Chapter 25: Fast-Spreading Bustrek Dye
Although it was not always the case, Earth inaugurations are notoriously speedy. On average (looking at the previous eight times that a new President won an election) it took roughly 24 seconds for the new President to take office after the votes were tallied. Jackson Fickle’s inauguration, as documented in his Presidential records, took an abnormally long amount of time: 32 seconds. Still, for someone who had never dreamt of becoming President, never expected to win a Presidential debate, and had no idea what would happen now that he had, it was an startlingly quick process. The Secret Guard whisked him away into Belmontenegro’s grandest conference room (later named the Fickle Conference Room, based on the fact that it was the site of President Jackson Fickle’s first and only meeting, and due to the event that was about to take place during said meeting) along with his companions- Tarza, Dusty, Plod, and Arn.
The entire Presidential Cabinet was waiting for him, sitting around a long oval table. They had been eagerly awaiting the results of the debate and, given that not a single one of them wanted Earth’s water to be sold out from under them, they were more than pleased to see Jackson arrive in the room and sit at the head of the table.
“Marshall Fudsworth, President Fickle,” said a large man with a handlebar mustache and mutton chops. “Secretary of the Exterior. I think I speak for everyone when I say ‘Congratulations on your victory!’”
“Here, here!” said more voices from the table.
“Elizabeeth Victoria, Secretary of Earthland Security. I hate to be a nudge, but, I did want to bring up the matter of the Byzong Warship that is hovering over our planet at the moment. Ever since you won, just a few moments ago, its proximity has been accelerating.”
Jackson looked puzzled.
“It’s getting closer,” she clarified. “ And what’s more, it seems to be extending a weapon of some kind… a tube ray?”
Tarza stepped forward. “Jackson, if I may?”
Jackson smiled and nodded.
“What impressive suits you all have. My name is Tarza. I’m a Byzong. And that is a Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray. It’s going to take all your salt water unless we stop it.”
“My word!” said the Secretary of Alien Services.
“President Racha said the Byzongs were interested in a legitimate business deal! A sale, not a theft!” said the Secretary of Technology.
“What wonderful ears you have, Tarza. And a pleasure to meet you. I’m Olga Svarinski, Secretary of Secretaries. How do you know all this young lady?” asked a tall woman with glasses.
“I helped build it,” said Tarza solemnly.
“Well, I never!!” said the Secretary of Alien Services.
“Oh hush, Reginald,” said Olga Svarinski, who was well adept at dealing with the Secretaries. “Might you happen to know how to stop it?” she asked Tarza.
“I have a few ideas,” she said with a smirk.
“Perhaps it’s best for you to meet with the Secretary of Defense then,” said the Secretary of Secretaries.
“That’s a great idea!” said Jackson.
Tarza, Dusty, and Plod left the room with the Secretary of Defense, who, Jackson noticed, was wearing sunglasses throughout the entire meeting.
“Marshall Fudsworth, again, President Fickle. Secretary of the Exterior.”
“Yes, um, hello, again,” said Jackson.
“I do believe we have another pressing matter at hand. You have not yet selected your Vice President. And, ahem, if I may, sir, I’d like to point out that never before has a Secretary of the Exterior been Vice President. Such a selection might send a strong message to the world that you are a bold and courageous leader!”
“And if I may, Mr. President. Many times, to great acclaim, the Secretary of the Interior has been made Vice President. Selecting me, Marsha Farnsworth, Secretary of the Interior, would send a clear and calming message to the world during a time of great change,” said a black-haired woman across from Marshall.
“Oh come off it, Marsha! Interior has gotten quite enough already!” said Marshall.
“Oh why don’t you go outside, you Exterior fool!” she retorted.
“Maybe I will! Do you know how much of the world is outside? Like, all of it!!” he shouted back.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about! Interior is the best and everyone knows it! It’s where you sleep! Ever wonder why all our meetings are inside? Because… of course they are!” she yelled.
“Enough!” said Olga Svarinski. “That’s not even what your titles mean.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “Apologies Mr. President. I had hoped for a better first impression. But, Marshall does have a point. You’ll need to select a Vice President.”
Jackson looked to the person sitting in the corner of the room on a chair behind him. He thought for a moment, then smirked.
“My Vice President will be Arn Brule,” he said confidently.
Arn shot up from the corner with surprise. “Me?!”
“Yes,” said Jackson.
Arn approached the table. “But… but…”
“No buts,” said Jackson. “I wouldn’t be sitting here without you. And besides, the Earth needs a Vice President who knows a little something about the job.”
“But… I mean… what about… you know…”
Jackson waved him off. “The way I see it, Earth needs people who know how to say they’re sorry. People who know how to grow and change. And that’s you.”
Arn got a little teary-eyed. He reached out his hand and shook Jackson’s.
“I’d be honored.”
“Done,” said Olga. “I’ve put in the requisite paperwork, and Arn is now your VP.”
“My goodness, government works fast!” said Jackson.
“It didn’t always,” said Olga, “but, we made some changes after opening up a Planetary Suggestion Box and getting the same note 97 million times to speed things up.”
Just then, Tarza, Dusty, Plod, and the Secretary of Defense walked back into the room, his sunglasses still on.
“We’re good,” said Tarza.
“What do you mean?” asked Jackson. “Oh, and Arn’s Vice President now.”
“Not bad,” said Tarza with an impressed face.
“We’re good about what?” asked Arn.
“The oceans. They’re safe.”
“What?! How??” asked Jackson. “You’ve only been gone a minute!”
“Well, you see, there’s always been a major flaw in the design of the Third Generation Macro-Electro-Bionic-Hydroxy-Gravitational Tube Ray. I tried to tell them that if you don’t ionize the omniplex filter on the—”
Jackson’s face was contorting trying to follow.
“Sorry, sometimes I get lost in the details… the point is, the ray only works if it can tell what’s water and what’s land.”
“And how does it do that?” asked Olga.
“By the color,” she answered.
“You can’t be serious,” said Marsha.
“Of course she’s serious! It’s an outdoors thing. You wouldn’t understand!” said Marshall, sticking his tongue out at her.
“Go on, please,” said Olga.
“It’s all about the contrast between the ocean and the shore. All you need to do is dye the water a different color. I didn’t think it’d be possible to find enough dye (in fact I almost didn’t mention it), but, it turns out you have an emergency supply of Fast-Spreading Bustrek Dye.”
“Why do we have an emergency supply of Bustrek Dye?” asked Jackson.
“I’ll answer that,” said the Secretary of Defense, speaking for the first time. “During periods of extreme food shortage we have enough rations for the whole world to eat. But, we’ve found they’re made in a color that humans feel is unappetizing and boring. So, we have a spectrum of dyes to use on them, if the rations are ever needed.”
“Astounding,” said the Secretary of Aliens.
Although no one in the historic meeting thought to ask, you might be wondering why the rations were not dyed a different color when, and as, they were being made. And the answer, as is the case with so many logistical concerns in the supply chain ecosystem, comes down to math. You see, rations, known for their strong preservative nature, have an impressive shelf life of 3-5 years. However, in a flat-out jaw-dropping feat of preservation from the fine people at Bustrek, their brilliant dyes have a shelf life of 120 years. This means that as Earth’s rations go bad every 3-5 years and new rations are made, the same batch of dye can be waiting, unspoiled, to dye the rations in the unlikely event they will be needed. In other words, using dye on every new batch of rations, as they spoil without being needed, would be a needless waste of a fine product, and a misuse of government funding (even though Bustrek’s prices are what is known as a “steal”). And Earth’s government is well-known for being smart and efficient with money, after 111 million notes in the Planetary Suggestion Box demanded it so.
“We’re dropping dye in every major ocean and sea across the planet as we speak,” said the Secretary of Defense.
“What color are you dyeing it?” asked Vice President Arn.
“Given the nature of the dye packs, and the variety, we are expecting bands of almost every color.”
“Rainbow oceans!” said Tarza. “The ray is useless!”
A knock came to the door. Jackson saw the Secret Guard open up and said a few whispered words to whoever was on the other side.
The Guard moved aside and allowed three hooded figures to enter the room.
“President Jackson Fickle,” hissed the hooded figure in front as they approached. He was the shortest of the three, but they all stood at towering heights.
“Yes?” Jackson gulped. He smelled the dangerous air again.
“What are you doing?” shouted Tarza. “Don’t let them in here!”
Plod and Dusty extended shocking rods from the chassis.
“These are representatives of Those in Charge!” said Marshall. “Of course we’ll let them in. They’re honored guests here to congratulate our new President!”
“You don’t understand! They’re behind all of this!” said Tarza, trying to get to Jackson but getting blocked by Secret Guards.
“She’s right! You need to ask them to leave,” Arn pleaded with the nearest Guard.
The hooded figures crowded around Jackson, descending upon him. The one in front extended a gloved hand and, as though in slow motion, Jackson watched as the hand patted him on the back. No one, not Jackson, not Tarza, not Arn, not the Secretaries of Interior or Exterior, or the Guards, could have known that underneath the glove was a Warp-Port.
That is, not until Jackson disappeared, along with the hooded figures, in a flash.