The Security Guys
Hello everyone,
Some time ago I had this idea for a short story about predation and the ethics behind it, a story about a buffalo and his job, a politician and his book and a dangerous city. I don't have a lot of experience writing anthropomorphic fiction, so i hope you like it. Please let me know. Enjoy!
Nicotine has multiple properties that make it addictive. For most people it's the calming effect of a good cig' that makes them smoke. Those with the extremely stressful jobs have to find a way to calm down and unwind in a matter of minutes after hours of tension, of adrenalin, of: "On your toes, boys!" and: "Watch out!" and such. Few things can be that soothing, smoking being one of them. If your lunch break lasts five minutes, why not skip the actual lunch and go for a smoke?
People didn't live like that when tobacco was invented. The way Marc Finton saw it, the Native Americans had somehow managed to invent something they would not even need for the next 700 years or so, thus making tobacco the most brilliant invention ever. He wasn't that big of a fan of Native Americans in general, but that was, of course, another matter.
As Marc leaned against the wall of the theater he smiled upon the steaming herd of fans to his left, who had just decided standing in line had a time limit, and that from a certain point (now) simply storming the door gave everyone the best chance of getting the precious handshake, greeting, or even autograph from The Big Man they had all come for. Ironically, the very book they wanted him to sign was all about coordination, control of urges and rational thinking. Maybe John Q. Anin, the author of this book, should have used some form of reverse psychology to get his message across to the public?
Marc sighed. Though amusing, stampedes were a serious matter, and it was security's task to prevent them at all costs. Showtime. Lunch break was officially over. "All right you guys, break it up, break it up, cut that out..." two deer were wrestling on the ground, Marc hadn't seen how the fight started, but he could guess. When there were hundreds of people trying to proclaim their everlasting, unconditional love and loyalty to the same man, queue-jumping was not appreciated. The attendance today was probably not enough to cause a full-on, actual stampede, but once a crowd of frustrated herbivores got the image in their heads of themselves standing out here while some queue-jumper was in a hot tub with The Big Man, anything could happen. People had been trampled during lectures. Everyone let him through. Security Guys did not wear uniforms here, but Marc could be recognized as one from miles away. First of all, he was a buffalo. His species had protected smaller herbivores for as long as everyone could remember, against predators or against themselves. Security was not only needed here, but everywhere along the borders of Herbivore District. As long as predation was legal, the large among them had to protect the small, and received the utmost respect in return. You had your buffalos, rhinos, elephants, and some exceptionally tough moose patrolling the border, so that everyone inside could go out without being eaten. A rhino could kill most predators with ease, and would do so without a doubt if they saw one inside the district border. But they were sneaky, every now and then someone would just disappear and be never spoken of again. Hunting was dangerous, but meat was just tasty enough for many to take the risk of being impaled, trampled, or killed in some other unpleasant way.
They didn't really need meat, of course. Everyone knew that. Or at least, everyone who had read The Killing Impulse by John Q. Akin, or in other words, all herbivores and quite a few carnivores too. According to Akin, meat was a highly addicting drug, but everyone could learn to live without it if they really wanted to. That was, of course, the problem; no addict ever really wants to live without his drug. There's pride in self-control all right: pride but no fun. Marc would walk into Carnivore District without a second thought, and risk being shredded to death by all the teeth and nails in this god-forsaken place, if there were no more cigarettes for sale in Herb. Hell, he would kill and eat any animal if it had the world's last tobacco. He had moral standards, like everybody else; and under the right circumstances, he would abandon them all. Just like everybody else in the whole wide world had always been and would always be.
Except The Big Man, probably. John Q. Akin was the messiah of all things plant-eating, he would rid the world of predation, cleanse those poor carnivore souls of their disgusting urges, so that all things living could forever live together in harmony. And if he was the modern day Jesus, The Killing Impulse was a new Bible. Under his guidance, he had promised, animals would evolve to the last stage to perfection.
"Life", he had said, "has come a long way since its origin. As we gradually transformed our bodies our minds grew and matured with it. The fittest have survived. From the weakest of creatures imaginable, those that crawled through the dirt and simply hung on to existence for dear life, lived one breath at a time, and had not the faintest idea of the world around them, we became something greater. Today, we speak, we think, we act, and we stand erect, looking down upon the earth with pride; we have adapted. In this new world was and still is no more place for senseless killing. Let those who have learned first now teach those who fell back. Let them no more suffer the ignorance of their brothers. The world caught up with us, yet the fittest have survived..."
They could be proud of themselves, in other words. Akin's book had mesmerized and enslaved the great, independent, rational minds it so glorified in a matter of days. Marc was dragging two of those "far-evolved, brilliant minds of the future" along the pavement now, because they had been fighting to the death over a slim chance at a handshake from their hero. A strange world it was, indeed. "I don't care who started it, I'm ending it now. And if you don't want to be spoken to like kindergarteners, don't act like them. Now go away and don't come back." Marc dropped the two troublemakers and walked back to the theatre. He did not mind those two deer fighting, as long as they did it somewhere else. His job was to keep the other attendees and, of course, The Big Man safe. The theatre was already being cleared, his colleagues were slowly but steadily pushing the crowd away from the door. The thousands of exited visitors were all going home.
"Heard you had 'bit offa pickle wid sum folks try'na start a stampeed?" Freddie the hippo was one of those people anyone wants to talk to as often as possible. According to him, that was all thanks to his "spurklin' personallytee" and "naature-al dalent fer polite confersatson" but he knew darn well that listening to his accent was simply too entertaining not to. The funniest part, or what Marc found the funniest of everything he knew about his co-worker, was that Freddie was born and raised in Herb, just like all the others. Most toddlers started talking before they were a year old. Freddie had not, leading many to believe he was retarded. In reality, Freddie was one of the most intelligent people Marc had ever met. At elementary school, he was left alone by both teachers and other children, not necessarily out of respect, but mostly because he was bigger than all of them. It turned out he was afraid to talk because he knew his own speech sounded different, and he feared something was wrong with him. He had a jaw deformation, something unexplainable had supposedly gone wrong before his birth, making him hard to understand to the untrained ear. Eventually, when he was four, the school psychologist managed to get him to speak up by having him read a text in phonetic Klingon. He did not have to be afraid that people would notice his accent if nobody knew what he was saying anyway. Nowadays, Freddie felt free to say anything in any language he wanted.
"Not really a stampede, just two deer in a fistfight. Could have been worse."
"Well, you never know. It's heartwarming, but kind of strange as well, to see how aggressive they can get to one another."
Marc and Freddie looked over their shoulders. Standing right behind them was a zebra, of average zebra build and expression. He was a lot shorter than the two of them, but strangely enough, had a natural authority over them that normally, only a predator can have over someone. He did not scare the two gigantic beasts, but they would obey without question if asked to do anything. And the three of them knew that damn well.
"Good morning, sir."
"More layk gudaffernoon now, Marckie."
"Is it?" Marc looked at his watch. "How about that. It is" The Big Man was laughing. It sounded like rain falling on a steeldrum. "Time flies when you are having fun, eh?"
"I guess it does. I was actually looking forward to something else then patrolling the border. You know, for variation."
"And did today live up to your expectations?" Marc had met Akin a few times already. A few weeks ago, he, Freddie and some other people from Security had received a letter, saying that anyone interested in guarding a lecture should apply for a briefing at this very theatre. Their "work" was gratifying, but also very monotonous, and when Marc arrived at the briefing, he found many of his colleagues were already there. They did not know who was giving this lecture, but if there was so much security needed, it was probably going to be exciting. And all of a sudden, there he was. The whole room went silent. Nobody there had ever seen him in real life, but everyone recognized him from the pictures, the trademark navy jacket and light gray jeans, the friendly smile, the aura of humble importance that seemed to surround him everywhere he went. Quickly and clearly, he thanked his audience for coming, told them what was expected from them, and when to be where.
"Don't think of me as your employer," he had said, "Think of me as your friend. If there is a problem at the lecture, do not fear to tell me. You are protecting not only me, but also my fans. You are responsible for all our safeties. I need you to be completely honest to me, no matter the situation, as I will be with you. I need you..."
All this went through Marc's head when mister Akin, or "John", as he insisted they called him, asked him about his day. Therefore, it did not even occur to him not to be completely honest to him.
"Actually, it was somewhat bori... a little monotonous standing by the door all the time. I wish I could have heard a little of your lecture. " There was nothing wrong with staying polite.
"Oh, it was just more of the stuff from the book. I'm going to be straight with you guys, because I trust you. The message is completely in there. Sometimes I think I might as well read random pages of The Killing Impulse to them. I guess spoken messages come across more powerfully than written ones. It sounds kinda stupid, I know, but it is good to remember that.
An awkward silence followed. Freddie and Marc looked at John, then at each other with uncomfortable blushes on their cheeks. This great man, this genius, this icon of freedom they barely knew was treating them like his friends. His trustees. There was no secrecy, no false politeness, no fear, no complex emotional meaning to all this. John Akin trusted them. It was as simple as that. And it could not have meant more to any of them. It was eventually Freddie who managed to break the silence.
"Sank you Zonn. We really apr... ap... we really appreciate that. Gotta get back 'ome now."
There was nothing more to be said. Freddie nodded in goodbye and walked away. Marc and John watched the muscular hippo-figure walk further and further, round a corner and disappear.
"He is a nice guy isn't he? How long have you known him?"
"Elementary school. He was very insecure back then because of his jaw deformation and all."
"A jaw deformation... so that's it. Yes, imperfection has always been a part of nature, and it always will be."
Akin suddenly looked tired. Marc realized his life must involve a tiring amount of hand-shaking and smiling to people who weren't actually making him happy. But just as suddenly, Akin looked up and smiled again.
"But after all, differences are what power evolution, right? The very force that is trying to improve our spiecieses. It inspires me to see how well your friend has learned to cope with his problem." John put an arm around Marc's shoulders. "If we are ever to truly become the creatures we were always destined to be, we must learn to embrace our flaws."
"And then find the way to get rid of them."
John had a surprisingly loud laugh for a man of his stature. "That's right. You understand completely. Life is full of paradoxes, isn't it? But seriously, Marc. One of the distinguishing features of a perfect being is that he does not wallow in despair and self-loathing, instead he acknowledges the fact that he makes mistakes and tries everything in his power to fix them."
"But then how can he be perfect?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You were talking about "a perfect being" right? But how can a being be perfect if he has flaws? Are there two kinds of mistakes, the kind you have to set straight and the kind you have to live with or something? And does perfection mean being able to see the difference? "
"Maybe perfect is not the right word. "As good as can be" just sounds so demotivational. People tend to forget that "as good as can be" is pretty awesome. The thing is, that perfection cannot be achieved by a conscious being, and trying to achieve it anyway is the only way to the second best thing."
John looked at Marc with a triumphant smile, but Marc stared back at him with a slightly shocked expression. He stammered, looked at the ground, and said:
"I don't recall that was in your book."
"It wasn't"
"Why not?"
John's smile got bigger. "Because I just thought of it. "Perfection cannot be achieved by a conscious being, and trying to achieve it anyway is the only way to the second best thing," I should write that down, that's the sort of stuff I'm sure they like." He got out a notebook and started writing.
"Actually, John, I don't think that will go down with the crowd too easily."
"Why not?"
"Because your book said you were going to lead everyone to the final stage of evolution, to divinity, to absolute perfection."
John looked up, startled. "What? I wrote no such thing!"
"Well, that's what the world read..."
John scratched his neck and looked at his feet. He looked a little worried.
"Well, I guess people always add a thing or two to the literal meaning of a book... I hope the public does not have too big expectations of me.. Perhaps it is time for a new book." He started writing on his notepad again.
"Maybe a movie would get the message across more clearly this time?"
John stopped writing and looked at his notepad. He looked interested, as if what was on there was not something he had just written, but something someone else had created. He looked at Marc with a strange fascination in his eyes, as if he had never seen him before
"Have you ever killed someone?"
"What?"
John looked deep into Marc's eyes. He looked way too serious to be joking. He did not seem to realize that what he was asking was somewhat of an unusual question.
"You guard the border, right? You make sure no predators can get into herbivore district. But sometimes they try, right? Sometimes you have to defend us, defend the borders against creatures who will do anything for meat. So, have you ever had to kill one of them in order to get them out?"
"Jesus, John. You're making this sound like I fight a few dozen potential murderers before lunch or something. There are..."
"Yes, yes, I know. I've done research for my book, you know. You all say you do boring work, with the countless hours of surveillance for nothing, But when something actually happens... You see, we been discussing all these vague ideas like perfection and evolution and divinity for quite some time now, but we are completely forgetting the reason we are both here."
"It all starts with predation."
"That's right. Before we even have to worry about being perfect beings, we have to take the first step, we have to start with the carnivores. As long as we need people like you, putting their lives on the line every day to protect us, we are not getting anywhere. If I am to make a new book, I should focus on you and Freddie and your colleagues, how you see the situation as it is now, how you..."
"Yes, I get that, but most of us don't concern with about politics at all. We just do what is expected of us. And once predators disappear, so will we."
Marc stopped talking abruptly. He had not thought of it that way yet. If Akin succeeded in his quest, Marc and all his co-workers would be unemployed. Hell. They could become bouncers or something. The one thing he did not understand was why John wanted to speak to the district security so badly, if he was going to write another book that was intended to change the world in such a way their profession would become useless and disappear.
"I... I'll think about it. "
"Just ask them, please? It would help me a whole lot."
John looked at the sky. "Oh my, it's getting dark already. We kinda lost track of time there. I should get home."
"Me too. I... I'll see you around. Maybe."
"All right then. Bye, Marc." John Akin walked away around the same corner Freddie had some time earlier. Marc watched him disappear from sight, and started walking towards his own house a few blocks away. Tomorrow would be a tiring day. He intended to ask his colleagues if they were willing to be interviewed by John, but he did not expect a lot of it. It did not matter. Many others would jump to the opportunity of appearing in J.Q.Akin's new book. If John did not find them, they would find him, Marc thought with a faint smile on his face, as he cast his ever lengthening shadow over the sidewalks of Herbivore District.
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