Hypergeniture Bk. 03 Pt. 02

With the insight the twins had offered, I watched our guests with interest.

Dey Shapiro was pacing on her phone in another corner of the gardens. She seemed on edge about something, which didn't come as a surprise... Despite being only 18 years old, she was world-famous and overwhelmed with attention. She'd made her name posting short clips online, attracting millions of followers and dozens of brand deals.

I figured she was out of her depth, big time.

Sitting with Sammie Truth, the gossip blogger, our gamer-girl guest was the most relaxed out of the bunch. Unlike the rest, she didn't seem to have a persona -- she was the person she portrayed herself as online, an unabashed lover of what she did and the culture that surrounded it. She certainly wasn't nerdy, as evidenced by her stunning Eastern European features and sparkling blonde hair. Still, there was nothing fake about her choice of career. She even identified herself using her screen name: Hex.

Interrupting my observations, Tecla remarked that we needed a travelling staff and a butler. The failure to secure a team for the palace due to security concerns made it obvious.

I shook my head. "It'll be hard finding someone we can trust. What about Aunt Olivia?"

Olivia was my father's sister, my namesake, and Tash's mother. She was the only person from his family who didn't run away when my parents married. When my dad died, I lived with her and my cousin for a little over a year. She worked in hospitality, recently taking on the role of VIP guest manager for an international hotel chain.

Answering my own question, I said, "Natasha doesn't want her mother anywhere near us... She still hasn't told her about us."

Eve interrupted, aghast. "She hasn't told her?!"

"Of course not!" I rebuffed.

My parent wanted to offer a mother's perspective, explaining how she felt when she found out and why it didn't bother her once she'd considered the facts. As we talked, the conversation flowed naturally from one thing to the next. Eventually, I turned to my sisters and guided them on what needed to be done over the next few weeks.

We were just finding a rhythm when one of the guests I hadn't spotted earlier made an appearance at our table.

Jinx Lopez was American, nineteen, petite, very pretty, and the star of short viral videos that seemed to spread like wildfire. Despite being physically small, she had a megaton worth of charm, and that morning she was milking it... Her flowy shorts and tied blouse made her all the more attractive.

"G'morning, Mr Orwell," she said, interlacing her fingers as she theatrically swayed from side to side. "Did you sleep well?"

"Please, call me Oliver--"

"Call him Olly," Tecla intervened, grinning from ear to ear.

Jinx nodded slowly, squeezing her lips together. "Olly... That's so cute! I wanted to thank you for letting us hang out at your mansion."

"Oh, it's the company's--"

Putting a hand on my shoulder, Jinx's lashes fluttered like butterfly wings. "You're really so sweet, Mr Orw... Olly. It's okay if I call you that, right?"

"Eh--"

"Your house is so beautiful," she added, not giving me a chance to answer her question. "I haven't even seen all of it! Could you... Could you please take me on a tour of all the rooms?"

I swallowed hard, scanning the faces of my family members as they did their best to restrain laughter. It was obvious I was being worked like a hot slot machine in the cheap section of a Vegas casino by a young lady with the scent of money in her nostrils. My eyes discretely tried to catch Skylar's attention for a rescue, but I locked onto Alicia instead. My chief of staff had just arrived to check in on us. She expertly read the look on my face, striding over to our table.

Clearing her throat, she ensured her back was straight so she could loom large over the small Latina social media star. "Mr Orwell, you're late for your video conference with the president of Nabizania."

I jumped to my feet, nearly pushing Jinx out of the way as I took Alicia's arm and we made our escape. Once we were a few feet away, we started giggling, waltzing through a set of beautiful steel doors before arriving in a secluded sitting room decorated with all-white furniture and offering spectacular ocean views.

"The president of Nabizania?" I asked, crashing onto one of the couches.

Alicia shrugged, taking a seat opposite me. "She doesn't know it's not a real place."

"Thanks for that," I whispered, checking over my shoulder to ensure we were alone.

"Since when do you run away from pretty girls?"

"I only do it when they make their voices an octave higher and look at me with big eyes that suggest I'm their breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Our guests are beginning to realise you're single," Alicia observed, rubbing two fingers over her lips as if to erase a cheeky smirk.

"I'm not exactly single, but I can see how that might not be obvious to them."

"Get them on the ship," Alicia proposed. "Superyachts and private jets make everyone lose their inhibitions. You can have a real party. In fact, on a boat that big, you can do whatever you want."

"Yeah?"

Suddenly, Alicia became shy as she realised we'd been speaking very freely -- too freely for her liking. Here and there, I got the sense she enjoyed living vicariously through me and my exploits. The things that scared her weren't guns, knives or bombs. No, Alicia feared sex and romance and sometimes even the truth. I understood why, so I didn't push any buttons once I realised she'd had enough of a particular conversation.

Rubbing my brow, I turned my attention back to serious matters. "Our guests are an interesting bunch," I mused, "but I've fucked around enough. I want to spend a few days in bed with Tecla, Elle and Tash."

"I can get behind that idea, sir. You need some rest."

"First, you send my mother, then my cousin. Finally, you've decided to talk to me directly!"

My friend blushed, having wanted to avoid the conversation we were about to have. We'd been doing a dance for some time, keeping each other just far enough apart to avoid a real connection but just close enough to bask in the glow of our shared spirit.

"You sleep on average three hours every 24 hours," she said.

"You've been counting?"

"I have."

"Well, the statistic may sound bad, but I don't feel tired... And I'll be returning to normal sleep now that I've seen Sian."

Alicia's face went pale. She was horrified as I revealed the reason behind my self-inflicted insomnia. "You... You were trying to hallucinate?"

"I was trying to get in touch with a part of my subconscious."

The terror on my friend's face did not subside quickly. She sat back and exhaled through her nose before fixing me with her dusky green eyes turning from moss to emerald as a smile pushed the righthand corner of her mouth. Then, the smile faded, and she leaned forward again with her shoulders pointing inwards.

"You're going to see a doctor about this," she said. "It's verging on insanity--"

"I'm fine--"

"You will see a doctor about this, sir," Alicia countered, speaking sternly.

My advisor was only being fair. To an outsider, I must've seemed completely mental -- intentionally staying awake for days so that I could speak to an imaginary friend. She had every right to be worried, but I still felt sure of my plan. I knew it had worked.

"I saw Sian," I explained, "and now I'm certain she's dead."

Alicia exhaled, deciding she would listen. "You believe this because 'she' told you?"

"I know it sounds absurd, Alicia, but talking to her is like sitting with a puzzle. It's simply a way for me to process information."

"Why her?" Alicia asked. "Why don't you imagine me instead?"

I answered in a split second. "Sian might appear now and then, but you're in my mind's eye quite constantly."

For a moment, there was total silence as both me and Alicia toyed around with perhaps the cheesiest thing I'd ever said. Looking each other dead in the eye, we mirrored our smiles until they turned to laughter. Our cheeks went pink as we giggled, then Alicia jumped to her feet, and we both decided to pretend I'd never said a word.

"Are you going to sleep like a normal person now that you've seen this ghost?" she asked.

"Definitely. I'm a little tired as we speak," I replied, sounding unsure. It was enough uncertainty that Alicia folded her arms and looked down at me with something resembling a mother's suspicion towards her naughty brat.

"You should try some proper Italian coffee," she said.

The change was subtle but definite. In a matter of minutes, my friend had gone from insisting I get rest to proposing a way I might stay awake for even longer. As I looked into her eyes, I saw her buy something I didn't know I was selling -- I saw her accept that I had to be the guy who kept going.

We all want superhuman leaders. It's how cults start, and though I had no interest in being a demigod, the life we lived saw those around me wish for it to be true.

My family and friends wanted to believe there was something special about the man they'd chosen as their captain. If I couldn't be everything they dreamt of me being, we would see that we are infinitesimally small, and any illusion of strength or security would shatter in contrast to the scale of the cosmos. Our wealth would look like a pittance; our empire an ant colony in the bigger scheme of things. Acknowledging this, I straightened my back and became who I had to be.

"You have a plan, don't you?" Alicia remarked, wanting to believe it.

"A plan?" I echoed.

"Sir... Don't play dumb. You think you can rule the world."

"Why would I want to do that?"

Alicia snorted as her smile reappeared. "Maybe it's because you're a man and men often have fantasies of that sort. Or, maybe you feel that no matter how many times the hero wins -- the dashing spy, the clever detective -- there will always be another villain."

I took the cue. "Maybe we need a new kind of hero? The spies and policemen can deliver rough justice -- soldiers can win battles -- but it takes real power to defeat evil. It takes generals, not just individual warriors."

"And you want to accumulate as much power as possible," Alicia concluded. "You think it won't change you -- that you'll be the man you've always been, looking after the whole world like you guarded your sisters and made a life for them. You think you'll make yourself so strong you can blow against the wind and it'll change its course."

"But power will change me?"

My clever counsellor tapped her cheek with three fingers, wondering how she could answer a question she didn't know the answer to. "It will change you," she decided, "but it might make you better."

"Or, it could end me."

Laying a hand on my heart, I thanked Alicia for taking care of me. I only wished she would sometimes allow me to repay all her kindness. We understood each other completely, even though she seldom opened herself up to me. Taking a few minutes to be together, we talked about work as I ran some ideas by her. We didn't indulge in personal conversation, having expended our weekly allocation in one sitting. Then, my mother's bodyguard, Krisha Laghari, came strutting into the room.

"Good day, good day," she greeted, showing off her absolutely gorgeous Mumbai accent, taking a seat.

She seemed tired of speaking only to Trixie and no one else, plopping herself down to find a little diversion. As she sat, I noticed a weapon under her arm that looked very much like an old Webley.

"Alicia doesn't allow revolvers," I remarked, pointing to it.

Carefully producing the firearm, Krisha gave it to me so that I could have a look while explaining. "I carry a semi-automatic pistol in my waistband, sir. The revolver is simply in case of emergencies. You see, I learnt from criminals on the streets of India's great cities that you can never be too well armed."

Standing up, Krisha produced a chrome-plated Tokarev handgun from behind her back, placing it on the coffee table. She dropped into a squat, pulling a switchblade from a holster tied to her calve.

I had a look at each item in turn. They all seemed to have sentimental value -- an oddball collection of tools she picked up during her work and travels. The revolver was of the type colonial officers in India might have carried and was in perfect condition. The Tokarev was a little more beat up, but it had clearly belonged to some kind of gangster as it was ornate and ostentatious. The knife was a knife, and I had no doubt she knew how to use it.

"What else did you learn from criminals?" I asked, intrigued.

Krisha thought for a few seconds and wondered how she might answer. She hummed and sighed, unable to decide which story she'd most like to tell until she'd made up her mind.

"Well," she said, "I learnt a few lessons on being rich. You might find those useful."

"I might..."

The sociable rogue expressed a naughty grin before starting with lesson number one. "Instead of giving gifts, you must extend courtesies."

"Courtesies?"

"Imagine you want to win someone's favour," Krisha supposed. "In such a situation, you might be tempted to offer them a present of some kind, but that would be a mistake. No, you must offer them an allowance instead of a donation -- a weekend at one of your homes or a free flight on your plane. To give diminishes your power; gracefully extending favours much enhances it."

The advice was sensible, so I asked for more, and my new friend was all too happy to comply. "Violence and threats," she said, "are never a good idea. But..."

"But?"

"It is good to be feared, nonetheless. You must appear strong; then there will be no need for aggression."

I nodded. "And what about a third and final piece of wisdom?"

Tilting her head forward and curling her lips into a satisfied smirk, Krisha made me wait in suspense before giving her answer. "The rich might be tempted to change other people, whether by coercing them or investing in their talents."

"A bad idea?" I wondered.

"A terrible idea, sir! Terrible, no good and frankly insane. You must take people as they are, using your wealth to gain access to those who already have the talents and motivations that best serve your interests."

Part of me wanted to disagree, but I knew the observations were sensible. Turning to Alicia, I asked, "You've also spent a lot of time with the rich. What lessons can you teach?"

The baby-faced brunette had been enjoying the conversation. "Well, sir, I've already given you a lot of advice during our time together. For example, you can get away with anything on a private jet or a superyacht--"

"Useful," I interjected, waving at the Spectre through the windows.

Alicia continued, "Always do your own maths, never trust young heiresses, and make sure you always know more than you reveal."

Again, sound advice.

As we'd been holding our tutorial, I spotted Skylar entering the room. I was keen to ask her what lesson's she'd teach, but then I saw the book under her arm, and the excitement scrawled across her face. Never the type to stand on ceremony, her cheeks were red and her smile unbroken as she waited patiently with giddy energy.

• • •

After Alicia and Krisha left, my bodyguard and I chuckled as we spent our time paging through the thick volume she'd come to show me. The book's exterior was bedazzled with glitter and rhinestones and the interior was colourful, very heavy on images, with the text printed in a large oversized font.

THE BIMBO'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY: A MANUAL FOR WANNABE DUMMIES

It was an instructional tome full of guidance on becoming hot and dumb, aimed at women who'd like to live a simpler life. The reader was encouraged to set aside everything that didn't bring pleasure, focusing on her appearance, wealth, and sex.

The handbook had been recovered from the room of our Italian guest, Primavera Bruno. Along with our arrival came the installation of devices that recorded all outgoing communication. They quickly revealed that the fitness influencer had more than one boyfriend with connections to organised crime in Rome, Sicily, Kraków and as far afield as Bucharest.

Naturally, my security people didn't want her sticking...around

After discretely searching the self-made bimbo's room to ensure there was no further threat, Skylar offered Primavera a first-class ticket to Paris. She wasn't told why she had to leave, nor did she ask. Judging by the literature they recovered from her bedroom, I deduced she wasn't the curious type. Quite the opposite -- she avoided curiosity at all costs.

"I'd love to have my own," Skylar joked, pointing at an artist's rendering of the 'ideal bimbo' as it appeared in the confiscated manual.

Turning to my bodyguard, I shut the book and tried to look unamused. "This is sad," I declared, setting the thing aside. "She must've fallen under the spell of some idiot who wants to turn her into his human sex doll."

"Or," Skylar countered, "she knows she has a good body and would like to live a simple life--"

"An unthinking life? A life without aspirations, questions, challenges--"

"Yes."

"Really?"

My protector shrugged. "You're the type to get genuinely angry at people who don't aim high enough in life, aren't you?"

I confessed, "I think people should have dreams. The bigger the dream, the better."

Taking the Bimbo's Guide to the Galaxy, Skylar started flicking through the pages again, biting her cheek as she considered the content. As an avowed lover of women, the blonde Aussie considered that love, along with the fact she was secretly a bit of a dork and probably a bit of a perv. Yes, despite her perfect hair and killer style, Skylar Kelly was a tad awkward around girls.

"Dreams are good, but this seems uncomplicated," she reflected, suddenly sounding forlorn.

I watched my friend become uncharacteristically sad. As we talked about it, I quickly realised her thoughts about our guest, Lauren, amounted to more than a crush...

"I'm in love with her," Skylar declared outright.

"That's... That's a bit quick," I pondered, wanting to sound as supportive as possible while injecting a dose of realism.

"I can't explain it," Skylar huffed. "It's like someone reached into my dreams and plucked her from them, making her real. She's the one."

I enjoyed being in the company of someone experiencing their first bit of puppy-love. "Well, Skylar, you're going to have to ask her out."

"What?! I... Oh... No, no, no... There's no need."

"But she's the one."

"Yes," Sky conceded, eyes twitching in panic.

I gave my employee a stern look and decided to play at being bossy. "Ask her out."

"No."

"Do it!"

"Ugh!" she huffed, slamming her palms against her legs. "I won't have time to see her--"

"I'll employ her," I countered, willing to do whatever it took to see my friend fulfil her heart's desire. "She can travel with us to wherever we go as our personal chef."

Something changed in Skylar. It was something I'd never seen before... Or, maybe it's something I'd only seen in small pieces, now coming to the fore as a whole. She was heartbroken. It was like an old wound had been opened, and she tried to hide the tears welling in her eyes as she turned away from me.

The old Oliver wouldn't have had the courage to say something -- the new me felt compelled to lead. I hugged her as she hugged back, offering all the wisdom I could summon.

"I don't know the first thing about being you," I admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I can make some guesses, and there are a few things I want to tell you. Number one on the list: There is nothing wrong with being in love with someone, even if people used to tell you otherwise. You can run off to Rome, run off to the Vatican, but it won't make the feeling go away."