Displaced

Chapter 28

"Alright everybody, let's get this over with," Blake said as he marched into what he called the "Council Room", a meeting room with a large circular table in the center surrounded by chairs. Blake hated this place. This was where boring happened.

"My Lord," Leo said, rising from his seat as Blake entered the room. His greeting was repeated by the others present, each with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Nearly all of the chairs were already filled by the members of Blake and Leo's "Council", a selection of people who were all intelligent, capable, and willing to be his lackey. The reasons each was willing to collaborate with an "Elseling", and the degree to which they seemed happy about it, seemed to vary from person to person, but Blake didn't care as long as they were willing and good at what they did.

"Where's the kid?" Fricis Upeslacis, his ornery Minister of Agriculture, inquired.

"She's grounded until she learns to behave herself," Blake replied.

"Grounded?" Fricis repeated, confused. "What's that?"

"She can't leave her room until I say so," Blake explained.

"Bah! No namby-pamby punishment like that will fix what ails her!" the older man scoffed incredulously. "Take a switch to her backside! Then she'll learn to respect her elders! Why, back in my day, my father would smack me good if I even looked like I was going to be disrespectful! Raise me right, he did."

"Yes, Fricis, a real bang-up job ol' dad did with you," Blake replied sarcastically, eyes rolling behind his mask. He turned to Leo, sitting to Blake's right. "Is everybody here? Where's Martis?"

"Martis is still on the road. He did, however, send back a report."

"Great. Then let's begin. Fricis, how're the crops doing?"

"Crop yields are up significantly. If we can harvest and distribute it properly, this might be the first year I can remember where everybody has something to eat this winter. Not a lot, but at least enough to get by."

"Well done! A round of applause for Minister Upeslacis, everyone!" Blake proclaimed, clapping his metal hands together. Tackling the lack of food was Blake's first, most important milestone, and it was good to see that the situation improving so quickly. The others joined in as well. Regardless of their feelings on Blake and the baggage that came with him, they all understood the shadow that starvation that had cast over their country for their entire lifetimes.

"Shaddap! I'm not done!" barked the elder farmer. "There's a problem. We don't have enough people to harvest everything. The only way to pick everything is to reassign the field-clearing crews. We're a little behind on the new fields as it is. This will make us miss your goal by a wide margin, but I don't see any way around it. Can't have fruit rotting on the vine."

"No, keep the field-clearing crews as they are," Blake responded. "I have some ideas for mechanical reapers and whatnot that should fix the issue. We can talk about it tomorrow."

"Er, if you insist, Lord Ferros."

"I do. I don't want to slow down expansion unless we have no other options." Blake smacked his hand against the metal table with enthusiasm. "Alright, let's keep this moving! Age before beauty! Zigmars, how's my income tax looking?"

Zigmars Vietnieks looked up from his papers. The thirty-four-year-old man was the second oldest member of the Council after Fricis. Blake wanted young people working for him. People who weren't entirely wedded to their worldviews just yet. People who would consider his perspective for reasons beyond the fact that he could easy kill them and everybody they loved. He wasn't entirely sure that he'd found such mythical people yet. Certain members still seemed very conflicted with the idea of his rule. Still, they'd all been doing a good job so far, as far as he could tell. He could settle with some distrusting glances for the moment, as long as they performed. Zigmars performed.