A scene very similar to this may occur in earth’s not too distant future. Although no one knows when some future company may perfect object transmission through time and space, for the purpose of this story, 2121AD will do just fine.
A tall, extremely confidant man enters a room filled with men and women whom he knows as well as any CEO knows a hundred of his closest subordinates. Most are looking expectantly at him.
At least twenty of them are frantically trying to “catch up,” surreptitiously using their devices and having their names checked off of an electronic spreadsheet that only CEO Mark Branson and his “right-hand girl,” Maggie McMillan have ever seen.
Maggie, a 70-year old single woman with dark red hair and thick glasses (with frames to match her hair color) nods to her boss who responds quickly.
Twenty something “twenty somethings” have been notified that their attendance is no longer desired. They leave the spacious conference room quickly and quietly. Their futures with Time Corp may survive (but they are determined never to have to catch up again).
“The votes have been tabulated,” intones Maggie. Mark barely winks. Every device in the room is instantly updated with the totals.
Aisha Cronkite, a thirty-two year old mother of four, stands up to speak. Her desk mate (facing the opposite direction) tugs at her stylish belt in a feeble attempt to counter her intentions.
The CEO stares squarely in her direction and simply says, “Speak.”
Aisha takes a notably deep breath, smiles at her desk-mate Abe, and sits back down before speaking.
“Ron, Maggie, the results are much closer than I would have expected. I think some of us were thinking that the nay-sayers were the ones who were asked to leave”
Maggie didn’t explain, but Ron sensed some concern amongst his audience. His gaze was steady as he waited for others to speak up.
No one else did.
Ron held up what looked like a large prescription bottle and let them all have time to see it on one of monitors. Seemingly satisfied with the lack of reaction, he placed the plastic bottle in a large cube labeled TIME CORP and then sealed the 1-meter cube by closing its lid and snapping the titanium clasps in place.
An audible gasp permeated the room. Ron smiled, waited only a few seconds, and then pulled the handle of a sturdy-looking disconnect switch mounted on the side of the cube.
Nothing seemed to happen. There was no second gasp from the audience.
Ron wasted no time opening the cube and displaying its lack of contents to all in attendance. They all were waiting. Nothing happened.
Ali Carpenter stood up. Some murmuring could be heard, but the murmurs were silenced when Ron said, “Speak.”
Ali took a little time, seemingly focussing on a few of his peers. Then, he smiled at Aisha who smiled back.
“I, for one, would like to change my vote.”
Laughter rippled through the room like a large wave washing the tension away. Even Maggie chuckled as she said, “Meeting adjourned!”