Prologue
Once upon a time in a land far, far away, the Minister of the Interior of one of the world’s most dangerous rogue states was trying in vain to persuade its leader to stop playing Xbox and attend a military parade.
“Supreme Leader, it is of the utmost importance that you attend this parade. Representatives of the world’s media will be present, and if you are not there they will doubtless spread lies about your waning health or authority!” Zhou Gong urged.
“Uh huh,” Supreme Leader Ma Zhi Karp responded, as he shot a Vietnamese man in the face on the latest instalment of the evil American video game franchise, Call Of Duty.
“Supreme Leader, it is only weeks since your father’s unexpected death from an overdose of greatness, and it is important that you attend the parade to cement your position!” Zhou Gong continued to argue. He was about to add a warning that there were some within the Party who questioned Ma Zhi Karp’s mental capacity for the job, but in truth he did not know for sure who they were, and as soon as he acknowledged the fact, somebody would have to be killed to make an example.
“Uh huh,” the Supreme Leader replied, torching several men in a trench with a flamethrower.
Zhou Gong thought for a moment. “Supreme Leader, it is in the best interests of your continued good health and influence that you attend the parade today.”
“And what do you mean by that?” the Supreme Leader fired back, taking one eye momentarily from the large HD TV screen and allowing a member of the Khmer Rouge to violently avenge his fallen comrades with a rifle at close quarters. “Shit!” the Supreme Leader exclaimed in English. “That was your fault! I should have you killed!”
“No, please!” Zhou Gong said, assuming his accustomed grovelling position. It seemed to work, because four ministers who did not know how to grovel had been summarily executed in the past three weeks, and a further seven had been castrated with a red hot poker.
The Supreme Leader’s wrath abated. “I just don’t understand why I have to go to these boring parades all the time. They have one every week!”
“The parades are in your honour, Supreme Leader!” Zhou Gong said. “And to show the world that our military is invincible!”
“Well, they can stop doing these parades for my honour, because I would rather be playing Call Of Duty,” the Supreme Leader said, turning back to his Xbox.
“Please, oh great one! As a personal favour to me?” Zhou Gong asked, assuming his begging position, which was very similar to the grovelling position but with an expectant upturn of the eyebrows.
The Supreme Leader turned and sighed. “Will you give me six hours of peace to play my game tonight, uninterrupted, if I agree?”
“Of course, your greatness! Whatever you command!” Zhou Gong nodded enthusiastically.
"And,” the Supreme Leader added, “I want a bottle of Coca Cola.”
“Absolutely, your eminence,” Zhou Gong assented. This was no small request, as each bottle of Coca Cola had to be smuggled into the country inside the rectum of the smuggler, at great personal risk to people whose lives did not really matter. However, the success rate was currently low, as the border guards of neighbouring states had cottoned on and begun to increase the frequency of their cavity searches. “Now, if it pleases you, we must make haste! The parade begins shortly!”
“Don’t be silly, Zhou Gong, I know that the parade only begins when I get there,” the Supreme Leader said, chucking his Xbox controller onto the large velvet sofa and hauling the corpulent mass of his body off of it.
“Ah, you are as sharp as your father, Supreme Leader,” Zhou Gong said.
“Please stop with these endless comparisons to my father. You know how boring they are to me,” the Supreme Leader said.
Zhou Gong simply nodded. In truth, he had been making the comparisons every minute of every day since the extremely unfortunate hour when Supreme Leader Ma Zhi Karp’s father, the great Ma Chop, son of Eternal President Ma Champ, had suddenly died from what was officially recorded as ‘an excess of greatness’. State media had reported that the heavens were so jealous of him that he had been taken from the mortal world to rule in a higher plane. In truth, Zhou Gong was one of the few people who knew the real cause of death – an overdose not of greatness, but of grapes, crushed, and fermented into wine.
Ma Chop had grown to believe many of the myths that the state media had made up about him – that he did not smell despite never taking a shower, that he was so irresistible to women he could coerce them into bed with only a waggle of his finger (which was true, but not for the reasons he imagined), and, most pertinently, that he could drink unlimited quantities of alcohol without suffering a hangover. Of course, it was not the hangover that had killed him, but the tank of flesh-eating piranhas he had decided to take a swim in whilst inebriated (this had been his favourite means of disposing of unpopular ministers).
When sober, however, Ma Chop ruled the country with an iron fist. Zhou Gong looked up forlornly at a portrait of his former leader, while they left the new Supreme Leader’s bedchamber. It hung next to a portrait of the formidable Ma Champ, who had carved out this great state with his own bare hands, and millions of gallons of the blood of his subordinates. Both men looked fierce and commanding in their paintings. Brilliantly clever, oddly principled, and powerfully driven in pursuit of their morally questionable objectives. Nevertheless, nobody had dared question them.
Zhou Gong looked away from the pictures and took in Ma Zhi Karp. He was overweight, spotty (like most people in their early twenties who consumed too many sugary drinks), his eyes were bloodshot, his shoulders sloped, and his mind wandered at the first opportunity. As they walked down the corridor towards the Supreme Leader’s dressing room, where he would change out of the stinky dressing gown he was currently wearing, Zhou Gong choked back a tear of regret that Ma Chop had passed so suddenly. It was not fair on anyone, but this was the situation, and as unbelievable as it seemed, Ma Zhi Karp, the lazy, profligate, ignorant son of an abusive father, was now commander-in-chief of the world’s fourth largest standing army. And it was down to Zhou Gong to keep him in line. After all, there was no alternative but civil war, which would surely tear the state apart and create a vacuum of power that their evil neighbours would rush in to fill.
“After the parade, there will be a selection of wives for you to choose from,” Zhou Gong said. “I have asked them to wait in the south wing drawing room for you to make your choice.”
“Zhou Gong, what did we just agree to? You said six hours of uninterrupted gaming time!” the Supreme Leader whined. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care about a wife right now?”
Zhou Gong caught himself before he sighed audibly. This was another bone of contention between him and his young master. The state was currently in a vulnerable position – Ma Zhi Karp had no children, and no siblings. If he were assassinated, with no heir apparent... well, that was another scenario that ended in civil war and foreign rule. It was of paramount importance that he take a few wives and have some children as soon as possible. Zhou Gong had explained all of this, but the Supreme Leader just wouldn’t listen.
“As you wish, Supreme Leader,” Zhou Gong said, admitting defeat on this occasion.
The Supreme Leader changed into a khaki military outfit, and the two men left the residential quarters of the palatial complex, exiting by the front door, where a car was waiting to take them to the parade.
Zhi Oh Du-de clambered into the car alongside the Supreme Leader. He was the official bodyguard, and had fulfilled his role well, so far. He spoke little, but had proven himself to be an effective killer, and was perhaps a little too pleased to obey his master’s instructions to the letter. Hopefully this was just exuberance commensurate with inexperience – Zhi Oh Du-de had been in post only as long as Ma Zhi Karp had, his predecessor having been fed to a tank of piranhas as punishment for his reluctance to rescue Ma Chop from a tank of piranhas.
As they drove, their course took them out of the city centre. The further they got from the palace, the dingier the surroundings became. Corrugated iron houses huddled at the roadside, leaning against one another like wounded soldiers, while poor, starving villagers appeared in doorways to stare with glazed eyes at the passing cavalcade.
“Why is everyone so poor?” Supreme Leader Ma Zhi Karp asked.
Zhou Gong cringed at the question. He didn’t know what was worse – that the Supreme Leader didn’t know the answer, or that he dared to question the status quo. “It is because that is their lot in life,” he replied at length. “They are citizens of this country, and they must give their blood, sweat and tears for its glory! They know that and they are happy with their sacrifice. Every day they swear that their daily trials and hardships bring honour unto them as well as great joy.” Or they are taken away and buried alive in a mass grave, he added in his head.
“But they’re so skinny! Why don’t they just... eat more food?” the Supreme Leader asked.
“Ah... because the food costs money, your eminence, and they don’t have very much of that,” Zhou Gong said.
“Well, they should get more,” the Supreme Leader said dismissively. “Where are we going anyway?”
“We are heading to Seafoam Bay,” Zhou Gong said, happy to change the subject. “This is a parade of the navy!”
“So I have to go out in a boat?” the Supreme Leader asked.
“...Yes, your greatness,” Zhou Gong said.
“That’s not fair! You tricked me!” the Supreme Leader said, working himself up into one of his tantrums. “You know I hate boats! They always make me sick.”
“With the greatest respect, Supreme Leader, I did not mislead you. This is indeed a parade of the military. It just happens to be a parade on the water. I had forgotten that, when you are on the water, your supreme brilliance often overcomes you and foams out of your mouth,” Zhou Gong said.
The Supreme Leader did not respond, but instead sat looking intensely grumpy. He pulled a handheld video game console from a compartment behind the driver’s seat and quietly attended to it for the rest of the journey.
They soon ran out of road and found themselves bumping along a dirt track in their vehicle. Gradually the houses fell away altogether, and they only occasionally sighted civilians, who were busy harvesting grass from the fields to make grass soup, or whatever it was that they ate. Some were peeling the bark from trees to make a popular side dish of boiled bark. Zhou Gong observed all of this with indifference. It was the only way to support the state. Those people wouldn’t want to live under a foreign government, would they?
Finally, the car turned onto a gravel path and crunched to a halt shortly afterwards. A doorman opened the car door for the Supreme Leader, who held up a finger, signalling that he was at a moment of crucial import in his game and would be just a few moments. About three minutes later, he sighed, switched off his console, and exited the vehicle. Everybody in the vicinity immediately got to one knee and bowed their heads.
“This way, Supreme Leader,” a military general said, approaching the car and directing the Supreme Leader to walk at his side. “We have prepared one of our most advanced water craft for you. Seated inside this spacious and luxurious vessel, you will be able to watch the whole parade unfurl in splendid glory!”
After a couple more steps on the gravel, the Supreme Leader abruptly stopped.
“These stones are hurting my feet!” he declared.
“Ah... the Supreme Leader has extremely delicate feet,” Zhou Gong explained to the general, who seemed unsure how to react to this pronouncement. “You see, every day so many people come to see him, requesting to kiss his feet, and because he is so great and benevolent, he always accepts. After several weeks of this, the chafing of their lips against the soles of his feet have caused great irritation, yet he has never complained. However, we should do him the honour of relieving this pain.”
The general had regained his composure, and immediately signalled to the soldiers lining the route to the harbour that they were to lie on the ground before the Supreme Leader. They did this, and Ma Zhi Karp was then able to walk across their backs, saving his feet from the sharp edges of the pebbles. One unfortunate soldier cried out when all twenty stone of the Supreme Leader stepped on the back of his head, pressing his face into the ground, and he was immediately seized and ushered away with a bag over his head. Cruel, but necessary, Zhou Gong thought to himself. One moment, you allowed soldiers to express pain in front of their superiors, the next they were openly flaunting other weaknesses, like alcoholism, or an intolerance of unwashed armpits.
Once they stepped onto the wooden boards of the harbour, it was no longer necessary for the Supreme Leader to cripple good fighting men in order to proceed along his route. The group turned and faced a small gallery, which contained carefully vetted representatives of the world’s media and a gaggle of other ministers. Zhou Gong briefly met eyes with Man Kee, the Defence Minister. He was a little suspicious that the whispers of revolt which had reached his ears might have originated from Man Kee and his supporters. The portly, unshaven former general certainly had connections in the army that he could leverage. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get rid of him anyway, if he could plant the seed into the Supreme Leader’s head.
Unfortunately, the Defence Minister was rather good at his job. He had overseen a vast expansion of the armed forces and the rapid development of the country’s nuclear weapons programme, besides personally overseeing fifty-seven tests of intercontinental ballistic missiles, each one of which had been condemned by the so-called civilised nations of the world, who seemed quite happy to flex their own military muscle while they used every means at their disposal to stop other nations from creating the means to fight back.
The photographers and reporters bowed low (at gunpoint, but the Supreme Leader did not need to know this), and once the formalities were over, they began happily snapping and filming away.
“If you would please step this way, Supreme Leader,” the general said, leading the way along a wooden pier. After about fifty metres, he stopped and indicated a strange metal cylinder floating in the water.
“What is this infernal contraption?” the Supreme Leader queried.
“This is your vessel, Supreme Leader!” the general said. “I can see that you do not like it’s design, and I will endeavour to have the responsible engineer shot this evening.”
“No,” the Supreme Leader said, putting on a look of mock wisdom (Zhou Gong knew that it was mock wisdom, because he had previously witnessed the Supreme Leader trying to brush his teeth with vaseline). “If he has designed it, then he knows best how to put it right. It needs to be twice as big, and it must have an HD television and a Blu-ray DVD player inside.”
“Yes, Supreme Leader,” the general said, taking a small notebook out of his pocket and making notes.
“This will do for now,” the Supreme Leader said. “You go first, Zhou Gong.”
“As you command,” Zhou Gong bowed, descending the ladder that attached the top of the craft to the pier.
It looked like a large oil drum, cut lengthways down the middle and hinged so that the roof of the craft was currently lying in the water alongside the main body. There were exactly three seats, arranged with one at the front of the craft, one behind it, and one at the back. There were portholes in the sides for viewing, and a screen like a car’s windshield in the front. It was truly a bizarre construction, and Zhou Gong said a silent prayer to a god he did not believe in before setting foot inside. It rocked a little, but admitted him comfortably enough, and he sat in the front seat.
A much more powerful rocking informed him that the Supreme Leader had entered behind him.
“Shit!” the Supreme Leader exclaimed, again in English. “I almost fell in the sea!”
“Take a seat, your eminence, and make yourself comfortable,” Zhou Gong said, indicating the middle seat.
There was a bump and a barely perceptible wobble as Zhi Oh Du-de dropped into the last seat.
“Zhou Gong!” the general called from the pier. “You must drive! It is really very simple. There is a steering wheel in front of you, and the big red button next to it will start the engine. There are no other controls.”
“Sounds straightforward,” Zhou Gong nodded, digesting the control panel in front of him, if it contained enough controls to be given that designation. In truth, he did not feel in charge of his destiny at this moment.
“Now close the hatch,” the general said, and Zhi Oh Du-de lifted the roof out of the water and over their heads. It clunked down over the top of them, fastening itself to the other side of the craft.
“He didn’t tell us how to get out,” Zhou Gong noted, mainly to himself.
“It’s probably easy,” the Supreme Leader shrugged. “Maybe you just bang on the side and somebody opens it for you.”
“That will probably work,” Zhou Gong nodded, deciding not to voice his concerns that they might just have been fastened for good inside a floating metal coffin. Oh well. He had always known his career would end in murder sooner or later. Very few ministers had ever retired.
“Press the button then!” the Supreme Leader commanded. “This is so boring!”
“Yes, Supreme Leader,” Zhou Gong said, pressing the button. There was a grinding, choking noise, and then the engine sputtered into life and the craft began to move forwards. A spotlight beamed out ahead of them into the water.
“Is this a submarine?” the Supreme Leader asked.
“It appears so,” Zhou Gong said, noting that he could tip the steering wheel forwards to direct the craft downwards. “I’m not sure how much of the display we will see from underwater. We had best stay on the surface.” He noted with relief that the craft did not appear to be leaking. Maybe he would survive another day.
Zhou Gong piloted them away from the pier towards a flotilla of speedboats accompanied by men in uniform who were waving at him to slow down. He pressed the button to disengage the engine and the vessel slowed to a crawl.
“I suppose this is where we watch the parade from,” Zhou Gong said.
“You need to duck, I can’t see out the front with your fat head in the way,” the Supreme Leader pointed out.
“Of course, your greatness,” Zhou Gong said, folding himself uncomfortably in his chair so that his face was pressed against the side of the boat. “Can you see now?”
“Yes, much be—”
Suddenly, there was an explosion in the water ahead of them, and the boat rocked violently as waves threatened to sweep it back onto the pier.
“Holy balls!” Zhou Gong exclaimed. “Has the display started?”
There was a whooshing noise as an aircraft flew over, and he sat up, pressing his face against the glass just in time to catch a glimpse of a low-flying fighter aircraft bearing the wretched flag of their hated neighbour and sworn enemy, the country of Johto.
“I thought this was a sea display?” the Supreme Leader said.
“This is an attack!” Zhou Gong exclaimed, panicking for a second. He might have panicked for longer, but the design of the craft left him with few options. He pressed the big red button and steered them away from the shore, thinking that they could get further out to sea and then dive, losing their attackers beneath the waves.
“Oh my god, I’m going to die!” the Supreme Leader shouted, and began to wail. “I never wanted this stupid job anyway!”
“Have gun!” Zhi Oh Du-de informed them unhelpfully, taking a revolver from his belt.
Zhou Gong didn’t have time to ask him whether he intended to shoot the aircraft down with it or let the Supreme Leader commit suicide with it, as a loud series of pings indicated that bullets were deflecting off the roof.
“Somebody’s shooting at us!” Zhou Gong shouted, while another aircraft swept overhead. Then there was another whoosh and an explosion as the aircraft dropped out of the sky, flames billowing from its body.
Zhou Gong tried to tilt the steering wheel down, to take them underwater, but the whole thing came off in his hand. He whimpered, and raised his eyes to the great Eternal President in the sky. Oh Ma Champ, how could you allow this to happen?
Zhou Gong sighed, and sat back in his chair. There was not a lot to be done, but wait for the bullet or the explosion that would finally seal his fate. However, after a few moments he became painfully conscious of the fact that his life had not ended, and the Supreme Leader was still wailing.
“Please be quiet, Supreme Leader,” Zhou Gong said, and by some miracle he was obeyed. “I cannot hear any more aircraft. I think we may have evaded the enemy.”
“Shit yeah!” the Supreme Leader said, punching the air and, in the process, punching the ceiling.
Zhou Gong pressed the big red button, but the engine did not cut out. “Unfortunately, it seems that we are unable to halt our forward momentum.”
“Put in reverse,” Zhi Oh Du-de suggested.
“There is no reverse gear,” Zhou Gong sighed. “By decree of the great Ma Champ, it is dishonourable for any military vehicle to possess the ability to reverse. It is a type of retreat, and our army only moves forwards!”
“Can I override that decree?” Supreme Leader Ma Zhi Karp asked.
“Yes,” Zhou Gong said. “When we get back home.”
“And when will that be?” the Supreme Leader asked.
Zhou Gong stared out of the window as they sped towards the wide blue horizon, and said nothing.
