2015-11-04

Space Colony
—Fiction by Scott Rooker

On the surface of the moon, inside the geodesic dome, in the hum of the artificial light, Dr. Demetrius blew his brains out with a .38 caliber pistol. He was the last of the survivors. The secrets of the moon died with him.



Back on earth, the Channel 5 News Room was giddy with anticipation of the arrival of the President of the United States of America. The Secret Service vehicles were already there. Dudley saw with irritation that they had parked in every space of the parking lot.


News Anchor Brian Dudley, a seventeen-year veteran of the station, was pissed that he had to park so far up the hill and walk to his building. 'Fuck the azalea gardens,' he thought.


Later on, Brian Dudley sat in his makeup chair reviewing note cards. He kept his head still, his eyes flicking back and forth across the cards while makeup was applied to his face.

Over the tops of the cards, he saw Henderson, the programming director, casually approach him.

“Got a sec?” Henderson asked, retracting his headset mic.

“Sure.”

“Good. I just wanted to go over something right quick.”

“Okay.”

“So you've got the questions?"

“Right here." Dudley tapped them on the arm of his chair. 

"Great. Stick to those and you're gonna do great." Henderson turned as if he were going to walk away. Then he spun around, the way Dudley knew he would, and delivered the request he'd actually come for. "There is this one thing. There is one subject his people requested that we not talk about."

"And what would that be?"

The program director lowered his voice and said, “Please, whatever you do, promise me you won't mention anything about Space Colony."


During the interview Brian Dudley never asked the President about Space Colony. They sampled some classic hush puppies. Boy, were they good. In fact, Brian Dudley never even really got off a question in the 3 minute and 17 seconds segment. Brian Dudley was a Pro Journalist. He knew that sometimes it's not what you ask that matters, it's what you don't ask that counts. At least that's how he rationalized it.


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Scott Rooker is an artist, musician, and writer from Raleigh, North Carolina.

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