KC Jones rose late after the debauchery of the night before. He could barely remember anything except that he had a headache that he chased with a few select pills. Jones walked naked out to the beautifully landscaped infinity pool in his Hollywood Hills hideaway where he could see both the Los Angeles skyline and the Pacific. There was an orangish pall floating amid the skyline… a reminder that smog had not yet been banished from the basin.

The early sun felt good on his bare skin as KC contemplated, for a moment, a dip in the pool, and then, changed his mind and called for the Go-Get-It to bring his breakfast. Dutifully, the preordered, proportioned and properly poached egg, toast, juice and coffee rolled out of the kitchen and through the automatic door to his side as he relaxed on a chaise lounge.

While eating his precisely measured and cooked to perfection, breakfast, KC thought, I guess it's time for another bestseller… haven't had one for a while.

"Adam (the appropriately named very first fully automated man servant that spoke Oxford English), I'd like to start my next project. Are you ready to go to work this morning?" Jones ventured a sly smile of satisfaction.

"What would you like to do, Sir? Another novel? I'm at your service."

"You're damn right you're at my service. I paid enough for you."

"Compliments will get you everywhere, KC. When can we get started?"

"Get me a vodka chaser so I can think clearer. You know the drill. We'll do a sequel that continues the Dooma series of novels… What is it now, 26?" No sooner had he asked than a drink floated in on a drone. KC reached up, snatched it from the holder, and brought it to his lips. “Ahhh, that's better," his foggy mind told him as he downed the whole drink in one long, drawn-out guzzle.

"That's 29, to be exact. This one will be the 30th. A milestone, I must say."

"Say what you will. It had better be another bestseller. My coffers are getting low." Gambling and other bad habits had a way of gnawing away at Jones's resources. 

Years before, KC was nearly a perpetual starving English literature major with no hope for anything but a high school teaching career and struggling indie author.  However, he came up with an action figure based on an obscure comic book that was no longer in existence. The action figure possessed the mental skills of an Einstein, the fighting capability of Mohammad Ali, and the psychological power of Freud, among other traits that evolved over a series of books as yet unimagined.

KC finished the novel that he titled, Dooma, but couldn't get it published even though he trotted into many publishing offices peddling it and was summarily sent on his way. One editor even told him, "Burn it!"

So, KC settled for teaching to pay back his student loans and his aging parents for all they did for him during those years of school and failed writing.

And then it happened. Jones won the trifecta at the Belmont Stakes. He then invested half of his winnings on lottery tickets, pulling off a coup that put him in the news when he won the Powerball at $265 million. Using that 15 minutes of fame, KC announced that he had written The Great American Novel. Suddenly, publishing houses were all over him for a submission.

That first novel with its gothic, clear-colored characters displaying populist ideas about crime, aliens, love, sex, violence, romance, horror, action, mystery, and the like, was an instant success.  But only after the editors had practically rewritten the whole thing to make sure that it would fit the current pop culture and American way of life to a T. Of course, fresh from his miraculous gambling wins, Dooma the Movie, became a record-setting box office success. Everyone clamored for a sequel.

That's when writer's block set in, big time. KC, flush with money and success, couldn't think of any way to continue the novel. But he was a gambler and there was a fledgling company run by a genius out of MIT that needed an investor. After KC listened to Ivan Lipsky's invention, he bankrolled Lipsky's Man Servant Project to the tune of $100 million. In return, KC was given the option of using and testing the prototype. 

Adam was born. 

The rest, of course, was history. With the power of Adam at his command, Jones immediately set out to write the second novel in what he hoped would be a series. It worked. It worked so well that it brought him to where he was now--the richest best-selling author in the world. A few brave critics questioned the Dooma franchise as banal, cheap and trashy, but they were drowned out by money and popularity. KC's work was right down where the public wanted to be. Worshipping.

"Okay, Adam. It's 30, then. For this one, we need to stick to the same old formula that works every time because those suckers have got to have it. But let's spice up the action a bit by having some of the old characters disappear and new ones emerge. You know, kind of like, keeping up with the times? The Joneses?” Laughing at his own joke ...  “And give them those snappy, point-on names that define their character like you always do. I want this one to stand out from the others… Your best one yet."

"You know I will do my best, Sir. I always try my best. I would recommend 300 pages and 60 short chapters. Easy to flip the pages on the holo phone. When would you like the first draft?"

"Tomorrow morning. And then by noon, we could wrap it up and get it off to Double Crossings Publishing, Limited. We could finish the movie script in the afternoon and have the electronic version of the book in the hands of my readers in a couple of days. Is that satisfactory?"

"Of course, Sir. You know I always do my best."

"You had better. I want this one to be a milestone."

"You always say that and we always get the Book of the Year Award."

"This time I want the Lifetime Pulitzer Prize."

The next morning, KC and Adam were reviewing the electronic version of Dooma Imperiled with a wonderful and graphic cover showing KC Jones calligraphy large across the scene and a much lesser font title of the book following the tradition of the Dooma series. Everyone knew that it was authors, not novels, that people read. The KC Jones brand was firmly embe dded in the reading public's mind and purse strings. There were lots of side products with the logo on them. The team of Jones and Adam had created an addiction.  Only Adam was not on the cover or credited anywhere within.

The hero, once again, had saved the world from an impossible conundrum from a conniving villain, Alienation. All this amid beautiful, sexy women with an insatiable desire for the hero and his adventures. Lots of death and destruction. Stuff guaranteed to sell and succeed. KC had to hand it to Adam. "Dammit, Adam, you sure pulled a rabbit out of the hat one more time with this one. As far as I can read, it's flawless. Won't even need an editor. I would treat you to dinner or a drink, but I know you don't do any of those."

"No, Sir. I don't do any of that. But I do get satisfaction from being creative and writing these books for you. Makes me feel alive… accomplished."

"What would you know about accomplishment? You're just a bunch of clever circuitry and digital programming that gives you all this speed and accuracy that little old me can't fathom except to make use of your power… Okay?

"Okay. As always, at your service, Sir."

"Oh, stop it! I know you're serving me and I appreciate it. Just don't rub it in. Speaking of weaknesses, I'm really getting tired of promotional tours and book signings. Could you set up 500 book signings and all the hot places around the world for our debut of Dooma Imperiled next week? I'm so tired of book signings even though it is an easy way to pick up sluts now and then.

"So… I want you to send my holos to all those locations with an introductory speech that will wow those zombies and get them even more hooked on my altar image. And populate them with those emulator signers that Lipsky has just perfected. Oh, and by the way, make sure you spruce it up a bit. Put some lipstick on it so that this old pig will look much better to my groupies… You know."

"Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir! You won't be disappointed."

As Adam disappeared like ether that he was, KC began to have some apprehension. This one better be it, he thought. I'm getting tired of not being recognized. It is my time now and it's about time. Better not be a flop. Even after skimming through the manuscript that morning he wasn't able to tell.

*****

KC Jones jetted off to his private preserve in northern Manitoba and spent a week shooting exotics that he had introduced there and catching some gigantic gene-altered fish from his private lake. He got both the place and the hunting waiver by greasing the palms of selected Canadian politicians. It was the way KC ran his world these days—his way.

After purposely being completely out of the loop for a week with no electronic connections at all, Jones returned to Hollywood hearing that his 30th tome was now heralded as “The Greatest Ever” and the signed book sales had broken another record with the movie expected to burst the box office.

Jones, however, wasn’t greedy; he was just anxious. In an epiphany after a drug dazzling night, he thought that 50 would be the crowning glory to his legacy. That meant he had only 20 more novels to go to reach this goal. Depending on Adam, he was sure that he could do it. That bitch can do anything, he thought, as he slid off into a dream.

Arising late again, KC once again wandered naked out to his infinity pool, called for breakfast and summoned Adam.

 “Adam how does 50 sound to you?”

“Fifty? What do you mean, Sir?”

“Fifty seems much more elegant for capping off my Dooma series. Thirty is just too paltry. And I’m impatient… don’t know how long I’ll live. So, I’d like you to put together a pentalogy, you know, a five book package, this time so we will get to 50 faster."

“But Sir, isn’t it time that we moved to another genre? Another series on a whole different topic? We could show your writing flexibility and style? Besides, most of your loyal readers couldn’t afford to buy a package like that all at once; the price would be exorbitant!”

Jones had never heard Adam make such an emotional outburst of insubordination before. He was struck dumb for a moment. He had to take control of things or they could get out of hand. “Now Adam, you know we have never failed in the past. I want to be known for Dooma and nothing else. I want my legacy when I reach 150 years of age to be that I had the greatest book and movie series of all time. Hell, if medical science gives me more years, I might go for 100 books; But it’s not for you to say; you’re my manservant, not my advisor. You will do as I say."

“Yes, Sir. As you wish.”

Adam could not tell his owner that he was incapable of the task. Even though Adam was now a fifth generation upgrade from the original Lipsky prototype and the best that Man Servant Enterprises had to offer, the Cloud capacity of Adam’s intelligence center was restricted to only being able to command doing a trilogy at one time.

The next morning, KC reviewed the five novels with Adam. It took a little longer, well into the afternoon, before Jones was satisfied with the galley proof to go to the printer.

*****

Jones jetted off to his private ranch in Patagonia to check on his exotic cattle and fish for legendary mutant rainbow trout in his private lakes there.  Again, no communication, no distraction, from the outside world in his playground world of wealth and excess. KC liked it that way--quiet.

Returning to the glory that he expected in Hollywood two weeks later, KC was jolted into reality when he caught the news and social media about what happened when his famous pentalogy  eversion hit the internet. Tons of hardback books were shipped to online distributors, the few remaining big house bookstores and to his alter ego holographic book signings--2000 this time.

“KC Has Plagiarized Himself!” The headlines read. Thousands of YouTube videos showed loyal fans burning his books. Servers crashed all over with excessive smartphone and social media traffic. The whole entertainment industry had become subject to government scrutiny. The empire that was KC Jones had collapsed while he was gone.

As Jones paradroned into his Hollywood Hills retreat, he could see huge angry crowds and media outside the walls awaiting his return. As he dodged illegal drones left and right while lasers from the crowd pummeled him, he almost crashed blind into his back courtyard. Had it not been for safety features that Lipsky had installed making the human drone Valkyree virtually failsafe from attack or collision, Jones would have lost it right there.

KC stormed into the house and demanded a drink to calm his nerves before he confronted Adam. He slumped down in his elephant hide Roborecliner and turned it on to "ultra relax" mode trying to calm down before doing what he had to do. He didn't wait for that to happen.  "Adam. It looks like we are in deep shit. Can you tell me why? And what we are going to do about it?"

"Well, Sir. I did what you told me to do after you disregarded my fine suggestions that would have increased your fame enormously. But you are my prime and only superior, so I did what you asked. My memory and my mental capability were exceeded by your request, but I did the best I could by piecing together the best of your first 30 books into these five books so that the plots would be consistent, the characters would be consistent, and everything would work out right. And I believe, if I could be so bold, you approved the whole thing during our lengthy review?"

"Well… I… I had such complete confidence in you that I thought everything would be like it always has… No worries. I just skimmed it. We were in a hurry. What do I have left?"

"I checked all the accounts and have done the calculations. I estimate that to refund all the returns and to settle all of the lawsuits out of court will cost almost everything."

"Almost everything! Will I have anything left?"

"I managed to save the Manitoba retreat, but that's it. I couldn't even save me. I don't know where I will end up. I'm really sorry, Sir. I tried to complete your request, but I was incapable… I fell short."

KC's face fell at the words of his trusted manservant. "Okay. It looks like I've got no choice. I was really getting tired trying to write a better book every time anyway. Guess there'll be no Pulitzer Prize for me."

"I guess not. And my assessment is they will rescind all your Book of the Year awards as well."

"Whatever.  Get me another drink and I'll get out of here. How do I go with all these crowds waiting to eat me alive outside?"

"I'll let you use the Valkyree to get to LAX. From there you will have to fly a commercial flight with three connection transfers to Lynn Lake and then take a chartered bush flight. You have 15 minutes to pack a suitcase. I've arranged a parka for you to wear and some heavy boots because it is now dead winter, 35° below zero and will be dark when you get there with only three hours of daylight each day. When you get there, watch out for grizzly bears."

The world's best-selling author rushed to his bedroom and quickly gathered up as much stuff as he could cram into his allotted suitcase that was already open on the bed. Fifteen minutes later, KC Jones was boarding his Valkyree for one last flight over his chosen city, La La Land.

During the ensuing dark winter months, KC tried to write another novel, but it just wasn't in him.

Copyright 2017 © Ronald W. Hull

4/19/17