Don't Order Dog

Don’t Order Dog

C. T. Wente

Copyright © 2013 Christopher Todd Wente

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1491052051

ISBN-13:
978-1491052051

This
novel is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places or incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental

For Linda, min älsklin
g
.

The girl looked up at the sky and smiled.

The bellies of the monsoonal clouds had darkened to steel gray as they rolled and twisted above her. She watched them with excitement; her eyes wide with anticipation as the thick autumn air began to stir. Her mother, oblivious to her state of distraction, pulled sharply on her small hand. She needed to move faster. It was nearing dusk and the market would soon be closing. Both she and her mother were carrying newly woven saris made of
Muga
, the highly prized golden silk made only here in her native Assam. They would have to hurry if they were going to sell them before darkness and the approaching rains scattered the last of the day’s tourists. The girl dropped her eyes from the gathering storm and quickened her pace.

Although she was only five, the girl was expected to help sell her mother’s saris in their family’s tiny rented corner of the Bamunimaidan market. Not that she minded this chore. Her older sister had already taught her that a sad stare and pleading smile were powerful assets when it came to persuading the rich tourists that strolled by – and she was particularly blessed with both. Rarely did a foreigner stop to feel the lustrous silk her mother’s handmade creations without falling victim to her large, deep brown eyes. And if she worked hard and sold enough, her mother would reward her with a few
tilor laru
– the sugary, sesame seed treats that were always for sale from the old vendor next to them. Just the thought of their sticky-sweet taste brought a smile to her round, mocha-colored face.

They continued down the narrow dirt path that carved a meandering line through the slums where they lived. Rubbish stirred by the wind danced at their sandaled feet. At the next turn, the girl noticed a group of young women and their children returning from the market. As usual, the burden of carrying the day’s goods fell to the women and their daughters while the boys walked freely. She eyed the approaching boys warily, worried they might try to steal the heavy basket of saris slung over her back. Feeling her slow, her mother again pulled roughly.  The girl stifled a protesting cry and furrowed her brow in anger as the group of women and children passed them quietly. A short distance further, the dirt path converged with a busy road. From there they walked single-file next to the road before eventually pausing at the busy intersection that bordered the market.  

The girl could feel the sudden tension in her mother’s grasp. Crossing here was always dangerous. An endless procession of vehicles converged without the aid of traffic signals, forcing everything into a swirling, chaotic dance. The noise of the collective confluence was deafening. Horns and engines vocalized their impatience as if competing in a mechanical shouting match. Brightly painted buses and tuk-tuks sped past in a flurry of color. A choking, blue-gray haze of exhaust hung in the air. Watching the melee, the girl edged closer to her mother, waiting anxiously for the squeeze of her hand that would signal when to go. 

It was then that the clouds decided to open. Large drops of monsoonal rain fell rapid-fire with the weight of small stones, pelting them mercilessly. The girl turned her face to the sky and opened her mouth to the downpour as it cascaded down her long black hair and soaked through her brightly colored mekhela chador dress. Her mother watched the passing traffic stoically as the girl twirled and jumped in the muddy pool that quickly formed beneath their feet. She was so engrossed in the joy of the moment that she’d nearly forgotten the danger of the traffic when her mother suddenly grabbed her and pulled her roughly away from the street. Confused, the girl turned and stared out beyond her mother’s protective arms. Only then did she hear the frantic screech of locking brakes coming from the intersection.

The concussion of the impact echoed like a bomb. In an instant the two vehicles were tossed spinning into the air by their own colliding inertia. The girl watched transfixed as one of the vehicles landed heavily onto its side before rolling ominously towards the corner where they stood. Her mother gripped her in terror as it rolled closer. Then, just meters short of disaster, the twisted wreck abruptly slowed and came to rest on its side. Around them, an eerie silence descended as the remaining traffic shuddered to a stop.

The driver of the vehicle suddenly appeared in the upturned doorway, his dark face washed in blood. Men from the quickly gathering crowd ran over and pulled the dazed man from the wreckage as a thin wisp of smoke began rising from its engine. As they carried him off to safety the girl looked at the ground next to the vehicle. Something strange caught her eye. A pale-colored object lay half-buried in the mud. She pointed to it and gazed curiously up at her mother. Her mother’s brown eyes followed the line of her tiny outstretched arm and immediately widened in shock. Seeing this reaction, the girl realized the object must be something important. Overcome by curiosity, she pulled free of her mother’s grasp and sprang forward for a better look.

The girl ignored the cries of her mother as she ran towards the smoking vehicle and knelt down next to the object. The heavy rain had exposed it further and the girl could now finally see what it was. She reached down and gently grasped the human finger, surprised by its coldness. She tugged on the finger and watched excitedly as a hand and forearm rose stiffly from the muddy earth. The girl pulled harder, trying to free the man buried in the thick mud, but it was clear the rest of his body was trapped inside the overturned wreck. She let go of his finger and curled her nose as a foul-smelling fluid began pouring from the back of the vehicle. Something about its fluorescent-green color told her it was dangerous and she stepped back cautiously. The thin trail of smoke rising from the engine suddenly grew to a thick, acrid black column as something hissed and sparked inside.

Confused, she turned and looked for her mother. Her mother still stood at the corner but was now surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. Several men in the crowd held her arms tightly, preventing her from moving. All of them stared back at the girl with large, terrified eyes. Her mother screamed her name as others in the crowd gestured for her to come back. The girl looked at them curiously. Why were they all so afraid? Did they not wish to help the man still trapped inside? 

A new sound, low and hissing like a deep breath, erupted behind her. The girl spun around to find the vehicle and the smelly green liquid that engulfed it on fire. The heat stung at her face and she fell backwards in fear. Even at her young age she could see that the fire wasn’t normal. The flames twisted and rose like an angry animal, sweeping over the vehicle with an almost conscious intensity. Even the heavy rain seemed to have no effect on it. She tried crawling backwards away from the inferno, but it was no use.  The heavy basket of saris strapped to her back was stuck fast in the mud. Terrified, the girl cried out for her mother, but her voice was consumed by the howl of the fire. The intense heat was nearly unbearable. Steam rose from her rain-soaked dress as the flames inched closer. The hunger of the fire was simply too much. For the first time in her young life, the girl felt the soul-aching certainty that she was going to die.

And then she saw him.

He appeared like an apparition; running towards the burning vehicle with the quick, certain movements of an athlete. Afraid that he wouldn’t see her, the girl flung her hands to the sky and screamed with every ounce of voice she could produce. It was only after he rolled under the flames and dropped protectively on top of her that she realized he was there to save her. He tore the thick straps of her basket away from her shoulders. In an instant she threw her muddy arms around his neck. The man then pulled her small body to his chest and sprinted from the inferno.

For the fleeting seconds she was held by him, the girl studied her rescuer’s face as if she were in a dream. He was a foreign man, perhaps European or American, with brown eyes and short, curly dark hair. His white skin was tanned from the sun and she could tell from the ease in which he carried her that he was strong. She closed her eyes and held on tightly to his neck. Despite the terror of the fire just moments before, she felt calm and safe in his arms.

When they were a safe distance from the burning vehicle the man stopped and looked closely at the girl’s arms and legs. She was lucky; the mud had protected her from any serious burns. Satisfied that she was okay, the man gently swept his hand over her cheek. The girl looked up at the man and smiled back happily as his stony expression eased into a grin. She barely noticed the rising commotion around her until a swarm of hands abruptly tore her from the man’s grasp and passed her quickly through the crowd. A familiar pair of arms encircled her. The girl whimpered softly at the crushing embrace of her mother as the falling rain washed tears of relief from both of their faces. She then raised herself in her mother’s arms and watched the scene before them.

The fire still burned intensely. In just minutes the twisted remains of the wrecked vehicle had been reduced to a withering shell of molten steel. The girl thought again about the man trapped inside. She glanced anxiously at the ground where his hand had rested but saw nothing more than flames churning in anger. She wondered if, like her, the mud would protect him, but deep down she knew it wasn’t likely. Most likely his soul had already passed from his
jiva
and was now resting; just as the soul of her grandmother had done a few months before. The girl whispered a brief prayer of safe journey for the man’s soul and glanced searchingly over the crowd.     

Her rescuer wasn’t difficult to find. Despite having a tan, his light-skinned face stood out noticeably from those around him. He was standing at the edge of the crowd, watching with everyone else as the unnatural fire consumed the last traces of the fatal accident in front of them. She wanted to call out to him, wanted to hug him around the neck for saving her life. But something in his expression told her not to. Something in his stare told her to remain silent. From the protection of her mother’s arms the girl looked at the man more closely. She watched the color that danced in his eyes. She watched the smile that formed on his lips. 

“The ecology of power will change.

By the end of the twentieth century, the balance of financial and political power within the world’s developed societies will witness a rapid if not accelerating shift from their governing institutions to their largest corporate bodies. This phenomenon – fueled by corporate de-regulation and governmental misguidance as well as by explosive technological innovation that will outpace lawmaker’s ability to understand and control it – shall be ultimately considered by both analysts and historians as the inevitable evolution of the economic state. 

By the beginning of the new millennia, the largest of these corporate bodies – particularly those directly responsible for producing or controlling the flow of energy, capital, and information – will grow into multi-national and multi-conglomerate entities that will individually generate revenues exceeding the Gross Domestic Product of 90% of the world’s countries; at the same time amassing technological and human resources more vast that any corporate complex previously conceived.  

These immense corporate entities – with financial, political, technological, and above all, human resources as great if not greater than most developed countries – will define an entirely new organizational species in the evolution of modern business.
This new economic species will be defined as the
Corporate State
.”

-------

James H. Stone
“Predictions in the New Business Ecology”