"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HEADS OF STATE AND GOVERNMENT, I PRESENT TO YOU THE CREW OF UNV JANUS!"
Step out of the curtains. Give a curt, professional wave to the cold, refractory eyes of the cameras. Give a little smile for the girls back home. Shake the General Secretaries hand and resist the urge to cover my eyes from the lights. Christopher Moretti had practiced this sequence of events for what seemed to be a million times: walk, wave, smile, repeat.
To his left were Henry Atkins and Ron Arenberg, his fellow Americans in upcoming launch. To his right, Oleg Naidyonov, the ever-silent stereotype from the Russian Federation, and Wang Yaping, giddily soaking up the attention of the crowd and throwing up coquettish peace-signs for the photographers.
"IN JUST TWO WEEKS, THIS INTERNATIONAL TEAM, THE BEST AND BRIGHTEST THAT THIS PLANET HAS TO OFFER, WILL EMBARK ON A JOURNEY ACROSS THE DIMENSIONS. WE CAN ONLY WISH THEM AS THE BEST, AND HOPE THAT THE MECHANISM WHICH THEY WILL PILOT, THE CULMINATION OF RUSSIAN, CHINESE, AND AMERICAN INGENUITY WILL SHINE THE LIGHT ON THEIR JOURNEY!"
Let the PR monkeys do the talking. Just two more weeks left. And then you can do what you always wished to do; in true Kirkian fashion, go where no man has gone before.
TWO WEEKS LATER
PESHAWAR, REPUBLIC OF AFGHANISTAN
"Protests continue in French-occupied Catalonia...Maharaja of Travancore states that he won't submit to Deccan demands...UN attempted condemnation of Portugal's seizure of Galicia vetoed by the Un-.."
"Musa, shut that stupid thing off!" The Okean-56 was promptly turned off, and silence once again resumed on the balcony. A calm zephyr blew across the city, a Kashmir Airlines jet flew overhead, and life seemed to be normal in Peshawar.
"I came here to enjoy my vacation, not to listen to some Sov spout on about international bullshit." The burly man, clad in Hindistani silks and French sunglasses, poured himself another glass of water, and looked at his male companion.
"For someone who spends so much time in politician's office, you're surprisingly averse to the news," remarked Musa, keeping his eyes turned on the now distant airliner.
"That's work. This is play. And I know that nothing will stop me having some fun with you." A small wink from Amir quieted any of Musa's desire to retort.
Afghanistan was bliss, more than they ever imagined. And then came the earthquake.
Step out of the curtains. Give a curt, professional wave to the cold, refractory eyes of the cameras. Give a little smile for the girls back home. Shake the General Secretaries hand and resist the urge to cover my eyes from the lights. Christopher Moretti had practiced this sequence of events for what seemed to be a million times: walk, wave, smile, repeat.
To his left were Henry Atkins and Ron Arenberg, his fellow Americans in upcoming launch. To his right, Oleg Naidyonov, the ever-silent stereotype from the Russian Federation, and Wang Yaping, giddily soaking up the attention of the crowd and throwing up coquettish peace-signs for the photographers.
"IN JUST TWO WEEKS, THIS INTERNATIONAL TEAM, THE BEST AND BRIGHTEST THAT THIS PLANET HAS TO OFFER, WILL EMBARK ON A JOURNEY ACROSS THE DIMENSIONS. WE CAN ONLY WISH THEM AS THE BEST, AND HOPE THAT THE MECHANISM WHICH THEY WILL PILOT, THE CULMINATION OF RUSSIAN, CHINESE, AND AMERICAN INGENUITY WILL SHINE THE LIGHT ON THEIR JOURNEY!"
Let the PR monkeys do the talking. Just two more weeks left. And then you can do what you always wished to do; in true Kirkian fashion, go where no man has gone before.
TWO WEEKS LATER
PESHAWAR, REPUBLIC OF AFGHANISTAN
"Protests continue in French-occupied Catalonia...Maharaja of Travancore states that he won't submit to Deccan demands...UN attempted condemnation of Portugal's seizure of Galicia vetoed by the Un-.."
"Musa, shut that stupid thing off!" The Okean-56 was promptly turned off, and silence once again resumed on the balcony. A calm zephyr blew across the city, a Kashmir Airlines jet flew overhead, and life seemed to be normal in Peshawar.
"I came here to enjoy my vacation, not to listen to some Sov spout on about international bullshit." The burly man, clad in Hindistani silks and French sunglasses, poured himself another glass of water, and looked at his male companion.
"For someone who spends so much time in politician's office, you're surprisingly averse to the news," remarked Musa, keeping his eyes turned on the now distant airliner.
"That's work. This is play. And I know that nothing will stop me having some fun with you." A small wink from Amir quieted any of Musa's desire to retort.
Afghanistan was bliss, more than they ever imagined. And then came the earthquake.