A Shift in Priorities - Sequel

[rast]

There are two ways to get enough. One is to continue to accumulate more and more. The other is to desire less.
(G. K. Chesterton)

Tom Keller Junior was the boss now. His dad had died unexpectedly – the death of a farmer, riding on a giant tractor, in the fields, killed by a coronary. Nobody else had been around to help him. Wally had found him when arriving with the sack lunch. – The funeral had been glorious, of course. Cortege for the famous wheat baron had been an obligation for everybody and his dog. The state of Durango had proclaimed official mourning. And President Cárdenas had sent a letter of condolence and a funeral wreath.

The problem was that the new boss was – most probably – mentally deranged. The Keller family had never acknowledged the fact, but to Moses, Abe and Wally, the aged black farm hands, it had been obvious ever since the young man had returned from a business trip to Chicago and Moline. Something strange must have happened up north, but one couldn’t tell what. Tom J wouldn’t tell – and the family wouldn’t ask. His wife, Jimena, had been horrified by the stranger in her bed, but eventually had resigned herself to accept it. – What other alternative did she have?

What was going to happen now? Tom J wasn’t rational – neither in his actions nor in his sentiments. He owned everything – as far as the eye could see and beyond. He was rich. And he was happy. The old Tom J had been unhappy but rational. The new one was happy but irrational. – Well, one was going to see. Los Alamitos was a universe of its own. Until these days, the deceased had set the agenda. Now, it was his son’s turn.

Wheat was in great demand. The US was expanding to the north, where wheat wouldn’t grow – while the traditional wheat fields of the Great Plains had turned waste. The Kellers knew this from dire experience. One could earn another fortune by satisfying the North American demand. – But was Tom J at all interested in banking up more riches? Or would he rather squander the family fortune for silly pleasures?

 

[Ciryatur]

Calling it now... Mexican space program

 

[rast]

I think you’ve got something there, but I’ll wait outside until you clean it up.
(Groucho Marx)

Professor Ramsauer was out, attending an important congress in Hamburg. And Friedhelm Wiegand was screwing Beate, the new biochemical assistant. She was a strapping brunette who had made it obvious that she didn’t mind a nookie with Friedhelm. Okay, she had already spread her legs for the Professor, but Friedhelm didn’t mind at all. She seemed to be a natural – and evidently was enjoying the fling.

It was a welcome diversion. Routine work was dreary. You had the station – and SMH Elisabeth Christine in addition, two places filled with dangerous microorganisms to worry about. The professor was just bringing along additional stuff, gathered all over England. And Friedhelm had to take care that nothing dreadful happened. The staff was extremely careful, sure, but their overview was limited. It was Friedhelm’s job to coordinate their activities.

There was no progress in combating BAMS. The tiny critters were still resisting all attempts to disarm them. The proficient Negroes were long gone – and the professor would rather stroll about and collect strange stuff than frustrate himself by fighting this sturdy enemy. – A new outbreak might occur at every moment. The lady chancellor had not restored the naval blockade. However, negotiations had begun to arrive at a joint surveillance of the British Isles.

Germany was offering observation satellites and aerial reconnaissance based on Ireland and the Isle of Sheppey – if Denmark and Norway accepted to provide the naval forces. The haggling had just started. But the area to be monitored was huge; a small looters’ vessel – or even a plane – might always come through. Well, one infected dude was enough to start another epidemic.

But there was no use in biting one’s nails. Beate was suggesting another round. That was far more delectable than musing about BAMS…