“The RAGWEED BROTHERHOOD?” I sputtered. “Wha…?”
“I know!” he replied. “I’ve come to regret choosing that name. It has…unpleasant connotations.” He dabbed again at his nose. “And the plants are a nuisance! But it seemed wise at the time. We wanted a clear distinction between us and those Dandelion misfits!”
“I’m the First Brother. The founder of the Brotherhood.” He continued. “Our purpose is to uphold normalcy and enforce conformity. To conserve the mainstream! We believe that by emphasizing our similarities, minimizing our differences, we can bring peace to the world!” At these words his eyes took on the glint of the zealot.
“We brought you here because we fear for you. We got interested when you ordered that kilt from Scotland. Normal people don’t do that. Not without a compelling reason. Then you started posting on that absurd website; a hundred-odd posts now. We became truly concerned when you began wearing the kilt. In public. For no reason at all!”
He appeared to catch himself, as if afraid he’d begin (begin??) to rant. "We felt it an intervention was necessary. I’ve prepared a brief PowerPoint presentation…..”
I groaned inwardly as he switched on the projector and attached a laptop computer. For the next hour he droned on about “normality and conformity.” He railed against tattoos, science fiction, fantasy literature, comic books and others; but he reserved special venom for kilts. At his conclusion he looked at me intently. A large golden question mark on a blue field was the last image in his presentation.
“Now the question!” he intoned. “Are you prepared to renounce this kilt foolishness and return to the norms of proper society?”
“Ummm….sorry. No.” I replied. “You see they’re just so comfortable that…”
“We’ve lost this one.” He interrupted. “He knows to much. Dispose of him!” He turned to leave the room, then paused. “And the dog too!”
Burly sneezing men bundled me back through the office and into the elevator. One held the doors open as another man led my beloved Abigail (lovely dog that she is!) in with us. Abby wagged her whole body with delight at seeing me and jumped up to place her forefeet on my belt to accept my enthusiastic scratches, hampered though they were by the handcuffs. The elevator started down.
We were bundled into the van. The blindfold was omitted this trip. I suppose they were unconcerned with my learning the headquarters whereabouts if I was shortly to be “disposed of.”
It was late in the day. The sun was low in the western sky. We drove south of the city for some distance, turning onto a dirt road that led to a boggy area. I supposed we were somewhere near the Tolomato river. There were no trees about, but the man-high saw palmetto effectively blocked view from the road. We were extracted from the van.
A breeze from the west blew. We were silent. Abby sniffed at the ground in interest at the novel smells. One of the men spoke. “This will do. The alligators will take care of the big pieces, the crabs will handle the rest.”
Suddenly, I heard a droning noise from above. Appearing out of the sun, startlingly near, was a bright blue dirigible with a broad St. Andrew’s cross rendered in glistening white! My guards swore and ran back toward the van.
Hatches on the gondola opened and ropes tumbled out. A moment later kilted commandos were rappelling toward the earth. I fell on my face. For my sanity’s sake I would NOT look UP!
A score of kilted warriors quickly immobilized the van and took the guards into custody. A giant of a man wielding a five-foot claidheamh mòr as if it were a kitchen knife stomped up to me. “You the one all the fuss is over?” he asked, greeting Abigail with a quick ear scratch. “You don’t look like much. Oh well, best come along then.”
The majestic airship ghosted to the ground, strong hands grasped the mooring lines. A boarding ladder was lowered and Abby and I were hustled aboard.
A man dressed in an impeccable kilt, tweed jacket and waistcoat, and topped by a pith helmet addressed me. "Welcome aboard the XMTSAS Saltire!"
Last edited by KD Burke; 11th November 09 at 01:01 PM.
'A damned ill-conditioned sort of an ape. It had a can of ale at every pot-house on the road, and is reeling drunk. "
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