CHAPTER 23 - KAPITAL AND FAITH

Murdstone finally had a plan. The plan was a desperate one.

He badly needed a plan, because as he lay in the hospital bed feigning sleep he thought about the events of the past weeks. Ruprecht realized that somehow the Sisters were involved in the shooting and that he was not safe in their care. He had learned a great deal about the Order when he read volume 12 of Lindsey Warwick’s Short History Of Second Life. He had hired agents and spent almost a million lindens to learn everything about the Mother Superior. That effort, which involved even his contracts in the SL Exchange and the secretive SL Abuse Team, and the very very black Accounts Receivable Department, had yielded nothing of any value. Only random press clippings about graduations at the School for Wayward Girls, occasional fund raisers for the good works of the Order, a precious few appearances at galas and politically influential events. No dirt. No scandal. No corruption. This really galled Ruprecht, because everyone was dirty, even his worthless children and his first, second, and third wives. His employees were both dirty and scandalous. And as for those in public life, like Funstas or the Governor himself, he did not even have to pay for that information, because he knew personally of the dirty scandalous corruption that spread like black mold after a flood throughout the body politic of Second Life. He was proudly at the center of it.

He thought back to his first meeting with The Order. Late one night, following a horrific hail storm two weeks ago, Mother Superior appeared at his office with a retinue of guards and flunkies. There was no appointment, and no announcement of their arrival in his office on the 39th floor of Times Building. They just appeared as if from nothing and into his office. Murdstone swore to himself that heads would roll in security for this lapse. Mother Superior wanted the assistance of the Lupine News Corp in ensuring that the coming elections were “fair and balanced.” The Mother Superior wanted a news blackout on election activity the day of the election, to ensure that any last moment mud slinging would not unfairly alter the results that both, The Order and Lupine News Corporation, desired. Murdstone would have laughed at her proposal but she was dead serious and he had the feeling that if he did not respond in the way the Mother Superior demanded that he might be dead as well.

“Mother Superior,” he said, desperate for a way out this unanticipated and unprepared for conversation. “May I call you Adel?”

“No,” said Adel who stared coldly into his soul and saw his fear.

No one had said ‘No’ to Murdstone in years. They always said ‘Yes’ and “Yes Mr. Murdstone’, ‘of course Ruprecht you’re so wise’ and “right on’. Even his fourth wife had said yes when he gave her a check to return to whatever god forsaken hole she had climbed out of.

He was about to get angry, very angry. But his fear overruled his anger. He knew from his readings what the Order was capable of and how they worked. His frightened mind retreated to his bastion of security and safety. Business.

He quickly scanned the room trying to take some form of control over the unfolding events. On Mother Superiors right stood a rather portly sister holding a black and white leather valise. Legal thought Rupricht, he could smell a shyster in any country. On her left stood a tall, elegant, and devastatingly attractive Sister in a back leather form fitting body suit that left nothing to be desired. Her face was obscured by the dark shadow of her wimple, but strangely Ruprecht found this only added to the mystery and his budding desire. Somewhere in his brain stem lust began its slow climb into consciousness, only to be beaten down by fright and flight. Personal security he thought probably armed and dangerous. He was wrong, they were all security and they were all armed and dangerous. Even the shyster.

“Well Ad… er Mother Superior,” I must decline the honor of this laudable civic attempt to clean up politics in Second Life, but …” he paused. And looking again into Adel’s eyes he blinked and averted his eyes from her stony gaze.

“Yes,” said Adel in a tone that indicated she could read his thoughts.

“Well, I’m a business man, and a capitalist. Capital rules Second Life and her handmaiden Profit, is my basic principal love in life,” said Ruprecht, beginning to feel as if he could take control of the conversation, dismiss these black clad interlopers, and return to his change of staffing plans in the editorial department of his newly acquired Walled Drag Journal.

Adel said nothing. Her guards and flunkies did not move. Except for one Sister who was writing furiously, probably a transcript of their meeting, with a black quill pen in a white leather bound volume of rather large size. The scribe was writing toward the end of the large volume and finally Ruprecht was able to read the title on the spine of the book. Ruprecht Eldon Murdstone, son of Dalbert Mursdtone and Ethylred Underfoote.

Murdstone grew cold. His parents were still alive and living on foodstamps and social security in a low cost Sim near the capital. But he thought, Business is Business. He gripped himself and continued.

“The Times makes over 22% of its income and accumulates strong earnings during mud slinging season. Especially on the day before election. It’s the most profitable day in all of advertising in all of Second Life,” he said with great conviction because in his heart he knew it was true. As did the Mother Superior. “No I can’t agree. Simply not,” he said.

Adel said nothing. The scribe scribbled and stopped, and looked up, not at Adel but at Murdstone as if expecting him to continue.

“I applaud your civic duty Mother Superior, I really do. Admirable it is, but this is business and …” Murdstone realized that his argument was not working, but his fear of loss of profit had overruled his fear of personal injury.

The Mother Superior extended and empty black gloved hand, palm up, to her right. The portly sister, reached into a black and white leather valise and withdrew a slip of paper and another larger document edged in gold leaf and fancy scroll work. Blackmail thought Ruprecht. But Ruprecht did not care at this point, profit was profit, come hell or high water, come a full page pictorial spread in that vile rival rag Second Life Today, or even continuous broadcasts on youtube of the video tape he knew existed. The valise carrying Sister placed the slip of paper into Adel’s hand.

Adel then handed the slip of paper to the very tall security person and the shapely Sister stepped forward, placing a check, a cashier’s check, drawn on the Bank of Neopet before Ruprecht.

“Bribery, I wont here of it!” said Rupricht, “This is the fourth estate; we have our traditions, our sacred honor…”

His eyes fell upon the amount. One billion lindens it read. For a moment Ruprecht stopped breathing. One BILLION lindens. A one with a trail of zeroes that spelled media domination for generations to come. Then the businessman took control again and Ruprecht thought deeply about the check and its real intent.

“No,” he said, “you can’t buy The Times; it’s not for sale, not at any price.”

After a moment Sister Shyster spoke in a loud and assertive voice, of the kind that Ruprecht heard in court, usually in liable cases or paternity cases, in which he was the defendant, and which he always won, or at least got off with only a minor payment or substantial out of court settlement.

“We are not trying to buy The Times,” Sister Shyster said, “No, indeed no; we simply want to buy all the advertising space on all your media outlets on that blessed day, the day before the election.”

Ruprecht took a deep breath. Record profits he thought. A slush fund so great he could buy the Second Life Today, or Google, or even youtube. He really wanted youtube and now, before him on his desk sat a check for 1 billion lindens, that could pave the way to his ultimate prize – domination of the adverting market of the pre-teen set.

“Besides,” said Sister Shyster, “we already own 10% of Lupine News.” Across Ruprecht’s desk came sliding a stock certificate. It was gilt edged and across the top Ruprecht saw the engraved image his pet wolves, with piercing yellow eyes tracking, a small newsboy through the snow. It was genuine all right.

“Ah, …well… in that case,” began Ruprecht…

Ruprecht stopped babbling for the Mother Superior was about to speak. He could tell because the scribe was no longer looking at him but at Adel Flossberg.

“I have, in all humility, decided to accept the honor your nomination to the Board of Directors of the Times, Mr. Murdstone,” intoned the Mother Superior.

“What…” sputtered Murdstone.

“And I shall attend tomorrow’s meeting which I believe starts promptly at 10:30 in the Board Room. I shall bring a small number of my support staff,” she continued.

Murdstone slipped down exhausted into his vicuna leather executive char. They had him.