“Sir, the person writing these novels cannot have any other intent but to try to help bring down our economic and political system entirely.” Randy pauses, then efforts to speak in a tone that shows genuine care and concern -- though it comes out sounding more like an amateur actor forcing emotion. In his heart, he just can’t imagine the System failing, no matter what. And especially not when he’s just getting his big shot at taking advantage of some of its serious largess. No one’s luck is that bad. And up until now Randy has been very lucky. He looks up at his Boss, Mack, confidently.

Mack, the director of this brand new government agency, DISS (Domestic Intelligence Security Services) looks back at The Big Kid, Randy, nonplussed.

Randy moves forward to the next act with a stock play-plead: "Despite all its faults, sir, we know it is still the Best System."

Randy looks across the hug black desk between him and Mack expectantly.

"Right," Mack answers flatly, turning away to hide a yawn. Now that they are in the new millennium, everyone is so giddily optimistic and paranoid at the same time. And so modern in their outlook and language. Gone are the days of referring to things as American, or Russian, or French. And certainly no more talk of Communism or Capitalism. Everything is referred to now in the present or future tense as belonging to some impersonal state the lefties call a Global Village and righties call a Network.

‘And now what?’ Mack thinks to himself, ‘All of this is going to get debunked by some frazzled, bum writer of toilet fiction?’

Mack scratches his head. Thoughts are spritzing around like seltzer fizz. ‘Didn’t two-thirds of the world’s population -– the daily toilers -- not even know the date, or care? Or have any fuckin’ time to read?’

Randy sits patiently. The Boss was notorious for – well, for many things -– but especially for keeping his thoughts to himself and ruminating over them for long periods in the middle of conversations. Sometimes he did this in long dark silences, and other times in droning murmurs, and then, rarely, but most unsettling, in a rambling cacophonous whine.

Rumors had it that this was due to the fact that he knew so much about everything, and everyone – the good stuff that could get you destroyed – that it took preternatural effort on his part not to let any out until he could use it.

"Stop staring at me like a schoolgirl and go fix us a drink, will ya please? There's a bar right behind that black panel next to the cd player. Make mine just a tomato juice and club soda."

What Randy said earlier about the System zooms Mack’s attention toward that. He thinks of his eldest grandchild -- the son of a couple of Ur -- who he is financing to go to a prestigious University. The kid is actually majoring in Systems Analysis. ‘The whole world is a System, Gramp. It doesn't matter what you call it. We just observe and participate in it, we don't control it. If anything, whatever system we are in controls us.'

Mack snafus that belligerently: ‘Lose the control game, sonny-boy, and you’re out of the money for your education.’ Below that gut reaction, however, Mack sort of agrees. The way he almost always ends up doing with his grandkids anyway.