Bush continued, the faint line of black residue visible along his upper lip, “They’re worthless to me because they’re unproductive. They’re poor and ignorant! Besides, there are no longer sufficient natural resources for everyone in Las Vegas, only for the wealthy. These poor buggers will die soon enough anyway and must be sacrificed so that we, the chosen,” he looked at Cheney, and then back at Khan, “can survive in New Vegas. You can do what you want with them. That’s what our free market economy dictates.”
“Quite, Adolf.” Khan looked distastefully at Negon Bush and his black ice moustache, the image of the famous 20th-century führer clear in her mind. “And what do you want in exchange, besides a peace accord?”
“You flatter me, Nitra. Now, I won’t lie to you. The infrastructure of the city is in very bad shape. It will cost you plenty of time, I’m talking years here, and money to fix it up. But I think in the long run, it’ll be worth it for you. Now,” Bush continued nonchalantly, “besides a permanent peace treaty, over the next five years you’ll send five billion barrels of crude directly to our HalliBush & Cheney oil refineries, as usual. The refining facilities are, of course, now located in New Vegas. And,” he reached in front of him and quickly cupped a breast, “we’ll meet secretly once a month for the next five years.”
Khan pushed Bush’s arm away and slapped him hard across the face, not saying anything. Bush winced in pain, excited in a masochistic way.
Cheney said “ouch” under his breath, turning his head away from Bush as he chuckled at Khan’s indifference to Bush’s authority.
Bleeda now spoke. “So, my queen, what do you think of this rodent’s offer?”
Khan considered Bush’s proposal for several seconds. “Well, Boota, that’s a Hunza of a lot of oil and a Hunza of a lot of time to spend with this desert maggot. But if we can have Las Vegas as a new, functioning, major She-Hun city on American soil within ten years, it might just be worth it.”
Bleeda looked at Bush, then at Cheney, then at Khan. It seemed to her that the Americans were genuine and the gains to the She-Huns would be significant. She recalled that five years ago, in exchange for She-Hun crude oil, Bush had handed over the biotechnology to develop the Rekol beetle, now fundamental to She-Hun society as a source of food, biomass, and raw material for clothing and processed construction materials. He had also granted them access to large tracts of land on which to grow avocactus plants and raise the beetles by the hundreds of millions.
Bleeda also considered that, as partial payment for that business transaction, Khan had been covertly meeting with Bush up to ten times a year since then to satisfy his masochistic thirst for her; it seemed to the ministress of war that the American president truly was uncontrollably obsessed with the She-Hun leader and would do anything to preserve their treasonous sexual relationship.
Bleeda advised her queen, “As much as I dislike these men, they have always honored their business deals with us. If you are willing to do what is necessary, Nitra, I think we should accept their offer.”
Khan trusted Bleeda implicitly. Without hesitation, she extended her hand to Bush. “We accept your offer, Negon.” Even though Khan had been raped by this man, she was willing to sacrifice herself sexually for the good of her people.
Bush shook her hand and smiled broadly. “Thank you. This marks the beginning of a beautiful new relationship between our two nations.” He winked at her, “And between you and me.”
“Just shut up and sit down,” Khan commanded Bush, who enjoyed obeying her order. She spoke into her Hun-com, “Rush, bring in the wine.”
A moment later, a middle-aged, blubbery, pasty-white man entered the room; he pushed a serving cart set with a decanter, containing a greenish, opaque liquid, and four glasses. He parked the cart between the two women and the two men.
“Try not to break anything today, Rush,” ordered Khan sternly.
Cheney studied the man as he poured out the Rekol beetle wine. He asked, “Rush? Rush Limbaugh, the Clear Channel clone?” The media megacorporation, Clear Channel Global, Inc., commonly known simply as “Clear Channel,” had perfected the astronomically expensive science of exact-duplicate human cloning in 2038.
The servant stopped pouring and looked at Khan for permission to speak. She nodded approval. “Yes, Mr. Cheney, it’s me,” he answered, as he finished pouring the wine.
Bush said, “We thought you were killed in Phoenix back in ’96. It must be hell for you here, working so closely with lesbians. We miss your poignant, objective, well-researched comments about socialists, pot-smokers, gays, lesbians and democrats.”
“Well, thank you very much, Mr. President.”
Khan said, “Okay, boys, the reunion is over. Rush has gotten exactly what he deserved. That will be all, Rush.” As he turned and began to leave, she lifted up the dark brown loin cloth around his hips and squarely slapped his exposed left butt cheek, leaving a red impression of her hand on his naturally eggshell-white skin. His flesh wobbling like jello, the sound of the slap filled the room.
Khan toasted, as they all raised their glasses, “We agree to the terms you stated earlier, as witnessed by my ministress of war and your general of the army. Cheers!”