The truth, The Puzzle Palace, and a rock the size of Gibraltar...

On what used to be a swampy wasteland, a stone’s throw from the Potomac river in Washington DC, sits the largest and probably most famous office building in the world.?

To those who work there – around 30,000 people, civilian, military and non-defence support – it’s unofficially known by a variety of nicknames.?

The Puzzle Palace is just one of them. The rest of the world knows it by its official name – The Pentagon.

“So, what do you think?” asked the man in the military uniform, whose name was General Ellis P. Crumb. Crumb was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the principal military advisor to the President of the United States, the Secretary of Defence and the National Security Council.

“Well, between you and me,” said NASA Assistant Administrator George McHale, sitting across the desk from the general, “we’re way deep in bear poo!”

“And is that your official, scientific conclusion?”

McHale frowned and shook his head slowly. “No Ellis, that’s a bare-faced fact.”

The two were in the general’s office in the Pentagon complex in Washington DC. McHale had just arrived for a special briefing with the Joint Chiefs, following the discovery that the asteroid called Homer 3541F was suddenly very close to, and heading directly for, Earth.?

They were both drinking strong, black coffee and the General was feeling the after effects of too much brandy downed the night before at a dinner held in honour of a visiting politician. A pot-bellied pain in the butt from a country that Crumb couldn’t even remember the name of, never mind find on a map.

He was contemplating an unlit cigar he wasn’t even allowed to smoke within the confines of the Pentagon buildings any more, due to the new anti-smoking clamp down. Pretty damned soon a fella wouldn’t be able to fart indoors, he thought.

Crumb was a champion of the free-thinking good old American pioneering spirit that, damn it, was being flushed down the toilet these days. “What the Hell do we tell them?”

“There’s always the truth,” said McHale, shrugging.

“Ah yes,” said Crumb, “the truth. We could waltz in there and tell the Joint Chiefs of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Coast Guard and Marines that we have a rock the size of Gibraltar due to hit us in about 28 days and that with all the technology at our disposal, we never saw it coming. Just sorta popped up outa nowhere.?

That’s one helluva truth, George.”

McHale blushed slightly and began to feel the sweat under his collar. “Well –”

Crumb was beating his cigar like a drumstick against his desktop. The cigar was losing. “Oh and by the way guys, at precisely 8.30 this morning, Eastern Standard Time, every piece of military armament we have capable of blowing this damned rock out of the sky ceased to function because every computerised system inside every rocket and warhead we can throw into space is fried. Coffee anyone?”

“Or –” said McHale, desperately thinking of options.

“Or what?”

“Or we could pray for a damned miracle,” said McHale, softly.

*************************************************

The above is an extract from my Sci-Fantasy book "Heaven Help Us." It's a cautionary tale about what could happen if a large sentient asteroid decided to head for Earth. And about the strange team whose job it was to stop it.

Like my books of urban essays, and my book of urban romance, it's available from those nice people at amazon right here:

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