A satire of dysfunctional government and economic inequality.
Chapter II: Day/Page 15 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . . “What the Admiral means to say is that given the seriousness of the matter, as you have so eloquently stated, the Admiral feels, and we from the IPA agree, that we need to act quickly to prevent this terrible loss of life. None of us relish doing a reset on any intelligent species, especially our military Hawks, who have the greatest respect for life since they are the ones so often burdened with ending it. Isn’t that right, Admiral?”
The Admiral shrugs without comment, engrossed now in gnawing some vexing bit of grime out from under a talon.
“But,” the Minister continues, “as unfortunate as a reset may be, it is our only option. What we need to decide now is when. So, please tell us, Professor, how long do you estimate that you and your team can keep the temporal-wormhole open?”
The Academy President looks across the table to Pils Thornston, a thin grey Falcon with bleary red eyes from long nights in the observatory.
“About three months,” says the bleary-eyed Pils.
“About three months,” repeats the Academy President.
“Well then,” says the Minister, “that’s not much time, is it? So I suggest your team make preparations immediately to send someone to the planet as soon as possible. What is it?”
“What is what?”
“The planet… what is it called?”
“Oh, planet zero-zero, three-one, nine-two-nine, located in the Hydro region,” says the Academy President.
“We call it the Blue Planet,” Pils Thornston adds brightly. “Because it’s blue. It’s a blue planet.”
When no one else in the room seems to find that fact as interesting as he does, he fidgets with some papers and smiles meekly.
The Admiral rolls his eyes at the ceiling, mutters, “Please give me the strength to not wring that little mouse-wipe’s neck.”
“The Blue Planet, that’s nice,” says the IPA Minister. “It makes it more personal. And heaven knows that a reset is nothing if not personal. We should never lose sight of that.” Then, turning his head slightly askew, he focuses his sharp Eagle eyes on a point at the back of the room, and for a brief moment holds that gaze that only birds of prey can hold; a gaze of supreme confidence, clarity, and focus; a gaze suggesting all mysteries of the universe are known; a gaze the Minister has practiced many times in the mirror and honed on the campaign trail; a gaze he now used, he hoped, to maximum effect, by appearing to look competent, insightful, and sharp.
After three and a half seconds—which focus-groups said was ideal—he breaks the gaze and continues. “So, I suggest you send your emissary, or scientist, or whatever he or she is—doesn’t really matter—to the Blue Planet as soon as possible. Gather all the info you need about the place, the people and plants and dirt and stuff. Whatever you guys want. And then, when the Admiral is ready and you’re all done doing whatever you do, then you bring your people back and the Admiral’s team will fly in for the reset.” Turning to the Admiral. “Which is how long, Admiral? How much time do you need to get your squad ready?”
“We can swoop in and . . . . TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW
Available on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback versions.
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
All rights reserved