Chapter 524 – The Final Election of the Little Maryland

Chapter 524 – The Final Election of the Little Maryland

It was the silence that told John that Abraham knew. The complete silence of any word where there had been friendly calls initiated by both sides before. One day, two days, five days, a week, two weeks, the nomination, all the time passed without a single word between them. Like a friend scorned and a friend guilty, they no longer initiated a modicum of their starting niceness.

Although John knew that this whole thing had been fake from the start, a lie told to the other and themselves to make their political craft more effective, the Gamer couldn’t help but feel the weight of his decision on his mind. Yet, it was what he had resolved to do. Doubt had to fall to the wayside. The course was set and nothing but a taut sail would get him there.

A sail for which he had to provide the cloth and the wind on a boat he had to build as it sailed. Sixteen hours of work a day, almost two weeks straight. Paperwork finally reached its zenith during that time, the many gears he put in place slowly gripping into each other.

One person stopped filing complaints to him and instead talked to the actual official of the district. One person stopped insisting on help from him or his elites and instead went to the police station. One person stopped demanding things he wasn’t entitled to. One person stopped, another person stopped, the culture was ever so slowly shifting and each was a grain of sand that was blown off the heap that was John’s desk.

No time to grow restful. His ambitions were at a breaking point. So much was balanced on him acquiring the Little Maryland, the cleaner a fashion, the better. Inheriting their functioning army and well-constructed infrastructure and injecting it with a healthy dose of money and economic reforms would catapult his guild from being dependent on just him to its own strong organization.

The Little Maryland annexed would mean that he had access to the large, largely unclaimed areas to the south. He could pressure the Amacat to join him in an economic and later political way. From there, he would have near complete control of the east coast. Unrivalled in the area, he could gather his forces without any worry that he could find himself on the losing side of a local arms race.

Less paperwork, more experience. Still less than he hoped but hopefully enough. The fifth general remained silent, but he was sure to be on Abraham’s side. After all, he was the president’s own nephew. Despite this, he almost looked as old as the president, somewhere around his fifties, with black, short hair and a wrinkled face. The only segment of the army not underfunded was under his command.

‘Should this go hot, it might not go as smooth as I hope,’ the Gamer thought not for the first time. He had tried persuading people of his own power level to his side. People like Sigmund or Egan. It was stupidly hard to even locate them. For no promises of money, fame or glory were they willing to join his cause. At least John assumed that; none of them ever answered his calls or mails.

First of June, 2018, John entered the White House on short notice. A civilian airplane had brought him there, a typical mundane flight. DC was a city of busy people. John had no busy step as he entered the senate. He walked slowly and his feet caused prominent echoes in the diligent chamber. The air was already thick when he took a seat. Everyone seemed to know what was about to happen, nobody in the room was surprised to see him.

The room was a large semi-circle, rows upon rows of wooden tables with electronic displays inlaid into the surface standing on the downwards slope of few and broad stairs. The tables were supposed to be arranged in an equally spaced fashion, but a small yet noticeable gap had formed between four fifths of the room and the remaining part. At the bottom of the chamber stood a large monument of wood and gemstones, with many platforms on different heights giving special seats to the current members of government. The highest levels reached up to the watcher ranks a storey above.

“We will now start the nomination for the candidates of the 2018 presidential elections,” the speaker sitting behind the wooden podium inside the gold and silver decorated room announced. A large memorial picture of Abraham Lincoln was painted across the wall behind him. The admittedly ugly man’s stern gaze was all John concentrated on while an inconsequential list of candidates was read out like they had any chance of winning. A formality, just like Imerella rising out of her seat and bowing before the assembled people was.

“In compliance with Article 132 Section 1 of the extended code of voting law, written by our great founding father,” the oldest general raised her voice, “I want to nominate a candidate from outside the guild. The candidate is present right next to me,” she gestured at the Gamer sitting in the seat next to her. “John Newman, guild master of Collide and president of the federal guild of Fusion.”

“Alright then,” the speaker, an old man in his seat purely because of his connections, seamlessly continued on with the ceremony. “Article 132 Section 1 requires a vote of confidence by the majority of at least two estates. Does the government’s current president vouch for this outside candidate?”

“No,” Abraham gave the expected answer, sitting in his seat atop the central monument. His eyes were closed, his muscular arms crossed, a pose of stoic relaxation summarized in the way his head rested against the back of his chair.

“That is the conviction with which I stand here before you, yes,” John stood straight and looked down at the president. “Call it arrogance if you want, I am certainly a prideful person. I have seen what your people think about your governance, and they are not happy, Abraham.”

The man drew a deep breath and, although the vein remained, calmed his speech. “Alright then. We have no more to say to each other in this regard. Let’s make other things clear then. If you start the offensive, I will retaliate in kind.”

“I have no intention of making this a civil war,” John retorted, met with the sound of mockingly blown air out of Abraham’s nose. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“You expect me to believe you will sit and campaign earnestly for a span of time longer than you have been in the Abyss for?” the fellow president raised a somewhat valid point. “You have positioned yourself for a military takeover, sweet talking the military first and foremost and building that little ‘lawfully hold’ clause into our contract.”

Again, he wasn’t wrong. The ‘lawfully hold’ thing had always been a thing John planned to use to shatter the legitimacy of intervening powers. As long as John’s side wasn’t the one who fired the first shot, Abraham fighting his candidacy outside of the campaign trail would make his presidency illegitimate by the Little Maryland’s own constitution. This wasn’t to say the neighbours couldn’t find a reason to mingle in this conflict, just that John wasn’t in violation of any treaty he had signed.

Doubtlessly, he still looked like an aggressor to the heads of states of his neighbours, but all he did so far was in compliance with the law as it was written. Semantics were important if he wanted to adequately defend himself against propaganda.

“I understand those thoughts,” John ceded the ground. “All I have to do is not attack you to prove you wrong, so I think I can do that.”

“My military will see that you keep that word,” Abraham glanced over to the government guards, then to the generals behind John. “When I win this election, I demand that you all resign,” the current president stated. “Unless you want to start a war after you lost the vote.”

Terkal snarled; good to hear that it wasn’t just John he behaved that way towards. “If you win the election, you have the people’s mandate to get your dictatorship running,” the tall man admitted. “I won’t stay in your way any longer. I am not interested in ripping apart the country.”

“I would say ‘if’ rather than ‘when’,” Chemilia echoed. “Don’t be sure of yourself, that was what got you in this mess to start with.”

“No, you made this mess,” Abraham shook his head in a self-righteous manner. John couldn’t help himself but think of the caricature of the old politician, too stubborn to consider any of his lifework false when confronted with past mistakes in an interview. “But this works for me. Do you swear, on whatever you could find worthy, that you will accept the results of the election?”

John had to stop there for a second, “Whatever I find worthy, huh?” Although it ultimately had little impact, he wanted Abraham to believe that he was earnest in this. A year was a long time, but he was willing to put that effort in, if it made his takeover smooth and skipped the bloodshed part. Anything that he could swear on that would convince the man? Nothing came to mind. In the end, he decided to make a joke instead. “If you are elected again, I will respect our treaty of friendship and be a neighbour that shares in your people’s hopeful wealth and wellbeing. I have no intent of dividing your people by not accepting what the majority of them voted on. I swear on my girlfriend’s ass.”

Despite the tenseness of the situation, Abraham laughed all of a sudden. A deep sound, from somewhere unexpected that sent some saliva flying as the first burst pushed his clenched lips open with the force of amusement. “THAT is what you swear on?” he asked while cleaning himself up with a handkerchief. “You truly are a youngster, by Gaia.” He shook his head and then looked to Imerella. “I take it you will be the arbiter of today, then?” The shortstack general had made the neutrality arrangements with Abraham a few days ago, with John’s knowledge.

“You two big boys play nice and I won’t have to intervene,” Imerella mused with a shrug.