The Shadow Council of the Galactic Empire meets in secret. There is light, obviously. If there was no light, if it really was exclusively in shadow, then nothing would ever get done. There would be a stronger element of secrecy, of course, but realistically if everything were in shadow then the words on the papers or computer screens they used would have had shadow on them, and this would make them hard to read. There would be shadow on their eyes, and this would make it much more difficult to throw knowing glances across the table to a sympathetic member of the council when another councilman made a ridiculous statement of one kind or another. Accordingly it would also be much more difficult for the original speaker to see the knowing glance and therefore much more difficult for him to start the standard fistfight which was a much anticipated part of the Shadow Council’s weekly meetings. These were men of power, and liked to watch lesser men battle before them like the gladiators of old (and of very recent, as the gladiatorial movement had begun sweeping university campuses as of late), but each of them was very busy and had no time to spare for such pursuits in their normal lives. Shadow Council meetings, on the other hand, were like most governmental assemblies the galaxy had ever known in that not much of consequence ever happened. They were still an unfortunate necessity, if only to coordinate how best each of them could divvy up and/or screw one another out of the different sectors each of them ruled. And so the fistfights served as a diversion, a power transfer mechanism, and a simple time-killer all at the same time. They were the absolute most efficient part of the meetings, and would have been impossible if everything was cloaked in shadow. The very idea of a council meeting in shadow was preposterous to these men. They simply met on the planet Shadow. It was nowhere near as complicated as the people who believed in them wanted it to be, and they liked it this way. But they hated the shadow myth. It cast a pall of silliness over each of them, and these were very serious men.
As Councilman Gerwin had the last of the ceremonial Shadow Oil cleaned from his ribcage by the Shadow Council butler, Bobo, he replaced his official fake nose and glasses (just because there was no shadow didn’t mean secrecy wasn’t important) and walked back to his seat. The victory confetti had stuck to his pantaloons of state, and he’d probably have to have them dry cleaned. It wasn’t important now. What was important was the somber and possibly retarded man in front of him, claiming that his captain had been responsible for a ship being pirated but not exploded. It had cost him millions of dollars in expected insurance. He had to get to the bottom of this- and he wasn’t the only one who wanted to see the floor of the problem: if ships started turning up not missing, with crews and without cargoes, then the whole operation might go belly-up. This was as serious a situation as the council had ever analyzed, and each of them had reported on a moment’s notice, ceremonial handshake-buzzer firmly in place. It was time to work.
“What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t yet, sir.”
“What?” Gerwin looked over at the official notetaker. She glanced down at her notes and replied: “He is correct, sir. He entered, you asked what he said his name was, he replied he hadn’t, Councilman Jaworski glanced at Councilman Roberto and Councilwoman Beatrice snickered. You challenged each of them to a fight, which only Councilman Jaworski accepted, upon which acceptance you entered the official Shadow ball pit. Customary wagers were placed, the fight was commenced and concluded, and you exited.”
“Ah. Well then. How’d I do?”
“You came out ahead sir. Your proxy bet on yourself was placed by Councilman Harold, guaranteed by Councilman Wallace, and seconded by Councilman Danzig. The vote was in favor, and all accepted. Odds were given, and in the end most chose to bet against you. A fair cleanup, I’d say.”
“Well why don’t you keep what you’d say to yourself, notetaker. And the rest of you: how could you bet against me?” Each of the councilmen tried to answer over the other, resulting in a cacophony of nonsense which made no sense to Gerwin or the notetaker and was eventually entered into the official notes as “A Cacophony of Nonsense.” When they had all finished, Gerwin nodded perfunctorily and settled back into his chair before realizing that everyone was waiting for him to interrogate the man in front of him. Gerwin scrambled forward in the seat of his formidable punched-leather chair and shuffled his notes. He found the blue crayon section and spoke in his gravest voice.
“What did you say your name was?”
“I-it is Gleep, sir.” Gerwin heard sighs and stood. Angrily.
“Who sighed?! I WILL fight you!”
Various versions of “Sit down, Mr. Gerwin” were heard around the room, and despite the clear insult to his dignity as chairman of the council he sat back down while simultaneously choosing to ignore them.
“Gleep, you said?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“And what is your rank?”
“Vice Captain of the Albright sir.”
“And why are you here before us today?” Gerwin knew perfectly well why. He just liked to make them say it. It was an effective tactic, one which he had used to gain a sizeable number of lollipops in his days as a preschool teacher. The days were long past, and the lollipops long gone, but even now he found the maneuver greatly helpful in the execution of his sworn duties as the de facto ruler of the realm. He sneezed.
Gleep, undaunted, answered. “The Albright had her load of fuel taken and was not detonated. I witnessed the captain begging the pirate leader to spare his life and that of his crew. His pleas were so pathetic they swayed the otherwise hardened pirate and we were permitted to sail away unharmed.”
Cries of “Preposterous!” and reams of indignant, middle-aged fury swizzled around the room, bouncing off the multi-colored padding that lined the walls. Gerwin nodded and held up his hand.
“Yes, yes. This is a very serious charge indeed. The captain will certainly be dealt with accordingly. At least the pirate had some sense, in the beginning. I trust there was originally no mercy to be shown?”
“None at all, sir. I would even use the term ‘cutthroat’ to describe the original intention. I do not believe the deaths of the thousands on board the ship would have crossed that pirate’s mind again.”
“A good head on that one’s shoulders, I say. Wish we had some like him.”
“Her, sir.”
“Her?”
“Indeed.”
“Well if that isn’t a surprise! Her, then! That’s a new one.”
“Yes,” Gleep intoned with a heavy sigh, “I too was surprised at the ruthlessness shown by a ‘her’.”
“Well it would be surprising.”
“Nevertheless, after the captain’s moment of weakness…a not so rare thing, if I might say so, confidentially, sir…” and here he glanced at Gerwin conspiratorially. Gerwin nodded back importantly and cast a knowing glance at the notetaker, who furiously scrubbed away at the previous sentence with her oversized purple eraser. Gleep continued “Good…anyway, sir, I begged her to destroy the Albright. On my knees. She told me that rank was everything and that now that she’d agreed to go with the Captain’s wishes she couldn’t go back on it.”
“A good head for business and a woman of principle? We need more like that one around here, is all I’ll say.” And he cast a glance at Councilman Haverford, who was momentarily distracted by the spinning propeller on his hat but otherwise would have knowingly nodded back. Councilwoman Beatrice made a note to challenge Gerwin to a fight the following week. Gerwin turned back to Gleep and carried on. “You’re to be commended, Gleep. How would you like the command of the Albright?”
“I believe I should hate it, sir, and that I would fail spectacularly.”
“A good man! The bridge is yours. And, unlike that former captain of yours, see that she doesn’t come back in one piece.”
“I shall endeavor to die gloriously, sir.”
“Who cares about glory? Just let it explode.” He nodded to Gleep, indicating it was time to move on to other business. Gleep turned and left the room. As the giant doors closed, obscuring the council behind the giant balloon-bear sticker of office, Gerwin moved to the red crayon section.
“And now, about the ice cream shortage in sector forty-two…”
