Chocolate 4, Passionfruit 5
Title: Fighting Folly
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution
Flavor(s): Chocolate #4 (frustration); Passionfruit #5 (Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain)
Toppings/Extras: Rainbow sprinkles
Rating: All ages
Word Count: 942
Notes: September 1991. (Ella Gabell & Clive Procter.)
Summary: Ella’s curious as to why Dr Procter doesn’t seem his usual self this morning…
***
Ella walked in through the door to the meeting room with a bundle of card files in her arms, ready to start the day. “Good morning, Dr. Procter.”
Clive Procter was sitting alone at the long table, but he took a moment before he troubled himself to even look up at her. “Miss Gabell.”
“Something wrong?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she deposited the files onto the table. She noticed that he was nursing a glass of scotch. “Bit early in the day for that, isn’t it? We’ve got all this to get through, you know.”
He leant back in his chair. “Ah, yes. Our vital work here. The Colonel himself came by a few minutes ago to see how we were progressing. And then do you know what he wanted to know?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me, so go on.”
“Are we absolutely sure there’s no use in pursuing Hallam’s project? Given all that’s been invested in it, is it really so worthless compared to, say, trying to build hydroelectric stations? And so it begins.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, pulling out the chair beside him at an angle, and sitting on it. It had taken the two of them a while to get used to each other - Clive Procter was old school in every way, while Ella was an ex-resistance member more than half his age - but she’d learned to have respect for him even aside from his standing in his field. She watched him, puzzled by his behaviour. She felt as if she’d been made a fool of somewhere down the line.
Procter stared down at the liquid in the glass. “No. Neither do I.”
“Well, come on,” said Ella. “Either explain or just get on and help me go through this stuff.” She paused, and gave him an enquiring look. “Or do I need to fetch us both some coffee first?”
Clive gave a small smile and released his hold on the glass. “There’s no need. I’m quite sober, to my regret.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” he said, giving a slight sigh, and straightening himself in the chair. “It’s merely… this isn’t the first time this has happened. I had hoped for better things from you people. Some measure of sanity at least. But, no, somebody still thinks it would be a good idea to keep that damned project going.”
“Surely the Colonel hasn’t asked us to -?”
Procter shook his head. “Oh, no. No. But he asked again - hypothetically speaking - if there was any use in it. And there are pressure groups demanding that we not abandon the work that’s been completed. Easier for a politician to offer false hope than to admit there is none. Maybe it’s better that way. Can’t have people panicking.”
“Yes, but what does this have to do with you” - Ella hesitated, looking for the right phrase - “moping about in here?
Procter tapped his fingers lightly against on the rim of the glass. “Yes. I do apologise. It’s only that last time I was asked that particular question by the nation’s leader, I was imprisoned for giving the wrong answer. I suppose that’s why I seem to have overreacted this morning.”
“I see,” said Ella. “I’m sorry.” Incidents like that had happened to too many people, but it didn’t lessen the impact on an individual.
“I’m not boasting,” he added, evenly. “I had been working in the place for days, going over the whole bloody concept from every possible angle, and I simply had nothing else to say by that point. No matter what they did, I couldn’t manage anything more. And, you know, odd as it sounds, I think that for a moment Hallam was almost grateful for the truth.
“It had never happened to me before, that kind of thing, not really. My expertise was in demand; I was apolitical - in theory. I suppose worse has happened to you?”
Ella shrugged. “Some pretty bad things, but I never got caught, no. Consider me thankful for small mercies.”
“I was, I confess, terrified,” said Procter. “In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. I seemed to have gone beyond that point. Of course, I was released after a couple of weeks but I - I shouldn’t wish to repeat the experience.”
Ella looked at him, as if the record of that incident would now somehow be visible on his face, but he looked the way he usually did: impenetrable and impeccable, with a bland expression belied by sharp blue eyes and the edge of a mocking smile around playing his mouth.
“We need to work with our actual options,” said Procter. “We cannot, simply cannot, afford to pour any more money into a project that will gain us nothing in terms of fuel or energy.”
Ella began to flick through the files. “Well, don’t worry. We may have a long way to go, but the Colonel isn’t Hallam.”
“No,” said Procter thoughtfully. “He could, I think, be worse, if he chose. Still, as you say, Miss Gabell, we have work to do.”
“Yes,” said Ella. “We bring him those options - the real ones - and that’ll keep the other old phantom away.” She wondered, though, herself, because as Procter had said, a politician needed to please people and, unlike Hallam, Colonel Seaton wasn’t a dictator. He had an election to face in the upcoming weeks and the continuing stupidity of people could never be underestimated.
“Let us hope so.”
She turned with a sudden, fierce light in her eye. “No, Dr Procter, we bloody well make it so.”
***
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution
Flavor(s): Chocolate #4 (frustration); Passionfruit #5 (Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain)
Toppings/Extras: Rainbow sprinkles
Rating: All ages
Word Count: 942
Notes: September 1991. (Ella Gabell & Clive Procter.)
Summary: Ella’s curious as to why Dr Procter doesn’t seem his usual self this morning…
***
Ella walked in through the door to the meeting room with a bundle of card files in her arms, ready to start the day. “Good morning, Dr. Procter.”
Clive Procter was sitting alone at the long table, but he took a moment before he troubled himself to even look up at her. “Miss Gabell.”
“Something wrong?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as she deposited the files onto the table. She noticed that he was nursing a glass of scotch. “Bit early in the day for that, isn’t it? We’ve got all this to get through, you know.”
He leant back in his chair. “Ah, yes. Our vital work here. The Colonel himself came by a few minutes ago to see how we were progressing. And then do you know what he wanted to know?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me, so go on.”
“Are we absolutely sure there’s no use in pursuing Hallam’s project? Given all that’s been invested in it, is it really so worthless compared to, say, trying to build hydroelectric stations? And so it begins.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, pulling out the chair beside him at an angle, and sitting on it. It had taken the two of them a while to get used to each other - Clive Procter was old school in every way, while Ella was an ex-resistance member more than half his age - but she’d learned to have respect for him even aside from his standing in his field. She watched him, puzzled by his behaviour. She felt as if she’d been made a fool of somewhere down the line.
Procter stared down at the liquid in the glass. “No. Neither do I.”
“Well, come on,” said Ella. “Either explain or just get on and help me go through this stuff.” She paused, and gave him an enquiring look. “Or do I need to fetch us both some coffee first?”
Clive gave a small smile and released his hold on the glass. “There’s no need. I’m quite sober, to my regret.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” he said, giving a slight sigh, and straightening himself in the chair. “It’s merely… this isn’t the first time this has happened. I had hoped for better things from you people. Some measure of sanity at least. But, no, somebody still thinks it would be a good idea to keep that damned project going.”
“Surely the Colonel hasn’t asked us to -?”
Procter shook his head. “Oh, no. No. But he asked again - hypothetically speaking - if there was any use in it. And there are pressure groups demanding that we not abandon the work that’s been completed. Easier for a politician to offer false hope than to admit there is none. Maybe it’s better that way. Can’t have people panicking.”
“Yes, but what does this have to do with you” - Ella hesitated, looking for the right phrase - “moping about in here?
Procter tapped his fingers lightly against on the rim of the glass. “Yes. I do apologise. It’s only that last time I was asked that particular question by the nation’s leader, I was imprisoned for giving the wrong answer. I suppose that’s why I seem to have overreacted this morning.”
“I see,” said Ella. “I’m sorry.” Incidents like that had happened to too many people, but it didn’t lessen the impact on an individual.
“I’m not boasting,” he added, evenly. “I had been working in the place for days, going over the whole bloody concept from every possible angle, and I simply had nothing else to say by that point. No matter what they did, I couldn’t manage anything more. And, you know, odd as it sounds, I think that for a moment Hallam was almost grateful for the truth.
“It had never happened to me before, that kind of thing, not really. My expertise was in demand; I was apolitical - in theory. I suppose worse has happened to you?”
Ella shrugged. “Some pretty bad things, but I never got caught, no. Consider me thankful for small mercies.”
“I was, I confess, terrified,” said Procter. “In retrospect, I don’t know why I didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. I seemed to have gone beyond that point. Of course, I was released after a couple of weeks but I - I shouldn’t wish to repeat the experience.”
Ella looked at him, as if the record of that incident would now somehow be visible on his face, but he looked the way he usually did: impenetrable and impeccable, with a bland expression belied by sharp blue eyes and the edge of a mocking smile around playing his mouth.
“We need to work with our actual options,” said Procter. “We cannot, simply cannot, afford to pour any more money into a project that will gain us nothing in terms of fuel or energy.”
Ella began to flick through the files. “Well, don’t worry. We may have a long way to go, but the Colonel isn’t Hallam.”
“No,” said Procter thoughtfully. “He could, I think, be worse, if he chose. Still, as you say, Miss Gabell, we have work to do.”
“Yes,” said Ella. “We bring him those options - the real ones - and that’ll keep the other old phantom away.” She wondered, though, herself, because as Procter had said, a politician needed to please people and, unlike Hallam, Colonel Seaton wasn’t a dictator. He had an election to face in the upcoming weeks and the continuing stupidity of people could never be underestimated.
“Let us hope so.”
She turned with a sudden, fierce light in her eye. “No, Dr Procter, we bloody well make it so.”
***