Ray Sullivan SciFi Zone: Project: Evil - Design Freeze Meeting part 2

Brian wasn’t finished, though. ‘Additionally, because NoDangerStyle UK feel they’ve let us down a little regarding the antimatter they’ve agreed to provide the glazing for the rocket itself at a BOGOF rate, as long as we change the rocket window design to the dimensions of a standard semi-detached in Wimbledon.’ O’Feld looked impressed; however Daw wasn’t as keen on the deal.

‘There’s such a thing as a standard semi-detached in Wimbledon?’ he queried. Brian shrugged; he’d asked the same question.

‘It’s a very specific standard semi, one which has just reneged on a deal after the windows have been manufactured,’ he explained, adding, ‘but although the cost of redesigning the rocket has increased by four million pounds to accommodate the windows, they are only going to cost us eighty five pounds total and then there’s the three point two million cost of the rocket standard glazing that we no longer need, so the budget seems to be doing OK out of this,’ he said, hoping Daw wasn’t counting. The Head of Finance scribbled some figures down and gave O’Feld a nod in agreement.

‘Continue,’ said O’Feld. Before Brian could open his mouth, Daw had his finger in the air again.

‘If we haven’t got the antimatter for the Super Heated Antimatter Gun, why are we sending a rocket into space?’ he asked. Brian took a slug of water, hoping it was the only slug he’d take that day.

‘Well, me and the team,’ he said, waving an arm expansively across the technical members, none of whom seemed ready to acknowledge membership at this point.

‘Your TWATs?’ asked O’Feld. Brian nodded.

‘We truly are a team here, so I don’t like to think of them as “my” TWATs,’ he said, stalling for time while waiting for inspiration, ‘I like to think that I’m a bit of a TWAT, too, and proud of it,’ he said. If he’d hoped the other TWATs in the meeting would swing around and support him, it wasn’t happening at this point.

‘We’ve got three options,’ said Brian. ‘First, we could forget using a space borne weapon,’ he said. O’Feld turned beetroot red.

‘Then why would we build a launch pad and a mission control?’ he asked, adding, ‘that doesn’t make any sense; the rocket’s non-negotiable,’ he said, sitting down again. Brian gulped and continued.

‘We could ditch the acronym and invent a new one,’ he suggested. O’Feld considered this briefly.

‘Such as?’ he asked.

‘Space Aligned Laser Targetter,’ suggested Brian, forgetting what planet threatening event this posed.

‘SALT?’ exclaimed O’Feld, ‘Which TWAT thought of that?’ he asked.

‘Strictly it wasn’t a TWAT,’ answered Brian, inwardly thinking that actually, it was. ‘It was the Head of Catering’s suggestion,’ he said. O’Feld glowered at the Chief Cook before turning back to Brian.

‘No, I’m vetoing the change of acronym idea as well. We’ll have a rocket, a launch pad, a pointless mock volcano and a SHAG; end of chat. I hope that was your third option?’ he said, absently stroking a pistol he’d found stuffed down his sock. Brian wasn’t certain, but he thought that the pistol had been slipped in there by the Head of Catering.

‘Well, obviously, that was indeed my third option and as I’m sure you know, we always present the no-hoper ideas first in these meetings,’ answered Brian, sweating, trying to remember what O’Feld did when he wanted to provide options. Then he remembered he was working for an autocratic Megalomaniac who never presented options. Unless die standing or running counted as an option.

‘So, we can’t have a Super Heated Antimatter Gun. What can we have?’ asked O’Feld, examining the pistol, finding out that it had dum-dum bullets loaded.

‘Well,’ said Brian, looking at one of his engineers, ‘Alec did have a suggestion,’ he said, watching Alec shake his head vigorously. O’Feld fixed his stare at the engineer.

‘Come on, man, what have you got?’ The engineer gulped as he flicked pointlessly through his project pad.

‘It wasn’t a serious suggestion,’ he volunteered, noting that the pistol had been closed and the cocking lever pulled back. ‘It was just a play on words,’ he said, sweating.

‘Go on,’ said O’Feld, entirely focused on the engineer who, suddenly, found the seats around him had been vacated.

‘Space Hopping Armadillo Gonads,’ said Alec.

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