by Matt Rogers
Chapter 26
Most were in the living room watching television when he entered.
“Hello, everyone!”
He held out his hands in anticipation of the treat he couldn’t resist.
“Hey, Nat” Phillip greeted.
“Hi, Nat” Trudy said from the sofa.
George merely nodded his head.
Heaven’s Alien was slightly disappointed, a little let down, somewhat disheartened until he heard her coming down the stairs.
“Nat!” the vanilla Vamp screamed while leaping into his arms from the third step.
“Aah, now that’s more like it” he purred with a smile as he held the woman of everyman’s dreams tight.
He put her down after proper hugging protocol dictated and they went into the living room to join the others watching the news.
“Hello, everyone, I’m Nick Price and this is the Channel Five Top-Rated News at Ten. We have a lot of things to go over and only a little time to do it so let’s start by going live to our award winning reporter south near the border, Tim Tidbit. Tim, are you there?”
The young reporter’s face appeared on screen.
“Yes, Nick, I’m here.”
“Tim, how are things going down there?”
The camera backed out to show the reporter standing in front of a tank which was parked on one side of the Rio Grande River and across the waterway sat its counterpart in Mexico.
“Well, Nick, things are a little tenser than I’ve seen before.”
“Why is that, Tim?”
“Um… well, the coffee situation has gotten a little worse I’m afraid.”
Soldiers could be seen in full combat gear with rifles slung and Kevlar helmets worn.
“The coffee situation?”
“Yes, Nick, the coffee situation. It seems we’re having a little difficulty obtaining any variety of the beverage with flavor and caffeine intact. It appears we misjudged our ability to produce the arising liquid and with the border closure the importation of the wonderful breakfast-brew has been shut off.”
“Shut off completely?”
“Well, from our southern neighboring countries, yes. They’re all siding with Mexico. Now, we were able to replace the South American bean with those aromatic ones from France but with the problem we’re facing up in Canada those supplies have been choked off also.”
The picture changed back to the anchorman sitting erect with shoulders high and a concerned expression on his face.
“Just how tense are things getting down there, Tim?”
The shot changed again and the reporter came into view but the background had shifted slightly. Before, where there was only dirt, soldiers from the Mexican Army stood.
“Well, as you can see behind me whenever a reporter shoots video the soldiers on the opposite side of the river get in the camera’s view to tease our brave men and women on this side.”
“Tease, Tim?”
“Yes, tease, Nick. They hold up coffee mugs and take long sips of their incredibly strong-smelling coffee. It is beginning to take its toll on troop morale, Nick, and I’m afraid the situation may go from teasing to taunting at any minute.”
“Taunting?”
As the anchorman asked his probing question trouble began to form.
“Yes, taunting. You see, it’s not impossible to avoid the wonderful odor emanating from across the border and the soldiers can avoid looking at their counterparts partaking in the black energy boost but when they begin tossing coffee grounds in the river like they have no need for the spiritual cup, well, that seems to be the tipping point.”
As if on cue the soldiers from the south threw beans cherished by the north into the muddy waters of the Rio Grande which made it an even darker reminder of the rift between the countries. A strange thing coincided at the same time for as the grounds were tossed in some of the soldiers on the Texas side raced down the bank and placed their canteens in the coffee polluted stream.
“Are our soldiers drinking the waters from the Rio Grande, Tim?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s come to that, Nick. Our brave military heroes have been relegated to river-sipping since we can’t seem to find a country with the ability to grow a proper coffee bean.”
The face of the news anchor appeared again as he asked yet another deep and penetrating question.
“No other country can grow coffee?”
The switch in scenery must have caught someone’s annoyance in the control room for it shifted again.
“No, Nick, other countries can grow the bean but… well… there’s just something about South American and French coffee which sets them apart. We’ve tried Australian coffee but found it to be a difficult produce to produce.”
“Is coffee a produce, Tim?”
“I think so, Nick. It comes from a plant after all. Well anyway, we don’t seem to have an answer for the Great Coffee Question and are currently attempting to negotiate a solution with the Tea Party.”
The picture finally stayed with the reporter.
“The Tea Party?”
“Yes, the Tea Party, Nick. Our leaders down here are trying to reach a resolution which would sway opinions and provide solutions.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, they want everyone to start drinking tea. They feel if everyone switched to the strange herb then the advantage Mexico holds in their hands would be eliminated.”
“Are they having any success?”
The picture zoomed in on the reporter because a wise producer noticed in the background the image of the Mexican soldiers dancing and singing while waitresses appeared with coffee pots to refill their mugs.
“No, Nick, they’re not.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it seems the prevailing political view down here is rather right-minded in their thinking of not wanting anything to do with a drink they feel was the preferred beverage of a country who we fought a bloody war with, Nick.”
The camera finally changed to reveal Nick Price, anchorman of Channel Five, with a confused expression on his face.
“We went to war with India?”
The abrupt switch of screen was shuddering to the viewing public’s eyes.
“No, Nick, not India, although they are indirectly responsible for the problem. I’m talking about England, Nick, the one we fought first. The one which actually made us a country.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I got a little confused with the verbiage there. So, what is the prevailing thought of a solution appearing anytime soon?”
“There isn’t one, Nick. It turns out the Mexicans are enjoying the heck out of the situation. They seem to feel time is on their side. They think the World Court’s opinion will side with them and they’re having a blast watching our citizenry search desperately for a cure to coffee withdrawal.”
The Alien from Heaven watched as the Vamps and Wolves took in the information. He didn’t know what was next, he wasn’t allowed to interfere in Superior business but he was curious what their response was going to be.
“These people are driving me insane” Trudy, the Vampire of flaming-red hair, said.
“Why don’t we just go down there and kill a few? Maybe that’ll start the war?” George inquired.
Nat’s molecular eyes widened at the idea.
“We can’t. There are more cameras down there than at a Japanese rock concert. I’m pretty sure any killing will end up on screen and if that happens all our efforts will have been in vain.”
Nat agreed with Trudy’s logic even if he secretly wished the Wolves would go ahead and rid the planet of the annoying Inferiors. They were amusing at times but the end was near and their comical ways were wearing thin in his view. They weren’t needed. They were an unintended byproduct of Superior breeding who wouldn’t go away.
“How’s Canada shaping up?” Vivian asked.
As if they were in the room the reporters in the viewing box responded.
“We are going to shift
our attention to the growing conflict in Canada. We now go live to our sister station and their award winning reporter, Wally Thornburg. Wally, are you there?”
The picture changed to show the corduroy-clad reporter standing in front of a section of pipeline. The enormous metal tube was ten feet off the ground, had a circumference of twenty feet and was seated on metal braces secured in the ground with concrete.
“Yep, you betcha I’m here, Nick!”
The scene shifted again as Nick’s face with chiseled chin and steely grey eyes came into view.
“Is there any news from the frontlines up there, Wally?”
The reporter again came on-screen.
“Well, Nick, we’ve had a slight breakthrough with the Abominable Snowman Theory.”
“What’s that, Wally?”
“Um… it’s sort of a creature of legend, Nick. You see, over the years a few tales have been told of a beast…”
“I’m sorry, Wally, I didn’t mean to imply I didn’t know who the Abominable Snowman was. I was asking about the breakthrough in the theory.”
Luckily for the viewers the controllers in the production room were too busy sitting to take the time to switch the scene every time one reporter spoke over another.
“Oh! Well, it turns out the theory of the Abominable Snowman doing the dastardly deed has been discredited. As far as anyone can tell there has never been any environmental issues with the big-footed ape-like mammal and the authorities believe a few devious people with ulterior motives were responsible for mentioning him as a suspect.”
“Who do they believe were responsible, Wally?”
“They think it was the Scottish, Nick. Or the Irish. They’re not exactly sure which one but they believe one of those two mischievous peoples were responsible for libeling the Abominable Snowman.”
The picture changed and the anchorman became center screen, eyes furrowed in intense concentration as he asked for further clarity.
“Why would they libel the Abominable Snowman, Wally?”
The question was pondered so the control room answered by changing the viewer’s sight to that of the slightly overweight reporter from the north.
“They believe they’re trying to embolden the Loch-Ness Monster, Nick. They think someone or some group on those conspiratorial isles are trying to gain a vacational advantage.”
“Vacational?”
“Uh-huh, vacational.”
“Is… is that even a word, Wally?”
“It is up here, Nick. It’s so gosh darn cold we need to vacate so often we’ve turned the word into both verbal and nounal senses.”
“Nounal?”
“It means noun-like, Nick.”
The picture didn’t change for the controllers of television were confused. Was the reporter right? Was ‘nounal’ really a word?
“Okay, Wally, good to know. So the theory of the Abominable Snowman being behind the terrorist attack on the Canadalaskan Pipeline has been eliminated?”
“Yep” the engaging reporter said while nodding his head.
“Who do they think did the deed?”
“Oh, they definitely think it was the French Linguist Liberation League of Separatists who set the charge, Nick, but they’re having a tough time proving it.”
“Why’s that, Wally?”
“Because of the language barrier, Nick.”
The picture changed because the controllers became bored and decided to earn their paycheck by touching nobs. Nick price reappeared on screen.
“Language barrier?”
And disappeared again as the reporter from the tundra took over.
“Yes, Nick, the language barrier. It seems the French Linguist Separatists won’t speak English.”
“What do they speak?”
“They speak French, Nick, the French Linguist Separatists speak French.”
The scene shifted because the controllers enjoyed watching discomfort.
“Oh, yes, I guess that makes sense. Well, can’t they get an interpreter?”
The Canadian reporter reappeared.
“They’ve tried, Nick, but the Separatist Movement is pretty rigid in their demands of separation. They won’t speak to anyone who speaks another language. Apparently they believe in the power of words. They say, and I’m going to give this to you second-handed because I do not speak French, but they say the meaning of separation is to actually be separate from something. They don’t believe in half-gestures so they refuse to even be in the room with someone who speaks the Queen’s language.”
“The Queen?”
“Yes, the Queen of England.”
“Hold on. Is Canada English?”
The Wolves were getting bored, the Vamps becoming irritated and the Alien not at all amused. The Humans were acting as they’d always acted and were confounding the situation. What should have been easy was becoming difficult. Battles were not being fought, wars not won and clan supremacy was put on pause.
“Mistress?” Nat asked.
“Yes, Nat?” Trudy answered.
“Do you have a Plan C?”
When she smiled Nat followed suit because he was eagerly awaiting the Apocalypse.