The Necromancer's Gambit: Overloading
Nicolas Wilson
“It’s pretty,” I say, feeling a little bad about enjoying the spectacle of exploding men. “But all the colors. Bishop didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, but murdering someone doesn’t necessarily have to be monochromatic.” Queen smiles when I look at him. I don’t, because I see it on his face.
“We should probably get away from the windows.”
“Why? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” Queen wipes at his mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Yes; they’re using red laser pointer scopes,” I tell him, but he doesn’t take the hint. I tackle him to the floor as the window we’d been looking out ruptures, snowing shards of glass down on us. “I didn’t think they’d be using sniper rifles.”
“You didn’t think?” Queen asks, exasperated.
“Pardon me. I’m still kind of getting used to people shooting at me.”
“Around you. They were clearly firing at me.”
“Whatever. I’m still new at this.”
“You think that’s a valid excuse?”
“Haven’t you been Queen for a while? Isn’t things like staying away from the windows the kind of thing Knight and my predecessor probably drilled into your head at least biweekly.”
“You make it very difficult to be a catty bitch,” he says, a little petulant.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. But what should we do? Seriously, I’m all ears, here.”
“For the time being, Bishop’s defenses should whittle the Kindred down- provided we don’t make ourselves an easy target through the window again.”
“But what if they don’t whittle them down enough?”
“I was planning to offer them sexual favors in exchange for our safety.”
“Most of them are probably straight.”
“I was hoping you’d help.”
“How is that a fair division of labor.”
“We can discuss democratizing sexuality, but you can’t fault me for those percentages.”
“Okay, so aside from trying to whore our way out- which, by the way, I’m beginning to think you have issues with women, since this is the second time in a week you’ve tried to turn me out-”
“Of course I have issues with women- I have almost no use for them. And yet, they’re everywhere, taking up all of the good men.”
“Okay, but putting a pin in Operation: Slut Our Way To Freedom, do we have a plan C?”
“Bishop left us with supplies and some suggestions for the onslaught- but if they haven’t quit the cabin by the time we need those we’re probably fucked, anyway. The whole point of this was making the price of victory too high. But, there is one spell Bishop and I have been playing with in our spare time. Are you familiar with the gay bomb?”
“That effeminate overweight kid from my middle school swim class?”
“No. And why would I mean that? Nevermind, ignoring. The US military briefly discussed using a device that would turn enemy forces uncontrollably homoerotic. The idea being that a mass soldier orgy would undermine morale and discipline and make them easier to defeat. Imagine all the grinding, the muscles, the oil,”
“Armies keep a ready supply of oil on the battlefield?”
“Gun oil, then,” he sighs. “A little part of me died the day they scrapped the project. But apparently, with magic, it’s a simpler task. Bishop and I worked up a proof of concept- on paper- and from that we should be able to assemble it.”
“You want to gay bomb the Kindred?”
“They’re just about the perfect candidates for it. Their potency is tied up in their religion- they view impotence as a sign that their gods have cast them out; we found a body magically and physically stomped to death last year we’re pretty sure was one of theirs. Maybe that’s their excuse for hating gays. But the idea of ‘wasting’ seed on another man isn’t just anathema to them, it’s heretical. And, as a last resort, why not?”
“So bother of your plans end with you giving disturbing amounts of head. How is this plan different from your first one? Besides being way grosser.”
“The Kindred don’t allow female members, so there wouldn’t be anyone around for you to lez out with. Of course, it might make you grow a mustache- and I don’t just mean on your lip.”
“Is there anything not stupid or crazy we should be doing in the meantime?”
“We’ve got some Hail Mary defenses in that duffel bag. Bishop designed these as a last resort, so most of them are pretty much fire and forget spells.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning even you can use them; no offense. Single word catalysts, premixed ingredients that only need to be shaken to activate.”
“This might be a dumb question, but why don’t we just call the cops?”
“They aren’t equipped to handle this. They’d be butchered. We’d all end up on the news. And the Gambit would lose all semblance of legitimacy, since in the public’s eyes we’d be bitching out. They’d win anyway.”
“But we’d survive.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps they other gambit would simply murder us anyway. You can’t expect much differently to occur if you allow murderers to rule.”
“So basically we’re stuck here, with nothing to do but wait for them to overcome our defenses?” He nods. “Want to assemble that gay bomb?”
“Really?”
“If only to pass the time; I really should have picked up a Vogue on the way in.”
“Love their fashion spreads. Though I’m starting to see the appeal in W.”
My phone rings. It’s Knight. “Oh, no, my phone, looks like we’ll have to hold off on assembling the gay bomb.”
“I’ll start it, and catch you back up when you’re done.”
“Hooray.” I say, then, “Hello?”
“What’s the situation?” he asks.
“They’ve started taking pot shots at us through the windows, so we can’t see too much. But from the sounds of it they’re just throwing guys into our defenses.”
“Yeah, the Kindred aren’t a brain trust, and they get wrapped up in their own bullshit about courage. It’ll take a while before the rank and file start asking if it’s worth dying horribly to keep pressing forward. But how are you two holding up?”
“Queen’s trying to assemble a gay bomb.”
“I won’t ask.”
“And I’m wishing I’d brought my iPod. I could really do with some Om Noming about now.”
He sighs. “These Kindred were smarter than I gave them credit for. They let Bishop and Harry leave because they thought it’d be easier to siege us without them. Fuckers. And they can’t just come back, because out in the open they could be surrounded and picked off too easy. But I think I have a plan.”
“On a scale of the desperate and crazy shit you usually do, how does this one score?”
“Um, less sane than usual, way more dangerous. Much greater likelihood of personal combustion.”
“Just you combusting, or all of us?”
“I’d been thinking of just me, but I suppose all of us have a greater chance of going kaboom.”
“Couldn’t you have lied to me, in some way designed to make me feel better about our crappy tactical position.”
“My self-delusion tank’s running on empty.”
“Okay, but I’m the one I care about deluding. Don’t you have some kind of extra reserves you use to lie to women you could have used?”
“Yeah, but those are strictly for getting laid.”
“Yeah, well maybe, on the incredibly off chance we survive, and you’d used those to make me feel better about our odds…”
“Little late to dangle that carrot.”
“I’m saying the same thing, and throwing in the modifier ‘baby.’”
“I’m going to miss this,” he says.
“Now you’re just being cruel.” There’s a moment’s silence. “Okay, so we were both being cruel, but yours was way meaner.”
“Kind of. How long do you think you have, before you’re overrun?”
“Well, gee, given my utter lack of military training, my complete unpreparedness for this situation, and the fact that I’ve never done this before, I’d say soon to moments from now.”
“Then I’d better hurry.”
“You weren’t before?”
“I’ve learned it’s usually bad form, hurrying when assembling a bomb.”
“Or a gay bomb,” Queen adds.
“But I’m done, now,” he says. “So I’m going to hurry up and get to where I plan to use it.”