Olympus: It's Not Just a Game

Chapter 18

They climbed back into the cybercubicles, where their boat sailed on under silent stars. They had drifted off course, but the lying peasant, Benjamin, promptly set them straight again. One by one, the young people found a spot on the deck and fell asleep. Mr. Huber and Mr. Avery sat in the stern, talking quietly to keep themselves awake.

Meanwhile, across the starlit sea, Karl toiled away in the stink and glare of the torchlit galley. All around him labored the sweating bodies of other slaves. Chains bit into his ankles and his muscles ached with fatigue, but even so, his lot was far better than that of another slave on board.

The girl who had been sold before him at the market that day was chained against the wall of her new master's cabin. Lord JonaDab leaned back in his throne-like chair and aimed another slash at her back. His aim was less than perfect, and the whip sliced through her sleeve and into the flesh of her upper arm. She screamed.

"It's your own fault," complained JonaDab, guzzling from a flagon at his side. "You were clumsy with my wine." He pointed at a dark purple stain on the carpeted deck. She couldn't see it, though, because her face was chained to the wall. "And you moved, just then! How can I practice on a moving target?" He slashed again, and the whip cut into her back. He examined his work critically. "Now, that's better," he grunted.

Suddenly, the darkened room filled with new light. In the space between JonaDab and his moaning victim, a disembodied head appeared. It fixed its eyes on the lounging form of the master and pursed its lips disapprovingly. The eyes and lips belonged to Ms. Sparrow.

In another universe, Ms. Sparrow sat at her desk at CyberCamp, glaring at the video camera atop her monitor. She, like Mr. Huber, had the latest "Executive Battlestation" in her office. She didn't like what it was showing her at the moment. Jonathan Dabney, the president and chief executive officer of Olympus, Inc., was drunk and playing video games. From the look of things, his idea of a "game" was to make someone else miserable.

"Jonathan, we've got a problem," she snapped.

JonaDab pouted. "I work hard all day," he argued. "The least you could do is let me have a little peace now and then."

"I hate to interrupt your – fun," she persisted, in a voice that obviously took pleasure in interrupting him, "but a few minutes of your time right now might save you a considerable investment."

"Can't this wait until morning?" he whined.

Ms. Sparrow barely concealed her disgust. "By morning," she answered, "you could be looking at a lawsuit that will bring down this whole venture."

"Lawsuits are your department," JonaDab sniveled.

"You bet your corporation they're my department," snapped Ms. Sparrow. "And unless you want to lose this whole business, you'd better sit up and pay attention now."

"What's the problem?" he asked, laying the whip aside with obvious regret.

Ms. Sparrow clicked the scroll bar to pan her camera around JonaDab's cabin. In Olympus, her decapitated head rotated slowly in space. She stopped at the female slave who whimpered against the wall. "I think we should discuss the matter in private," she insisted.

"Oh, don't worry about her," JonaDab answered.

"Dabney, you're getting lazy and sloppy," Ms. Sparrow scolded. "May I remind you what a very large investment you have in this project? Or that there are certain aspects of this business that are, shall we say, highly creative?"