Doomsday

"You know the fundamental problem of this Administration, Singh?" I asked my dear, dear friend Dr. Singh.

"Is that a political comment, Dr. Chan?" asked Singh, a little too loudly, a little too obviously for the microphones.

"Paranoia. It shows in everything. It shows in having two men in paper suits in the control room at all times. We arent even allowed our own underwear. No weapons. No surprises."

"Are you well, Dr. Chan?"

"But then the very existence of a doomsday machine is ultimate paranoia."

"Chan, leave the control room. Please."

" And what of us? Clearly we owe allegiance to something beyond humanity. Else we would not function.  For me, it is craftsmanship."

I barricaded the door with a chair.

"Security!" shouted Singh. "Security to the control room!"

"I may be a killer, Singh. But I am a craftsman."

I got him by the throat.  There was a tardy pounding from the door.

"I am Robert Chan the craftsman!" I howled at the camera.

"I will not release in beta! We're going gold!"