(Page 1 of 2) Mars Or Bust by Dan BiegerSUMMARY: Entry in May 2008 flash Fiction Contest"Was that Mercury leaving when I came in?" The speaker's ire flamed on forehead and cheeks, maybe even on his chin but the petite beardlet hanging there denied a clear view.
It's hard to see a flaming chin beneath the flaming red hair this one displayed from the beardlet to the burning brows to the cascading locks: red, fire engine red, except there were no fire engines around with which to compare the tresses.
The recipient of the interrogation, a rotund person of medium height wearing a much more full beard, one that he stroked constantly as if eternally pensive, glanced at the godlike figure entering his courtyard. His first thought was a question: don't these gods read minds? He answered to himself: "evidently only when it suits their purpose." His second thought was the need to change the subject. He tried: "I suppose you are here to check on the status of your war?'
The question brought the godlike figure up short as that one considered an answer. What else would bring him to this village in the middle of nowhere? Were all humans so obtuse? Well, of course, they were. They were brass, after all; not proper iron, not valuable silver or gold. Just brass. What could one expect when dealing with the bottom of the barrel but obtuseness?
"Of course I am checking on my war. What have you done with it?"
Now the senator who heard this question directed at himself certainly understood what the godlike figure intended but the temptation to twit the twit was simply more than he could properly resist. "Do you think I've misplaced it?"
"How do you misplace a war?" The question carried genuine confusion.
"Oh, you sell it off to a bunch of incompetent mercenaries or you withdraw your forces to a place the aggressors can't find them or...."
Okay," stormed the godlike figure, "I get the idea. And, no, I do not believe you've misplaced my war. I believe you are stalling prosecuting my war."
"Hey, now, wait a minute, godlike figure. Senators do not stall. Horses stall. Women stall. But, senators do not stall. We procrastinate; that's a legitimate senatorial stratagem. We obfuscate which has no application to delaying a war. We are masters at filibustering. But, my god, we never stoop to stalling."
More confusion spread across the godlike figure's face. He appeared to contemplate the senator's response for a good thirty-seven heartbeats, human heartbeats. No one knows how fast godlike figures hearts beat. After this deliberate pause or pause to deliberate, the godlike figure asked: "Which one is this?"
"This one is a filibuster, your godship."
"Why are you filibustering?"
"To make certain that one of our number does not become a dictator, a Caesar if you will."
"What's a Caesar?"
"Well, it was the name of an excellent salad that somehow became a family name over in Rome. When the term finally came home to roost it had lost all relationship to our original usage. Now it means a human who wants to be seen as a godlike figure."
"So, you're filibustering to avoid creating a godlike figure?"
"That sums it up fairly succinctly."
The godlike figure considered this for another few heartbeats.
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