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Read Ebook: With a Vengeance by Woodley J B Knoth Illustrator
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Ebook has 75 lines and 7086 words, and 2 pages
Illustrator: Knoth
With a Vengeance
October 10, 2119 New San Francisco
Today, at precisely 9:50 a.m., Kyle became First Imperator of Terra. His coup was so fantastically direct and facile that I am almost tempted to believe that old cliche "the time was right."
Why do I persist in tormenting myself with that phrase! Analytically, I might say I resent this new aristocracy of politics. Specifically, I might say I resent Kyle.
And both are true, both are true.
This swing, though, to absolute monarchy, complete with the installation of the Kyle Dynasty--damn him! This is something which psychologists, not historians, must explain. Has the age of the Common Man, so bravely flaunted for over one hundred years, truly come to nothing? Would people really prefer a figurehead and a symbol of undisputed authority?
Kyle was such, twenty years ago. His name wasn't Kyle then, although it was something very like that. I must see if any of the old ledgers are about! I'd like to see what the Imperator's name was when His Most Imperial Majesty was an apprenticed nobody!
October 12, 2119 New San Francisco
I wonder whatever happened to Hastings? And Drew? Best linotype men I ever had. They became pilots, or something, as I recall. Too bad, too bad. They could have had such brilliant futures, both of them. Why they felt they must ally themselves with the non-thinking, muscle-flexing variety of mankind--of which our Ruler is an excellent example--I'll never know.
Ah, yes, Kyle! In those days he was Kilmer Jones. I don't remember him too well, actually, except for the day I fired him.
I suppose he was right in changing his name. We couldn't very well have an Imperator named Kilmer the First, or Jones the First. Much too common, not at all in keeping.
Gawky fellow--that Kilmer. When Bard brought me a sample of his work--I guess I'll have to call it that--we both had a good laugh over it! Atrocious spelling! Couldn't follow the proofreader's marks. Indeed, I wonder if the fellow could even read! The punctuation! And the grammar!
I called the boy to the office that morning--or was it the next day? No matter. I called him in and told him, as kindly as possible, that I thought there were other vocations to which he might be better suited. The irony of it! Kilmer Jones--Kyle I!
And he stood there, I remember, with those seventeen-year-old hands that were all knuckles and bone and chapped skin, twisting those hands and shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"Please, Mr. Booth," he said, his voice cracking. "I ain't got no other job in mind. I wanna be a noospaper man. I ain't got no--"
If not for that "ain't got no," I think I might have relented. But no one is going to ruin the English language as he did! Not in my offices!
I took him to task severely for his offensive usage, outlined a correct example of what he had attempted to say, gave him a brief lesson in the history of the tongue, and explained why it had been chosen as the official Terran speech. I think my conclusion was, "You'll be much better off in a position which requires you to quote neither Milton nor Shakespeare nor any author save possibly those who write the comic strips."
"Got no training," he said softly.
"Yeah ..." softly again. "Yeah, Mr. Booth."
I searched for his severance pay on my desk, wondering who the devil had hired him in the first place. Gave him three weeks pay, as I recall it, one more than necessary.
Unmannerly pup! He just stood there for a minute and then finally left without even a "Thank you," or "Good-by."
And this is the man who is Kyle the First, Ruler of Terra at the age of thirty-seven! I wonder what he is like now....
January 1, 1 New San Francisco
There is no longer any need to wonder. Surprisingly few heads have rolled, but apparently Jonesy chooses to exhibit his power in other ways.
Thanksgiving Day, a custom preserved in certain portions of the Directorate of North America, is three weeks away--even though it is January.
The Year One. There used to be some childish joke about the Year One. Don't remember it just now.
Thanksgiving harvest in January. Christmas celebration in February. Spring planting in July! To say nothing of the inconvenience this has caused in my bookkeeping department! I suppose the man will now try to change the weather to suit his new calendar!
January 8, 1 New San Francisco
He can't last! He can't! A dictator is one thing. A monarch is another. But Kyle is something else!
Naturally he had to remove certain persons from his way. And his summer palace in the plains region of America--that's all right, that's all right! An authority of Kyle's stature is expected to remove undesirables, and to have a summer palace, and a winter palace, and anything else he wants! Of course!
Oh, I see what's behind it! It's revenge, that's what it is! Because he once couldn't become a "noospaper" man, he's taking his vengeance this way.
A man as petty as that shall be overthrown! Mark my words! And the clumsiness of it!
I see what he is! I know him! He's still that pup of seventeen, playing king with the world, twisting his hands in glee over his childish triumph.
No subtlety! Just a direct pushing over an applecart he couldn't steer! Doesn't matter whose apples you destroy, does it, Jonesy? Just push it over--push it over!
January 16, 1 New San Francisco
February 12, 1 New San Francisco
Received a letter this morning, requesting me to appear at the chambers of His Most Imperial Majesty, Kyle the First, on Tuesday of next week. His Most Imperial Majesty can see me between 10:15 and 10:25 on that morning.
Ten minutes--rather a brief spell in which to roll another head.
I find myself amazed, though. Is this man so truly powerful that he needs no police to make his arrests for him? Can he really send messages via jetmail and be certain his enemies will not try to escape?
I don't want to attempt flight. Life without my work is no longer life.
February 17, 1 Kyleton Palace, North America
I don't understand. I've gone over it twice, and I don't understand. If only Elsa were still with me! I could talk to her. She would help me decipher what it's all about.
This morning, at 10:15 sharp, I was taken to the public audience chamber in the palace.
His Majesty was seated behind a desk facing the doors. Behind him, on the wall, was His Coat of Arms.
He stood up and walked toward me, waving away the guards. "How are you, Mr. Booth?" he said. And offered me His Hand!
I recovered my presence of mind, of course, and replied as was fitting.
He cocked an eyebrow at me and smiled. "I believe we are in perfect accord about certain standards, are we not, Mr. Booth? The deplorable grammatical practices of some newspapers! Well, really, Mr. Booth! I feel assured of your agreement!"
He led me around the desk and pointed to the Coat of Arms. As He stood silent, I felt obliged to look more closely. I had seen it before, of course, but seeing it now, greatly enlarged, I was able to make out its detail.
What I had thought was a mere decorative border, I now realized was a motif I have seen all my life! A tiny lighthouse sending forth a beam! The trademark of my paper!
As I stood there, gaping, His Majesty laughed softly and said, "That, Mr. Booth, I felt impelled to include. For, without your most fortuitous termination of my apprenticeship in your organization, I should not have risen to my present position."
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