Chapter Two: The Chaostician

At 5:30am Hawaii time, Secretary of Transportation Melvin Sninkle -arguably the most important man to ever live who did not leave behind a religious tradition- awoke with a frown. He’d had a good dream of spotting several birds he had not been able to spot the previous day and also of his childhood stamp-collection, except wider and more complete than his newspaper route money had ever allowed. He had dreamed of finding that one elusive stamp, the British Giuana 1c Magenta (1856), the very Mona Lisa of Stamps, and placing it in a perfect grid to complete his collection. The dream, however, had been dashed by a nightmare about the Lieber rate being adjusted 3 basis points beyond what his models had calculated to be optimal, for it was forever the folly of common men to think in round figures instead of seeking the balance point between two opposing principles.

As the world waited on word of the fate of the leader of the free world, Melvin Sninkle:

1. Put on his smart watch

2. Did forty-seven push-ups.

3. Did fifty-six sit-ups

4. Did fifty-two squats

5. Ate three eggs over easy

6. Ate a piece of plain unbuttered wheat toast

7. Drank one small glass of orange juice

8. Showered for exactly eight minutes

9. Brushed his teeth for two minutes clockwise

10. Brushed his teeth for two minutes counterclockwise

11. Dressed

12. Resumed proof-reading a textbook as a favor to an old colleague

13. Corrected three minor typographical errors and suggested one clarification on a calculation which in time would reveal the solution to a two-hundred year old problem

14. Turned on the news

Upon seeing the destruction of Washington DC, Melvin Sninkle’s frown deepened. In the vast labyrinth of his mind, he ran through the various possible avenues he could take to best address the situation. During this time he only briefly thought to call the White House switchboard, realized that this no longer existed, which in turn consumed whole decision trees in a raging inferno, before he decided the best thing to do would be to get in touch with his contacts at the major news networks.

He began this task in the only fair way he knew, and thus the only way conceivable to him: alphabetical order.

“Hello?” a panicked voice asked at ABC News.

“Melvin Sninkle here,” said Melvin Sninkle.

“Who the fuck is Melvin Sninkle?” the voice demanded.

“Melvin Sninkle, Secretary of Transportation. You interviewed me last year for the segment on autonomous vehicles. My interview was cut for time,” said Melvin Sninkle.

“Hey! Everyone shut the fuck up! I’m talking to a member of the fucking cabinet! Do you know what the fuck just happened? Everything’s been totally fucking wiped out. Are we at war?” the voice asked.

“I haven’t had time to review the data in sufficient detail, I’m afraid,” said Melvin Sninkle, who suspected a meteor strike from the footage shown on the news but who knew it would be imprudent to tell this to what then passed for a journalist.

“Then why the fuck are you calling?” the reporter barked.

“I believe I may be the President of the United States. I was appointed Designated Survivor in this meeting of the Cabinet. If memory serves, you should have been sent a corroborating record,” said Melvin Sninkle.

In the long silence that followed, Melvin Sninkle internally counted to ten and then said: “Hello?”

“Hold on,” the voice said, more subdued.

“Yes, I’ll hold,” said President Melvin Sninkle.

While holding, he texted several members of the Secret Service who had been assigned to him in the eventuality of astronomically unlikely occurrences like a meteor strike destroying all other senior officials, initiated the emergency transfer of power, and arranged for transportation to the military base at Cheyenne Mountain. He also sent a group email to every astronomer he knew of appreciable skill -which was almost all astronomers of appreciable skill- and told them to clear their calendars and await further instruction.

We have constructed most of this from interviews and phone logs, collected many years after the event. However, the records I find to be most insightful are those from Melvin Sninkle’s smart watch. After the completion of his morning exercise, Melvin Sninkle’s heart rate never rose above 65 beats per minute.

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