The War of All Wars
From the Desk of the Silver Sun
By: David Mathis
The room echoed with the clasping of a door. The Prearch sat down in the tallest chair at the head of the table; his bright white robes seemed to glow in the low light and all eyes were on him. The high-backed chair squeaked as he shook his leg slightly—as he leaned forward, all eyes drew to him and he opened his hands in a welcoming gesture. His hands were covered in fine white gloves woven intricately.
“You all know why we’re here today, right?” The Prearch’s voice came out strongly and carried a tone of severity, but even as he asked, heads were already shaking in mild confusion.
“Prearch, we just had a major meeting yesterday, I had to fly all the way out here from Earth just to meet—I’m exhausted. What’s happened?” His tired eyes drooped with piles of wrinkles like clothes thrown on the floor and forgotten. The Prearch opened his mouth yet again to speak.
“The Silver Sun bi-annual barbeque is coming up next week and I need to know who will bring what for the event. I already have myself down for chips.” He rubbed his gloved hands together as he pulled a pad of paper and a pen from the inside pocket of his pristine robes. The pad had a logo that appeared to be the Silver Sun logo inside a large pig logo and ‘BBQ’ printed in big bold letters across the top. He looked around expectantly, but the entire board was dumbfounded. Finally someone spoke up—his Chief Star Admiral.
“Sir! This is ridiculous—we’ve been worked to the bone lately, and you call us in for talks about a barbeque? I am afraid I’m going to have to leave I—“ but he was cut off as the Prearch waved his hands and began to speak over him.
“And I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to cook the ribs—you make the best ribs. Now, you sit down and calm down, we have a lot of stuff to sign up for—Commander Briggs, are you here?” A tall, thin man raised his hand wearily. “Good, you normally make pulled pork—can you make pulled pork this time as well?” The man nodded his head, and the Prearch wrote something on his notepad—the commanders sitting next to him would later claim the paper was bacon scented. After much despair from the commanders around him, the Prearch sat the pad down, and pulled his chair a bit closer to the table.
“Now that the important stuff is out of the way, I have a plan that I wanted everyone to see real quick before we went on our ways.” He snapped his fingers, and one of his personal guards came to his aid, setting up a projector and aiming it at the far wall. The Prearch clicked a button, and an image popped up on the screen. Every single commander leaned forward to see it better. Chief Star Admiral Alderman stood up again in exasperation.
“No! What is that?” The Prearch turned to Alderman with a very serious look.
“My plan. Sit down and I’ll explain it—we’re going to take a chunk of Earth with us.” The room was floored. Every single commander stood or sat with mouths agape as the Prearch fired slide after slide of plans detailing how to take an entire chunk of Earth. Again Admiral Alderman stood.
“Sir! I refuse to make contingencies for this sort of plan—this is outrageous—and that’s being generous! Who’s in for this plan?” A few of the commanders raised their hands, but most kept them down, but the Prearch stood next to the projector screen politely while his Chief Star Admiral continued to shout and gesticulate wildly, referencing the plan liberally. As he stood there, he readjusted his gloves, making sure that each finger was properly sheathed. When his admiral had spoken for a bit, the Prearch raised his hand for silence and stepped forward again.
“Gentlemen, please. You’re all being ridiculous. I have everything set for us to go tomorrow. Alderman, you get to lead the operation.”
“Sir! You’ve lost your mind! What are you thinking?” Alderman began to back away from the table, his eyes wide with fear and rage.
“Alderman, you’re my best star admiral. You’ve gotta’ run this. I have it all set up and everything. Can you do it?” Alderman slumped to the floor, head in his hands as he slowly nodded his head in defeat. The room looked from him to the final slide still flickering on the screen—a diagram of a massive artificial titanium planet heading away from Earth with Washington DC securely nestled inside.
It was only after the meeting left that anyone but Alderman had anything bad to say about the plan, but the general tone was amusement that Alderman had to be sent out to retrieve a piece of the Earth in what was possibly one of the greatest bluffs of all time. The last still image of a massive sphere with Washington DC inside it would haunt Alderman’s dreams that night, but when he rose the next day, he rose ready to take a chunk of Earth home with him.
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