The Repair

Part 1

1

"Well... the picture isn't bad. Not bad at all... I owe him some bonus," thought the editor-in-chief of the popular sci, sci-fi, and fantasy magazine "Amazing world" meaning by "him" the artist, of course. (As this is an impeccably and in every aspect truthful story, we have to convey verbatim not only all the words spoken, but all the words thought as well.) On the desk before the editor lay to be signed for the press the preprint of the September issue. Still, it was only a paper version. The main reader, as well as looker, waited for issue's coalescing in the cyberspace.

On the magazine's cover, shown from a bird's eye view - more precisely, seen with the eyes of the passengers of an anti-gravitational flying vehicle - was depicted a chain of giant wind turbines stretching and accordingly decreasing in perspective towards the horizon. And out there, at the foothills of blue mountains, gleamed violet fields of solar panels. Amazing world of the future...

However, the editor was held back by the present. It still remained a good hour of the working day, but the decision was made and nothing prevented him from signing the copy and going home to begin the next day a long-awaited vacation, if not for two circumstances.

First: his (and general) secretary Lisa took an early leave today in order to pick up from or take to somewhere (maybe both) her child, which gave the editor too good to squander an opportunity to climb the pedestal of heroic devotion (in such hot weather, for sure) to the common publishing cause and this particular business' prosperity... and so on and so forth. It was clear that such moral stamina required some compensation in the form of a ticket to this show for the editor himself and, therefore, today - from tick to tick.

Despite being a humble person and consequently easy to satisfy with the only spectator, the editor, quite naturally, didn't grudge a good example to his staff, for which reason he called a video conference, having ended not half an hour ago. Of course it was not the same as personal attendance, but one have to live such hard times one have to live in.

No, there was something else mildly gnawing at his sense of perfection, as it is always the case with making virtue of necessity. For the real reason of the editor's staying in the office was that the same Lisa reported to him that their refrigerator had refused to work and all her efforts to reanimate it were in vain, so she called a service and they promised to send a repairman later in the afternoon, and since the editor was staying in anyway, could he please... alright? It was hard not to notice that Lisa (who called herself a smart and resourceful lady) diplomatically placed this information after receiving the editor's willing agreement to her early leave, so he couldn't help feeling a little duped and trapped.

The magazine's headquarters on the seventh floor of an office building consisted of a small reception area and another one, much bigger room. This latter, flooded at the moment with sunlight, had a business-like atmosphere. It combined functions of the editor's study, meeting room and a warehouse for computer equipment standing on metallic shelves and for something else in boxes piled at the corners and under tables, not to mention a coffee machine, tea appliances, and, surely, the fridge. However, there was enough space left and the view from the windows, not obscured with tall buildings, disposed to dreamy reflections. The only digression from the second best office style was a two-barrel shotgun hanging on the wall behind the editor's chair.

The editor sighed, got out a wet tissue from the pack, and wiped his bald head and his rheumy bulging eyes. Neither the wide open windows, nor a big fan, standing on the floor three meters away from his desk, did not save the situation. The editor filled a glass with mineral water, but even it, pouring out of the bottle, gurgled somehow lifelessly. "Warm..."