The person onscreen who used to always be "Daddy" to me didn't say otherwise, so I let Billy and Sarah stay. Both of them made a point of listening intently- Sarah from training, Billy most likely from simple curiosity or just the general desire to know just what the fuck is going on around here.
"Howard, get dressed in your newest clothing. You'll appear before every last member of the top five levels at midnight at the usual place (Our main headquarters, about 30 miles out of Munich, Germany, GMT + 1, Illuminati don't use Daylight Savings), so you better look your best.", he said with rapidity.
I did some quickie math, looked at the wall clock which said 9:40 (local time is -8:00 GMT), and figured at cruising speed in my jet... we have to leave in about 20 minutes if we want to appear right on time. No, less, we've got to get out of the plane and all that.
"WHAT?! If I leave NOW I'll get there! Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?", I yelled at him. That damn asshole! I do like to be notified of things in advance.
"Because I wasn't supposed to. Now get going. You'll be expected to make a speech basically saying what you want to do with your planet and your power, and it better be long and good. You might be the Emperor-to-be, but those guys you'll be talking to are your power base. There will be a lot of merriment, joy, and maybe some guys wanting to kill you, so watch it. Inheritors have been assassinated there before, which is why every servant there will either be yours or mine." He clicked off his end of the screen before I could reply. Oh holy crap, I know what this is.. Shit!! When he said I was going to start to get power, I didn't know he meant all of it right now! Why so soon, I almost asked to myself, but then realized it: I was getting what I wished for, I just didn't wish for it like this.
Gah! It's my first day with any real power at all and I get to walk into a place that could be my tomb? And in front of every last member of the top five levels... that's over six thousand people.
Remembering the customs I've seen at every Illuminated function in the past (Viewed, of course, from my heavily shielded 'Inheritor's Box' carved into the middle of the room with all sorts of surveillance equipment surrounding me so I could see everything from every angle.. not this time!), I told Sarah and Billy to go up to their rooms and put on clothing that covered every non-head part of their bodies in black, preferably something with a lot of pockets and weapon-carriers, then get back down here. Although Sarah is already widely feared for her abilities, and Billy will quickly be respected as well (and being the Inheritor's personal agents, it's assumed that what they speak is my will), all servants always wear black to signify non-Illumination and normalcy. Although we reject most customs most normals would consider appropriate, we have our own particulars. For example, Illuminati can (and do!) swear at each other, call each other assholes, morons, fags, and goatfuckers- even put each other's parenting into question- but belittling and patronizing them is not wise. Even if you're far above them in the hierarchy, you're very likely to find a knife or a bullet in your back if you do that shit. We (okay, more like 'they', I very seldom get offended) have our own peculiar sense of pride.
I looked at the incredibly odd suit before me on the floor. It said, simply, 'The Suit', but below that there was some fine print: 'Primary Formal Garment of the One Inheritor for his Double-hand Year's Presentment'- and laughed my ass off. Whatever bubbleheaded moron wrote this forgot I have six fingers on each hand. Anyone that stupid doesn't belong here, or someone's just cracking a bad joke.. probably the latter. The actual designer proved to be smarter and the built-in gloves did indeed have six fingers. Hell, the whole damn thing was probably designed to fit perfectly around me anyway. And it actually was one-piece, a body condom. I chuckled at that thought and took off my full-motion clothing and put the thing on, actually slipping into it from the back. It was made of some velvety substance probably not often (or at all) found in any normal fabric anywhere. Everything except my head was in absolute white material, and I'm albino with a full head of stark white hair- the effect was meant to be frightening, and to some degree succeeded. I closed the sides in the front magnetically (Zippers? Outdated.) and clenched my fists, feeling the soft fabric against my skin.
Instantly, four glistening metal blades popped out of my hands- sort of like Wolverine in that X-men comic a lot of the masses read, only from the base of the hand, not the forearm. Holy crap. Who the hell put that in there? I opened my fist and the blades retracted. Next time, I'll have to push against my palms with my fingers if I just want a fist- but when I did that, tiny blades came out of my fingers. If I had a god I worshipped, I would have uttered its name right there. I pushed again and they popped back.
Is it just me or is this thing designed with violence in mind? When I read "formal garment", I always think something bulky, uncomfortable, and annoying if you suddenly had to do battle in it. This was the opposite of all three. The bottoms of my feet were covered in rubber traction over the velvet, with metal at the toe. A long, front-attached cape, that seemed to be designed for the sole purpose of reaching into and pulling something out, came down to my knees, and I felt inside and found ropelike things that popped magnetically if you pulled them straight out. Weapon carriers, designed to conceal and carry just about any kind of gun. Truly marvelous, although you couldn't get through a metal detector with them.
Now why in all the levels of Dante's Inferno would the Grand Inheritor, going to his presentment before six thousand Illuminati, shown for the absolute first time before the extremely powerful people he is going to (try to keep in some semblance of) control, accepted and glorified by the very fabric of our high society, need to come packing devices designed to kill people? Sure, the blades are nice for effect, but guns? There? On an Inheritor that has no allegiances, grudges, or sides? (None of that yet, I reminded myself. To keep or increase my own power, I'd need to do some of that political hokey-pokey... groan, it would need to be me dancing to their tune a couple of times.) Before a group of people that knew what he was all about, what he did, and why he was necessary? And no one else to fill the position without serious civil war? With every servant there either being mine or the Dominator's? Something's seriously wrong with this, and I don't like it.
But business is business and it would probably be literal suicide not to come to this one.
I went back down to the fifth floor to get some weapons, in case anyone really does start going after me. Let's see... something small for Billy or Sarah to pull out for quickie shots, normal automatic pistols'll do that, take one for myself.. ah, and I'll take this blaster here, this one that reads "Micro-2025". I didn't know what it did, but I had a feeling it was very powerful indeed. Of course, I'd look it up in the jet. Judging from its size, shape, and considerable (11 kg? More?) heft, I figured it was power-packed to start someone's day on the dead foot (probably more than merely 'dead'- I'll have to watch what I point it at, the target's likely to just be obliterated completely). Heh, heh, heh. I put it in the middle of my cape so I'd at least have balance.
I went back up the elevator and slid down the stairs to find my newly endarkened servants waiting for me. Billy looked like something out of some film-noir spy movie, and fairly menacing. Good. Sarah looked... damn, she's attractive in a black bodysuit, her curves showing up in her usual covert-ops gear, tight with no wrinkles.. I've only seen her wear that once before, when that one dumbass decided to blow the lid on an operation and distribute the information via his dozens of minions. She led the clean-up crew. Fortunately, we control the media, and the general public still doesn't know anything about that.
I handed the guns to Sarah and Billy and told them to put em in an easy-to-reach place for the best quickdraws possible. If the combatants have good aim and fast reflexes, milliseconds count.
I walked to the door and pressed a small button near it. A large section of empty land near the side of the house flipped over and there my jet was, a plane not going to be available to normals for thirty years at least, a plane with the clearance codes for every nation on earth. Not like anyone would want to try to shoot it down anyway- it's armed.
When I opened the door, a barking, slobbering animal rushed at me fast. I petted its thick white fur, scratching it behind the ears. It ran back and forth between me and Billy, tracking mud on the carpet. Fido couldn't tell the difference between us, obviously. "Fido, we're going away for a while, and I want you here when we get back.", I said to my favorite dog. He woofed as if he understood. Maybe he did- he's engineered the same way as I am, and he's way, way smarter than the average mutt. The good thing is, dogs are loyal creatures, and there is nothing on Earth more loyal than an implanted dog. I told Billy and Sarah to follow me inside the plane.
A door opened to my touch and we climbed in, Billy sitting to my right, still silent. He was probably trying to think of something to say, just to know something, and had no idea where to start. He'll figure it out in a minute if he's really like me.
This jet can go about 10,000 miles an hour in the stratosphere, but that blows its fuel all to hell and makes us more traceable to radar and such, so I keep it down to 1200 for the long flights. Sure, I might be the master, but I'm a secret one who wants as little incidents as possible- don't want people to know we fly around all the time in stuff sizably more powerful than what they'll ever see. "Sarah, fly us to headquarters, cruising speed.", I said in my usual secret-master voice I've been trying to develop better, and she moved up to the cockpit and started pressing buttons and flipping switches, and laid in a course to the headquarters' air field. Even though I'm the Inheritor to total power, sometimes I think I sound too much like a normal. Sure I can walk the walk, but in this business, talking the talk is more important. Daddy told me that the ratio of threat of force versus actual use of it for Dominators was on the order of 1000:1. Even other Illuminati will back down to it, although you can bet they don't like to do that. Trying to stop the most powerful and arrogant people on the planet from slaughtering each other and starting another Era of Strife is not easy no matter how many resources you have, and sounding like you can do it always helps... even if you are ten years old. Being a child ruler, I realized, would be something of a bitch unless I always displayed some mega-ass amount of power to everyone. Who wants to listen to some kid, especially when he tells you why you can't lay waste to your neighbor and take his vast resources and power? Damn Illuminated assholes. A brief vision of someone shining a flashlight into someone else's rectum came to me and I smiled.
"Umm, Howard? Don't we need a runway?", inquired Billy as Sarah powered up the engines. I let the jet's Vertical Take-Off and Landing capabilities answer me. The jet flew 200 feet in the air, above the rainforest of the island, then Sarah blasted the main jets and we were pressed to the seats by the mondo acceleration, hearing the loud blast through the thick soundproofing. I moved the Micro around in my cape so it wouldn't leave an imprint in my back. In less than a minute we were going faster than the earth's rotation, and the steady thoooooooooom of the jet's engines vibrated the seat very slightly, and the slight whoosh of the jet's pressure fans could be heard. She put it into the stratosphere and came back, taking the seat to my left.
At this point, I'm fairly sure your average normal would have started worrying. I had a speech to craft, a very unschooled servant to teach in the ways of Illuminated life, and I had to appear before a group of six thousand people that couldn't be distracted or threatened or fed bullshit to. Oh yeah, and I'd also have to worry about getting assassinated, don't forget that. I don't get worried, however, and I tried to approach this logically. Besides, five hours is a long damn time. Actually, very long for the crafting of a speech. But Daddy said it better be long and good... ugh. Even though he didn't tell me outright, I know this could literally be a matter of life and death. Most Illuminati live for their plans, and if mine contradicted theirs, they might go after me. Or just one might. And it only takes one, even though he'd be automatically sacrificing his life, he'd ensure his plan better by killing me. We really are a bunch of lunatics, held together by the tenuous threads of common interest and the presumably stronger bond of the Dominator to keep everything from falling to pieces. Ugh. Anyone want some responsibility? I've got tons. Come over here with your wheelbarrows and pile it up, I can't deal with this much.
Oh yes I can, I reminded myself. I can deal with it. I'm trained to deal with it. I'm the Inheritor, soon to be the Dominator, ready to pull the strings of the string-pullers.
Then I realized I didn't really even have a master plan. I take problems as they come, doing whatever whenever, solving the little things given to Inheritors to train them in manipulation. Tactics I have. Strategy I have not, because I didn't yet develop one. Would I really need one, and what could I put in it on such short notice? Hmm... what could I possibly, realistically, have for a strategy to put in the speech, anyway? I posed that question to Billy and Sarah- even though they're servants, more heads can't hurt on this one.
"Just tell them your job, basically, say you'll do it well, stuff like that. Yeah, I know they can't be snowed, but I thought you were supposed to just solve their interpersonal problems.", said Sarah after a couple of seconds of deliberation. I chuckled at that. So did Billy.
"The Lord of Guidance Counselors?!", asked Billy. I laughed hard. Damn, that's hilarious, get some super genetic-engineered rich kid dressed up, call him the Inheritor, and let him deal with the infantile whining of the Most High Masters. He started to laugh and stopped himself. D'oh, I'd been a fool with that command. Listening to Billy not-laugh would be more annoying than just hearing what sounded like myself laugh.
"Billy, you know when I told you not to laugh at me? Cancel that.", I said. His face exploded in laughter, and he bent over a bit. Then I thought for an instant why he didn't answer that speech question, oh yeah, because he doesn't have the answer. The implants affect only well-understood actions, not thinking.
"And Sarah.. I wish I could just do it like that, but these are Illuminati we're talking about. If I told them I had no long-term plans, they'd just think I was hiding them, and then they really would start gunning for me."
"Hey, Howard, you know all that tech shit for control you got in the basement?", asked Billy. He actually had an idea? Damn! I didn't think he even had his wits about him, and I figured he wouldn't regain them for a while.
"Yeah?", I answered.
"Well, say something based on that. Promise how you'll use it to step things up and help everyone by controlling everyone. If you help them all, none of em would want to kill you. That is what all of you want, isn't it?"
Which was not a bad idea at all. But there was a small thing with that, and I searched what I know of normal society's daily life (which is not a small amount, really) to answer him in terms he could understand. "Billy, that's great, but this isn't some school report you can just bullshit your way through with generalizations and half-truths. These guys want specifics, and they probably want at least some damn good idea on what my plan does to theirs. And that's for each one of them." He groaned.
"There's six thousand people there, so I can't possibly address all their concerns, except all the firsts will want me to, and probably the seconds too.", I added.
"That includes that Herbert bastard and those two prissy whores who look like pigs, doesn't it?", said Sarah. "Howard, you can't possibly address anything exactly as they'd want them." She had a point. I've seen them in action, and she's worked for them... it's always more, more, more with them. They're great manipulators, they command lots of power, and they're real assholes to everyone. They consider their plans the topmost above others', no matter who it is that's getting in their way. Fortunately for everyone, they're getting old. If anyone was going to try stupid shit to kill me, it was them. Greed is the top deadly sin in the Illuminated department, and those three first-level dickheads exemplify it. Even among the smartest people in the world, the carnal desires control the thinking.
I rolled my eyes. Where was I going to start?! Hell, I didn't even KNOW the jobs of most of those guys! How the fuck was I supposed to know their motives?!
The screen in the jet came to life, and that forsaken Dominator was on it.
"Damn it Dominator, just why didn't you tell me about this line of bullshit earlier?!", I screamed at him. "I don't have TIME to make some giant speech- I don't even know what these guys want!"
He muttered to himself as if he wasn't the one who decided when to tell me. Maybe he wasn't. "Howard... I figured this would happen. You didn't even have the faintest clue that you were going to have to do jack shit today, did you?" I shook my head. He groaned loudly. "Those stupid.. absolute... idiots! I told them, but nooooo, they have to to 'test the Inheritor's ability'. Look. You want me to drag out all the shit on them? I know you don't know it.", he uttered in one of the angriest voices I've heard him use.
I nodded. "Yeah, that'll help. Also, what the hell am I supposed to say? How my plan relates to their plans or what?", I said.
"Yes, you need to address the general concerns, all the major stuff. Don't obsess over any of their individual specific shit for the main speech," Whew! "but do be prepared to answer their questions about that sort of thing." Damn! "And they always have questions. I'll dredge up a list of plans. And only through a lot of my own manipulation and general cajoling power was I able to even talk to you. Those damn fools don't even want me to tell you what the hell you're doing."
"What the hell are they smoking?", I asked.
"No idea.", he grated. "Anyway, here's the info. And don't be afraid to remind them that you've got the real power. In fact, make it very fucking clear to them." He blinked out and a list of names filled my screen, organized by rank and alphabetical order. World-bending secret plans were one click away.
"They recorded that.", said Sarah in her 'Covert operations? Kid stuff.' voice.
"Yeah, no shit.", I said. I took a couple of seconds to ponder the enormity of the job at hand. Ugh. "I do not want to do this right now!!", I yelled. Sarah smirked. Every time I feel pain, she's that much happier. Born servant or no, she hates my guts, and there's absolutely no point in trying to Pavlov an Illuminatus of any level. Of course, she'd really, finally, actually get used to it sometime relatively soon in our 2000+ years together, before the not-yet-perfected immortality of her engineered DNA burns some vital organ out. Fortunately for me, they managed to smooth out that little problem before I came along.
"Then why not tell us to do it? We're your servants, remember?", grated Billy in a tone that reminded me of disgruntled postal workers. Yes, he's somewhat disgruntled, yes, he's carrying an automatic weapon, and yes, he'd probably love to blow my head off. If the implants could be resisted, his head would have exploded by now. But I have bigger problems to worry about.
"Billy, do you have any idea how much I'd like to have someone else do this?" He shook his head and muttered no. "I'm the only one who can.", I said in my secret-master voice again, trying to get the high notes out. For all my power, all my abilities, I can't make my voice crack. Sigh. There are worse things to have to worry about, though. Like effectively being caught with your pants down in the middle of an important meeting, and possibly getting shot for it. Or worse yet, being put into the hall of rejected Dominators- Daddy only gave that place a passing mention, but it's terrifying, especially because there are no computer records on it.
Ugh. Double ugh. Lots and lots of ugh, with some ugh on top. I couldn't ask the Dominator to make my master plan for me, or even for help- if I did, I'd be the laughingstock of eternity. (Meet the 193rd Dominator, the one who was so stupid he had to ask his predecessor for his plan!) So, to make the plan, I'd need to ask myself the most important question before a free Illuminatus does anything: What do I really want?
Nothing, I realized. I want nothing. I have everything. If the world stayed completely stable for the rest of eternity, it would be bliss. Well, I do want something. I want to be back home, eating spicy food and asking Billy about the fine points of normal American life, a thing which is as far removed from me as a cactus from the Marianas Trench. I really want to tell all those dipshits to go fuck themselves and solve their own damn problems for a change. But I didn't want just that. Sure, I could say some complicated stuff I'd never follow up on, bullshit an entire loop-full of totally bogus ideas, but after that, I'd have assholes breathing down my neck waiting to stick a knife in it. So, I want to be away from this shit permanently. I want this crap to cease forever. I want what Daddy probably wanted- for all these greedy numbfucks to stop wasting time trying to grab from each other and cooperate in grabbing from the world. Of course, they're all using the same decision-making techniques I am, and they won't let my will get in their way unless I point a gun to their heads. Subtlety be damned.
Okay. Where do I start? Well, the first thing to do is offer something they want. That works on every group of people, mostly because every group- especially Illuminati- want something and are ready to listen to one who offers it. Yes. That would do nicely. Save the authority crap for later- go right in and say "Ladies and gentlemen, I am going to give you all a..."- but what to finish it with? I realized I had said that out loud.
"Kick in the teeth?", suggested the ever-helpful Sarah. The thought of giving them all a face full of broken enamel and gushing blood lightened my thoughts and I grinned. Billy laughed.
"Yes, that's right, 'Ladies and Gentlemen of the Illuminati, I am going to give you all a firm kick in the teeth. Step up in single file line please, by rank and alphabetical order.'", I said with a good deal of sarcasm dripping from my secret-master voice. Sarah was giving a look that showed just how satisfying that would be. Billy was giddy. Yeah, that's it. I'd get the assorted servants to put em in line and drag em up one at a time. The first would be slammed to his knees, and I'd punt his face like a football player. My strength and the steel toe of this white outfit would rip out the roots of some teeth, and snap others in half, caking the rest in gore. He would start screaming, then be hustled off (to his dentist, probably) so I could give a good kick to the next one. All in all, the overused mouths of those fat power-scavengers would be losing them a sizable amount of red stuff. Oh, the glory. Unfortunately, I'd have to deal with a lot of maimed, power-wielding, very pissed off lunatics carrying weapons with serious homicidal potential.
Not that I don't already...
"No, no... something that they'd want.", I said.
"A dick up their asses?", snapped Sarah. Billy was almost on the floor, he was laughing so hard. So was I. And she's probably right- Illuminati are remarkably free in their sexuality. Of course, whether or not they'd want to be cornholed by me is open to question.
"No, Sarah... something that doesn't involve pain or suffering or loss to them.", I said between gasps for air after laughing so hard.
"Hmm... suppose flat out-and-out payola wouldn't work.. maybe a hint of all that extra-new tech shit? You know, get all of them directly involved in the plan by giving them the equipment."
"That's another thing. I don't even have a plan, I didn't even know I was supposed to make a plan before today.", I said, my voice having some chagrin from the simple fact that I don't really know what the hell to say.
"Howard.. the best way to do this is just to look at their plans, and make your plan in line with theirs, with some smacks of originality. I've seen this before from obsequious toads, and it usually works. If you're really in that much danger, which I kind of doubt, don't offend anyone and don't step on any toes.", said Sarah in a clinical tone. Billy, choking on his previous laughter, managed an evil smirk. They both knew I didn't like the idea one bit. The things I might end up doing 'in line' with the other Illuminated plans may be detrimental to me or my power base. And the very idea of an Inheritor acting like an obsequious toad... grr! Pisses me off to no end, even though she could be right.
"Well, let's take a look at these plans of theirs.", I said, and clicked the access last file button on the jet's computer. Twenty names appeared. I steadily went through all of them, looking at some points of interest. A few had to do with state subjugation and banana republics, a few others had some political shit, but most of them dealt with one thing in particular, which is really our main business anyway- mind control. Mind control through subliminals. Mind control through pills. Mind control through schools. Mind control through brainwashing. Mind control through religion. Mind control, and more mind control, several plans for it on every one of the top Illuminati named. Enough mind control to fill several seasons of 'Pinky and the Brain' and 'Nowhere Man' combined. (I watch many of the conspiracy shows given to the normals, for the giggle factor if nothing else.) It occurred to me that whatever I'm talking about better have something to do with mind control. Then I realized something else.
The only people walking around with implanted servants are the Illuminati who developed them, some more high levels, the Dominator, and me. And the Dominator and I have more Enforcers than anyone, probably as many as all of them combined. This is new stuff. The implants were developed a bit more than a decade ago by a relatively small group of neurosurgeons and engineers, and the secret's been under very, very close wraps this whole time. Of course, we do have a way to mass-produce them. And they are naught but little precise hunks of metal and energy. I didn't like that thought- little hunks of metal and energy being able to totally circumvent the decision-making processes in the brain. Not a happy thought for Illuminati, and that brought up another issue- what if they thought I was going to implant them? That would be far more glorious than kicking them in the teeth, but also far more suicidal. Nah... I'd kill that idea before it even entered their minds.
I imagine if I really wanted to I could offer them all free Enforcers. It would not be hard, and it would not be expensive. Just hand out one or two, to all, for free, and tell them that is just a taste. Considering their uses, they'd all jump at the chance. Such a proposal would also have the bonus effect of laying waste to all the Illuminati who don't really have enough intelligence to be in there in the first place, as they fuck up and their own servants gleefully turn them all into hot slag. Nasty fate. Heh, heh, heh. (Billy and Sarah both noticed me chuckling in my well-developed Conspiratorial Laughter™. One of the top things about having servants with minds is there's always someone there to listen to you.) Of course, that could be my fate, but I'm smarter than that. Just remember to see things from the servant's point of view and you'll be all right.
Then again, despite its merits, if I did that then I might be seen as a weak fool who hands out free things as peace offerings in the good old "please don't hurt me!" diplomacy fashion. Which would spell my ruin. A brooding feeling I've had since that accursed Dominator told me I might get killed came to my attention. It took me a moment to realize the feeling I had was known as anxiety, and I marveled at it a little while, testing its warm, shaky grip. Not pleasant at all. I drove my thoughts back to the matter at hand.
Giving's probably the best solution anyway. Start with a piece of bait, and reel the big fish in. Make them cooperate if they want the rewards. Make them increase your power to increase their own, and turn it into a sort of contest- who can kiss the Dominator's ass the fastest to get the latest high-tech gadget? Implanted servants decrease hassle unbelievably in the realms of manipulation, command, and that old Pavlovian relic, discipline. And with an implanted servant who's your clone... hey, who says you can't be in two places at once?
Hell, I could tell them I'm going to unleash a plan to implant every servant, direct or indirect, of theirs. While, of course, asking for small returns from each one of them. Little things add up, and when you multiply a fairly small gift of estate by six thousand, it becomes quite a gift indeed.
And why not do that? Hell, I don't have to look weak. I could look like a benefactor, judiciously handing his supporters their rewards. And the other Illuminati have no problem with me being the mighty dispute-settling Emperor of Earth- internal strife is not a happy thing- just as long as I didn't get in their or their plans' way. Admittedly, implanting servants would render pointless some mind-control plans in production, but no one would admit to being outdated before his plan was even started.
While I'm at it... why not implant the whole world?! Ooh yeah. Being immortal, I'm eventually going to become the secrecy-ending Dominator who finally gives us what we've always wanted- total control, no restrictions, nothing in our way. Everything we want for the rest of our lives, hands down, no more beating around the bush, no more bullshit, no more resource-wasting public manipulation. We're pretty close to that, exerting plenty of influence over the sheeple of the world. None of them know what's going on, and ensuring that is part of the job. Implants mean that they can know everything and not do anything about it. Of course, I'd have to keep a close watch on who's giving the commands to which segments of them, why, and exactly what words they use. Translations, naturally, can pose a problem. Sigh. More work for the smart ones... or, very intelligent implanted servants with very, very explicit instructions.
Of course, there's risks. There's always risks. Go too fast, normals start noticing things. Even if we weren't uncovered (which, of course, we won't be), if the masses figured out their 'elected' leaders were under the control of a powerful, secret organization, it would be a setback. (We never speak of ourselves being fucked all to hell. We just call it a setback.) The risk of this is pretty low but shit happens.
I thought of an introduction and some assorted other things. I knew I was going to have to tell them exactly who I was and what I was for, and I should probably save the 'I'm going to give you all Enforcers' bit until the middle of the speech when they start getting bored. It'll add to the shock.
Then I'd probably need to go through a lot of ritual before they just pronounced me Dominator and started bowing down to me, a false gesture because they're willing to blow my head off. Or is that why Inheritors get killed there? Because killing the Inheritor holds less weight than offing the Dominator? Yeah, the death for offing the Dominator is an hour longer or something.
I thought of exactly what to say to each one... couldn't just go right up and tell the Triumvirate of Assholes what they were, had to act all benevolent and powerful and controlling and all that other symbolic crap. I've honestly never cared. I judge people by what they can do, not what titles they hold.
There's no point in memorizing anything word-for-word or even writing it down. I'll just make details up as I go along, according to the mood of the six thousand secret masters in front of me, some of whom are probably ready to blow my head off. I know what I'm going to talk about- writing it word-for-word is pointless and if I continue with a particular point they don't like, that's bad juju to the twenty-third power. I realized I was doing the mad procrastinator's way out, but what the hell would be the point of torturing myself twice?
Besides, I've got another possible cause of fatality- two of them, in fact- right here on the plane with me.