Short Story: Ancient Power

New story for the third OldTown novel

OldTown WeKare Inc.

Short Story: Ancient Power describes how WeKare Inc. advertiser, Donny Dill, convinces his new boss that he is the right man for an impossible job.

As the imposing steel and glass doors of WeKare Inc. swished open, Donny Dill shook snow from his shoulders. Then he passed over the threshold and stepped into a bright, shiny new world.

He wasn’t a big guy; naturally slender and only five foot three, he was often mistaken for a boy instead of a man. At twenty-six, that could have been insulting. But Donny was aloof to the world’s opinion. Inured to gossip and the daily grind of news updates, Donny strolled through life like a spectator from another planet. Perhaps that’s what made him so good at creating alluring ads? He often wondered if his lack of blinding passion assisted him in tapping into humanity’s trigger points, making him one of the most successful advertisers on the planet. He squared his shoulders, formally addressed the woman behind the reception desk, and then smiled pleasantly as he was directed to the elevators.

“Top floor, number nine, suite three. Everything is clearly labeled; you shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way. Good luck!”

Luck? Don’t be ridiculous. Distancing himself from the woman’s patronizing tone—as if he were a mere high school kid hoping for an intern position—Donny followed the brilliant floor tiles detailed with Arabesque patterns to the elevator. In silence, he rode to the top and then strolled down the wide, well-lit hall, nonchalantly passing suite one, a gold nameplate announcing Amy Rose Eaton in black script, and suite two, Westley Eric Kerr boldly carved on a silver plate.

He stopped at the cherry wood door of suite three, emblazoned in script on a bronze plate: Tamara Jacobs-Kaput.

A gleaming servant bot with blue eyes, wearing a somewhat disconcerting frilly apron, answered the bell.

Donny was formally ushered inside.

Tamara Jacobs-Kaput tried to maintain the illusion that she never hurried, but it was as plain as the strain around her eyes and the glint of hairspray creating a helmet effect on her stylishly blunt haircut that the woman rarely relaxed. She strode forward, one arm extended, not to shake his hand but to direct him to a cluster of chairs arranged before a low table set in front of a wall-sized window overlooking the frozen Lake Michigan shoreline. “Welcome, Mr. Dill! Please make yourself comfortable.”

Once seated, Donny leaned back on the plush leather chair and let his gaze roam from her professionally poised expression to the snow falling outside the window. It made for an interesting contrast. The pure, virginal snow falling from an innocent sky as a backdrop to the woman dressed in a dark blue, perfectly tailored pantsuit, her face a mask of cold appraisal.

Donny waited. Patience was one of his virtues.

Her tone as hurried as her daily pace, Tamara got down to business. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Thought it was time we met, so we can come to an agreement, an understanding if you will, of your job and my job and how we’re going to make our relationship work the best for everyone.”

You’ve certainly started on the wrong foot. Donny’s thought never rose to his lips, but he smiled, a grin known to disconcert people who didn’t know him and positively terrify those who did. He didn’t respond directly. Instead, he glanced around, as if waiting for the servant bot to offer a hearty snack and a warm drink.

Fingers tapping her leg, eyes narrowed, Tamara’s composure cracked along the seams. She stepped in front of the chair on Donny’s right and angled in for an intimate moment. “Do you need something before we begin?”

A sigh, and Donny cut the preliminaries short. “I don’t need anything, thank you. I will be direct and save us both time. Amy described her vision in vivid detail, so I know exactly what she wants.”

Her shoulders stiffening, Tamara bristled with indignation. “Miss. Eaton and Mr. Kerr will be addressed properly by everyone who works at WeKare. This isn’t a college internship.”

Feeling rather bored, while his stomach craved something scrumptious, Donny decided he needed to elaborate to move things along. “Yes, Eric explained the formalities of their positions as founders and co-directors of WeKare. The tricky nuances of two young people reshaping humankind’s future have not been lost on me.” He offered a flashed smile.

Dropping onto the chair and leaning in, her hands now clenched in a tight knot, Tamara attempted a low, imposing tone. “You’re not the only advertiser we hired. We have a half dozen excellent resources to pull from, and your position is a precarious one.” She leveled her gaze like a sharpshooter aiming her weapon. “Trust me. I do the hiring and firing around here.”

A long exhale, and Danny stretched out his legs. He didn’t mind a challenge, but stupid bureaucrats annoyed him. “I am the only advertiser you need, and I’m the only one you will listen to.” His hands folded politely on his lap; Donny epitomized the picture of a relaxed man informing a servant of his expectations. “If WeKare stays on its current trajectory, it will be out of business, perhaps paying heavy fines for false advertising, within the year. If you follow my directions carefully, WeKare will not only survive, it will thrive and likely even surpass its founders’ wildest dreams.”

Suddenly still, Tamara’s gaze locked on his face, the light from the window creating a halo effect around her. “Explain.”

One final glance to see if the servant bot was coming with refreshments, Donny decided to take pity on the woman. A half shrug. “WeKare has been attempting to sell itself as,” he made air quotes, “‘advanced technology to create designer babies.’ It screams of rich privilege, self-aggrandizement, and calculating profiteering, all at the cost of innocent children.”

A noticeable shudder ran over Tamara.

Hits a little too close to home, doesn’t it?

Stroking his chin with the thoughtful attitude of a pedagogue imparting the wisdom of the ages, Donny continued his lecture. “In your sensitive position, selling won’t do. WeKare isn’t about a product, it’s about freeing women from slavery, saving men from heartbreak, securing families, and leading the human community into a bright new future.”

Tamara’s mouth fell open, but not a word dropped from her lips.

Donny sighed. It’s almost too easy. People shouldn’t fall so far so fast.

The servant bot finally entered the room with a tray, a bowl of snacks, and two hot drinks.

Finally!

Donny didn’t need to comfort the woman who appeared to be trembling before him. He’d done this before. It was his job to sell terrifying products as gifts for humanity’s salvation. Though he was young, the spirit within him was ancient. He didn’t need to know its name; he knew it worked. And that was enough for him.

He turned to the bot and reached for a pretzel.