The Paper General (short sf story)

"The fuel prices will be compensated by 50 cents per liter for a period of 3 months. Half of this amount will be reimbursed from the budget. The compensation will be applied directly at the pump and will also appear on the receipt. Additionally, the compensation will be voluntary.

The decision was made so that Romanian citizens and companies pay less for fuel. The value of the compensation package will be 2 billion lei, with half of the money to be reimbursed from the state budget.

We also have a useful tool at our disposal, I am referring to the Emergency Ordinance on combating speculative effects. The measures we are taking, part of an effective mechanism for the next 3 months, do not affect the investment budget in any way. The government will maintain the target of 7% of GDP for investments."

After finishing the last sentence, the General discreetly refused to answer questions from the conference room and quickly walked towards the backstage.

- You did very well!
- Thank you, General!
- Perfect! You acted correctly when you left and did not answer the press's questions. Those pink nuisances just wanted to confuse you. Those scoundrels...

Gently, the General raised his left arm, and magically, all the comments from the advisers ceased.

- I'm a bit overwhelmed. It was a tough day. I'm going to my office to relax for a few moments. I'll be back with a sketch of the unresolved issue. I'll put some thoughts on paper, and I'll call you to discuss. Right now, I need some quiet...
- Sure, sure... and the advisers withdrew.

***

After walking slowly through two corridors, he entered the prime minister's office alone. He closed the door tactfully, with the same fatigue that had haunted him all day. He poured a glass of red country wine from the small bar, looked at it melancholically, and then downed it. He unbuttoned his coat, loosened the too-tight knot of his tie, and sat on the couch. In front of him, on the protocol table, were several blank sheets and a pen. He would rest a bit, then write the outline he needed to discuss. Everything was prepared in his mind; he just hadn't put the ideas on paper yet. He would do it as soon as he felt up to it. He expected a lot from himself. He was the prime minister, a general, and the country was in a serious situation. Economic instability, and especially the war in neighboring countries, brought only problems lately. No matter how tough you are, and the General considered himself tough, they still overwhelmed you. Thoughts ran increasingly wild and unclear through his mind. Eventually, he dozed off. His heavy eyes seemed to seek other worlds.

***

The entrance was careful, not to disturb the important figure sleeping in the room. Slowly, they slipped inside, first the operator, then the technician. Everything was done in the greatest silence. Discretion is the basic element of this department. The operator sprayed a purplish substance from the visible spray, which spread quickly. The General slept soundly. He breathed steadily, which was excellent for the operation. The technician waited a little for the substance to take effect, then opened the large box he carried. He handled it delicately, took out a few handwritten pages. It was the General's unmistakable handwriting. The large and sprawling letters resembled a child scolded by school, writing quickly, as if under the threat of his mother. The fact that the General struggled to express himself in public and read even more was already well-known. The letters formed sentences about the new taxes. The ideas seemed slightly incoherent, but, in essence, so was the General. The technician leaned gently towards the prime minister's head. He touched the back of his left ear, on a mole, and a hidden drawer popped out as if it wanted to breathe different realities. He then gently took the chip from inside and replaced it with a new one. The operator, who had meanwhile approached him, brought a small portable device close to the new chip, pressed something frantically, and then, behind the protective mask, winked.

- It's done, colleague! Let's get out! The operator has finished. Ready for extraction!"
At the same time, the technician checked the placement of the sheets once again, verified the position of the chip, and with restrained satisfaction, pushed the drawer. A click confirmed the closing, and he gently pushed the mole back into its original position.
- Technician finished! Ready for extraction!

***

The General woke up refreshed. He felt more rested than ever. This red wine works wonders. Any small problem is solved with red wine and a nap. That's how he has always done it; that's how he managed to stay afloat through all the roles he fulfilled. He put his hand to his forehead more out of reflex. Then, his eyes fell on the papers in front of him, on the table. He vividly remembered how, inspired by wine, he immediately wrote the new tax sketch that his advisers were waiting for. Luckily, he managed to do it before nodding off because now it seemed like all the thoughts in his head had been emptied. He got up from the couch, tightened the tie, and adjusted his outfit. He snatched the sheets from the table. From the sudden movement, the pen rolled with a dull noise and fell. It was probably searching for another life. The General puffed up his chest and, with a firm hand, opened the door of the office. He walked determinedly to announce new fiscal reforms.


 

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