25 Power Returns (1/2)

On January 6th, 2035, the fifth day of the New Era, the cubes began to disappear.

The cube next to the lectern in the general assembly chamber of the United Nations dissolved into thin air just as the delegates were trooping in for yet another vote.

They were a sorry sight. Most hadn't washed for several days, ever since water had begun to be rationed. The toilets in their rooms were overflowing. All had spent many sleepless hours, wondering what had really happened and what was going to come next.

What happened was that finally, they had a taste of what life looked like for many people in the world. Just a little taste.

It was enough to make them all deeply unhappy. People who are unhappy tend to be pessimistic. The sudden disappearance of the cube in the general assembly chamber caused a small panic.

Some delegates were instantly convinced that the disappearance of the cube meant fresh disasters. They ran to the underground bunkers meant to protect them from attack.

Some delegates were worried that all the implant kits, scrolls, and hiber beds they'd taken had disappeared, too. They ran back to their rooms to reassure themselves that all the stuff they had taken from the cube was still there.

Some delegates couldn't believe the cube was gone, just like that. They scrambled onto the stage and examined the floor next to the lectern, looking for clues.

There were none. All that remained were the implant kits, scrolls, and hiber beds stored in the rooms. The blue lights in the bases of the implant kits glowed reassuringly.

And then, the unthinkable happened yet again.

The lights in the building flickered, came on, flickered, and went out again.

Accusations flew fast and furious in the power control room of the United Nations building. The engineers and repairmen assembled there all began shouting at the same time.

”What did you do?!”

”You touched that!”

”I saw you flick a switch!”

”Liar!”

”Asshole!”

”Moron!”

”Cunt!”

The truth was, none of the people in the power control room had touched anything. They were afraid of touching anything. A number of their friends had been electrocuted while trying to fix things.

For the past few days, they'd all been mostly concerned about concocting convincing stories of how they were working hard to fix the power outage. Now they all stood in the room dimly lit by Coleman lamps, shouting at each other. It wasn't constructive.

For the next half an hour, total pandemonium reigned in the United Nations building. Delegates rushed to and fro, many furiously punching the keys on their smartphones. They seemed to be working: they switched on without exploding, or dying with a final fizz of fried electronics. The installed applications worked. The messages could be played back. Text messages could be typed in, and saved.

But they weren't working in the sense no calls could be made. The network was dead.

In the meantime, the chief electrical engineer - the next person after God at that difficult time - regained control in the power room. He immediately issued a series of orders, then ran to talk to Chief Brody, in charge of the overall security in the building and its environs.

Security guards and policemen were immediately dispatched to check all the light switches in the building, make sure they were in the 'off' position, and prevent anyone from touching them.

Down in the power control room, the chief electrical engineer was busy setting up an experiment.

He connected a powerful reflector to a small, portable generator. He rigged a long broom pole to the handle on the generator's starter cord. Then, hidden behind an overturned metal desk, he carefully put the pole on the desk's edge and pushed down sharply.

The generator farted, then fired and began chugging happily. The control room was flooded by intense white light from the reflector.

No one whooped or danced with joy. They all kept their heads down and their hands on the backs of their necks, waiting for the generator to explode.