Ian Slater: Darpa Alpha

There was a tap on the partition. The consular official pressed a button, the glass sliding down to reveal the other consular official who’d been on the dais. He’d been working his laptop and micro printer and now passed back a sheaf of two-by-four-inch pieces of paper. “Messages for you, General. I’ve prioritized them for you.”

The general leaned forward as he reached for them. If there was one New Age expression he disliked more than the grammatically ugly “you did good” instead of “you did well,” it was “prioritize.” It reeked of “suit psychobabble.” “Thank you,” he said, and sat back.

The first message was from the president, a quotation from the inimitable Winston Churchill, ending with “well done.” Freeman smiled at the vicissitudes of life: After Priest Lake he was a “bum” now he was a “hero.” Good.

The second message was from the State Department, furious that he’d linked the term “Hamas” with “scumbags.” Hamas, Foggy Bottom reminded him, also served as a “charitable arm” to the Palestinians, and the general’s use of scumbag in connection with it was “unnecessarily inflammatory and an affront to all Muslims.”

Freeman screwed the message into a tiny ball, handing it to the consular official. “Round file this, will you?”

The consular official informed him that scores of congratulations were pouring in but that there was one message from home he might like to see immediately. The consular official was right. It was from Margaret:

Cannot work new DVD player. Will you help?

A damsel in distress.