Small but powerful

Senator Tex O'Neel felt like a million dollars as he walked into the restaurant, clad in his dark grey silk and cashmere suit. As his assistant conferred with the maître d', the senator took in the feel of the room. The glass wall gave this place an unrivalled view of the Hudson, and it attracted some of the most influential people in New York. The food was pretentious slop, though. Even then, it was always filled with the cream of society, there to see and be seen.

‘Welcome, Senator,’ the maître d' said unctuously, ‘So good to see you again. Please, let me take you to your table.’

The stalky, impeccably dressed man scurried through the labyrinth of tables without any difficulty, stopping every couple of steps to allow the senator and his entourage to catch up.

‘Your guest is already sitting,’ he said, looking back.

At the table was a grey-haired man, wearing an off-the-rack blue blazer over a white turtleneck, a fish out of water scribbling away on a small black notebook. When he saw the approaching party, the man closed the notebook, placing the pencil on top of it in a neat diagonal line.

He stood up and extended his hand, ‘Hello Senator, how are you?’

Sen O'Neel took the hand and shook it vigorously, ‘Prof Fourier. Working on your new book?’ he said, motioning to the notebook.

‘Just some ideas,’ the professor replied as they sat down.

The maître d' rubbed his hands, ‘I will send you a waiter immediately.’

‘No need,’ the senator said, ‘Just bring us a bottle of Tempranillo and a tapas mix. I can't stay long.’ He looked at the professor, who just nodded and remained quiet.

‘Of course,’ the maître d' replied, with the slightest of bows, before disappearing back into the maze.

The senator turned his attention to the man opposite him, ‘Professor Fourier, I'm sorry...’

The professor interrupted him as he pointed at the assistant and the bodyguard, ‘Are they going to stand?’

The senator's face turned slightly redder, but his smile was unwavering, ‘I'm sorry for this precaution, but you know how it is these days.’

The bodyguard, who seemed determined to demonstrate that some bodies can't be fitted into a suit, effortlessly lifted the man from his chair and waved a small wand around him. Keys, buckle, cellphone, whenever the wand beeped the professor would be patted.

When everyone was finally seated, the senator stated, ‘I represent a group of concerned citizens, professor, and they asked me to talk to you.’

‘Citizens concerned with me?’ Fourier asked, smirking, ‘Some small business owners, I suppose.’

O'Neel smirked back, ‘Yes, something like that... Professor, your vlog and your podcast are very successful...’

Fourier interrupted him again, ‘Thank you, it's a small contribution to the fight against the climate catastrophe, but every little helps,’ when O'Neel was about to speak, he added, ‘I didn't know you were a fan.’

‘I am,’ O'Neel lied, ‘Although it worries me.’

‘What does?’ Fourier asked.

O'Neel shifted in his chair, ‘Both me and my constituents worry that you are neglecting your University obligations with all this media attention.’

‘I see,’ Fourier said. He didn't.

‘I understand that a University professor doesn't earn nearly enough,’ O'Neel said, ‘And that your extra-curricular activities provide a substantial extra income, so I was asked to give you this for your troubles.’

The assistant handed Fourier an envelope. Inside were two stacks of fresh hundred dollar bills. He closed the envelope.

‘Twenty-thousand,’ O'Neel said, ‘That's what you're being offered as monthly rent of your media outlets. That way you can continue teaching your environmentalism at the University.’

‘Environmental Science,’ Fourier corrected. He wasn't smirking any longer, ‘You understand that your concerned citizens are killing the planet, don't you?’

‘Everyone is always killing the planet,’ O'Neel replied, ‘Global Warming here, plastics there, today a virus, tomorrow an antibiotic resistance. The planet will go on, and if you have enough money, so will you.’

‘Refreshing,’ Fourier said, ‘I'm used to obfuscation and sophistry. You just tell it like it is.’

O'Neel smiled wider, ‘I'm not a hick, I just play one on TV. Don't be naive, professor. You are too small to stop it. You can only damage the bottom-line of very powerful people.’

‘I am flattered by your interest in my career, senator,’ Fourier said as he pushed the envelope across the table, ‘But I'm doing fine, thanks.’

O'Neel ignored the envelope, ‘Think about all you could do with twenty-thousand dollars, Fourier,’ his hands drew pictures in the air, ‘You could take your family to Europe, show your kid the world,’ he leaned in to whisper, ‘You could give your kid a beautiful funeral.’

There was a long silence. Fourier could be a statue, except for the throbbing of the vessel on his forehead.

He finally said, ‘Most hicks I know have a heart of gold underneath .’

‘You really are a boy scout. Most of the hicks out there would cook you and eat you if the TV told them to,’ O'Neel chuckled, ‘ And you know what's funny? They would pray for your soul afterwards.’

‘Yes,’ Fourier said, ‘The real cancer in the world is ignorance.’

‘Exactly!’ O'Neel said, slapping the table so hard Fourier's pencil rolled off the notebook, ‘But ignorance can also be powerful if you know how to harness it. ‘

‘Maybe your owners can harvest that when we stop them from digging out hydrocarbons,’ Fourier sniped.

‘My associates,’ O'Neel enunciated, ‘No one owns me, Fourier. I told you I'm not some hick.’

‘You just play one on TV...’ Fourier agreed.

‘And I don't see any cameras,’ O'Neel grinned.

‘Yeah, about that...’ Fourier said, slowly flipping through the first pages of his notebook.

A hollow appeared, cut out in the pages of the notebook. Inside was nestled a black device, with ‘4K’ prominently displayed on it. One side narrowed down to a pinhole, flush with the top of the sheets.

‘It's incredible how small these things are nowadays, isn't it?’ Fourier asked.

O'Neel glared at his goon, ‘What are you waiting for?’

The big man aggressively clawed at the notebook, expecting Fourier to fight for it.

Fourier ignored him and got up, ‘That camera has wifi, you can keep it if you want. Everything was streaming in real-time. A pity I can't stay for the tapas, but I need to prepare for the interviews tonight.’

O'Neel was pale, his grin turned to a grimace. The bodyguard was cradling the book in his arms, looking confused, while the assistant texted frantically.

As he left, Fourier leaned into the senator, ‘Sometimes one small thing can really ruin your day.’