On a simmering afternoon in late August, 2791, Richard Bruce “Dick” Cheney was out playing bocce with his bestest buddy ever, Kimo.
“Man, these are good times. Pass me another, would ya?”
“You said it, Dick.” Kimo clicked open the Beer-On-Demand 20,000 and set the dial to “Bud.” The machine whirred into action. After 72.4 seconds, the bottle dropped into the Tolzi box and Kimo tossed it over.
Dick eyed the bottle. “I think your clock is busted, Kee. It says the born-on-minute is 16:35:17.1, but I bet it’s not even 4 o’clock yet.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to get it looked at. But hell. If it’s in the shop, then fuck—no beer!”
“I hear you, bro. No worries.” Dick took a swig. “Say—you wanna head to Peachtree for the long weekend?” Clinton Day was Monday, honoring the nation’s first female president, so everyone had the day off. There had been several female presidents in the 740+ years since 2048 when Chelsea became president, but a movement for the bicentennial in 2248 made the date a permanent holiday.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot to ask you. My bro is out of town, so he said I could borrow his Fuepi. I was actually thinking of checking out Firenze 1481 or perhaps Nantes 1847. Wanna come with? We could always hit Peachtree next month.”
Dick smiled. “Dude, you’ve been wanting to go to Nantes for years and years, but something always comes up. What makes you think you’ll actually make it this time? Why don’t we just hit Stebold 2772?”
“Nah, man. High school is a thing of the past. You need to move on.”
“Well, Nantes 1847 is even more past.”
“No, you’re stupid.”
“I’m not the 37-year old with the hots for a 17-year old.”
“Hey—Katie Driscoll is not 17. She’s the same age as us.”
“True.” Kimo sipped his Bud. “But you don’t want to go to Stebold 2791.”
Dick had been to 2772 a few weeks earlier, but wasn’t sure he wanted Kimo to know yet. Even though Katie Driscoll totally hated his guts in high school, she was developing a crush on 2791 Dick. But that’s not the type of thing Kimo would ever let him live it down. So he let it drop. “How about Chouli in 3416?”
“Dude, Chouli hasn’t happened yet, so how the hell would we know if it was worth checking out? Besides, I heard there were some fine-ass bitches in Nantes 1847.”
“Whatever, Kimo. Count me in.”
More than spending time with Kimo, Dick was looking forward to another weekend away from his old man and his eternal “If you ever get a chance to save the world…” lectures. God, they sucked total ass. If his dad had so much as one ounce of booze, he was off and running on his favorite topic.
They made plans to meet the next day at the D & P. Then they drank some more Bud.
Time for change
I have the report for you, sir, said Lackey #1. He handed it over.
The man quickly glanced over the document. Good god, said the man. This says that it happened sometime on Al Gore’s watch, way back in the…well, it must have been the twenty-first century.
When exactly was it—I need to know.
It’s not entirely clear, said Lackey #1. It could have been anytime between 2001 and 2008, sir. But we’ve definitively pinpointed it to those coordinates.
That’s it? Nothing closer. And just the time, not even a location?
The man sat back and sighed. Well, then. I hate to do this. But I have no choice. His entire presidency has to go.
But, sir—that means no declaration of universal peace with North Korea ! That means no ‘Axis of Hope’ with Syria and Burma ! Why, this would mean—(gulp)—no mandatory free internet access at all filling stations.
If that’s what it means, that’s what it means. We have no choice, Lackey #1. It’s our last best hope for survival. And if it began with Al Gore, then it must end with Al Gore.
Gore must go.
I'd read this. I doubt I could sell it. On the other hand, who knows. I'd be worried about the freshness factor past 2008 but I'd still probably read it.
I'd want it to be something different than Bill and Ted's excellent White House adventure though.