Not to be outdone on the rhetoric side, Liberty Party mouthpieces accused Rumson of everything from having opposition politicians harassed, imprisoned, and killed during the Mieland years to financial self-dealing and corruption on a massive scale. Rumson’s media outlets reported their claims, but repeatedly called them ‘unfounded charges’ and ‘pure speculation,’ noting Rumson had never been officially charged with any wrongdoing.
Chapman himself emphasized the previous administration’s civil rights record, running through the details of the Turley government’s accounting of political activists executed, imprisoned, and ‘died while in custody.’ He railed about the economic decline of the Mieland years, contrasting median before-and-after family income and purchasing power, and pointing out the price history of meat, water, and electricity. Kitchen-table issues, economic security, and freedom from government surveillance and control were Chapman’s issues, and he pounded on them relentlessly.
For his part, Rumson himself stayed out of the gutter as well, holding aloft the high goals of the Equality Party’s platform: fairness, taxing the rich, and a broad array of social programs provided by the government to all citizens, paid for by the very wealthy. Rumson’s friends in the media avoided working through the arithmetic behind his proposals, while touting the positive benefit of such programs to the planet’s poor. Rumson also pounded on Turley’s positions, noting that ‘you can’t eat guns or drink diesel fuel’ when attacking her priorities.
Mieland himself stayed quiet, living in near-seclusion in his house in the country, after a rather pointed reminder from Turley that his amnesty from charges depended on his continued nonparticipation in politics.
To Turley’s amazement and disgust, the election could be much closer than she had assumed going in.
On a Sunday afternoon, two weeks before Election Monday, Mark Chapman held a big rally in the boulevard outside the main entrance of the Government Center. This was the same entrance where the standoff between Turley’s armor and the Mieland government had occurred four months before. The crowd filled the street, and many more watched in VR.
Such rallies always drew the party faithful, and this one was no exception. It was a raucous, happy affair. Chapman spoke for an hour and a half, and the crowd took delight in the shots he took at Rumson and Mieland in his address. His major points were not lost on the crowd.
“Mr. Rumson and his friends won in the last election, and let’s not forget it very nearly was Julian’s last election, ever, thanks to Mr. Rumson and those friends of his. Well, I’m sorry for the unexpected inconvenience, Mr. Rumson, but you’re going to have to stand for election again. So sorry.
“Look, people, your choice in this election isn’t between me and Mr. Rumson for the next five years, it’s between me for the next five years and Mr. Rumson forever. Do you doubt at all, if returned to power, he wouldn’t suspend elections again?
“That’s why we’re called the Liberty Party. One of those liberties is the right to vote. You’ll never catch us abolishing elections. They are called the Equality Party – equal poverty and equal oppression for everyone. Except Mr. Rumson and his cronies, of course. They all look pretty well-fed, actually.”
The crowd ate it up, and every one of Chapman’s zingers drew loud applause and cheers.
After his speech, Chapman walked back and forth on the stage, waving, pointing out specific friends in the crowd, and dancing a little to his close music, a popular tune from a few years back. Finally he headed down the stairs to the cars waiting behind the crowd barriers that ran out from the wings of the stage, surrounded by his bodyguards. There were a few people there, party insiders and the like, who shook hands with Chapman as he walked to his car.
As he approached his car, there was a scuffle. Some kind of disturbance. Three shots rang out, followed by screams and yells. Chapman was quickly bundled into his car, and the car sped off into the Government Center complex, the location of the nearest hospital.
Chapman’s bodyguards had a man down on the ground near where the car had been. As the crowd looked on in confusion, the bodyguards bundled this man into a Police van, and also sped off into the Government Center complex, the location of the nearest Police facility.
The crowd didn’t know whether to leave or to stay. They remained standing before the stage, unsure of what had just happened. Finally, a Liberty Party spokesman came out to the podium to tell the crowd Mark Chapman had been shot. Groans rippled through the crowd. No further word on his condition was yet available.
“Go home, everybody. We’ll update everybody in VR just as soon as we know anything.”
The crowd, its happy and raucous mood gone now, drifted away from the stage and dissipated slowly.
All the media had was video of the event and speculation. One of the aerial video streams of the event clearly showed the shooting, though from a distance. Three shots hit Chapman in the chest, he grimaced and staggered back, and blood welled on his shirt. The shooter was a swarthy man with a mustache wearing a cap. That was all they had from the video.
But the media had no lack of speculation. The most common conjecture was that a split within the Liberty Party had caused the violence. It was the Liberty Party, after all, that was in favor of citizen ownership of guns. Clearly, then, someone within the Liberty Party must be responsible.
The counter-media was ablaze with the notion that the Equality Party knew it couldn’t win, and had decided to take out the candidate they knew they couldn’t beat.
What had actually happened, no one came close to guessing.
Turley, Gulliver, Chapman, and Gordon met again that evening, this time in person, within the residence wing of the Executive Building. Gulliver’s coloring was starting to return to normal, though in a blotchy way, as the antagonist he had taken for his systemic ‘make-up’ worked its magic. His mustache was gone, and other changes were slowly reversing themselves, as well.
“They did hurt, though,” Chapman said.
“Well, they had to, or it wouldn’t have looked right,” Turley said. “As it is, it looked real as hell.”
“I’ll say,” Gordon said. “Looked right to me.”
“And this shirt is ruined,” Chapman said.
There were three bullet holes in his shirt, center of his chest, with fresh blood stains down from them. It was real blood, in a plastic bag over the top of his ballistic armor.
“At least you aren’t ruined,” Gulliver said. “I took great care in preparing those rounds. Hopefully, nobody puts two and two together about why I used a revolver.”
“Semi-auto wouldn’t cycle, Mr. Gulliver?” Turley asked.
“That’s right, Ma’am,” Gulliver said. “I couldn’t get reliable cycling with such soft rounds.”
“Soft? Oof.”
Chapman grimaced again in memory.
“Count yourself lucky, Mr. Chapman,” Turley said. “They think you’re down, so they won’t try again. And you’re not dead. Both of those are good things.”
“So now what?” Gordon asked.
“What do you think, Ma’am? A week?” Gulliver asked Turley.
“Probably. Have a rally next week, a week before the elections. They’ll be hard-pressed to move that fast.”
She turned to Chapman.
“In the meantime, stay here.”
“What will we release to the press?” Chapman asked.
“Just that you’re undergoing treatment for your injuries.”
“Nothing else?”
“No,” Turley said. “It makes it sound more serious if we don’t release anything.”
“That sounds right to me,” Gordon said.
“But if I’m not in the hospital, won’t they know?” Chapman asked.
“Oh, rumors will swirl around,” Turley said. “Lots of them. That’s all good. More press. And it’s free.”
“What about me, Madam President?” Gulliver asked.
“Mario Scarpa has to disappear entirely. We’ll just say
we’re holding him at an undisclosed location.”
Gulliver nodded.
“You should probably just stay here,” Turley said.
Turley had not seen Gulliver since that night he showed up late, in disguise, and she had some catching up to do.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Later that night, Turley lay back in bed and sighed with satisfaction.
“Oh, God, I missed that.”
“We only missed three Sundays, Madam President.”
“Yes, I know. Still.”
They lay there for a while before Turley broke the silence.
“That was some pretty nice shooting, Mr. Gulliver. If you’d hit Chapman in the wrong place, even those rounds would have killed him.”
“Yes, I know. I was very careful, Ma’am.”
“You definitely have the touch, Mr. Gulliver. In more ways than one.”
She patted his arm, which lay across her hips.
“Speaking of which, Mr. Gulliver, do you think I could trouble you again, or are you too tired after such a busy day?”
“I’m actually still a little wound up about the whole thing, Ma’am.”
“Then I think a little more tension release is indicated, Mr. Gulliver.”
“I concur, Madam President.”
Turley giggled and rolled toward him.
The next morning at breakfast in the residence dining room, the four of them were together again.
“You know, it occurs to me all of a sudden, we were the four initial conspirators in this whole thing,” Turley said. “And here we are again.”
“Work, work, work,” Gordon said. “It’s never done.”
The other three laughed.
“Have you seen the news yet, Ma’am?”
“No, Mr. Chapman. What are they saying?”
“It seems it was a rogue wing of the Liberty Party that’s responsible.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Ma’am. And the Liberty Party media is off the mark as well.”
“They don’t think Rumson was involved?”
“Oh, they claim he was the trigger man.”
“Now that would be a good disguise,” Gulliver said.
“Indeed, Mr. Gulliver,” Turley said.
“So now what?” Chapman asked.
“Wait out the week, Mr. Chapman.”
“Really, Ma’am? With all this false reporting running around?”
“Sure,” Gordon said. “It’s sucked all the air out of the room. There’s no news time left for anything else.”
“If it starts to slow down, Mr. Chapman, we’ll release a press report on your condition.”
“Which will say what, Ma’am?”
“That you’re still not out of the woods.”
“Oh, that’s evil,” Gordon said.
“You object, Mr. Gordon?”
“No, Ma’am. That’s not what I said. I approve.”
Sunday afternoon a week before the election, there was another big Liberty Party rally in the boulevard before Government Center. This had been billed as a rally for the Liberty Party’s candidates for the Council, but, two hours before the start time, it was announced Mark Chapman would make an appearance.
The crowd was even larger than the week before. Most people wanted to see how Mark Chapman looked after last weekend’s events. Some wanted to be there to make sure they didn’t miss anything. Others were there to set aside the dismay and confusion of the last week and get back to being happy and raucous.
No one really knew what to expect.
Candidates for the Council were introduced – thirty in all – and each took a couple minutes at the microphone. They were an hour into the rally when a car pulled out of the Government Center entrance and pulled up alongside the stage. Mark Chapman got out of the car and bounced up the steps as the crowd cheered wildly.
“Well, I tell you. It’s a lot easier getting out of a car here than getting into one.”
The crowd roared with laughter.
“You know, it seems like somebody doesn’t want me to be president.”
Another roar.
“Why would that be, hmm? Well, let me tell you why.”
And he did. For an hour. All the zingers were there, with a couple new ones thrown in to boot. Chapman never said the Equality Party had been behind the assassination attempt, but he did get his licks in.
“You know, I don’t think the Equality Party has a shot of winning this election. Much less three shots.”
“I’ve studied Mr. Rumson’s platform carefully. I paid special attention to his top three bullet points.”
The crowd loved it.
And there were no incidents to mar the event.
The Sunday before the election, the Equality Party broadcast a speech by Clifford Rumson. It was a typical Rumson stem-winder, delivered to a crowd of partisans.
The Liberty Party did not have their normal rally that Sunday. Instead, Mark Chapman delivered a serious speech from a desk, not unlike the sort of speech Turley, as president, had given from her desk four months before. The goal was to present Chapman as he would be as president, serious and effective.
“My fellow citizens of Julian:
“We’ve had a lot of fun these last four months, skewering our opposition, poking fun at the pompous. But the election is upon us, and it is now time to be serious. For this election is deadly serious. The stakes couldn’t be higher....”
Chapman went on in that tone for half an hour, detailing the issues, contrasting the parties, reviewing the Mieland administration’s performance, before he wound it up with this:
“Consider carefully, my friends. Weigh the issues. Contemplate the future. The future you want for yourselves and for your children. Then vote. For it is, on Julian, once again the people who pick their government.
“Good night.”
Voting in Julian was done in VR. The polls were open in the VR system from six in the morning to six in the evening, the middle twelve hours of the day. Only the permanent residents of Julian could vote, and not, for example, the military people who had come in with Colonel Jensen, or, for that matter, Jensen, Gordon, Gulliver, and Turley. The VR system knew who the residents were from their user IDs, and only gave the voting option to permanent residents.
The system kept track of the voting throughout the day, but would not reveal the running totals to anyone. This to keep everybody blind to the progress of the voting and dissuade extreme measures to get people to vote. As it was, eighty percent of those eligible to vote voted.
At six o’clock in the evening the results would be available instantly. There was no sitting around watching precincts come in or any of that. Just bang, and the results were there.
The original foursome of the conspiracy against the Mieland administration – Turley, Gordon, Gulliver, and Chapman – had dinner in the president’s residence in the Executive Building while they waited for the polling to finish.
“The question is, How many people will vote?” Chapman said.
“And from which side?” Gordon said.
“Historically, one third of the population favors one side, one third favors the other side, and the third in the middle doesn’t have strong feelings about it,” Turley said. “So there’s two questions, really. Who got their side to turn out? and Who, if anyone, swayed the center to turn out?”
“A third? In favor of Mieland? Really?” Gordon asked.
“Of course,” Turley said. “He was in power ten years. How did he do that? It wasn’t only by terrorizing the people who opposed him. You need enough of a base of support to even accomplish that much. If you have no support, who’s going to do your terrorizing, for one thing?”
“Well, we’ll know soon,” Gulliver said. “Six o’clock coming up.”
Turley checked into VR to see the results when they came up. A clock counted it down, and then there they were.
Of the twenty Council districts, all fourteen rural districts had gone for Chapman by either
three Councilors to two, or four Councilors to one. Chapman got forty-six Councilors from the rural districts alone, to Rumson’s twenty-four.
In the six districts in Monroe, Chapman and Rumson had split the Councilors pretty evenly, with Chapman getting sixteen Councilors, and Rumson getting fourteen.
The Liberty Party would have a sixty-two seat majority in the Council.
Because of the heavier population density in Monroe since the influx of the rural poor, the voting for president was closer. Chapman got fifty-six percent of the vote to Rumson’s forty-four.
Turley logged out of VR.
“Congratulations, Mr. President-elect.”
“Thank you, Madam President.”
Turley signaled to a wait-staff member hovering nearby.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Champagne for four. Bring two bottles of one of the imported Imperial champagnes.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Turley turned back to her guests.
“Let’s party.”
Interregnum
Per Julian’s constitution there was one month between the election and the turnover of power to the new president. He would call the new Council into session. In the meantime, Ann Turley remained president with the emergency powers granted by the previous Council.
She was a touch late into the office the next morning, after the party last evening among the four conspirators and the more private party with Mr. Gulliver later on. But she had a busy schedule this morning.
First up: the conspirators to the assassination attempt on Mark Chapman.
The Captain of Police came into Clifford Rumson’s office late Tuesday morning, accompanied with four burly officers who looked all business.
EMPIRE: Intervention (EMPIRE SERIES Book 13) Page 26