NOVEL FROG Chapter 39: Old Guns
“Hail Caesar, your lands increase!” I called out to Simon as I walked down the red brick path towards the smell of cooking meat. He was standing next to a round charcoal grill wearing a black cotton apron, a gray merino wool v-neck sweater, and dark blue almost navy slacks.
The small circular patio was ringed with chest height stone walls and bushes for privacy.
“I would prefer to think of myself as Trajan. But I will give you points for the historical reference.” Simon tossed the apron aside and gave me a hug, holding on for a good ten seconds. “I'm so happy you are safe, Hase.”
For a brief second the world felt right. I had been through hell and back but my dad was here, with me, and we were going to have a normal dinner together. A dinner that he had cooked himself for me.
Then I felt the body armor underneath his sweater and something metallic strapped on the inside of his left arm.
He replied, holding my hand in his to maintain the link.
I thought about what had happened in the Collective Dream, how I had been infected by Gershwin.
Simon wrapped his arms back around me, squeezing me tighter this time.
“Now, enough about the bad. Let's be thankful for the good in our lives.” Simon said as he brushed away a tear from my face that I didn't realize I had shed. “We have a roof over our heads, family to keep us company, and good food to fill our bellies. Come, let's eat.”
“Yeah. You're right.” I smiled, beginning to feel a weight lift that I hadn't realized I had been holding onto. “Thanks Dad. You make everything better.”
“That's my job.” Simon snagged my bottle of beer and took a sip before handing it back. He deftly removed an assortment of meats and vegetables from where he had been keeping them warm on the grill.
“If you told me thirty years ago that I would be grilling squash and zucchini from my own garden, and for my human daughter no less, well I never would have believed it.” He handed over a black plate piled high with marinated beef, chicken thighs, and wonderful veggies from our garden.
Simon hit a lever to smother the grill and set the lid on top. There was no sense wasting charcoal. “Being your father has been a wonderful experience.” He said as he took a seat in one of the tan fabric covered lawn chairs. “I'm happy and content. You are the best daughter I could ever have asked for.”
I took a seat across from him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I knew he loved me, there was no doubt in my mind. But I was beginning to realize that my preconceptions about the people around me, the people who raised me, were wrong.
For most of my life I had existed in a bubble, seeing but not understanding. I realized that Simon was looking at me, waiting for some kind of response.
“I love you too, Dad.” I said, setting my plate down on the table in front of me and cutting my meat and vegetables into bite sized pieces. “I've just been through a lot in a short amount of time. Now I find out that you've gone off and bought your own continent. How did that happen?”
“Well they were running this wonderful sale…” Simon said, his lips barely containing a smile.
“Boo!” I laughed despite myself. Simon could always make me laugh. I took a bite of the grilled yellow squash. It was perfectly seasoned with olive oil, salt, and pepper. “No, really. What happened?”
“I saw an opportunity to help people and rumor had it that the Empress was spending more money to maintain the northern territory than she was getting out of it. So rather than have it become a toxic waste dump like some people were suggesting, I offered to buy it.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if buying the whole continent was a perfectly normal thing to do.
He stared off into the distance wistfully. “I remember when the northern territory was filled with farms and ranches so big that they stretched from horizon to horizon. They produced more food than anyone else even though less than one percent of the population worked in agriculture, the benefit of advanced mechanization.”
He looked at the strip of marinated beef on his fork. “Now the north is a wasteland and all the food in the south has to be imported from overseas or drawn from the ocean. A cut of meat like this is something most only see on special occasions, if ever. Most can barely afford enough food to survive.” He took a bite and nodded thoughtfully as he chewed.
“The Empress needs food for her people and I don't like watching others starve. I've starved before and it wasn't something I would ever wish on anyone. She wanted weapons and money but when I offered food instead one of her advisors threatened to lead a rebellion if she didn't accept the deal. He's dead now, but she did eventually accept my offer.”
“So you traded a continent for food.” I looked down at my mostly uneaten plate, forcing myself to take another bite so it wouldn't be wasted. “How does that work?”
“I have agreed to provide a certain quantity of grain and meat every quarter for the next ten years, starting six months from now. If I fail to meet my obligations she gets the territory back.”
Simon snorted. “Of course, if I'm successful in making the north profitable again she will try to take it back from me anyway, by force if necessary. But she won't have a leg to stand on legally if she tries.” Simon set his empty plate down.
I offered him a sip of my beer and he gratefully accepted. I wondered why he didn't have one of his own. Then I realized that he was probably trying to stay vigilant in case something bad happened. He was also holding the bottle left-handed. I raised an eyebrow, looking at the bottle.
“Never drink with your shooting hand.” Simon explained, following my line of sight. “Also, never pick a fight with an old person. If they're too tired to fight they'll just kill you. I'm paraphrasing Clint Smith on that last one.”
“Who was Clint Smith?” I asked, taking my beer back. “Some kind of action hero from old Earth?
Simon laughed. “Kind of, yeah. He was a firearms instructor who said a lot of things people liked to quote. He was the one who said that the two most important rules in a gunfight are to always cheat and always win. Clint also had several good quotes about shotguns. Mr. Knight is obviously a fan, as is this old bag of bones.”
“You aren't old.” I said, realizing as soon as the words left my mouth that I was wrong. Simon had been born before the war, before the cataclysm even, back when hunds were lucky to live twenty years and twenty five was considered ancient. No wonder he didn't celebrate his birthday.
“I beg to differ, Hase. I am incredibly old. When I was a pup we still used internal combustion engines and you could smoke in restaurants. I used to go to the store with my mother to pick up kerosene for our winter lanterns.” He wrinkled his nose. “I can still remember the smell of them all these years later. It's funny how memory works that way.”
I looked out over the garden. It was getting dark and the solar powered lanterns were coming on. They hung loosely from wooden shepherd hooks driven into the raised beds. One by one they lit up until there was a sea of softly glowing blueish purple lights drifting back and forth in the evening breeze.
An unwelcome memory from the night before came back to me as I watched the dancing lights. I remembered the intruder standing there in my hallway, their stealth suit unable to keep up with the rapidly changing colors of the world around them. I stood up and began to look this way and that, searching the garden for any sign of an intruder. Squinting to try and see anything that might be hidden.