Although it's of Illuminated make and far faster than a comparable normal version, Jeremy's helicopter was nowhere near as fast as my jet at its usual 2000 kph cruising speed. I spent the time in the jet and on the ground dealing with Dave's death. Let's see.. these guys get control over that, that's their department, this guy gets this, these 'resources' are of no value, toss 'em.. I made my recommended distribution solutions purely pragmatically, with no favoritism. Jeremy got nothing; he couldn't use any of it for his current operations.

I cleared Jeremy in advance to land, and he and his servant jumped out of the helicopter after it touched down and walked up to my door.

It was the exact same scenario as a year ago- a young Illuminatus and his servant showing up in a helicopter for a personal visit to the Master of the world, the only real differences being that Jeremy's far less experienced, far lower level, and far better. I didn't realize it as the Inheritor, but in a year of being Dominator I've learned that the old adage is true- you really can learn a lot about somebody by judging the way he treats his servants. I don't let anyone know that, of course, then they'd just be visibly treating their servants differently to delude me.

Billy wordlessly beckoned Joey upstairs to his room, and he nodded and the servants went upstairs. I let them go- I'm going to be talking to Jeremy personally for a while, to see how smart he really is and how much I can teach him.

"Why did I like doing that?", Jeremy asked after Billy's soundproof door closed. "I could have done it much more simply."

"What, the killing?"

"Yeah."

"Jeremy, I have no clue. None. Of all the things I can do, reading your mind is not one of them. Maybe you have a natural carnal instinct. Maybe you really did hate the guy that much. Maybe you were unconsciously trying to impress me and/or the viewing audience. Maybe some of each, or maybe some other, more rare psychological thing. At any rate, you didn't torture him that much."

"That drip torch didn't count?!"

"Are you kidding? Jeremy, just about everyone gloats if they have the chance. It's just natural. The reason we don't see more gloating is because combat is fast and stealth is crucial, and it's been like that since the advent of the machinegun and the sniper rifle. Sure, you tortured him, but if you really wanted to torture him, you would have taken him alive."

"I dunno. That was just.. weird. The whole thing was just.. weird. Not like the operations I've read about at all. We didn't suffer any casualties at all, did we?"

"Not a one."

"Yeah, you just ran in there and kicked their asses. That's what I'm saying. You usually think about strategy, more snipers, getting the guy with a well-placed bullet from some hundred yards away... not with the Illuminatus running the thing just jumping in and cleaving everyone apart."

"Yes, and that's what's so scary about me, Jeremy. I don't fight like them. I'm the bogeyman. I don't do it like the others do it. I just go in and let my personal power take care of the rest. I didn't know about the upgraded Enforcers though- not sure how much longer I can do this. One of these days, they'll be better than me one on one."

"Not for a while, Howard. Did you read the news of like a week ago?"

"No. I don't read it very often."

"Well, the newest model of Enforcer- which is what that asshole Dave had- is supposed to be the top of the line for another year or so. Your upgrading is done automatically, isn't it?"

"By the same guys who do the first and second level's. They do their jobs well."

"You might want to test them out.. not like you already didn't fighting them, but their sensory organs are probably better than yours. For that matter, probably a lot of other things. Howard.. this is both pretty secret and personal, but I have to stop beating around the bush and ask you it."

"Wait. I can guess. It's about how I win the fights, isn't it."

"Yeah."

"Jeremy, there are certain things sentients can do that Enforcers just can't. It has to do with biofeedback and the brain circuitry. It's like animals, when they get mad, their fury takes hold, their strength rises. Also, I can predict what the opponent's going to do, and I know how Enforcers fight. And it's still the same as it'll ever be."

"Yes- but Enforcers can supply their own muscles with adrenalin anyway."

"Yes, but they can't go into overdrive as easily as I can. They can't go into psycho mode. They can't pull their hidden reserves out and start rocking because they have no hidden reserves. They might have self-preservation programming, but they have no direct sense of self-preservation, and they can't burn themselves up and grow themselves back like I can. Also, their spinal cord and body-sensory coordination isn't self-programmed for that like mine is, and any organics developer anywhere will have a hell of a time putting that into Enforcers, because they can't think about situations and adapt to them quickly and reprogram their actions in preparation. That's why I'm faster, because my movement comes from the spinal cord, not back and forth between the brain and the fists unless new stimuli comes in, and if it does, it's probably something easy to react to, like an incoming punch or bullet. With Enforcers, they'd just leave themselves open and punch lots of thin air if they tried that, and like I said, they can't think to do it. They have no motive, just orders."

"So you can consciously-"

"No. Not consciously. Subconsciously. Consciously, I'm thinking about other things, like the longer-term aspects, and what I'm going to do. My spinal cord prepares me for each move and variation, and then I do it when I get the chance. But like I said, one of these days they will make an Enforcer that's just plain old faster- completely- than I am."

"Fuck dude. That's a lot of shit to put in. I wonder why they can't program themselves though, if that's part of the secret?"

"It's part of the brain. People react to things out of instinct. People, even normals, can develop reactions that are next to instinctive with practice. Enforcers can't, because like I said, their brains and bodies just don't mesh well enough. They can do things like stick a pole down their throat without gagging and break their own arms without flinching, but that's just because their design can manipulate their cerebellum. They're not as good as some people think they are. They're just living robots, remember that."

"Howard, you realize you just gave away some biiiiig secrets."

"Nothing you can't find out if you look hard enough. The thing is knowing where to look. Of course, you need to deduce that Northberg gave whatever ability to me because they could give it to me."

"They are just like you, they do things just because they can."

"Which is the height of ego."

"Ha. I wonder if your son will want your position?"

"Needless to say, he can't have it. When he's old enough to understand social relations, I'll bring him up as an Illuminatus, but there's no way he'll take my spot. Where would I go? I don't think he'll be crazy enough to try to take it by force."

"Better hope he doesn't. And... at that facility, don't they learn Latin first? Why is that? I thought we were supposed to be running on English now?"

"Latin is a root language. From Latin comes many other languages. Teaching a child Latin first will allow him to learn other languages, like English, more quickly. Learning Spanish, French, German... all no problem for me because I learned Latin first. Which brings me to another thing I'd like you to understand, Jeremy."

"Uh? What's that?"

"Technology goes upwards and the pyramid strikes again. You need a base, a precedent, to develop from, if you want some security in your actions. You said that my running in and laying waste to Enforcers was something completely out of the ordinary. But it has good precedent. It was a medieval-style raid, the kind you never read about in legends because they're so underhanded and so fucking effective. Find the enemy camp- that building was far from a castle- and just rush in on horseback with a few men, with no large armies, no visible preparations for battle, and no warning. Get in, slay everyone you can, get out. The modern equivalent is termed 'commando-style'. What we just did was a slightly modified version of that, much simpler, much more direct, much less expected. Although people will start expecting me at some point."

"Howard... irrelevant question here.. how can you think up so much stuff to say to me so damn quick? And why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I can with my faster brain, and because I consider you one of my friends, Jeremy."

"Oh. Thanks, Howard. I appreciate that. But don't give me any more Illumination at the moment. I don't think I can remember it all, my head's starting to hurt." He's a normal, so I'll judge him as 'pretty smart'.

"Yeah, give yourself time then. Learning'll come to you."

"So what are you going to do? I don't know why, but I have this urge to play you in a game of volleyball."

"Jeremy, by offering any sort of physical challenge with me, you accept any and all consequences of what might happen to you during the course of the game."

"So yes or no? We can make teams more even.", he said with a slight grin, unafraid of the white bogeyman.

"So yes. After I get some sleep. You order whatever objects we'll need." I flopped down on the couch and my consciousness said adios.

"Hey, Howard.", Jeremy woke me up with some time later. "Hope you don't mind me waking you." I didn't. "The stuff's all here, and we've got almost all of it set up. Sarah and Paul had helped him and his servant with the poles and lines spraypainted into the grass outside.

I went upstairs and got dressed- not the suit, not for this game. "Hey, Billy. Get dressed, not a bladed suit, and come down. We're going to play some volleyball.", I called over the intercom from my room. We were down and ready to play in about two minutes.

"Why aren't you wearing your usual, anyway?", Sarah asked us. C'mon, the suit's got weapons.

"Because he doesn't want to tear open the ball if he ever punched it, remember?", Paul reminded her.

"Oh. Duh. Forgot about that."

"Yeah, he'd spike the ball all right. Howard, why do you wear so much, anyway?", Jeremy asked.

"Jeremy, the Sun and I are not exactly on good terms. Although I do reflect a good deal of UV rays, being albino does leave me open to some of it. And although it does drastically shorten its effect time, regeneration does not protect from the pain of sunburn." Sizzle. A mistake I've painfully made in the past and seldom repeated. My eyes burned like crazy, and my skin started peeling off and the skin under it was reddish and angry. Fortunately, it's cloudy today.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. All right, simple version of the rules with no stupid shit. 7 foot 6 high net, 20 foot wide by 25 foot long playing squares, ya have to hit the ball (it can't come to rest on your hand), have to hit it over the net, one hit at a time per player, that means the same guy can't hit it twice in a row.. ahh.. three hits in a row per team, no intentionally touching the net, team members take turns doing serves, serves are done by the team that got the point, feet have to stay in bounds, play to 21 points, serves are done behind the back line..." He wracked his brain for more. "balls hitting the post are out, you can use any part of your body, and you have to hit the ball, not the players.", he said, grinning slightly. I chuckled a bit. "You know how to play, I assume?" I took a second to figure out the logics of how it's played. Since balls arcing upward are easier to hit, a logical strategy would be to have a teammate hit it into the air, where someone jumping up can smash it directly into a random area of the opponent's court. Which is what all those scantily-clad women were doing on.. what was that, ESPN?

"Saw it a couple of times on TV."

"All right.. teams?"

"I can't play for shit, Jeremy, remember?", Jeremy's servant told him in a fairly blunt voice.

"Oh, yeah. I remember.", Jeremy replied. "All right.. we should probably use Enforcers."

"I can already tell this is a height-based game. But.. hmm. All right. Me, Paul, and Sarah against you, Billy, and an Enforcer.", I said.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

"Billy, Sarah, Paul, you already know. Enforcer! Did you hear the rules being spoken?"

"Yes, Howard.", the nearest Enforcer said while coming closer.

"Follow them while playing on Jeremy's team, which you are now on. If you're unclear on any part of the rules, watch us and learn as you play." The newer Enforcers can learn by example. Since it doesn't see the rest of its team doing things like walking over to the other side of the court or letting the ball hit their side, it won't, either.

It did and the game began. I served first, whacking it to the middle of their court and then darting forward to prepare for what I knew would happen- Billy would probably nuke it, and I'm not sure how well Sarah can return his slams. He did slam it, and I jumped up and backhanded it up in the air, Sarah pounded upon it, the Enforcer smashed it directly up and back, Billy hit it above me, Paul bounced it into the air (apparently the ball is made such that normals can return engineereds' slams), I returned it to the back of the court, Jeremy hit it into the air, the Enforcer hit it to its left, and Paul failed his return. Whack. When Jeremy served it, I smashed it way up into the air with some power- way up. Too far up. The wind caught it, and everyone except the emotionless Enforcer and me was laughing hysterically. I swore, grumbled, and gave it to the Enforcer, which served it in much the same way Jeremy had.

As the sun started to come out, most of the battle was kept in the front, with engineereds pounding the soft ball at each other's ground, higher-arced shots being popped up by the genetic normals. The Enforcer and Sarah were a decent match, the Enforcer having the height and Sarah having her usual speed and fury. In three more rounds, the score was 3-2 in their favor, and the two ordinary humans in the game were beginning to suffer mild oxygen debt. Billy served it, I whacked it close to the net, the Enforcer hit it into the air- then Billy came down like a raging demon, grinning like a madman, and was going to pound the ball into the grass like an axe blade into flesh, avoiding players and going for the largest open spot he could find. I was going to put that away, too. Whack-crack! A split second after he smashed it, I had punched it with full force, aiming for a similar plot of ground on his side. I was wondering why I didn't hear a bounce until I saw the results. We all laughed as I realized that I had smashed the ball in half, the two hollow, foam hemispheres connected only by a thin weave of volleyball exterior.

"Howard!! You killed the ball!", Jeremy said between laughs. "It's dead, dude! May it rest in peace- or is that pieces? Heh, heh.. I was worried about this. Joey, go get the other one."

"You predicted this, then.", I said.

"Yeah, didn't want to use this other ball though, it's a little heavier. But it's reinforced, Illuminati style. You shouldn't be able to break this. All right, 3-2 still, do-over on account of destroyed ball.", he said, handing it to Billy. The next few rounds demonstrated that he was right- repeated blows would not break it.

The next memorable moment was when Jeremy did the totally unexpected. He slammed it with folded hands, looking directly at me and grinning as Billy had done. What the fuck? How crazy is he? Oh well, I warned him, if this volleyball replaces his head, it's not my fault.. I punched it upwards, the force unfolding his hands as it bounced off them, and I instantly noticed huge red marks. He stepped back and the Enforcer came down, whacking it hard and to the side. Paul blocked it with his arm, it was going to the side, Sarah managed to kick it in the air, and I pummeled it down, directly going for Jeremy's head. He popped it up (that must have stung his palms a good deal), and Billy smacked it to the side, near the line, with an impossible-to-return blow.

"Damn, Jeremy, it's a good thing that thing's soft!", said Paul, rubbing his arm a bit.

"Oh, of course, I knew it would be like this.", he said, opening and closing his very red hands. "But I like it! You aren't pulling punches, are ya Howard?"

"Jeremy- am I known for pulling punches? It's just that I've never played this before." The Enforcer made a minor mistake next round and smacked it off the post instead of the part of the court it had aimed for. Sarah's quick reflexes managed to tie it up 10-10 a bit later. The next round was decent. Billy had whacked it into my hands, he whacked it back, I whacked it again, and as we got closer he knew he couldn't whack it into my hands again without being guilty of holding the ball- it would come to rest on his hand. So he let go and the ball rolled on the net a bit, and Sarah smacked it over into their court. Jeremy popped it up to the back, Paul slammed it into the back-middle of their court, the Enforcer smacked it to Sarah, who put it back to Jeremy- who failed his diving save, skidding into the grass. Except for the parts of his body and clothes made a shade greener, he didn't appear to be affected. Oh well. Grass stains are about as easy to get out of clothes and skin as blood, which washes out fairly quickly.

The game went to 17-15, our lead. I served the ball directly into the middle of the back court, near the line. Billy hit it high in the air and the Enforcer obligingly pounded it near the back corner. Sarah zipped there, hit it up, I bashed it, Jeremy managed to pop it up, Billy returned it, and Sarah hit it to the side of the Enforcer's head, who was moving and could not react fast enough.

Oddly enough, the next round ended in a similar scenario, with Sarah hitting the ball to the same place- the Enforcer, again, failed to react.

"That, gentlemen, is a bug.", she said, slightly sneering and pointing at the Enforcer.

"They better not have that problem in combat.", Jeremy said, shaking his head.

"Oh, it's that.." I thought back to when I was 9 and reading up on Enforcers. Rezoning of certain parts of the brain might take away personality, but some forms of learning are inhibited. They make the same mistake twice, like a bad AI. A problem they're working on.. but can't seem to quite fix. "Yeah, I remember hearing about that. That shouldn't work in combat.. but Murphy's Law dictates that it probably does." We continued the game and won it, 21-16, Paul and Jeremy exhausted, the Enforcer not showing any signs of fatigue (except for the task of removing a nutrient bar from its pocket and munching), and the rest of us slightly tired out.

"Well, Jeremy, I was thinking... how much of that was actually regulation?", I asked. He grinned.

"All right, Howard, I admit. Both balls were softer, the court was a bit smaller, and the net wasn't quite so high as it is in regulation. And I bet you can figure out why." If we had been hitting harder balls, not only would he suffer more pain blocking my shots, the time between a bioengineered hit and the ball hitting the ground would be a lot quicker than his reactions. A smaller court means that he has less room he needs to move in, and the low net meant that he could actually get his arm over it.

"So that you'd actually get a chance to play without getting your ass too kicked." He smiled brightly, laughed, and nodded. "I'm not surprised. I would have done the same." We went inside with mildly aching muscles.

Waiting for me inside the house was a traditional annoyance. Another fool on the screen (Jack Butcher, don't recognize the name), whining at me for obliterating yet another fool who should never have been in the organization in the first place, or anywhere else on Earth for that matter. "How... dare... you.. you have disgraced your position... you... you've shot a messenger.." For a minute I envisioned him saying something like 'not soon enough!' and we would share a laugh, he would tell me how many people were made happy, and he'd get off the screen appreciatively. It didn't happen. "Howard, you can't just run us and control us by killing who you don't like!!" You know, I'm not in the mood for this shit, especially with my eyes starting to itch.

"Why not? It's worked so far.", I said with some sarcasm and some anger. "Did you even bother to find out what happened, or are you just annoying me for the fun and the suicide?"

"You killed the man trying to save your life!!"

"Bullll...shit!", I said with a wide grin. Jeremy was in the camera's view; this asstard didn't recognize him, otherwise he would have known that I'd just been playing with someone who was on the list. "Now, I don't know what's going on with all you idiots trying to delude me, and I don't really care if you're all unified or separate. It really doesn't matter to me. I'll kill you all anyway. But, if you want me to spare this miserable life of yours, you'll tell me who's been letting these people in and why, and why you are trying to delude me as to who's trying to kill me. Dave had no place here. Several people I've met had no business in the Illuminati- they couldn't figure out a conspiracy if we all beat the shit out of them. Neither, I imagine, do you. Who let you in??" Something in my voice- I doubt it was only the words- shocked him to the core.

"I... I... he swore he'd... it wasn't supposed to.. oh please Howard, spare me!" No one gives awards for patheticity in the Illuminati. Maybe we should start with this guy, with the first prize of flying lead. But this really is pissing me off. I've been born into being the leader of an organization which seems to be, despite all the rampant engineering, on the decline. Too many idiots are getting in. It used to be that every fifth level Illuminatus could recite back to you exactly why some form of theology or idol worship is important for control, and that the freedom illusion is really the 'limited-freedom' illusion. Not anymore. With some of these guys, it looks like someone promoted them to honorary low-level Illuminati just to give them something and manipulate them better, at the cost of our organization. This will destroy us if I let it continue any more.

Needless to say, I am going to make this stop. Now.

"You will speak the truth or I will torture you to death."

"Howard... all right!! But I seek asylum for telling you what I will!" Yup, he deserves asylum, all right, just not that kind of asylum.

"Granted. Now speak!" Granted if I feel like it.

"His name is.. his name is McCaw. A-Andrew McCaw, he's a third level. Howard.. you weren't supposed to know. He started this when you started the tests. What.. what he's trying to do is to promote people he wants into the ranks. He wants to have more power, more clout.. he even gave me the answers to some of the.. the questions." Andrew McCaw is a member of the walking dead if this guy's telling the truth. "Howard.. he thought.. he thinks.. that you won't notice it. He told me that, and I quote.. 'Nah, the Dominator isn't going to pay any attention to us, he's got his young head too into the clouds.. your position is secure.' That's what he said! Howard.. the reason for all the delusion.. and Dave's fake shit.. is because we've been committing one of the highest sins."

"Say it."

"We've had a conspiracy inside the conspiracy." Old punishments for this crime were in the Inquisition-style torture ballpark. Now we just kill them. "Dave read you that list under Andrew's orders.. we had some proof of those guys talking... he didn't know that you had.. relationships with any of them.." Probably, someone pointed out to him who Jeremy was offscreen. "those guys were getting in our way and rejecting our offers, making things harder." I started laughing.

"Hold up. This Andrew is a third level and he's trying this shit? What did he think, that Illuminati could just be pulled around like normal puppets? Now I'll be honest with you. I don't understand what's going on. All I've been getting is assorted obvious lies and lots of bullshit about guys trying to stab me in the back. I don't understand. What did Andrew hope to gain by this? He couldn't get power from a lot of fifth level idiots, people around him would figure it out sooner or later." Just thinking about this makes my head hurt. It makes no sense, none. He's trying to manipulate people he can't manipulate into doing things no sane Illuminatus would do. He's telling lies and playing politics in an environment where neither are welcome. Lies go only one way in the Illuminati: out. They don't flow between person to person. How hard is that to understand? Another slight buzzing sound signaled that another Illuminatus was on hold.

"Howard.. the idea.. was eventual rebellion."

"Then he's dead. And you may remain a fifth level. But I want you to study, to become more than just a pawn. We are the Illuminati. The next time someone tries anything like this- you hear about it, see it, even if it looks like something small or just a couple of guys- you go directly to me." I'll spare him. If he's just genuinely stupid, he'll fuck up again shortly and I'll execute him. If he's not stupid, he'll do what I tell him and he'll make a very strong effort to learn what's going on.

"Yes, Master Howard. Th..thank you." I received the next caller: Andrew McCough. I could faintly hear Paul humming the Military Corpses Song under his breath as Andrew tried to stammer out a sentence. Doo.. doo deeee... doo.. da deeee...

"It was lies!! All lies!! Howard, you can't believe a word he said! I didn't tell Dave to send you that list! I didn't invite people! I didn't do any of that! He's trying his own manipulative games! Howard, please!" Just.. how stupid.. is this guy?

"Andrew, has anyone told you you're a fucking idiot? And that if you weren't listening in on him, you wouldn't have known what he said, and I don't think there's a reason for you to have bugs on him unless you're trying to control him? You can't listen in from my side, pal." I waited for him to tell me that yes, there really was a reason for him to manage to put bugs in Dave's home. He didn't. "I'm glad to meet you. It means that I can put an end to this annoying shit. Sarah!!" For a moment, I couldn't believe it was him, a third level Illuminatus making a very simple, foolish, and generally stupid mistake after making a much larger mistake. But it has to be him- with thousand-character encryption keys, it can't be anyone else. I'll have Sarah check the logs on his end after he's dead to make sure.

"Yes, Howard?", she asked with a slight grin.

"He is still alive.", I said calmly, pointing to the red, thirty-something face of Andrew McCough. "That is a bad situation. Rectify it." It was probably a bad operational decision to tell him I was going to kill him, but the intimidation value to potential future idiots is worth it.

"Yes, Howard." She didn't need my help, of course. She has access to everything I do, and no one is stupid enough to fuck with her, especially when she's under orders. It means that she will kill or disable anyone if they get in her way too long, regardless of literally everything else. She went upstairs to obtain the equipment she'd need for surety of death.

"NOOO!!! NOT HER!! NOT SARAH!! PLEASE, HOWARD, PLEASE.." It's nice to know that one of his final actions is to support me by showing that kind of abject fear. I turned the connection off and blocked calls from the walking corpse, and put the call in public logs. When the other Illuminati read the log- and I know they will shortly- they would probably take bets on how long it would take Sarah and whoever else she uses to kill him. Answer: not very long. Even if he tries to disguise himself, there's nothing like having DNA on file. I also removed the man's various accesses, as I don't want his last act to be a secrecy break. He still can break some, but not much, and I seriously doubt he'll think to do it.

"Howard, did anyone ever tell you you had a way of dealing with things that everyone envies?", Jeremy said from behind me with a kind of awe.

"How so, Jeremy?"

"Well.. all right. Most people would have pointed out to others of us that something was wrong, and started something to expose what was going on. You.. you don't even care who's in their sub-conspiracy. Every time someone tries to lie to you... you just kill them."

"Because I don't care, Jeremy. I really don't care. Human relationships come and go, especially among these idiots. They might be conspiring together one minute and having a power struggle the next. It's just my job to make sure that these bugs don't infest the greater scheme of things." I should do some prevention, shouldn't I? Definitely. "In fact, I'm going to start some hard testing of every Illuminatus to make sure that they aren't involved in shit like this. A kind of cleanout, if you will. Although I will be discussing this with the first and second levels, you're invited to watch, and I want everyone's help making a plan." Sarah was coming down as I said that, wearing her usual assassin garb with normal clothing over it (jeans and a sweatshirt actually enhance her figure..) and carrying a compact pouch full of devices. She took the jet and I heard her take off to do her job: my dirty work. We all turned our heads to watch her close the door.

I spent the next few hours drafting ideas with everyone present, and developing an outline, while snacking on various treats. Regular testing would be seen as intrusive, the first few tests for true Illumination are supposed to do the job, but obviously, it's not working. And so, obviously, something needs to be changed.

The thing was that this was very well-covered ground. Lots of committees and designers had set up the tests, making sure of intelligence, manipulation ability, various roundabout questions, and some personalization. Therefore, the testing we developed was more of a hands-on approach, with everything being detailed in logs. We have agents, false-environment techniques, control of all kinds; let's use them. We already do some of this to a limited extent, but I want these guys put on the spot. Are they really Illuminati at heart, or are they just pretending to be? Similarly I intend to make it clear that anyone who just wants to make someone an Illuminatus better have a damn good, explainable reason for doing it, otherwise I have a damn good, explainable reason for killing both the inviter and invitee mercilessly.

The problem isn't just regular old stupidity, I realized, and it became easier to understand. It's stupidity and misled egotism. They believe that.. yes, my age is a factor again. They believe that I'm young and foolish and easily deludable, even when repeated kills confirm that I'm not. It's wishful thinking. They get in the Illuminati, the top of everything, and they lose their ever-growing heads. They try to find out who's easily manipulable, and try to get other people, like me, to push people out of their way either through violence or threats. The obvious leaps in logic, they try to bridge with blind faith. When blind faith fails them, all hell breaks loose, and people like Sarah are sent to eliminate them. But the idea that these people even got in- under the noses of people supposed to care who gets in- worries me. I suppose if they're all too busy with real sheeple manipulation, people can sneak in and do damage. And that's what I'm here for, to protect the Illuminati from threats. Idiot infestations definitely count as a threat. My face itched, and started disturbing my thinking; I idly scratched it, although the gloves covered my natural fingernails.

I was reminded of the O'Riley Rule. A 1930's Illuminatus, Mr. O'Riley had been one of our best, if I remember the history right. The farther you get from the center in any group of friends (or conspirators, or anything else), the farther away their goals become from the center's goals. The goals of a duke are close to the goals of a king, but the goals of a soldier or a lower-ranking commander of soldiers are not. He even applied this to egalitarian relationships. I'm not sure what he would have said about today's multi-societal ideas, but I'm starting to get the feeling that he was completely right. He wrote essays that the normal world never saw. And then there's always your pal and mine, Finagle (Murphy is usually quoted on this because the later-invented Murphy's laws were more detailed and specific)- can it go wrong? Then wrong it goes. And fuck, did it ever go wrong. But I didn't lose all that much and we didn't lose all that much either, and, like an antibody response to a germ, the idiot infestation was the impetus for shielding.

Eventually, after much brainstorming and hammering of details, the detailed technical discussion got to a close, we got new testing rules to implement (I thought for a bit and decided to just send it as policy- no sense bothering to discuss it as this is what we're going to do), and we got to talking about Andrew again.

"I still don't get why he did something that would hurt him like that- did he really not know that he'd get found out sooner or later?", Billy asked me, scratching his face.

"I don't understand it either, Billy. It's a silly thing to do. Damien was silly and now these guys are silly. I guess it's just a really bad case of overinflated ego and wishful thinking. Or maybe he has some psychological problem that the testing didn't catch. This goes beyond the thing with the Bastards. They had a plan. These guys.." There were too many ways to finish that sentence and I chose none of them. My face was itching and I scratched it. It felt like there was too much skin there.

"I'm glad you're starting these tests. Imagine if people like that got world implant power..", Billy said.

"People like that with a million implanted people. The blind leading the blind... no, worse than that. The stupid, dimwitted, and self-destructive leading the blind off a fucking cliff. I've told you before, this is my planet, and I'll eat shit if I'm going to let imbeciles like that wreck its people. I hope we just stop recruiting from the normal population. The kids who came over were..."

"Quick, brilliant, understanding, and had control over their own egos, right, Howie?"

"Bingo. And they knew what they were doing. These guys don't know what they're doing. They're trying to play a role that they can't fill. They can't live it, they need to pretend it, and so they are destroyed by their own real selves. I wish they could just rise to the challenge, you know? They need to learn to accept that they're part of a greater whole, that we run the world, not just me, not just them, but that it takes more than one person to really have a handle on the chaos that is this planet. But no, they need to play politics and ignore real problems. Their resource portfolios were in tatters.." Just like my face. How much sunburn did I get?

"Yeah, I saw that. Someone should have got them on that too. Howard.. why?"

"Why what?"

"The same question you're asking. Why are all these guys doing all this shit? Why would people in the best organization on the planet add people who would fuck it up, just to pretend they're cooler when they know what those people would do? What the hell? Look, when I first got here, I got the impression that the eye in the pyramid was literally unstoppable. Now this shit? Yes. Make them all locally. Damn it-" His face was itching as much as mine. I pinched a corner of my cheek and peeled; so did he.

And peeled. And peeled. Skin came from below my chin to all the way up on my forehead, and I held a great deal of epithelial tissue in my hands. The itching promptly went away; I had completely regenerated it.

I let Jeremy take it from my hands, but I probably wouldn't have if I knew what he was going to do with it. He covered it over his face like a mask, pinning the sides to his cheeks. It was grotesque, but oddly amusing. "These guys don't know what they're doing!", he said, in a very poor rendition of my voice. Joey, Billy, and Paul started laughing.

Billy had a similar outline of skin and handed it to Joey's outstretched hand. "Now this shit? Yes. Make them all locally.", Joey said with the skin mask, doing a different but just as bad imitation of Billy's voice. Both Jeremy and Joey started giggling.

"You guys- Jeremy, you- Damn!", I said, with slight indignation but laughing just the same.

Still laughing, Billy asked, "Okay, now that you've taken advantage of our dense skin, can we go back to being serious?", in a not-very-serious voice.

Noticing Jeremy and Joey quietly pocketing their new playthings, I continued from where we left off. "Well, as much as I hate to admit it, these new ones are sheeple. They don't deserve the name Illuminati, they don't deserve anything, really, except bullets sent air-mail. The good thing about detecting them is that they usually work for the idiots who let them in, so we can get big clumps of them at once. The problem is, in this case, they sometimes start in a different place, and because we're supposed to be ubiquitous and unified, the people who initially contact them aren't written down on principle.."

"Yeah, and they get there through Illuminati swindling other ones, saying 'here, have this new recruit, you said you needed one..' when the recruit will just do the recruiter's bidding like a good nescient. I know that part. And I can also guess why this isn't usually a problem."

"The same reason it's not going to be a problem now." Blam. Chk-chk. Blam. Or, the ultra-modern equivalent, KA-POW and sizzle. Guns don't kill people, microwaves kill people.

"You know, thinking about it, I'm getting the impression that these guys are just put here for the three of us.", Billy said.

"Why's that?"

"Cannon fodder. Come on, Howard, you know how much a good- or even a bad- fight invigorates you. And when you just send her, she's almost licking her lips in anticipation of the pure slaughter." He has a point.

"You know, you're right in that the meatgrinding is nice. It reaffirms my power, gives us all something to do, sends a message encouraging greater local creation.. there are benefits. But you know I'd much prefer it if the sheeple were kept out, which is why I am doing something about this. But another nice thing is, although there's lots of details, the principles aren't all that complicated."

"Thank God," I half-expected Jeremy to put the mask back on and say 'You're welcome.' "like this place needs any more intrigue.."

"Speaking of intrigue, one of the games I used to play a while ago and got sick of was expanded-board Illuminated Net Monopoly, with unseen players. Not only could you cut the plotting with a knife, you could also spoon it up and spread it on your bread. We're talking absolute free-for-all. I realized mid-game that two guys were in cahoots from the start, right? They're at each other's throats by the end. The trading is insane, and I learned something else about this organization. Not only do we plot for what we want, a lot of us also plot because there's plotting to be done, plotting for just the sheer sake of plotting."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out. Howard, remember, this is the place that everyone thinks plotting is to be done. And so when they get here..."

"That is why, as much as I hate to admit it. I'm not sure how many of them really get it. Maybe they can't. The way to real Illumination is to ignore your preconceptions, quit going on stereotypes, and fuck, look around! Damn these people. Plot against the fucking.. oh, hell, you know all this shit, I'm ranting again." Many times, the ranting of a high lord is taken as sage advice- which it often really is. But the listeners fail to recognize that it's still just ranting.

"You do that a lot."

"It could be worse. I could be doing it in Latin." I chuckled, he absolutely cracked up. "But I'm going to enjoy getting indignant and angry while I can."

"Because once they're all dead and the rest of them get the fucking hint, you'll be bored again."

"In a way, I'm too good for this. It just makes me happy that we're engineering the brains for real jobs, like sheeple manipulation, even more genetic engineering, and better computers."

"Well, come on, you already know this, if they didn't have you, who else would they have to keep the idiocy in check?"

"That is my purpose in life, isn't it." Thinking about myself in those terms definitely knocked me off my high horse again. "To be a guard against something we shouldn't even be talking about. I always knew that I was making much less work for myself when I did certain things effectively, but I didn't actually consider phasing myself out."

"Howard, you won't be phased out."

"How do you know?"

"Because if you do lack things to do, your own boredom will just catch up to you and the next thing I'll hear is 'Hey Billy, help me finish this guy's research.'"

I nodded slightly. "Point taken. And I'm bored now." I sent Sarah because I was tired. "I think I'm going to do some research and maybe later see about taking the axe to some of the new recruits if they can't toe the mark."

"Good, I can't wait.", Billy replied.

Jeremy and Joey, of course, were listening to this whole thing, certainly taking mental notes and comparing themselves to us. I don't mind- I should probably broadcast some of our meatier conversations (although NOT the skin mask part. Definitely not.) to the entire five levels anyway, to give them a glimpse of how the Dominator thinks. Giving insight to my weaknesses? Do I have weaknesses?!

I did the research and everyone watched intently. Everything Andrew said aroused suspicion and the way he said it was always conspiratorial. (Billy was right about people doing plotting for its own sake, of course- they get in and feel they're expected to play the part. But Andrew was hardly new.) He was sane, semi-intelligent, pretty much logical.. just given to bouts of stupidity and illogical calculations. He was one of the ambitious types, thought he was better than anyone else (Position's taken!), wanted to manipulate his way straight to the top- and now Sarah's going to put him straight to the bottom of a grave. As I understood his personality, I understood why; and as I understood why, I stopped doing the research and went to have some fun. There's so many games that work well in FFA, although Billy and I have a strong tendency to go after each other- we're the most powerful opponents in the game, after all. When we were done that we played a six-player beat-em-up featuring comic book characters.

After Sarah killed him (he tried so many things to stop her, too- she simply said she used a bigger gun, and I didn't bother asking further), I told her to get the logs from his computer- and there they were, with his name on them. Good. If it wasn't him, I'd have had to do some serious investigation. I told her to try to find out who else he'd invited, but he apparently shredded the documents (literally destroying a hard drive he'd kept on a separate computer- a smart thing from someone with such stupid ideas) before she showed up- she found nothing.

Jeremy slept on the couch that night, with Joey on the floor at his feet.