When Bert and Stephen entered the room, three other governors approached them. This trio consisted of Joshua Williams, the heavyset governor of Bull, the Shark governor, a seemingly ancient man named Joseph Wilson, and Samuel Alvarez, the dashingly handsome governor of Bat, who at twenty-six was the youngest of the current governors. Bert’s conversation with these men was very brief as the approach of the Scarab governor rendered them silent.
Drew Beardsley, governor of the state of Scarab, was a disquieting middle-aged man whose features could only be described as corpselike. His gaunt form was practically lost in his red and black kimono, and his complexion was creepily waxen. “On behalf of the people of Scarab, I wish you all a prosperous year,” he rasped in a phlegmy voice, his icy blue eyes falling on each man in turn.
Just as Governor Beardsley was moving away, the Federation anthem began to ring out, heralding the arrival of the president. The governors quickly moved to stand before their appropriate seats. One seat had no one standing before it, an unusual, but not especially distressing, occurrence. The throbbing of hidden machinery pulsed through the Summit House, and a fair-sized circular portion of floor at the center of the ring of chairs irised open. Out of this opening rose a large, intricate throne made of gold, upon which was seated Hannah Foley-Lott, President of The Democratic Federation of States.
The president was a venerable woman with sharp hazel eyes set deeply in a profoundly wrinkled but authoritative face. Her snowy white hair was kept stylishly short, as was tradition for female presidents. She wore an elegant kimono of red, and her claw-like hands were clutched around a katana housed in a black lacquered saya, a type of wooden sheath. This unassuming weapon had belonged to Geoffrey Badeaux, Founding Father of the Federation, and was the traditional symbol of presidential power. She was beloved by the citizens she served, and even after nearly fifty years of service in various political offices, her approval rating was still remarkably high.
Next to the president’s throne stood a strikingly lovely heavyset woman with chestnut colored eyes, long, inky black hair, and olive-hued skin who was dressed in a white kimono with saffron accents. Encircling the president’s throne were ten rangers wearing emerald kimonos with katanas in brown sayas tucked behind their silken black obis. These men and women were members of the Sleeping Dragons, the president’s personal guard, and all of them were conditioned from birth to be extremely accomplished warriors and to lay down their life for the president without an inkling of hesitation.
The Summit House was completely silent as the president stood, held her katana down by her left hip, and laid her right hand over her heart, “Welcome to this, the eight hundred ninth High Summit, to be commenced on this, the seventeenth of June, 3164. As our ancestors did before us, we gather in this great metropolis, beneath this ancient dome of white, to express the wishes of the people and use all of our faculties to fulfill them as fully and justly as possible. Governors of the Democratic Federation of States, I bid thee welcome.”
The end of the president’s introductory speech marked the point at which the governors could be seated, and they quickly did so, remaining as quiet as possible as they settled into their chairs.
“It’s good to see you all again,” President Foley-Lott greeted in a brisk, strong voice relatively unaffected by age, “I would like to start by giving Doctor Bianchi the floor so that she may make an announcement on my behalf.”
The woman standing beside the throne bowed to the president with a dancer’s grace. Doctor Racheal Bianchi was the president’s personal physician in addition to being the governor of Rabbit, the location of the Federation’s sole medical research facility and school of medicine. The woman straightened and turned to her fellow governors with a solemn expression.
“It’s my sad duty to inform the -assembled governors that Hannah Foley-Lott, our glorious president, is not long for this world. Her wondrous person has decided to allow her body to pass into death,” she revealed.
The president spoke, the governors giving her their undivided attention, “I don’t doubt this comes as a shock to all of you, and I know you realize my life could easily be prolonged, but I’ve made up my mind. My time has come, and I’m ready to rest.”
Racheal quickly moved to the empty seat, above which hung a yellow flag emblazoned with a white rabbit, and sat while the governors reflected on this news. The president allowed this reprieve to continue for a short time before continuing.
“The Truth decrees,” she said, “that upon my death, one of you will be elected president, a position you will hold until either you resign, are impeached, or pass away. I’ll have the official laws governing the election downloaded to your Cells so that you may familiarize yourselves with them. Also, until a new president is elected all of you will remain in office as governors unless extenuating circumstances necessitate your removal from office. Understand that no person not presently under this dome is to know of this turn of events. I will personally announce my decision to the public in due time. Other than that, I suppose the last thing I must do is wish all the candidates the best of luck.”
She then settled more comfortably in her throne, a throne that was soon to be passed to a successor, laid the katana across her lap, and clasped her hands together, “Now, let’s move on with the rest of the summit. I’m sure we have a lot of business to tend to, so let’s not waste any more time.”
#
Nearly three weeks later, the governors emerged from the Summit House after a nearly non-stop session of proposals, arguments, and compromise. An exhausted Abraham Floyd was making his way towards his transport when Bert and Stephen came jogging up beside him.
“So, you two will be voting for each other, then?” Abraham asked.
“Of course. How will you be voting, if you don’t mind me asking?” Stephen countered.
“I’m not quite sure yet,” Abraham admitted.
Further conversation was cut off by the approach of a fourth party. Dermot Blackwell, Governor of Mustang, was a short, portly man with a ruddy complexion and curly golden hair. An arrogant smile crossed his face and his beady blue eyes sparkled as he bowed low, his brown sleeves dragging on the ground. He straightened, his expression insultingly smug. “That was some summit, if I do say so myself. An interesting turn of events, right?” he remarked, his tone blatantly patronizing.
“You’re quite right, Governor Blackwell,” Abraham agreed, his demeanor becoming standoffish.
“It looks as if we’re to be opponents in this glorious contest. I know it’s improper to be happy about the death of a president, but this is an incredible opportunity. Imagine it, me as the president!” Dermot effused.
Stephen eyed Dermot warily, “Let’s be sure and remember that the president of the Federation is the servant of the people, and not some self-serving tyrant.”
Dermot put up his hands in defense, “Be calm, governor. I hope that, despite my somehow offending your legendary sense of justice, I can count on your vote in the upcoming election.”
After bowing again, Dermot moved away slowly, his expression still patronizing.
“I’d be careful, Stephen,” Abraham warned, “that man could suspend your state’s transport privileges, or worse.”
Stephen snorted, “The only thing that man’s competent enough to accomplish unassisted is wetting himself. Blackwell’s nothing more than an impotent, power-hungry fool. I fear him no more than I’d fear a newborn baby. Now, we were discussing votes?”
“I’m still undecided, but I’m certain the winner will be one of you two. However, if either of you end up sitting on the golden throne, you must promise to do right not only by me, but by all the worthy citizens of the Federation.”
“We planned on doing that before you asked,” Bert assured him with a smile.
“Oh geez! Sorry, you two, but I gotta head out. Promised pater I’d stop by for a friendly visit, or something resembling one, at any rate,” Stephen suddenly informed his companions.
; “Best of luck to you on that,” Bert said, “But I’ll still see you this weekend, right?”
“Of course, and tell Angelina she’s got one super-incredible surprise coming from her Uncle Stephen,” Stephen replied.
After handshakes and parting pleasantries were exchanged, Stephen hurried to his air transport.
Once they were alone, Abraham looked to Bert. “I didn’t want to say this in front of him, but I’m strongly considering Stephen for my vote,” he admitted.
“That so?” Bert asked.
“I hope you’re not offended by this. I truly think you’d make a great president, and I count you as one of my dearest friends. My issues lie with your father. Frederic’s still a good friend, a good man, for the most part, and deep down he truly believes his cause to be just, but so long as he remains set on continuing his feud with the Fulsoms, I simply cannot in good conscious give him even the slightest chance at using presidential power for his foolishness. I know Stephen’s in the same boat as you, but his father’s much weaker than Frederic and would never be able to sway him. You’re not a weakling, by any means, but Frederic’s nothing short of a force of nature when he sets his sights on something.”
After a long silence, Bert nodded, “I get it, Abraham, I really do, and I’m not even remotely offended. Father’s let this feud go too far, and he would definitely try to manipulate me into giving him presidential favors. The sad thing is, he’d probably succeed. You’re right to say he always gets what he wants, and I have a nasty habit of caving to him. And besides, Stephen’s ten times the man I am.”
“Bert–”
“Dammit, Abraham, I’m not a child. I know I’m a standup guy, but, c’mon, Stephen’s one of the best men alive. There’s so much good in him, he could create a utopia just by sneezing, and countless people love him with all their being, myself included. To be honest, I’d been shocked if you hadn’t said Stephen was your pick,” Bert declared.
“Thank you for understanding, but, like I said, I’m not entirely decided yet,” Abraham said.
“Maybe so, but I promise I won’t blame you for picking Stephen,” Bert assured the man while giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder, “In fact, I pretty much insist on it.”
ELEVEN
As midnight approached, the streets of West Chieftown were virtually devoid of life. After departing from Federal City, Stephen had come to town to visit his father, and as soon as he arrived at the Fulsom mansion, his father began haranguing him. The man reminded Stephen of his obligation to his family and insisted it was his duty to use his political power to aid them in any way possible, which included helping destroy the Von Rabens. Stephen had retorted with harsh words, and before their exchange became too heated, his father had sent him out to fetch Richard, who had been out all evening. Alexander had given the Lux-car a very specific address, and once the vehicle had arrived at said address, Stephen was surprised and puzzled to find it was a gloomy alley running between two derelict warehouses. He exited the vehicle, stepped cautiously into the alley, and once his eyes had fully adjusted to the gloom, he spotted his twin brother sitting slumped against a large metal waste bin.
A reflexive torrent of loathing coursed through Stephen’s veins as he looked upon his twin. Richard was a mockery of every single good thing that Stephen upheld. While Stephen spent his days striving to be a good politician, a personable and law-abiding citizen, and contribute to society, Richard wasted his time with his moronic friends, countless lovers, an unending pursuit of worldly pleasure, and feuding with the Von Rabens. A vast majority of the citizens of West Chieftown feared and despised Richard as he often treated them with heartless and casual cruelty, claiming it to be his right as their societal better to do so. On the other hand, Stephen’s generous and caring nature had earned him the reverence of virtually every citizen in the Federation, although he was far too humble to let this reverence affect him beyond anything more than a sense of deep gratitude for their affections.
As Stephen approached his brother, Richard ponderously lifted his head and hollered, “I told ya to git outta here!”
Stephen was glaring down at his brother when he was suddenly overtaken by the classic sensation of being observed. He glanced back over his shoulder and noted nothing but a small, shadowy alcove featuring a nondescript, rusty metal door set into the side of the warehouse. Ignoring the unsettling sensation, he resumed glaring at his brother and barked, “What’re you doing?!”
Richard looked to him, his eyes bleary as he tried desperately to focus, “Oh! Thought you was someone else! Hiya, Big Brother! Care fer a drink?!” His words were a mess of ponderous and slurred pronunciations.
“A drink of what?”
“It’s against the Truth, our highest of laws, to consume mind influencin’ substances for pleasure. A shame, really. Inebriation’s incredibly relaxin’.”
“You’ve been drinking alcohol?! I won’t even bother telling you how much trouble you’ll be in if you get caught! If?! I really should say ‘when.’ Any ranger’d spot you a mile away! You’re acting like a jackass, and you smell atrocious! Is that urine?!” Stephen asked, his face twisted with disgust.
“I’ll have you know I pissed myself hours before I got drunk, and I was completely sober when I did it,” Richard lisped before collapsing into wild, uninhibited laughter.
Stephen gritted his teeth and fought to keep himself from physically attacking his brother in a rage. “Save your lame attempts at humor, Richard. Pater sent me here to bring you home. He’s completely fed up with you.”
“I suppose he knows ‘bout the assassination attempt I paid quite a bit of money fer. Fuggin’ Von Rabens smelled it out easy, so I think I’ll use a different service next time. Damned Rodger Van Camp, man makes infants weep in shame!” Richard griped.
“Nonetheless, it’s time to go home. On your feet,” Stephen commanded.
With a groan, Richard struggled to his feet and for a few seconds stood swaying on wobbly legs. Then, like a collapsing building, he crashed to the ground, landing face-down in an ungainly sprawl. Stephen took hold of Richard’s upper arms and hauled him to his feet.
Supporting himself on his brother’s shoulder, Richard groaned, “It coulda been worse, Big Brother. I coulda been born without legs to stand on.”
Stephen did not reply and resumed gritting his teeth as he helped his brother to the waiting Lux-car.
#
Matilda 0986SK had the distinction of being the longest-serving employee on Alexander Fulsom’s house staff. She was four hundred fifteen years old, also making her one of the oldest SIRs still in operating order. On her four hundredth birthday, Alexander had promoted her to head of the house staff, which meant she simply wandered the house and made sure the lesser servants did their jobs properly. She often busied herself by training the new house staff, which was just what she was doing when Stephen escorted his intoxicated brother into the mansion.
“I know it is difficult to do at night, but make sure you get these windows spotless. The master often watches the sun rise from this very spot,” Matilda instructed.
The person receiving instruction was a twenty-nine year old woman by the name of Pauline, a beautiful but timid woman of slight build with a pale complexion and a cascade of fiery red hair that tumbled down her back in waves, at least when it was not tied back during work hours. Her face was as pretty and perfect as a doll’s, although it was tight with apprehension at the moment. The set of windows she was washing were adjacent to Alexander’s private office, from which his voice thundered.
“We were instructed by the White Spider to wait for our window of opportunity!” he raged.
Richard raged back, “That window’ll never come! All kinds of opportunities are available, but you’d rather take advice from a crime boss callin’ himself the White Spider! For fuck’s sake, he sounds like a fuckin’ cartoon supervillain!”
“You were an idiot to hire Rodger Van Camp!” Alexander blasted.
Richard
now spoke in a more subdued tone, and yet he was somehow more ominous than if he were shouting, “I won’t stand here and let you to insult me, pater!”
Alexander maintained his angry bellowing, “You put the wellbeing of me and my corporation in jeopardy, then have the nerve to come into my presence, completely drunk, no less, and tell me how I should run things?! I want you out of my sight immediately! Go on, get out of here!”
Pauline had stopped wiping the windowpanes and was staring in shock at Alexander’s office door.
“One of the most important things you will learn during your time here is the ability to tune out those things you were never supposed to hear,” Matilda imparted, “Now, step away from those windows so we can have a look at your work.”
Again from the office came Richard’s steely voice, “I try to give this family a chance to build a better future, and you scream at me like I was a fuckin’ child! No, worse than that, you scream at me like I was one of your miserable fuckin’ servants, some lowborn scumbag for you to whip and abuse! If you plan on lettin’ the entire Federation walk all over you, then I give you my best wishes!”
A second later, the office door slammed open with a tremendous crash, and a crimson-faced Richard stormed into the hall, his progress impeded by a noticeable swaying. Pauline was just stepping away from the windows, and before she realized what was happening, she backed into Richard. She faced the man and tried desperately to stammer an apology. Matilda looked on in horror and revulsion as Richard ferociously backhanded her across the face and watched her fall to the floor, where she started to sob quietly.
“Stupid little cunt!” he growled as he forcefully stomped down on the back of Pauline’s right hand with the heel of his boot, giving it a savage twist as it connected with her flesh.
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