Flash Fic: The Red Period

Eisenach paused in mid-brush stroke as the door chime echoed throughout the suite. "Right on time," he murmured as he set the pallette down. It was a pity. He rather liked how this particular piece was turning out, and he hated the idea it would remain unfinished.

He walked into the suite's living room and stood patiently in the center as the doors opened. Empress Lhuqlorva LVII, Resplendent Autocrat of The Wuifroz Empire, walked in with her species' version of a beaming smile. Eisenach had long ago learned how to read Wuifrozi body language and expressions, and the Empress was insufferably pleased. "Good afternoon, Your Highness," he said politely, his expression blank.

"I take it you saw our victory over the Zeakruth?" Lhuqlorva asked semi-rhetorically.

"Considering the standard feed playing while I had breakfast this morning carried the final moments of that invasion, then yes, I can safely say I saw it."

"But what did you think of it, Eisenach? Of all our witnesses, I truly find your observations to be the most entertaining."

"As usual, it was crude, wasteful, badly executed, and needlessly violent." Eisenach's voice held all the warmth and vibrance of a computer. "Think I'm actually starting to feel a little bad for your troops. Repeated wave attacks to effectively run the Zeakruth out of ammo shows a terminal lack of imagination. Not to mention martial talent."

Lhuqlorva shuddered as she let out one of her species' phlegmy stuttering laughs. "I only wish you weren't so close to the top of the tower. It would save me ever so much time. But I suppose the other witnesses need to be reminded of our presence."

Eisenach shrugged his shoulders slightly. The Palace of Perpetual Observations was the single tallest structure in the entire Empire, a massive edifice reaching almost five kilometers into the sky. On each floor, a series of isolated suites surrounded a hollow core shaft used to transport supplies to the residents. Twenty residents to a floor, each suite fifteen meters in height from floor to ceiling, and every resident afflicted with the Wuifroz's most heinous technology: immortality. As long as they stayed within the confines of their suite, the resident would not age. They wouldn't suffer from any fatal trauma. They couldn't starve to death or die of thirst. They were trophies of the Empire, and the various Emperors and Empresses loved to make their trophies watch and wait for a new neighbor to join them.

The chime rang again. Eisenach glanced at the door. "A moment, please." He went over to the door and smiled at the package runner. "Ahhh. Let there be light!" he said as he signed for the package. He took the box and came back inside, setting it down on an end table.

"What is that?"

"Art supplies. Preparing for a new project. Specialty materials. Does Your Highness' schedule permit some time for tea? There's a blend which I think you might find interesting."

Lhuqlorva nodded and Eisenach went over to the kitchen, making all the necessary preparations, serving the tea in an ornate iron pot. He sat quietly as the Empress prattled on about the aftermath of the Zeakruth invasion, as well as her bemusement at the inexplicable success of Eisenach's artworks.

Refilling his cup, Eisenach locked his eyes on Lhuqlorva. "You know, there's a question which I have wanted to ask for at least a few centuries by this point. Why didn't your people ever reserve the immortality treatment for the royal line?"

"Because then there wouldn't be a line, silly man!" laughed Lhuqlorva. "A dynasty full of immortals? The succession implications would be ridiculous!"

The comm terminal began to bleat urgently. Lhuqlorva went over to the terminal and brought it up. "Empress! The capital is going mad! Guardians ambushed! Military bases under attack! We must have--" The transmission cut off unexpectedly.

Turning around, Lhuqlorva opened her mouth and froze as she saw Eisenach with a strange metallic object in his hand. One finger was curled over a hooked piece of metal, some smaller lever of some sort, and it tightened smoothly, causing a loud report. Agony bloomed in Lhuqlorva's torso as his finger squeezed the lever two more times, sending her stumbling back against the couch, bleeding heavily. "What is this?" she croaked in pain and confusion.

"Told you I was starting a new piece. This," he replied as he waved the muzzle of the pistol slightly, "is the specialty material I was telling you about. One of the last Browning Hi-Power pistols in existence. You know, it took me two whole centuries to really internalize the fact you can't perceive certain colors. Red, especially. Between that and the coded messages I hid in all of my paintings, it's shocking that you didn't tumble to it. Or maybe I'm surprised that you and your people are so hated that nobody would be a quisling for you." Eisenach came over, holding the pistol steady, Lhuqlorva's head centered in the sight picture. "This is going to be my masterpiece. Inspired by a poet well before my time, a man named Byron. Let there be blood, and there's a sea," he said calmly as he squeezed the trigger. 

(This piece originally appeared on r/humansarespaceorcs)