He glanced down at his flaccid member, knowing that it would only respond when the first blow landed. Even closing his eyes and thinking of past times, Cheryl drawing blood from his lips with her jabbing uppercuts, failed to stir his quiescent libido.
He’d rolled off the bed, shouting at her to follow him, and retreated to the bathroom. This, usually, was the culmination of the session and the high point of her visit. His father had once, and only once, taken a bat to James in his fourteenth year, and far from shying away from the pain, Morwell Jnr. had relished it.
As with most things in his life these days, he thanked, and blamed, his father.
“Hit me, for chrissake!” he yelled, curled like a foetus between the bath and the toilet bowl.
Cheryl picked up the baseball bat and advanced, a look of determination on her beautiful face. She raised the bat, paused, and froze in that position like some perfect statue of Amazon power.
“Do it!” Morwell yelled.
She strained. The muscles of her upper arms spasmed.
She lowered the bat, sobbing. “I… I’m sorry. It’s impossible. I can’t…”
Damn the Serene, he thought. Not content with undermining his business ventures, their charea injunction had brought an end to one of the few pleasures he had left in life.
He stared up at her as she towered over him.
“Jesus… Okay, take a piss. You can do that at least, can’t you?”
With luck, a little golden shower might retrieve the situation.
Cheryl lodged a bare foot on the toilet cistern, squatted above him, and obliged.
LATER MORWELL SLIPPED Cheryl a cheque for a thousand dollars, showered, and took the elevator down to the boardroom.
Yesterday, just after the Serene had addressed the world, he’d called in the heads of his various corporations. The earliest they’d been able to gather had been eleven this morning, and Morwell had spent a tortured evening fretting about the collapse of his empire; not even Lal’s honeyed words of reassurance had helped him this time.
He stepped into the boardroom and looked around the oval table. Everyone was present, and a gallery of more terrified faces he’d never seen. Terrified, he thought, for the most part; though one or two cocky bastards looked almost smug — no doubt relishing his predicament.
He sat at the head of the table, Lal at his side, placed his fingertips together, and said, “Right, no beating around the fucking bush this morning. Let’s have it. As usual, from my left. Jennings?”
Ralph Jennings, the CEO of Morwell Media, an organisation spanning the globe and encompassing TV channels, online sites and a thousand newsfeeds, was a bulky, tanned Texan who exuded confidence. He, of everyone around the table today, appeared the least concerned.
“I know the coming of the Serene is a double edged sword, but in terms of Morwell Media it’s proved a helluva draw. Viewing figures across the board are up seventy-three per cent and advertising revenue has consequently rocketed by some seven billion, total. Of course, that was before yesterday’s announcement.”
“Of course,” Morwell said with bitterness. He looked along the table at Raul Nader, the smug European bastard in charge of Morwell Energy. “So… give me the bad news, Nader.”
Nader cocked an impeccably plucked eyebrow. “To employ an Americanism, Mr Morwell, we are going down the john. We’re stuffed. When the Serene announced the limitless flow of solar energy… our shares plummeted even further than they had been doing. Not that we’re alone in this–”
Morwell leaned forward. “I couldn’t give a shit whether we’re alone or not. All I want to know is how Morwell Enterprises is affected, okay?”
Nader gave one of his smug smiles. “I would have thought the larger picture, the vaster scheme of things, is the only way to approach what’s happened over the past couple of days. Merely concentrating on our own performances…”
“Go on.”
“…is pointless. We might as well admit that nothing will be the same again. Everything is changed, now. You heard what the Serene said.”
“I heard the fuckers very well, and I want to salvage what I can.”
The bastard had the temerity to laugh in his face. “Salvage what? This is the end of everything as we know it. Capitalism, as such, is history. You might as well face it, sir: Morwell Enterprises is dead in the water.”
What hurt so much, Morwell thought, was to hear the truth from such an arrogant slime-ball as Nader.
Composing himself, he looked down the table at Valery Rasnic, the Serb who headed Morwell Defence, the arms division of Morwell Enterprises. “Valery?”
The slab-faced Serb looked grim. “Our shares were wiped off the board overnight, sir. They’re valueless. We can’t even sell our holdings at a ninety per cent loss.”
“We could,” Nader put in silkily, “always start producing ploughs…”
Rasnic glared at Nader.
“There was a little hope in the hours before the announcement,” Rasnic said. “Perhaps the non-violence was only a temporary measure. But…” he spread his hands. “That’s not to be. We are dealing here with a race so far in advance, technologically, of ourselves…”
Morwell turned to Lal. “You’ve been looking into how the Serene effect what they call charea?”
Lal said, “I have experts in a dozen fields working on the problem, sir. The first reports should be with me in a matter of hours.”
“To what end?” Nader asked. “You saw their ships! Christ, they’re growing cities in the deserts out there with technology we can’t even dream about. They’ve stopped every citizen in the world from committing acts of violence. Let’s be honest with ourselves, we have no way of comprehending how the Serene are doing what they’re doing.”
A silence greeted his words. Morwell regarded his conjoined fingers. He looked up and said, slowly, “You sound, Nader, as if you think this… invasion… is a good thing.”
Nader pursed his lips, rocked his head in that insufferably arrogant manner of his. “You want my opinion, the planet was stuffed until the Serene came along. Global warming, resource depletion, wars and terrorism… The end was in sight. Only a fool could oppose what they’ve done.”
Morwell pointed a finger at him. “That’s where you’re very wrong, Nader. We at Morwell are proud of our optimism… You don’t think I was sitting back and doing nothing, for chrissake? Look at the billions I sank into clean fusion, the atmosphere clean-up technology… I had experts, futurologists working around the clock…”
“To come up with solutions that might ameliorate global conditions minimally, just as long as they didn’t impact on increased Morwell profits.”
Morwell made a pistol of his fingers and said, “Nader, you’re…”
The bastard climbed to his feet, smiling. “Save your breath, Morwell. I resign. Not,” he added, as he strode away from the table, “that there’s much left to resign from.”
He closed the door quietly behind him as he left the room.
Lal leaned towards Morwell and murmured, “I’ll have Nader’s deputy fly in and meet us. He’s an able man.”
Morwell nodded, distracted.
He looked around the table at the half-dozen silent men and women, heads of his chemical division, advertising, mining and the rest…
They were frozen, frightened of saying a damned thing lest they incur his wrath. The hell of it was that he understood something which they had so far failed to grasp: his wrath was worth jack-shit now. He was powerless, and he knew it. Perhaps it was sheer disbelief, or lack of imagination, which kept them looking to him loyally for all the answers.