After a few sips of brandy, The Ruler could relax a bit. He could think, consider this "Babydoll" and the mysterious guru who guided her, and strategize his next move.
It all began with this great ship on which he rode. He had a Navy, yes, mostly submarines—but he'd always wanted a flagship, the ultimate ship, really more like a whole fleet of battlewagons combined into a single monster dreadnought. To that end, he taxed his people, and taxed them again, and again after that; This presented few problems, as his nation only allowed people with at least six-figure incomes to be its citizens.
His domain included several islands off the coast. One of them was an active volcano that from time to time spewed its red-hot magma into showers of fireworks lighting the night sky.
He claimed this island for his personal use. His engineers carefully extracted it from the ocean floor, and around it he built his dreadnought, a fantastic jumble of steel and brass, turrets and a castle hammered together in the rear; and in the center rose the great mount, serving as the ship's spark-throwing, smoke-belching stack, the volcano that gave it endless power. The Ruler loved his one-ship navy to end all navies, taking it around the world, the better to intimidate other nations, some of the smaller ones even paying tribute, if he would only take his floating monster out of their sight.
Yes, The Ruler's ship gave him a sense of ultimate power. At its christening, smashing a bottle of the world's oldest champagne against its rocky hull, he dubbed it the Vesuvio after Mount Vesuvius. Get it, everyone? I could bury you like Pompeii!
Now he read the lights cascading down the crystal ivy. The patterns also told him of events out in the world, what weather he could expect, and the time—and right now it was eight o'clock A.M. back in his home nation.
He sat back and stroked his chin.
In fifty minutes, he would reach home. Even his great ship lacked the means to launch ICBM's; they would have to be offloaded and wired to Launch Control in his palace. That would take another hour. In two hours, then, all would be in readiness; he could sit up in his palace's penthouse suite, press one button, and watch the European skies light up.
His enemies surely knew this, and were planning for it. So he would throw them a curve.
Looking at the cascading lights, he turned his head just so. An array of white sparks detached themselves and drifted over to him, forming into a circular pattern like a map of the heavens. A blinking blip in the center represented the Vesuvio. Smaller, twinkling lights scattered around it represented other vessels, some belonging to other nations, some his own.
The Ruler studied this for a minute; then a grin spread across his face.
He held out his right hand, palm up. A ball of shimmering light appeared above it. "Submarine Hellraiser," he said. His voice, even when not shouting at idiot business partners, echoed around the cavern. "Rendezvous ASAP, and await further instructions."
He flicked his wrist, and the ball vanished in a silent burst.
In sixty seconds, the Hellraiser's reply sparkled from the crystal ivy: message acknowledged, twenty-minute ETA. Also they had notified the palace and the rest of the navy.
The Ruler sat back and nodded, satisfied. Offloading to the sub would take no more than thirty minutes. He would launch his holocaust from right here at sea, from a ballistic-missile submarine that would live up to its name as never before. Twenty minutes till arrival, thirty minutes till launch equaled fifty minutes total. By the time the Amazon squad caught on, it would be too late.
He clapped his hands, laughed out loud, called for more brandy, and forgot all about the Fangs, the Amazons, and even the idiot.
