The Council is back from its hiatus. Warning: satire.

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The Council, Quarantine Edition

“Forty-Three and a half.” Forty-Four tapped his fingertips against the table.

“I can’t see any of you.” Her voice through the speakers was faint. Then suddenly loud enough to make him flinch. “Why can’t I see any of you?”

“Forty-Three and a half,” he said gently, rubbing his temples with one hand. “Turn your camera on.”

“What?”

Michelle set a cup of coffee next to his laptop, out of his computer’s video range. As she departed, he caught an eyeroll. He turned back to the screen, at the only square without an ex-president in it. Or, in her case, an honorary ex-president.

“The little icon on the bottom that looks like an old-fashioned video cameras. Or…you know what, ask Chelsea to help you.”

“Oh. I got it!”

She smiled from the row of images, but it did little to erase the tension on her face, the shadows and lines that were deepening. They all looked like that these days. Some mornings, in the mirror, he saw not just his father but his grandfather. He returned his focus to the screen, recognizing Forty-Three’s den, heavy with the hunting lodge vibe, one of his own paintings hanging on the wall behind him. Then Thirty-Nine’s modest study, a mason jar of sweet tea beside him. Forty-Two sat in the big chair in his library, a row of biographies about George Washington taking up an entire shelf of his bookcase. It was a nice chair. He remembered the feel of it from his last visit. He missed visiting people. He missed having a beer at Earl’s.

Forty-Three-and-a-half’s image shifted as settled herself into the window. “It’s a comfort, at least, to see you all again.”

“Hope our next time is under better circumstances,” Forty-Three said, a new gravity to his face. “As our first point of order—Forty-Four, I apologize, I was speaking out of turn.”

“No, no,” he said, waving a hand. “I think given the circumstances, we can dispense with Robert’s Rules of Order.”

“Okay, then. I have concerns about using this format. Security concerns. This is not exactly the most secure way—”

“Oh, who gives a fuck about that anymore,” Forty-Three-and-a-half cut in.

Forty-Three’s boyish grin was a welcome sight. “Noted, Madam Almost-President.”

“That wasn’t funny, W.”

“Then why is Laura back here laughing?”

“Can we please return to the task at hand?” Forty-Four said. “Noted that we’re sacrificing a modicum of security for expedience, and that the question on the table is grave enough to warrant the consequences.”

“Noted,” Thirty-Nine said.

“Agreed,” Forty-Three and Forty-Two said together.

“Agreed,” Forty-Four repeated. “Now, ostensibly, the best thing we can do first is take the safe and necessary steps as recommended, and model that behavior and our concerns for the American public. Create some PSAs, not a whiff of politics. Use some humor, if you’re so moved. But there will be an end to this, or at least a pause, and come November, there will be an election.”

Silence.

Forty-Three and a half shifted nervously in her chair.

“We’re…” Forty-Three visibly swallowed. “We’re not gonna try to neutralize the target again, are we?”

“Not the best course of action at this time,” Forty-Four said. “I’m fairly certain the rest of you agree.”

The expression on Forty-Three and a half’s face led him to believe that she might want to do it with her own two hands, or at least had some new ideas on how to make it look like an accident. He shifted his focus away from her window.

“This is why I’m proposing Operation Firewall.”

Forty-Three’s left eyebrow quirked. “We’ll build a wall and make Forty-Five pay for it?”

Forty-Four allowed himself a brief smile. “Essentially, but not exactly. Let politics take care of itself. We have bigger issues at the moment. We combine our estimable resources to create a firewall between humanity and this virus. In essence, we’ll do what he hasn’t—make America safe again. Or at least as safe as humanly possible.”

“Are we gonna make masks?” Forty-Three piped up, reaching for something off to his left side. “Cause I got some great concepts.”

“Interesting, but maybe put a pin in that.” Pouting, Forty-Three pushed an object to the side. “I propose, owing to your winning partnership in helping in other disasters around the world, that you and Forty-Two combine forces to give the people national, rapid testing.”

A smile brightened Forty-Two’s face. “We can do that. I know we can do that. George, buddy. We’ll get the band back together. Call Bill and Melinda, get Bezos and Musk in on it, too.”

Forty-Four nodded. “I know you can do it.”

Forty-Three-and-a-half sighed. “He’ll just take the credit for it.”

“We have no control over that,” Forty-Four said. “But at least it will get done and it will get done quickly and competently. In the meantime, we implement Phase Two.”

All the windows on his screen registered faces in question.

He took a deep breath, index finger poised on his trackball. “I’ve invited a guest speaker.”

Another window appeared. Various mouths opened and eyes blinked.

Forty-Three and a half was the first to fire. “Barry. What are you doing? Do you honestly believe—after what she did to you?”

Forty-Four held up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking. But give me a minute here. Let her speak for herself. Please, continue.”

“Hello, and I thank you to be allowed to help. I stop drinking Kool-Aid, this is what they say? He is bad man. I know that now, and I was very wrong, and I want done with this business.”

“He’ll ruin you,” Forty-Three and a half said. “You get that, right? He’ll paint you as a traitor.”

“I don’t care, do you? I get better offer from billionaire. Real billionaire, this time. Me and Barron, we move to blue state, we will be heroes.” Her smile turned sly. “Now, where do we start?”