Moderate figures on both sides of the house have worked with the President to implement policies aiming to provide a safety net for the needy, and encourage responsible business activity, in the greatest change to the American political landscape since Roosevelt and the New Deal.
The electorate is responding to this twenty first century version of the New Deal and moderates - those politicians who have shown they can work across the political divide for the benefit of their constituents - have prospered. Extremists across the nation who have shown no willingness to compromise have been tipped out of office.
This sea change in the political landscape seems to have caught pollsters by surprise, because few of them predicted this result. Extreme Chumpism was fully expected to prevail. Despite his backtracking on election promises, his maverick, no-nonsense style appealed to a wide swathe of the electorate and it was thought they would send a message of support by voting for extreme candidates.
While pollsters and political pundits are still trying to work out why their predictions were so far out, one thing is clear. Young people - those under thirty - and minorities have voted in droves now they have come to realise that their votes will count.
This vote represents the beginning of the end for partisan politics, the dawn of a new era with a more modern, centrist outlook, and a denunciation of extreme right-wing Libertarian views and the loony left.
While this might result in greater taxation and more rules and regulations, it is not necessarily bad for business. This evolution will also lead to a more modern approach to funding healthcare, education, and other welfare spending.
We will have more information about the winners and losers in this election as it comes to hand, and what this means for the average American.
And now, the weather..
Seventeen
Long before they got close to it, Mahmoud could see the roof of a large stadium towering above the surrounding buildings. Apart from the government complex housing the senate, this structure was the largest building he had encountered in Sietnuoc, and he knew this was just one of many similar arenas dotted about the city.
This struck him as being rather odd now he considered it. Apart from the senate, the vast spaceport, the administrative buildings, and these stadiums, no other large buildings existed in the city. There were no places of worship to be found, no busy shopping or town centres, no large apartment blocks, and he belatedly realised there was no sign of any industrial or commercial activity either.
Where was the business of commerce conducted in this city? The city was a vast residential dormitory made up of low rise apartment blocks and larger detached houses like the one he and his neighbours had been assigned. Most of these lay empty, maintained by millions of maintenance robots. These service units ranged in size from small devices which kept the kitchen floor clean, to huge pieces of equipment capable of extruding a large house in one go, like a chicken laying an egg.
The oversupply of housing and the vast emptiness of this large city made him wonder where all the indoSkidians were. He knew they were very thin on the ground, but he expected to see many more of them given the size of the cities. He had attempted to ask this question of Lake many times but had never been able to articulate it. He had thought the comment ‘the entire population of the planet will be in attendance’ was an exaggeration and was really meant to be interpreted as: 'many indoSkidians would be attending the event'. He’d soon find out.
The closer they got to the stadium, the more indoSkidians they encountered, hurrying in the same direction, stepping off conveyors and escalators, rising to the surface from the mouths of tunnels which emerged from the ground seemingly at random, or converging from side streets. It reminded him of the images he’d seen of vast crowds streaming towards the European football stadiums.
Like most men in his village, he followed the big European football competitions, and they all had favourite teams they staunchly supported. He was still following the progress of his side, Manchester United, on his Book. His passion was another troubling anomaly he found difficult to reconcile, given his hatred of the British crusaders.
A group of elderly indoSkidians, who wore large white coats over the flowing robes the indoSkidians usually wore, attempted to get their party to submit to a bag search at the entrance to the stadium. The offworlder called Bruce waved them aside imperiously and they continued on their way. None of them had bags anyway.
Mahmoud was still trying to work out who the offworlder was and what his status was. One thing was for sure: all the indoSkidians deferred to him, even Lake.
After entering the main concourse Bruce paused, and spoke to Lake, which resulted in Lake taking Little Bruce’s hand.
“Now you be a good boy for Uncle Lake, and don’t play up, like you did with your mother this morning,” Bruce told the boy, gave him affectionate pat on the head, then disappeared down a set of stairs into the bowels of the stadium.
The boy stared up at Lake with a solemn look on his face. Lake had an equally bemused expression. Then they swapped conspiratorial grins and Lake hoisted the boy onto his shoulders and they all took an escalator to the next floor and exited onto another vast concourse above the field.
Mahmoud thought the field looked remarkably like a football pitch, though the line markings were slightly different, and so were the net-less ‘H’ shaped goal posts at either end. He now wondered if the indoSkidian ‘event’ was some form of football, and felt his pulse quicken in anticipation. If it was like football, then maybe his son could play for one of the teams and eventually become a superstar.
It was a fantasy of his, for his son to become a professional footballer when they got to the West. The money he made would set the family up for life. Mahmoud hadn’t shared this dream with his son yet, but maybe he could realise his ambition on this planet, far from home. Surely, he thought, as the chief organiser of the events, he could pull a few strings and make this happen.
“Come with me, Mahmoud,” Lake said, intruding on his fantasy. “We have the privilege of the best view in the entire stadium.” Lake led Mahmoud and the boy into a vast suite cantilevered out over the seats below. It provided a bird’s eye view of the field, which was a breath-taking sight.
Mahmoud gazed around the vast stadium. He thought it could easily seat fifty or sixty thousand fans, possibly more, but there was only a sprinkling of people in the seats so far.
“Where are all the indoSkidians?” he asked, as they settled into their own seats. “There is hardly anyone here.”
Lake hesitated and had a blank look on his face. Mahmoud wondered if Lake was communicating with someone else via a network Mahmoud couldn’t access.
“There are only a few thousand of us left,” Lake began to explain. “I think most of us are here. I’d be surprised if anyone stayed away, because this is a momentous event.”
Mahmoud stared about in wonder. He knew the number of newSkidians vastly outnumbered the indoSkidians, but he had never realised there were so few of them. Yet the indoSkidians were confident in their supremacy, confident they would be able to continue their lives as a privileged ruling class. Did they not comprehend they were in danger of being overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers in every aspect of their lives?
The biggest challenge facing the newSkidians and their ability to take control of Skid’s government, Mahmoud realised, would be their diversity and inability to unite behind a single leader. It wasn’t just their different religious and cultural beliefs. Mahmoud suspected many of the other newSkidians had a completely different world view to people like himself and many of them would be content with the status quo.
He caught Lake giving him a calculating stare, as if Lake could read his mind. That wasn’t possible, was it? Could he?
“Can you explain to me what is going to happen here today?” Mahmoud asked hurriedly, to divert Lake’s attention from reading his thoughts.
“I was led to believe Stim events, or something similar, are r
elatively common on your planet. However, we Skidians have taken this art form to a new level of sophistication,” Lake explained proudly.
Mahmoud searched Lake’s face for any indication Lake was having fun at his expense. But, he realised Lake was deadly serious. He surveyed the field and searched for some clues to help him decide if Stim was a form of football. What had initially sounded like some form of ritual or carefully choreographed ceremony was now clearly a sporting event, even though it wasn't described as such. Given the passionate discussion about teams and their history he had just witnessed, Stim was clearly important to the indoSkidians. Maybe it was a modern extension of the inter-tribal warfare which existed in this society in the past, and maybe not even on Skid, maybe somewhere else in the universe entirely. Maybe on Earth.
To Mahmoud the indoSkidians were very similar to humans in almost every way: they looked a little different for sure, they were much larger in stature for a start. Even with his lack of education, he thought it was unlikely two sentient races of very similar beings could develop at either end of the galaxy at the same time. Unless God had ordained it, which, whatever the indoSkidians thought about religion, wasn’t out of the question for Mahmoud.
Mahmoud, the boy, and Lake had the large room to themselves. The rest of the Senators were taking seats out in the open terraces. There was still only a sprinkling of people in the rest of the arena, the majority of whom sat on either side of the centre line, except for the few who chose to position themselves behind the goals.
“It won’t be long now,” Lake told him, clearly excited. As he spoke, Mahmoud noticed a few men walking out towards the centre of the field. They looked back the way they had come, two of them holding small flags in their hands like a football linesman.
They were linesmen, Mahmoud realised.
“Here they come!” Lake whooped and leapt in the air as two columns of men in brightly coloured uniforms jogged onto the field below them. Mahmoud was stunned: he’d never seen the indoSkidians so excited. He turned his attention back to the field. One team wore white shorts and a jersey coloured with narrow red, yellow, and black hoops, while the other team wore black shorts and had bright yellow jerseys.
Both columns peeled off and arranged themselves in diametrically opposite patterns on either side of the halfway line.
“That looks like Bruce,” Mahmoud said, pointing at one of the players. When he looked more closely, he saw that several players looked like Bruce. However, only one of them was taking an interest in the three dogs who had decided to run around the field. “What’s he doing?”
“We don’t have enough participants to complete the team rosters, so we commissioned some androids to stand in, and modelled them on Bruce.”
“Won’t they be too strong for the indoSkidian players? Won’t the indoSkidians get injured?”
“No, we have modelled the androids on Bruce’s physiology to ensure a relatively even playing field. However, Bruce is naturally more aggressive and assertive than the average Skidian, so we have used a different model for their neural structure. “
“Is it Bruce out there?” Mahmoud pointed to the Bruce look-alike who was shouting angrily at the dogs gambolling about the field. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but whatever it was made no difference: the animals were clearly taunting him until he gave up and took his place in the line-up. With a moral victory under their belt, the dogs trotted away to the side of the field and lay down in the sun.
“Yes, he represented one of our teams in the past. He is an exceptional competitor.”
“Why...?” Mahmoud was about to ask why Bruce so different to everyone else. He came and went as he pleased, and the indoSkidians were in awe of him. What made him so special? Why couldn't Mahmoud have the same rights and privileges as Bruce?
“Daddy!” Little Bruce said, pointing at his father and interrupting Mahmoud’s thoughts.
“OK, get ready!” Lake yelled excitedly, leaning forward, and focusing his attention on the field.
Mahmoud watched one of the players place an oval ball on a tee in the centre of the field. He then addressed the ball, moved back a couple of steps, then moved forward and kicked the ball high in the air. Most of the players on the two teams converged around the spot where the ball would land. One of the taller players on the opposing team was boosted into the air and caught the ball cleanly. He was then dragged to the ground and sucked into an untidy jumble of bodies all scrapping for possession of the ball, save a few men from either side who stayed out of the action arranged in a ragged line across the field. Initially he thought the men were fighting over the ball. It was like an all-in brawl with arms and legs going everywhere, and Mahmoud was sure there would be many terrible injuries resulting from this violent behaviour.
After a few moments, the referee or umpire raised his arm, blew on a whistle, and all the bodies slowly untangled themselves. Miraculously, nobody had been injured in the pileup. They pulled each other to their feet and proceeded to pack down against each other in an odd spider-like formation which crabbed sideways across the field.
After the formation broke up and reset itself several times, Mahmoud started to wonder what was going on. Then for no obvious reason everyone seemed satisfied with the structure and it held up while one of the Bruce lookalikes, who had been juggling a ball from hand to hand, rolled it into the centre of the huddle of bodies and then scampered around behind them. Mahmoud wasn’t sure what happened afterwards and had to play the events over in his mind a couple of times.
The ball materialised in the Bruce lookalike’s hands, and he ran through a weak set of tackles, jinked one way then the next, until he was over the goal line, and ran around to dot the ball down under the posts while everyone else stood still and watched with their hands on their hips.
“I think he’s the real Bruce.”
“Daddy.” Little Bruce confirmed, pointing at his father.
Mahmoud was stunned at the display of ferocity on show as the event unfolded before him. There was more raw aggression on show than in the armed clashes he had witnessed back home when his village was being overrun by militants.
Under no circumstances was he going to encourage or allow either of his children to participate, and he couldn’t imagine any other newSkidians would either. However, when he had watched for some time, it became clear to him his first impression might have been a little off the mark. There was a lot of rough and tumble and a few stoppages to tend to bumps and bruises, but there were no serious injuries, and he could see the players seem to enjoy what they were doing. They congratulated each other when a play succeeded and even helped opposition players to get up off the ground after smashing into them.
“Did you see that? What a fantastic piece of play!” Lake shouted excitedly, after Bruce (Mahmoud assumed it was the Bruce) produced another move which bamboozled everyone else on the field and made another score under the posts. Lake was more animated than any indoSkidian Mahmoud had ever seen and, even with just the three of them in the huge suite, the atmosphere was electric. The indoSkidians like to portray themselves as being dignified and measured. However, show them a Stim event and they became every bit as emotional and excitable as the newSkidians they looked down their noses at.
“Do you understand why we believe this event is the embodiment of all that is great about Skid and what it is to be a Skidian, and why we have elevated it to be our greatest cultural achievement?” Lake didn’t wait for Mahmoud to reply. “On one hand, each move is carefully rehearsed, repeatedly, and the plays are strictly regimented. There are standard responses to any conceivable opposition play, and everyone knows what their role is. However, players are also encouraged to use their initiative when the timing in right, so you often get to witness examples of real individual brilliance shining through. This is the essence of the spectacle we are witnessing.”
“Yes, I see,” Mahmoud replied. “I can see why this is so important to the indoSkidians and must be protected at all costs,”
he added diplomatically. All he saw was Bruce running rings around indoSkidians and androids alike. Bruce was the only one on the field who was capable of displaying any form of initiative. Lake might believe that Stim was a Skidian invention, but it was clear Bruce was the real expert in this field, and it was his skills and ability on display here. Now he began to understand why the indoSkidians were a little in awe of him.
Mahmoud didn’t really understand why Stim was so important to the indoSkidians: maybe he was missing something important, but he tried to be tactful. He also worried that Lake would see that he was insincere.
How long does this last? he wondered, because he wanted to leave without causing offence.
“Do you understand now what a great honour it will be to oversee the implementation of the new league?” Lake asked, without taking his eyes off the play.
“Of course.” Mahmoud was sure there wasn’t any malicious intent in the comment, and he pretended to be suitably impressed. He tried to hide the fact he would have much preferred to watch Manchester United players display their silky skills than oversee this barbaric spectacle.
He had been leaning toward trying to make a life for him and his family on Skid. After witnessing what the Skidians held dear, he wasn’t so sure it was the right thing to do.
Eighteen
Bruce was pleased with his form in the gentle hit out with the few indoSkidian players who had survived the catastrophic famine and the android ring-ins. Tackling the androids was disconcerting, because half of them looked like him. He felt he was looking at a mirror image, and he had to take a few double-takes to remember what he was doing. However, it had been great fun.
The androids were impressive feats of bio-engineering. Their power, agility, and strength was evenly matched with their flesh and blood opponents, to avoid serious injury and ensure the event was competitive.
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