“He’s not supposed to do that,” the first mission control engineer said.

“What do you mean?” said the second.

“They’ve been out there a long time. They were supposed to move two asteroids. The leader extended the mission to move a third asteroid.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said the second engineer.

“Roll the Red Cross trucks,” a man said gently.

“What?” asked another.

Two trucks gently rolled across the tarmac, over to a hangar.

A man in a pink shirt, a new age scientist, walked past the two engineers. “Science fiction is interesting,” he said to a colleague as they walked. “Genres vary. Some, like the works of Jules Verne, predict a future technology. Other stories are just for fun. The technologies don’t actually work, but the story is exciting.”

At mission control, engineers worked diligently. Thirty of them monitored the mission, sent to alter the path of asteroids that would collide with Earth. Specialists in aerospace and electrical engineering filled the room. Contractors assisted them.

George was a 5 foot 5 inch man with a beard. He wore a light yellow shirt. His assistant, Jim, was another slightly taller computer professional. He wore a white shirt and a black belt.

“So how’s the mission going?” George asked.

“Fine so far,” Jim reported.

“Let me see altered trajectory,” George said.

Jim pressed keys and a red line showed the new trajectory on the screen. The red line parted from a green line, the original trajectory. Outside, children danced and sang. It was a bright day, just crystal clear, people loving each other, ice cream, fun, nothing to worry about, when a cloud appeared, but it was nothing to worry about… Planes flew overhead and ladies frolicked. The English were partying and so were the French. 

Ladies under carousels protected themselves from the sun. A man read a newspaper, and a woman held his hand. A gentle dove flew overhead, and people were happy.

But it was not to last long…

In control room C, the guy in the pink shirt was having fun. “I’m telling you the truth!” he uttered.

“You don’t believe me?” he continued.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you; you’re a little verbose, that’s all. Not a big deal,” said his colleague. “Why don’t you explain?”