Barack Worthington stepped into the Des Moines Botanical Garden with a clean conscience. Barack had already decided to double Gerald Littlefoot's asking price, whatever the person ended up asking. Somehow, deep down, Barack felt that Iowans were more deserving of pity rather than scorn. At the very least, the Rainbow Shirts received virtually no reports of ethnic violence in this area, so at minimum this Supreme Council was doing a better job of dealing with racial injustice than most of the little fiefdoms that had popped up since The Great Blackout. This Hunters' Guild, though, sounded more fascist than Gerald was willing to let on.
As Barack breathed in the fragrant air of the botanical garden, Barack also came to appreciate that his trip, while technically a matter of superstition, had done wonders for the prevailing mood. The sheer emptiness of the shapeless land Barack had driven on to get to Des Moines was reassuring. The scale of the world was such that it allowed remembrance- the Rainbow Shirts only needed to purge racism from just a little bit of that poisoned Earth to save the world.
It took Barack awhile to find the Oracle, accidentally approaching two strangers before finally coming across the Oracle, clad full in spotted gray and black, yet oddly invisible. The Oracle was busy snipping some plant. Barack also observed that the Oracle was quite short, and now struggling to reach the higher leaves.
"Here, let me get that for you," said Barack, taking the clippers from the Oracle's hands.
"I'd rather you didn't," said the Oracle curtly, but with no physical reaction. The Oracle didn't even bother trying to look at Barack directly.
As Barack snipped the higher leaf, though, the Oracle grimaced. Barack realized that this had been a mistake.
"I'm sorry," said Barack, bowing to show deference.
"You'd have much fewer problems with life if you were reactive rather than proactive, Mr. Worthington," the Oracle replied, with a mild hint of annoyance, holding a gloved hand out for the pruning tool.
Halfway through returning it Barack abruptly realized what the Oracle had just said. Barack had been very careful to mask all online interactions with Gerald Littlefoot via multiple proxies, not counting however many Mr. Littlefoot had been using. So how could this person possibly know Barack's name?
"I know all about you, Mr. Worthington," the Oracle said. "Your coming here was preordained. Well, we might as well have a seat. Come on."
The Oracle motioned to a nearby bench and then moved there to take a seat. Barack looked around nervously for onlookers, but seeing none, sat next to the Oracle and tried to calm down.
"You can call me Cassidy, although I know you won't," the Oracle said. "So, what's your problem?"
"Well," said Barack, appreciating the Oracle's willingness to cut to the quick. "I have a friend-"
"Is this an actual friend, or is this a roundabout way of describing your problems in the third person?" asked the Oracle, without a trace of judgment..
"No, it's definitely a real friend," said Barack, feeling crestfallen. This wasn't a result of the Oracle's bad temper. Barack was used to dealing with disagreeable people. Barack was just filled with morose dread on recalling the purpose of this convoluted errand.
"Go on," said the Oracle.
"I presume you know that I command the Rainbow Shirts, the paramilitary organization dedicated to eradicating fascist influence in the outlands of the former United States of America?"
"Yes, I know that you command the Rainbow Shirts."
"Then you must also know that we have not been as successful in this mission as we would like."
"That I also know."
"There's a reason for that," said Barack, having felt emboldened by being able to say all that out loud. "It's my friend, another commander there. My subordinate, technically, but also my friend, is why I'm reluctant to move against this person, who is the most decent-hearted person I've ever met, relentless in the goal of trying to preserve peace in the country, and minimizing the loss of life."
"Your friend is a fool," said the Oracle bitterly, suddenly turning distant.
"I'm sorry?" said Barack.
But the Oracle had stopped listening. She was staring directly ahead. Without warning, the Oracle had started started rambling quickly and incoherently. Barack decided to activate the time manipulation augment to slow down perspective enough that the Oracle would be intelligible.
"-that explains the discrepancy," mumbled the Oracle. "between his stated goals and the scale of his actions, given no political force exists in the East to challenge his will...necessary of course, since otherwise the movement would never have survived this long, but intentional? Difficult to say...certainly such actions are perfectly consistent with classically liberal political inclinations...violence limited just barely enough to inspire hatred but not to accomplish any meaningful goals..."
"Wwwaaaiiittt" said the Oracle, speech suddenly returning to normal speed. Barack hurriedly adjusted the augment. "Were you listening to that?"
"I was trying to, but you were talking too fast."
"I see through your lies," said the Oracle. "Although perhaps deliberately wordy obfuscation would be the more accurate term. How did you understand me?"
"It's a trade secret," said Barack. "I can't tell you."
The Oracle started rambling again. This time, Barack did not activate the augment.
"Thank you," said the Oracle abruptly, "for not invading my privacy. As recompense I won't tell anyone about your unique augment, not that it will matter. And I will try not to extrapolate again in your presence. I recognize that it is very rude of me but many of my patrons here appreciate the theatricality of watching me commune. I have to do something to emphasize my abilities or people start to doubt that I really have them."
"Do I need to-"
"No," said the Oracle. "The information you have already provided me today is far more valuable than any monetary assistance you could offer."
"But you haven't-"
"Ah yes, I'm sorry, I nearly forgot," said the Oracle. "The solution to your problem. Yes, I understand the difficulty of your situation. You want to start a war with people who won't make the first strike, and a closely trusted ally prevents you from doing it yourself directly based on short-sighted concerns of morality. I appreciate that dilemma more than you know."
"I don't think that's-"
"Fortunately there is an easy enough solution," said The Oracle, taking out a memo from the pocket of her smock and hastily scribbling an address on it. "This is the home address of a man named Joel Rotierre. He has had known associations with Jerry Shankar, and is not to be trusted. Every statement that he utters is a lie. Hire him as your personal assistant, and the war you are so desperately searching for will quickly be within your grasp."
"Stop interrupting me!" shouted Barack, suddenly becoming sheepishly aware of the other two or three patrons currently walking about the arboretum. The Oracle looked at Barack.
"What do you mean known associations with Jerry Shankar?" said Barack. "Are you telling me Jerry Shankar is real? Not just a persona in a bunch of crazy Internet videos?"
"Real and dangerous," said the Oracle. "That's why Joel Rotierre stopped working with him."
Barack paused. If this was true, then the situation was far worse than expected. All of a sudden this trip to Des Moines was not an excursion, but an imminently necessary step in the name of saving humanity. Barack took the paper and stood up marching forward. There was not a moment to lose. First Joel Rotierre had to be located and then-
"Wait," Barack said stopping. He turned around. Just as a matter of personal curiosity, Barack had to know. "What's Jerry Shankar's race? Is this person actually a minority? Or is this person just dressing up as one to evade accusations of racism?"
"He is and he isn't a minority American," replied the Oracle.
"That's not much of an answer," said Barack giving a very skeptical look.
"The question is more ambiguous than you think," said the Oracle. "I'd rather not give you an answer you may later conclude was a lie. Well, let me put it this way. The man, the one who brought you here-"
"Gerald Littlefoot?"
"That is the name by which you know him, yes," said Cassidy. "Do you consider him to be a minority American?"
"Of course."
"Then so, too, is Jerry Shankar."
Barack Worthington nodded and smiled, and hurried out. But before leaving, Barack realized there was one last question that needed to be asked.
"You're cryptic," said Barack. "I would expect nothing less from the Oracle of Des Moines. Although I can't help but wonder. What if you're just trying to trick me?"
"Well," said the Oracle with a shrug. "You could just clearly, unambiguously define your goal, and then ask me whether or not you'll succeed."
"All right," said Barack. "My goal is to expunge the fascists from the United States of America. Will this Joel Rotierre assist me in this goal?"
"Oh, make no mistake," said the Oracle. "Joel Rotierre wants to destroy the fascists just as much as you do. I can promise without a doubt that if you listen to him, it won't be long before they all lie dead at your feet."
"Good, good. It was a pleasure to meet you," Barack said, looking over his shoulder on the way out the door.