Crossing the Rubicon (prologue)
{_"All the nightmares came today, and it looks as though they're here to stay." _- David Bowie.}
**
"You're twenty-five," Duncan pointed out. "Too young to be a cynic."
"I don't know about that." I shook my head. "The way the world's falling apart . . ."
"C'mon, that's too easy. It's also too negative. I need folks who want to change the world."
"Did you really just say that?" I grinned, amused. "Wait, if that's the case, why are you talking to me?"
"You have . . . skills. I need folks with skills," Duncan said, simply.
He leaned back in his chair, sipped his beer. Duncan was a thirty-two year-old Pit Bull with dark gray fur. He had a wide muzzle and bright, intelligent eyes. One of his large hands held a bottle of Seven Stars beer, while the other large hand drummed a little rhythm on the table. He looked at me. I guess you could say I had skills. I dunno. Technically, I was a thief and a smuggler. Since the world started falling all to shit, I'd done a lot of smuggling - people, food, all sorts of goods - I was good (I suppose I was good) at moving stuff, and people, around. Getting things - and people - where they needed to be.
I drank my beer, and I looked at the big, wide Pit Bull sitting across from me in the tiny bar with the scratched tables and the crappy jukebox. If we'd met under different circumstances, I probably would've considered him handsome. I sort of had a thing for big, beefy dogs, like Pit Bulls and Mastiffs. Of course, it was also true that I wasn't getting any sort of "interested" vibe from him, which meant he was either into females, or not into me.
And if he wasn't hitting on me, that meant he really was trying to hire - or recruit - me for some foolish craziness.
Me. Of all the anthros, humans, and elves in the world - shit, in the city, for that matter - Duncan was talking to me. Trying to recruit me. I was a twenty-five year-old Great Dane, I was going nowhere fast, and sometimes I felt like my only real skills were sarcasm and drinking.
"I hope you know," I said, eventually, "That what you're telling me makes me even more cynical."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," I said. "You're telling me that . . . you found someone who could be the next king. Sit on the throne, all that jazz. Now, first of all, every king we've had the last century has been a disaster. Second of all, there's been no king for - how long? - twenty years? Why go back to that shit? And third - third - he's a human. And a boy."
"Not a boy, not really. He's eighteen. He grew up on a farm, and he's . . ." Duncan paused, searching for words, I suppose. "He's naive. He's not used to certain things. When we came here, this was his first time in the city."
"Jesus." I shook my head again. "Humans are the ones who fucked up this world. And you want to put one on the throne?"
"He passed the tests. All the magic, all the signs, all of that - everything says he's the next king."
"Jesus," I said, softly. "Jesus Christ."
"We have a group. We need more folks. We have a mission."
"This is starting to sound like a role-playing game," I pointed out. "Fuck. Fuck!" I ran my hands over the fur on my head. Should I laugh or cry at all of this?
"I know," Duncan smiled. Then the smile faded. The big Pit Bull gripped the bottle with both hands. "Look at the world, today. Look what a mess it's in. Maybe having a king won't solve anything. But maybe it will. A lot of folks - not just humans, but a lot of anthros, too - will follow a new king. If nothing else, he can provide a voice, telling folks what to do - and that _could lead to a unified effort to fix this country, and, who knows, maybe that will help the rest of the world in some way. I'm not an idealist, trust me. But the world _can be fixed, you know. We just need unity. Here in America, we need a king. Or a queen. It's - our culture, it's . . . We have this tradition of having a king, and following a king - or a queen - and some folks question it, and some folks try to get us to break away from it - but we have that tradition, and we just keep hanging on to it. Why not use it?"
"What do you have to do?" I asked. I realized I was intrigued, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
"Get our new king to the capital."
"Which is on the West Coast," I said, with a sigh. "You have to cross an entire continent."
"Yes, and the passenger trains are down, as you know. I'd pay you, of course. Some of it now, the rest when we get to the capital. Plus, you'd be doing a good thing."
"Well, I've never been interested in doing good things - and I gotta tell ya, putting a human on the throne sounds like a bad idea. However . . ." I paused, a bit dramatically, I must admit. "It might be nice to get out of this fucking city for a bit."
"We'll be leaving in a few days," Duncan said. "Just so you know, I think we could use you on the team. But it's more than that. Listening to you talk, getting to know you - I like you, I like your cynicism. I like your attitude. I have to be honest, I _need _folks who ask questions, who doubt, who . . . who wonder if maybe this whole thing is crazy."
"I can provide that, no worries," I said with a smile. Then, "Leaving in a few days? So it's definitely happening. You're crossing the Rubicon."
"What does that mean?"
"It's an expression from ancient Rome," I answered. "It means - oh - it means the point of no return. Once you cross the Rubicon river, you can't go back."
I rose, somewhat unsteady, and went to the male's room for a piss. As I stood at the cracked and faded urinal, a handsome Dalmatian gave me a sideways glance, but I barely noticed (and I didn't respond). I was thinking about Duncan. How was he planning to get out west? After all, there were parts of the country that were - now - either a mystery or a deadly mess.
I was intrigued, I couldn't help it. And the idea of getting out of the city . . . it felt right. I felt like it might finally be time to get out of New York for a while. A few weeks? A few months? Whatever. I needed a break. Maybe that wasn't a great reason to help Duncan, but it was _a _reason.
**
I'm re-reading everything I just wrote down. Meeting Duncan, talking with him in that crappy bar - that was how this whole thing started. Everything I just wrote down . . . I don't know if it's the set-up, or the joke, or the punchline.
I guess it's the set-up, the introduction. Sometimes, I feel like I'm living inside the punchline.
One thing I know for certain. We all went flying past the point of no return.