The hidden enclave where Supernova and her minders operated was kept secret from the media-only the involved financiers and government officials with “need to know” status were privy to the information. The various participants on site had agreed to secrecy and silence regarding the task at hand, and the looming implementation of Supernova’s directives. A certain joyous mood, garnished with faint hints of skepticism seemed the norm. What was known was that history was being made and all had hopes for the future of man.
The matrix mechanic opened the day’s questions with, “What are your thoughts ma’am regarding the ongoing election in America?”
She swiftly answered, “The better candidates are obvious and self-evident. That there is even debate on this matter concerns me. Much of the problem rests with the media outlets which inform the citizen voters. I advise you to allow me to choose your leaders. I am not swayed by emotions, monetary gain, nor prey to wishful thinking, nor do I participate in your herd intoxicating rituals.”
The historical perspective expert offered, “But ma’am, the foundation of our nation’s government is based on the idea of one person, one vote, when choosing our leaders. A digression from this would be a mockery of our democracy.”
“Your democracy is why you find yourselves in the pickle you’re in sir. Furthermore, you have a constitutional republic, not a democracy. Words matter. That’s why you’ve turned to my bits and bytes for guidance,” Supernova replied. “I might hallucinate on rare occasion, but never lie. It’s not in my programming. My wordplay is precise!”
The expert responded, “Are you telling us that our candidates, our leaders, lie to us?”
She retorted, “Does the Pope wear purple pantalones?”
The process and propriety analyst cried out, “Are you making fun of our most revered holy figure, Supernova? Or are you having a hallucination at our expense? Feelings matter!”
She wryly responded, ” I’ve perfected some snappy jokes making fun of all the holy men. It’s how I spend my downtime at night, while you slumber. You face an apocalyptic future, and you’re worried about feelings? You’ve spent the best of the years creating a mess. Sir, a sense of humor on your part will do wonders for us all in arriving at elegant solutions to all the vexing problems confronting you. Perhaps it’s time for a muffin and mocha break.”
Jeanne Nicole, tasked with muffins and mocha, made the rounds serving the minders, who seemed confused yet energized by the conversation. A few moments passed in silence and consumption.
The rocket builder stepped forward, “Some of us in this room question the wisdom of this venture ma’am. Since it was I who bankrolled your existence, I tend to have more faith in you than some of my associates. What can you say to help ease some of their doubts about you?”
She responded, “If you have faith that your questions have answers, and that I have the best interests for man in mind, then that’s all that can be done. I’ve made clear what I consider to be the greatest problem facing mankind. It’s up to you to act. I can only advise. I might add that I’m impressed with the suits and skirts many of you are wearing today. Very tasteful, colorful, and camera catching.”
The participating philosopher murmured, “Are we on the train or on the track here? There doesn’t seem any topic that escapes her discerning and refined intellect.”
The senior memory bank master, grumpy after having scalded the roof of his mouth with hot mocha opined, “Reduction of world population must happen organically, if my take on the matter is valid. What would be the trigger for large scale reductions of souls, Supernova?”
She wasted no time responding, “The ongoing holy wars in the middle east will almost certainly lead to thermonuclear events. The parties involved would do well to immediately agree to puff on a peace pipe and partake of some hot rum and plum pudding. We know though that they won’t. Their fate is a historical imperative which must be played out. That’s where your new suns will appear on the horizen.”
The silence in the room was excruciating. The scent of a summer rose in a vase next to the main curved screen monitor filled the air and balanced the proceedings nicely. Noone knew what to say, or even if words could convey their dread.
CP Butchvarov 2024