Supreme Ruler

“Monsieur President, you have a phone call,” an attendant announced. The President of France sat in a white, curved-plastic chair in a totally white room, watching a white television. He wore a sterile, white jumpsuit. He couldn’t tell where the corners of the room were, or where the walls met the floor. Everything was just too white. Better not to mention it, though. He got up and followed the attendant out of the room and down the white halls, to a white telephone hanging on the wall. He picked up the handset and put it to his head. “Allo?”

“Hello, I am Grand Overseer Klsye of the Voran Empire. I would like to come visit you in person. Can you arrange to have me picked up from where I have parked on the far side of the moon? I am not familiar with local transit customs, and would rather not make the embarrassing mistake of parking too near a fire hydrant, or something."

“Now is actually not a good time,” the President replied cautiously.

“Not a good time? Aren’t you the supreme ruler of Earth?”

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