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The Gamer Chapter 822 – Bickering, Bureaucracy and Dispatching
🕑 Added 2020-08-21 12:18:28 +0000 UTC
John now understood why bureaucracy tended to grow.
In his mind, it had been an easy discussion. What was there to disagree about? There was Easter, Halloween, Christmas and New Year’s Day, that should have covered the generally agreed holidays. Personally, he would have also added Independence Day, Emancipation Day and Valentine’s Day, but he could have seen that those wouldn’t have had a big following in the Abyss.
He had been utterly wrong about most of that. Everyone was indeed in favour of Christmas and New Year’s Day, but Halloween and Easter didn’t even enter the conversation. Valentine’s Day, however, was mentioned before New Year’s Day was. Those basic days quickly found their ways onto the calendar and that was when the Speaker of Commons started to go through the remaining list. A total of 90 additional holidays were suggested, many of them lasting for over two days.
It was, obviously, untenable to have every single person in the nation on paid leave for half the year, so they had to agree on a hard limit on the amount of holidays there were. The number they agreed on was 30, with 3 already taken by Christmas, 2 by New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day, 1 by Valentine’s day and 4 by the Fusion Fluff Festival for a total of 20 remaining.
That was when the bickering started.
Everyone wanted certain holidays in and things broke down more along local rather than party lines. Maryland and, surprisingly, Florida were the sanest in number and the reasons for their holidays, as far as John was concerned. The guilds of Amaca Coast, North Lake and Meltpot all had some weird ones to offer, but overall they were tolerable. Those sent by John’s own state, Collide, were also in that group.
It was the Hidden Tradition whose elected officials were almost entirely to blame for the flood of holidays. Unlike anyone else, who had grown up at least in parallel to typical Americans, the Hidden Tradition was a group of Native Americans that had been pretty confined into its own culture for several hundred years. In the first place, that guild was made up by a bunch of tribes who initially had only in common that they had a similar intertwining of ancestor worship and specific use of necromancy.
All of those tribes had brought their own holidays into the Hidden Tradition and the Hidden Tradition now brought all of the gathered holidays into Fusion. However, formulating it like that made it sound like there was a unified push among that guild, which also wasn’t accurate. They had become more unified over the years, but there were still distinct tribes within the Hidden Tradition. So, while everyone was arguing about the distribution of holidays, primarily against those in the Hidden Tradition, the people from the Hidden Tradition were also arguing amongst themselves.
Three hours passed like this. Three excruciating hours. John mediated when he saw a chance, but otherwise it was three hours of very considerate demands presented through proper protocol. Stupid as it was, the debate showed that the parliament had the temper necessary for a democracy and served to trim a lot of the fat out of the conversation procedures. They established a few new rules for impromptu debates, streamlined the question and answer process, and discovered some issues with the voice boosting enchantments.
They did not manage to conclude the topic. Instead, it was decided that they would postpone the discussion and set up a new office. Its job would be to cut down the current list some more and compile some suggested calendars. Once that was done, they would sit on the topic again.
‘No wonder it took the Thirteen Colonies years to actually agree on a constitution,’ John thought as he, along with everyone else, got ready to leave the sitting. Putting away the laptop, he walked down the steps. In passing he said a respectful goodbye to the Speaker. He would have been ready to leave the parliament entirely, had he not been greeted by Ahanu at the bottom of the stairs.
The young man looked good, as far as his physical and mental conditions were concerned. Neither a stunning lad nor an ugly bastard, Ahanu had a face that was too long to be considered beautiful. His hair was long and black, with oiled braids weaved through. Although he wore a serious, blue suit, the combination of a black bow tie and leather headband made him look somewhat goofy. The singular eagle feather tucked away behind the headband didn’t help.
“John, do you have a second?” the Hidden Tradition’s representative asked, offering his hand.
Taking it without hesitation, the Gamer became the recipient of an incredibly enthusiastic yet professional handshake. Accompanied by a warm smile and ending with a tap to the back, Ahanu gave the complete friendliness package. “For you, I have more than a second,” John responded jokingly. Although he wanted to swing his second body to the bedroom already, the chieftain was someone the Gamer owed a lot of thanks to.
It was thanks to him, in large part, that Fusion hadn’t gotten into an incredibly precarious situation after Sigmund had stomped around the White House. The Hidden Tradition had been the reason that the Lake Alliance had held off on going on the offensive immediately. Without their backing, an all-out war would have been inevitable. The extra time they had bought had made the Hudson Brawl, the only true battle of the war, a decisive victory in Fusion’s favour. Political debts aside, Ahanu had brought good news into John’s life when he had really needed them, so he felt personal gratitude that wouldn’t vanish anytime soon.
“What can I help you with?” he therefore asked, even as they continued moving. Whatever conversation Ahanu wanted to have, there was no reason to stay in the buzzing parliament. Even if the chamber was way too large for the number of representatives they currently had, over a hundred people still made a lot of noise.
“I’d ask that you consider that, if nothing else, the Clay’s Day and the Ronoralor make it onto the calendar,” the chieftain responded. “I know it’s selfish to make this request, but my people regard these two days especially highly. I can likely convince the other chieftains that we should keep the majority of the other holidays within our own borders. Just those two, if you could promise me that, this thing should go a lot smoother when it gets discussed again.”
“I have no official power over the office…” John started his response and got himself an amused glance by Ahanu. They both knew why he had used the word ‘officially’ there. “Mind enlightening me what makes those two days so important?”
“Sure. Clay’s Day is the most sacred day of our year, it is when we venerate the ancestors that lend us their power through the spirits that inhabit the bodies we entomb in clay. I understand that the rest of Fusion doesn’t share this cultural aspect, but my people couldn’t feel completely home in a guild that doesn’t acknowledge this day.”
“Do you celebrate life as well on that day or just your ancestors?” John asked, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “This is going to be easier if you give me something about it everybody can get along with.”
“The birth rates tend to go up nine months later,” Ahanu answered the question with an honest smile.
John amusedly blew air out of his nose. “Alright then, that should work. If you could send me a summary about the rites and themes of the holiday, I’ll make sure it gets read very carefully and early by whoever ends up in charge of the office. What about Ronoralor?” The chieftain raised an eyebrow and now it was John’s turn to smile, albeit in a more teasing fashion. “Hey, I speak seven languages by now, remembering the pronunciation of a single word isn’t that difficult.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re a genius, you just don’t have the aura of one,” Ahanu responded with a chuckle before continuing. “Ronoralor is the festival of unity. If all of Fusion celebrates it, it symbolizes that the Fusion isn’t just an overarching government construct but an extension of the tribal confederation.”
“Oh, I like that,” the Gamer nodded to himself, “we should have a day or two like that anyway. A replacement for the Fourth of July. It should be easy to put through, especially if the mood of the festival is jovial…?” He gave Ahanu a glance and transformed it into a question that way.
“It usually starts with some mourning for the land we have lost, but I don’t think that needs to reflect on the wider Federation,” the chieftain answered. “I’ll send the details to you in an email.”
“Please do. I will do what I can to oblige you,” John answered, just as they went out the door. Aclysia and Beatrice had gone ahead. A wise decision, which had given them enough time to force the crowd of reporters waiting outside to form a corridor. Although they were just two maids, they exuded enough respect that nobody dared to try to pass them.
They were, however, also in a different position as before. “Miss Aclysia, as First Servant of State, do you have any comments on the first session of parliament?” a reporter asked the weaponized maid. “Do you think it went well? Badly? Any comments, please?”
Aclysia kept her mouth shut, as did Beatrice when a few questions came flying her way as head of finances. Those two were no longer just John’s bodyguards. As people that were now in important positions, the Artificial Spirits had to face the journalists’ endless thirst for stories themselves now. Both were already hardened thanks to second hand experiences though.
Looking into the crowd, John suddenly decided that talking to the press every now and again was actually a good idea. “I’ll stay for a minute, what about you?” he asked Ahanu.
“I have other things to do,” the chieftain excused himself without being too specific and simply waved as he kept walking. John responded with the same gesture and then turned to the journalists.
“Alright, let’s get out of the way,” he told everyone and walked somewhat to the side so they weren’t blocking other people from leaving. Most of the journalists pulled along, with a few deciding that they’d rather take their chances with a smaller fish than be in a giant group around the largest. Aclysia and Beatrice continued to serve as a wall that kept people from just shoving their microphones in his face and shouting questions. “You, your question please,” John pointed at a random reporter.
“How would you say the first session of parliament went?” the obvious one was asked first.
“I would say it went well, overall. I somewhat naively assumed things would go smoother, given the topics at hand, but it turns out that politics are the same no matter the time or the place,” he responded jokingly. “You, next.”
“Do you think the Hidden Tradition has been overbearing in this discussion? Do you hold any ill will?”
“As you probably caught on camera, I was with Ahanu just a moment ago. I hold absolutely no ill will for the Hidden Tradition. They hold a special place in Fusion both because of when they joined and because they have a different history than the majority of humans that are part of the Federation. Those differences coming out as more emphasized at times like these could be expected.”
“When do you plan to discuss this topic next?”
“During the next session of parliament, next Friday. Now, you,” John finally pointed at the blonde catgirl that had caused him to stop in the first place. By putting some questions between himself and her, he hoped to make his intent less obvious or at least harder to prove.
“I notice you have been withheld for most of the session, only really speaking up when things needed mediation,” Cindy said in a soft voice, her lipstick glistening when she smiled, “do you plan to keep yourself uninvolved like this most of the time?”
“The short answer is yes; I am mostly attending as a figurehead. For the long answer, that would take an entire conversation,” he told her with a wink. “I am sure we could set something up.”
“I am sure we could,” Cindy purred and shifted her weight, emphasizing her curves in the process. She was dressed more modestly today, but those tits of hers still stretched the dark blouse covering them.
John was enchanted by the jiggle for a second. ‘Master, Horace is currently passing,’ Aclysia’s voice echoed in his mind. ‘Do you wish to talk to him now or later?’
‘I suppose now would be best. The sooner I get things out of the way, the better,’ he responded and looked at the journalists. ‘I guess I can’t really hide my intentions anymore after the way I just said things… damn my flirting nature…’ he thought and then said, “I will need to talk to someone, so this will be all.” Knowing better than to try and stop him, the journalists let him leave without issue.
He walked towards the exit, not immediately approaching Horace. Originally, John had intended to only go talk to him tomorrow, but if there was an opportune minute, he was willing to bend his plans. It wasn’t as if he wanted to have a tremendously long conversation with the guy. Once they were out of the busy corridors, John accelerated his steps and caught up with the Meltpot’s representative.
The man turned towards him. At first his expression was annoyed, then surprised. He must have heard someone approaching but hadn’t guessed that it would be John of all people. “You mind talking to me for a minute?”
“M-mister President, of course not!” the much older man responded.
John still found it amusing and a tad weird how people reacted to him. To most people, he had become so strong that it was as if Caesar suddenly walked up to them at the dinner table. ‘Maybe not the best metaphor around when Romulus exists,’ he reprimanded himself. “Right this way, we should have the talk somewhere nice,” he said, trying to ease the man’s tension somewhat.
It was just a short walk to the terrace, just up some stairs and through a few doors. It was cool that evening, but not enough to bother any of the four of them. Stone paths led through the simple gardens that covered the terrace. Between the small trees and decorative bushes, they could see the plaza and the Dome of Power below, all of it encapsulated by the Fusion Capitol they were currently standing on. More of that building stretched above them, the terrace had been built on the roof of the broader base floor, another two stories had been built on top of it.
“How do you like it here?” John asked.
“It’s great!” Horace answered too enthusiastically for John to believe that he wasn’t lying. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t saying the truth, just that this would have been the answer regardless of what his true thoughts were. It was motivated by John being the one asking the question.
“I see. Glad you like it,” the Gamer answered courteously. Since small talk wouldn’t serve to make the situation any less tense, he cut straight to the chase. “Look, I know you didn’t join Fusion because you thought it was exactly the best decision,” he stated. “You made the decision to follow the tides of history. A smart decision that I can respect and I won’t crucify you over it. I have no intention of testing your loyalty or to grill you over the coals. We all make decisions appropriate for the times.” He took a pause to allow Horace to speak.
For several long seconds, the man didn’t. They just walked on through the green garden, until Horace ran a hand through his short hair. Part of his hairline was chipped in thanks to a scar on his forehead. “I can’t say I’m surprised you know all of that,” he finally answered. “Hard to disagree with joining someone who sends a sapient bulldozer into your living room.”
“I guess that’s one way to describe Metra,” John chuckled. Since Horace had used a nonchalant tone, the Gamer had no issue with it. An insult sounded different. “I wanted to ask you for a favour. When you go back to the Meltpot, call up whoever you know in the neutral areas that hasn’t joined Fusion yet. Try to get them to agree to a talk with me, if nothing else. Tell them that they have to make the choice where they want to be in the story of American unification.” The Gamer stopped in his step and stared at Horace. Despite the scar-covered mountain of muscles being a head taller than himself, John felt as if he was looking down on the man. “There are no easy paths, for any of us.”
This time, it didn’t take long for the Meltpot’s representative to nod. “I understand, President Newman.”
They parted with a quick handshake, and John was ready to move his second body home, when a window popped up.
‘I guess it has been eight hours,’ he thought and happily opened his Class Screen. This was level 260 and he had a free level available for the Class he currently wanted to invest in.
‘Two recycled choices and one new one,’ John thought, scratching his chin. ‘Master Key and On with the Grind both have good effects, but 80 Stat Points are almost 12 levels’ worth… it also has a one next to it, so it will lead to even more stuff that increases my scaling. At the very least I will also get the points from my six to seven scaling increase, in the future… Yeah, let’s go with Reimbursed Stats.’
The choice made, he opened up his character screen and then allocated the 87 Stat Points he had available. Two went into Endurance, bumping it up to 250.
‘I think that covers my defensive needs for a little while.’ Looking at his remaining Stats, he pondered over what Stat to prioritize next. He was content with the amount of mana he had at the moment, so that wasn’t something he wanted to push again. ‘I think it should either be Agility or Charisma. Reacting quicker is more useful to me than punching harder and I don’t need to be any hornier… more persuasive could help me though…’
He decided to go with Agility for now. He didn’t want to fall behind further on people using martial arts and his limbs shouldn’t lag too much behind his mind.
‘Looks good,’ he nodded to himself.
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