(Sugarland Mail Order Moonshine, office chair and Dragonfire Tree)
It was a surprise for the Boomers who trickled in that morning. Based on the messaging streams they were attempting to manage, there was already vigorous discussion about how to finish out the week.

Splash was seated languorously at the end of the Conference Table, in the better of the FlexiSport C5 office chairs Miles had reserved for himself. It had more ergonomic padding.

When Rocket, Melissa, Vic, Holly, and Keith had assembled with suitable hot mugs of Flat Yanks, picked from the juice selection, and instructed young Dierdre to retrieve the egg muffins when the microwave bell rang in the Galley, the meeting could begin. She is careful to be useful in gatherings of the older folk and gathers inside scoop to take back to George Mason when she remembers to attend class.

Splash waved both hands for order.

“Miles had a bad bout of sleep apnea last night. At least that’s what he claims. He asked me to get the Daily organized so he can release it after breakfast. What did we have on the table yesterday?”

He looked down the line for clues. He had been watching the Women’s Hockey quarterfinals at the Milan Winter Games. Like everything else, it had felt historic.

“We’ll have to do the hockey story tomorrow since the finals are at noon, Central Time.”

Everyone checked watches and set reminders.

Melissa smiled. “We’re ignoring something important. There’s talk the USS Ford, the world’s largest floating steel airport, has arrived near potential launch points in the North Arabian Sea.”

“That would be near Great Socotra Island,” Vic said. “I’d like to see it again. I thought it had potential as a vacation destination—with a short snort of Sugarlands Moonshine under one of the Dragonfire Trees.”

“Talk about dragons and fire,” Rocket said, glancing up from his phone. “There’s plenty of it out there. TLAMs can carry a thousand-pound warhead a thousand miles and detonate within thirty feet of the intended target.”

“Or loiter overhead,” Keith added, “and deliver that weight in cluster munitions. When it starts, it could look like the Desert Storm show we were part of. When Ford arrives on station with her escort cruisers, there’ll be over 600 Tomahawk Land Attack Missiles on hand. Imagine what you could do with that.”

Vic nodded. “One of the smart guys at the bar last night was keeping track. Fifteen guided-missile destroyers and an SSGN, two carrier groups capable of launching alpha strike packages all day.”

“You might want to hold off on the war story until tomorrow or Saturday morning,” Splash said. “I think we’ll do it with Israeli help. Some regional allies have hinted at token participation.”

“To ensure continued U.S. aid in the rebuilding,” Melissa said. “There are going to be opportunities. And drinks under a Dragonfire tree sound better than reconstruction contracts.”

Rocket leaned back. “Havana might get there first. It’s only ninety miles from Key West. Garbage piling up, gasoline running out. Sometimes gasoline is what gets rid of the old regime. Maybe the grand hotels come back to the beach.”

“Or someone considers a pleasant retirement on a distant island,” Splash said, folding his phone. “Now what the hell are we supposed to generate so Miles doesn’t get cranky?”

There was mild consternation.

Keith raised his iPhone 17, dictation icon glowing. “We could just run the meeting notes.”

Holly and Dierdre exchanged looks. “Does that mean if we link our phones to ChatGPT it will just format everything automatically and send it out?”
Splash grinned and reached for the phone. “Maybe we should have these meetings under a nice tree somewhere. And not worry too much about punctuation.”

There was another round of coffee. The last muffin was divided fairly.

And then they began thinking about lunch.

Copyright 2026 Vic Socotra

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