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The Gamer Chapter 1811 – The Headaches of the Presidential Office
🕑 Added 2025-01-06 16:15:05 +0000 UTCJohn was feeling kind of giddy.
Today felt as if he was about to embark on a school trip, back when he had been young enough to like those. Mixed in with the happy feeling was the nervousness that he might lose control over the situation. A sensation even less founded than his usual paranoia. Justinian lacked the capability to actually take over.
The Gamer spun in his chair, causing Velka to warble happily, and waited for his invitation to be heeded. A little warning in his head gave him a chance to prepare. He faced away from the entrance to his office. Shortly after the turn of the handle announced the opening of the door, John dramatically turned around. “I’ve been expecting you, Mister Morris.”
Justinian stopped in the doorway and stared. Any kind of impressiveness the cliché greeting may have carried was thoroughly dismantled by Velka. Not only was she the size of a golden retriever, she also complained, loudly, about the end to the turnabouts. Being the Bond villain did not work when the cat was this large and unruly.
“How do you know my last name?” the sanctimonious Latebloomer demanded to know.
“I Observed it,” the Gamer answered matter-of-factly. “Is that really a point of surprise to you?”
“Stop standing in the entrance!” Ehtra barked from behind the blond man. Despite his furrowed eyebrows, he did take a step aside. The grey angel entered the room and headed for her glass desk. “Get to work already.”
“She’s always like that,” John assured. “Still, I believe it would be more pleasant to sit?”
A gesture pointed Justinian to his seat of power. John’s personal desk had been moved to Momo’s half of the office complex. In its place stood a regularly impressive desk, not quite as large and without the specialized leg compartment. The chair behind it, however, John had made extra impressive so he could not be accused of wanting to throne in a more impressive chair than the de-jure ruler of Fusion.
As for where John sat, that was a smaller table to the side of Justinian’s. It was small in every dimension, symbolizing the totally submissive position the former president assumed. It was mockery of the kind that could not be taken immediate offense to. Justinian caught it, blew air out of his nose, then glanced around.
“This really is your office?” he asked, unconvinced.
“It really is,” John assured. “I assume you expected a massive throne room or at least something with more stripping poles?”
“Yes,” Justinian answered, not even attempting to veil his contempt.
“Well, you’re partially right.” The Companion Cube hovered over to a certain closet and opened it up to reveal the butt-sockets in the wall. Them being empty did nothing to obscure their purpose. Justinian turned red with something between anger and second-hand shame. The silver cube bumped against the closet door, closing it up again. “I make no secret what I am – which is also why you get a brand-new chair.”
“How considerate,” Justinian drawled sarcastically and walked around the table. He continued to eye the work station with suspicion. “Still, this cannot be from where you govern.”
“Why not?” John asked and tapped the side of his own monitor with his fingers. “Fundamentally, what a ruler needs to govern is information input and information outflow, and a computer gives you both of these options. Hell, even kings ruled from their study most of the time. The throne room is for big decisions.” He paused for a moment. “You will see Parliament soon enough.”
Justinian grunted in acknowledgement. He was naïve and stupid but he was not mentally handicapped. He could grasp these simple concepts. After checking on the chair and table one more time, the sanctimonious Latebloomer finally sat down. He spent a second putting the chair at a height and angle that was to his liking.
“Congratulations, you are now the President of Fusion,” John applauded.
“A president installed by the mandate of one man is no president at all,” the blond man responded sharply.
John’s smile turned slightly sour. That was as much as he let show of how much the truth behind that comment annoyed him. “Be that as it may,” the Gamer continued, “now is your chance to wield that power and show me just how wrong I am in my ruling.”
“Very well, by my first decree, I declare slavery in all of its forms illegal.”
Having expected that, the Gamer pulled one of many papers from a binder in front of him and placed it in front of the ‘leader’ of Fusion. “Here is the summary on how that is going.”
Justinian blinked a couple of times, took the paper, and then started reading. In his eyes reflected annoyance at the bureaucratic tone used in the administrative document. For his part, John had to repress the urge to tap impatiently on the table.
‘What a slow reader,’ he thought, while giving Velka ear scratches. She was his emotional support animal for the day. The affection was returned with purrs and cheek rubs. The Magryph had been in a consistently good mood since he had gifted her a big chest of treasure, following the end of the whole Aztec affair.
“…I need to verify this,” Justinian stated after putting the paper down. He was starting to get up. Ehtra growled. “Wha-“
“You think you can just leave?” the First of Hatred sneered, before he could even finish his question. “I have three matters that require your attention or delegation that came in just this morning.”
Justinian pressed his lips together, then slowly fell back into the chair. “Very well, brief me on them.”
“If I may?” John asked, allowing the ‘president’ to choose between him and the secretary to deliver the news. Glancing back and forth between them, the Latebloomer ultimately went with the Gamer. “First, we have a simple border conflict. We get these with relative frequency. Fusion is young and many of the borders I drew are admittedly arbitrary. There are old ties to land that people wish to see resolved. There is an office that this can be delegated to.”
Justinian listened. If a question mark could have hovered above his head, it would have. “Why is this on your… my desk?” he asked.
“Whose desk would it be on instead?” John asked back. “It is a matter of border negotiations between members of the union. As the highest member of the executive, this matter is for you to rule on and, if the decision reached is not to everyone’s agreement, for the judiciary to review.”
“Of course.” Justinian nodded, attempting to hide his ignorance on matters of administration. “Very well, this should be easy to solve. What is the nature of the conflict?”
“A clan from the Hidden Tradition claims that a guild from Pacifica holds land that was part of the clan’s area of influence roughly 80 years ago and taken by conquest. They wish it returned to them. This would move the borders of the Hidden Tradition about 4 kilometres into Pacifica, if you were to accept. Alternatively, you could create an exclave.”
“Obviously we return the land,” Justinian stated and waved his hand.
John cleared his throat. “Far be it from me to criticize your decision… but do you think that is wise?”
“They got the land by unjust means from the natives who lived there before the white man came along.”
“Not quite.” John pulled the file from another folder. “The Hidden Tradition clan in question originally lived on the great plains further west. When the native Americans banded together to create a united guild that could stand up to the colonized powers, that clan moved into the modern area, kicking out a family of French people in the process. Those French people then struck an agreement with a former noble of the Golden March, Spain’s guild, who gave them funding in return for taking over the area without a struggle. That guild then pushed back the native American clan, leading us to our present situation.”
Justinian absorbed all of that slowly. “…Anything else in the area that I should know?”
“The Spanish that hold the area are supporters of the monarchist faction of Parliament. They’re fairly popular with the locals. The stretch of land that is being argued about is one that spawns Natural Barriers with surprising frequency. Should it be removed from the current holders, you would effectively cut the industrial area out of a township.”
“…You are telling me that I cannot give the land back?”
“Not quite, see, there are other areas in Pacifica that have similar frequencies on the creation of Natural Barriers. The area is also among the least populated in Fusion, so the workforce could easily find employment elsewhere within their state. Alternatively, you could arrange a change of ownership but a guarantee in employment. The Hidden Tradition broadly is quite wealthy and powerful, but that specific area is poor by comparison. Giving them the land would serve to make you popular among more people.”
“I see, then-“
“However,” John was far from done, “Pacifica is in a particularly precarious situation. They joined Fusion peacefully, thus their name, a status that I have previously rewarded happily. They require additional aid in development, as they find themselves in a difficult cultural situation. They have little in common with any of the three major power blocs they are surrounded by, being the Order Midlands, the Lake Alliance, and the Hidden Tradition. Geography prevents us from properly tying them into the Fusion Heartlands. At least, that is, until the Military Zone to the south gets populated.”
By now several question marks would have hung above Justinian’s head. All of the parts that John had mentioned must have made sense to him, but he lacked the necessary historical and political context to fit them all together properly.
Justinian took a deep breath, folded his hands, and tried to look as graceful as possible when he asked, “What would you do in this situation?”
“The land should remain with Pacifica. We have the general good will of the Hidden Tradition and Pacifica is an underdeveloped region. If we want it to become a net good to the Federation, we cannot cripple its economy.”
Justinian was visibly torn between agreeing with John because that sounded smart and disagreeing because he believed he was being played. In the end, he took the coward’s way out. “I want this sent to the department that usually does it and to be advised on it again at a later date.”
“I’ll cram it in your schedule,” Ehtra groaned.
“Matter number two, then… Ah, this is a secret petition by members of the Stream Party.”
“Stream Party?” Justinian asked.
“Basically, imagine the reasonable parts of the Republican Party,” John answered. “Socially and economically conservative but in favour of limited welfare programs. The war hawks and full anti-government types are in other parties.”
“In my experience, there is no such thing as a reasonable politician,” Justinian hissed.
“Well, good news, you are technically one right now. We’ll see what you think about that by the end of this,” John joked. Velka chose that moment to jump out of his lap. “Probably not that different. You’ll quickly realize that everyone wants things for themselves – but they can be very reasonable if you promise them that.” He picked up a pencil and twirled it around his finger. “And don’t project the Republicans too much on this party. I just used it to make it easier to understand their baseline.”
“I got that. Why is the petition secret?”
“It’s a way for politicians to attempt to pass what they want without hanging their head out of the window. No, I don’t much like it either.”
“Then my second decree is to forbid secret petitions.”
“You can do that,” John agreed and crumpled up the paper. He threw it in the trash bin under his desk.
Justinian looked quite satisfied with himself. “The third thing?”
‘Oh God, he really is naïve,’ John thought. He had wanted to do this with subtext, but that did not work with someone this inexperienced. “Mind if I play out a scenario with you?” the Gamer asked and retrieved the paper from the bin.
“You will do so anyway,” Justinian sighed. “I tire of your games.”
“Well, you decided to agree to a deal with the Gamer.” John could not help but to tease. “The third topic of the day is the matter of Hypercrush’s confinement.” The mention of the man made Justinian tense up slightly. He must have remembered the merciless beating by the drug mage. “There are forces in motion that desire his release.”
“Why would one let that monster out on the streets?” Justinian spat out.
“Principles, naivety, cynicism,” John answered in short, then in long, “The principles of freedom for people who have not yet committed any crime. Hypercrush’s slights against the people of Fusion are, by all objective measures, minor. Property damage and failure to follow orders, and both were in the throes of battle.”
“Even eyes as rotten as yours must be able to see that this drug fiend is a time bomb ready to explode,” Justinian declared and rose from the table. “Are you so corrupt that you would let that man snort the powdered bones of the people you pretend to protect?”
“You are testing my patience.”
The smile on the Gamer’s lips had dropped. The clacking of Ehtra working in the background had stopped. There were no sounds in the well-insulated room. Justinian attempted to glare back. He succeeded for longer than most would have. Ultimately, he looked away. He did not offer an apology.
John continued in his explanation, but his tone lacked any mirth as he did so, “I obviously do not want him out and about. Who do you think put him away in the first place?” To that, Justinian had no response. “You and I were there, we can judge with eyes and ears. Others hear of the situation, watch the footage, and make their decision from there. They believe themselves every bit as correct as you do, naively or not. Yet, there are also cynical actors that want to see my efforts fail because my failure elevates their position.”
“Appalling,” Justinian growled.
The lack of self-awareness, John managed to skip out on. “Now, with that in mind, there are people communicating in the background to put their weight behind either camp.” The Gamer lifted the crumpled-up paper. “Everyone is exchanging secrets, whether you like it or not. What happens when you declare that you will not partake in them?”
The gears in Justinian’s head were turning. One of the proverbial question marks turned into an exclamation point. “I deprive myself of information.”
“Exactly. With that in mind, do you want your second decree officialised?”
“…Give me that,” Justinia answered by reaching over and snatching the paper from the Gamer’s grasp. “…A request to rhetorically back the banning of drugs in public spaces?”
“That would be a cause to lock up Hypercrush,” John advised.
“But to pass a law that affects everyone to take care of one person…” Justinian mumbled, then shook his head. “Alas, the consumption of such substances in public spaces is unwelcome anyhow. I cannot believe your morality would allow this to be legal at this time.”
“I have my reasons and I would advise against this course of action.”
“You are breaking your oath?” Justinian demanded to know.
“No, I merely advise against it.”
“Your opinion is disregarded, former president,” Justinian declared. “I shall support this petition! I want this law on the books by tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that ain’t happening,” John stated bluntly.
“What do you mean? I’m the leader of Fusion.”
“…Have you never taken a civics class? You’re president, not absolute monarch. The title isn’t just because I like it more, you know?” John rubbed his forehead, then pulled another paper out of the binder of expected topics. “Look, this is the basic structure of Fusion’s federal government.”
“As president, you neither suggest nor pass laws, that’s in the power of the House of Commons and House of Exceptionals. In other words.” John pointed at the wrinkly paper on the table. “You should get into contact with these people.”
“…Why would I waste my time with all of this when I know I’m correct?” Justinian demanded to know.
John raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “A constant struggle, that question. The short is: because you might be wrong.” The Gamer leaned back in his chair. “The delay and other people serve as a testing mechanism for ideas. You might also be right, though, and then all of this delay and other people just serve to water down your solution and shove it back to a later date. Welcome to politics.”
“…You must have emergency powers to subvert all of this,” Justinian stated.
“I do.”
“Then I want to use them.”
“You can’t.”
“Why?” Justinian now got up fully and stared down at the Gamer. “All this wicked tape that you wrapped around the state that suits you will not stop me. Whatever law or protocol you have to get done what you want, I want it employed. You promised me leadership.”
“Ehtra, can you show him the emergency power?” John asked.
A click loosened the downsized bolt gun that was strapped to the grey angel’s thigh. Justinian’s eyes widened when he, too late, realized that the muzzle was pointing at him.
“Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun,” John quoted. “Do you want to try and pull that trigger or will you work within the system?”
Justinian gulped. “A-arrange a meeting with those members of the Stream Party.”
“As you say.” The First of Hatred placed the gun back in its holster, then sat down.
“Let me give you the only advice that ever truly matters,” John said after Justinian had sat back down. “No matter our moral considerations, every pattern in history has its reasons. Study the threads before you mess with the weave.”
“…Noted.”
Justinian already sounded tired.
Comments
Marko
Fuck yeah
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