The Slap at the Border
By Rob Morris
WAKANDA, LATE 2016
Wisely, W'Kabi took nothing for granted as he faced his restored King, except that it was unlikely his old friend would have him put to death, both for the sake of their former bond and of course, for Okoye.
"I am grateful to not be put out of the sight of either Wakanda or the Black Panther."
W'Kabi knew that T'Challa was holding something back. It was that same look he got when they played dodge with Oolie as a cub, his horns barely visible but still capable of ending a child's life, or his ability to sire others.
"Well, such is within my rights, isn't it? Yet I am trying hard to end what began almost a quarter century ago, not maintain its smoke and flames. I didn't kill the man who planned my father's death, and I would have brought the killer of your parents home for trial. I tried like hell to save my lost cousin. So you imagine, I have no desire to punish you."
W'Kabi actually surprised himself with his response.
"You must. Your rightful throne is retaken, but mercy in this instance could be mistaken for weakness, so soon after your challenges."
T'Challa raised a hand, not in anger, but in reassurance.
"I said that I have no desire to punish you. I never said that I would not. But before your trial and hearing, you will hear my words, and know that they are as much your punishment as anything that will be handed down there."
W'Kabi breathed in, and asked a question.
"Will my tribe lose the mantle of keeping our borders?"
T'Challa shook his head, greatly relieving his friend and prisoner.
"I did offer it to M'Baku, and he refused, preferring to keep to the places his people know best."
W'Kabi wanted to be angry at this, but turned the equation around: If any other had done what he and his people had done, he himself would be demanding that they lose everything.
"Wait—tell me he didn't do that whole 'Hahahaha-NO' thing again."
T'Challa rolled his eyes.
"Yes, it is really annoying. His tribesmen confided to me that no one has the heart to tell him just how worn out it is. But beyond his refusal, I am reluctant to kick uncounted centuries of expertise to the refuse heap. That does not serve Wakanda at all. So your people remain guarding our borders. But there is more. Prepare now for the King's Hard Slap."
The King's Hard Slap was merely words. But they were words meant to show the King's complete displeasure, the Panther's claws held back but that mighty paw still striking the face like a thunderclap.
"I am ready, my King."
T'Challa turned away, and then looked back at W'Kabi in full fury.
"Oh, I must doubt that very much. Very well—the paw pulls back. The man you helped make King is the same man who aided Klaue in escaping from myself, Okoye, Nakia and Agent Ross in Korea. He doubtless did this, including his entire association with Klaue, merely to set him up and kill him, to then present his corpse to you. Erik Stevens, or Prince N'Jadaka, even shot a woman associate—likely a lover—merely to get at Klaue. His actions are why I could not fulfill my oath to you."
W'Kabi saw leave to speak in T'Challa's eyes.
"I realize he may have played a game with me. But he had the right to present challenge, and the sight of my parents' murderer splayed out in front of me was a powerful thing I had no resistance to. I am sorry for the woman, but if they ran with Klaue, likely she was no better than he. To be able to show my tribe that justice had at last been done was worth the price of your scorn."
T'Challa looked disappointed.
"Now the great lumbering paw strikes true. He had the right to present challenge. He had a right to a life with his father's people, away from the garbage streams he grew up in and then sought out. You had the right to bring him forward, and believing I was dead, you had the duty to obey your new king. Your only crimes lay in not supporting my continuation of the challenge, once I was back, and in supporting his 'once and for all let people respect and fear us' crusade. But since these are crimes enough, now I will finish this."
T'Challa allowed for no more words in response as he did just that.
"My father killed his brother. But it was not in cold blood."
W'Kabi stepped in, his nerves on the matter overriding protocol.
"I know. He did it to save Zuri."
T'Challa allowed the slip, but only just.
"But do you know why N'Jobu wanted to kill Zuri? Because—he had been sent as a spy over my uncle's activities. Because he betrayed my uncle's treachery. Because my uncle had treated with a Western thief who somehow knew just how to penetrate our borders. His excuses were the same as Killmonger's, and maybe my father, along with taking N'Jadaka home, should have taken this dissension in his own line as a sign that change had to come. Not the change N'Jobu and Erik wanted – but instead of one rogue prince treating with a thief, one isolated nation treating with a planet."
W'Kabi spoke no words for a full minute. His face showed he had no more excuses.
"I ask to be left alone with my sword. Please sharpen it first. That is all I ask of my king."
T'Challa shook his head once again.
"You're not taking your own life, W'Kabi. Okoye would commit regicide, and then have to kill herself."
W'Kabi looked close to tears.
"Don't joke around! I have treated with and supported the coup and the cause of a man whose father helped murder my parents, this out of blind grief and rage on their behalf! Suppose I do not wish to live anymore?"
T'Challa now showed gentleness, in his eyes and in his voice.
"Suppose that living is in fact your punishment?"
W'Kabi thought of Okoye, and nodded.
"My liege is both wise and gracious. But again, my actual technical punishment must be more than this."
T'Challa opened some files on his display.
"Along with his great folly of introducing M'Baku to Ginger Ale-I'm told Canada has a good supply—Everett Ross has spoken to me about a concept called the 'working vacation'."
W'Kabi went from upset to confused.
"That's oxymoronic. Either you work, or you rest. They don't go together."
T'Challa checked his notes.
"Perhaps I should have said – work-release programs."
Before W'Kabi could re-list his crimes, T'Challa moved in.
"Our borders will not be deprived of their steadfast guardians, and I will not deprive them of their leader. But the challenge to our border will no longer be stray tourists, or adventurer thieves. I suspect at some point we may even face armies. Though they will not get through, proximity means access at some point. They will no longer be overlooking us, but looking us over, and likely sizing us up. The border will need the most radical redesign it has seen in ages. Your penance to me is to throw every fiber of your being not belonging to Okoye into this project."
W'Kabi realized what this meant.
"You mean to tell the world who we really are?"
T'Challa pulled up a picture of the superhumans involved in the Barnes Incident.
"See that young man dressed up like a poor man's Anansi? Of all those powerful beings, he is the only one I know with what is called a 'Secret Identity'. For the most part, they do not work out for people. I no longer believe our nation should have one. But openness does not mean that all vigilance is dropped. Far from it. That is where you come in."
W'Kabi looked the picture over.
"Is that man wearing his country's flag? That's disrespectful!"
T'Challa shrugged.
"Actually, one of their great fictional heroes wears a very similar motif. I think it's a thing with them. Now, about my offer?"
W'Kabi gave his most honest answer.
"I'll talk to Okoye. But may I ask a personal question?"
T'Challa was seeking to put aside the mistakes of his father and uncle, and so cheerfully resumed a damaged but healing friendship.
"Go on."
W'Kabi still looked a bit tense.
"N'Jadaka chose the gold outlay Panther outfit, after you chose the silver. Why did you not choose the gold?"
T'Challa chuckled.
"The gold was my sister's little joke. She knows I would never want to be the sort of sorry, grasping leader who feels the need to put gold accents on everything."
As he was escorted to talk with his warrior love, W'Kabi couldn't help but feel that some kind of undertone, one that he couldn't place at all, was at work.