Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness by James Gerard (great novels of all time .txt) 📕

Strolling into the cafeteria he immediately spotted a familiar face sitting quiet amid the grayness.  He perceived the look of terror in the face with eyes concealed from all that surrounded her.

“How are you doing today Michelle?” asked Charles as he neared the figure sitting motionless.

Her body twitched.  “What?” she blurted out as eyes popped open and looked up to Charles.  “Oh.  Fine.”

Charles listened to her fingers tap a ratta-tat-tat rhythm on the filth encrusted table while beads of sweat dripped off her glossy face.  The drops splattered next to a puddle amid a mug filled with coffee steaming from within.

“Are you okay?” asked Charles.

Her limbs twitched.  “Yeah.”

“I take it you intend on submitting your solution soon?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But what if it’s rejected?” she asked.

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”

“It’s got to be perfect.”

Charles steadied his posture onto a chair wobbling on wounded legs.  Oh, he believed, she had good reason to fear its rejection all right.  They meant it when they were told to cover all variables before daring to submit their proposals.  But at the moment he refrained from adding additional pressure to the weight he knew she bear on her shoulders.

“Are you kidding,” said Charles.  “From what you told me, it sounds like a brilliant plan.”

The table rocked.  Waves of liquid crashed to the table as she slapped her palms to the surface.  “I’m still having trouble trying to convince them to construct a booster comparable to the asteroid’s momentum.

Charles smiled.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll think of something.”

“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh.  The rat-a-tap- tap made by her fingertips suddenly went silent.  “I only have four more weeks before they…before they escort me out of here.”

“I know,” Charles responded in a somber tone.

“And if that isn’t bad enough, you know what makes it worse?”

“What?”

She sniffed the air.  “This hellhole of a place.”

"They made it like this on purpose you know,” said Charles.  “And as far as the environmental controls go, there was never a problem with the system when this place was a command center.  For us, they purposely manipulate the conditions.”

“What for? asked Michelle.

“To make us feel uncomfortable.  They can play with our emotions that way.  Put us in the mood to think up what they’re looking for.”

“You seem awful calm considering,” responded Michelle.

“That’s because I know Senator Richards personally.”

“Oh god I don’t want to think about that now,” she sighed.  “I’ve heard she’s a real pain when it comes to the meeting.”

“On the outside, yes,” Charles informed her, “but on the inside she’s not so tough.”

Michelle chuckled what sounded of nervousness.  Her hands pressed onto hair matted down with what looked like oily secretions.  “I certainly didn’t get that impression when I met her.”

“Why do you think the meetings don’t take place within the bowels here?” asked Charles.

“Too many of us I suppose.”

Charles laughed.  “It’s because we scare the hell out of her.”

“Scare her?” Michelle responded with a laugh.

“Yeah.  I was told the very first meeting she had took place here in the cafeteria.  She ended up getting sick to her stomach from the stench of sweat flowing in the air.  She said only vile creatures give off a smell like that.  After that, she’s refused to set foot down here again.”

Michelle chuckled.  “Really?”

“Really.  Look, don’t worry about anything.  Not everyone is censured you know,” said Charles.  “Only those she believes will tell others about what goes on here are silenced.”

“But everyone who’s left here has never been heard from again.”

“Do you remember Leslie Hastings?”

“Yeah, but he left long before you got here.”

“Well, I talked with him just five weeks ago.  He’s doing fine.”

“But my idea for a solution can’t even be compared to his.”

“Everything about your plan is solid except for the boosters.  All you have to do is argue with her that it’s the incompetency of the engineers—she hates to hear that something can’t be done.  Then, if it’s rejected, just tell her you want so badly to continue supporting the center in any way….”

“Hey Charles,” a sentry called, interrupted their chat.  “You have a phone call.”

Charles smiled.  “Just take it easy.  Things will turn out all right.”

Michelle smiled in return.  “Thanks.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure.”

Charles strolled over to the phone fighting back a broad smile ready to break the corners of his mouth in anticipation that the time had finally arrived.  “Yes…Thank you.”

With no more time to waste he marched to the stairwell door and charged his excitement up the steps.  He emerged into the checkpoint, checked the exhilaration as he identified one of the same state sanctioned sentries as the one who had searched him weeks earlier.

The canine growled and snarled as he scribbled his signature and destination to the sign-out log.  He looked to the sentries.  “I am not going to the courier’s room guys."  He then slowly asked, "Do you understand?”

The sentries stood there and remained silent.  But they looked at him with apparent contempt.

Ah forget it, he thought.  They’ll mess with me anyway.  He then quickly strolled up the hallway towards the top.

This is it, he pondered in the privacy of his mind.  Just bide my time.  He knew he had to be that much more wary of his frustration, anxiety, if he had any hope of pulling off the gist of the proposal.  He had to make sure to tranquilize the jittery energy and allow serenity to act as his facade.  This was too important to ruin now.

The sunlight beamed bright as he peered at the exit ahead then immediatley threw up a hand to shield the rays stinging his eyes.  “There,” he said aloud as he grabbed a pair of sunglasses lying on a shelf at the entrance.  He quickly put them on to filter out the painful beams.  He sucked in a deep breath of air, and then whistled it out slowly.

When he strolled out of the tunnel, his eyes squinted, and focused on a face that appeared familiar.  “Donald?  Is that you ya dog?” he asked as he approached a very familiar dark suit standing with posture erect outside the conference room.  “What are you doing here?”

“Charles,” he responded and smiled, “I wondered what happened to you.”

“What are you doing protecting her?”

Donald shrugged his shoulders.  “A favor from the president I guess.  I drew the shortest straw among the candidates.”   They laughed.  “So, that explains her foul mood.”

Great, that’s all I need, pondered Charles.  “Not having a good day is she?”

“All the way over here all she could do was mumble through that stone face.”

Charles laughed.  “Look, I better get in there before she starts to throw a fit.”

“Well, good to see you,” Donald said as he extended a hand.

“Say hello to the guys for me,” said Charles.

“You bet; and good luck in there.”

Charles had always appreciated the secret service agents.  He found them more than willing to reveal inside information concerning those they served—though the information about Senator Richards was no great revelation.

He cracked the door open to the conference room and spotted her.  With a smile on his face he entered the room and strolled over to the empty chair.

“Good morning,” said Charles as he glanced at Senator Richards.  He then removed the sun glassed façade to reveal yet another mask, and then glanced at the other participants before he confronted that face with an eye to eye stare.  “Senator Richards, it is good to see you again.”

“Likewise Charles,” she responded.  “Please take a seat.”

After sitting down he turned and again stared at her face.  The sight was of the familiar rigid countenance he knew all too well over the years.  He then focused his stare into her steely eyes and sensed the absence of a window to her thoughts as usual.  Next, he shifted his focus to the other members participating in the proceeding. "It’s Doctor Collins, right?”

“Good to see you again,” the doctor replied.

“May I ask what you are doing here?”

“Doctor Johnson could not attend today.  He is busy preparing a new subject for his solution.”

Sure he was, reasoned Charles.  More like conveniently avoiding the fact that his solution will be deemed a failure.  “And how has Timothy been the last few days?”

“He is doing fine.”

Charles then looked to the stranger perched opposite him.  “And you must be Doctor Montgomery of the space solutions’ team?”

“Good to finally meet you in person Charles.”

With the formalities out of the way, Charlse repressed his excitement .  A smile reflected the comfort of the moment as the deep cushion of the leather chair prickled his torso with soothing sensations.  He whispered an “ah” as fingers stroked and slipped and glided over the smooth, black and white marble that was the top of the conference table.   He sighed as lungs released a depleted draft of cool, pristine air that flowed about the room.  It has always been the one thing he liked about Senator Richards—she certainly enjoyed extravagant surroundings.

Once nestled in the chair, he glanced to the left and inwardly snarled at the presence of a camera at the head of the table ready to intrude in on the conversation.  He knew its eye would be sharp as skylights poured in sunbeams of natural light, bathed the room’s brownish walls in yellow illumination, and penetrated even the deep recesses of the plush carpeting.

Senator Richards broke the silence.  “I am surprised to see you at this facility,” she said.  “I believed you to be a man of peace.”

“Peace is a strange concept.”

“How so?”

“It can be voluntary or obtained through submission.”

“Philosophical today Charles?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then what is the slant of your proposal?”

He raised the copy of the plan from the table.  “You have studied it I’m sure.”

“I have read your proposal, yes,” she responded, “but that does not answer my question.  Tell me, what sort of scheme have you and Senator Sorensen planned between one another?”

Charles looked at the copy of the proposal.  “I neither planned with nor sought advice from Senator Sorensen.”

“But he has disclosed information concerning the center’s progress since its onset has he not?”

“Yes.  Especially matters concerning your frustration over any solution plan that has yet to reach fruition.  But those disclosures occurred well before my transfer.”

“You are loyal to him are you not?”

“I respect his character.”

“You have not contacted him?”

“How?”  Charles smiled, but inwardly fought the urge to display a snarl.  He felt her questions revealed an effort to uncover devious intentions on his part—possibly tipping her hand.  “You are well aware that every form of communication dispatched to and from the confines of this center is monitored?”

“Then why are you here?” asked Senator Richards.

“My request for a transfer was granted.”

Senator Richards leaned onto the table.  “I am aware of that fact.”

Charles stared into those steely eyes as she paused.  He suspected that she indeed was evaluating his response and probably deciding if a change of strategy was in order.

He plopped the report onto the table.  “What are you implying Senator Richards?”

She leaned in closer, ever closer towards Charles.  “Unfortunately, Senator Sorensen approved the funding for this project on the contingency he be allowed to appoint anyone he saw fit to serve its purpose,” she countered.

“I am not a suitable participant?”

“I did not care for your appointment, no,” she stated.  “I went to great lengths to win the president’s support for this facility, and I will not have it undermined by anyone.  Do you understand?”

“Absolutely,” answered Charles.  He slowly lifted himself to his feet then stared into her eyes.  “If you are so concerned that I am attempting to undermine the integrity of this center, then why am I here before you?”  He wandered over to the camera.  “Why are you even considering my proposal?”

“Take your seat,” said Senator Richards.

Charles grinned.  “Or is this an attempt to neutralize Senator Sorensen’s power?”

“His concepts for a solution are antiquated.”

Charles continued to grin.