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Roy Abrams

New Fiction: What Hath God Wrought?

The Runner-Up of The Villains Half of The Contest

“Gentlemen, please, if I might have your attention.  Is everyone present?  There ought to be ample room for all of your colleagues, if you could please muster here, in the main hall.  Yes, if would organize yourselves into serried ranks, the spacing will be more efficient, as when a grocer packs oranges.  This is the first principle of an army, even an army of dedicated newspapermen and radio journalists such as yourselves.  Please refrain from jockeying for a better position.  The acoustics of the room have been designed so that I shall be perfectly audible to all of you from this dais.  Indeed, Ignacy Paderewski entertained us here at the Tesla factory once, and from the back of the room, you could discern the faintest pianissimo.  The mazurkas danced through the air and the polonaises crashed like thunder.  Evanescent strains of beauty illuminated the room like tendrils of energy from one of my oscillators.  It was a memorable evening that transported all of us, for a brief few hours, to an idealized world, almost as though it had been synthesized in a laboratory.”