Chapter Seventy-Five – Planning Plus Proper Preparation Prevents Potential Problems, Probably

Chapter Seventy-Five – Planning Plus Proper Preparation Prevents Potential Problems, Probably

“At some point, reality has become so stupid that even our wildest speculation and parody keeps turning out to be real. We’re having a hard time coming up with new headlines.”

–The Shallot, Satirical news site, 2028

***

The next couple of days passed in a blur. That had happened to me before, of course. Entire weeks slipping past without me really noticing them. Interestingly, they were usually the weeks where things were kind of alright?

I guess high-stress moments focused things a lot. It was harder to disassociate when you were one wrong move from straight up dying. There had been a lot of that throughout my life, sure, but there were an equal number of weeks or even sometimes months where things were okay.

I think it might have been a human thing to fall into a routine, and I guess in the days leading up to the conclave that’s what happened.

We’d wake up in the morning, Lucy would go to school and sometimes I’d follow her for a class with Professor Rogers, then there would be a list of small tasks to tackle, usually coming down from Gomorrah.

They were never anything too strenuous. Threaten a corp here, remind someone not to fuck with us there, look into some minor matter in the evening. Honestly, it wasn’t interesting, but it all needed to be done. I think that’s what mostly ended up contributing to me passing through it all in a blink.

And then I was woken up at five in the morning by a call from Gomorrah, rubbed my face, then answered. “Yeah?” I asked.

“Catherine. The conclave is today,” she said.

“Yeah?” I asked again.

“…Catherine, we need to be there to prepare things,” she said with far more insistence.

I sat on the edge of the bed, then groaned. “But it’s five,” I said. “Isn’t the conclave like… noon-ish?”

“No, Catherine,” she said. Why was she able to make my name sound like a slur? “The conclave is at nine in the evening. We agreed on the timetable already.”

I’d probably just nodded to whatever sensible thing she’d said. “Okay, so it’s even further away. Why did you wake me up?”

“Mmm, she’s right,” Lucy said. She turned, flopping onto her back. “We should get up. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can start prep.”

“I hate this,” I said. “Let’s cancel the whole thing.”

“No, Catherine, we’re not going to do that just because you’re lazy,” Gomorrah said. “I’ll see you at the Bastion in thirty minutes.”

She hung up.

“Why did I agree to this?” I asked.

“Because it’s a good way to consolidate a lot of power, keep the gangs from causing trouble later, and it’s a good way for you to establish yourself as a reliable samurai?” Lucy asked. She yawned. “Shower first. I’ll go put some toast on.”

She rolled out of bed, hissed as her cold feet touched the floor, then slipped into some cat-themed slippers before leaving the bedroom.

I groaned as I stood up, feeling like I was ancient for a moment before I got up and started to root around a dresser for something to wear. Then it was off to the showers. Twenty minutes later, I was in the kitchen, with my hair still wet, sitting with a mug of warm one-point coffee and a piece of buttered toast with a lick of jam on it.

Lucy came over, and I blinked as I took her in. “You’re gonna wear that?” I asked.

She looked down at herself. “Does it look good?”