Chapter 12: Barack X Homer

For a third time, Barack Worthington washed hands. This was a waste of water, really, although it couldn't be helped. Barack felt ill. In all the years Barack had been leading the Rainbow Shirts, Barack had never suffered the indignity of having to actually negotiate with a fascist, as if they were equals. Barack let out a long sigh, and accepted a large towel from the valet at the door. Barack made sure to give the valet a handsome tip. Tipping always put Barack in a better mood.

Barack left the bathroom and returned to the main dining hall. Barack couldn't remember the name of this restaurant. It was nice enough. Really, Barack never had any reason to come to Chicago. Sure, it was the largest city in the Upper Midwest, which had become an epicenter of terrorist activity. But allegedly the city of Chicago had the situation under control. No matter. It was exactly as Barack had worked out. A competent Chicago police force would have had no trouble with this whole elaborate scheme. Evidently Barack had misjudged them, and had been misjudging them for quite some time.

It seemed so obvious in retrospect. Why were the Rainbow Shirts needed in the Midwest at all? Why had Chicago not simply used its own shining beacon of freedom to lure people away from these petty fascist fiefdoms? It was all Barack's fault really, for never even trying to spend nights in this area.

Homer was waving at Barack from their table. Barack smiled as he walked over.

"Excellent timing, Homer," he said. "I was just taking a minute to freshen up in there."

"I already ordered for both of us," said Homer. "Just two lab steaks and a bottle of the most expensive wine from England."

"An underrated treasure," said Barack, nodding in agreement. "Thank you Homer. I know I need to eat but I'm just not in the mood to look over menus right now."

"What's wrong?" said Homer. "The meeting didn't go well?"

"Oh no, no, the meeting went perfectly," said Barack. "I agreed to all that person's terms. Didn't even bother looking at the document, though of course I had to pretend to."

"Well I have been looking at it," said Homer, a serious look in his eyes. "This Smith person strikes me as being quite reasonable. The lack of any reference to machine politics leads me to believe that this Smith person doesn't actually understand how the Chicago political system works. I doubt this Smith person even has a favored candidate."

"We don't either," said Barack, noting the arrival of the wine. "But it's obvious enough that the only people we would support have to fight for themselves. Likewise, anyone who would meet the approval of these fascists would turn the entire Upper Midwest into a sheer hellscape within months."

"In the first place," Homer said, observing as Barack started to drink the wine, "we don't have the Upper Midwest to begin with. These anarchists came from Iowa. Aside from the cities there aren't any politicians in this area whose objectives align with our own."

"You keep calling them that," said Barack. "Why not just call them fascists? It's what they are."

"The more I learn about them the less likely that seems," said Homer. "Which is the second place. Barack, I really think we should reconsider the plan. If we play our cards right, we might be able to bring a peaceful end to the entire conflict right here. I think we can work with these people. Their goals aren't so different from our own."

What followed was several minutes of silence. Barack knew that Homer was expecting as much. After all, Barack had always made a point of demonstrating how silence could be more critical than any words. But besides that Barack did not have the energy for a complex argument, and wanted to at least start eating so there would be a plausible excuse to end the conversation midway through. At last, the steaks arrived.

"Homer, we have been over this," said Barack with the patient demeanor of a lecturing parent, carefully cutting the lab steak. "It's a simple matter of history. Fascists have never acknowledged being fascists. Their entire modus operandi is trickery and deceit, with a burst of brutality thrown in for good measure to intimidate their political opponents into submission. The entire city government of Chicago either fled the city in terror or, more likely I think, were brutally murdered once the fascists gained control. Everything we see now is just post hoc rationalization."

"But it's not post hoc," said Homer. "The anarchists were asked to secure the safety of a domestic protest."

"And yet," Barack said, eating as much as could be managed between sentences, "they managed to completely rout the Chicago police? Do you expect me to believe that this was an accident? That it wasn't planned from the beginning?"

"Eyewitness accounts state that the police attacked first-"

"Some of the eyewitness accounts state that the police shot first," said Barack. "And I question their judgment. Their electric weapons don't sound like gunfire. I think in the ensuing confusion of their demolishing entire buildings with their incompetent use of the electric cannon, people retrofitted their memories to deal with the fact that the defending side very counterintuitively caused most of the death and destruction."

"But-"

"Oh!" said Barack between bites, suddenly realizing a means of changing the subject. "Is it true that you actually destroyed the cannon yourself with your laser sword?"

Homer bit his lip and leaned back in his seat, putting the eating utensils down and to better use those hands for head rubbing. Barack had known Homer long enough to realize when Homer was too bashful for words.

"I knew it!" said Barack, taking out his phone, furiously searching for something and no longer making eye contact with Homer. "And you said the laser sword would never come in handy!"

"This was," said Homer with a long sigh, "an extremely specific situation which I don't expect will ever come up again. I think Esther is completely right. Too much of the fancy tech we use just isn't practical. We only feel like it works because we're so overpowered compared to the opposition. And look at what happened to the Chicago Police. Sure, when it comes to terrorizing people from the wrong kinds of neighborhoods, the electrical weapons are fine. But the minute they come up against armed opposition with the most rudimentary understanding of tactics-"

"Look at this," said Barack smiling, pulling out the phone and using it to display a hologram. "Isn't this amazing?"

To Homer's great horror, Barack was displaying a crude three dimensional recreation of that moment when the turret's nozzle was sliced off. Soon other residents of the restaurant were paying attention- not only noticing Barack's unusually advanced hologram, but also realizing that Homer was the person depicted in it.

"My friend will be available for autographs after the fact," said Barack smiling, waving to the ground, "but for now please just let us finish our meal."

"What am I going to do with you?" whispered Homer, attempting to not show his relief when the other patrons turned back again. "I swear it's like you can't take anything seriously."

"Believe me," said Barack, putting the phone away. "Lately, I've been taking things much more seriously than you would ever guess. So come on, can we stop talking about work for just a few minutes at least? How have you been lately? Any new love interests?"

Homer stiffened. Maybe this wasn't as obvious a tell as last time, but Barack could still tell when he didn't want to talk.

"Oh come on," said Barack. "This must be an amazing story."

"Yeah it is," said Homer. "But believe me, you don't want to hear it. Why don't we ever talk about your love life?"

"You know why," said Barack dryly, a slight smile protruding as he lifted his wine glass in anticipation of a refill. "It's not about the personality for me. I've maximized the efficiency of the interaction. It's like therapy. Nothing to blackmail me with, since I'm an open book. Just a means of ejaculation. Why, it doesn't even matter where, so long as both our needs are met, some way or another."

Homer recoiled in obvious disgust. And naturally, Barack laughed in turn.

"That face!" Barack said, losing control of himself. "How I've missed that face, old friend! I keep thinking I should record it, but nothing beats seeing it play out live!"

"I don't understand how you can live like that," said Homer, shaking his head, trying to suppress a smile. "Don't you feel any shame?"

"Shame," said Barack, leaning forward, "is but a societal construct. There is no injustice in a fair economic transaction."

"But that's just it," said Homer. "Your partners aren't people. They're things. Objects of consumed value."

"And they are very happy with what they get out of the arrangement," said Barack. "There's never any risk, and why would it matter anyway? You and I have both been sterilized. We don't need mates. Honestly, I'd just as soon cut them off entirely. Ejaculation is just a means of stress relief. But ugh, imagine what the misogynist armies would think! Any excuse to project their patriarchal nonsense unto us. In times like this we can't afford to cede the smallest advantage in morale."

"I keep telling you," said Homer, grimacing, "there are no misogynist armies. Those are just suicide cults wrapped up in toxic masculinity. I'm not sure any of them have ever actually even tried to fight us. They just stand there and let us kill them. I'm not sure they could hurt anyone. They do all that strength training but no martial arts? What's the point? They're sick, sad souls and we should let them be."

"Ah, there it is," said Barack, letting out a sigh. "For all our best efforts everything we do just wraps back around to work. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Well there has to be something we can talk about that doesn't involve work," said Homer. "What about the Christmas Day Parade? Are you sticking around for that?"

"Ugh," said Barack, sticking his tongue out. "Savage rituals for an uncivilized age. No thanks. I've work to attend to elsewhere. I presume you can handle the city yourself?"

"I guess we'll find out," said Homer. "Although really, how hard could it be?"

At that moment, the two suddenly broke out into spontaneous laughter. Neither was quite sure of the cause. On one end, they had once again failed to avoid discussing work. On the other, it seemed like every time Homer said that, some horrific unforeseen disaster managed to fall upon them.