All These People

Good God, I hate all these people. As I listen to the drones drone on, as drones are wont to do, I reflect on how much I despise each of them. Every single damn one of them. Okay, there’s only five, but still. None of them look like they want to be here any more than I do. And the expressions on their faces certainly indicate that their opinions of me and of each other are probably right about the same as mine. Still, it’s not like we have a choice. The five us make up what the media is calling the “War Council,” although we don’t have an official title. Or expertise. Or any qualifications whatsoever to deal with an alien invasion. Not that any other human does though, I guess. We just happen to be the only five people in the system with any experience at all in either governing people or being in the general vicinity of our new alien friends.

Good God, I hate all these people. Except Thalia, I guess. She’s okay. And not just because she grossly overpaid me for the actual amount of work I ended up doing. It’s a stretch to call us friends in the traditional sense of the word and we’re never going to see eye-to-eye on anything though. Mostly on account of her tendency to get completely wrapped up in her obsessions to the point of ignoring everything else, up to and including hygiene. Also, she actually cares about things. The list of things she cares about is pretty short, granted, but its still longer than mine. She really looks angry about being here, so I guess I’ll give her a pass. This time. Good God, I hate all these people, except Thalia. And the meeting drones on.

Good God, I hate all these people. Okay, maybe not Rolfe. Rolfe and I will definitely never be friends, largely because he hates my guts with a burning passion. We are however on the same side for the moment, so he has to put on his big-boy pants and play nice. I call tell that this isn’t sitting well with him. His teeth are gritted. Angry blotches of red are mottling the brown skin of his face. Veins in his neck and forehead pulsate hypnotically. It’s captivating, in a medically acute kind of way. His muscular hands are resting on the table in front of him, his long fingers flexing and extending rhythmically. I notice that, as he’s doing this his hands are spaced at a distance that just about corresponds to a person’s neck. It’s a totally fair reaction for this situation though. Homicidal irritation is just about the only appropriate response to all of us getting coerced into doing Fritz’s and the Council’s job for them. I guess I can’t completely hate Rolfe under the circumstances. I’d really like to though. Fine then. Good God, I hate all these people except for Thalia and Rolfe. Captain Ralston has apparently interrupted Fritz. This should be good. But probably it won’t.

Good God, I hate all these people. On the other hand, I don’t really know Ralston that well. I think my dislike of him is more a case of the circumstances, rather than the actual person. He is yelling at Fritz now. That’s actually one of the few things left that will get me to add a person to the instant bosom buddies list. (Yes, it’s a short list. I’m an asshole. Deal with it.) Fleet Captain John Ralston showed up a few days ago on his ship, the Larson, I believe, and all the ships of Earth’s First Expeditionary Fleet behind him. It was supposed to be an honor, commanding the first fleet of ships capable of faster than light travel, due to their new Wallace Drives. They were supposed to begin an exploratory mission. Instead, he got sent here, to ask Fritz why he (Fritz, not Ralston) was murdering Earth’s employees. Then, a few minutes after they get here, an alien fleet shows up and starts shooting. Ralston lost a lot of fighters and a couple of capital ships. Then the aliens just packed up and left, as quickly as they came. I gather he’s not too happy about it. His face is red and blotchy like Rolfe’s, but he’s up and pacing and looks like he’s about to take a swing at Fritz. I hope he does. In this particular instance, I think violence may be the answer. If not, at least it will be funny, which is good enough. Ralston raises his fist. Fritz stares at him with his normal blank face. Ralston stands there with his fist cocked back, shaking with rage, like a guinea pig whose lettuce is too wilty. Ralston takes a few deep breaths and lowers his hand. Fritz opens his mouth to say something. Something insufferably smug no doubt. Before he can get a word out though, Ralston interrupts and says, “I don’t give even a fraction of a shit about anything you have to say, you murdering shitbag.” Okay, I take it back. I do like Ralston. Best buds forever, bonded through our mutual hatred of Fritz. I’ll inform him of the status change at my earliest convenience. Good God, I hate all these people except for Thalia and Rolfe and Captain Ralston. Jesus Christ, Fritz is starting to talk. Unbelievable.

Good God, I hate all these people. You know, I really do hate Fritz. He was an asshole when we were partners on the station security force and he’s an asshole now. The only difference is that he’s an asshole with enough power to get away with murder and he did. Flat-out kills a guy and is still Chancellor. Gives one weepy press conference about how he killed the guy to save the station and the public is eating out of his hand. Even with Ralston showing up to arrest him, the Council decides to leave him in charge for “the sake of stability” since we’re now at risk of an alien invasion and can’t run the risk of doing anything that might cause more civil unrest. Apparently public opinion is that, if Fritz is willing to murder someone to save the Hinterlands from Earth, he’s the only one with enough backbone to save humans from aliens. As if we had any idea about what the aliens want or how much actual saving is involved here. He’s now droning about how he knows we don’t like each other, but hopes we can put our difference aside and work together for the common good, etc… The usual politician nonsense that sounds really good unless you think about it and realize that is doesn’t actually mean anything. He’s still playing the part from the press conference. The poor, suffering humble servant who only committed the horrific crime because it was the only way to save the station, because no one else would, so no one else would have to bear the burden…My God, he just keeps going. The only four people in the known universe who apparently care about bringing him to justice are sitting in this room and are not happy. Thalia is no longer listening. She is, as usual, looking at the nearest computer with growing interest. Rolfe’s hands continue to clench and un-clench as the vein in his head throbs more violently. I can’t see for certain, but it appears that Ralston has his hand on his sidearm and is thinking hard about something. I hope he starts thinking a little harder. Good God, I hate these people. And by “these people” I mean Fritz.