A Proper Spirit for the Speech
Ever since I nearly smashed Leo's wrist, people's stares had gotten a bit prickly. But hey, these were battle-hardened muscles forged from non-labor "labor," so no way I was losing. Leo had deflated like a punctured balloon at some point, just mumbling greetings. I lounged naturally on the sofa, tossing advice to the crowd.
And yet, this gig paid six fairy tales a month, steady as clockwork. This was the intellectual life.
"So, where'd you learn all that stuff, anyway?"
"Told you. In a dream. A dream."
"What kinda dream lets you drop knowledge like that? I wanna have one too."
"Work at it. Who knows, might happen."
Starlina was glued right to my side. She still wasn't biting on my flirting, but soon. I'd have her hooked, properly enchanted. Totally.
"Forget that. Ask me about my ideal type or something. I'll tell ya."
"No way! What do I care about some weird uncle's ideal woman?"
"Weird uncle? Call me Teacher Max."
"Nope!"
Hahaha—!
Everyone else was cracking up too. Adaptability, baby. Sure, some hated my guts, but everyone acknowledged the goldmine of knowledge rattling around in my skull. Thanks, Beard Daddy! Finally, these facts were useful.
"Teacher Max, help us out with the class theory stuff, the ideological bits."
"Boss. Why should I?"
"Could drop it to five fairy tales..."
"Fine, fine! What's the problem?"
"We're thinking of turning your words into a book."
Fredrik came over, showing me the scribbles. My head was already throbbing. I hated this crap. But hey, paid work—gotta give it my all. Beats starving at the factory.
"Lemme see... blah blah, yadda yadda."
I scanned the paper slowly. Eh, not bad. Seemed okay.
"Boss!"
The iron door banged open. Still just a kid, but our key messenger. He prowled the police station area, feeding us intel. We slipped him a few coins, of course.
"Roy got nabbed!"
"Roy's caught?"
"Saw him dragged into the station today! All tied up!"
"Why all of a sudden?"
"Dunno. But crackdowns have been tighter lately..."
Yeah, we'd heard about the heat, but not that the cops would actually hustle. Bastards were good at busting heads, though. Still, we'd half-expected this.
"Throws a wrench in the plan a bit."
"Yeah. People are gathering soon."
"True, Sandy. Nobody steps up like Roy right now."
All eyes turned to me. Whoa, I'd only been here five minutes—too much faith? What if I was a spy? Not that I was.
No suspicion of betrayal at all.
"Why's everyone staring at me?"
"Who else has real theory chops besides Roy?"
I pretended to scan the room. Obvious acting. They were shoving me forward.
"What if I'm a spy or traitor?"
"For real?"
"You buy that? Your faces say you don't even doubt me."
"Course not! Who'd suspect Max?"
"Try doubting a little... you never know."
"Even if I were a cop, I wouldn't suspect you, Max."
Fair point. Who suspects the local bum? Cops might peg me as the type they beat down.
"So you'll do it?"
"Don't wanna get nabbed myself."
"Aw, you've done great so far—don't bail now."
"That line won't work on me. I got no pride, remember?"
No use scratching. Get tangled in this for real, and I'm fucked in a heartbeat! Dabbling from the back was fine, but front and center? Disaster.
"Handle this clean, and there's a bonus."
"Bonus?"
"Five fairy tale coins, upfront."
"Then hell yeah!"
That sealed my debut. Sure, getting marked sucked, but five coins at once? Easiest money without breaking a sweat. Who's passing that up?
"And that outfit... not great."
"What's wrong? It's fine."
"Practically homeless."
"True enough."
"Gotta look the part a bit. Spruce up starting tomorrow."
Fredrik opted for a full makeover, head to toe. Yeah, my current rags were too shabby.
The next day kicked off a hectic stretch. Got a new suit tailored and all.
"Neaten up the hair and beard too."
"Gotta?"
"Intellectual vibe sells."
"I'll look like a stuffy scholar."
"That's the point. Ink-stained look pays off there, Teacher Max."
"Ugh... hate it."
First time in this world hitting a fancy barber. Beard trimmed, hair styled clean. Total academy student vibe.
Heading back to the hideout post-cut, I asked Fredrik. That big a deal?
"If it's so crucial, why not you?"
"Wanna, but I'd get pinched on sight."
"Me?"
"Nobody knows you yet, Teacher Max."
"Ah... that's the play?"
"Roy was the cleanest fit before, but now? Zilch on you being with us."
Made sense. Fresh joiner—cops wouldn't clock me. At most, the drunk ranting at the beer hall.
"Best of luck, then."
"Yeah, whatever. Let's do this."
A week later. Crackdowns brutal, but no more arrests. The continent was converging.
Some beer hall. Biggest in the east. Massive flag draped inside.
One slogan: Internationale.
Gathering of every ideologue on the continent. And I drew the closing speech slot.
"Not nervous?"
"Starlina. This is my wheelhouse."
Fuck, I'm sweating bullets. Normal to be jacked for this. But no showing it.
"Trust me. If you fall for me, just say so."
"As if!"
"Heh... we'll see."
Clap clap clap—applause rolled in. My turn.
Crowd locked on me. Some familiar faces, mostly strangers.
"Hey."
Murmurs. Too casual a start? Shoulda prepped a script proper.
"What do you all want here?"
Revolution, or something radical like it. Underneath, the gut feeling the continent's doomed this way. That's what drew 'em.
"You're all picturing a similar future."
Nods rippled. Historic moment.
"So what do we do? Nobody's got a solid answer yet."
True. The dread of what's coming—what can we do?
"I guarantee it: Keep this up, and an era of blood washing blood hits. Evil times."
People dying, killing, hating, making enemies. Man against man.
"That's not what we want. We don't crave war."
No war cravings. Just regime change. Current setup barrels to extremes.
"We steady that rush. What's the core, the anchor?"
Where's the center? Satisfy the masses, pull 'em in. Historical necessity, maybe. Or not. But converging there now.
"The worker class, the majority. You all know the history lectures better—skipping that."
Workers toward the center. Upper classes block it.
Can't just fight 'em off—extremes birth violence anyway.
"Violent revolution's coming. Don't love it myself, but..."
Historical inevitability. Premonition.
"But we focus post-revolution. What then?"
Key question. Aimless revolt breeds chaos on chaos.
"I don't dig collective leadership, but it'll start that way."
History proves it—revolutions always climb upward after.
"Then, next phase: new society. People form government, make rules."
Democracy, right?
"Isn't that why we're here?"
Solid. Rock-steady flavor.