Kenneth Gilbert, CEO of the universally respected Pflege Corporation for nearly a decade, prepared for lunch. He took his coffee mug to the sink in his office and gave it a quick rinse; Mr Gilbert drank coffee at nearly all moments of the day save for two, when he was eating his lunch and dinner. His assistant—the intelligent and ever-ambitious Anna Cotillard—brought in his lunch and poured him a scotch and water.
“Thank you, Anna. Would you inform my brother that I am now available to see him?”
“Of course sir, right away.”
At that moment the holographic image of his brother appeared in the room. While it still waited on the approval of the assistant as any typical guest not transmitted across a coast by 1s and 0s, it required no formal entrance into the office of his elder brother. It merely appeared out of the appropriate machinery.
“Ah, good day Ned.”
“How are you Ken?”
“Wonderful, and you? I’ve been looking forward to our lunch this week all morning.”
“Oh I’m doing quite well, and I too look forward to our lunches every week. And of course, you’ve met the respectable Senator Thornton. I invited him to join our lunch. I’m sure you don’t mind.” Kenneth Gilbert had obviously been aware that his brother’s image was also accompanied by an old, familiar face. Ned—or rather Edward Gilbert, only family called him Ned—had only mentioned the Senator to break the awkwardness of his having been in the room without being acknowledged. Edward was constantly having to correct and apologize for the poor manners of his elder brother, especially in the company of politicians. Kenneth knew all too well who really held the power, and he liked to flaunt this knowledge in subtle, yet explicit, gestures.
“Indeed, Mr Thornton. It is always a pleasure to enjoy a meal with an old acquaintance. How is the campaign this time around?” inquired the elder Gilbert.
“Third time’s the charm. As you know the first two were close calls, but this time my team and I couldn’t be more confident. We’ve nearly met our fundraising goals, and I hold double digit leads over my opponent in most polls,” replied the sturdy Senator William Harold Thornton. He had not been suckered by the elder Gilbert’s power play. He knew too well not to show any vulnerability or sign of weakness. Ask for a favor and you’re always in debt. Ask for nothing and you’ll always have what you need. He appended, “It feels like the old days running for the House, feeling virtually uncontested.”
“I couldn’t be happier to hear such fantastic news, Mr Senator. You and your staff have always been very kind to this company, and rest assured you can count on a generous contribution from us yet again this campaign season. You need not worry about your fundraising goals any more, Senator. God bless free speech.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Edward butted in. The CEO and the Senator nodded, slowly sipping their respective drinks. Kenneth sighed inwardly towards his brother’s eagerness. He and Edward had an unequal relationship. It is true that Kenneth was the older brother, but that was merely a technicality of half a minute. Nevertheless he never had to force the upper hand; throughout their entire lives, Kenneth always got the first word in, always did better in school and sports, and always got the better girls. He lovingly looked down on his younger, fraternal twin the way any older brother must find superiority over younger siblings. In their psyches, thirty seconds was as vast a gap as thirty years.
“Let us get on to more important things,” Kenneth ended the silence of a few moments. “My brother, the cabinet secretary of the Department of Human Health, Hygiene and Sanitation Services, informs me, kind Senator, that you’ve been working on a new proposal that might involve my company.”
“Yes, quite true, Mr Gilbert. My constituents are growing concerned over the birth rates in the slums outside New York City. The overpopulation situation is grave now as it is. We believe it necessary to institute a contraceptive program targeted at lower income families in the poorest of neighborhoods. And Pflege, as you obviously know, offers the world’s best contraceptive medications. It would be an entirely mutual benefit for our offices to partner in this venture.”
“Not only mutual for us, Senator,” the elder twin agreed, “but a mutual benefit for our whole society. The slums need more swaddling infants like I need a bullet to the head. If we can lower the birth rates, we can help save these wretched creatures from poverty, all the while diminishing their burden on the state. I’ve heard all the arguments before, and I could not stand in firmer agreement. I assure you, Senator, we have already begun programs to this end, but a public initiative would be most delightful. Greater profits for my shareholders and a caring image of you for the public to see. It’s always pleasant partnering with you, Mr Thornton.”
They each issued their goodbyes, and the holographic projectors ceased broadcasting the corporeal likenesses of the cabinet secretary and the Senator. Ms Cotillard entered the room, collected the dishes, and, at his request, scheduled a meeting for Mr Gilbert with the head of the contraceptives sector.
At about this same time, our patient protagonist was finishing up lunch with Danny. He listened with polite indifference, as Danny continued on about the covert operations of Israeli agents in Saudi energy fields, alien ships attacking US military aircraft, and a doomsday bunker in the plains outside of Denver. Jerry wasn’t yet exhausted of hearing these tired tales; they were far more exciting than the stool samples of subject 196-03-9943.
Cheers,
The Flying Dutchman.
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