Start The Plan
1265 Words
Kale had fallen asleep on Charlie’s lap, her breathing soft and steady. The warmth of her cheek against him brought a calm he rarely allowed himself.
He sat still, watching her as though even his gaze might disturb her peace. Her arms were looped around him unconsciously, the way a child clings to a dream.
After a time, he shifted. Carefully, he slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her. She stirred but didn’t wake; her breaths stayed rhythmic, steady, a quiet tide rising and falling. Charlie laid her down on the velvet couch by the window and adjusted the cushions beneath her neck. For a long moment, he lingered—brushing a strand of hair out of her face.
A whisper escaped him, more confession than thought:
“I don’t know who I am… not really. But something in me refuses to hurt you. Not now. Not ever.”
He bent forward, kissed her forehead, and breathed in the trace of vanilla and jasmine that lingered in her hair. Then, softly, he hummed a tune only he still remembered from a world long behind him.
“Goodnight, Kale,” he murmured, almost as if saying goodbye.
Closing the door behind him, he stepped out into the quiet corridor. Lantern-light painted the stone walls in soft gold. The palace always felt timeless at night—the air heavy with old echoes, the wind whispering through sheer curtains like voices of forgotten kings.
By the tall arched window, Varin stood waiting. His silhouette was rigid, hands clasped behind his back. When he heard Charlie step out, he turned, bowing slightly.
“Your Majesty.” His words were formal, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him.
Charlie joined him at the window. Below them the valley city shimmered with scattered lights.
“Sir,” Varin began carefully, “the dismantling orders are being carried out. The factories are shutting as you commanded. But… complications are rising. Southeast Asian trade representatives are restless. Our halt on silicon, fertilizers, and chemical exports has shaken their markets badly.”
Charlie’s expression didn’t change. He exhaled slowly, gaze still on the horizon.
“They’ve relied too long on others to build what they never learned to make themselves,” he said. “And all of it comes with a cost. Ecological. Human.”
Varin hesitated. “They’re threatening retaliation. If we cut exports, they will cut us off from technology and components.”
That drew the faintest smile from Charlie, sharp but calm.
“Let them growl. In a week, our shipment arrives.”
Relief flickered across Varin’s features. “Yes, sire.”
The two walked in silence until they reached the planning chamber—a wide, high-vaulted room cluttered with maps, blueprints, models, and glowing schematics of half-built projects.
Charlie sank into a chair at the long wooden table. He pulled a fountain pen across an open pad of numbers and began sketching.
Resources & Infrastructure Plans
12 Solar Giga-Factories – equipment acquired
2 Semi-Conductor Plants – or 4 mid-scale chip units
Installation and construction crews required: ~20,000
Operations manpower for solar sector: 25,000
Initial staffing for chip sector: 5,000
Projected Salary Cost:
~$100,000/day → $3M/month → $36M/year
He tapped the numbers with his pen, a dry chuckle slipping out.
“Thirty-six million,” he muttered. “A joke. That’s less than a fraction of what we lose every week on foreign imports.”
He flipped to another page.
Current Import Expenses
Daily necessities: $200M
Oil: $320M (Factories & Vehicles)
Coal: $380M (Factories & Power)
Foreign tech imports: $100M
Black market intermediaries: $600M
Food imports: $150M
He circled the “Black Market” entry again and again.
“What the hell are we doing,” he whispered, “paying six hundred million to middlemen, with our own stolen money?”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes tracing the spiral carvings etched into the ceiling. Sacred patterns, old as the dynasty.
“We end it,” he said quietly. “Within twenty-four months. No more foreign chains. Not a cent leaves this soil.”
The words hung in the chamber like law.
Then—ring.
The sharpness of the phone startled him. He crossed the hall quickly—but Kale had already picked it up, still drowsy, holding the receiver out with half-closed eyes.
“It’s your uncle,” she mumbled.
Charlie took it gently. “Uncle. Give me the figures.”
A gravelled voice answered instantly: “Forty billion Noks reclaimed. Twenty-seven thousand seven hundred forty-six Deaths. Eleven thousand seven hundred forty-six Jail.”
Charlie’s hand tightened on the receiver. Numbers coded in finance, executions, and forced sentences. The ledger of corruption burned out of the system.
“Transfer all funds to the National Bank,” he ordered. “Then begin identifying government officials. No protection. None.”
“Understood.”
He lowered the receiver. Kale tugged at his sleeve, pouting softly. “Why do you work so much? Don’t you want to be with me instead?”
His sternness melted. He pulled her in, arms wrapped warmly. “I do. More than anything. But something’s coming, Kale. Something bigger than us both.”
“Then let me help.”
“You already do.”
“No—officially. Make me Minister of Labour and Finance.”
Charlie blinked. “Kale, this isn’t symbolic. It’s nothing but files, audits, endless work.”
Her arms folded, defiance in her eyes. “If I’m beside you, I should be beside you in everything. Don’t make me fight for it.”
He sighed. “Fine. But if you take it… you work. No shields. No excuses.”
Her smile broke wide. “I’ll learn.”
The next morning, in grey tailored suit with Charlie’s coat resting on her shoulders, Kale looked every inch the minister she wanted to be. In the military car, she curled lazily across his lap, peeking at the dismantled skyline passing by outside.
At the industrial zone, the factories were husked skeletons, cranes unspooling their frames. No smoke. Only sparks, dismantled machinery, and trucks hauling the past away.
Charlie breathed the change in. “Good. It’s starting.”
He turned to Varin. “Draft local engineers. Give them authority on-site. We scale as we build. Solid. Fast.”
“Yes, sir.”
But as Charlie walked the scarred ground, watching centuries of steel and soot pulled apart, doubt whispered.
Is this a beginning… or only another empire doomed to collapse?
That night, Kale collapsed instantly in bed, exhausted by her first full day. Charlie tucked her in, then sat in silence, staring at her sleeping face.
“She’s strong,” he murmured. “But is the world too cruel?”
At some point, his body gave way too. The weight of visions, figures, hopes, and doubts pressed him into sleep.
When he opened his eyes again—
The ceiling was cracked, fan creaking overhead. The air was stale. He was back.
Back in the old house. Back to his world.
Beside him, Aivi slept soundly, the faintest smile at the corner of her lips.
Charlie lay there stunned, caught in the quiet crackle of reality. The taste of dust. The faint ache in his chest.
He rose slowly, padded to the kitchen. Two slices of bread. Peanut butter smeared with mechanical habit. Silence louder than any flame-lit corridor.
Then his phone buzzed. One message.
He opened it. The words glared back at him. His hands trembled. Eyes widened.
And in that moment, he understood: the dream was not gone. The fracture between worlds had only just begun.
- Writer
