Minister Faust by From (html) (librera reader txt) 📕

his neck straps, removed his squirrel mask and put it on the leather of the sofa seat beside him, then ran his fingers through the chalk streaks of his blackboard hair.

“He’s a fraud, Miss Brain. Earth’s greatest superhero, my colon. He’s a panty-willed, ‘aw-shucks, ma’am,’ unmitigated ultraninny. Times got tough, he resigned. And at Hawk King’s funeral, no less, stealing the spotlight for himself. He’s a serial spotlight-stealer, I hope you realize—has been for decades. And now that the destruction of Asteroid Zed is capturing the headlines he wanted for himself, he’s back here whimpering to un- resign himself—”

“I didn’unresign, I’m still resigned-ified, an you’re just sore cuz y’almost got blowed up t’day an I couldn’be there t’save ya for the eightieth time on accounta m’health!”

“Save me?” yelled the Squirrel. “Me? I’m the one who saved the entire mission! But go out to any tin-kettled flapjack shack and ask Charlie Spam Sandwich and Edith Dishsoap who’s saved this republic more times than there are stars on the flag and your name’ll be the first on their slack-jawed lips…So if that assembly of brain-stemmed dinklewits that dares call itself the F*L*A*C wants to address efficiency and diminished morale in this time of Cyan-level crisis, they might first try addressing the profound misallocation of credit foisted upon the galactically undeserving. That’d be one man’s modest proposal.”

Throughout Mr. Piltdown’s venting, Wally sat surprisingly placidly, as if he was listening to delightful, faraway oompahpah music only he could hear—of course, with his omni-hearing, he might very well have been doing just that. I returned him to our world by asking him how he felt about what Mr. Piltdown had just said.

“Wellsir, I respect Festus’s opinion, and I respect his right to have an opinion, ma’am. Which is what makes our country great.”

“Yes, I see, Wally. However—”

Mr. Piltdown: “Do you even listen to the pap that dribbles out of your mouth, Wally? You respect my opinion? My opinion just burned you down to a primary-colored cinder, and you respect it? Is there so much as the smell of a thought inside that high-density skull of yours?”

For the first time, Wally smiled, opening his hands in concession.

“Wellsir, Festus, you’ve got me there. I’m still an old-fashioned man. It’s how I was raised. I b’lieve you should be able to disagree without being disagreeable, and, wellsir, I admit, I’m a might taken aback when you start, well—”

“No, Wally. You’re not taken aback. You’re weak. And stupid. You were a liability to this team since it formed, and in the years since then you’ve only deteriorated, and, QED, you’ve cast this country into jeopardy, including through your capricious crybaby resignation—”

Suddenly Mr. Piltdown shuffled himself in his chair, reaching inside a utility pouch at the armpit of his left flap as if he were itching from ants.

“Good goddamnit! How in the hell did that Congo coon—”

“Whatcha got there, Festy?”

“I take my cape off for two minutes at the Fortress to use the damned rest room and that sociopathic sleeping-car porter stuffs it with one of his mau-mauing election pamphlets! If that switchbladed Australopithecus gets on our F*L*A*C, I’m telling you, we’ll all be speared in our sleep!”

“Mr. Piltdown,” I said, “let’s stay focused on—”

“He’s got no respect for private property! This is my cape, for God’s sake! You don’t touch a hero’s cape! My life depends on this thing operating properly—”

“Festy, calm down—it’s just a lil ol’ brochure—”

“Wally, while illiterates such as yourself may not care about the power of the written word—”

“Mr. Piltdown, let’s focus on what you were saying about Wally. The words you chose carried an intense…certainty, and by your own description, they defy common wisdom. Why do you feel that Wally hasn’t earned his fame? He was, after all, a founding member of the F*O*O*J, whereas you joined only after the original seven members had returned from Germany.”

“Actually, ma’am, Festus tweren’t a member till the next year—’46.”

“Thank you, Wally. Yes. So what is the nucleus of your concern?”

Mr. Piltdown laughed, coldly. “Ah, Miss Brain. Further proof that initials after one’s name mean nothing insofar as intellectual credentials, or even a child’s capacity to peer through the viscous veneer of venerability. During the war, Earth’s champion, there—”

“The war—you mean the Götterdämmerung?”

“World War Two! Two seconds ago you were talking about Germany, so why would I be talking about the Götterdämmerung? I don’t expect you to keep up with me, but at least muster the cognition to keep up with yourself, if you don’t mind.”

I paused, allowing him to continue.

“—As I was saying, this man is celebrated for having somehow put the kibosh on that mustachioed Austrian misanthrope in ’45, when in reality, as a result of his staggering incompetence, before Wally even got to Berlin he’d already destroyed a dozen Allied refueling ships and actually protected a U-boat by mistake!”

Omnipotent Man chuckled. “Well now, that there’s kind of a funny story—”

“A funny story—helping the Nazis. Here’s a funnier story, Miss Brain. Wally’s entire origin is a sham. You’ve got yard-chimps from Bangor to Buckskin Falls collecting trading cards and memorizing statistics about this atomic-powered flatworm, and every last one of them knows the messianic story of his origin: baby Karojun-Ya, rocketed to Earth from the exploding planet Argon by his philosopher-king father Jobuseen-Ya and gaining powers over mortal men—half Hercules, half Jesus.

“But has anyone ever actually seen this planet Argon?”

He let the question smolder, his baleful eyes burning like heaps of garbage.

“No, you see,” he resumed just before Wally could defend his origin story, “because it just happened to be destroyed before anyone on Earth could ever take a picture of it, even though his rocket got here faster than the speed of light. Nothing but snake-milt.

“Wally, there—what’s the expression?—he’s ‘sexed up’ the truth. He’s no extraterrestrial. He’s nothing but white super-trash. Have you ever seen a picture of his real family, Miss Brain? They’re trailer-trolls from Fried Possum, Kentucky!”

“Wellsir, if I’m not from the planet Argon, Festus, then where’d I get my omni-powers?”

“People acquire powers