A satire of dysfunctional politics and economic disparity.
Chapter IV: Day/Page 36 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . . Before the Major can reply, the Professor walks over. “So, what do you think, Admiral? Pretty exciting, huh?”
“Uh… yeah, thrilling. I was just saying the same thing to the Major. Not many things produce that kind of excitement. Now if you’ll excuse us, we better grab a seat for the next stage of this thrilling event.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. I’m going to do the same,” says the Professor, shuffling off excitedly.
“I think he’s serious,” the Admiral whispers to the Major. “But I guess if staring at dead stars all night is fun for these pud-pullers, then shooting off a rocket must be a real spud-spewing event. They probably all woke up this morning with wet dreams, sporting little stiffies, just fantasizing about the day to come.”
Minutes later everyone is seated in rows of chairs facing the stage. On the left holographic image, showing the view from the rocket’s cone, one sees a shimmering cloud looming out of the darkness ahead. The rocket banks right. On the other holographic image, showing the rocket from a distance, three small objects shoot out towards the shimmering cloud. The rocket continues banking right in a long, gradual curve until it makes a half-circle and is heading back to Gâia. The three small objects continue moving forward towards the shimmering cloud, there is a flicker, and they are gone. The three pods with the life-forces of Dr. Phalan, Dr. Thrush, and Swift are in the wormhole and on their way back in time to the Blue Planet.
“So what now?” barks the Admiral.
“Now we wait,” says Pils. “We should hear from them within thirty-six hours, after they’ve had a chance to bind with a new life-form there.”
“Then I guess we’re finished here,” says the Admiral, collecting his things and signaling the Major it was time to go. Others linger for a while then trickle out as well. There was nothing left to do but wait.
Sofia spends the rest of the day going through data from the Blue Planet and then heads over to the lab after dinner to find Pils. He had mentioned that by early evening he might have some initial indicators regarding the team’s journey through the wormhole. She finds him sitting alone in his office, agitated, breathing heavily, nervously shuffling holographic images around on his desk, searching for something.
“What is it, Pils? What’s wrong?” . . .
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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