melf at the movies
Egon Melf was not enjoying his day.
"I know he's gone. I want to know how that came to be." Melf was normally as even tempered as most sociopaths are in public. Boyette's now well-known venture into free-market economics would have got him fired on Earth, but his saviour Melf knew well Boyette was all he had for the moment.
Nonetheless, Boyette knew he was on thin ice, having committed the worst transgression of all, being found out. Melf knew well where his own scotch came from.
Boyette was looking at the video surveillance, still stiff from Rails' punches and his brief time in the brig. "Every time the motion sensors pick something up, the zone camera goes out."
"How can that be?" Melf rubbed his brow. "Get the damned video up here and get me somebody who understands this technical crap."
Melf hung up.
Nancy Richardson knocked on his door. "There's a Chuck Youngman here to see you."
Melf looked at the President's daughter as if she were an idiot. "Who the hell is Chuck Youngman?"
A burly man waved over her shoulder. "That would be me, Mr. Chief Of Staff."
Melf scowled. "And you want what?"
Youngman looked at him a bit oddly. "You wanted me."
"Why would I want you? I don't even know who you are." Melf gathered himself. "Mr. Youngman ..."
"Chuck."
"Chuck, I have some problem issues to deal with today."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll go away then and come back later then?"
Melf smiled at the bumpkin. "I appreciate your understanding, thank you."
"No, problem, sir." Chuck Youngman vanished from Melf's view as Boyette walked in.
Melf held his hand out for the vid. "And so?"
"The guy we need to talk to is one Charles Orville Youngman."
It took Melf a full second to digest the names down to a shorter form. "As in Chuck Youngman?"
The burly man appeared in the doorway again. "Now? Now is okay?"
Melf lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Youngman, now is okay."
Boyette looked at Chuck Youngman with suspicion, a hazy memory of being drugged, of losing consciousness, vague images of a burly man with stong arms. "What do you do exactly, Mr. Youngman?"
Melf raised a hand to quiet Boyette. "Stow it, Garland." He looked at Youngman. "This is a covert warning, isn't it, a threat in disguise? You're the Village Idiot from Monty Python?"
Youngman didn't sit, didn't spare a glance for Boyette. "You want the 'public servant' speech, the folksy denial?"
Melf was grateful the man respected him enough to offer him the choice. "I'll pass, thanks. What is the nature of our transgressions, exactly?"
"Pure pragma this time. Know anything about Gvot culture?"
Melf sighed. "In truth, no."
"Every Gvot has to make his or her own rifle." Youngman took his own glasses off and cleaned them. "You kidnapped Nagas, we gave him back. The reason is there are Gvot with loaded firearms on every single one of the whole 316 viable pods. There are Gvot inside The Hub quite capable and willing to avenge the attempt to spin human history at the expense of their world hero."
Melf looked at him incredulously. "You're standing in my office telling me you took Nagas out of custody?"
"Yep, and if you want to strongarm my ass, if I take my finger off this thingie here in my pocket, you'll be able to watch your whole day on closed circuit television, including this conversation, and the part about Boyette and the Black market."
Melf managed an innocent smile. "About what?"
Youngman was finished. "You heard me, I'm sure you've taken it up with him." He gestured to Boyette.
Boyette squirmed uncomfortably.
"I'm afraid that will require an explanation, Mr. Youngman. Kidnapping is a serious offense." Egon Melf clasped his hands neatly in front of him on the desk.
Chuck shook his head. "Not happening." He opened the door and disappeared into the throng of erstwhile news-gatherers waiting outside. Jimmy Fenster was nothing if not efficient.
Melf's ugly day ended at 0230h, as he slept fitfully, still enraged and frustrated.
His voxbox lit up, Richardson's name on the screen. "Yes, Mr. President." Melf had hoped to put this off until morning.
"Nope, it's Chuck, Egon. Just wanted to know how you like your goth toenail polish."
Melf spluttered. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sit up and put the light on." Youngman clicked off.
Melf didn't bother, he knew they would be there, five black toenails, glistening.
He knew the stuff would take a while to wear off. It did.
"I know he's gone. I want to know how that came to be." Melf was normally as even tempered as most sociopaths are in public. Boyette's now well-known venture into free-market economics would have got him fired on Earth, but his saviour Melf knew well Boyette was all he had for the moment.
Nonetheless, Boyette knew he was on thin ice, having committed the worst transgression of all, being found out. Melf knew well where his own scotch came from.
Boyette was looking at the video surveillance, still stiff from Rails' punches and his brief time in the brig. "Every time the motion sensors pick something up, the zone camera goes out."
"How can that be?" Melf rubbed his brow. "Get the damned video up here and get me somebody who understands this technical crap."
Melf hung up.
Nancy Richardson knocked on his door. "There's a Chuck Youngman here to see you."
Melf looked at the President's daughter as if she were an idiot. "Who the hell is Chuck Youngman?"
A burly man waved over her shoulder. "That would be me, Mr. Chief Of Staff."
Melf scowled. "And you want what?"
Youngman looked at him a bit oddly. "You wanted me."
"Why would I want you? I don't even know who you are." Melf gathered himself. "Mr. Youngman ..."
"Chuck."
"Chuck, I have some problem issues to deal with today."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll go away then and come back later then?"
Melf smiled at the bumpkin. "I appreciate your understanding, thank you."
"No, problem, sir." Chuck Youngman vanished from Melf's view as Boyette walked in.
Melf held his hand out for the vid. "And so?"
"The guy we need to talk to is one Charles Orville Youngman."
It took Melf a full second to digest the names down to a shorter form. "As in Chuck Youngman?"
The burly man appeared in the doorway again. "Now? Now is okay?"
Melf lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Youngman, now is okay."
Boyette looked at Chuck Youngman with suspicion, a hazy memory of being drugged, of losing consciousness, vague images of a burly man with stong arms. "What do you do exactly, Mr. Youngman?"
Melf raised a hand to quiet Boyette. "Stow it, Garland." He looked at Youngman. "This is a covert warning, isn't it, a threat in disguise? You're the Village Idiot from Monty Python?"
Youngman didn't sit, didn't spare a glance for Boyette. "You want the 'public servant' speech, the folksy denial?"
Melf was grateful the man respected him enough to offer him the choice. "I'll pass, thanks. What is the nature of our transgressions, exactly?"
"Pure pragma this time. Know anything about Gvot culture?"
Melf sighed. "In truth, no."
"Every Gvot has to make his or her own rifle." Youngman took his own glasses off and cleaned them. "You kidnapped Nagas, we gave him back. The reason is there are Gvot with loaded firearms on every single one of the whole 316 viable pods. There are Gvot inside The Hub quite capable and willing to avenge the attempt to spin human history at the expense of their world hero."
Melf looked at him incredulously. "You're standing in my office telling me you took Nagas out of custody?"
"Yep, and if you want to strongarm my ass, if I take my finger off this thingie here in my pocket, you'll be able to watch your whole day on closed circuit television, including this conversation, and the part about Boyette and the Black market."
Melf managed an innocent smile. "About what?"
Youngman was finished. "You heard me, I'm sure you've taken it up with him." He gestured to Boyette.
Boyette squirmed uncomfortably.
"I'm afraid that will require an explanation, Mr. Youngman. Kidnapping is a serious offense." Egon Melf clasped his hands neatly in front of him on the desk.
Chuck shook his head. "Not happening." He opened the door and disappeared into the throng of erstwhile news-gatherers waiting outside. Jimmy Fenster was nothing if not efficient.
Melf's ugly day ended at 0230h, as he slept fitfully, still enraged and frustrated.
His voxbox lit up, Richardson's name on the screen. "Yes, Mr. President." Melf had hoped to put this off until morning.
"Nope, it's Chuck, Egon. Just wanted to know how you like your goth toenail polish."
Melf spluttered. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Sit up and put the light on." Youngman clicked off.
Melf didn't bother, he knew they would be there, five black toenails, glistening.
He knew the stuff would take a while to wear off. It did.
