Than you’ll ever be, said the first.
Old friends, said the other.
Of your charge, said the first.
Work colleagues, said the other. From way back.
Mel, said the first, by way of introduction.
Also Mel, said the other.
In life we were both named Mel, said the first.
And both worked closely with your charge, said the other. But never actually met each other. That’s what was so funny about it.
Mel G., said the first. Call me Mel. Or just “G.”
Mel R., said the other. “R.” is fine.
They stepped around me, one on either side, to directly address my charge.
How’s it hanging, pal? said G.
It’s us, buddy, said R.
Who have gone on before, said G.
To rest eternal, said R.
Though in neither case did you attend, said G.
Or flowers, said R.
Not to worry, said G. We exist in a realm beyond such petty concerns.
What matters to us, said R. Is all the good work we three did together.
In the name of science, said G.
And they let loose a peal of hellish cackling laughter.
Is it lying when one knows how one wants things to turn out and then says what is needed to achieve that result? said R.
Lying when a person uses his considerable reputation and his mastery of public communication to thrash his opponents by redirecting the attention of the general populace, thus infectingthe people with the tiniest sliver of doubt, which, widely propagated, becomes a sizable wedge of doubt? said G.
Doesn’t every idea, said R., even those judged by some standards to be fallacious or those which have been disproven outright, deserve to be honored with the public’s attention?
Doesn’t the public have the right to know? said G.
And decide for itself? said R.
Are you calling the public stupid? said G.
Do you not believe in democracy? said R.
R. turned to me.
We were, in life, eminent scientists, he said.
