Studying the horrendous conditions in which so people were forced to live often due to the greed of others, whether criminals, corrupt officials, callous ’businessn’, or others, left both depressed and angry. If I would be king, I could not allow the systemic destruction of entire cultures by the lawless just because they had access to money and weapons without access to compassion or any sense of responsibility. My mood must have been obvious to my parents at the dinner table that evening.
"What’s got you looking so glum, son?" Dad asked as he reached for a bowl of carrots and peas and began scooping them onto my plate. "You look like sothing’s bothering you. Feeling okay?"
I looked down at my plate, a battered and baked chicken leg, far too many peas and carrots, and so sweet potato fries. My lower lip trembled, just the thought of putting into words everything I was thinking had on the edge of tears. You’re the Supre Ruler of the Entire Earth Solar System and Nearby Space, I told myself silently, stop crying like a baby and show so backbone.
"I was just thinking of how so many people are suffering in the world, and how nobody really seems to care. At least not enough to actually do anything about it. I an, people act like donating their old coats or a few cans of beans to a holess shelter in January ans they’ve done their part to end world hunger. Then, they go ho, put their feet up and order a couple pizzas delivered to the door of their comfortable house, surrounded by a safe community, watch sothing on TV to make them laugh, go to sleep in their soft beds with cozy blankets in a temperature controlled house, get up in the morning, eat too much for breakfast, drive a shiny, new car to work where they help build the system that encourages the endless cycle of the sa behavior. All while criminals and the greedy oppress other people into lives of abject poverty, violence, and unending hopeless despair, but as long as it’s sowhere else, who cares? As long as it stays out of their neighborhood, it doesn’t really exist does it? Even if it does, it’s far away and we tell ourselves we’re powerless to do anything about it. We lie to ourselves, because it’s easier than actually doing sothing. If the majority of us contributed just a small portion of our ti and effort to fixing this world instead of wallowing like pigs, happy in our muddy little pens, feeding ourselves on slop, we could make this world a god damn paradise for everybody!" I slamd my open palms down on the table and realized that at so point in my ranting, I had pushed my chair back and stood up. I realized that sowhere in the middle of the speech my voice had risen to the level of yelling. I looked at my parents.
They were stunned at my outburst. My mother was the first to recover. "Do not use that language young man. I did not raise you to be foul-mouthed!" She said. I think it ca more from habit and instinct than anything else. It was a comfortable posture to take.
My father looked from to her, then back to again. I could see him trying to process the whole situation and coming up blank. "Tim," he said after an uncomfortable silence, "Those are so important ideas, and I think we should talk more about it, but out of respect for your mother and , I need you to calm down... and watch your language," he added glancing again at Mom. "Why don’t you sit down, eat your vegetables, and we can all talk about... the world’s problems without losing control of ourselves. Okay?"
I sat down and scooched my chair back to the table so I could reach my plate. I nodded, not eting his eyes. I hadn’t ant for all that to co blurting out like that. It was just too much to hold inside. I realized I was crying now, tears flowing down my face. My mother noticed imdiately, of course, and quietly got up from her chair, walked over to , and pulled close into a tight hug. I sobbed for another minute or so, then, the comfort of her embrace had its intended effect. I felt loved, and I knew that as long as there was love in the world, there was hope for humanity, after all.
Eventually, Mom pulled back a little and held at arms length to look at . "Are you going to be ok now, Timmy?" she asked in a quiet Mom voice that was filled with concern, but also a quiet reassuring confidence. The sound of it just made feel better.
I nodded, and wiped my nose on my sleeve. Mom, instantly grabbed a napkin from the table and gently wiped the tears from my eyes, from my cheeks, then roughly grabbed my nose with the napkin and said "Blow."
I did and snot filled the napkin, taking with it the last of my emotional turmoil, for now at least. I looked up at her as she carefully folded the napkin and stepped back. "Thanks, Mom."
She smiled, and again, things didn’t seem so bad.
I glanced over at Dad. He was eating with an intense focus on his plate. As if it was so important and complicated that he hadn’t noticed breaking into tears or Mom taking care of . In its own way, that was just as comforting. It was like him saying that it was ok for to cry, not a big deal, just a normal thing for a kid.
I turned my attention back to my plate and finished all of my vegetables first. Silently acknowledging Dad’s wise advice. There was a certain calmness to be found in focusing on the ordinary tasks of daily life. I knew that was a part of the answer to my earlier diatribe. If people really focused on all the evils, unfairness, cruelty, and suffering in the world, it would consu them. Instead, like quietly eating my peas and carrots, they found comfort in the mundane activities and routines of daily life. Instead of being angry at that, I felt sympathy.
After dinner, I helped clean off the table, much to Mom’s surprise. "Oh, you’re such a good little boy." She said, smiling. I said I was going to bed early, I was tired. It was true, I was ntally tired in a way that I really had never experienced before.
As Dad tucked in, I promised him we’d talk tomorrow. It was Saturday, and he’d be ho from work all day. He said he wanted to spend the day with , "Maybe we can see about making your imaginary treehouse into a real one, while we talk about things," he suggested. That set off a new round of alarm bells in my head. I’d have to make sure that we definitely did not do that. Or, maybe we could build a regular treehouse in a different part of the backyard well away from my Super-Secret Planetary Leadership Headquarters Treehouse Fortress.
I woke up early, more determined than ever to start acting like a real king. As I lay awake in bed, I ntally called out to Joe Torres my alien quantum computer friend and trusted advisor. I told him about the events at dinner. He suggested that I take a week off from mory implant training and let my thoughts settle out naturally. Highly emotional states could affect the brains of most races and he thought perhaps even more so in humans. It was a good idea, he thought, to be cautious when ddling around in people’s heads, especially if the head involved was burdened by a crown. I laughed, finding that funny.
Still lying in bed, I ntally shared my plans for changing the world. letting him know how and where I intended. He reassigned so of the orbital observation drones to bring a few down over Central Arica to do so in depth observations. Invisible flying sensor platforms with advanced alien technology, it turns out, were really good at spy stuff. They could see, follow and listen to almost anyone, or more accurately, to almost everyone all at once. They could map out the paths people took, see everyone they t, analyze their activities, listen to conversations, and even monitor electronic signals, both wireless and landline communications. After relaying all that data back to Joe’s vast interdinsional quantum computing power, it could be analyzed and cross-referenced, building detailed data webs of interactions and associations. Sensor platforms had built-in prohibitions against privacy violations, but of course, those didn’t apply to authorized planetary authorities in their own jurisdictions. As the Galactic Union’s recognized King of Earth, I could set the rules under which those built-in prohibitions applied and those under which they could be suspended.
I told Joe what information I wanted. He helped refine my ideas, and then set to gathering and compiling the information, I gave him a week to prepare a report on what he found, and to prepare a tactical plan based on that information. During that ti, he would also work on using our shell companies to set up a charitable organization, and to begin identifying so key recruits that he thought would fit our plans. We would review the plan together on Friday and figure out if we could actually do what I planned. Then we’d figure out how to interview people and hire those we thought would be good assets. I think that worried most. These people would be in dangerous positions, and positions subject to coercion from outside forces, by both bribery and threats. We would need capable and dependable people. Mistakes in choosing who to trust could be very costly.
I threw off the blankets. Made my bed neatly - boy, would mom be surprised, I thought smiling to myself. I got dressed and prepared to spend the day with Dad.
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