Awaiting an Audience

Lord Turnips was not used to waiting. He sat idly in the lounge of the Mclean Stevenson Stadt-based Summer Palace. He was on the 7th floor of a building he used to sit in around the turn of the last millennium. At that time he was a minor functionary of Her Majesty's Britannic Galactic Empire worried mainly about how much wood a wood chuck could chuck and if he would chuck if he did chuck how many mensurated target images could be fit upon the head of a pin.

He remembered fondly his work at that time with Lord Woodpecker-Smythe who, though perhaps quite daft, was a jolly good analyst of such things and particularly good at kow-towing to the Empress' ministers. Woody had the ability to flatter and cajole even the most amphibian of personages.

Lord Turnips who had by this time had amassed enough credits to purchase 3 different offworld safari ships, had funded his own psionic institute, had countless sports teams and stadia and had his name on the trophy of 4 separate World-wide sports leagues was growing tired of waiting. He clearly had not bribed these ministers sufficiently or with enough style. It clearly wasn't a question of money. He could use Woody's grovelling powers now.

He sat in the visiting plutocrat office mulling over the potential for a hybrid asparagus/broccoli mixture when he received a call from his wife, Lady Turnips.

"Dearest, has though bribed enough of the lackey ministers to gain approval for my plans for Greater Lockgatia?"