The blondes in Vikkart’s former workplace wandered about in astonishment. Their “standing stools” had been replaced with luxurious executive-level office chairs!
Keelii plopped into hers and spun it about happily.
“It’s so nice!” she enthused.
The elevator doors opened, and a very well-dressed grey walked out.
“Vikkart!” a blonde exclaimed, “Um... I mean sir,” it added with a cautious smile.
“Just Vikkart,” Vikkart replied.
“You’re behind the chairs?” they asked.
“Of course,” he replied, “You spent months carrying my buns,” he chuckled, causing Keelii to dart back into her cubicle, nose practically glowing, “I thought only fair that I carry yours.”
“However did you get them?”
“Just rest your buns and don’t ask questions,” Vikkart laughed.
***
Deep in the bowels of that same stately skyscraper, there was a dreary, dimly lit space. It was a lot like a dungeon, but instead of chains, the cells held stools.
“What’s this?!?” the freshly “archived” Wabaan shouted indignantly. “Where is my chair? I am entitled to...”
“They took them last night,” a shabby grey in a shabby suit, Wabaan’s new “supervisor” replied. “No, explanation.”
“This is intolerable!”
“Nothing for it,” the shabby grey replied with a swish of his tail, their shrug, “If you don’t like it, find a place elsewhere. That is what this prison is for, you know.”
With that, the shabby grey “warden” swished his tail again, retreated to his office (which still had a chair), and resumed watching holovision.
***
“Nice threads,” Moortisha said as she thumbed Vikkart’s collar. “You didn’t waste any time spending your greycheck,” she snickered.
“Oh, please,” Vikkart laughed, “My mommy dressed me.”
The office burst into laughter.
“Hey! I bought a suit, a good one!” Vikkart exclaimed indignantly, “I went to Saavan’s and everything.” (a nice Garthran department store)
“What’s wrong with Saavan’s?” Moortisha demanded, slightly offended.
“I know, right?” Vikkart replied. “That suit was every bit as good as this one. She even liked it until she checked the label, but you know greys.”
The office laughed again.
“Instead of a nice quick auto alteration, I had to spend all abyssal day standing on a fucking wooden stool getting stabbed by pins!”
“Oh, poor baby,” Moortisha said in a sympathetic voice, “How you greys suffer. How much did that set you back?”
“Not a single credit,” Vikkart replied. “I told her that if she wanted better than Skaavan’s Premier, then she would be paying for it. She acted as if was blackmail!”
“Fucking greys,” Moortisha said.
“Tell me about it,” Vikkart replied, “and now I have to spend my entire day with them.”
“But your nose isn’t dripping , is it?” Moortisha snarked.
“Because of the reason why I accepted the position in the first place,” Vikkart beamed. “I was able to secure Maatisha’s release!”
“Really?!?”
“Truly,” he replied, a tear forming on his snout. “I talked to her just this morning. She’s already been released and is on a freighter set to run the blockade tomorrow!”
The office cheered and surrounded him, smothering him with hugs and claps on the back.
“Now,” he mock chided, “Get back to work, you piddling blondes... and please have my tail.”
“You watch our tails,” the manager said, “and we will watch yours.”
“Deal.”
***
Vikkart sat in his new overly large and richly decorated office, trying to figure out exactly what he was supposed to do.
According to his old manager, his job was to “sit there and take credit for all of their hard work.” Unfortunately, Vikkart was starting to think that it wasn’t a joke.
Well, if he was to take credit for it, he should at least look at what he was taking credit for. He read all of the reports for the last year before lunch and made a list of questions because he didn’t want to pester his old manager more than absolutely necessary. That guy was busy enough as it was.
He decided he wanted a break and walked out of his office and towards the kettle he saw earlier.
A pretty young blonde rushed up.
“You don’t have to do that, sir,” she said a bit nervously. “If you would just let one of us know, we would be more than happy to...”
“The day I need someone to make my tea is the day I really do drown myself,” he said, causing the blonde to gasp, absolutely horrified, as he looked for his favorite.
It wasn’t there. There were only fancy (and, in his opinion, crappy) ones.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?” the blonde asked.
“Not really,” Vikkart chuffed, “There’s only greypiss.”
The blonde gasped again.
“Any Docktail around this place?”
“I... I think there is some in our breakroom...”
“Cool,” Vikkart said, using one of their expressions. “Where is that hidden?”
“I... I can get you some,” the blonde said anxiously.
“Oh, right,” Vikkart said, “I don’t need to be pissing in your tranquil oasis. But, if you could filch a few bags of it, I would be in your debt.”
“I’ll happily make a cup for you...”
Vikkart chuffed. There was no escaping it.
“I would appreciate that,” he replied.
He made a note to buy his own kettle and tea. Then again, he could afford it now.
“Still chasing after the blondes, I see,” Varkshaa said as she approached, causing the poor blonde to flee.
“It seems I am no longer allowed to brew my own tea,” Vikkart replied frostily. “I certainly hope I will be allowed to relieve myself without assistance.”
“Only if you are able,” Varkshaa replied. “Though, seriously, you shouldn’t impose yourself upon them like that. May I remind you that you are part of the horde no longer? You should remember appropriate conduct... or perhaps adopt it in your case.”
“I just wanted a fucking cup of tea,” Vikkart replied. “I didn’t think I had to ring a bell for it.”
“Well, you do,” she replied. “Or do what I do and buy your own kettle.”
“A decision I had already made.”
“And don’t buy it at Skaaven’s. Get a proper one.”
“I see you have talked to my mother.”
“Your father, actually. At your age, I would have hoped that you were at least able to dress yourself properly.”
“Since you are my mentor as well as my superior,” Vikkart said with a little snippiness, “What is wrong with Skaaven’s? It’s a lovely place, with quality goods, and reasonable prices.”
“And it is also for the blondes and the towngreys. You are now one of us, and you should conduct yourself accordingly. You do know where to shop or did your mother equip as well as dress you?”
“If you think I’m going to search the entire high market for a dripping teapot, you are out of your inbred mind,” Vikkart replied. “I will just order one online.”
Varkshaa smiled viciously. Oh, she did like this delicious little thing. If only she were twenty... ok... forty years younger...
“Ensure it is a proper one,” she replied, “It will be most inconvenient for you should the doctors have to extract a Skaaven special from where it will be inserted.”
“I assure you, it will be even fancier than your grill,” Vikkart replied, using the term for a far less “fashionable” accessory sported by a much, much less “fashionable” segment of the population.
“Heh...” Varkshaa chuckled, “Make certain that it is.”
She turned and started to walk away with just a little swish in her tail and still quite shapely hips.
She turned back.
“And also ensure that your performance is equal to your impertinence. Otherwise, you might just find yourself sitting on one of those stools you recently relocated.”
“That will not be a concern,” Vikkart replied, “I actually have become accustomed to working for a living.”
The blonde that was eavesdropping gasped (of course, there was one of those).
“Hmm,” Varkshaa said with a dangerous little purr. “If you like work so much, I shall ensure that you are well provided for.”
She walked away with just a little more swish, smiling to herself. That little snotling just won over every single blonde “upstairs” as well as increasing his notoriety with the “cubs.”
She chuckled.
She would be working for him one day.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
***
“You should have seen the look on her face!” Vikkart exclaimed to a smiling Maaatisha, who was now sitting in a small steel cabin.
“But was it advisable to be so defiant to your boss?” she asked.
“When you are a grey wearing grey, it is better to be seen as too defiant than too weak. That bitch did flood my inbox, though. My workload has more than doubled, and I expect most of it was her tasks, which she will be going over with a very large viewing glass.”
Vikkart shrugged.
“It’s good training, and I am going to be sitting around all day anyhow. Never mind that. How are you? Did they give you any trouble? Are you comfortable? Is the crew good to you?”
“Everything is wonderful!” Maaatisha gushed, “That evil gangster was even nice to me. She even gave me a present. Look!”
Maaatisha pulled a box into frame and opened it, revealing a beautiful Garthran wedding gown.
“She gave you that?” Vikkart asked in confusion.
Vaarksha entered Vikkart’s office, without knocking just as she always did.
“Boss,” Vikkart said without looking up from his holoscreen, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”
“You are working today?” Vaarksha asked, “Tomorrow is your wedding day. Shouldn’t you be preparing?”
“I am,” Vikkart replied, “I’m going to be away for a month. I need to leave a tidy burrow.”
He looked up, rubbing his eyes.
“Besides,” he continued, “The preparations are well in hand. Dear old mom usurped those.”
He chuckled.
“Inviting my actual friends was an unintentional masterstroke,” he smirked, “I think she feels she needs not only to impress our ‘friends’ but blow the fur off the lowly little poors. Of course, it will do the opposite, but I will have a lovely feast out of the deal... and Maaatisha deserves it.”
“Lucky girl in far more ways than one,” Vaarksha said with a flash of her teeth, “Who knew that you, of all people, would rise to the occasion.”
“One does what one must,” Vikkart shrugged.
Vaarksha glanced over at his tea set enviously.
“When I told you to get a proper kettle, I didn’t mean to outdo me,” she snickered, “Wherever did you find that antique set? It’s magnificent. It should be in a manor or a museum, not your in grubby little paws making that revolting muck you love so much. Honestly. The only good taste you have is in women.”
“A carpet market,” Vikkart replied.
Vaarksha snorted.
“I am being perfectly honest,” Vikkart replied, “Though it was not kept on the mat. I had to ask around.”
“So, you refuse to wander the high market, but will spend many times as long digging through the trash?”
“Can you argue with the results?”
“I can not.” Vaarksha replied. “Do you think you can find me some silverware?”
“I can ask around.”
“I am looking forward to tomorrow,” Vaarksha said, “Both for the gala and to finally meet the angel that gave, no, created such a promising subordinate.”
“I am as well,” Vikkart replied, “far more than you... at least, I hope.”
Vaarksha chortled.
***
The following evening, A freighter entered the system and approached the largest orbital station.
However, it did not dock.
It launched a shuttle and got the hell out of there.
At that same station one of the docking bays had been converted into a magnificent ballroom, a path of silver coins led from the docking port to a silver and gold altar.
In front of that path stood Vikkart draped in traditional Garthran robes, holding a magnificent gold chain that had been in the family since they had swung swords instead of pens. He and Maaatisha would wrap it around their waists, symbolizing the eternal bond of their love and linking their destinies together for all of eternity.
He was vibrating with anticipation.
Moving through the blondes and stripes was a small news crew, just a reporter and a cameraman.
“And you actually worked with Vikkart?”
“Sure did!” Keelii proclaimed proudly.
“A grey? In your department?”
“Yep. And he still is,” Keelii said, “He’s our boss!”
“And how is that working out?”
“Oh, he’s the best!” Keelii exclaimed happily, “The best ever!”
“Really?” the reporter asked with a little surprised thump of his tail.
“Absolutely! Really the best!”
Keelii sighed happily.
“It’s really nice having a boss that looks out for you.”
“Looks out for you?” the reporter asked incredulously.
Attention platform eight. The shuttle is on its final approach.
“Excuse me,” the reporter said politely and rushed to a good spot in order to capture the event.
***
The reporter took a deep breath before the camera went live.
“Glagee, here with Garthnet News! We are here awaiting the marriage of the year between Vikkart of the Kar family, yes that one, and yes, that Vikkart, and Maaatisha, a hostage of the Terrans that he freed from captivity. It’s a real nose dampener of a story. It all started when...”
The reporter continued, but nobody noticed. Every eye and every snout was firmly fixed on the docking portal.
There was a metallic thunk, and a crimson light glowed above the portal.
Vikkart’s nose started to drip with tears.
It was over! The ordeal was over!
They were together. Their old lives would end, and their new one would begin, together.
The light slowly, far too slowly, turned from crimson... to purple...
...and then finally to blue!
The portal opened, revealing Maaatisha glowing with beauty and joy...
...glowing just a little bit too brightly.
She rushed from the portal and towards Vikkart as a drone hovered just above and behind her, projecting her image.
“Vikkart!” she cried with joy.
She threw herself into his arms...
...and passed right through him.
“W-what?” she stammered and reached for him again, her hands passing through his stunned and rigid body as if he were a ghost...
...or if she was...
“What’s happening?!?” she cried. “Why can’t I touch you... WHY?!?”
She kept trying... and failing.
“WHY?!? Vikkart?... Vikkart?... What’s happening?... WHAT’S HAPPENING?!?”
Vikkart fell. Not to his knees, he collapsed to the ground, wailing.
He didn’t yell. He didn’t scream. He howled like a lost child, completely alone, completely broken, as Maaatisha screamed with confusion and terror, kneeling over him, still trying to reach him.
Suddenly, a new hologram appeared, one of a wicked, old human gangster.
“I would like to personally congratulate the happy couple and wish Vikkart and the lovely Maaatisha all the happiness they deserve.”
The gangster disappeared with a laugh.
Vikkart continued to wail.
His father, stricken, looked at his wounded child... his child... perhaps for the first time. He slowly, stiffly, and awkwardly approached as his wife fled in horror and shame.
He knelt by his son and laid a hand on his back.
The blonde news crew, usually all too delighted to chronicle a grey getting theirs. Stood there in horror.
This wasn’t... It wasn’t right.
“No,” the reporter said, stepping in front of the camera, “Turn it off.”
The cameraman just stood there in shock, instinctively and perfectly capturing the action.
“I SAID TO FUCKING TURN IT OFF!” the reporter yelled as he shoved the camera away.
***
On Terra, Uhrrbet sat beside Evoron, watching the drama unfold, the drone transmitting the “joyous” reunion to a darkweb site hidden in the Garthran internet.
Uhrrbet smiled wickedly as Vikkart fell and started to wail.
She stopped smiling.
That wail, that horrible wail, the wail of a lost and hurting child...
...the wail that her son cried as she shoved him under the water.
Oh, Creators, what had she done? She... she had to stop it... she...
...she took a deep breath and exhaled, her soul freezing over completely... and forever.
She smiled again, quietly this time. This... this was good work...
...and they hadn’t even gotten to the best part.
Evoron looked at the scene with horror... and admiration. He thought he knew what cruelty was. He honestly did.
He had NO idea.
“Well,” he said calmly, “That certainly was... something. Pray tell, did that poor fool truly deserve this?”
Uhrrbet looked at him with a cold smile.
“Does it matter?”
Evoron chuckled.
“I guess not.”