The Rise of the Speaker

by Pete Driscoll

  “We have a military; we just need to do better.” I answered

  “With all due respect, Mr Speaker, you have an army, not a military. And without one, you cannot hope to do any better.”

  I considered this for a long time, General Levy being kind enough to remain quiet while I thought, “I have never liked the idea of putting men in a position where they could be hurt,” I finally answered, “I have seen combat, or at least a small example of it at the Battle of Harlan. I am not ashamed to say that it was the singular most terrifying experience of my life. I saw carnage that day that I could never have imagined before, the thought of sending my own citizens into that…” I shuddered at the memory. “I don’t know if I could ask my people to do that, and even if I could, do you think any would volunteer?”

  “I cannot speak to your hesitancy to recruit soldiers,” the General answered after considering his reply, “I have also seen combat, I still get the nightmares, but do I think that people would volunteer for the military? Absolutely! There are large numbers of your citizens who came to Atlantia straight from careers in the military, life in the armed forces is all they know, and they would jump at the chance to continue their chosen profession in defence of their new home. With your technology, there has to be a way of placing men on the front lines whilst minimising the risk to their lives, I have heard rumours of advanced body armour, or even holograms, maybe that would reduce the risk. But what I can say with certainty is that the Spartans are a brute force instrument, eventually you are going to come up against an enemy where brute force is not going to be enough. If you don’t have a functioning military in place by then…”

  He didn’t need to finish his sentence.

  There was no denying the logic of his argument. “Well, General Levy…” I said, standing from my chair and offering my hand to the General as he stood to mirror me, “…I would like to offer you a job.”

  Chapter 31

  Intervention

  It was an awful day; as warm and tropically humid as Atlantia was all year round, the spring months between March and June always saw the island battered by the edges of the tropical storms and hurricanes that ravaged the Caribbean. Torrential rain, gale-force winds and storms surges hammered away at the north and western coasts with the storm front regularly reaching as far inland as the capital.

  The entire nation – with the exception of Sanctuary Island – was ringed by a massive and shallow artificial reef; Alice had hoped that it would eventually attract the quantities of Coral seen off the Australian coast and form a new natural habitat both on the reef itself and in the lagoon within. The reef served another purpose though, breaking up the enormous waves that plagued the deep ocean around the island, forcing them to crest and then dissipate a mile out to sea and preventing any serious damage to the low-lying mainland areas. A 15ft high wave might not seem much in the open ocean, but it could wreak havoc if it hit a residential area of the coast.

  I had always joked – with Maria mostly – that I felt like I was solar powered; usually feeling much more positive about life when the sun was shining. On days like today – with its black clouds and a relentless downpour - I felt my patients straining and my ability to see things objectively limited. It was bad timing then, when my office phone rang.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Speaker,” a serious sounding woman said on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry to bother you, but an issue has come up in congress that requires your attention.”

  “Can it wait?” I asked, sounding a little gruffer than I had intended. The paperwork for the UN debate was endless and the approaching deadline was giving me that feeling of urgency that came with important and time sensitive tasks.

  “I’m afraid not,” the woman answered, “Not unless you have urgent business to attend to elsewhere.”

  As time sensitive as the UN paperwork was, it wouldn’t qualify as ‘urgent’ in the same way as something like the Kampala attack had been. Ultimately, my duties to the senate came before my potential duties to the UN.

  “Tell the congress that I will be with them shortly. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Mr Speaker.”

  “Alice?” I called into the empty room as I picked up my coat and checked my appearance.

  “Yes, Marcus.” She answered, fading into existence near the office’s bank of monitors.

  “any idea why I’m being called before congress?”

  “legislation on women’s reproductive rights is being debated and has reached an impasse.”

  I spun round to look at Alice incredulously. “you’re joking, right?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m being called away from the UN application paperwork to solve an issue that should be a no-brainer… I thought women rights were already laid down in the codex?”

  “they are, but some senators got enough votes in congress to bring the topic up for a new debate. Technically it falls under domestic law, so it is within their remit.”

  “Fuck sake...” I muttered to myself after turning my attention away from Alice and satisfying myself that I had everything I needed, “Fine! Then, I guess I’m going to Congress.”

  The Atlantian guard – the equivalent of the US Secret Service – insisted that I left the Speaker’s Tower in one of two ways; in the chariot, or in a heavily armoured SUV convoy. I may have been safe from my own people, but my views on certain subjects and my relationship with the US had painted something of a target on my back. The only exception to these two methods of travel were the times – like now – when I was required to travel the short distance to the Senate.

  The national mall was four miles from end to end, the tower at the northern end, the Senate on the south and the Halls of Justice in the middle. During construction - with regular travel between these locations foreseen – a secure carbonite tunnel was installed a few meters beneath the surface with a small, golf cart shaped tram quickly able to transport someone between the three offices of the National government. Sentried by Atlantian Guards at each stop, it was the quickest and easiest way for me to honour my summons to the people’s congress. The Journey from the tower to the senate took exactly five minutes.

  Stepping off the tram and ascending the stairs, I emerged into the Speaker’s chambers; a small square office behind the main auditorium where I could conduct business while at the Senate, it was obviously not used very often but I couldn’t deny its usefulness. My appearance here was slightly different in protocol than the last time I had spoken before the Senate for my pre-war speech a few months earlier. In that instance, it had been me calling the session, meaning that the Senators were basically there to listen, I had been stood at the podium and addressed the council from there.

  This time, however, they had summoned me, which meant that the podium would be replaced with a simple dark wooden desk and chair from where I would listen to all sides of the debate before making my ruling. The Speaker’s decision was final in matters like these so each side often spent an inordinate amount of time laying down their argument before the opposing side presented theirs, then they each would counter and debate the elements of their oppositions presentation before I was finally expected to make my ruling.

  These instances had only occurred a few times in Atlantia’s brief history. The most recent of which had been a debate on gun ownership, with predominantly-former-American citizens decidedly in favour of the idea, and pretty much everybody else against it. In that case I had decided that there was no legitimate reason for civilians to own firearms; the police, with Alice’s help, were doing an outstanding job in countering crime – violent crime especially was almost non-existent – and hunting had already been outlawed as part of the natural conservation efforts. The issue before that was simply to decide on the design of the Atlantian flag, not exactly a polarising issue but Congress couldn’t come to a consensus and protocol was enacted.

  Everyone rose to their feet as I entered the auditorium; a tradition which I despised. I couldn’t tell you
how or when it started, but It had quickly become a requirement on formal occasions such as this and anyone not participating – even as a form of political protest, which was definitely allowed – was given a stern reprimand by the political standards agency, the office tasked with maintaining moral and ethical standards within the political establishment, not policing etiquette when I entered a room. I had argued with them about this fact more times than I could count, but they had insisted that showing respect for the Speaker’s office was expected of politicians and flatly refused to overturn it. I didn’t have the authority to make them, so I had to live with the embarrassment and discomfort of a standing ovation wherever I went.

  Mercifully, the applause quickly died down as I took my seat. Two Senators stood on either side of an aisle leading from the main doors to my desk, these two people had been nominated by their respective camps to present the arguments for their side. With no official political parties in Atlantia, the division of senators usually came down to which side of a political argument they fell so opponents on one issue could find themselves as allies on the next. It was messy, but it worked.

  Senator Malina Nvindi – a striking woman of Indian birth – spoke first, her thick accent echoing around the halls from the microphone in front of her. “Mr Speaker. May I start by thanking you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to help us deal with this matter, I know the upcoming presentation to the UN is taking up much of your time at the moment and I think I can speak for all senators when I say how much we all appreciate the hard work you are putting into that endeavour.” I nodded respectfully as another round of applause rippled through the room.

  Flattery gets you nowhere in politics

  “The senator here…” she gestured to the white haired, stony looking man to her right, “… has chosen this time to revisit the issue of women’s reproductive rights, a subject that has been settled in Atlantian law since the foundation of the legal codex. My faction is strongly opposed to the tabled proposition limiting those rights, a proposition that would restrict access to abortions, contraception and medical interventions to all women on reproductive issues without a doctor’s approval. We are simply advocating for the law to remain as it is.”

  “I am inclined to agree, Senator.” I replied, “I have been brought up to speed regarding the proposed changes to the current legislation…” this was true, Alice had filled me in on the short ride over here, “…and I must say, I’m not impressed. So, Senator…” I said, turning my attention to the second senator, “…you’ve got a long way to go before you convince me that the state has any authority whatsoever over the bodies of our female citizens!”

  Senator Julian Beaufort had been a Baptist preacher in a previous life, having travelled to Atlantia to ‘spread the good word’, he had found a less than receptive audience. With current and irreversible statute expressly guaranteeing the separation of church and state – meaning that there could be no religious interference in the political running of the nation – he had dropped the title of reverend and gotten himself elected to congress. His primary mission, albeit one doomed to failure, was to reverse that - and many other - statutes allowing, what he called, ‘the salvation of the Atlantian experiment’. It was safe to say that I didn’t like Senator Beaufort and – between his political opinions, my unnecessary summons to congress over such an irrelevant issue, the pressures of the UN meeting and the weather, I was in a bad mood.

  “Mr Speaker,” He started, the disdain in his voice at the use of my title was obvious to all; apparently the Senator wasn’t too fond of me either, “your disregard for the spiritual welfare of your people is well known…” The hairs on my neck stood up immediately and a member of the Political standards agency stepped forward to berate the Senator before I stopped them with a raise of my hand, and nodded for the senator to continue, “but the murder of innocent babies in their mothers’ wombs is one sin we cannot abide!”

  I held my hand up again and the Senator immediately stopped talking. I turned to address the Overseer, she maintained order in the congress and ensured that all debates and protocols were followed properly – the US and UK governments called that role ‘the Speaker of the house’, but that title had already been taken. The Overseer was also the font of all legal knowledge. “Madam Overseer, what is the legal definition of murder?”

  “the unlawful taking of one life by another.” She answered almost immediately, Stephanie Grace was the second highest political authority in the country - second only to me – and her grasp of the legal codex was legendary.

  “and when does a person’s life begin?”

  “at birth.” Overseer Grace answered plainly.

  “Right,” I said, returning my attention back to the now red-faced senator, “so the concept of a murder being committed against an unborn child is – legally speaking – nonsense.”

  “Legally speaking, maybe.” The Senator boomed, falling back into the preacher tone of voice he was famous for. “But what about spiritually speaking?”

  “Spiritualism and other superstitions have no place in the law, or in the political administration of this country.” I answered bluntly.

  “And yet murder is a crime!” Beaufort preached as if he was standing in his church, “stealing is a crime! If spirituality has no place in the law, then tell me, Mr Speaker, why does every civilised legal code in the world – Atlantia’s included – almost exactly follow the ten commandments laid down in the holy bible?”

  “Because moral authority is not acquired from a book!” I boomed back, raising my voice to match his, “need I remind you, Senator, that the vast majority of crimes in our legal codex are not in your bible; the holding and selling of slaves is legal in the bible, so is rape; which is not only allowed, but encouraged, the victims being forced to marry their attacker. Maybe our sports players would be interested to know that – under the laws of the bible – they should be stoned to death for touching the skin of a dead animal. I hope you are wearing socks, Senator, because those shoes look a lot like they are made of leather! Would you like me to go on?”

  “The bible is the moral compass by which all of mankind are led to salvation!” the Senator raged, his face becoming even more flush. This was not a man used to being challenged. “this is a nation of sinners! the teachings of the bible have already been precluded from schools, robbing our children of the word of god. The bible is now relegated to cultural studies,” his disgust with this fact clear to all. “how can our children ever expect to find salvation if their access to the bible is limited? And now we are expected to stand by and allow the murder of thousands of god’s unborn children, well we say no! The bible says…”

  “the bible is a work of fiction, written by the members of a nomadic tribe thousands of years ago!” I cut him off. “But even if it was true – even if it was the word of god - the book you read is a translation of a translation of a translation of a translation, so you don’t have the slightest clue what the original message was! So, pretending you can garner any moral authority from it whatsoever is a level of wishful thinking more dangerous than I can fathom! More than that, if you need a book to tell you what is right or wrong, if you need the bible - with all its atrocities - to judge morality then – at the very least - you are in the wrong line of work!”

  “Well, never have I been more insulted in…”

  “I am not finished!” I rose from my seat and stared down at the Senator. “Words to the Wise, Mr Beaufort; Being free to speak your mind does not mean you will win the argument! … The citizens of this country have rights, and yes; one of those rights is the freedom of worship. That means that you, and every other Atlantian citizen, is free to follow and pray to whichever deity they wish. What you – or they – do not have the right to do, is to force those beliefs on others! If one of our Muslim senators stood here today extolling the virtues of Sharia law, you would be the first one to point that fact out! Our citizens have the right to live their lives without archaic superst
itions dictating how they live their lives and what they can or cannot do, especially when it comes to their own bodies!

  “That is why there is the separation of church and state…” I went on, delivering a sermon of my own. “… so that people like you…” I pointed an accusing finger at the shrinking old man, “…cannot wield unnecessary, unwanted and undeserved levels of power over other people’s lives and use god as your excuse to do it! Now, I have said this before, but obviously you weren’t paying attention so I will repeat myself… There is not and will not be any place for religion of any kind at any level of government. If you don’t agree with that, if you don’t like it, if you think the opposite should be true… THEN THAT IS TOO BAD! There are plenty of misogynistic institutions, defined by archaic laws and superstitions in the world, if it means that much to you, go and work for one of them! But – just so I am crystal clear – if the day ever comes when I do start using a work of fiction to define this country, I’ll at least make sure it is a good one!” I sat back down with a huff. “I hear Dickens is pretty insightful.”

  The Senator just stood there for a few moments, at some point in his tirade he had stepped from behind his desk and was now standing in the middle of the floor between the house and my desk. He sheepishly returned to his seat.

  “Now,” I said after I had caught my breath. “just to ensure that the entirety of the argument hasn’t been lost in Mr Beaufort’s religious nonsense, let me start by asking the Senator a question.” His eyes shot nervously up to mine, “Mr Senator, how many abortions have you had?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How many abortions have you had?”

  “My wife would never…”

  “No… not your wife, Senator… you.”

  He looked confused by the question. “Err… none… obviously.”