silence—until Mary Smart was recognized.
“Aren’t you being just a bit overdramatic?” Miss Smart said, smiling like a cat with a bird in its paws. “Are you the savior? Have you, Rockson, become such a megalomaniac?”
“Here, here,” someone shouted, and applause erupted. Rockson rolled his eyes up as she continued. “All these theatrics aside, we do know how Mister Rockson likes to be the center of attention.” She smiled patronizingly at the Doomsday Warrior. “And,” she added, “his absurd proposal to launch a huge missile to God-knows-what purpose could mean war for the United States. Oh, I’m willing to allow that the rocket might fly. And that there might be some danger from some—space object. But I suggest we appoint a committee, a task force of experts, to study the alleged problem. They could, say, report back in a month—”
One man had been out of his seat and pacing up and down the main aisle, his hands knotted behind his back, as she spoke. It was as if he was being tortured by every word Mary Smart said. Now he burst out, “Shut up, you old bat!”
Rock looked over and saw that the skinny man was C.J., the Kennel’s main technician. C.J. was the expert responsible for the fine breed of horses that Century City’s warriors rode. The delegates of all the cities throughout the RSA knew of C.J.’s great work, of his great love of animals—and people. Generally he was mild mannered—but not now. “We don’t have a fucking month, you silly cunt! Now sit down and let Rockson talk!”
A set of hisses in response to C.J.’s curses came largely from the women delegates in the ultra-feminist contingent.
The gavel banged and banged. The Chairman said, “That’s enough from you, C.J. You’re out of order.”
“You’re damned right I am,” C.J. fumed. “But so’s Mary’s brain.” But C.J. took his seat, when Bing-Ling’s Ninja guards pushed him down into it.
Mary glared over at C.J. Rock smiled as C.J. stared Mary Smart down.
“Let’s hear the rest of Rockson’s nonsense,” the Chairman yawned, “so that we can all vote and get back to bed.”
Rockson ignored the biting tone and said, “In order to get my men and material quickly out to the storage hangar, I need one of the big C-98 transport jets. Of course, I need a letter of authorization from the council to use the rocket. Though I doubt the persons maintaining it will refuse to relinquish it to my use. If they do deny me use of the rocket, despite the order from the council, I reserve the right to seize the rocket.”
“Force?” Reverend Casters shouted out. “Now he wants to kill loyal Americans as well as destroy himself in some old rocket. This man is mad, I tell you!”
The auditorium was roaring with hisses and boos as Rockson vehemently said, “We must use any means necessary.” The video screens around the walls of the chamber were roaring out support however. The present-by-video delegates made comments like, “Give Rockson a chance!” and “Rock is a hero—don’t criticize his motives!”
Rockson realized that the far-flung cities represented on the video screens had at least as many votes as Century City’s chamber did. He decided he had a rising sympathy vote going for him out in the ’burbs. With a wily grin, Rock said, “I can see that anything I tell you here is just taken as a wildman’s joke. The hell with you who won’t see the truth. Come on. Let’s have a vote now. The rest of the country won’t stand for sniveling cowardice. God bless America. God bless men who would take action when action is necessary. I speak of the brave, loyal delegates in the other free cities . . . people who aren’t spoiled by luxury living!”
“Hold it! Hold it!” the chairman said, slamming down the gavel. “First, we have to have a motion that is recognized by the chair. By me. There are parliamentary procedures. You’re calling a vote out of order! A speaker can’t make a motion—only
“Aren’t you being just a bit overdramatic?” Miss Smart said, smiling like a cat with a bird in its paws. “Are you the savior? Have you, Rockson, become such a megalomaniac?”
“Here, here,” someone shouted, and applause erupted. Rockson rolled his eyes up as she continued. “All these theatrics aside, we do know how Mister Rockson likes to be the center of attention.” She smiled patronizingly at the Doomsday Warrior. “And,” she added, “his absurd proposal to launch a huge missile to God-knows-what purpose could mean war for the United States. Oh, I’m willing to allow that the rocket might fly. And that there might be some danger from some—space object. But I suggest we appoint a committee, a task force of experts, to study the alleged problem. They could, say, report back in a month—”
One man had been out of his seat and pacing up and down the main aisle, his hands knotted behind his back, as she spoke. It was as if he was being tortured by every word Mary Smart said. Now he burst out, “Shut up, you old bat!”
Rock looked over and saw that the skinny man was C.J., the Kennel’s main technician. C.J. was the expert responsible for the fine breed of horses that Century City’s warriors rode. The delegates of all the cities throughout the RSA knew of C.J.’s great work, of his great love of animals—and people. Generally he was mild mannered—but not now. “We don’t have a fucking month, you silly cunt! Now sit down and let Rockson talk!”
A set of hisses in response to C.J.’s curses came largely from the women delegates in the ultra-feminist contingent.
The gavel banged and banged. The Chairman said, “That’s enough from you, C.J. You’re out of order.”
“You’re damned right I am,” C.J. fumed. “But so’s Mary’s brain.” But C.J. took his seat, when Bing-Ling’s Ninja guards pushed him down into it.
Mary glared over at C.J. Rock smiled as C.J. stared Mary Smart down.
“Let’s hear the rest of Rockson’s nonsense,” the Chairman yawned, “so that we can all vote and get back to bed.”
Rockson ignored the biting tone and said, “In order to get my men and material quickly out to the storage hangar, I need one of the big C-98 transport jets. Of course, I need a letter of authorization from the council to use the rocket. Though I doubt the persons maintaining it will refuse to relinquish it to my use. If they do deny me use of the rocket, despite the order from the council, I reserve the right to seize the rocket.”
“Force?” Reverend Casters shouted out. “Now he wants to kill loyal Americans as well as destroy himself in some old rocket. This man is mad, I tell you!”
The auditorium was roaring with hisses and boos as Rockson vehemently said, “We must use any means necessary.” The video screens around the walls of the chamber were roaring out support however. The present-by-video delegates made comments like, “Give Rockson a chance!” and “Rock is a hero—don’t criticize his motives!”
Rockson realized that the far-flung cities represented on the video screens had at least as many votes as Century City’s chamber did. He decided he had a rising sympathy vote going for him out in the ’burbs. With a wily grin, Rock said, “I can see that anything I tell you here is just taken as a wildman’s joke. The hell with you who won’t see the truth. Come on. Let’s have a vote now. The rest of the country won’t stand for sniveling cowardice. God bless America. God bless men who would take action when action is necessary. I speak of the brave, loyal delegates in the other free cities . . . people who aren’t spoiled by luxury living!”
“Hold it! Hold it!” the chairman said, slamming down the gavel. “First, we have to have a motion that is recognized by the chair. By me. There are parliamentary procedures. You’re calling a vote out of order! A speaker can’t make a motion—only
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