Wicked Messenger by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 4
ACCEPTANCE, ELI, 5-13-98476. 5-13-2058 EARTH CALENDAR
Cronos Titanby called for a secret meeting of the highest Eli officials. In attendance would be President Zeus Indiffant, State Director Seth Recreat, Military Director Marshall Ordnance, Finance Director Brigitte Chance, and Legal Director Prometheus Blaze. As they were the greatest powers on Eli, heavy-duty security was put in place. This alone, would have let anyone interested, like a terrorist, know that important people would be there. So, in the hope of stimulating confusion heavy-duty security was also put in place at five other locations.
The room was cold. Despite the tepid May sun, the air conditioning system was on full blast and the waves of arctic air reverberated off the closed and un-curtained, double glassed windows. The reflecting, chrome and glass furniture with molded plastic covered seats was not conducive to the touch of warm flesh, however that posed no problem.
Cronos anxiously arrived early, as he was the one with the most to lose. He was unable to conceal his apprehension as, in the cause of protecting his position, he had to report a mission failure to a small but clamorous crowd that didn’t want to hear about it. It could require decisions; an extension of personal risk.
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He gazed out the largest window and saw a deep blue, single-seat, personal jet cascade over the few cumulous clouds minimally painting the sky with bulging texture. As the pilot navigated the heavens the plane’s exhaust riddled the blue with gray lines, which inflated before being absorbed by the darkening atmosphere. Cronos watched the tiny projectile until it disappeared behind the craggy mountain.
He took a seat far from the head of the table and thought over his plans. For his own safety he had to engage the wisdom of the herd, but complicating that he also desired not to relinquish his stature. His lack of confidence was demonstrated by his severely proper, button down white shirt and conservative gray designer suit. He thought over how he would phrase the
“facts” of his delicate dilemma. His goal was to appear managerial with a tough plan of action and yet obtain other complicit conspirators, in case anything went awry.
He studied his surroundings including the reproductions hung from the wood paneled, informal wall. The red mahogany stained, vertical, smooth pine panels showed no evidence of what they covered as their tongue-in-groove formation blocked all light. It was reminiscent of a fantasy farmhouse that may or may not have existed on Eli eons ago. Its modern utility was to convey popular, down-homey simplicity, in a world that today required sophistication, yet hadn’t the audacity to admit it.
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The Cowboy and Indian scenes were absurdly wistful in present tense, yet served to evoke a “tradition” which truly expired before the flood, but lived on in the self-serving image desired by those in power today. Photo ops were regularly arranged for this room by politicians who directed their faux unpretentious and guileless blimey to the susceptible electorate every four years. Though the people didn’t see themselves as gullible, they always exhibited a strong tendency to vote for the easy-going, smiling face. An un-specifically focused babble of platitudes to things gone by, values lost, or something else not in their repertoire was never a disservice. Short-careered, “radical”
reporters periodically wrote that this contributed to the obvious “cult of personality” and the continual re-election of the incumbents who were wise enough not to be discovered holding wads of cash in their freezers or whores on their staffs.
Cronos’ thoughts distilled to; “Humble, cooperative, team player which hopefully will result in the true goal; blamelessness.” Prevalent political mantras utilized by incumbents were; “I didn’t do it,” “It wasn’t me,” and “It was the last guy,” even when the last guy left office twelve years prior. Though the electorate only pretended to put any credence in the denials when it was regurgitated by someone of their favorite party, he was in real danger of losing the ability to spout the renunciations, without incurring belly laughs.
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The entourage entered as a sullen, grimacing group, already fully expecting to hear what they didn’t want to hear; mission problems. They glowered at Cronos with one common thought; “You
****** up.” Cronos made unrequited nods to each, utilizing his best **** eating smile. A not very surprising added attendee was the flunky, paid-off, “Darkie” Head of State Thomas Bungalowry.
Thomas was not on the guest list, however he felt his attendance was necessary to demonstrate importance to his “Darkie”
constituency. This was a testimony to the inability of Elis to have a secret meeting and their countrywide inability to keep anything secret. Surveillance cameras were continually running, perched on every street light and sign, which resulted in the average Eli going about his daily business being the unpaid star of a motion picture 1,450 times per day. The government sought no monopoly in the film industry as it sold one of its outdated spy satellites to a private enterprise; an internet search engine, which enabled its customers to clearly focus on anything at any time. Initially popular with the old, infirmed and the crippled, its usage spread to the general population, ostensibly to monitor their children’s safety, who, in turn used it, supposedly, to monitor their parent’s monitoring.
Zeus Indiffant took his customary seat at the head of the table and Thomas the foot. The others filled in the sides where Cronos already sat. They seemed to be playing a variation of
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musical chairs, wherein the object was not to be next to Cronos.
Legal Director Prometheus Blaze was the oldest and least nimble and consequently got stuck. He leaned toward Zeus and tried not to fidget.
Zeus scratched and fondled his beard, then held his hands out to each side and said; “Mr. Titanby. You called this meeting. Please tell us why we’re here.”
Cronos spoke carefully, openly reading from his notes, saying; “I appreciate your attendance on such short notice. To make matters as efficient as I can, I’ll get right to the point.
Something has gone wrong with Foucalt’s mission. I have been unable to confirm his arrival on Earth. I’ve been able to get communication through the rocket’s transmitter. But, my answers come from entities unknown. I’ve heard three voices; that of a little girl, an aged man and another man, who may or may not be Foucalt.
This begs various questions;
1) Is Foucalt on Earth?
2) Is he elsewhere?
3) Is he alive?
4) Though I can’t imagine what it might be, is he playing some sort of game with us?
5) Is he a captive? And if so, where and why?
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6) If this is Foucalt speaking on occasion, is he free to speak his mind? He might be in the company of Earthlings whenever I try to speak to him.
7) Might they have control of his “silver bullet”?
8) Who are these other voices?
9) Is Foucalt’s mission over?
10) Is it hopelessly compromised?
11) Should we wait and see what develops in an imperiled Eli environment?
12) Is any further action indicated?
I am of the opinion that no matter what the answers to my questions, probably not concretely determinable, to be safe a second mission is indicated. As I do not have the authority or resources to implement this on my own, I seek your wise input, counsel and direction.”
Each of the others had the same thought. Cronos’ last sentence was incomplete as it should have included “complicity and money.” Though far from amazed by what they had just heard, the other Directors kept their eyes on the narcissistic glass table, pretending to be taking notes or making adjustments to their hand held computers.
Thomas Bungalowry made his presence obvious with the comment, spoken in indignation: “You ****** up.” While this got no discernible reaction from the others, Cronos impassively
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stared at him as if to say; “No ****.” However he did articulate; “And your incisive input, counsel or direction is?”
Tom sputtered; “This is an important issue. Perhaps, the most important issue Elis have ever faced. I think that it is incumbent on someone to get it right.”
Zeus Indiffant rolled his eyes, vowing to himself to look into the security leak, and impassively said; “Tom, will you do me a small personal favor? Shut the **** up, unless you want to volunteer for the job.”
Tom got quiet.
Zeus said; “I didn’t think so. Let’s have some input from the Directors. Seth?”
State Director Seth Recreat said; “I don’t see why we shouldn’t play safe with a mission of this much importance. I agree with Cronos that a second one is in order.”
Zeus said; “Marshall?”
Military Director Marshall Ordnance said; “I fully agree.
However, I don’t see why the mission wouldn’t be improved by having a military pilot. If we’re going to perform an efficient wipe-out of those war-loving Earthlings it behooves us to have militarily useful information.”
Zeus said; “Brigitte.”
Finance Director Brigitte Chance said; “No problem for me.
We can print the necessary money.”
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Zeus said; “And last, but not least, Prometheus.”
Legal Director Prometheus Blaze shrugged and said; “No objections.”
Zeus said; “Cronos, get another solo rocket built. How long do you think that will take?”
“About a month.”
Zeus grimaced slightly, but didn’t quibble. He said; Co-ordinate the funding with Brigitte and the pilot with Marshall.”
His eyes scanned the meeting attendees and he said; “Anything else?”
Thomas Bungalowry spoke up, saying; “In the interest of equality I think it would be fair for the second pilot to be a white from my territory.”
Zeus said; “If you don’t shut the **** up I’ll have the courier drop off your next payment at the “New Darkie Times.”
(The largest and most respected newspaper in the land devoid of light.) He sneered as if he had seen something unpleasant, unnecessary and unintelligent; then continued; “Marshall, pick someone who is not a heavy duty sun bather.”
Marshall nodded.
Zeus said; “And Cronos. Keep me apprised of construction progress. And keep trying to reach Foucalt.”
Cronos mimicked Marshall.
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With a tired voice, Zeus said; “Anything else?” He looked directly at Tom with “I dare you” in his eyes. When no one spoke he said; “This meeting is concluded.”
ESPERANZA, ARIZONA, 5-13-2058.
Late that afternoon Harry woke from his nap. He lay still in bed analyzing the cracks in the ceiling plaster. They seemed to form a pattern; a pattern which repeated and repeated. A little east, a little north, a little west and again a little north over and over again. He changed positions; his head at the foot of the bed, and while the repetition of the pattern remained monotonous, now it now went north, west, north, east, ad infinitum. As inconsequential as he saw the ceiling cracks, he wondered if a tiny plastic space ship could talk to him, why wouldn’t the larger ceiling send a message?
He drifted off and had a disturbing, yet welcomed dream in that he didn’t like what he had seen, but thought that it might be useful in finding out who he was. He was walking on a large concrete path in a city, nothing like he had seen in Esperanza.
Cars filled the roadways. The people went about whatever business they had as if he was not there. They were so precise in their abilities to look some other way, he knew he was seen
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by most, if not all. A storefront sign said; “Eli Playmates,”
and the windows openly displayed flesh imitating sex toys.
He thought; “Joshua, Foucalt, rocket, law, Eli, playmates, repeating patterns. LOGIC!
Becky held the rocket in her left hand and rattled it.
Simultaneously Cronos used the transmitter saying; “Foucalt.
Foucalt. Come in.”
Becky asked; “What number are you trying to reach?”
“Who is this?”
“None of your business. What do you want?”
“Foucalt. Is he alive?”
“I don’t know. Who or what is a Foucalt?”
Cronos was exasperated. He thought that he had done as well as possible at the meeting, but resented having been instructed to use a military pilot at the discretion of Marshall Ordnance.
In haste he took a chance, perhaps for the first time in his life and said; “The guy you have in custody.”
“We don’t have anybody in custody here. This is a well-respected boarding house and we do not have to put people in custody to have them stay here. As a matter of fact, we are known ....................”
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Grandpa entered the room, took the rocket and said; “You’re babbling” to Becky and “Who are you trying to reach?” to the rocket he now held.
Mom and Dad heard the interchange and entered with differing looks on their faces. Charles pulled his khaki pants over his midriff as he would prepare for an altercation. Susan appeared amusedly curious in her home made, colorful dress.
Cronos said; “Joshua Foucalt.”
Grandpa said; “There is no person by that name here. What number are you trying to reach?
Cronos silently did a slow burn.
Grandpa further questioned; “Where are you calling from?”
Disgustedly, Cronos said; “Eli” and shut off the transmitter. He typed boarding house into his database program.
Harry stood in the open door, heard the last interchange and it gave him more to think about.
Charles (Dad) said; “What is going on here?”
Grandpa told him as Becky nervously wondered if she was in trouble.
Susan (Mom) said; “Years ago I saw an off-beat movie, where a car radio was transmitting messages from God. He’d say the craziest things and people tried to figure out what he meant.
........... I suppose that’s not very different from the Bible when you think about it. I mean all that stuff in Numbers about
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pitching here and there. One would think of a travelling baseball team, but that game wasn’t invented until ......”
Charles cut her off saying; “You’re babbling.” He saw Harry at the door and asked him; “Where did you get this thing?”
Harry said; “I don’t know. It was in my pocket.”
Charles took the rocket from Grandpa and said; “I’m going to get rid of this thing.” He turned to leave the room, intending to run the rocket through the blender.
Becky cried out; “Grandpa said I could have it.”
Charles sighed deeply and looked at Grandpa at a temporary loss for words.
Grandpa felt the need to defend himself, but didn’t want to risk an authority dispute with Dad in front of Becky. He, too, was silent.
Seeing that it could be useful to him and fearful that Charles would destroy it, Harry said; “I’ll be glad to take it back. ........... If that would help.”
Mom said; “I don’t see the harm in it. It’s like getting a wrong number ........... Or an indecipherable message from God.
The words in some parts of the Bible are so ambiguous. Well, perhaps purposely so, but if I had a vote ........”
Dad cut her off saying; “Can you cut that stuff, just a tiny bit?” He handed the rocket back to Becky and said; “DO NOT
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and I’ll repeat; DO NOT tell this rocket your name, address, phone number or anything else of a personal nature. UNDERSTAND?”
Becky nodded pertly and looked at the rocket in her hand.
Dad added; “See if you can get it to play some decent music.”
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