Pairing: Andy/Miranda (briefly)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I’m just taking some extremely liberties with them. No profit, just love.
Summary: The world is about to end, can anyone save us?
A/N: Happy Birthday sporkmetenderThis is for you, my deflowerer, from your Mistress D! I hope you enjoy it. I hope the non-beta quality doesn’t make you want to beat me with your rhythm stick again! (then again…second thoughts?)
A/N2: Crack ALERT!
“A piece of rock, just six miles wide, is headed directly for New York City. The asteroid, named Gaia, is due to hit on May 4th at precisely three o’clock in the afternoon.
Scientists predict that Ground Zero will be hit with the force of 10,000 nuclear weapons. A trillion tons of dirt and rock will be hurtled into the atmosphere, creating a suffocating blanket of dust that the sun will be powerless to penetrate for a thousand years…mankind will not survive.”
“Really, you think? Please, continue stating the completely obvious. You know how it fills me with confidence.”
“I’m sorry Madam President. I was simply…”
“Go; bore somebody else with your pessimistic ramblings.” President Priestly flared her nostrils as the Chief of Defence hurried from the room.
She slumped down in her chair, placing her hand against her forehead, releasing a deep sigh; she was surrounded by incompetence. Pressing the intercom button gently, so as not to damage her manicure, she spoke softly. “Emily.”
The doors to The Oval Office, swung open, Miranda could see the whites of Emily’s eyes from fifty paces; she made a mental note to ration her assistant’s caffeine intake. Emily stood with a pad and pen at the ready.
“Emily, clear all public appointments for the next forty-eight hours. Move the Executive Office meeting up to ten o’clock. Advise the Chief of Staff, that if he is not in my office in the next hour, I will personally see to it that he does not work in politics again. Charter Marine One, to pick up my wife and daughters from the Hampton’s. Advise Andrea, that I will not abide her tardiness; dinner will be at seven o’clock. Oh, and do something about this Asteroid. The Chief of Defence has informed me that it is on a direct collision course and is due to hit in less than two weeks. I want to see your solutionary proposals on my desk by lunchtime.”
Emily hadn’t looked up from her pad during the entire tirade. She had scribed the information in robot mode, it wasn’t until she allowed her eyes to scan the shorthand notes that she realised, the next few hours were going to seriously test her resolve.
Emily prayed that her voice would not betray her composure as she spoke. “Yes Madam. President.”
“Oh, and my coffee, has she gone to Brazil to fetch it?”
“I’ll get straight on to it, ma’am.”
“That’s all.” Miranda let out an exasperated sigh as Emily left the room.
Emily Charlton had a remarkable brain. She had developed a series of compartments that allowed her to store vast amounts of data and to multi-task at great speed. Combine these skills with a natural ability for anticipating changing variables, and you had the reason why she was the first choice, for the position of; assistant to the President of the United States.
Emily had been with Miranda for ten gruelling years. Through, “coming out-gate,” the Senate office, the campaign trail and now, The White House. She had dedicated her entire life to this woman. Although she knew that she would never be the first choice in Miranda’s bedroom; with the dedication came a healthy case of adoration and an slightly unhealthy case of obsession.
The world was about to end? Not bloody likely! Emily wasn’t going to let all those years graft go to waste, she wasn’t about to be parted from Miranda.
First things first, Emily needed to work through her to do list. Back at her desk, she prioritised the list in order of the ultimate, reign of fire, importance. She picked up her phone; the First Lady seemed the logical starting point.
Forty-five minutes later Emily had completed ninety percent of her tasks and was in full design mode when the Chief of Staff sauntered into the outer office.
“Hey Red.” Emily looked up, and caught herself smiling at his purple Hugo Boss suit.
“Good Morning, Nigel.”
“What’s the DEFCON level in the Oval office?” Nigel quizzed, as he examined the reading material spread across Emily’s desk.
“It’s at least a two. Have you got your protective head gear?”
“Hmmm, I’m wearing a cup.”
“How repulsive!” Emily’s lip curled in disgust.
“Fringe Physics. The definition of gravitation propulsion fields. What the hell are you reading?”
“Well, unless you have been in a coma, you should be aware that the world is about to end and as usual, I am left to fix it.” Emily sighed and placed her attention back to a copy of Astrophysics for Dummies.
One successful presentation, an approved budget proposal and surprisingly minimal, presidential lip pursing later; Emily had been given the green light. She just had to figure out which, of the moronic assistants could be seconded into her position, without causing any further melt down situations.
Emily may not have graduated from MIT or Princeton, like the recently pink-slipped science department had. But she did have a GCSE A*, in Home Economics from Farnborough school for girls; a fact, her mother frequently chose to bring up at dinner parties. That was a start, right? Besides, being a woman; meant that she had the added advantage, of being perfectly capable of reading a fucking manual.
The Astrophysics wing was unsurprisingly quiet. President Priestly had fired everyone except the cleaner and the man who announces the launch countdown. At least she could listen to her choice of play list without the usual eye rolling and judgemental whispers. What’s wrong with Billy Joel? Emily sighed and shook her head.
The delivery truck backed into the loading bay and a set of burly, unwashed men, unloaded the surplus flat pack boxes. Emily signed the consignment paper from Aircrafts R Us and dismissed the sweaty, polyester clad apes.
Zipping up the tailored cerulean boiler suit and snapping the clasp shut on her size zero tool belt, (a Christmas gift from daddy) Emily took out her newly sharpened Stanley knife, to begin opening boxes. Once the inventory check was complete, she meticulously began laying out the 270,000 parts to form the construction shell.
Armed with an Allen Key and an instruction diagram, she was just about to start constructing the cock pit when the luscious smell of a grade five Columbian blend hit her senses.
A smile spread from ear to ear on Emily’s face, as she was handed a scorching cup of coffee by Nigel.
“Sweet baby Jesus, it looks like a scene from Air Crash investigation in here. BTW, I am loving this auto-shop look, boilers suits are this season’s hottest new thing.” Nigel smirked as he looked her up and down.
“Fuck off, Nigel. This is not just any boiler suit, this is Dolce and Gabbana.”
“Do you know what you are doing here?”
Emily ran her hand through her deep red locks and sighed. “I have never once failed a task, set by Miranda Priestly. I’m not about to start now…however, I don't mean to be materialistic, but do you think I'll get hazard pay out of this?”
Nigel laughed, and left her to it.
Patience as always, was not a virtue that President Priestly owned. She had moved the launch deadline up, two days which meant Emily had to forgo any hopes of sleep and or actual food to get the job done. In a moment of carbohydrate madness, Emily had taken a bite of bagel that had been left with another coffee delivery, this time by Andrea. Damn her and her carbs!
“Are you kidding? If I eat that I’ll look like you!” Emily had spat when she saw the bag. Andy simply smiled as she left the room.
After three days the vessel was finally ready. The self designed and built, tractor beam had been tested in the lab; strength, gravitational pull and dexterity, were all good to go. Emily was now heading to the flight simulator for some final approach run-throughs. She had been listening to “Teach yourself Astronaughting” for the last twenty-four hours, on her iPod, it was no Piano Man, but she knew it wouldn’t hurt to understand the throttle engagement principles in greater detail, she was feeling pretty confident…tonight was the night.
The launch event had been pretty low key, the American press and media were all too busy reporting on world-wide panic, looting and the inhuman tactics of the National Guard, to bother turning up for the launch of another salvation attempt.
Emily walked with Nigel towards the cock pit. “It’s just bloody typical!” Emily was unable to hold back her outrage. “Yet again, I miss the limelight. I bust my size zero arse and what thanks do I get?” Emily gestured, out of ear shot to the small crowd, which included; the First Family.
“What did you expect Doll face? Did you want her to kiss you goodbye and beg you to hurry home?” Nigel handed Emily her flight helmet. “She has asked you to do your job, now go do it.”
Emily slipped her helmet on, not feeling entirely sure that having helmet hair was part of her job description! Then turned to enter what would be her new home for a few weeks.
Nigel gave her a hug and squeezed her ass playfully. “You know, you look like Evel Knievel in that outfit. Hot stuff!”
“I don’t know who you mean, I’ve never watched Star Wars.”
Nigel shook his head in disbelief. “Good luck kid.”
Yes, I’m going to need it. Emily kept her negative thoughts to herself. Her life couldn’t possibly get any worse, even if she was force-fed corn chowder.
Emily was quite enjoying the journey to space. She managed to catch up on a plethora of popular culture nuggets, by reading the entire back catalogue of Hello magazine. She had even given herself a much needed manicure, but most of all, she enjoyed the fact that she had been out of cell phone range since 15,000 feet. The peace and quiet was tremendous. It was like the holiday, that she’d been trying to take for the last ten years.
So far, everything had gone smoothly. Now all she needed to do was pull the six mile, piece of rock away from the Earth’s trajectory and save mankind. That shouldn’t be too difficult…should it?
Trigonometry had never been her strong point, but she was fairly satisfied that she had set the position at the correct angle. Emily flicked the power switch on the dashboard and the ship rumbled with some uncertainty, as the narrow rays of light shot out from the portside. She increased the polarity stream, until she felt the emitter lock with the target.
Engaging the reverse thrusters, the ship started to shake violently, and she began to regret not peeing before initiating the beam. In the past, she had gone for much longer periods than this without emptying her bladder; she could make it.
A not-so steady hand moved the control lever and the yoke, as the ship continued to pull back; Emily was sweating like a fat girl in a chocolate shop, as the nerves took hold. Alarm sirens screamed out their dissatisfaction, when small rock particles hurtled passed the hull; bouncing against and denting the re-enforced steel. I love my job, I love my job, I love my job, a sweaty Emily, repeated her internal mantra; praying that everything would hold out for another two hundred miles.
When the moment finally came, coupled with the fact that she had brought a slice a double chocolate fudge cake in a cooler box, she thought she might actually cry. Nothing states deserving, more than a piece of an 800 calorie slice of cake.
Just as Cabin fever was beginning to take hold, Emily saw the welcome strip of Cape Canaveral in her sights and breathed a huge sigh of relief. She would kill for a hot bath and a cup of tea. Pulling back on the throttle and releasing the landing gear; the drag flaps sprung into life. Finally applying the reverse thrust as the battered vessel hit the tarmac.
The welcome party was enormous, everyone cheering, for the hero of the hour. She had single-handedly saved the world. Fame and fortune would be hers for the taking, there would be high schools and airport terminals named after her.
The crowds parted, as Miranda walked towards Emily. Emily offered her hand for the professional shake of the president, but to her absolute shock and delirious pleasure Miranda pulled Emily into a tight hug and kissed her cheek. “Well done Emily. I knew you would not disappoint me.”
It had only taken a near apocalypse, but finally Emily felt she had achieved perfection.