Ahh, yes. Any of y'all remember this? Nearly a year ago, it was! One of many requests for civility by the Dome's Commander, but one that spawned one of the most lively discussions (Linked). What moved the Commander to issue these rules? Will they ever be enforced? Only time will tell... but Miss Hawkins, who appears to be eyeing Travis' position, seems to be in favor of it!

“This record is abysmal, Commander! How do you explain yourself?”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about, gentlemen.” Cockrell spoke into the large microphone which was the source of the robotic voice currently scolding him. Regardless of which member of the oversight panel was speaking, the microphone emitted a grating, mechanical voice which brought him to clutch onto his lucky elephant stuffy each time he heard it.

            “Eight inhabitants requesting transfer, three-dozen with minor injuries, two rushed to the ICU, and one presumed death. Not to mention the repair bills… eight-hundred million dollars’ worth- all this in the last quarter alone! What’s going on in there, a war?”

            “No” Cockrell answered quickly.

            “We’ve heard otherwise from some of its former inhabitants. Please give us three reasons why we shouldn’t replace you.”

            The commander’s hands began shivering, making it difficult for him to unbutton the pocket on the leg of his stuffy. He pulled out an eighth of soco and dumped it into his mouth. The shakes stopped.

            “Cockrell! Your silence will not be taken as an acceptable defense.”        

            “Yes, yes… I was just checking my files.” He rummaged through the belly of his stuffy and pulled out a small mustard-stained napkin. Beside the phone number of a woman he had neglected to call were three items. He began reading them off.

            “You must be Jamaican, because Ja making me crazy.”

            “Call an ambulance, because baby, you just made my heart stop.”

            “I never believed in love at first sight- until I met you.”

            He took a deep breath, realizing a moment too late what he had just read. Before he had a chance to take back what he said, the Myumb oversight panel responded.

            “Alright commander, that is more than adequate. Just make sure things don’t get too wild in there. We’ll speak to you again in six months. Meeting adjourned.”

            Cockrell’s mouth hung slack… did that really just happen? Oh yeah, he reminded himself, I work for the government.

            Still, that served as a warning for him. As much as he hated it, he’d need to set down some rules. He hated when his job felt like work.

* * *

            The seldom-used intercom system began blaring, pulling the General’s attention away from the interview.

            “What is that?” The interviewee asked.

            “Public service announcement,” Walker responded, “Or should I say the oppressive hand of big brother.”

            “Woah, sounds rough,”

            “One, no more attacking with claws, knives, or axes. Two, no poison. Three, ballistics are permitted, as long as the attacks are more accurate.” The intercom continued.

            “Whatever,” Walker sighed, turning back to the interviewee, “Alright, it says here that your name is Zack G. Nini. That last name concerns me though. Are you, or have you ever been associated with the Psci?”

            “No sir, I haven’t. I’m Italian.” Zack chuckled.

            “No laughing. We run a respectable operation here.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “What is your view of freedom, Mr. Nini?”

            “Oh, I love it. Like the Wild West. Got to watch your back.”

            “And lastly,” The commander raised his voice over the intercom.” No more leaving the dome without permission. I’m talking about you, Travis… if you’re still lurking around here somewhere.”

            “Travis.” Walker cursed under his breath, “How dare that man have the nerve to use a counterfeit version of my penance render. He will pay for his arrogance.”

            “Is everything alright, sir?” Zack asked.

            “Oh, it’s fine,” Walker smiled calmly, “I like you. Welcome to the cons.”

            “Yes!” Zack pumped a fist in the air, “Thank you! It’s an honor.”

* * *

            And I thought the hard part was over, Cockrell mused, oi vey. He rubbed his forehead as Walker continued his diatribe, using a whiteboard and more words than your standard dictionary to offer amendments to the rules. He was just one in a long line of visitors to his office today... a long, long line. They didn’t pay him enough for this.

            “So you see, if somebody has demonstrated that they cannot be affected by ranged weapons and ballistics, the use of knives and other close-combat implements should be permitted.”

            “I don’t know about this, Walker.”

            “Listen, Commander, I’ve been stabbed, slashed, poisoned, lacerated, and bludgeoned more than anybody else here. I deserve a right to retaliate with melee weapons if the need arises, and I will not let you deny me that.”

            Unexpectedly, Dan Han pulled a knife from beneath his jacket and stabbed Walker in the back of the leg. Cockrell had been expecting something of the sort… he should have known it wasn’t a good idea to all the factions represented inside his office at the same time. Blood was so hard to clean out of shag carpeting.

            “Ack! See? This is what I mean! I should be able to defend myself!” Walker rubbed his leg. Apparently the knife hadn’t penetrated his armor.

            “Sorry, I just can’t help myself. Whenever you talk, I am overcome with a desire to stab you.” Dan Han shrugged, a feat only possible by the fact that the Psci, who had chosen to join the Keepers some time ago, had opted to evolve his body into human form.

            “So what is the punishment if one violates these rules?” Christine, standing next to Walker, folded her arms across her chest.

            “We… all start firing at violators?” Cockrell grimaced. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

            “Isn’t that what we’re all doing already?” Christine stomped a foot, “This is absurd! And what’s this about people not being able to leave The Dome? Are we prisoners or something?”

            “Hey, stop that,” He attempted to calm her down, “These rules are not set in stone… they’re sort of, you know, just guidelines.”

            “I agree with Christine!” squeaked Kwokzol. Great, now even the rabbit was questioning his authority. The commander had no more time for this nonsense. He was missing Judge Judy.

            “Listen, the Psci’s representatives didn’t even accept my invite, so I don’t think this going to work anyway. Just try to be nicer. Now git da hell outta my office!”

Cockrell began firing his revolver at the assembled representatives, sending them scurrying out of the room. When they had finally cleared, he flopped down in one of his bean-bag chairs and grabbed a bag of cheese curls. Just as he was about to turn on the TV, he smelled something vaguely familiar. He looked over his shoulder, only to witness Duncan standing beside him, smoking and sparking as usual.

            “How’d you get here?” Cockrell asked.

            Without warning, the tiny robot charged at him, popping the bag of cheese curls beneath his treads and leaving muddy marks all across the carpet. As he geared up for another attack, Cockrell grabbed a nearby toad and heaved it at Duncan’s motor, sending the annoying little thing spinning frantically off the office balcony.

            Why’d he even try? Even the HOC were giving him a hard time about this.