’…y'know what, etching “YOU’RE WRONG!” into the surface of the moon with a giant laser, without specifying exactly who was wrong about what, could be freaking hilarious.’
“Settle down, Snapcase,”
“This is theoretical mechanica, not theoretical mass psychology. Save it for the right forum, Snapcase.”
“And don’t say anything in front of Fozdyke. He’s a plagiarist.”
“Hey!”
“Well, you are…”
“Copy one set of notes from one lab, and the whole world has to hear about it.”
“Though we could formulate a clank that could do that…”
“…with the right kind of optics…”
*
The three of them, Fozdyke, Snapcase and Graal, sweated subtly in front of Baron Wolfenbach himself.
“Never before have I seen such a magnificent display of spontaneous civil upset,” said the Baron. “Had I a great and pressing need to conquer the world, I would have found it useful. But you three… gentlemen… evidently performed a global social experiment for… fun…” Fun, pronounced, mind-bogglingly stupid stunt that each one of you will pay for on a daily basis until long past your initial time of death.
“…i… thought it would be funny…?”
“I’m not laughing,” iced Wolfenbach.
…and that was how the Wolfenbach Empire put three men on the moon.
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