Free Mask by C.C. Kelly

connected to a black square module that was secured to the underside of the object.  The cables ran down the side of the table and across the conference room to an equipment tower, full of dials, switches, displays and blinking lights.
    Director Vincent looked surprised by the question.  “That is a Gamma’s PISA.”
    The congressman gave Vincent a blank stare.  “Oh, right, right.  What are those holes around the back and that thing hanging out?  Is it the neck?”
    “Yes,” Director Vincent began, “the spiral disk shaft is the,” he paused and glanced at Doctor Sorenson who grimaced in return, “the neck.  The holes, as you so eloquently describe, are the mounting points for the PISA stabilization chassis.  Everything is, of course, still being fabricated and designed according to the original military specifications.”
    The general nodded his appreciation.
    “So what is a pizza?” Needly asked.
    Director Vincent cleared his throat.  “P-I-S-A, the Primary Input Sensor Array.”
    “Oh, right.”  Needly glanced around the room and then back to the PISA.  “Looks creepy.”
    “It’s a decapitated head,” Doctor Sorenson interjected.
    “Oh, right, of course.”
    The general looked away from Needly.  “Can we get to the briefing, folks?”
    Needly took a deep breath and then formally, suddenly all business responded, “Yes, so what have you got for me?  Let’s get to the meat of the Project.”
    “We have both projects to review today, congressman.  Now, as you are aware from your briefing material…”
    Needly shook his head.  “No time, just hit the high spots for me.”
    Doctor Sorenson and Donahue both looked away and then at each other across the table, flabbergasted.
    Director Vincent continued unfazed, “Gentlemen, we have both rather good news, if I do say so myself – and I do, and some less than satisfactory reports to share.  Let us begin with Mother Hubbard, the positive aspect of your, ah – meat, Congressman.”
    “That rings a bell,” Needly said.
    “Jesus, Ned.”  Donahue scowled.
    “I’m busy.  This isn’t the only project I have to oversee you know.  You have no idea the workload and pressure I am under, no idea at all.”
    “Be that as it may,” Vincent said, “what do you know?”
    “Apart from not recognizing the Gamma’s head,” Sorenson assisted.
    Needly stared down at his vid pad and shrugged slightly, irritated by the remark.
    The general shook his head in disgust and leaned back in his chair, nodding to Vincent to proceed as he picked up his vid pad and began typing.
    Director Vincent used the same patronizing tone he had used at reception earlier and began, “As you may be aware, Congressman, the testing on preparation and launch protocols for our nuclear missile silos has been growing worse and worse with each generation.  The last simulation resulted in an 86% failure rate.  The psych scores repeatedly demonstrate that the silo commanders lack the moral fiber to follow orders and kill millions of people at the turn of a key.  Washington wants an effective deterrent.  The general here assures us that we most certainly need an effective missile countermeasure.”
    “Yes, yes, I know all about this and I agree we need to be able to nuke whoever we need to, whenever we need to.  Command starts in Washington,” Needly shook a dismissive hand in the air, “go on.”
    “We have run simulations on the Gamma Series and they have a perfect score.  In every simulation, they always launch.  And no matter how many system errors, silo damage or malfunctions we impose upon the simulation, the result is always the same. Mother Hubbard is an unquestioned success.”
    “Outstanding, this is great news,” Donahue responded.
    “We were rather pleased as well,” Vincent said.
    “So what does this mean?” Needly asked.
    “It means,” General Donahue answered, “we have a green light here.  How long before we can deploy the Gammas?”
    “I