A Visitor for the Operator

Your narrator had occasion the other day to visit the Internet and digest some of the changes that have occurred since plan G was implemented. The vitriol was absent, but so too was the energy that inspired my detractors. Even the few comments from my right-wing ideologues sounded tired, less smugly sophistic and unintentionally ironic. There may be something to be learned about absence here, but I’m not sure what the lesson would be: whether there is less excitement when you can’t see the target suffer, or whether isolation has dampened my sense of combativeness. I began to realize how my narrative consistency has been lost, how the story has changed pace, how the plot structure is working its way into a vortex about which the characters flow. Feeding the vortex demands certain compromises that any participant might have reason to oppose, but it does seem to dull criticism of poor verisimilitude.

Thus we do not stand open-mouthed (as do others) when the operator greeted the visitor, just arrived on a supply plane from another nameless outpost. He didn’t remember her person, but she was every inch the babe adjutant that he remembered from his first encounter with the good doctor. She was a junior officer in her twenties, a relatively short woman, but whose curve of the hip and whose vague outline of breasts were all the more noticeable. She had short bobbed hair that seemed to hang listless but which twitched with each movement of her face. Her skin was the milky white that betrays a thick layer of skin fat, and was therefore also exceedingly smooth and full. Her blue-gray eyes were outlined in black mascara and an unreal shade of purple, applied so subtly that you had to study her face, absorb her quirky and fetching smile, to recognize it. The operator was immediately and irredeemably smitten.

“We don’t have much time, private,” she said with a husky and slightly congested voice, as if overcome with a form of anticipation. Or maybe an appreciation of the unbelievability of situation. She walked by him, almost brushing him aside, as she strode to the conference room. The rest of crew had obviously been warned and they were absolutely silent and motionless.

The operator smelled a faint fragrance of poppies or lilies, and looked at the faces before him. What he saw wasn’t real clear. It was like winning a lottery whose rules you don’t know.