United Nations Security Council
Doctor Matthew Martin was sitting at the front row of the vast audience that had gathered at the United Nations Security Council chamber. The chamber was airy, expansive. A large painting ornamented the front of the room with a giant semi-circular desk situated below it. The top of the auditorium was circled with blacked-out glass where Doctor Martin knew an army of the international press was busy broadcasting the event to the world. The fact that he knew the event had garnered so much global attention made him all-the-more nervous.
When he had received the call from Secretary General Kwame Aidoo, he had scarcely been able to believe it. His work of the last eleven years had received positive attention mostly only from the lunatic fringe. Now was the chance to provide his discoveries with the mainstream exposure they deserved.
Science had been meddling with the tinker-toys of the universe; physics, biology, anthropology and the like, he thought. Now it was time to move beyond that. Now, it was time to play with the big boys. And he, Matthew Manley Martin, was going to be the harbinger.
He was scared senseless.
Sitting next to him, his fiancée squeezed his trembling hand. “How are you?” she inquired, her voice smooth and controlled, as always.
“Developed a bit of a stomach upset, I'm afraid,” he replied.
She shook her head, trying to hide a grin, “Have you, pet? Shock me.” Then she said, “You're quite pale.”
“Am I?” he inhaled fretfully. “Well, we can only hope they listen to my words rather than critique my appearance...”
“I'm sure that they will,” she said. She patted his cheek, “Don't worry.” She raised her hand, displaying a diamond ring, “Your powers of persuasion were convincing enough even for me.”
He grinned, “As I recall, you did not require much persuasion... You've always been a bit of a dominatrix, haven't you?”
“Have I?” she asked, biting her lip and touching a finger to her chin.
From the front of the gigantic auditorium, the gavel made an unceremoniously tinny clang as a gray-haired man struck it three times. He was seated at the giant circular desk with at least twenty other men and women, each with small plaques in front of them. His read “AUSTRALIA—PRESIDENT.”
Adjusting the microphone, the man said, “The 7,402nd session of the General Assembly is called to order. The provisional agenda for the session is before the assembly in document S-AGENDA-7593 which reads, quote, 'Evaluation of Key Events and Phenomena Relevant to Awareness, Felicity, and Security.' Unless there is an objection I will consider the agenda adopted.” He banged the gavel, “Adopted.” Bowing his head for a moment, he said, “Before we begin, I would like to take a moment to declare our compassionate solidarity with the United States in this time of tremendous difficulty. We express our deepest condolences. Our thoughts and prayers are with you.” He nodded to the representative of the United States, who acknowledged.
“I would now like to welcome the distinguished heads of state, the representatives, and the Secretary General to this meeting. Thank you all for coming. This meeting will be somewhat unconventional, but as you are all well aware, the topic is also unconventional. And now, without further ado, I would like to welcome the first member of our witness panel, Doctor Matthew Martin.”
Doctor Martin had not expected it to happen so quickly. He was frozen in his chair. There was supposed to be some long introductory speech, some politicians were supposed to wax eloquent for far longer than anyone had the forbearance to listen... Then, when everyone was properly stupefied, Doctor Martin thought, he would be called upon to take the chair. Not like this: not the opening act.
“Doctor Matthew Martin?” the Australian repeated, staring at him.
His fiancée gave his hand another squeeze and he regained control of his body. He reached down for the pile of paperwork underneath his chair and, rising, stepped up to the front, feeling every eye upon him.
The auditorium was engulfed in total silence and his footsteps echoed off the giant walls. He reached the tiny desk that sat facing the large circle of representatives and set his papers down, one fluttering off to the floor. The audience laughed. Paper was so rare that, apparently, its appearance floating in the air was amusing to the modern imbeciles, Dr. Martin thought. As he knelt to retrieve the stray sheet, the gray-haired man said, “We can provide you with a tablet...”
“Yes, thank you. I prefer good old paper.” The chair behind the desk squeaked as he sat in it. He cleared his throat and stared up at the circle of power-brokers.
Suddenly, he was frantic. His eyes darted from person to person. Where is she? He spun around and found her. His fiancée was smiling encouragement from the front row in the mass of humanity.
Somehow, the longer he had known her, the more dependent upon her he had become. In a way, it was odd. In another, disconcerting. All he really knew is that this woman had suddenly appeared in his life just when he needed her, and without her he was nothing. He couldn't help but love her, whether she was in charge or not.
He turned back around and hesitantly tapped the microphone. Hearing the loud reverberation it caused, he leaned forward and spoke softly, “Thank you, Secretary Kwame Aidoo, for inviting me to this pivotal meeting. As you know, when I spoke at TED, my talk was censored, that is, removed, so I am grateful for this opportunity. Thank you, members of the Security Council, for indulging me with your time. And thank you, all of you who are here or watching remotely, for lending your ears to this subject, a subject which is quite certain turn your little worlds,” he giggled, wiped sweat from his forehead, “upside down.”
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