The Answer
There was less than an hour left before the Cherkospy/Grant/Mei planet killer was due to strike in the Atlantic. Yet nobody was panicking, nobody was really even scared.
After all, we had Scaretoph on our side!
Professor Anatole Jefferson Scaretoph; winner of around a dozen Nobel science awards, at least one in each category and multiples in some; designer of the air treatment plants that renewed the atmosphere back to pristine cleanliness; inventor of the ocean mines, those great vessels that both rid the greatest bodies of water of manmade waste and extracted much needed minerals; creator of the vast field of satellites that safely beamed electrical energy to collection plants, freeing mankind from the need of fossil fuels forever.
Scaretoph the wise, Scaretoph the astonishing, Scaretoph the brilliant; the only human mind capable of defeating any computer at any task. Scaretoph, who single handedly carried a scared and desperate mankind into a golden age of science and peace.
Scaretoph, whose famous quote of “Every problem has an answer” became the anthem of a new generation of humans.
Scaretoph was on our side and had been working on saving the planet from the Cherkospy/Grant/Mei asteroid for the past year, starting almost the same day that it was determined that the massive rock would impact Earth.
Within a month, plans were drawn up for immense machines to be built on every continent. The combination of which would result in a deflection shield that would force the massive asteroid away from Earth and into the sun. Scaretoph promised mankind that this, his greatest invention, would not only save the planet and everyone on it, but that it would also continue to protect the Earth for eons to come!
The only risk was the fact that building the machines would take almost too much time. If all of humanity worked in concert, then they would be finished just a few hours before CGM arrived. But all of mankind had to maintain a feverish pace to finish it by then.
So all of humanity set aside it’s petty differences, all of them, in an effort to ensure a future where they could pick them back up. As if by magic, the towering machines were constructed.
And now, with less than an hour to go, they were completed and ready. The preliminary tests were flawless and all it would take is the final input from Scaretoph, himself, from his master bunker.
I stood next to the great man, basking in a little of the reflective glory that surrounded him, and awaited his orders. I’d been laboring at his side for the past four months without fail, almost twenty hours a day, and I still marveled at his energy and drive.
He ran a few final computations through the Mecca, the world’s most powerful computer (designed by him, of course) and sat back with a sigh. Then he walked up to the master controls and, with a small flourish, inserted a small silver disk.
After a moment, the opening chords ofQueen’s Bohemian Rhapsody filled the air. With a pleased smile on his face, he walked outside. I followed, puzzled, and discovered that the music wasn’t just playing on speakers inside the bunker; it was coming from … well, from everywhere!
“Perfect!” he exclaimed, sitting in a lawn chair. “Well, what do you think, Micheal?”
I collapsed into the chair next to him and, baffled, replied, “Is this a side effect of the shield, Professor?”
“What? Oh! No, not at all, my dear boy!” he chortled, pouring us both a tall glass of ice tea from a conveniently placed pitcher. “Sugar?” he inquired, grinning.
“Sugar?!?” I sputtered, staring at him. “Professor, we only have,” I glanced at my watch, “twenty minutes before CGM arrives! Has the shield been activated? Is this a celebration?”
“No, Micheal; no to both questions,” he replied, leaning back. “This is how I prefer to die, actually. Sitting in a comfortable chair, with an ice-cold drink, facing the direction of impact. I rather thought you’d appreciate it as well.”
“But, but, but … the shield, Professor! The deflector shield! What of the deflector shield?!”
“No such thing, of course.” He sipped his drink and added a little sugar. “Just busy work to keep humanity from running amok. I’d always wanted to try out my planetary speaker idea and this seemed as good a time as any … actually, the last chance, really.”
“But … damn it, Professor! What about ‘Every problem has an answer?!” I screamed in desperation.
He smiled that private grin that everyone associated with him, sat back in his chair, and replied:
“Every problem does have an answer, lad … but sometimes the answer is, ‘We’re fucked.’”
After all, we had Scaretoph on our side!
Professor Anatole Jefferson Scaretoph; winner of around a dozen Nobel science awards, at least one in each category and multiples in some; designer of the air treatment plants that renewed the atmosphere back to pristine cleanliness; inventor of the ocean mines, those great vessels that both rid the greatest bodies of water of manmade waste and extracted much needed minerals; creator of the vast field of satellites that safely beamed electrical energy to collection plants, freeing mankind from the need of fossil fuels forever.
Scaretoph the wise, Scaretoph the astonishing, Scaretoph the brilliant; the only human mind capable of defeating any computer at any task. Scaretoph, who single handedly carried a scared and desperate mankind into a golden age of science and peace.
Scaretoph, whose famous quote of “Every problem has an answer” became the anthem of a new generation of humans.
Scaretoph was on our side and had been working on saving the planet from the Cherkospy/Grant/Mei asteroid for the past year, starting almost the same day that it was determined that the massive rock would impact Earth.
Within a month, plans were drawn up for immense machines to be built on every continent. The combination of which would result in a deflection shield that would force the massive asteroid away from Earth and into the sun. Scaretoph promised mankind that this, his greatest invention, would not only save the planet and everyone on it, but that it would also continue to protect the Earth for eons to come!
The only risk was the fact that building the machines would take almost too much time. If all of humanity worked in concert, then they would be finished just a few hours before CGM arrived. But all of mankind had to maintain a feverish pace to finish it by then.
So all of humanity set aside it’s petty differences, all of them, in an effort to ensure a future where they could pick them back up. As if by magic, the towering machines were constructed.
And now, with less than an hour to go, they were completed and ready. The preliminary tests were flawless and all it would take is the final input from Scaretoph, himself, from his master bunker.
I stood next to the great man, basking in a little of the reflective glory that surrounded him, and awaited his orders. I’d been laboring at his side for the past four months without fail, almost twenty hours a day, and I still marveled at his energy and drive.
He ran a few final computations through the Mecca, the world’s most powerful computer (designed by him, of course) and sat back with a sigh. Then he walked up to the master controls and, with a small flourish, inserted a small silver disk.
After a moment, the opening chords ofQueen’s Bohemian Rhapsody filled the air. With a pleased smile on his face, he walked outside. I followed, puzzled, and discovered that the music wasn’t just playing on speakers inside the bunker; it was coming from … well, from everywhere!
“Perfect!” he exclaimed, sitting in a lawn chair. “Well, what do you think, Micheal?”
I collapsed into the chair next to him and, baffled, replied, “Is this a side effect of the shield, Professor?”
“What? Oh! No, not at all, my dear boy!” he chortled, pouring us both a tall glass of ice tea from a conveniently placed pitcher. “Sugar?” he inquired, grinning.
“Sugar?!?” I sputtered, staring at him. “Professor, we only have,” I glanced at my watch, “twenty minutes before CGM arrives! Has the shield been activated? Is this a celebration?”
“No, Micheal; no to both questions,” he replied, leaning back. “This is how I prefer to die, actually. Sitting in a comfortable chair, with an ice-cold drink, facing the direction of impact. I rather thought you’d appreciate it as well.”
“But, but, but … the shield, Professor! The deflector shield! What of the deflector shield?!”
“No such thing, of course.” He sipped his drink and added a little sugar. “Just busy work to keep humanity from running amok. I’d always wanted to try out my planetary speaker idea and this seemed as good a time as any … actually, the last chance, really.”
“But … damn it, Professor! What about ‘Every problem has an answer?!” I screamed in desperation.
He smiled that private grin that everyone associated with him, sat back in his chair, and replied:
“Every problem does have an answer, lad … but sometimes the answer is, ‘We’re fucked.’”