[Fiction] Busy Day

[z-Rheinlander]

The alarm clock sounded exactly at 4:00 am, waking the three occupants of the bed immediately. When the sleep tousled blonde head of the man didn’t move, the redhead crawled over the sheets and kissed him enthusiastically. “I’m up, I’m up, Ginger,” the half-obscured face under all the thick, golden hair mumbled, gently pushing the over-eager female away. He heard her dash out of the bedroom and down the hall. “Probably wants breakfast,” he muttered as he sat up.

The other female in the bed crawled over and put her head on his lap, and the man smiled as he stroked her head. “Morning, Rachel,” he murmured, kissing her on top of her head. Instead of a repeat of Ginger’s morning greeting, Rachel merely put her nose to his cheek in quiet devotion. The blonde man smiled and rubbed her head gently.

The quiet moment was again shattered by Ginger, who bolted back into the room and leapt onto the bed, barking. Rachel slid off the bed and huddled on the floor, tail tucked between her legs. “Ok, I’m coming,” Kyle told the loud Irish Settler as he stood up. Despite her timidity, Rachel remained glued to his side, shadowing him into the kitchen. On the way, they picked up the other three dogs, and by the time Kyle was done measuring dog food into bowls, three cats had ghosted their ways into the room, waiting patiently for their turns.

While they were eating, Kyle stepped out onto the wrap-around porch, stretching his tall, supple body as he walked. Sitting down on his swing, he soaked up the pre-dawn quiet, preparing his mind for the coming day. He meticulously ran through a long list of things he needed to do, bringing them to the forefront of his mind. By the time that the sky was light enough for him to see, he was ready mentally.

Jumping to his feet, he hurried back into his room, pulling on some clothes and tennis shoes. Soon he was running down the slope of his back yard to the tree line, trailing several eager dogs. His legs worked smoothly, taking long, ground-eating strides. For a while, the dogs were able to keep up, but eventually they fell behind. Kyle wasn’t worried about them; they knew the way back to the house and all of the neighboring houses knew that any loose animals were probably his. At worst, he’d come home to find one tied to his porch.

The crisp air of the early Idaho morning filled his lungs with each breath and Kyle felt his body relax into the rhythm of the run. His run came to an end when he came to a strange, open field. Various strange items were scattered around, jerry-rigged together from old cars, scraps of metal and tree trunks. Even odder, camouflage netting was strung over the objects, hiding them from view.

Moving straight to a thick log levered over another log, Kyle squatted under it, braced it against his shoulder and begin to lift it. It came up easily and he sighed in disgust, irritated that he would have to somehow find a way to increase the weight on all of his ‘weights’ again. Disheartened, he made the rounds anyway, powering through the once-challenging exercises with ease. Even his most challenging exercise, a vertical pushup lifting an old sedan with his feet, was far too easy.

Finally, he turned his feet toward home. He still had morning chores before work, and time was not waiting for him. He had too much to do to mope about his gym being defunct.

[z-Rheinlander]

The horses, like the dogs, had once been unwanted and headed for unnecessary death. There were three of them: a well-broke gelding whose only fault was being a plain-moving, plain-looking boy; a wild Arabian-Pinto cross filly who Kyle was training in the hopes that he could calm her enough to find her a home; and the surly pony Rosco, who acted like a Clydesdale despite the fact that his head didn’t reach Kyle’s waist.

They crowded the gate as Kyle brought them the grain, Rosco somehow shouldering his way to the front. “Back,” Kyle said patiently, smiling as Pymbra backed up immediately. Wally was only a step behind her, and Rosco only had to be told twice more before he spun around and walked to his little trough, snorting irritably. Still smiling, Kyle poured out their rations of grain, making sure that each one didn’t try to steal from the other. Rosco was particularly bad about stealing food; the fat little pony worked hard to get at everyone else’s share.

When he was sure that everyone was getting their breakfast, Kyle turned to the three-sided shelter the horses had, using his pitchfork to clean up clumps of wet hay and droppings. He didn’t linger on the chore, but blasted through it as fast as his perfect body can manage.

With the horses taken care of for the morning, Kyle headed into the house again, leaving his boots in the garage. A quick shower cleaned his sculpted body, washing away dirt and grime. After the shower, he pulled on the day’s clothes – his usual dark pants, white shirt and placid tie – and started breakfast.

While it was cooking, he grabbed his OpNet device. A quick scan of the day’s early news left him shaking his head; another massive nova assault in another city in Europe. At least it looked like things were in hand this time. Kyle sighed, rubbing at his temples. If only he didn’t have duties here…

But he did, and he couldn’t abandon his people. All in time, he reminded himself, knowing that once they had completed their plans for North America, they could turn their attention to their brothers in Europe. The smell of singing bacon pulled him back to his kitchen, and he salvaged his breakfast before he ruined it. While checking the rest of the world, national, and local news, he ate his balanced, nutritional breakfast.

Work was a short drive, and Kyle smiled despite his somber mood as he pulled through the employee gates at Silverwood. The theme park was quiet this early in the morning, despite the fact that the administrative staff was showing up to start the day. His car door echoed loudly as he slammed it shut and strolled over to fall into step with his fiscal officer, Murray. “Morning,” Kyle greeted the older, heavier man, giving him a respectful smile. “How is the wife?”

“Much better, Kyle, thanks for asking,” the man babbled with a pleased smile.

“Good to hear she's getting better; the flu has been rough this year,” Kyle answered, relief for Murray’s wife clear in his voice.

As they walked toward the gates, Kyle greeted everyone with the same genuine, affable smile, regardless of their color. Only the most observant would have noticed the slight emotional distance he put between himself and the minority workers. None of them noticed, happily assured that their boss was a fair and equitable man.

And Kyle Voight was indeed fair, but no one who knew his other name would call him equitable.

[z-Rheinlander]

The first call came before he had gotten to his office. Giving Angie an apologetic smile, he set the coffee on the edge of his assistant’s desk and pulled the phone from his pocket. His face betrayed nothing as he checked the caller id, and his voice was cheerful as he greeted his caller. “What can I do for you, Mark?”

Sheriff Mark Hauser was clearly agitated as he said, “Kyle, it’s the Donegal boys again! This time it was graffiti. We can’t have that kind of publicity, Kyle. It’s bad for business.”

“Indeed,” Kyle said calmly, digging his keys out his pockets and flipping smoothly to the one for his office. Opening his door and retrieving his mug, he asked, “Where and what?”

“Silverfox’s garage, again,” the sheriff grumbled angrily. “They painted some racial slurs.”

Kyle set his coffee on his own desk before carefully shutting the door. His cheerful façade faded as he coldly told the sheriff, “I’ll be out to their parents’ tonight to talk to them. But first, I want you to tell them boys something. You told them that I didn’t want to see that stuff anymore, and they agreed to stop. That makes them oath-breakers, and I’ll not have oath-breakers among my men. You tell them that if they can’t control themselves as boys, I’ll have no reason to assume that they can control themselves as men in the real war. You remind them of that, Mark, and I’ll be sure they understand that tonight when I see them.”

“You got it, Kyle,” Mark said, relief clear in his voice. “If anyone can finally set those boys straight, it’s you.”

“They’re good boys, just enthusiastic,” Kyle said. “In ten years, they’ll be good soldiers, if they can learn self-control.”

“Yeah, well, thanks anyway,” Mark smiled. “I’ll see you at the lodge tonight?”

“Of course,” Kyle answered, moving to the other side of his desk and turning on the computer. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” The men said good-bye and hung up, and Kyle turned to the details of his mundane job.

[z-Rheinlander]

He had gotten only a half-hour of work done before he was interrupted again, but Kyle good-naturedly set his work aside when Mary Price called on him. When he saw her tear-stained face, he was doubly glad he had made time for her. “Mary,” he murmured, moving around his desk and ushering her into a chair, “what’s wrong?”

“Something is wrong with Amber, and she won’t tell me what,” Mary sobbed into her Kleenex.

Kyle moved the trash can and his Kleenex closer to her, and let her cry herself out. Patiently he waited through the hiccupping sobs and murmured apologies, murmuring his own assurances when she needed them. When she could finally talk again, she sat up a little straighter and said, “I’m sorry to come to you like this, at work, Kyle, but I’m so worried about Amber. Something is wrong, and with Murray… locked away by those bastard Jews, I don’t know what to do.”

“Mary, I’m sure that’s its just teenager moodiness, but I’ll talk to her,” Kyle assured her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. “When does she get out of school today?”

“She didn’t go,” Mary said, her voice trembling. “She wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Kyle frowned. This did sound a little more serious than he had first suspected. “With your permission, I’ll go talk to her now,” he said, standing up and offering a hand to Mary. “There’s no point in waiting.” He wondered if Amber was really so badly off, but he didn’t want to leave her in misery if there was the chance he could help her. Her father was a prisoner of war, serving time in prison for the crime of defending his people against the Jewish puppet-masters, and Kyle knew that had to have an impact on her.

Angie smiled at him as Kyle stopped at her desk with Mary. “Angie, I need to go take care of something,” he said to his cheerful assistant. “Can you hold things down here?”

“Sure thing, and I’ll do the monthly report again, too,” Angie grinned, propping her chin in her hand.

“Angie,” Kyle said, becoming a little flustered, “you don’t have to do that. I can finish it up tonight.”

“You have the dedication ceremony,” Angie said, ticking points off her fingers, “and you have that appointment to talk to the mayor, and you need to build that thing for Alden Ester tonight. And if I don’t do the report, you’re going to forget to eat or something. And, right now you have something more important to do.” She leaned forward, raised an eyebrow behind her school-teacher glasses and said, “So get going, Clark; I’ll cover you with Perry White.”

Kyle flushed a deep red as the two women chuckled; Buster White had started the joke by calling him Clark years ago, and now everyone in town did it. He’d tried to stop the jokes; they felt deeply in appropriate to him, but it had been pointed out that it gave his people another symbol. He’d finally let the jokes stand, mostly because he couldn’t stop them without using quantum force, and he couldn’t do that to his people. “Thank you, Angie,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto hers, full of gratitude and sincerity.

As she struggled with her own blush, he escorted Mary out to her car.

* * *

Kyle didn’t often feel helpless, but today he was struck by that feeling as he listened to the girl sob her story out to him. It was not all that unusual; a young girl taken in by a more experienced boy, and the end result was always heartbreak. His hand gently stroked her hair as she cried, while his mind sought the right answer. Sadly, there was rarely a good answer to affairs like this.

Why had Mary called me in on this? Kyle wondered, but he knew the answer. He was their guiding light, their savior, and he was supposed to have answers for them. Comfort her, then find out what you can about the boy. He’ll need a talking to, and she’ll need… a doctor. Maybe. Odin, I pray not.

“I have a few questions,” he started gently when she had calmed down; an hour later he had his answers.

[z-Rheinlander]

Kyle ate the second he got back to his office. Angie brought him the finished report, and he reviewed it as he hungrily tore into a ham sandwich and some fruit. After he had signed off on them, he returned all this messages, and decided it was time to take a walk-though of the park. This early, there were very few people here, and the season was winding down. Soon, they’d be in the winter hiatus, and the staff would be cut back to a skeleton crew. Kyle loved the visitors, loved the excitement they brought with them, but the long, quiet winter was a wonderful time, too.

The early mornings were the best times to catch problems, before the visitors found them, and this morning was no exception. Kyle scowled when he saw the mess of bottles and cigarette butts littering the ground behind Pavilion One. Someone had had an unauthorized party here, and Kyle wondered if it could be some of his employees. “A problem to deal with,” he muttered darkly as he pulled out his phone and called the Head Custodian to report the mess. By the time that a clean-up crew had arrived, Kyle had already picked up half the mess himself, carrying it to the nearest trashcan two handfuls at a time.

After a thirty-minute talk with his head of security, Kyle found himself finishing up his walk-though – and hungry again. With a sigh, he bought a corn dog and some curly fries, knowing that they wouldn’t go far enough. Still, some food was better than none, and by the time he was back in his office, he was able to focus on work again.

He managed to work for an hour before he was interrupted, this time for Silverwood business. And if that had opened a floodgate, the interruptions and needs came non-stop for the rest of the afternoon, cumulating in another phone call from Sheriff Hauser. “Kyle, we have a problem,” he said without preamble, his voice tight with concern.

Kyle frowned; this didn’t sound good. “More so than usual?” he tried to joke.

“That goddamned race-traitor has hired a city defender!” Mark snapped, his poise and calm gone.

“Slow down, Mark,” Kyle said with supreme gravitas, “and start again. Which race-traitor?”

“That bastard Parmalay in Boise,” Mark snarled, his obscenities a sure sign of how upset he was. “He hired some nova to be a city defender.”

“This could be nothing, Mark,” Kyle said in his calm, reassuring voice. “Not all novas are created equal, and Boise can’t afford to hire anyone important.”

“They have a Knight,” Mark said, and under his answer, Kyle heard the fear.

Kyle was silent for a moment, thinking. “From Chicago? Which one?”

“Sandcaster, I think,” Mark sighed, “their goddamned leader.”

“How… odd,” Kyle said, rubbing his chin. “Why would she leave her position to come to Boise?”

“Does it matter? She’ll fuck up everything!”

“Calm down, Mark,” Kyle said, his voice distant as he considered his options. “Something is wrong with this picture. Regardless, I don’t think it will be hard to arrange a welcoming gift for her that will set her aback. I’ll talk with you more tonight, ok?”

“Ok, Kyle,” Mark said, his voice reassured. “I knew you’d know what to do.”

“We’ll talk tonight,” Kyle said. “For now… have the Donegal boys do some research on her for me. Tell them I want details and accuracy, and I want it when I come by tonight. That should instill some discipline in them.”

“You got it, Kyle,” the sheriff sighed happily. “Thanks again.”

Kyle blazed through the rest of his paperwork so that he could devote some time to studying the Master Race’s newest problem in the area.

[z-Rheinlander]

His first meal of the evening was a hastily heated and eaten pot pie; while it was little more than an appetizer, it did allow him to make it through the meeting with the mayor. Sheriff Hauser had already spread the news about Sandcaster, and much of what was supposed to be a productive meeting about funding repairs to Main Street’s curbs was used to calm Charlie Gaspar down. In the end, only about fifteen minutes was spent on the actual reason for the meeting, and little was decided. Kyle choked back resigned irritation as he scheduled another appointment with Gasper in two days.

The Donegal boys had been given four hours to research Sandcaster, and Kyle decided that had been enough. He drove over to their house, not surprised to see Allen Donegal waiting worriedly on his porch. “Kyle, I spoke with the sheriff,” he said, his agitated voice carrying clearly though the early evening air. “I don’t think Ryan and Riley had anything to do with that graffiti.”

Kyle cut back a sigh as he released a bit of his personal energy, suffusing the air with an unnatural calm. Allen’s tension seemed to ease right before his eyes, and Kyle extended his hand with the mixture of pleasure at seeing Allen and regret at this unfortunate duty. “I drove by Silverfox’s,” Kyle said softly, “and it’s their artwork. I’m sorry Allen – they’re good boys, but they seem to have a problem understanding subtlety.”

“I just wish that damned red-skin would move away,” Allen said, his voice plaintive and angry.

“So do I, but that just means that the boys would find another way to get into trouble,” Kyle said softly. “They have a problem, and if they don’t shape up, they can’t become warriors in the Movement. I must have men with discipline. I want Ryan and Riley – Ryan’s incredibly gifted with mechanics, and Riley has a gift for thinking outside the box – but I can’t have people I can’t trust.”

“They’re good boys,” Allen insisted, a slight desperation in tone.

Kyle nodded, giving Allen what he needed: validation. “They certainly are,” he agreed, dropping the four or five qualifiers that he could have added to that statement. But it was what Allen needed to hear, and he took Kyle into the house.

Ryan and Riley were waiting for him in the parlor; they sat miserably on the couch, looking like their world was ending. In a way, they were; all of the boys dreamed of growing up to become one of Kyle’s trusted men, and right now, their chance of joining that elite group seemed slim. Kyle paused, studying them for a second. His demeanor changed from stern disciplinarian to that of a business professional as he walked into the room and sat down. “Gentlemen,” he said and both flinched, “what do you have for me on Sandcaster?”

The boys exchanged confused glances. Hiding a smile, Kyle watched them come to a decision together, but it was Riley who stepped forward to hand him their printouts. “No, gentlemen, report to me,” Kyle encouraged. “Tell me what you found.”

In a soft, unsure voice, Ryan said, “Umm… Sandcaster is a member of the Knights, and she’s leaving them to come here.”

“I don’t know why,” Riley spoke up suddenly. “Chicago is a great place for a dyke; Boise is going to be harder. Especially since the other lesbo is a red woman.”

“Good point, Riley,” Kyle said, rubbing his chin speculatively, “and don’t you think that Chicago could pay a better salary than Boise?”

“She’s from New York City,” Ryan chimed in, pawing through the papers in his twin’s hand. “So, no family in the area.”

Kyle grinned proudly as the boys mulled over all the possible reasons she was coming here; after letting them muse for a half-an-hour, he said, “I have to go, gentlemen, but I wanted to leave you with a thought.” Two hazel sets of eyes, eerily similar, locked onto his own. “This, what we did here, is some of what my warriors do for me. I wanted you to see what I need from my men, so that you would understand better what I will need from you. You’re both intelligent young men, and soon you’ll be adult men. I cannot have men who go off and do their own thing. I need men who’ll take orders, and in return, who will enjoy working toward the goal of our own nation.” He paused to let his point sink in before he added, “If you want to be my men, then you need to prove to me that you can do this work, and that you can do it quietly and discreetly. You will be sixteen in twenty months; you have that long to prove to me that you can do out work as Aryan warriors. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the twins assured him in one voice, and Kyle shook their hands, somberly taking the paper from them.

“Good,” Kyle smiled, stopping himself from ruffling their hair. He’d just told them to grow up; he wouldn’t undermine that order by treating them like children. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

For all his talk, a small part of his chest hurt when he considered how fast Aryan children had to grow up in this era. It was profoundly sad that they were needed for the war, and that they were pushed out of childhood at such a young age.

[z-Rheinlander]

Kyle hurried home to change and prepare for the dedication ceremony, switching his modern business clothes for more archaic clothes: rough-woven breeches, a t-tunic and a heavy cloak made of elk hides. Kyle was particularly proud of the hides; he had gotten them on hunting trips to Canada, killing, skinning and butchering his kills personally. A massive copper broach holds the sewn-together hides around his shoulders.

Instead of getting in his car, Kyle saddled Pymbra up and turned the filly’s head toward Thomas Ellcot’s house. Following the back ways to Tom’s Kyle gently schooled the flighty horse, trying to steady her. It wasn’t easy; a lesser man would have been thrown at least once. But Kyle remained calm and focused on her, and by the time they arrived at Tom’s, she was calmer.

Several people were already there, and Kyle let the filly lose in the temporary corral Tom had set up for his guests. With Pymbra taken care of, Kyle walked past Tom’s house, waving at the people milling around the building. Men who normally looked like stereotypes of the modern man now looked to have stepped from an older, darker age.

Kyle stopped and looked up at the front of the lodge. It was made from rough-hewn wood and thatch roofing; the entire congregation had done everything they could to ensure that their place of worship was built just as it had been by their Aryan ancestors. “This looks wonderful,” he said softly, and he felt the pride of his people increase. It was a well-earned pride.

Tom approached the group, his long robes swaying around him. “Shall we begin?” he asked. He addressed no one, but the whole group looked to Kyle.

“Now is as good a time as any,” Kyle quietly stated. Tom was the priest, but Kyle was their leader; as much as he knew that Tom should start things, he knew that they would always look to him for their answers.

* * *

After the temple had been dedicated to the true gods of the Aryans, all of the participants lingered to talk. With the news of Sandcaster’s arrival in Boise, all of the Aryans were nervous, and it fell to Kyle to soothe them.

Other Asatru from the area had joined them for the ceremony and subsequent party, and Kyle felt the need to reestablish connections with all of them. There would be a day when their strength would be needed, and it was best to maintain those ties for the sake of unity.

“How is Ruby Ridge?” Kyle asked Steven Winters, the high priest from that town. “Are the rebuilding efforts progressing?”

“Yes, especially with the funds you have donated to us,” Steven said, nodding gratefully. “We’d still be progressing, but you’ve helped us beyond measure.”

“I’m glad to do it for the cause,” Kyle said simply, smiling with pleasure. Seeing his efforts paying off, both for himself and others, was what made all the work worth it.

[z-Rheinlander]

Pymbra behaved herself for the ride home, which was good because Kyle was a little tired. He still had some more work to do, but the pleasant part of his day was behind him. Now, the tedious work remained, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He stifled a yawn as he turned into his yard, feeling the fatigue in his bones.

Pymbra came first; Kyle removed the tack and brushed her down, making sure she was settled for the night. The dogs all come out to the fence to wait patiently for him; even a couple of the cats stroll over, silent watchers in the moonlight. They trailed after him as he crossed his yard and entered the house. After feeding them and getting another quick meal for himself, Kyle entered his garage for the last task of the day.

He had a worktable set up, but he bypassed that to open up one of the cabinets. Kyle pulled out the rags on the bottom and pulled up the panel, revealing a dark space. He wiggled into the area, feet first, and landed in a hidden basement. A single light bulb was turned on to reveal a simple cinder block room. The walls were lined with cabinets and shelves; various pieces of equipment and supplies were neatly collected on them.

Moving to a box, Kyle set it on the table, then started up the OpNet monitor in the corner. As the soothing sounds of The Andy Griffith Show filled the room, Kyle opened the box and set to work. Softly whistling the theme, he set the disassembled bomb in front of him and began to work on it. It was too large, but they really couldn’t reduce the size without reducing the payload significantly. Rubbing his chin, Kyle bent to the task, keeping half-an-eye on the television show.

* * *

Kyle flipped off the monitor, stopping Gunsmoke halfway through “The Busters” episode. It was just after one in the morning, and he was pleased with the progress he’d made. He hadn’t quite solved the problem yet, but he had a few more ideas to try tomorrow. He put away the box again and straightened up, cleaning up again. Once he was satisfied, he jumped up and caught the edge of the entrance, cleanly pulling himself up and out.

Yawning broadly, he replaced the panel and the rags, hiding his secret away again. With heavy footsteps, he brushed his teeth, and stripped his clothes. Easing into bed, Kyle got about a second of peace before Ginger and Rachel clambered onto the bed and joined him. Rachel was quiet enough about it, but Ginger flumped and flounced and begged to have her ears rubbed. Kyle smiled ruefully as he petted and all too soon, his smile faded as he fell into a deep sleep. It would be a short one; he had a busy day tomorrow.