As are your thoughts, so shall your mind be.

And the soul is colored by these thoughts.

- Marcus Aurelius, The Meditations (167 A.D.)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Milton dug out popcorn from the tub in his lap with one hand while operating the remote for his home theater with the other. Hank chose to sit one seat away, giving them both leg room, while Bumbles roamed about, vacuuming up stray bits of popcorn.

A frown formed on Milton's face as he sought Hank's help with choosing a movie. "For being such a powerful RMer, you don't have a lot of opinions."

Hank shrugged. "I guess I'm more of a gamer. You said you have a Playbox?"

"Oh yeah, I've got them all!"

Milton spilled some popcorn as he placed the tub on a narrow table that ran between the seats. "Oh, shoot," he grumbled. "Nothing's hooked up. Can we do it later?"

Hank was amused by Milton's joy over spending time in his rec room. "Yeah, sure. And pick a movie you'd like to watch. Just make it quiet, okay?"

Milton scrolled through the menus while tossing popcorn at Bumbles. "Here's one!" he announced.

He set the volume to a low level and swiveled his chair to face Hank. Bumbles repositioned as well, to better catch flying popcorn.

Milton obtained Hank's attention. "Do you like Rio?" he asked.

"Yeah, she's alright. I think in her heart, she's nice."

Milton snorted. "Yeah, she's real nice. Don't mess with her. She'll crush you. I'm kind of glad she didn't show up. I'd hate to see the looks I'd get if she saw me with all this popcorn! No butter on it, though." He examined the tub more closely. "Well maybe a little. I do have to watch my calories."

Milton lowered his voice and leaned in before continuing. "Do you know what else she is? She's a dime a dozen. There are hundreds of Preventers in this city, maybe a thousand or more. Oh, they're nowhere near as good as she is, and they're not so tough and mean, and they certainly don't know what they're doing. But women who do what she does? They're the life and breath of our little made-up world."

Milton tossed popcorn erratically, making Bumbles work for his treats.

"I don't believe you," Hank said.

"They're everywhere, protecting our children and keeping our future secure. They're the wonderers, the worriers—the quiet ones, tempering the rants of big RMers like you and me."

Hank took to watching the movie. He didn't like being compared to Milton any more than he liked being told Rio was nobody special. The movie was some light-hearted drama about a family going camping for the first time in a gigantic RV the dad bought to surprise his not-happy-about-it family.

Bumbles began hacking from eating popcorn too fast. "Milton," Hank began, as Bumbles seemed ready to barf. "Half the time, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Only half the time?" Milton jested, noticing Bumbles condition. "Get a drink, boy," he said to his dog.

Bumbles coughed his way to a bowl of water in his kennel area.

"Well, here's another one," Milton said. "There is, I don't know, let's say two or three Reality Makers for every one of you and me out there who also don't make Realities, like we do, or prevent them, like Rio. Instead, they take Realities and broadcast them far and wide. They're like mirrors, or signal boosters, or mimeograph machines."

Mimeograph machines? How old is this guy?

Milton carried on without pause. "Rio calls them Dream Watchers, or Dreamers for short, and she knows a few of them. They're good friends for her to have. She can line up some powerful Dreamers, and it's like having super-charged copies of herself staked out at regular intervals, helping her make the world more the way she wants it to be."

Milton watched the movie for a while, as Hank seemed to not be paying attention to what he was saying. Still, after a moment, he carried on. "A good Dreamer gets millions of people to agree with him or her. They're like dropping an atom bomb. One Reality unleashed, affecting millions. Instantly. Ka-boom."

An interesting plot development in the movie made Milton stop talking. It was a drippy emotive scene involving the family's daughter and some guy she met while camping. Hank yawned while stretching out in his comfy leather chair.

"What's up, my friend?" Milton asked.

"Hey, what have you got to eat down here? Got any red licorice?"

Milton pulled himself out of his chair, causing Bumbles to return to the room in search of more spilt popcorn. "Oh yeah, I've got everything! Come on!"

He walked Hank over to a pair of closet sized pocket doors, and slid them into the wall. Inside, and perfectly organized, were movie theater style candies, stacked from floor to ceiling.

Hank surveyed it in amazement. "Wow. That is a lot of candy."

"Yeah, I don't know why I've got this. I don't even eat candy, not really. I've already got too much of this!" He laughed, rubbing his big hard belly.

"How about some chocolate instead, maybe?" Hank asked, unsure of where to even look. "Like something with nuts, or peanut brittle."

"You bet!" Milton said, digging into his stash. He offered ten boxes of candy. "Here, choose from these!"

As Hank pondered his choices, Milton spoke further. "I've got shrimp cocktail, too. Or nachos. Or, you know, like brie cheese and biscuits. All kinds of stuff we could get from the kitchen."

"Maybe later," Hank said, admitting that raiding Milton's real kitchen down here sounded a lot better than eating the microwave food in the lunchroom.

"These are what I want right now," Hank acknowledged, choosing a box of Butter Brittles.

"Great!" Milton put the other treats back and slid the doors shut. "Now, let's see if the daughter decides to do that guy she met or what!"

"Look, Milton," Hank said politely after a while. "Could I say something please? I've been here for three days now, or will be soon anyway, since I'm not walking home tonight."

"I could drive you home. Or, I have other cars. You could borrow one, if you like."

"No, but thanks. I'd like to stay if you don't mind."

Milton spread his arms wide. "Hank, anything I have is yours for as long as you want to have it."

"Yes, well, you're more than kind. But you—and Rio too—you've been pounding this whole Reality thing into me, and I don't know what to believe."

This time it was Milton who offered silence to the pause in the conversation.

"So you—and I guess you say so do I—we make things happen, whatever we want, like magic?"

"No, it's not magic. You can't just go 'Poof!' and have something happen."

"You said you made Bumbles appear out of thin air."

Milton cast his eyes down as he smiled. "Yes. Instant RMing, I did say something about that. Look," Milton acknowledged, "that one's a tough subject. It doesn't work quite like that. I mean, I scarcely even know what I did. Let's just save it for later, okay? Let's stick to stuff Rio believes in for now."

"She doesn't believe you made Bumbles?"

"Yeah, well… no. Not really." Milton tried hard to explain. "More like I did something strange to a real dog. But I didn't. I made him. He came only from me. It works on things in general; Instant RMing does. Like, you can will the grass to grow, or dictate policy as if you're the Pope. It works on animals a little, too, but it's hard to get them to pay attention. Except small ones, like bugs and stuff."

"So just by thinking about it, I could get someone to like me, or give me what I want?"

"Well, maybe, but I don't think so. You're talking about the equivalent of using a bazooka to kill a fly. Reality Making is more like putting a man on the moon, not just getting one person to do something specific. Especially something as vague as liking you."

Hank looked at the floor and shook his head in confusion. "I don't get what you're saying at all. What's the reason for doing this? I mean, why even bother with making Reality?"

"Beats me, Kiddo," Milton said to the screen, as he paid more attention to the movie.

"What would happen if we stopped?"

"I dunno. Maybe the Universe falls apart. Let's hope it never happens, okay?"

Milton's flippancy didn't make Hank feel better. "Ah, I remember now," Milton said absently about the movie. "The daughter doesn't get around to doing it with the guy. She goes home with her family after all."

And thus, Milton spoiled the ending of the movie for Hank.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After the movie ended, Milton excused himself for the evening. He hooked up his Playbox video game system for Hank, before checking on Bumbles' food and water. As Hank loaded a zombie apocalypse game, Milton made sure his dog had clean bedding to sleep upon.

"I'm heading upstairs, my friend," Milton said after watching Hank annihilate a some living corpses. "Good shooting."

"Thanks."

"Can you find your quarters from here?"

Milton's question cost Hank a life. My quarters are a mile away.

Milton held back a sigh, and dug a fob with a half-dozen keys on it from his pocket. Before Hank resumed his game, Milton dropped a key with a brass ring attached to it on the table next to his guest.

Milton waited for Hank to speak. "What's this?"

"It's the key to the carriage house, and to a lockbox inside." When Hank said nothing back, Milton added, "Take it."

Hank complied. "What's it for?"

"Pick out a car and drive yourself home. Heck, use it to take Anna on a date. You're a good guy. You deserve it."

Hank placed the key back where he found it. "Milton, I…"

It was as far as Hank got. Milton let out his sigh, and tortured a swivel chair by dropping his butt into it with a thud. "No. Take it. Take whatever car you want and keep it. Forever. I don't care."

Hank tried again to refuse, but Milton wouldn't let him make a sound. "There is nothing I have ever done, nothing I've ever owned, that's more important to me than you." Milton gestured at his home. "None of this means a thing. Nothing.

"You are all that matters. You will take what you want from me. You take what you need, use me if you wish, and whatever I own however you see fit."

Despite his desire to hear every word Hank cared to utter, Milton interrupted again, driving his point home. "You are here for a reason, my friend, and I'm here for that reason, too. I accept my responsibility, and once you accept yours, my task will be done." Milton rose and, with a yawn, turned to leave the room.

"Heck, you're doing me a favor. Half those cars have been sitting so long that the oil in them has turned to sludge. They could use a run around town. And so could you. Go have fun. There's a few automatic garage door openers in the lockbox, along with the keys to all the cars. Take one. It will also open the gate at the end of the service drive. Turn left on the fire lane along the river and head out through the industrial park until you get to the boulevard."

Milton thumped Hank on the shoulder with a solid hand before walking away. "You'll know how to get home from there. Sleep well, my friend. And good night."

"Um, yeah." Hank stammered. "Uh… bye."

Milton was already too far away to hear Hank's meek reply.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marcus Aurelius is considered the last of the good Roman Emperors. According to his teachings, the strength to be able to support one another is inherent in our creation. We are made to shoulder each other's burdens, overcome obstacles as a group, and use strife to our advantage.

In order to do these things, we are asked to give all we have—if we have little, we need only give that amount. But if we have a lot, we need to give more.

And if we're a billionaire like Milton, we give everything we have to Hank.

The Book of LIBERALITY - Chapter ELEVEN

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