Wednesday, July 22, 2015

Demoted

“Why so glum, Dear? You didn’t look nearly so sad when you left this morning.”

“Well, I’ve had some bad news today, Sweetie.”

“Oh no! You’d better tell me.”

“There’s just no easy way to say this. It seems I’ve been voted out of The Club.”

“Voted out! You’ve been in The Club since 1930! Can they do that? On what grounds?”

“They say I no longer meet the criteria.”

“Criteria? There are criteria for being in The Club?”

“There are now. There didn’t used to be, but they made some up, and they say I don’t fit them.”

“Don’t fit them! How?”

“Well, first of all they say it’s my weight, or they use this fancy term ‘mass.’ Whatever it is they say I don’t have enough of it.”

“Good grief! Just what sort of mass do you have to have?”

“Apparently, it’s not just a question of mass. It’s my route in relation to my mass.”

“That’s nonsense. You’ve traveled that route more or less faithfully for at least five billion years. How can they quibble with that?”

“They want a more regular route - no overlaps with any other Club members.”

“What? Now they’re treating you like you’re a traveling salesman or a milkman. What possible difference could it make?”

“And that’s not the only thing they weren’t happy about. They want me to clear out my own neighbourhood - no extraneous asteroids, or space bits, or ice chunks in my path – they say if I had a big enough mass, my route would be regular and my path would be clear.”

“And all that matters how?”

“I’m not really sure. I’m beginning to suspect there is a bit of a conspiracy to get me out – maybe they want only the eight “classic” members in The Club”

“Oh them – they’re all so full of themselves! Especially Neptune – always crossing your path like that!”

“They say I’m crossing his path! As if! I do whatever I can to stay away from that gas bag!”

“Yeah, him and his friend Jupiter have probably put the others up to this. Jupiter has never been the same since that Shoemaker Levy comet broke up and hit his face. Him and all those stupid moons of his.”

“They say I have a new designation now.”

“ A new one? What is it?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Better I hear it from you than from someone else.”

“I guess so. They say Im a ‘Dwarf Planet.’ They announced it and then they waved around a stuffed dog. It was completely humiliating.”

“A stuffed dog? What was that all about?”

“I don’t know – some dog called Pluto. The lady had an umbrella too. It was all very confusing, and some scientists actually laughed. I’m ruined!”

“What exactly is a Dwarf Planet anyway?”

“I don’t know – they’re still drawing up the criteria for that.”

“But what if you don’t fit those?”

“Then I would fall into the lowest class - ‘small solar-system bodies.’ ”

“Oh my God, that would be terrible – in with all the riff raff. What ever are we going to do!”

“Well there is that kit I can send for – convert myself into a comet. That would make them take notice!”

“Oh, but that’s so, so… drastic, and remember what happened to Halley? Now we only ever see him every 75 years, and he’s always too busy to stop. Isn’t there something else we could do?”

“I heard Alpha Centauri is interviewing for new planets. I could apply there.”

“Yeah, that sounds good! Alpha Centauri! And the view is so much better over there.”

“I suppose that’s our only option now, Charon. That or the Intergalactic Court of Appeal.”

“I say we go with Alpha Centauri. After five billion years of freezing to death on the edge of this crappy Solar System I’ve had enough anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll start packing. You start plotting a course.”

“I’ll plot a course all right – right through Planet Earth!”

“Yeah, right through it!”

“They’ll never know what hit them!”

“That’ll show The Club – they’ll be down to seven members then.”

“Serves them right.”