Get my prison cell ready, boys. I’ll be along presently.
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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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Save me a good seat…
Like you’ll go along quietly… right.
Well, it’s a question of tactics. The last time I dealt with a cop here on the property he decided he wanted to live and, though very polite, brought tacticops for company. And that wasn’t an arrest – he was just serving papers from an angry ex-wife. He was a local.
If the health care cops (whatever form they take) don’t contact the locals, they’ll come for me in the daylight. That would not go well for them. But if they’re at all smart, they will talk to the locals. In that case they’ll probably know to come for me while I’m sleeping. If I can help it I won’t die without a chance for valets in hell. So if the boys don’t wake me in time to arm, I’ll probably go along quietly enough to wait till next time.
But it doesn’t take me long to arm.
And then there’s the question of keeping the boys alive.
“The last time I dealt with a cop here on the property he decided he wanted to live and, though very polite, brought tacticops for company. And that wasn’t an arrest – he was just serving papers from an angry ex-wife. He was a local.”
Wait… isn’t that from your book?! 🙂
Oh, this was a later sequel than you’ll ever read, Jac.