The Hourly WHY __Episode 06

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The Hourly WHY __Episode 06

Mind Market Mixed

published as Mind Market Womani

llustration by Jeff Worman

In the Last Hour, today, The World Governments, (to include those of the Moon and the Sister colonies) announced that in a measure to counteract unprecedented budgetary shortfalls, it would be necessary to either…

- open up Our Solar System to additional immigration, (more aliens to pay more taxes)

- allow for the reintegration of additional dead people back into the work force (more warm bodies to pay more taxes)

- create additional clones (the more the merrier to pay more taxes)

Or simply raise taxes. Cut services. Lay offs.

After debating the issue for a few moments, the Council of Determiners decided on all of the above.

* * *

Mr.Lintner from Accounting knew something had to be done. Vince Membritch just wanted to “get his ass in gear,” whereas Dean Wendler and his nephew Don wanted to surreptiously build a nest egg. One of the familiar faces was said to be in the market to summarily crack a nut.

Investo raised its mighty hand.

“Silence.”

The Stranger asked Arthur Luchessi if he needed a date.

“Not right now.”

Mr.Lintner nudged the “Office-Park-Daedalus” as Investo began another longwinded dielectric diatribe.

"Once again, to reiterate, I‘ve put something together with the Big Boys down on Bill's Planet,” the champion beamed.

The Stranger glared at Mr. Lintner, so he pouted.

“Let me see a show of hands of those of youse interested in My Plan.”

Everyone raised their hands, with the exception of the Langerthal Twins, Debbie and Delores. Still stuck in traffic. In a Detroit of another dimension.

“The Big Boys down on Bill’s Planet have reason to believe the Trade Embargo is going to be lifted. They’ve had their Free and Open Elections, even allowed the Planet’s wildlife to vote. They want an open economy. And they want it now,” Investo, gnashing his teeth.

“What’s in it for us?” the Stranger demands, putting down her compact.

Bill’s Planets has been living in the shadow of Our Solar System for a long time now. They’re going to have to be delicately eased into our way of doing things. But, once they’re fully submerged, that’s when the pay-off really starts rolling in.

“Goody,” Mr. Lintner from Accounting smirks, while furtively thumbing through his wallet.

Just then a jagged asteroid tears through the atmosphere, both casting a shadow on the ground, and lighting it up like a flash bulb.

“Goodness, gracious. That one got though,” Arthur Luchessi gulps in horror.

Satellites in geosynchronous orbit above the world’s cities immediately hold the monstrous ember in place with a magnetic ray. While a fast moving Toroidal Vortex Vessel, opens its hatchback, enclosing the space rock, carting it away; the sky again turns to a paltry blue-brown.

“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” Investo continues.

One of the familiar faces asks how that one fund that purchases stock only in companies that misuse the “apostrophe ‘s” in their name’s, their product’s, when just a plural will do.

“Save it for later’s, dumb-ass,” Arthur Luchessi answer’s.

* * *

You’re at the level of the street again. You can feel the pulsating arrhythmia of the city and its captives. Taste it in the incendiary ashes of your soul like a bad case of over-withdrawal. You want to stop. Way too late for that now. You access the lower left corner of your usable consciousness and put in an order for some more.

“Just one more…”

A buzz of service droids hum through the baseboard combing the floor, climbing the walls before melting into a parallel port at the back of your neck. You can feel the cubicle begin to spin as your thalamus pops.

Pop.

Everything goes numb, rings black and you see your body crash to the floor from the observation wing along with the others.

Mr. Lintner from Accounting stops his stopwatch.

“Not bad.”

The observers concur, thus do they conclude in their notes.

One of them stands shouting, “Bravi.”

An electro-chemical shock, first one, then two, three and you’re back on your back again, staring blankly, at the swaying light above.

Nodding, Mr. Lintner sets the clock in motion, makes a call to the Langerthal Twins. Asking himself, if they are indeed lodged in parallel Detroit, might he have to make a call to the Twin’s?

Answers. He needs answers.

Secondly, what about that deal all worked out on Bill’s Planet? And perhaps, even more puzzling, just what the hell does Mr. Lintner account for anyway?

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