If you disagreed with Omerah, it wasn’t because you might have a legitimately different opinion, but because he was short. He would first try a relatively subtle approach, often putting on the charm and schmooze. But if that didn’t work, he would suddenly—faster than you can switch on a light—turn aggressive and confrontational, and with a disdainful look say, “I’m offended. What do you have against us short people?” Most Orians were so cowed and intimidated by any accusation that they would be prejudiced over such a thing that Omerah usually got his way. If that didn’t work, he added that he was “outraged.” A few knew his hustle and couldn’t be intimidated; he just let them be and moved on to the next score. There was plenty of easy game out there for his intimidation-shakedown-shuck-and-jive.
Then a Senator, Omerah asked if Rankin would come to his office so they could meet. Rankin had no intention of coming hat-in-hand to be browbeaten, and he knew Omerah wouldn’t come to see him, so he suggested they meet at Hayvee University with President Seefur, a well-respected academic who also happened to be one of Rankin’s advisors.
As soon as the introductions were over, which included Omerah’s patented toothy smile, continuously-pumping hand shake and simultaneous slap on the back, which on taller men he could barely reach, he got down to the real business. “Son, you’re gonna need some uh my people to work on that Cube of yours. It’s just the easiest way to get things done,” he said flashing the pearly whites. With fanfare, Omerah pulled a folded paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Rankin. “Hang on to that paper. Don’t lose it. It’s a list of the companies I always work with.”
Rankin just listened, trying to keep his look as neutral as possible, colder than a poker player, determined to give away nothing to the seasoned huckster.
Omerah finished with, “Son, I think you’ve got something here. I know we can work together to build that Cube.”
“Senator, I would like to thank you for coming today,” said Rankin sincerely but making sure not to imply any deference. “Would you do me the honor of being one of my personal guests at the demonstration we’ve scheduled?”
It’s hard to believe that such a young man could play Omerah like Edgar Bergen played Charlie McCarthy (and him not knowing it). Omerah beamed. “Well I’d be glad to, boy,” he replied. Omerah walked out of the room with a zip and a swagger, dead sure he had scored with Rankin. There was no way a good politician would pass up a chance to get free, planet-wide air time.
As soon as Omerah left, Rankin said, “President Seefur, what do you think?”
Seefur was obviously worried. “Odibee, don’t underestimate him,” he said shaking his head. “I’ve heard he can be a very dangerous man if he’s crossed. And—”
Rankin interrupted. He was angry, but controlled. “Did you noticed that he didn’t even show me the courtesy of calling me by my name? It was always ‘son this, or son that.’ I am not his son and he is not my father. He even called me ‘boy,’ said Rankin with a look that left no doubt he was really thoroughly upset and meant business. He then looked at Seefur and said, “He’ll wish he never messed with me.”
Rankin thought the meeting with Omerah was important enough that he devoted four paragraphs to it in A Memoir, but without of course, the final comment.
Joh Aht was Chairman of the General Mining Company. People joked that he had the shortest name of any CEO on the planet. GM (their ticker symbol) was the second largest mining and industrial concern on Oria. Aht was the typical head of a large and once-great corporation that was now approaching old age and senility: he was unimaginative, domineering in personality, and of course, lacking in substance. He wasn’t even that good an administrator. He was just a tenacious and adept bureaucrat, expert at boardroom politics, who had slain all opposition and hung around long enough to finally get the top job.
Aht was harsh and strident in his criticism of Rankin’s plan to build the Cube, saying it would cost his company 90 percent of its business He went around to the various GM plants, telling the workers they would all lose their jobs and their communities would turn into ghost towns. Had Aht and GM just accepted reality and changed with the times, as some of the other major corporations were able to do, they might still be in business.
Ka’tee Bowher was a newscaster/media personality who prior to Rankin produced only mediocre work at low-level positions. Because of a misinterpretation of facts, she made negative comments about Rankin. By the next day, her name seemed to be everywhere. Ka’tee was never the brightest kid in the class, her elevator didn’t go to the top floor, but she immediately realized that if she criticized Rankin, she could gain more airtime and notoriety than she ever hoped for (or deserved). She proved an absolute master of sensationalizing banal, illogical statements with her shrill invective, and repeating them so often that some people were actually starting to believe them. Her down-in-the-gutter sleaze-ball tactics were eventually made a case study in the ethics courses at many business schools on Oria.
She hit on the formula for her meteoric rise by asking people on the street their opinion of Rankin and his proposal to build the Cube. One man, an unemployed, near-toothless part-time mechanic, proceeded to raise his shirt and say, “See dis scar,” he said pointing to his chest, “I tuk a bullet fur Oria in duh last war with duh Grog. I’ll bet dat Rinkun,” he said, seeming almost confused, “er whatever dat guy’s name tist,” he said waving his arms, “don’t even shave once a week. ’L, he t’ain’t evun old ’nuff tuh drink a brewski. No way dis soldier’s doin’ any-thin’ fur dat little punk.”
(The man had a second, far more grizzly, wound on his left butt cheek, which Bowher’s editors had enough sense to edit out of the final report.)
Rankin’s last “honored” guest was The Most Glorious Reverend Gwessee Rakesohn. The only way to imagine the histrionics and flourish of how Rakesohn pronounced his title and his name is to think of the ring announcer in the Rocky movies. “The MOST” (with a booming crescendo:) “Gu-lor-ree-usss” (and then more subtly with almost a bow:) “Reverend,” (making sure to accentuate the final d) “Gwessee R-A-K-E-S-O-H-N.” (With the final N tailing off slowly as if to confirm the solemn and pious man that he was.)
Although the Orians are a moral people, they were never particularly inclined to religious worship. There were only four major religions on Oria, and only about half of the population believed in the existence of a supreme being. Rankin and almost all Orians believed in religious tolerance, and that included not having to detail one’s religious beliefs, and not imposing your beliefs on someone else.
Rankin never discussed his own beliefs publicly, stating he felt there was nothing more personal than how one chose to worship. In his heart, he held the beliefs of the pragmatic scientist that he was.
Rakesohn claimed his religion was “scientifically-based.” His group was small but dedicated, vocal, and surprisingly well-financed. Rakesohn purposefully cultivated those who had attained a high socioeconomic status not by intellect, hard work, or force of character, but through inheritance, pure luck (like lottery winners), or possessed an artistic or performing talent.
The group believed their God—WhoaohW—resided in the black hole. WhoaohW, pronounced slowly, with reverence, and with an accent on both “W”s, was infinite; he had no beginning or end. Even His name (it was impossible that WhoahW was female), was the same spelled backwards and forwards, further proof of His infinite knowledge and power.
The WhoaohWians felt an intimate relationship with their God. They would chant incessantly:
I am WhoaohW
WhoaohW is me
The black hole was black because no mortal could look upon the image of WhoaohW. The WhoaohWians believed that any attempt by a mortal to intrude on His Domain would cause the entire Universe to be sucked into the black hole and instantly destroyed. Rakesohn knew this for a fact because WhoaohW had told him so. He, and he alone, was in daily communication with WhoaohW, and was His Chosen Oracle. When an earnest but young and naïve reporter