Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round Three: The Epigen Center]
11-25-2011, 02:42 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
”I’ve been informed that the Russians,” intoned Mr. Clemens, “May have achieved eighty bees per second in a hive of comparable size.”
The room oscillated between quiet and disquiet. “I’ll take an American bee over a Commie bee any day,” proclaimed Mr. MacKenzie.
“So, a WASP?” suggested Mr. Deels.
“If their bees are fully collectivized,” pondered Mr. Itou, “They could mobilize one hundred percent of their workers as soldiers and vice-versa.”
“Can’t be done,” insisted Mr. MacKenzie. “Bees are bred for special functions. That’s what the soviets will never understand about entomology. You can’t just—“
“Gentlemen, if we could focus!” Mr. Clemens had had this table specifically designed to make a very, very loud and resonant noise when he pounded his fist against the right spot. That’s American ingenuity, right there. “Bee-based weaponry is bound to have more commercial than military applications. What can bees do against the Bomb? Not much. Once we hit seventy BPS we’ll contract them to city police for use as riot control. Then we’ll shift focus to the next big—could somebody get this man out of here?”
Freddie leaned up against his mop, feeling the glare of the board room on him. “Sorry, sir. I was told someone had spilled some scotch.” The floor of the board room, being made of glass, stained very easily.
”Plenty of people have spilled plenty of scotch!” roared Mr. Clemens. “Has it occurred to you, sir, that the conversations that go on in this room are a matter of national security?”
That struck Freddie as funny. “Mr. Clemens, sir,” he said dryly. “Do I look like a Russian spy to you?”
He had a point there. Not a lot of Negroes in Siberia—they’d be too easy to spot in all the snow. That’s science. “Just… wait outside for five more minutes,” he conceded. Freddie shrugged and departed, but left the door open just a crack. He really wasn’t a Russian spy, though some days he figured he saw the appeal. He was just curious. ”As I was saying,” continued Mr. Clemens, comporting himself. “Bees are the past, and Epigen looks towards the future, always. Not literally, of course, but we’re looking into that. Ahem. Our next project shall be… cockroaches!”
As the board room burst out in thunderous applause, Freddie rolled his eyes and shut the door. In truth, the idea made a lot of sense to him. Cockroaches, aside from their obvious complete immunity to nuclear weaponry, had several advantages. They were small, dark, they could get around unnoticed, and they hid inside the walls. And there were lots of them.
* * * * *
Somewhere deep inside the walls, Epigen’s switchboard was housed in a completely depressing and isolated room. Isolated, for May’s purposes, in that nobody could get to her, but she could certainly get to them.
“Operator, Epigen.” Call for Mr. Itou. “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” Call for Mr. MacKenzie. “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” Hi, do you know Cherilee down in-- “Surely I do! Just a moment!” Click. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” You patch me through to Clemens and you tell him that if he doesn’t tell me I was right I’ll blow my brains out all over his taxidermy collection. “I’ll put you in touch with our suicide hotline.” Click. Snap. “Hmmm.” Snapsnap. (Epigen emotional crisis center, how can I convince you to live?) “Operator, Epigen.” (I’m too drunk to be convinced of anything) Hello, young lady, this is Judith Zimmerman, Jack’s mother. (Well then you’re probably too drunk to shoot yourself properly, too; you should sober up first) “I’m sorry, Judith, we’ve been over this a dozen times.” (Do you have a name, Miss Crisis Center?) “ Mr. Deadwood has expressly forbidden me to allow you to speak with him.” Click. (It’s Mrs. Crisis Center, and I’d rather you didn’t take that familiar tone of voice with me) “Operator, Epigen.” (BLAM) Call for Mr. MacKenzie. “I’m afraid the line’s busy, please hold.” (Sir? I know you just shot that up into the air, sir) He’s talking to that whore again, isn’t he? “I don’t listen in on private calls, ma’am, so I couldn’t tell you.” Snapsnap. [--gonna do to you when we get back to your place tonight?] (I’ve been working this job long enough to know the difference between the sound of a bullet penetrating a man’s skull and just being shot into the air and frankly, I’m insulted) Please, I need to know. [I don’t know, Papa Bear, but I can’t wait] “Sorry, Mrs. MacKenzie, that would go against my every ethic as a telephone operator.” (…You’re right; I just shot this stuffed otter) I… I guess I’ll hold, then. [You know your Papa Bear’s hungry for some honey, bitch] “Operator, Epigen.” (I thought if you thought I’d gone through with it you might feel bad, and then… I don’t know, I fucked it up) Call for Mr. Xodarap. [Ooh, Papa Bear, climb up into my beehive] “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. (I’m sorry you fuck everything up, sir, but did you know we’re neck-and-neck with the soviets in the suicide rate race right now?) [God dammit, Tess, why did you have to bring bees into this?] “Operator, Epigen.” Call for Mr. Xodarap. (BLAM) “I’m sorry, he’s in a call right now, but he was free ten minutes ago.” [Just yesterday you said bees were sexy!] Ten minutes ago will do. (Now that’s what a suicide sounds like. You poor bastard.) Clickclick. “Just a negative moment, then.” [And yesterday bees were sexy! It’s cockroaches now, dammit!] Click. Zwooooooop. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” Hey, um, this is Gabe. [Sorry, baby. I, uh… I want your cock… roach] Is there, like, someone I can talk to? ”There are currently over four hundred people you can talk to, Gabe, this is your lucky day. Please pick one.” [Yeah, baby, you know my cockroach can survive for weeks without its head] I. Um. What’s your name? ”I’m May, Gabe, but I can’t talk right now.” [Ooh, Papa Roach, you’ll get all the head you want] I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m new here, and I’m a bit… disoriented? [Damn right, bitch. Hang on, I have another call.] Clickclick. “I’ll tell you what. I can put you through to Paul, in training. He’ll get you sorted.” Oka— Click. Snap. Click. “Thanks for your patience, Mrs. MacKenzie, he just got out of his meeting.” Suuuuuuure he did. Can you put me through now? “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. “Heehee.” Snapsnap. “Operator, Epigen.” [Hey, sorry to keep you on hold, honey] We’re in their phone network, Admiral. ”Pardon?” [Bit of bad news, dear, I’m going to be working late tonight] Click. “Huh.” [I’ll probably sleep in the office, so don’t wait up] “Operator, Epig—ah!”
Snapping out of “work mode” at Brom’s touch, May would have fallen out of her chair if the old elevator operator hadn’t steadied her. “Easy, girl,” chuckled Brom. “I could use your help on something.”
May hung up her headset and spun around in her chair, thoroughly annoyed. “Some of us have jobs to do, you know.”
Brom threw up his hands. “Sorry, Doris Diligent. What does it matter to you anyhow? I stepped away from my job to talk to you, and my job’s the one with more, hehe, upward mobility.”
“Cute.”
“What you mean to say is, I’m interrupting your day’s eavesdropping.”
May smiled. “Could be.”
Brom leaned up against the switchboard and miraculously failed to break anything or accidentally drop anyone’s calls. “So what’s the word?”
“The usual. Some upper-level phone sex and a little suicide hotline action. About an hour back I caught two fellas talking in Russian, which was pretty weird. But anyway, focus. You need my help.”
“That I do. Some of the boys have been talking about taking measures to improve our situation here. We were wondering if you’d be interested.”
May shrugged. “I like my situation here just fine.”
“For a buck twenty-five an hour? Millions of dollars run through this building every day.”
“And thousands of calls. You know I pretty much run this building, Brom. I’d pay for this work.”
“Well it’s a good thing no one else would pay for this work, or they’d fire you and hire her. Minimum wage is the only thing keeping them from knocking you out and giving your job to some Hungarian housewife for two dollars a day. That’s why it’s gotta be all of us.”
May sighed and put her headset back on. “I’m sorry, there’s a slight problem with the network. We’ll be back up in a few minutes.” Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Slam. She put the headset back on the hook and turned to Brom. “So, it’s a union, is it?”
”I’ve been informed that the Russians,” intoned Mr. Clemens, “May have achieved eighty bees per second in a hive of comparable size.”
The room oscillated between quiet and disquiet. “I’ll take an American bee over a Commie bee any day,” proclaimed Mr. MacKenzie.
“So, a WASP?” suggested Mr. Deels.
“If their bees are fully collectivized,” pondered Mr. Itou, “They could mobilize one hundred percent of their workers as soldiers and vice-versa.”
“Can’t be done,” insisted Mr. MacKenzie. “Bees are bred for special functions. That’s what the soviets will never understand about entomology. You can’t just—“
“Gentlemen, if we could focus!” Mr. Clemens had had this table specifically designed to make a very, very loud and resonant noise when he pounded his fist against the right spot. That’s American ingenuity, right there. “Bee-based weaponry is bound to have more commercial than military applications. What can bees do against the Bomb? Not much. Once we hit seventy BPS we’ll contract them to city police for use as riot control. Then we’ll shift focus to the next big—could somebody get this man out of here?”
Freddie leaned up against his mop, feeling the glare of the board room on him. “Sorry, sir. I was told someone had spilled some scotch.” The floor of the board room, being made of glass, stained very easily.
”Plenty of people have spilled plenty of scotch!” roared Mr. Clemens. “Has it occurred to you, sir, that the conversations that go on in this room are a matter of national security?”
That struck Freddie as funny. “Mr. Clemens, sir,” he said dryly. “Do I look like a Russian spy to you?”
He had a point there. Not a lot of Negroes in Siberia—they’d be too easy to spot in all the snow. That’s science. “Just… wait outside for five more minutes,” he conceded. Freddie shrugged and departed, but left the door open just a crack. He really wasn’t a Russian spy, though some days he figured he saw the appeal. He was just curious. ”As I was saying,” continued Mr. Clemens, comporting himself. “Bees are the past, and Epigen looks towards the future, always. Not literally, of course, but we’re looking into that. Ahem. Our next project shall be… cockroaches!”
As the board room burst out in thunderous applause, Freddie rolled his eyes and shut the door. In truth, the idea made a lot of sense to him. Cockroaches, aside from their obvious complete immunity to nuclear weaponry, had several advantages. They were small, dark, they could get around unnoticed, and they hid inside the walls. And there were lots of them.
* * * * *
Somewhere deep inside the walls, Epigen’s switchboard was housed in a completely depressing and isolated room. Isolated, for May’s purposes, in that nobody could get to her, but she could certainly get to them.
“Operator, Epigen.” Call for Mr. Itou. “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” Call for Mr. MacKenzie. “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” Hi, do you know Cherilee down in-- “Surely I do! Just a moment!” Click. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” You patch me through to Clemens and you tell him that if he doesn’t tell me I was right I’ll blow my brains out all over his taxidermy collection. “I’ll put you in touch with our suicide hotline.” Click. Snap. “Hmmm.” Snapsnap. (Epigen emotional crisis center, how can I convince you to live?) “Operator, Epigen.” (I’m too drunk to be convinced of anything) Hello, young lady, this is Judith Zimmerman, Jack’s mother. (Well then you’re probably too drunk to shoot yourself properly, too; you should sober up first) “I’m sorry, Judith, we’ve been over this a dozen times.” (Do you have a name, Miss Crisis Center?) “ Mr. Deadwood has expressly forbidden me to allow you to speak with him.” Click. (It’s Mrs. Crisis Center, and I’d rather you didn’t take that familiar tone of voice with me) “Operator, Epigen.” (BLAM) Call for Mr. MacKenzie. “I’m afraid the line’s busy, please hold.” (Sir? I know you just shot that up into the air, sir) He’s talking to that whore again, isn’t he? “I don’t listen in on private calls, ma’am, so I couldn’t tell you.” Snapsnap. [--gonna do to you when we get back to your place tonight?] (I’ve been working this job long enough to know the difference between the sound of a bullet penetrating a man’s skull and just being shot into the air and frankly, I’m insulted) Please, I need to know. [I don’t know, Papa Bear, but I can’t wait] “Sorry, Mrs. MacKenzie, that would go against my every ethic as a telephone operator.” (…You’re right; I just shot this stuffed otter) I… I guess I’ll hold, then. [You know your Papa Bear’s hungry for some honey, bitch] “Operator, Epigen.” (I thought if you thought I’d gone through with it you might feel bad, and then… I don’t know, I fucked it up) Call for Mr. Xodarap. [Ooh, Papa Bear, climb up into my beehive] “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. (I’m sorry you fuck everything up, sir, but did you know we’re neck-and-neck with the soviets in the suicide rate race right now?) [God dammit, Tess, why did you have to bring bees into this?] “Operator, Epigen.” Call for Mr. Xodarap. (BLAM) “I’m sorry, he’s in a call right now, but he was free ten minutes ago.” [Just yesterday you said bees were sexy!] Ten minutes ago will do. (Now that’s what a suicide sounds like. You poor bastard.) Clickclick. “Just a negative moment, then.” [And yesterday bees were sexy! It’s cockroaches now, dammit!] Click. Zwooooooop. Snap. “Operator, Epigen.” Hey, um, this is Gabe. [Sorry, baby. I, uh… I want your cock… roach] Is there, like, someone I can talk to? ”There are currently over four hundred people you can talk to, Gabe, this is your lucky day. Please pick one.” [Yeah, baby, you know my cockroach can survive for weeks without its head] I. Um. What’s your name? ”I’m May, Gabe, but I can’t talk right now.” [Ooh, Papa Roach, you’ll get all the head you want] I’m sorry, it’s just… I’m new here, and I’m a bit… disoriented? [Damn right, bitch. Hang on, I have another call.] Clickclick. “I’ll tell you what. I can put you through to Paul, in training. He’ll get you sorted.” Oka— Click. Snap. Click. “Thanks for your patience, Mrs. MacKenzie, he just got out of his meeting.” Suuuuuuure he did. Can you put me through now? “Just a moment.” Click. Snap. “Heehee.” Snapsnap. “Operator, Epigen.” [Hey, sorry to keep you on hold, honey] We’re in their phone network, Admiral. ”Pardon?” [Bit of bad news, dear, I’m going to be working late tonight] Click. “Huh.” [I’ll probably sleep in the office, so don’t wait up] “Operator, Epig—ah!”
Snapping out of “work mode” at Brom’s touch, May would have fallen out of her chair if the old elevator operator hadn’t steadied her. “Easy, girl,” chuckled Brom. “I could use your help on something.”
May hung up her headset and spun around in her chair, thoroughly annoyed. “Some of us have jobs to do, you know.”
Brom threw up his hands. “Sorry, Doris Diligent. What does it matter to you anyhow? I stepped away from my job to talk to you, and my job’s the one with more, hehe, upward mobility.”
“Cute.”
“What you mean to say is, I’m interrupting your day’s eavesdropping.”
May smiled. “Could be.”
Brom leaned up against the switchboard and miraculously failed to break anything or accidentally drop anyone’s calls. “So what’s the word?”
“The usual. Some upper-level phone sex and a little suicide hotline action. About an hour back I caught two fellas talking in Russian, which was pretty weird. But anyway, focus. You need my help.”
“That I do. Some of the boys have been talking about taking measures to improve our situation here. We were wondering if you’d be interested.”
May shrugged. “I like my situation here just fine.”
“For a buck twenty-five an hour? Millions of dollars run through this building every day.”
“And thousands of calls. You know I pretty much run this building, Brom. I’d pay for this work.”
“Well it’s a good thing no one else would pay for this work, or they’d fire you and hire her. Minimum wage is the only thing keeping them from knocking you out and giving your job to some Hungarian housewife for two dollars a day. That’s why it’s gotta be all of us.”
May sighed and put her headset back on. “I’m sorry, there’s a slight problem with the network. We’ll be back up in a few minutes.” Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Slam. She put the headset back on the hook and turned to Brom. “So, it’s a union, is it?”