Mr. President

The night was dark, and not a light could be seen for miles. The wind blew steadily,
always to the east, causing the reddish brown Martian soil to whirl through Alexandria's streets. Skyscrapers were dark silhouettes against the star studded night sky. The great city and all of its inhabitants were asleep, except for one man.

He was dressed all in black, perched precariously on the railing of his balcony, 13 stories high. He slowly folded and unfolded a palm sized Martian flag. He studied its colors as if he had never seen them before. But he knew the patterns of geometric shapes that adorned the small flag far too well.

The voices of his colleagues echoed in his head. Mr. President, there is only one appropriate course of action. You have to defend Alexandria, you have to defend Mars. He could hear his friends' voices. Jim, they attacked us, it's only right to respond. Those Earthlings have no idea what they're getting themselves into. We Martians, we're hell raisers! The voices of his wife and children were ever present. I love you Jim. Daddy . . . I'll miss you. You'll call us, won't you Daddy? Of course he will Annie, Daddy always calls.

The last time a Martian president hadn't been forced to try and sort out the problem of the Great War between Mars and Earth was over 300 years ago. Back then Earth had been made up of separate countries, each run by its own separate, democratic government. Slowly but surely each of these separate countries were conquered, and all those who held positions of power were forced to submit to the self-crowned emperor of the Brazilian Empire. Shortly thereafter the emperor decided that Mars would be a wonderful addition to his empire. Not once had he ordered a bomb dropped, or a missile fired. But he waged a ground war that had demolished many Martian cities, and had placed a great burden on the shoulders of many Martian presidents.

For generations Mars had been begging Venus to join them in their fight against Earth and the Brazilian Empire, and for generations Venus had refused. Lately Earth had been showing signs of aggression towards Venus as well as Mars and Mercury. After having been in office for 5 years, and in politics for twice as long as that, Jim Jacobi had never seen Earth exhibit any signs of hostility toward Venus. In light of that development, Jim Jacobi, the president and representative of Mars, made a trip to Venus. Of course Annie, Bobby, I promise I'll call you. Bobby, remember to study and do your homework. Annie, help your mother while I'm gone.

Jim stared at the flag. It was the symbol of his country. A picture may say a thousand words, but this flag says a million! It was the symbol of his sorrow. He had given so much to Alexandria. He had given so much to Mars. What had they done for him?

Venus had refused to give help, and refused to admit that Earth was showing any signs of aggression towards them. Their king was ignorant, and more concerned in his wealth than universal affairs. Someday his planet would pay for his foolishness, but he knew that it was a day that he would never see. That was why he didn't care. The knowledge that Mars was crumbling under the strain of constant ground attacks didn't trouble him. After all, it was common knowledge that Mercury would be attacked next. Venus wouldn't be involved until he was long gone. He had wasted his time in Venus. He would never try again.

Jim looked at his legs, which were hanging down over the brass railing of his balcony. He kicked his shoes off, one by one, and watched them fall 13 stories before they landed. In all likelihood a small child would find them tomorrow, embedded in the soft reddish brown soil. He would take them home, and clean them off, and maybe even wear them around the house before his mother would make him take them back to where they came from.

His wife and children had stayed in The Fortress, the presidential mansion. He had called them as soon as he set foot in his hotel room. But he had called too late. Too late to speak to them one last time, too late to hear their voices as they sat millions of miles away from him. They hadn't answered. He had let the phone ring. Again, and again, and again the phone rang. Finally someone had picked up.

Mr. President? I'm sorry, we had no way to contact you. He had wondered what the man on the other line meant. Mr. President, I must be the bearer of bad news. He had tried not to think of what bad news the man on the other line might have to bear. It's Earth, Mr. President. The Emperor died just the other month, his son has decided to escalate the war. If that was the bad news, then why was the man's voice shaking? What information was he withholding? The New Emperor chose Alexandria as a target. That made more sense. Alexandria, Mars' capitol. His home. Mr. President, all of the houses on both sides of Continental Avenue have been reduced to rubble, all of their inhabitants . . . all of their inhabitants are casualties of the attack. Continental Avenue. The Fortress. His house was on Continental Avenue. I am truly sorry Mr. President, your wife was a wonderful woman, and Bobby and Annie were . . . they were good kids.

For what seemed like hours he had sat clutching the phone tightly to his chest. Couldn't they at least have taken him too? Why only his wife and children? Why the innocent? Why did they always attack the innocent? Mr. President? Mr. President, are you there? He let go of the phone. It dangled suspended by its cord, swinging back and forth like a pendulum. It moved less and less until it finally stopped. All objects in motion will remain in motion until acted upon by an outside force. Newton's First Law of Motion. He was numb with grief. Watching a phone dangle from its cord and reciting Newton's laws of motion wasn't what any normal man would do. A normal man would break down. A normal man would cry. But he wasn't a normal man.

Jim dug in his pocket for the book of matches that he had placed in there before going out onto the balcony. He retrieved them and pulled them out of his pocket. Slowly, as if still contemplating his decision, he flipped open the cover, and pulled out a match. He struck it against the rough paper on the back of the book of matches. After a few tries, a flame burned brightly, the only light for miles in each direction. Jim held the flame to the corner of the Martian flag. He was burning the symbol of his office, the symbol of his loss. At any other time of his life, he would have been disturbed at his willingness to break the law. Now he had learned never to be surprised at events, surprised at feelings or actions. Humans are highly irrational beings. That statement he agreed with. A good leader is never surprised or caught off guard. Jim was a product of the system. For the first time in his life he wasn't caught off guard. For the first time, he knew exactly what he was going to do to solve this problem.

He dropped the flag just before the flames reached his fingers. It floated down 13 stories, burning until it reached the ground. Then finally, the flames died, and all that was left of the Martian flag was ashes. No one had seen the flag. No one had seen him break a law that he had approved only a few years earlier. No one was awake for miles.

The funeral had been a state affair. One adult sized coffin, two miniature coffins, all made of mahogany trimmed with gold. Flowers lined the road down which the coffins were carried. The service was performed by teary-eyed priests, and ended with a 21 gun salute. Leaders and friends from all over Mars, Mercury, Venus, Saturn, and even a handful of representatives from Jupiter lined up to pay their respects. Masses of people dressed all in black mourned the loss of the first family. Somehow he had managed to stay composed. Even though he was dressed in black and mourned the loss of his wife and children, he remained dry-eyed until he was behind closed doors. He would never give Earth's emperor the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

They had been buried that day, in Mars' presidential cemetery. Jim had given his dry-eyed eulogy. He hadn't even written it. A normal man would have spent hours laboring over his laptop trying to write something meaningful. His mother and father-in-law had insisted that the presidential speech writer write the eulogy. They didn't seem to care how impersonal it was, as long as it was well written, and wouldn't serve as an embarrassment to their deceased daughter. His office had stolen a normal life from him. The Brazilian Empire had stolen his family from him. And now his in-laws had stolen his only means of showing the world how Earth would pay for tampering with human emotions, for tampering with his heart.

Bomb ‘em. Shoot ‘em up so bad they won't know what hit ‘em. The voices of his advisors echoed through his head. Innocent people? They're Earthlings, how can they be innocent? His family hadn't understood what he was trying to say. They attack our civilians, it's only right to get revenge. You do want to avenge your family's death, don't you? His friends hadn't understood his point of view.

All he had to do was give the order, and he could blow the Brazilian Empire to the other end of the universe. But Earthlings were people, too. There were millions of innocent civilians living all over Earth and the Brazilian Empire. If he ordered missiles fired at Earth, if he ordered a bomb dropped, he would not only be starting a war, not only resigning Mars to an irreversible fate, but he would be killing millions upon millions of innocent people. He would cause millions upon millions of men the same grief that he had suffered for weeks. President Jim Jacobi, product of the system. He was supposed to be a machine, an unfeeling machine. His job was to avenge the deaths of all those who lived on Continental Avenue.

But inside, underneath the mask he wore perpetually, he was a human. He was a father, a husband, a friend. He couldn't, and wouldn't, put anyone else in his situation, whether they deserved it or not. His refusal to strike back would cause riots in Alexandria and all over Mars. Striking back would destroy every planet in the galaxy. There was only one way to solve this ongoing problem. There was only one way to escape the situation.

Jim gripped the brass bar he sat on tightly. He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes. Softly he whispered a prayer, and pushed off. He fell down 13 whole stories silently, not uttering a single sound. He landed with enough impact to embed himself in the soft Martian soil, and yet he woke no one. The night was dark, not a light could be seen for miles. The wind blew steadily over the president's body, always to the east, causing the Martian soil to cover him in a light coat of reddish brown dust. Skyscrapers were dark silhouettes against the star studded night sky. The great city and all of its inhabitants were asleep. They wouldn't find out the fate of their leader until the morning, the beginning of the end of the world.