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    The Geriatric Maneuver
    The Geriatric Maneuver
    The Geriatric Maneuver
    Ebook67 pages1 hour

    The Geriatric Maneuver

    By Bret Jones

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    About this ebook

    The Geriatric Maneuver is a science-fiction novella dealing with a future where war is imminent with China. An influential general, who lost a son in a previous conflict, comes up with a radical idea to protect the young—draft the aged to fight the war. Through political maneuvering and eliminating key people, the general moves closer to achieving the draft of the country’s elderly.

    This speculative literature story is by Bret Jones, author and Director of Theatre at Wichita State University.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBret Jones
    Release dateJan 3, 2012
    The Geriatric Maneuver
    Author

    Bret Jones

    I am the Director of Theatre at Wichita State University, Wichita, KS. I have my M.A. in Drama and Ph.D. in Education from the University of Oklahoma. I am a novelist, screenwriter, lyricist, and playwright. I have a number of books published and available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online book suppliers. My play, The Isolation House, ran at The American Theatre of Actors in NYC; Thee and Thou premiered at The Jewel Box Theatre in Oklahoma City and has been accepted for a run at The Buckham Alley Theatre in Flint, MI. Two of my Native American plays—Kindred and War Paint have won the Garrard Playwriting Award sponsored by The Five Civilized Tribes Museum. Another, Native Skin had a workshop staged reading at Native Voices at the Autry in Los Angeles. In addition, I have written a number of plays that are set in Oklahoma during different decades of the twentieth century; a cycle of these was produced at East Central University in Ada, OK. Recently, my comedy screenplay, The Gray and the Blue, was listed as a Top Ten Finalist in The Barebones Film Festival, Tulsa, OK. I am also the co-founder and writer for The Ancient Radio Players, an audio theatre performance troupe based out of Oklahoma. They perform live and studio productions in Oklahoma. A number of my radio scripts have been performed by The Shoestring Radio Theatre, San Francisco, CA. I live in Goddard, KS with his wife, Julie, and their three children: Lauren, Austin, and Emma.

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      Book preview

      The Geriatric Maneuver - Bret Jones

      THE GERIATRIC MANEUVER

      By

      Bret Jones

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2011 Bret Jones

      For Shawn, Bull, and Rick.

      I.

      The warmth spread in Corrigan’s ear as he slept the morning hours away. A slight buzz on the tip of his lobe woke him up and he pinched it between his forefinger and thumb. The voice of the General grumbled about an incident as he found his vid lens affixed to an eye and earpiece resembling half a pair of sunglasses. As soon as the earpiece touched his skin an image fizzed to life in the eye piece.

      General, he said trying to mask any fatigue in his voice.

      Corrigan, we have an incident that we need to attend to, the General said matter-of-factly. His job description, although unwritten, covered such global political incidents. Corrigan, his only name since being designed, finished first in his West Point class, completed two tours as an officer in the second water war, commonly referred to in new textbooks as the War of Attrition which students couldn’t grasp, and received an invitation from the General to serve in his office—another nameless entity.

      Checking his water quota, Corrigan frowned. He splurged the past few days with the wetness and nearly used up his quota. He stripped, pressed the air button, and waited for the cool blast to blow him clean. Clothing pre-programmed from the night before formed to his body snugly as he stuck a caffeine patch to the back of his hand. He would go without food as the General nearly always supplied a hearty banquet, bounty from his many connections across the globe.

      5:45am.

      The time blinked three times in the lens. He touched his earlobe and ran through a list of sites he wanted/needed to visit before he arrived at the General’s office. Nothing earth-shattering on any web-feed…well, unless you counted the Academy Award to Harlo Hexton for his performance in Copping It. Corrigan scheduled a download of the movie for later that evening, if time permitted. Certainly he would need the information for a function or conversation somewhere. The Hollywood Contingency demanded it.

      Speaking of copping it, he thought as he hailed a taxi, this one with wheels. He watched as three people on the side of the street copped it. They made their groans heard and twisted in a tangle of limbs, but anyone out this early hardly noticed. No one would later, for that matter. In a world where the teens wore trogs that nearly split them in two and revealed everything and where schools allowed before and recess copping, nothing shocked anymore.

      He pressed the enter button on the door and it shot out. He’d seen the new hover models, but had yet to ride in one. Of course, during the war he served in a hover unit, which won a decisive victory at Hanover Falls, securing the U.S. nearly forty billion gallons in water a year. He barked out the address to the driver. A coded set of command sequences launched into the computer module and the automated taxi threaded through the streets.

      The images formed the sites spun in rapid succession. He could feel the caffeine take hold in his system. A pop-up blipped into view nearly making him curse. He had clearance to not receive any, but hackers still found a way to sell something sleazy or useless. This ad declared: BR IT L & TWST 4 $. Another Hollywood Contingency looking for actors to cop for a new flick it looked like. He commanded it to go away and it vanished from view. Sending three messages to the techs, he let them know in no uncertain terms he wanted any such activity on his line eradicated. He didn’t have time for the pops and he wouldn’t be copping for any director any time soon.

      Nothing on any news feed gave him a hint as to what global emergency loomed on the horizon. No vids, no pix, nothing scripted, texted, tweeted, ‘booked, ‘spaced, or flanked existed on the ether—not yet, anyway. Given a fraction of a second and it would. The General somehow had this one contained. Odd, that, as it was nearly impossible.

      The taxi’s feeder signal shifted moving it from one lane to the next. Early morning commuters were at it and his ride adjusted. He watched dozens of commuters all punching at their earlobes beginning their busy workday. The lines into the ‘net were all easily traceable to each and every one of these people, as well as everyone else on the planet, but Corrigan wondered at their self-important lives, their functions, their activities, attitudes, beliefs.

      5:55am.

      The clock blinked again reminding him of the time and his own function. The hive out there on the streets would have to wait for his philosophical analysis.

      Punching his earlobe, he commanded for his secretary’s private number. She answered in two.

      Yes, sir? she said, bleariness muffling her voice. Problem?

      You weren’t buzzed?

      "Neg, sir. Maybe the Gen-gen is sitting on

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