A satire of dysfunctional government, social and economic inequality.
Chapter I: Day/Page 7 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . . And if you’ve ever seen an avian lawyer from Gâia at work, well, then you know that when those vultures get going it is quite impressive stuff. Like less-evolved cousins on other worlds, these well-dressed Griffons, with balding heads and razor-hooked beaks, rarely prey upon the healthy or vibrant; preferring instead to scavenge among the sick and dying, those injured in accidents, or anywhere they smell blood, irrespective of how rotted and rank the souring carcass of their case might be.
Flailing about with gangly arms flapping awkwardly, jumping from one side of an argument to the other like nimble dancers crossing hot coals, alighting only long enough on any one point to keep from getting burned, they use their sharp talons and beaks to tear into and cross-examine the wounded prey, shredding apart even the soundest of legal briefs in minutes, leaving behind nothing but scraps of putrid flesh. And like their vulture cousins from other worlds the acid in an avian lawyer’s belly is so corrosive that there is almost nothing they can’t stomach, as long as the monetary incentive is valuable and sufficient enough.
On some planets vultures are known to urinate down their legs after scavenging so that the caustic uric acid fries the rancid germs on their feet, which get picked up from the sordid muck and filth they walk through daily. And the acid in their stomach is so corrosive that they can eat anthrax bacteria, and other deadly toxins, as if it were brie on a canapé. We can’t attest with certainty if the same holds true for our avian lawyer friends, but we took a poll, and the consensus is that although we’re not sure about the leg-peeing part, we wouldn’t be at all surprised if their snacking on anthrax were true.
Despite the welter of opinions put forth at the LSP conference, ultimately, as is often the case, the querulous clutch could be divided into one of two camps: eternally rosy optimists, who see every glass half-full; and dour cantankerous skeptics, who view all cups to be mostly-empty. Not surprisingly, the half-full batch sought further study, additional investigation, more probing of the conundrum at hand, so that every potential eventuality could be, and would be, laboriously delved.
Those with a mostly-empty point of view, however, wearied quickly of this fruitless exercise, and made clear to their colleagues that they were not going to partake in the “mental-masturbation circle-jerk” being so vigorously and enthusiastically championed by the half-fulls. No longer wishing to explore every metaphysical tunnel, real or imagined, that was being dug and refilled by their colleagues, the mostly-empty crowd opted instead for a more sanguine, expeditious route.
They proposed the option . . . TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James
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