The Apocalypse Script by Samuel Fort

said
victoriously, as if he’d successfully ripped a bandage from his
skin without screaming. He inspected the ring.
“ Huh. A
perfect fit.”
    Lilian touched the ring
delicately. “Do you approve the marriage?” she asked.
    Ben was momentarily at a loss.
“Oh, right. Yes, I approve the marriage.”
    A warm breeze swept through the room and a door
somewhere above them slammed shut.
    “ Then I welcome you to the
Nisirtu,” Lilian said, smiling, but as she remembered her father
her smile fell away, and she trembled.

Chapter 10 - Paupers in a Limo

    The helicopter that transported
them from Steepleguard to Denver was nothing like the Blackhawk
helicopters Ben had grown accustomed to in Afghanistan. Ridley’s
helicopter had the interior of a private jet, complete with wet
bar. The flight took only minutes and they were met at a private
airport by a limousine. When they were inside the vehicle, Lilian
raised the privacy screen and turned to Ben looking very
serious.
    “ Ben, I shall
refer to you as Mutu , especially in front of other
Nisirtu. You must refer to me as Asatu from time to time.”
    “ I am committed to the charade,”
the other occupant responded, palms up in surrender. “So, we just
flew down the mountain in a luxury helicopter from a hotel the size
of a small city that is home to one man, and you hired a male model
to act as surrogate for me in London to get me this suit – which is
very nice, by the way.”
    “ Thank you,” she said.
    “ But you told me
earlier that the Nisirtu do not use money. You can understand why I
have trouble reconciling that statement with what I’m seeing. You
certainly appear to have money. Someone just deposited a lot of
money into my bank account.”
    Lilian shook her head. “I assure
you, Ben, Nisirtu do not carry cash, credit cards, or debit cards.
We have no bank accounts. We do not own property, at least not in
the fragmented sense that you understand ownership. We have no
possessions other than Nisirtu-specific heirlooms that serve ritual
functions. Nisirtu are quite literally penniless. In practice, we
do not even touch money. It is considered unclean. Only the Ardoon-” she
stopped.
    “ The slaves,”
said Ben. “You mean non-Nisirtu , I imagine?”
    “ That’s right.” She gauged his
reaction and seemed surprised at the lack of one. “In my world, you
are either Nisirtu or Ardoon. A master of the world or a slave.
Only slaves use money.”
    Nodding toward her, Ben said,
“Then who paid for that necklace you’re wearing? It has to be
worth, what, a hundred thousand?”
    “ It was provided to me by Mr.
Fetch.”
    “ And where did he get
it?”
    “ I have no idea,” she said. “I
described to him the necklace I wanted and he obtained it for
me.”
    “ But you own it now.”
    “ Not in the sense you mean. I
merely wear it.”
    “ Your mansion?”
    “ It’s not mine. Nor is the car I
drive or the clothes I am wearing. All were provided by Mr. Fetch.
As was the money deposited into your accounts.”
    “ I see. You simply tell Mr. Fetch
what you need and he provides it.”
    “ That is his job, Ben. It is the
job of every fetch. It is, I’m sure you realize, a title, not a
name. There are thousands of men assigned that title, and thousands
of women who bear the title, ‘Miss Fetch.’ They are Ardoon who
hunger for power and money. Like most of the underclass, they
confuse the two. They serve us to get and control more of what they
love, though none of them realize they are serving the
Nisirtu.”
    He said, “But if you don’t use money how are the
people you call ‘fetches’ compensated?”
    “ We provide them with new and
useful connections, insider information, access to important people
or technologies, that kind of thing. It is all done indirectly and
discreetly, of course. Consequently, fetches are never certain
exactly why fortune smiles upon them while they are in our employ,
but the fact that it does conditions them to