Chaos Theory: A Feel Good Story About the End of the World

by Colin Robertson

  * * *

  Charlie and Alex sat silently in the President's Personal Secretary's office. It had been a half-hour, and the initial excitement had since faded. Now both began to wonder what the holdup was. Still, it didn't seem right to complain when the President of the United States keeps you waiting, so they continued to sit. Charlie was now on page thirty-two of a New Yorker article on the history of melba toast. The article was so engrossing that he failed to notice when Judy stepped out and Alex snuck a memo from the stack of papers on her desk. The letterhead indicated that it had come from the desk of the President himself. The content of the letter, however, made that hard to believe. It was a poem, and the margin was full of bad ballpoint pen drawings of tanks being bombed by airplanes.

  The Worm

  by the President of the United States

  The Gecko walked along the road,

  And complained of great regret.

  His companion, the ancient Tortoise,

  Recalled how he could n'er forget,

  And so they wandered in the darkness

  Long after the sun had set.

  The Gecko told a wistful tale

  Of the many tails he'd lost.

  The Tortoise babbled on forever,

  For, to him, time bore no cost.

  "The further we go, the further we are

  From the many men we've crossed."

  They chanced upon an old Potato,

  Just sitting in the road,

  Its eyes were blind as blind could be,

  And it spoke an odious ode.

  "I am a spud of science" it said,

  "And I've solved the secret code."

  "I've run a small experiment

  Of seeing what I can see

  And through the power of observation,

  Deduced you two simply cannot be.

  Now I know that may be hard to hear

  But it's advice I give for free"

  I exist," cried the Tortoise,

  "Always have and always will.

  You see I am immortal,

  In a thousand years I'll be here still!"

  "I done the math," sneered the root insipidly.

  "The odds of that (rounded up) are nil"

  "I exist even more," declared the Gecko,

  For he truly felt that this was true.

  "Chop me up in tiny pieces,

  And make me into stew

  I'll simple grow myself back,

  All without a drop of glue."

  "We hate you, oh Potato,

  For what you've said of us is lies."

  They decided then to eat him,

  Whipped, mashed or chopped as fries,

  But first they chortled with delight

  And plucked out all his eyes.

  The Potato then cried out for real,

  About this dreadful dream.

  In the end they chose to bake him,

  Served with a side of sour cream

  "You did this to yourself," they said,

  As he began to scream.

  The two friends then tucked in their bibs

  And carved up the little bloke

  The Tortoise took an enormous bite

  But then he began to choke.

  The Gecko found he was allergic,

  And proceeded there to croak.

  The Gecko breathed his final breath

  Then fell upon the ground

  The Tortoise sank into his shell,

  Never more to make a sound

  So none could greet the Worm that came

  To feed on what he'd found.

  What a stupid poem, thought Alex. He decided it must have been written by a small child, perhaps a nephew or niece of the President. Alex knew the President, himself, was childless. It had been an issue in the campaign.

  He was still wondering when a commotion sounded in the hallway. All at once, Judy, along with a television news crew, crushed through the doorway into the small office. Alex realized he'd stepped too far from the desk and was forced to stuff the poem into his pocket. Charlie and Alex both stared with surprise. "Is that...?" Alex asked. Charlie nodded. They'd both instantly recognized Chuck Todd, Chief White House Correspondent for NBC News. Chuck looked at them as well, trying to decide if they were involved in or incidental to the reason he was here. Since Chuck hadn't actually been told why he was here, he realized he'd have to figure this out later. The news crew consisted of a cameraman and his assistant. Both were currently testing their signal for what was going to be a live broadcast. "Test... test... test," the assistant said into a microphone.

  "Peter picked a peck of pickled peppers," said Chuck, trying to wake up his tongue.

  "Test... test... test."

  "Sally sells seashells by the seashore."

  "Test... test... test."

  "Eustence euthanizes eunuchs by the eucalyptus tree."

  The cameraman gave a thumbs up.

  Judy picked up her desk phone. "Chuck Todd from NBC News is here, Mr. President... Yes, sir, and Charles Draper and Alex Graham... Yes, sir." Judy hung up the phone and walked between them to open the door to the Oval Office. "You can go in now."

  "All of us?" asked Charlie.

  "Yes," said Judy.

  "Who are they?" asked Chuck. Before anyone could answer, they were all in the Oval Office, live on national television. The question, for now, was forgotten.

  The President was sitting behind his desk looking like a bewildered hermit. His beard was down to his belt now, its end tied with a baby blue bow. He was wearing what appeared to be some sort of Hebraic robe. In all of his years reporting on Washington, Chuck Todd had met several Presidents and seen his share of scandals. Nothing, however, could prepare him for this. For a moment, any questions or even intelligible words were simply obliterated from his brain. NBC News Anchor Lester Holt's questions in his earpiece failed to register. "Um, uh...Chuck Todd... reporting from the Oval Office?" It shouldn't have been a question, but somehow it was. "Mr. President?" Again, a question.

  "Is that the Duke Norman guy?" the assistant asked. Chuck's assistant wasn't supposed to speak on air.

  "It is indeed," proclaimed the President. Despite his bizarre appearance, he still possessed the deep, commanding voice that had served him so well on the campaign trail.

  Reverend Duke Norman, with his signature tinted glasses and whitened teeth, stood beside Commander-in-Chief like a sort of spiritual bodyguard. Behind them both stood two burly men, one black, one white, also in suits and sunglasses. Officially, they were acolytes of Duke Norman, but the word 'henchmen' seemed more descriptive. Why they were here in the Oval Office instead of the Secret Service was a mystery. "Welcome, gentlemen," said Reverend Duke Norman with a beneficent smile.

  The President turned his attention to Charlie and Alex. Both were dumbfounded. Charlie felt as if everything he'd believed in was on fire, while Alex felt as if the world were suddenly made of smoke. Charlie put his arm around Alex's shoulder in an attempt to say, okay, we're lost, but let's not get separated. "CIA Agent Charles Draper! And you... you must be young Alice."

  "Alex. I'm a boy."

  "Don't correct the President!" snapped Duke.

  The President waved him off. "No, no, it's fine. He can be Alex if he likes. Welcome! I wanted you two here as the chosen ones who helped bring about this great moment. To bring it full circle, as it were." The President turned to the camera to explain, "Alex first found the holy vessel known as Loose Thread, and delivered it unto the world. Mr. Draper here, was his appointed shepherd—his guardian angel, as it were."

  Back at the NBC anchor desk in New York, Lester Holt, who had been trying to fill dead air, now checked back with Chuck asking, "Chuck? Are you there, Chuck?" Chuck Todd opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment the Chief of Staff, Jim Hornswell, entered the Oval Office via his own office. He wore of look of grave concern. "Mr. President, I don't understand..."

  "Yes, Lester, uh, Chuck Todd for NBC News, in the Oval Office in an unexpect
ed, unprecedented, apparently unplanned, and completely bizarre event. When I say, unplanned, I mean by anyone other than the President himself. You can see his Chief of Staff, Jim Hornswell, appears to be completely surprised."

  Jim shot the correspondent and news camera an aghast look and groped for an explanation. "The President is unwell."

  "What exactly is he sick with?"

  Jim was unsure what illness could explain these symptoms. He knew a cold or flu wouldn't do it. Still, he needed something not so serious as to depose the President. "Dutch Elm Disease."

  "Really?"

  "Well, I'm not a doctor. The point is, the President doesn't know what he's doing."

  "Mr. Hornswell, are you saying the President is mentally incompetent?"

  "I'm saying... I'm saying... " Jim didn't know what he was saying.

  "I'm saying," said President, taking up the slack, "Welcome. Welcome young innocent Alex, welcome Charles, welcome Jim, welcome Chuck, and welcome my fellow Americans to this... this, is Judgement Day!" As he made this declaration, the President of the United States lifted his hands into the air and stood like a holy figure framed by the window behind.

  "I'm not sure we got that," said the cameraman. "The feed may have cut out."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. President," said Chuck, "Could you say that again? You know, the bit about it being Judgement Day?"

  * * *

  In the upstairs master bedroom, Mathias Boltzmann was busy. Outside came the irregular percussion of gunfire in rapid bursts and single shots. Occasional explosions thudded below, shaking the marble floor and sending a snowfall of plaster dust from the ceiling above, while making the chandelier swing. Mathias ignored it all and heaved another pile of papers into the fireplace, where a blaze now roared. He grabbed his laptop from the bed. A deletion routine was already zeroing out the data on the drive and launching viral eradication scripts to obfuscate and erase any information from remote accounts. The progress bar showed minutes more to complete. Mathias tossed the computer onto the pyre, where the plastic quickly melted and sparks flew. This event was unexpected but not unplanned for. In the illegal arms business if you don't prepare for the possibility of a sting, you're living in a fool's paradise. There were secret accounts behind anonymous accounts, refuge properties in countries without extradition, and lawyers, so many platoons of lawyers. It was hardly ideal, but everything would be fine. If all else failed, left on the bed was a single shiny steel canister. It was the ultimate bargaining chip.

  The double doors of the bedroom flew open under the impact of a single, powerful kick. Colonel Rynard Gruber materialized through a noxious cloud of smoke and tear gas that filled the threshold. His shirt was torn from one shoulder, and several pieces of shrapnel had minced the meat of his exposed pectoral. He wiped his benzyl bromide reddened eyes and surveyed the room. Despite the unsurmountable odds he now faced, the unforgettable soldier appeared to be calm, even enjoying himself. Having exhausted the ammunition from his original minigun, Rynard now carried a double-barrelled shotgun in one hand and his trusty Mauser pistol in the other. Between his teeth he still chewed a cigarillo, despite the fact that its tip had been shot off and was now dangling by a paper thread. At the sight of Mathias he grinned and grunted, "Grüß Gott." Rynard then turned, shouldered his shotgun, and swung closed the double doors. With the lock shattered, the Colonel dragged a loaded dresser one-handed to act as barricade. Mathias knew it was in part adrenaline, but still couldn't help but marvel at the soldier-for-hire's seeming superhuman strength. Outside, a police attack helicopter descended level with the windows, summoning a hurricane that flung wide the curtains and flurried papers about the room. Mathias gripped a bedpost and tried to think above the din. They know we're in here, is what he thought. He knew the weaponry that such a helicopter possessed. It could level the room in seconds.

  Rynard Gruber strode nonchalantly to the bedroom wall where a rare platinum-plated AK-47 signed by Kalashnikov himself was mounted. He tore the weapon from its braces and tossed it to Mathias, who instinctively caught it. "We are going to die now," said Rynard, matter-of-factly, "So you might as well die on your feet."

  Mathias threw the weapon to the floor as if it were burning hot. "We're not going to die," he said. By 'we', he meant himself, of course. There was probably little he could do to protect Gruber given the sheer number of polizei the mercenary had killed that morning alone. "Unless I'm holding a gun, in which case they may well shoot me."

  Rynard frowned, assessing his employer. "Perhaps, I shoot you myself."

  "Are you insane?" shouted Mathias. "There's a clause in your contract that specifically forbids that!"

  Rynard laughed so hard his eyes watered. Mathias tried to join in as if they were simply old friends enjoying a joke. "Look, Colonel, this is what lawyers are for. Put down your gun and we'll be out of jail by this afternoon. Tomorrow at the latest."

  Rynard stopped laughing. He wiped away the tears and pointed at the canister half-buried in the king-sized comforter. "Give me that," he ordered.

  "What... are you insane?" asked Mathias.

  Rynard lifted the shotgun to within an inch of Mathias's face. The metal barrel hole hovered between the businessman's eyes. Mathias could smell the acrid stench of hot steel, gun oil, and smoke. Puppeted by fear, he fumbled blindly behind himself, felt the canister and numbly handed it over. "You'll kill us all," he said.

  Rynard Gruber held up the device, somewhat surprised by its lightness. He'd been expecting something with at least the heft of a munitions shell. "When I die, the world dies with me," he said with a shrug, as if this explained everything. He then squeezed the trigger. Mathias Boltzmann's head exploded like a pomegranate in a pressure cooker.

  * * *

  Reverend Duke Norman was in heaven. In all of his years of preaching on television, never once had he spoken to a global audience. In the Oval Office itself, there were less than a dozen people present, even including the Secret Service and Duke's own minions. Duke knew, however, that they were now being carried live on every TV news channel in the country and likely the world as well. "And so the Lord has chosen this time and this great man..." As he spoke, he nodded towards the President of the United States. The camera followed. The Commander-in-Chief, unfortunately, had chosen that moment to pick his nose again and was too engrossed in the excavation to notice. The Pastor persevered, "...and myself, to expunge the evil from the world and save the souls that dwell within it."

  "Wake up, Mr. President!" shouted Jim from the side, hoping that his boss was asleep. "Wake up!"

  Chuck Todd added his own observations, commenting in a hushed voice into the microphone. "I think it's safe to say that this is the greatest political scandal since or even including Watergate. The President's mental state appears to be in doubt. His Chief of Staff, Jim Hornswell, seems convinced that the President is in some sort of... trance, perhaps? It's hard to say."

  Duke Norman continued, "For as each day passes, the moral cancer that has rotted the souls of Americans and the world for the last half-century continues to spread. Each day delayed towards salvation, another thousand souls are lost to the sex, violence, and impropriety that permeates our airwaves, our streets, and our schools under the guise of liberalism, love and tolerance. We thank the Lord for giving us the key to the gates of heaven and placing it in the hands of one strong enough to turn it." He nodded once more to the President, who, thankfully, was now paying attention. "...and wise enough to ask me for guidance. Amen."

  "Amen" said the President.

  "Amen," Duke Norman's acolytes said together like a Greek chorus.

  "Amazing," said Chuck, "we've actually just heard TV evangelist Duke Norman give a full on sermon right here in the Oval Office. So much for the separation of church and state."

  The Reverend, overhearing this, interjected, "A separation is not a divorce, Mr. Todd. Today is a day of reconciliation!"

  The President then pointed at the NBC White House Correspondent and decree
d, "Your job, man with two first names, is to act as scribe. That is why you have been summoned here. Judge not, lest ye be judged. Just as the books of Bible recorded all great acts before, so it is your job to record this moment for posterity. You may call your scripture The Book of Chuck or The Book of Todd. Both are equally terrible."

  Charlie, who until this moment had been too stunned to speak, said, "Wait... you're recording the end of the world for 'posterity'?" For a moment, the entire room turned to look at him. "I mean, it's madness. Right?"

  On TV screens around the world, billions of people were now following the live broadcast, from living rooms in Omaha, to the sidewalks of Times Square, to the bordellos of Bangkok, to a satellite TV in a one room schoolhouse in the Solomon Islands. They were scared, confused, and perplexed. They were also angry. They were angry that an American President was apparently announcing the end of the world. In Milan they were more angry that the President had preempted a football match with Barcelona but, still, they were angry.

  The President of the United States turned and gazed directly into the camera. He then spoke with unwavering calm. This was the same voice he'd used to reassure the country during the nationwide yellow die no. 5 shortage two years prior, when Americans were shocked to discover that dill pickles were actually green inside and not, in fact, the colour of processed uranium. "My fellow Americans, citizens of the world," he began. On CNN, which had picked up the broadcast, Wolf Blitzer interjected to explain to viewers that the President of the United States had just addressed the American people and the citizens of the world. The President continued, "For today is a day I address all of humanity." Wolf Blitzer explained that the President appeared to be addressing all of humanity which, he added, presumably included all humans, but not animals. CNN pundits then began a fierce debate about whether this did include household pets which "often think they're people" in so many adorable ways. This then served as a segue to the top kitten videos currently trending on social media. "Today is a day that will live in infamy and, indeed, outfamy. As your President, I have seen the destiny that awaits all true believers and I know my duty. As Jesus once said, with great power comes great responsibility. I own up to that responsibility this very day." With that the Commander-in-Chief lifted his robe to reveal the shiny canister concealed within. This had the unintended consequence of revealing more than just the device. The result was that the weapon itself went momentarily ignored as audiences gasped, and journalists tried to explain the significance of the President of the United States exposing himself to the world. Oblivious, the President held the shiny canister aloft and proclaimed, "For today is the day foretold of by John the Apostle and foreseen by Jack Van Impe many, many, so very many times. Today is the day of Revelations!" This proclamation had the effect of returning global attention to the shiny container. The only exceptions were Fox News viewers who were now treated to a panel discussing the President's genitalia at length under the banner 'Flashpoint!'. All subsequent proceedings in the Oval Office were relegated to a ticker along the bottom of the screen.