Wicked Messenger by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 15
One of Zeus’ subordinates managed to reach the high staff of US President Francis (Call me Frank, please) X. Stabile. The liberal staffer, Barbara Kennedy, one of a potpourri of people of every political persuasion serving, thought that a meeting would be egalitarian and encouraging; there was nothing to lose; and there would be flagrant press coverage. Francis X.’s general staff was comprised of people with whom the public had differing and confused interpretations of their political philosophies.
The entourage was assembled for precisely this reason, as whichever way the winds blew, Stabile had a person he could momentarily highlight who went in the same direction. This issue was too new to have a clear cut public profile and future ramifications could well turn the tides to any possible channel.
Politically astute, he saw no doubt that the Anti-Eli contingent was a growth opportunity.
Stabile had forty years of experience in handling similar situations. The first option was to duck; the second to say that more information was needed; the third to claim ignorance; and the last to appear to confront while really doing and saying nothing. Since the latter was the only one open to him he agreed to the meeting knowing full well what would be on Zeus’ agenda and therefore expected to be fully prepared.
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A casual private sit down was planned prior to the programmed appearance before the press. Stabile was informally resplendent in his Ivy League, off-white polo shirt and khaki pants. He was already waiting in the Elliptical Office of the Gray House when Zeus arrived in formal red and gold regalia.
Stabile turned from the window which overlooked a haphazardly maintained evergreen bush garden and greeted Zeus.
As they shook hands, Stabile said; “Mr. Prime Minister.”
Zeus said; “Mr. President,” as a correction, but it was taken as a greeting.
“Call me Frank, please.” He motioned for Zeus to have a seat and Frank took one at the opposite end of the long table.
Zeus was a bit put off by the over-familiarity usually associated with Eli peanut farmers, but tried not to smirk when he said; “Frank.”
“And may I call you Zeus?”
Zeus thought that he might already have gleaned an insight into the American political game; a sickeningly sweet, guileless, welcoming exterior covering the dark side of the moon; probably played out in vague disingenuous banalities. He hoped his first impression was wrong as he wanted to do business with “The Man.” He re-tasted his lunch and heartily wished that he would not vomit. He said; “Yes, please do. Our time is limited, so forgive me for hastily getting to the point. I’m
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certain you know why I’m here. I’m sure you’ll agree that it is patently absurd that the shooting of Elis is not a crime. We have come in peace and hope to contribute to and enjoy your beautiful country.”
“Let me formally welcome you. Let me go on record to say that I am an Eli supporter and I do agree that the legal situation regarding Elis can stand some improvement. Having said that, I think that you can appreciate the intricacies, checks and balances, if you will, which make our system sound. I cannot dictate an immediate change. Nor can anyone. Laws have to be proposed by legislators, voted on, win, tested in the courts, stand appeals and in some cases go to the Supreme Court. If you had informed us of your intentions earlier, we could have gotten off to a quicker start. Now we have complications. You have my heartfelt sympathy and I will do everything in my power to be of assistance.”
Zeus interpreted Frank’s ineffectual and cold response as due to two unspoken considerations; 1)He sees the tide of public opinion as going anti-Eli and doesn’t know how far it will go, and 2)He doesn’t see anything to gain in making an effort to help. Accustomed to being more forthright in Eli political meetings, as it is more efficient and primarily because nobody any longer buys the ********, Zeus ignored the chosen words and answered the meaning he had gathered. He said; “Only time will
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tell if the anti-Eli movement will constitute to be anything more than a lunatic fringe. That’s an unknown neither of us can predict. However, I will make an analogy to the US black situation. A politician cannot win being anti-black and the Eli Sunnies qualify. Secondly, there are thirty million of us, twenty million of voting age, and we vote as a block for those who support us.”
Frank sniffed, tapped one finger on the table and looked out the window at a lazy hawk gliding. He didn’t appreciate Zeus’ bluntness and considered him exasperating and politically naïve, who had obviously spent no time in the diplomatic corps.
He decided the correct approach was the safest one; to seek more information. He said; “I think you may have misunderstood. I said I was an Eli supporter.” He offered a broad smile which Zeus returned with one of the Patton variety. He continued sans the broad grin and said; “Tell me. Where will you be living?” He was thinking that Zeus might be perpetrating a hoax, might be greatly exaggerating the numbers, that there may be legal complications to voting rights for some time and that if they all congregate in one state which his party always loses, it had no consequence no matter what.
Zeus drew the conclusion that the meeting would be fruitless. He had made his well anticipated point and shunned redundancy. Oddly, he became amused with the dialogue he
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considered absurd, and openly smiled at Frank like an eight year old rube who just won the mud sliding contest. He said; “Elis are free to live wherever they choose. No telling where we’ll wind up. Probably do some moving. Get proficient with guns.
Safety, mind you. Maybe we’ll be the swing vote.”
Stabile followed with; “Just between us, how do we know that you are from the planet Eli? You look like Americans, talk like Americans and get shot like Americans.”
Zeus said; “We all are imbedded with a chip operated by a controller. This isn’t proof per se as you could do the same thing. But, watch this.” He pushed a series of buttons and shrank to an inch. Frank walked over to see where he had gone and saw miniscule Zeus still on his chair. Zeus reversed the button push and shot back to normal size, knocking Frank back.
Zeus said; “Never get too close to a tiny Eli. The shock can be devastating. ....... You know, if we get fair treatment here, we can give you one of these and you could run it through your Warhollian duplicating machines.”
Frank responded; “That’s a kind offer. But why would we want to get small?”
“That’s not all they do. They also control mood. They do come in very handy when there is a food or housing shortage. If all Earthlings were tiny you could get by with approximately
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1.3% of the food currently consumed. There would be no homelessness, unless it was the result of free choice.”
For the first time Frank had an interest and pushed for more goodies. He said; “The rockets you use must be way ahead of ours.”
“They fly at five times the speed of light. The technology is very classified information. ....... But, you know good friends share their toys. If we were assured that you were good friends, ............................”
Frank pushed, thinking he found a sucker; “Weaponry?”
Zeus understood it precisely that way Frank intended it and was insulted. He didn’t show it and calmly said; “Nothing you don’t already have, more or less. Explosives. Top secret stuff.”
Stabile thought it appropriate to use rhetoric in an attempt to bolster the perception of American might. He said;
“We recently acquired something that tops all.” After feeling compelled to say that he realized that he might have created infinite confusion as well as opening the door to being caught in a direct lie. The previously announced indirect and conjured
“leaked” story implied that they had gotten a new technology from an alien. That didn’t hurt at the time. Who could say otherwise? Who really expected to encounter the bona fide shrinking alien, in the person of Zeus? He entertained the thought that by now Zeus would have ascertained whether or not
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he had lost one of his people and one of his weapons. On the other hand, when the story was concocted he thought the alien landing was a farce and merely sought to plant a bee in the bonnet of enemies. But, now Zeus could be in the position of knowing that it was a total fabrication, though not overtly stated. For his part, Zeus took the statement as an indication that he was dealing with someone with a penchant for overstating his case. Since, like Cronos, he had strong suspicions that Joshua had killed Ares, he thought it only a miniscule chance that the US government wound up with his weapon. However, if this miniscule chance was the case, then Stabile knew that the Elis were better armed than he had said. He was seeking this man’s help and he had an infinitesimal chance of having been caught in a glaring direct lie. Elis made an art of telling partial stories, omitting pertinent clarifying “factoids,”
citing plausible reasons rather than the real ones, refusing to recognize inconvenient information which was not 100% provable (What is 100% provable?) and utilizing the precisely correct word to mislead. But, out and out lying was considered incompetent and he was now extremely self-conscious in Stabile’s presence.
Both parties decided that the meeting was completely unproductive, that they couldn’t rely on anything the other said and that they were personally embarrassed at the good
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possibility of having been caught in a lie. Both mulled over the idea of sending diplomats to any future meetings.
While his interest in some possible world edge remained piqued, Frank had some unexpressed reservations with the rocket as the US was no longer interested in expensive space missions and wondered if the weaponry query was responded to truthfully, merely because the rocket was so advanced he couldn’t imagine weaponry to be so far behind. He considered making people small an attractive idea, but worried about its probable negative economic impact. He didn’t consider Zeus an idiot; just one devoid of political skills, who must have come from some sort of monarchy. His pragmatic decision was immediate; try to convince Zeus that he was helping as much as he could without inciting the American zealot brigade to turn from his party. Frank concluded the meeting with an exhortation to the “productive exchange of ideas,” apparently oblivious to the fact that his
“ideas” were restricted to political considerations. Zeus was irritated and disdainful of a President who couldn’t or wouldn’t deliver the goods. If he “couldn’t” there was no point in continuing the tete-a-tete. If he “wouldn’t” it would serve his interest to up the pressure or find out who on Earth had the capability. “This Stabile may only respect force. Maybe he’s just a flunky.”
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Stabile ushered Zeus out of the “Elliptical Office” with light fingers on the elbow. He said; “Don’t say anything. Let me handle this.” After they passed through two doors and eight nodding armed security guards they entered the Gray House’ Open Room, where approved members of the press waited. They were either telling each other of the great stories that got away, sullenly trying to appear “hard hitting” in case they got on camera, ingratiating themselves to a Gray House staffer or picking their nose and surreptitiously scanning the room to see if it was safe to eat it.
Frank nuzzled up to the podium with his patented ****-
eating smile. He motioned Zeus to the rear where he almost merged with the red, white and blue; his gold somewhat differentiating him. He said; “I’d like to thank ........” He stopped short when his amplified voice did not command the attention of all attendees. He stared at three journalists who fancied themselves “expose” type reporters, while employed by glossy monthlies available at supermarket check-out lines. They had staffer Rodney Naught surrounded, vehemently trying to convince him that it was in the interest of the American public to tell what he knew of Frank’s alleged liaison with former volunteer Angela Sockalow. Frank loudly cleared his throat and the room was silent if not attentive. “I’d like to thank you all for coming, umnn attending on such short notice. Zeus and I just
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concluded an informal sit down which was as much a pleasure as an official duty. Umnn, we share many of the same outlooks and values. I looked him square in the eye and knew he was a good man. We spoke of things our cultures can do for one another. And umnn, he, of course, was concerned with the recent tragic shooting of three Elis. I think I spoke for everyone when I told him that he had our deepest sympathies, and I gave him my word that anyone engaging in hate crimes against his people will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. And umnn, .......”
In Cloister, Colorado thirty-five year old handyman and landscaper, William Carmichael III glared at his TV screen. He poured the remainder of his Budweiser down his throat and called out; “Madge, would you come look at this. Unbelievable!”
His wife of twelve years dragged herself into the family room of their fifty year old six room, L-shaped ranch, hands on her wide hips as if to say; “What?”
“The President is supporting these Elis, as if we’re not already having enough trouble with the other aliens.”
Madge chose not to resurrect their longstanding debate over whether or not it was the fault of the Mexicans that William spent the bulk of his time on his ass, drunk in front of the TV.
She did want to annoy him however and said; “There aren’t that
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many of them. They look like us. And so far they haven’t registered an interest in going into the handyman business.”
William ignored any possible innuendo out of an undiagnosed Comprehension Deficit Disorder (CDD) and said; “If we make it easy for them more will come. Rest assured. And what did you mean about the handyman business?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Looking like us isn’t any good thing. They can pass and people who believe in hiring Americans won’t know the difference.”
“People hire whoever does what they want at the lowest price. Simple as that.”
“What are you saying?”
“....................”
“This used to be a great country, but now the liberal politicians allow everyone to do whatever they want.”
Madge couldn’t completely hide a chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
Madge had a few avenues of approach open to her and settled on the simplest, saying; “Stabile is not a liberal.”
“He is now. Women don’t understand anything. I’m going to call a few of my buddies. Somebody has to do something.” He took the cell phone from his pocket and started furiously pushing buttons. Madge went back to the “Daughters of Lilith” website.
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Though the conversation particulars differed, similarly intended words flew around many households throughout the country containing a husband who believed or found it convenient to say that his lack of financial success was due to unfair competition from the uneducated. Without any doubt it was safe to say that the rank and file of the disenfranchised white fringe had enough trouble deciphering single speak and now confronted with double they took Stabile’s words to mean that he was actually in support of the Elis, and they were mad about it.
As news of the meeting became common knowledge small militaristic groups claiming allegiance to Robby Allison formed.
Most Americans saw them as little more than a showcase for losers as no one in their right mind could get really worked up over 9,000 beings which claim to come from outer space, ostensibly in their right mind. Their backwater rallies, wherein they displayed bald heads, a lot of fat, tattoos and swastikas got the attention of desperately bored people with cameras. The participants got what they most craved. They felt like stars and condescended to interviews. The middle classes chided and joked, but in a short time it became apparent that their derision was more of methodology than philosophy.
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