Fowler
Like all too many people, Captain Fowler had an insufferable boss: Governor Harrington. And right now, the morning after unprecedented disaster, having not had a moment’s respite or sleep, Fowler was standing in the governor’s office, getting quite an earful, silently wishing he could pull out a pistol and shoot the arrogant, fleshy bugger right in the face.
But he couldn’t do that. Because Prisoner 5-9-1988, Mei Ling, had her grubby, stupid…infuriating hands on his custom-made, one-of-a-kind flintlock pistols!
How he despised that woman. He’d never been so furious in all his forty-two years. He couldn’t want to get his hands on her again. And when he did, he’d strangle her. He’d drown her. He’d stake her to the sand on the beach and let the sun cook her and the ants eat her. He’d torture her in all the most brutal and painful ways that he could think of — a hundred times over. Because she had not only stolen his beautiful sword and his two prize pistols, but she was responsible for the incredibly humiliating position that he now found himself in. It was all he could do to maintain his usual calm and dignified pose while his boss’s spittle flew all over him in the other man’s uncontrolled rage.
Governor Harrington was fat and quite ugly, an English toad of a man. He dressed the part he played to perfection in a long, blood-red coat that went below the knees, his oddly thin legs in black tights and his shoes made of black leather. The coat was very heavily embroidered with gold thread and a snow-white cravat poured from his neck like a winter waterfall. A thick, dark-haired wig, curly and hanging past his shoulders, covered his mostly bald head. A wart had taken up residence on his chin and decided to expand, apparently unchecked. His vein-riddled nose gave evidence of his over-fondness for the bottle here in the MMO.
While he wasn’t known for being overly capable, he was known for being quite the political animal. Which is why he was a governor in the prison system, in charge of a small but profitable colony. He was the kind of man that took credit for the good work done by those under him, like the work generally performed by Fowler. And Harrington routinely sought every opportunity to pass any blame onto others as well. He was not smart, but he could be cunning when it came to self-serving behaviour. And everything he did was self serving.
Harrington, at the moment, was red faced and fuming. “You buffoon! You simpleton!” he shouted, jowls shaking. “How could you lose an entire ship — a brig — to one lowly bitch? The entire administrative staff is laughing at me and the board is threatening to remove me from my position. All because of your bloody incompetence!” He slammed a meaty fist onto his oak-wood desk.
The office was immaculate, an artist’s rendering of luxurious colonial surroundings. One wall was floor to ceiling glass doors that looked out over the small colony and the aquamarine bay beyond. The walls of the room were white and the shiny, satin drapes around the windows shimmered a deep, royal blue. The floor was black marble. The desk took up a third of the space, and a pair of deep, green-leather couches filled the rest.
A beautiful NPC slave girl of Spanish blood, dressed only in pink, modern lingerie, her nipples exposed, lounged on one of the couches like a mindless statue, waiting to be played with. There was no life to her, she just…stared at nothing unless interacted with. Frankly, Fowler found it creepy. But the governor heartily enjoyed his digital playthings and had a dozen laying about the large mansion in various states of undress.
Harrington’s wife lived outside the prison system, in the real world. And while she no doubt suspected his activities inside the MMO, rumour had it that she preferred it to suffering his attentions herself. And who could blame her? Besides, with him in here, she got to spend his entire, corporate executive salary on herself.
A black, NPC butler stood in the corner of the office, gray head always bowed, awaiting whatever orders or abuse the governor cared to throw at him. He was a favourite toy, secretly reprogrammed to be completely subservient and utterly unaware of racism or affirmative action or anything of the kind. Unlike the NPCs living outside the mansion, he was incapable of rebellion.
Fowler forced himself not to react to the other man’s insults. “My humb—“
“Shut it, fool!” the governor snapped, cutting him off. “One girl. One weak little cunt and you not only let her get the better of your men, but she bested you as well. In fucking combat of all things! You fought a girl and lost, Fowler!”
Stay calm, he commanded himself. He was normally the type of person in rigid control at all times, known for his icy demeanour and flawless skills. Nothing ever ruffled him. But today, his blood boiled and threatened to take over him completely. He’d never suffered such a setback or such embarrassment.
The governor sneered in contempt. “So much for being the elite soldier, eh? Best shot in the Caribbean? Expert fencer?” He snorted, the air blowing the long hairs out of his nose. “And one little bitch bested you?”
Fowler spoke through a clenched jaw. “It was a mistake.”
Harrington’s eyes widened. They were bloodshot. Whether that was from how upset he was or yet another late night carousing with the island’s whores, or with his servants, or with his own prostitutes, or from drinking himself into yet another stupor, Fowler didn’t know. Harrington slapped his meaty palms on the dark-wood desk. “Mistake? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Do you realize what your mistake has cost us? Six months!” he roared so hard it looked like his red face might explode.
Fowler sagged. It was only a fraction of centimetre; barely perceptible to any but himself. But even he couldn’t maintain his composure entirely in the face of that very unwelcome truth.
The governor was not one to let the obvious go unstated, however. “Six months for us to get another ship from England. You and your ineffectual men might respawn after a few hours, but our ships do not. The system is designed to emulate reality in that sense. It’ll take five months to build a new one in Portsmouth and then another month to outfit it and sail it down here. So your mistake just left us defenceless and completely unable to do our damn job in this section of the Caribbean — for half a year.”
“Perhaps another colony could send us a ship in the interim—“
“Anoth— Even if they had a spare ship, which the company doesn’t by the way, you know how competitive the other divisions are! None of the other governors are going to willingly help us unless ordered to by the board. And the board is currently disgusted with me. And with you!” Overcome with emotion, Harrington grabbed a marble statue of Venus from his desk and hurled it at the door. The door happened to be directly behind Fowler.
He flinched, smoothly moving his head just enough for the object to pass by and shatter on the door behind. He understood. He truly understood the magnitude of what had happened. And he was horribly ashamed.
Harrington raved on. “We’ve nothing but a tiny merchant sloop in our harbour now. How do you expect to chase down pirates with that, hmm? It has, what, two canon? How do you expect to scare off the Carib natives who raid us every now and then? And what if the French or Spanish come along? Even the Danish or the fucking Dutch could bury us right now.”
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