“It's not really going to help anything, you know. Any of this. People are still animals.” Barker was drunk. His shirt was untucked and his gunbelt had gotten put aside somewhere. Not that he had an actual gun in it, but there’s something wrong with the phrase “taser belt.” The day had been rather hard, and the days before it had been hard too.

“If it makes them feel better, you know, the people will feel better, then that helps. At least they feel better,” I was repeating myself. I was drunk too. Oscar Hansen (no relation) didn't need to tell me that I needed to be involved with everything happening. He was still out with reporters right now while I hid in here with Barker, Alan, and a bottle. People were scared, and scared people get angry. We had seen it in Pittsburgh and seen it more in cities all over the world. The only way out was to get led through.

I took a drink. “They need to feel better. Better in here, in the arcology...”

“Castle!” Barker and Alan chorused at me.

“Arcology. Here, in the Arcology. This Arcology. The Arcology is a place where people can feel safe and do their thing. That’s the point. Even if their thing is just, you know, feeling better. Or, dunno, movies, tv, whatever. Model trains.” I emptied my glass.

To me, the worst part of the whole mess was the way the Greens had acted. I met the two of them again when they came to identify the bodies. Both were crying silently, with tears pouring down their faces. They asked when they could bury their little girl, and then thanked security for their work. They thanked them. Sincerely, if quietly. Honestly, it would have been easier on me if they were angry with us. If they had raged that security had been too slow. If they had cursed me for failing to provide protection for their family. If they had attacked the old witch’s body. I would have been prepared for that. I could have dealt with that. I wasn't prepared for the silent acid of their grief.

“They feel better, people get the life they want, you know?”

“I know. It is better. I'll tell you what, the Castle is great. We're the first, you know?” Barker took a drink and leaned forward against his desk, resting his elbows on the painted metal surface. The posture really emphasized his shoulders – almost made it look like he was flexing them. The strength of the pose was undermined a bit when a paper under his elbow shifted and he slipped sideways. Catching himself on the edge of the desk, he said, “The suburbs sucked. I mean, I was in Morrisville, outside Raleigh. My first real job, I was a cop. It made all those old stories about Detroit sound pleasant. Fires, bombs, shootings. And the food shipments just made things worse, gave people something to fight over.”

“It’s why I left. Started working in corporate security. Away from the animals. Here, it's nice again. Even if you aren't one of the designers or researchers... we're all part of it, you know? We're the first. First with plasteel, first with the generators, first arcology, it's special. Best day of my life, breaking your rear end on the pavement.” It sounded like the alcohol was burning off as he spoke. He definitely got more coherent as he spoke. Or maybe he just sounded more coherent as I drank.

I don't know if he was trying to butter me up or if he was sincere. It didn't matter, I had still spent a day dealing with a dead toddler and her family. I could have prevented her death. Easily, I could have stopped it. I just didn't think I should. I still don't know if I should. I did anyway, I had let all sorts of new protections start spinning forward before Barker and I got into his scotch.

“Ok, fine, we're special. Fine.” I took the bottle and poured a couple fingers into each of our glasses. I didn’t pour for Alan. I continued, “But we gotta stay special. We gotta keep people feeling better. I don't know if that can happen now. Or happen for long, again.”

It was nice to talk this out. Nearly a third of our residents were wearing the com badges already, and more were picking them up as quickly as they could be paired to an individual. People were even getting cameras inside their apartments, tied into the AI net. I didn’t ask them to, it was beyond me, but I was still responsible.

“All this surveillance, it means control. I mean, it's not like I need more control, or you, or whatever, right? I mean, it might stop a kidnapping, or solve it fast, but it's not like it'll stop any murders. Or wife beaters. Or any of that stuff. People are still crap.”

“You're calling me a choir.” Barker nodded along. “People are still people, so why not keep them happy? It's not like you're going to abuse the power, how would you, anyway? What are you going to do, build a supervillain lair that's impossible to break into? Fill it with little minions to enact your nefarious will? Tell the police and the government to piss off when they ask you to stop it? I’m pretty sure you’ve done that already.”

“But, but, it's not me, you know?” I replied. I finished my glass. Then I set it back down, taking care to place it slowly and just so, lined up on a napkin. “Why the hell do people feel like we have to watch them all the time? Why are they demanding I put myself in their lives? They don't need it, and even if I am a nice guy, it's just gonna hurt them. I don't want the arcology to turn out like, like, your Morrisville.”

Alan’s voice came up from the floor, "Give us a king to lead us! And the LORD said, the king who will reign over you will take your sons and make them serve, he will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks, he will take the best of your fields, he will take your grain and your wine, and you yourselves will become his slaves."

"But the people refused to listen to the LORD. 'No!' they said. 'We want a king over us, to go out before us and fight our battles.'" Alan’s tenor was unaffected by the booze even if it had knocked him out of his chair. I didn't look at him, but I'll bet the bastard's hair was still perfect.

On the bright side, I think he had finally distracted me. I turned to look down at him, wobbled, and sat up straight again. The wobble passed, and I instead turned my whole body to face him. I asked, “So what, now I've got to go get a few hundred wives, get Barker dead so I can cheat with his wife, and then get killed by one of my sons?”

“Wrong king, milord.” Alan’s hair wasn't perfect, his fingers were locked together on top of his head, with tufts of hair poking out. His shirt was still unwrinkled somehow and tucked in straight too. He said, “My point is that this isn't new. People asking for chains is older than print.”

“Yeah, like Washington and the glasses, right?” Barker chimed in.

“Right! They wanted him to be a king! Except he couldn’t see. Older than steam, too,” said Oscar. “But the point is that people like to give up control. It makes life easier. And the less control they have, the more they give it up. You're riding that wave, boss.”

“If you compare me to George Washington I’m going to get stuck up. At least people did what George told them to. For a king I can't do much, can I.” I giggled at the thought. “They already call me a king, and now I get to know everything about them. But I'm not allowed to say no, am I? I'm the boss, but I've got to do what I'm told. To make them feel better.”

I turned my whole body and spoke to Barker again, “But you said it, Juan. We're first, aren't we? Some of the other arcologies already suck, and that's with them trying to be like us. Better than outside, I guess, but I don't think anyone really wants to live in the Dallas Arcology, or that libertarian paradise place in New Hampshire. What if they start with the cameras and monitoring and badges, too? Damn badges, have you seen them?”

Barker smiled, clinking his glass on the desk, “Yeah! Starfleet, all the way, right? Kinda wish mine was that swoop logo, instead of the castle. Security is all getting them – they're super handy to keep track of my guys. But I'm not changing the uniforms. We'll keep the blue shirts and tan pants, thanks. No red for us.”

“Stupid old TV shows. Of course, people would see that. Com badges, plasteel, subspace, castle, king.” I snorted. “I'm the boss! I owned the patents before we licensed everything out. I sold them, built them, marketed them...”

“Hey!” The voice from the ground was sharp and quick to cut into my rant.

“I had help, never said I didn't have help. You helped, Alan. I know. But I can't even get people to call it the crap it should be called. It’s Plasma Steel. Instead, we get all this mess. Why the hell do people insist on being told what to do, and then they won't actually do what they're told. They don't want guidance, they just want a prick to kick against. Even if it's as pissy a prick as a name.”

I reached out to fill my glass again. The bottle was empty, but perhaps that was ok. After all, we were just trying to forget our day. And here we were, talking about something different. Nothing like an old irritation along with inebriation, right?

“I guess I'd better head back to my room. I need to sleep.” I tapped the empty bottle on the table, “And all we've got here is a dead soldier, and I...”

All three of us grimaced at the metaphor.

Shit.