Peng's War Room - An excerpt from Barnabas

Pedro’s head detached from his cephalothorax and spun towards the ceiling in a whirling dervish. Upward it went, spinning, decelerated, reached its apex, accelerated, and then thumped on the war room table. Professor Peng grinned and rubbed his tarsus together. Next went Gabriel’s head, then Jose’s, then Diego’s.

Peng had told him, as Pedro motioned to bring him his tea, “Pedro, please serve the General his tea first, he is but our most esteemed guest.” The teaboy stuttered and edged forward, physically questioning each of his movements, as if he was a just-born calf taking its first steps from its mother’s womb. One tarsal in front of the next, just as you practiced last night. Keep the tray level. Whatever you do, do not spill the tea. Do not spill the tea. Do not –. Pedro teetered and tottered, a tea-tottering fool. His right metatarsal caught an errant fiber of the conference room’s circa 1750 A.D. Persian rug. Hung up, gravity pulled him forward, his will pulled him backward. Gravity’s force overpowered the opposing force and sent him haplessly forward. Pedro’s front legs could not move out of the way fast enough.

In his lap General Suleman Schwarzkon received twelve ounces of scalding chamomile tea, blistering his testicle sac. The General screeched and scrabbled at his crotch, hurling obscenities at the offending spider.  

With lightning speed and a surgeon’s precision, Peng dealt with Pedro and then with his cadre of putzes in quick succession. He grabbed each teaboy with robust serrated front legs and bifurcated them with his powerful mandible. Pedro’s head he threw out the windows open top sash for dramatic effect. As it descended to the ground below it was scooped up by a passing gull.

“General, my sincerest apologies for this mishap,” Peng spoke calmly while still staring at the window.

“Never mind it Professor, us soldiers experience these things and worse on the battlefield all the time. This but a minor injury.”

“Your testicles have been assaulted on the battlefield?” Peng cackled to himself.

The General sneered at him.

Professor Peng anchored himself at the head of the table, his crooked forearms resting at the table’s edge, a tarsus tacked rigidly above his diary. Peng’s two compound eyes sucked life from the room, true black bodies that absorbed all light. Everyone averted his gaze. His isosceles trapezoidal-shaped head matched that of the war room table. Peng sat ramrod at the long-short side of it. Moo-Cow functioning as amanuensis to the left, General Suleman Schwarzkon to his right, the remaining seats occupied by various members of Mantis Technologies’ Board of Directors, and Peng’s senior advisors and scientists.

It was a meeting of influential dignitaries convened to discuss the final stages of Satin Steel. The room choked its inhabitants. Respiration slowed and heart rates rose. The only one calm was Peng. He was most pleasant when others were arrested by anxiety. He was in full command, and it made him high.

“Without further ado, let us begin,” Peng motioned to Moo-Cow.

“A summary of last week’s meeting action items,” Moo-Cow read from his memo,

Memorandum

        Date:                February 21, 2563

        Attendees:         

        Meeting Notes:

1.       Destroy Barnabas.

2.       Obtain calculations for Silk Steel.

3.       Destroy Barnabas.

4.       Buy chrysanthemums for table.

5.       Destroy Barnabas.

6.       Take out the trash.

Distribution: All attendees, central file.

“Thank you, Moo-Cow. Regarding Silk Steel, do we have any updates?” The room remained silent.