It has been several weeks since I last updated "Dark Redemption." A change in my work schedule and some other commitments have distracted me, but I do hope to return to the story soon. But as a thank you to the readers who have been stopping by hoping to see something new, I've dug out something from my files. Okay, so it's not so new; I originally posted it at DailyKos back in 2011; but I hope you find it amusing.
What if Atlas Shrugged had been written by P.G. Wodehouse? Well, it might go something like this:
* * * * *
"I say, Jeeves," I said lathering up the shaving brush and and applying myself to the old pan, "have you ever heard of a chap named Reardon?"
"American chap; I met him last night at the Drones Club. Big in steel or some such thing."
"Ah yes, the industrialist. I fancy I have read something about him, sir."
"I don't usually hold with these American Titans of Industry, you know. I'm sure you remember J. Washburn Stoker the Wall Street financier who had a habit of kidnapping people on his yacht and generally throwing his weight around like a pirate of the Spanish Main."
"I do indeed, sir."
"This Reardon fellow seems like a decent enough chap, though. He says he's invented this new type of metal. 'Reardon Metal', he calls it. I say, Jeeves, can one invent a metal? I always thought the stuff was mined."
"I believe he has invented a process for refining and processing the metal resulting in a steel of superior quality."
"Ah, that's it. He was going on about it. Rather like that pal of yours; the one who had the strength of ten?"
"Galahad, sir. 'His strength was as the strength of ten, because his heart was pure.'"
"That's the chap. Anyway, this Reardon metal of his is a veritable metalurgical Galahad. If that is the word I want. He's looking for investors to make the stuff."
"Yes, and not just any investors either. This is a good thing and he doesn't want any Parasites, Moochers or Looters in on the gravy. I told him I was rather surprised, since 'parasite' is one of the kinder things Aunt Agatha has always called me; but Hank explained that I'd actually be creating wealth through my investment putting me in the class of the Creators. Jolly good, don't you think?"
"Indeed." Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought I detected a note of scepticism in Jeeves' tone.
"He says he wants to come out to this place, Galt's Gulch he calls it and meet this Johnny Galt fellow he knows. I'm not exactly sure on who this Galt person is. From what I gather he seems to be some kind of motivational speaker. But Hank is absolutely sold on the man."
"And may I inquire, sir, where this 'Galt's Gulch' might be?"
I put down my razor. "Now that's a funny thing. He seemed a bit evasive on that point. Didn't want any Looters or Moochers overhearing, I'll wager. He wanted a firm commitment." I wiped off my face. "You know, Jeeves, the more I think about this, the more dubious it looks. I mean, the last time I went to one of these weekend retreats, I had to sit through this chap trying to sell me condominiums. You don't think this is one of those set-ups, do you, Jeeves?"
"It would not be my place to say, sir."
I thought about it a bit more. "On further consideration, Jeeves, I believe I'll give Hank and his Galt's Gulch a pass. You never know about these visionary chaps." I sat down to breakfast and dug into my b. and eggs with gusto.
"Very good, sir," said Jeeves.
* * * * *
It might have been fun to go further with this; to put Bertie on a train to Galt's Gulch, trying to fend off the amorous advances of Dagny "Daggers" Taggart and the growing jealousy and suspicion of Hank "Randy" Reardon, with all resolved at the end when Jeeves produces a page from the Junior Ganymede Club Book revealing that John Galt is actually Sir Roderick Spode, Lord Sidcup; one-time amateur dictator and manufacturer of ladies undergarments.
Maybe someday I will write it. But first I need to finish Strephon's story.