true and, he wondered if it was his out. He had once asked Ian about his status as slum lord and the man simply replied, “what? The government doesn’t put a roof over anybody’s head. Somebody has to do it.” Bruce was still trying to figure out exactly what that meant.

Almost as if on cue, one of the two Orc’s, Bruce thought it was Buleets, came waddling in the office. No human could ever get away with doing something like coming in unannounced. Ian took it almost as par for the course even if he did act pissy with the thing. Of course, then again, Ian acted pissy with everybody. As Bruce understood it, the Orcs had a really hard time with speaking primate languages and, that seemed understandable. Their vocal cords, their jaws, even the shape of their mouth could just not make the sounds required. They did have their own language though and, from what Bruce had heard on recordings, it sounded different from Polmarij, what the hostile Orcs spoke.

None of that made Bruce feel any more comfortable about the presence of the incredible hulk in the room. Those two Orcs, Steenkin and Buleets, always made him squirm more than most. Ian, on the other hand, even yelled at them and Bruce wondered where the guy found the nerve. He also understood them even when they weren’t talking in a normal language. Bruce knew that the different species had hand gestures that allowed for some kind of communications. It was not so formal as a language but, it did let messages come across.

Ian seemed to understand all of it without even thinking. He could seem to comprehend their strange conversation as if it were in English. In fact, the reverse also seemed to be true because he only ever used English and the Orc seemed to understand it without any trouble at all.

After a few minutes of growling, snorting, and shooting fingers, Ian told the thing, “all right, I’m coming already!” Ian stood up from his desk and pointed at Bruce, “Arbuckle, go get your prick sucked. I got business.” When Ian said that, he was usually being literal. Bruce left but, he did not head back out into the dining room. He went through the kitchen and to it’s backdoor where he just listened. He could hear Ian out back, yelling at the Orc. It even sounded like the guy slapped the thing. He really had nerve. Bruce decided he was not going to get anything useful so, he left.

In the little outdoor breezeway, at the base of the stairs that led up to his private porch, Ian was not finished with the Orc. He snarled in his half language, “where’s your brother? I don’t pay you two to jerk each other off!” Again, when Ian said that to an Orc, he was usually being quite literal. When he saw and heard the response he blew up, “what do you mean he’s busy? Busy doing what? You go get his ass and I want both of you back here where you’re supposed to be. I didn’t raise you to be like this you sorry walking abortion. Now go do it!”

When Buleets was gone, Ian walked up to his private porch and joined his guest. Carol Somerset was slightly amused at his frustration and she asked with a smirk, “trouble with the hired help, uncle?”

“Fucking Orcs,” replied Ian as he sat down and grabbed for the whiskey bottle on the table between them. “I blame the cock sucking Americans for that. Every Orc in town has been nothing but trouble ever since the Americans stole those fucking eggs.” Ian then added, “who can blame them?”

Then Ian mellowed out and actually smiled, “so you decided to take me up on my offer? Is that what I owe the pleasure of this visit from my favorite niece?”

Carol did not smile in return. She became more business like, “Uncle Arthur sent me.”

“I see,” and Ian saw more than just that, “all I can figure is this. If he called you in, all the way from New York, then I am betting that the stuck up prick thinks I’ll say no to whatever he wants. Well I got some news for Arthur, he’s fucking right. Whatever it is, the answer is still no.”

“Ian,” Carol became diplomatic, “I would have never agreed to come if it wasn’t important.”

“Bullshit little girl,” Ian snapped back. “Speaking of which, if you want to see John, while you’re here, I can arrange that.”

“I’m sure you can,” Carol said with mixed emotions. “I’m afraid that this is more serious than you realize. I wouldn’t have come had it not been the case. You know that I also don’t see eye to eye with Uncle Arthur. In this case, it’s a little different.”

Ian considered that and figured he could at least hear this out. Besides that, it might be important. That translated in Ian’s mind as anything that would interfere with his various business ventures. He sat back and nodded for Carol to continue. She told him in the same business like voice, “the English are moving.”

Ian rolled his eyes, “oh, so Arthur gets his ass in a crack and suddenly he needs me. The guy has been trying to ass fuck me for thirty something years. You know, I used to get along with him till he married my sister. Now I just want to send Steekin and Buleets to pay both their sorry asses a visit.”

Carol ignored the banter and told him, “this is a dangerous situation.”

“What do you fucking care for,” Ian replied. “You’re in New York. Let Arthur get his ass shot off. If he thinks he can pick a fight with the English and win, it’s all on him.”

Now, Carols desperation broke through the business like façade, “no, you don’t understand. My daughter is England, Ian. She’s at one of our facilities. If the English move they might target it. I can’t let this happen.”

“I see,” Ian said calmly despite Carol’s shift in emotions. He then said, “I suggest you get her the hell out, as soon as possible. You know, I always thought Arthur might be the end of us all but, what can I say about this? As soon as Arthur put Dominique’s ass on the television and told everybody about the Dell, what the hell did you all think would happen? It was only a matter of time before the English figured it all out. Hell, even the Americans aren’t that stupid.”

“I can’t get her out,” Carol was almost crying now.

Again, Ian responded, “she’s at Anson Manor I take it?” He swallowed his entire drink and then poured another one, “so that’s what this is really about. Reilly’s fucking Frankenstein. I hate to admit this but as much as I hate Arthur, Barnabas sometimes exceeds my toleration for our sorry little species. You don’t see the Orcs doing this shit to each other and we call them monsters?”

Carol leaned forward and desperately pleaded, “does it really matter now? What if the English targeted that facility. Amanda would be right in the firing line.” Carol then shifted her tactics, “What if they found out what was really going on there? Do you really think they, the world even, wouldn‘t hunt us all down?”

“You assume they don’t already fucking know,” Ian injected in the middle of the begging.

Carol rattled right on by saying, “if they find out, do you think they’d sit still for that? How would that effect your businesses then?”

Ian through up his hands, “what does Arthur want me to fucking do about it. It’s his job to handle the British Government. He doesn’t have some flunky that can put a bullet in Thayer’s head? Arthur seems to get off on that shit, you can’t tell me he doesn’t have a plan.”

“He has a plan,” Carol replied. Then she said, “only it’s not that simple. The Americans are involved now. Do you really want to see them invade Britain? Think about it Ian, if this turns into a civil war, and you know it will, that’s exactly what will happen.”

“Yeah,” Ian snarled, “then the French, the Germans, the fucking Russians, Chinese, and when will we all stop killing each other?”

Carol added, “yes and I suppose a nuclear war would put a substantial dent in your sales.”

Ian stewed for a minute. He found himself looking at this girl, studying her. He laughed and shook his head. When Carol developed an inquisitive look, Ian did not know why but, he decided to say something that opened up a path he had promised he would avoid, “you remind me a lot of your mother. Your real mother.”

“What?” Carol backed off and considered what he had just said, “you know who she was?”

“Oh yeah,” Ian filled his glass again. He could not get enough and he was soon going to be in the need of an entirely new bottle. All of this news seemed to call for a mighty drunk. After he downed yet another full glass, in one shot, he told Carol, “I not only know who she was, I know who she is.”

Carol realized the implications of Ian’s brinksmanship here and, that was exactly what it was, “you’re not going to tell me though, are you?”

“First off darling,” Ian told her leaning forward, “it’s for your own fucking good.”

When Ian did not say anything else, Carol asked, “and second?”

“I don’t know,” Ian waived it off, “ask Reilly’s sorry ass.”

“I don’t understand,” Carol said with no small amount of frustration, “why even bring it up if you aren’t going to tell me!?”

Ian shrugged and thought about it before saying, “fucking guilt maybe?” He then slammed his glass down on the table and said, “forget I ever said it. Now what the fuck does Arthur need from me? Maybe we can stop the end of the world before I get too drunk to care.”