“Ah, Major Misty Magick…Wait! I’d almost forgotten. You’re now Lieutenant Colonel Misty Magick. Been so busy keeping up with everything else to do with your career that one forgets the whole military side of things.”
“Well, General, the military side is there…but no need to, you know, take it past these rooms. Or rooms like these. I’m happy to be thought an artist first. My first duty is to my art…but my duty doesn’t stop there. In fact, I value this military rank and the service it represents above my Nobel Prize.”
“And here I was worried that we were stealing your precious time…”
“Not one bit. The privilege is mine.”
The young woman engulfed in her trademark lavender hoodie extended her hand to the plainly suited and silver-haired officer who had risen to greet her. He then gestured to several other people seated about his dimly lit office.
“I think you know all these folk…Major Collins…Major Gray…Lieutenant Colonel Graff…”
“Yes, lovely to meet you again…but…I don’t think I know this…this lady…sorry if I…”
An older woman who had been sitting almost in darkness answered quietly from what seemed her designated corner of observation:
“Oh, no need for gender niceties here, Colonel Magick. We rather keep all that for outside…Do we not?”
“Of course, of course. Still, it’s best if I keep up, you know, keep up the habit…And your name would be…?”
“Friendly. Just call me Friendly.”
“Hey, I had a song on my second last album titled Just Friendly…”
“I know. And such a song. Such an album. What a career for a young lady just gone thirty! Or maybe it’s thirty-five…but you don’t even look thirty to these old eyes. More twenty-five. We are all so proud and thrilled. But that’s all I want to say. Please let me occupy my dark little corner, forgotten. Since I don’t really have an official rank it’s best to pretend I’m not here. Please, everybody, ignore my presence. I feel so awkward intruding in this way, but sometimes there’s a request for an observer, and today that’s to be me by the look of it…for some reason or other…”
Now the general: “Before we start our little chat – which is not much more than a catch-up – let’s have coffee served. Of course, Major Mag…I mean Colonel Magick…of course you’ll just have your special water. Coffee okay for the rest of us?”
From the corner of the room: “Coke for me.” This was said low but the tone was strangely crisp, almost sharp.
“Of course, of course…Coke for our guest observer…plus four coffees…one special water for one supremely special poet-musician…and then to business, even if we’re just catching up.”
*
“So, I’d like to raise one small issue in order to clear up any misunderstandings. There’s the matter of authorship. As you all know, Colonel Misty Magick’s recent masterpieces such as ‘I Wanna Hold Your Soul’ and ‘Smash My Gash’ have been created with the help of AI. We’ve publicized the fact widely and the Colonel has been more than frank and forthcoming about the whole issue. The goal has always been to integrate the summit of new tech with the summit of human creativity. A truly global star – please note that the Colonel’s fans range from age three to about mid-fifties in just about every country except Iran and North Korea – a truly global identity of superlative talent does not need AI. Such an identity wants AI.”
There were murmurs of approval. The young woman blushed behind her massive sunglasses, sank deeper into the lavender hoodie, projecting the girlish humility and insouciance which had also become trademarks. The general went on:
“We’ve arranged interviews and detailed explanations for all major tech journals and websites, all of whom will be flattered to join our efforts. One or two critics of what we might call nostalgic persuasion will be given space to lament this massive evolution in the arts…but we will limit their, hmmm, shall we say…their vigour. I’d urge you all to read the Times essay this Sunday, a piece entitled If Beethoven and Haydn Had Computers: Misty’s Defiant New Agenda For the Performing Arts. We have thousands of comments ready to go, a few of them negative but suitably feeble.”
A shuffling and faint cough from the dark corner of the room. Again, the general:
“There’s been something of a distraction this month concerning Colonel Magick’s throw-away about beverages…”
The young girl sat straighter.
“Hardly a throw-away, sir. What I said was spoken in deepest…”
“Of course, of course. We would expect no less of someone who – let’s be frank – could very easily be nominee for the Vice Presidency later this year. A landmark? Everything Colonel Magick touches becomes a landmark. Someone said to me the other day that Pope was the one occupation or position out of reach of modern women. I just stared back without expression and asked if my interlocutor had heard of Misty Magick…”
Again, a shuffling and cough from the corner.
“In any case, it might be best to clarify what Colonel Magick intends concerning the marketing of a new, er, beverage…”
“Really, General, there’s nothing to clarify. All over the world I’ve watched thirsty crowds swilling these blatantly harmful soft drinks. You wouldn’t believe Mexico! There are regions with very little water, barely enough to wash up, but with mountains of aluminum cans filled with…well, diabetes or worse. Then the idea came to me: I market everything from hair-ties to shoelaces, right? Why not come up with a healthful beverage in a re-usable glass bottle…”
“But the dangers of breakage…especially in a concert of ninety thousand…”
“No prob, Major Gray. My team has come up with an insulating sleeve which fits any Misty Cola bottle. We call it Magick Sleeve. Keeps the drink cool and reduces the chance of breakage. You can only buy Misty Cola if you buy a Magick Sleeve or have your own from a previous purchase. The flavour of Misty is much like the old, original Cola formulations, using actual herbs and actual Cola nuts; sweetening of Misty Original is with Stevia and a small quantity of organic raw sugar. We may come up with a sugar-free version as well, but straight Stevia is just a little…”
“Well this is certainly something good for the future. As you say, a sugar-free version is a long way off…and I can’t imagine you rushing into the market without that…”
“On the contrary, General, we’re only weeks off our first promo…”
“Of course, of course…but weeks do turn into months, months into years with these…”
“No, Sir. This is a priority for Misty Corp and Magick Unlimited. Mexico is our first target market.”
The room was silent but for another shuffle of feet in the corner, and another faint cough. At last the general:
“Time is so short today and Colonel Magick is yet to meet with our special committee which is dealing with her proposed Vice-Presidential bid. Maybe we should pause…or just finish up, maybe. I know the committee people are already waiting over in Area F. Colonel Magick, would you care to head over now? Though we’d love to do another catch-up very soon…”
“Certainly, Sir.”
“Oh, and I’d just like to say that my grand-daughter, who is only three, won’t stop humming Smash My Gash.”
“I’m very pleased she enjoys the music, General.”
*
After the young woman had left the room there was a contemplative silence. Then the general:
“Well, gentlemen…and madam, of course…any thoughts? Major Collins?”
“Well, sir, after such a massive investment in one individual, perhaps some leeway can be found…Let me think on it more…”
“Major Gray?”
“Mmm…the young lady has certainly…so to speak…certainly wandered a little off the reservation. I know that’s a vulgar way of putting things, but…”
“Frankness is required right now, Major Gray. And it’s appreciated. What are you thoughts, Colonel Graff?”
“I, er, hesitate to say, but…well, off-reservation is about the size of it. I mean, the young lady has been an investment the size of some national budgets…but we all know the rules. Or maybe tradition is a better word than rules. To belong to our corps is to belong to a power higher than money, higher even than…than what most people take to be highest. You all know what I mean.”
“Thank you for those thoughts, gentlemen. As for me, I won’t be dragging the chain in this matter. We all know that Colonel Magick can be, ah, let down in ways which are as profitable as her ascent to prominence. How and if we cease to make use of the Misty Magick brand is a matter for much research, though the research will need to be rapid. Money can be conjured…but I remain firm that a young plus female pop singer needs to be the next Vice-President. It’s been our dream. That’s the sort of operation which takes more than playing with numbers on a spreadsheet.”
“What about young, sort-of-black, and maybe-female-maybe-male. Even better, no? We have the DayZ character…”
“Oh, I don’t know, Colonel Graff. DayZ…Can’t even lip-sync…barely dances…Maybe a First Lady if…Look, we have to stay flexible at these junctures, but I’m still attached to Misty Magick, to America’s Daughter…while not denying that there are levels of insubordination we can’t allow without…Ah, let me finish my coffee and think for a moment.”
As the general reached for his cup a plastic bottle full of black liquid slapped hard on his tray. Looking up he saw his lady guest, looking suddenly larger.
“Oh, I was just about to ask you for your thoughts, ma’am. It’s just that…”
“Shut up, General. And the rest of you can put a sock in it. I care nothing for your low-level corps and your adolescent wet dreams. And I don’t know or care who or what you perceive to be high, higher or highest. This Misty Magick tramp can go croon her filth at shopping centres or second tier rodeos, hock her Nobel for poppers and wake – or fail to wake – in some ditch…though I’d suggest a more definite termination. Maybe a steroid rage by that cross-promo NFL boyfriend you were already thinking of phasing out at the end of the football season.”
“Really, ma’am…we agree Misty Magick has had one truly dire brain-burst about marketing…but something as iconic as the NFL…not there was ever an icon like your…”
The woman again picked up the plastic bottle and this time slammed it down on the tray so hard that a cup went tumbling to the carpet. The room was silent. The four military men looked up at the looming figure which had seemed so small just moments before.
“I say terminate.”
“But ma’am…”
“And who am I to decide? Eh? Who might I be?”
“Ma’am, we…”
“I’m Field Marshal in this military, aren’t I? I’m your admiral, your commodore, your generalissimo…but more, much more than that…”
The woman lowered her face to an inch of the General’s.
“I’M YOUR FRIENDLY BOTTLER!”
WITH A TWIST 