Scenes from a Preternatural Presidency -- 7. Terms and Conditions Apply (A)
7. Terms and Conditions Apply
ELECTIONS are supposed to be competitive and I have no problem with that, but I also had very little competition. Plenty of people had declared themselves as candidates, but only a couple had any serious finance - two billionaires, a mad one from high tech and a dull one from Wall Street, spending their own money - and none had more than fractional support. Nor did they seem to have much in the way of staffs or campaigns, and in the end I delegated to the media who not unreasonably thought there should be a debate the task of organising one, specifying only that twelve rivals plus Skuffles and me was the upper limit, and Wash U. as the venue - they’d been very helpful with Duckpond Scholarships and other things, so I was glad to return a favour and in any case had happy memories of presidential debating there.
The organising process was messy and prolonged, and I counted myself well out of it, as did my grinning Press Secretary. In the end a consortium of major networks commissioned Gallup to average all polls, with a big new one added, and though all my would-be rivals were well below one percent nationally and wouldn’t usually qualify for anything they simply took the top twelve. To my amusement the mad billionaire was out, despite much public screaming about censorship, oppression, and his right to buy the presidency if he chose, as no-one wanted him running the country and plenty didn’t want him running anything at all. The dull one was in, just, because what he wanted was the privatisation of all the new geothermal plants so he and his Wall Street pals could make big profits, and as that amounted to a platform of higher energy bills and higher taxes only the pals were keen, but his claims that federal power stations were rampant socialism or worse had some traction with the further right. The other eleven were also against things, not for them - re-legalising automatic weapons for three of them, which split such votes as there were, reverting to road haulage for another, who was a lifelong Teamsters’ fanboy, keeping all our lovely dams for a couple more, and so on, but they were all one-note wonders.
Any which way a date was set for mid-October, my Press Secretary promised me files on the lucky twelve, which was all I’d accept by way of debate-coaching, and I went off to the last of the regional conferences about what sensible people wanted doing, which was in New Hampshire, at Dartmouth’s Rockefeller Center, and happily timed for the glories of Fall foliage. As at the others the remaining problems were far more local and regional than national, where the message was pretty much ‘more of the same, please’ - though whether that meant more totem-poles, manitous, thunderbolts, or dragons was unclear - but as this was one of the regions outside any of the three great manitous’ basins there was some anxiety about their share of cheap geothermal energy. As with Florida and the south-east, the best I could do about that was new plants as near as a basin came plus dedicated supply through the grid, and they were happy with that so we got on to the smaller issues, many with perfectly sensible solutions that just needed actually doing. By careful arrangement there was a fair First-Person presence, from reservations in New York, Rhode Island, and Maine, and Skuffles and I gave them generous time, glad to extend contacts and knowledge. We were also given to understand that they strongly approved of having a coyote or two in the White House, slightly to their own surprise, and really liked the totem-pole, although they were not an eastern tradition at all.
Still more heartening was that a fair majority of them had been to DC to see the presidential exhibition - still running, though Jesse’s dress was regularly reclaimed as needed, and always full - and were very happy indeed about its more inclusive reframing of American history. I’d heard from Professor Hämäläinen that his US sales were strong, and now discovered where some of those copies had gone, which did lead to one serious proposal - a new Full History of North America, under presidential sponsorship, that would include not only Hämäläinen’s work on the Comanche and Lakota empires, re-expanding on his synoptic Indigenous Continent, plus lots of preternatural witness, but full African-American perspectives, with Latinx and others, and would also be cognisant that neither First People nor buffalo stopped at the Mexican and Canadian borders. The big version should be as many volumes as it needed, but there would also have to be a seriously scrunched text-book-size synopsis for schools’ use, keeping the balance however it had to shelve detail and complexities. I’d already pushed some historians about First-People history, as had Frank, while others had needed no pushing, but I liked the idea and was happy to promise some corralling of top historians and arm-twisting of a big university press, which to their amusement I did at once. Harvard being nearest, and having the most formally prestigious press, I asked my staff to set up a teleconference with its president, as many senior historians of the US as they could corral, Frank, and Hämäläinen, as well as those who’d made the request, and they managed to pull it off, bless them, before the conference wrapped up. All the historians were keen in principle, including Frank, however the actual title was clearly going to be the subject of a running academic bunfight, the Belknap Press of Harvard UP would do the deed handsomely, I would guarantee some subsidy, even if not re-elected (though given the depth of Harvard’s coffers not that much), and though quite how to organise it all in how many volumes was going to take a bunch of threshing out - as would integrating Canadian and Mexican history, though I could also facilitate that, especially if re-elected - Hämäläinen had been asking that very question of himself, and had all sorts of useful guidelines and sketches to offer. The First People who’d asked me were invited to come by Harvard’s history department to add their ideas and concerns more fully, and before leaving them all to it I goosed them by promising to put them in contact with Asil, Charles, Baba Yaga, and Stefan, for assorted preternatural input, and would also alert the manitous to their research, so running sessions at Great Manitou Corner might be an idea. I left feeling virtuous, thanked by happy people, and genuinely looked forward to the historiographical debates, on which I would be kept posted.
That news splashed, as tends to happen when Harvard sets it mind to announcing things, and I cheerfully fielded questions at my weekly press conference, agreeing the full version would take considerable time and have a fair carbon footprint, even if most copies were smart-PDF, but insisting it was seriously worth it.
“It’s not just new facts and new witnesses, sir, though there are plenty of those - the preternatural was here all along, and it knows plenty that isn’t written down. So do First People. It’s how we - all of us, the US of A - think about our history. One of Professor Hämäläinen’s basic points is that we barely recognise what the Comanche and Lakota had as empires, because they didn’t do empire the Anglo way - no big stone buildings or monuments, no fancy cloth uniforms for soldiers, and no big cities because they were mobile empires, populations shifting with the buffalo and the seasons. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t large, trans-regional tribal hegemonies, who over more than three centuries beat, variously, the Spanish, French, and British empires when those came calling. Or again, pretty much the only widely-known representations of interactions between First People and African Americans are Faulkner, who’s kinda highbrow, and Bob Marley, who isn’t but ‘Buffalo Soldier’ only lasts for four minutes and change. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t plenty of interactions, from killings to marriages. The history of North America, including the US, is not just the history of Anglos arriving and what they did, however that’s writ often painfully large, and if the historians are rightly dubious about calling anything a ‘full history’, they can certainly go for a much more inclusive and multi-perspectival history. We might actually learn something, you know.”
No-one could rationally object, though there was some ritual shrieking about woke transgressions of ingrained Anglo primacy in all things, and there was a pleasing bonus when Fox thought they’d try beating up on Professor Hämäläinen, who’d come over for a Harvard history-department pow-wow about the project. Instead he beat up on them, demolishing objections with hard evidence, figures and facts that outlined just how successful both tribal hegemonies had been over centuries, despite the dire inroads made by smallpox and alcohol, and while fundamentally and superbly adapting their entire cultures to the arrival of the horse. Fox, he pointed out, might claim to be a media empire, but they really didn’t measure up, however you cut it. That and his whole segment went viral on YouTube and elsewhere, and his North American sales got another sizeable boost, which was fine by me though I suspected the people who most needed to read Indigenous Continent probably weren’t among the buyers. Still, with perceptions-of-history wrangling you take what you can get, and it all revved up the First People vote very nicely, with knock-on effects.
With less than a month to polling day the promised national carpet of wake-up-and-get-ready events got going, and my cloak saw some hard use as I visited all fifty state capitals over a fortnight, with some bigger cities and reservations thrown in. It was all even weirder than the first time round because none of my rivals was within ninety points of me and everyone seemed quite content that it was all a done deal, so besides some presidential updating on ongoing stuff plus dragons (settling in fine, so far as I knew, and in the case of both fire and water orders apparently very taken with Yellowstone’s hot springs) what I was mostly saying was that while I was, if not exactly happy, perfectly willing to do four more years, I wasn’t asking for a skyhigh turnout just to preen at numbers. There were a lot more races going on than mine, getting those independents into Congress, state legislatures, gubernatorial mansions, and mayoral offices mattered, and the effects of a second clean sweep, if I got one, might well include all sorts of warm and beneficial feelings - and beyond all that, democracy depended on people voting. It was the rent citizens paid for living in the land of the free and the home of the brave, so if anyone knew someone who wasn’t registered or didn’t intend to stir themselves, kindly prod them hard and repeatedly. I also dropped into various independents’ campaigns - those I knew or owed, including Irpa, Vanna, and Warren, and newcomers I liked the look of in tighter local races - which gave their poll-numbers and fundraising gratifyingly large boosts. It was also very tiring, and when I discovered one of the reasons some visits were delegated to Skuffles, who without lying at all cheerfully pointed out to various crowds that mind-voices did not suffer from hoarseness, and found it hysterical as well as deeply gratifying that her presence boosted support as much as mine.
There were also the pending musicians and the plans for the party in Sacajawea SP, which seemed never to have stopped expanding. Bob Dylan was playing a major gig in Europe, but while the Dead and the Boss had the long evening slot - it was my party - ever so many musicians I didn’t much listen to and a few that I did were keen to appear, and who was I to refuse them ? It did mean some of them had to perform together, but Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder were happy to do that anyway, and for the rest I mostly deferred to Jesse, who was happy to agree that boy bands, girl bands, and anyone else who didn’t write their own songs was out but as close to teenage fangirl as I’d ever seen her about Taylor Swift. Go figure. Given our spread of time-zones things would kick off late morning, Pacific, and quite possibly go on until dawn, Chief Munday having laughingly told me that it wasn’t everyday a local coyote-girl got re-elected as president, and as he expected most of Pasco to be there anyway and dancing even if they weren’t he had no intention of closing anything celebratory down merely to reduce decibels.
Then it was time for the debate, and in the meanwhile its scale had also expanded, mostly meaning audience. Wash U. had found themselves besieged by requests for tickets, and as the weather was behaving itself I’d agreed a slight shift of venue, from the Athletics Complex to Francis Olympic Field, to which a covered daïs and vast amounts of seating had been added. The Freed were not needed for security this time round, but wanted to come, for old times’ sake, according to a deadpan Ramona, and I had no objection to the symbolism. The Pack also wanted to come, to Adam’s surprise as much as mine, but a smiling Warren told us it was just a mix of not having been involved last time and wanting to see first-hand whatever I wound up doing, even if it was only debate.
“Really ? I raised eyebrows. “I have no plans to ask Thomas Hao to throw any of my rivals around, Warren.”
“Nah, this time you’ll do it yourself, Mercy.” His grin became a shrug. “And it’s what they can do to express support - they know you wouldn’t be happy if they all did triple bows of awesomeness but they’re feeling it. And not just for dragons and whatever - they weren’t sure about you both being away so much, but the legate system’s working well, everyone is being nicer to and about the preternatural, and they’re happy.”
We couldn’t argue with that and didn’t much want to, so another forty-odd wolves and families were in, and the rest of Air Force One’s space was claimed by Charles and Anna, complete sets of Fishers and Willises, and some of my Episcopalians, including Reverend Jenkins and to my pleasure Mr and Mrs Wright, escorted by their blushing lumberjack grandson Jed. They were, Mr Wright cheerfully confessed when I welcomed them on board, shamelessly taking advantage of my kindness and would dine out on the tale for as long as they were spared.
“And welcome, Mr Wright.” Mischief twitched. “You and Mrs Wright are pillars of the First Congregation, so some presidential travel is only proper.”
“Oh go on with you, dear.” Mrs Wright patted my arm, making the nearest agent twitch, and spoke confidentially. “We’ve been telling ourselves it’s a treat for Jed, who quite worships you these days, but really it’s for us. Air Force One ! and VIP seats. Such a thrill.”
I took pity on Jed, who was adorably blushing even more, and gave them a real smile.
“There’s room for all, Mrs Wright. But I have to say I doubt the soundtrack tonight will be much of a treat.”
“Your side will be, dear, whatever all those silly men have to say. But we’re holding people up.”
They were shown to their seats, beaming at everyone, I welcomed Reverend Jenkins and her nice husband, with their wide-eyed teenage kids, and we were off. The Secret Service had wanted us to land at Scott AFB, but it was much further from Wash U. than Lambert International, and I’d dug my heels in, international airports not exactly being security-free even when not receiving Air Force One. Several of the marsh-sedge green Beasts had been flown in all the same, with the coach, and it was a mildly absurd motorcade that sped down I170 to Forest Parkway and the pleasingly named Big Bend Boulevard. Having roads cleared before me was one presidential perk I really appreciated, and given presidential schedules it’s entirely justified, as a grinning Adam agreed.
When we disembarked in the secure area behind the temporary daïs Tom Yearman was waiting with a score of the St Louis Pack, so there were most of three werewolf packs present, and six alphas, if you counted Skuffles, Adam, and me separately, and there wasn’t even a bassnote of tension or wolf rage. There could have been if we hadn’t all liked and trusted one another, but as Adam and Charles agreed the testosterone and dominance friction endemic among wolves was distinctly lower than it had once been. Bran thought some of it was down to the amplified dominance I could manage with the cloak and Skuffles could manage on her own, which (he said) put other things in perspective, but that most of it was because all wolf lives had improved significantly.
“It is the Paths of Assertion and Mercy working”, he’d told me when I asked a couple of days back, after we’d had a necessary conversation that had both made him smile and raised his eyebrows. “Of course bigotry against the preternatural in general or wolves in particular has not disappeared, but largely thanks to you it now has no focus, no major organised support, far less money, and an ever-dwindling credibility. And you have made wolves popular, with Adam and Jesse, and Ramona and the Freed. It has translated into much less hassle directed at individual wolves and their families, while having our justice ameliorated and more widely known has also been an ease. And that shows up in fewer fights and leadership challenges.” He shrugged. “To say wolves have relaxed some in a less threatening environment would not be untrue, however there are any number of qualifications.”
“So that’s all good, right ?”
“Truly, Mercy. It is a boon and a relief, for Charles and Anna as for me. I am also expecting requests for legates as we move towards having living alphas emeriti, and that is good too.” He’d smiled, something I couldn’t identify in his eyes. “You have been persistently and pleasingly outrageous, as you well know, and wise insanity still covers it. Four years in and wolves are happy, the Fae are as cheerful as I’ve ever known them, most Americans are more than content, if often as bemused as proud, and even vampires have mostly stopped sulking, besides starting to appreciate having longer-lived sheep. And yet a part of you really is surprised we all very much want you to get up tomorrow and do it some more.” He shook his head. “I wager you a new Clyde Aspevig of choice that there will be a serious proposal to abolish the term limits for you.”
“No bet, Bran, and if there is I’ll veto it. The useful question is who should be Frank’s running-mate in four years’ time. Do me a pros and cons, as you see them, of human, wolf, or other citizen ? My instinct is a double human ticket but there are all sorts of angles.”
“There are, but I agree with you. Have you asked him ?”
“In outline. He and Rachel are mulling it, but for my money he’ll want to keep right on educating and building the legacy. The other thing to chew on, please, is where I’ll be when it is President Lafferty. Rules say rightly that I’ll stand well back but take all calls quietly as asked. Well and good. But preternatural interests are now also a part of the polity, and though Frank knows you and Gray Lords and manitous, he won’t have my range of contacts. So, one, does anything actually need doing about that ? and, two, if there’s no First Person in the White House, are the totem-pole and Paramount Tipi justified ? leading to three, my ideal, a First-Person running-mate. Talk to ap Lugh ?”
“Certainly, and those are all excellent questions, Mercy. Do the manitous or Elder Spirits have views on any ?”
“Haven’t asked them yet, but I will.”
The conversation ran through my head as I greeted Tom and his senior wolves, and they were relaxed, some at least, and just as happy as Bran had said, offering a palpable goodwill even while sensibly wary of a presidential coyote wearing cloak and Excalibur who also had a record of throwing thunderbolts. It made me feel more relaxed, too, and quite demonstrative in greeting the other special attendees, Ol’ Manitou River with Teatime and Medicine Cub East, who’d asked if they might come when the venue had been switched outdoors - for the experience, Ol’ Manitou River had said when it called, and in case we can help to answer any questions. Given one of my rival’s stated aims the politics of that might prove interesting, and I don’t say no to great manitous anyway, unless I really have to, so I was happy to see them and thought they were amused by entering the arena - and global TV coverage - amid three wolf-packs escorting Adam and Jesse with my other guests to the reserved block of VIP seats. It brought a great wave of noise and applause that declined into silence or distinctly isolated cheers as the moderators announced my assorted rivals, all male and neatly besuited, after which Skuffles and I (given my full Amerindian name) were greeted with a prolonged pandemonium including wolf-whistles and whistling wolves, and I saw wolves grinning as I added a little dominance to my slider-control and won something approximating silence.
“Thank you, everyone, from Skuffles too, for that very warm welcome, and we’re delighted to see such a large and inclusive turnout, but do please all observe the rules of the debate in courtesy. Ms and Mr Moderator.”
They were an experienced pair of news anchors and got things rolling along with crisp discipline. My not so rivalrous rivals each had two minutes to present themselves and the core of what they wanted to do, and both moderators were fierce in policing it, cutting individual mikes after a single warning when they had to, though I thought the whole still added up to twenty-four minutes of unsupported special pleading that was also overwhelmingly pie in the sky. Having made my own continuing agenda known far more widely than any of them had managed, I deferred my own two-minute slot to cut directly to my allowed questions, and to start with lumped together the three ‘Give us back our spray-guns’ candidates, one of whom had been even sillier than the others.
“Sorry to burst your Cloud-Cuckoo-Land balloon, sir, but you can’t repeal a constitutional amendment by executive order any more than you can pass one that way. Did you perhaps notice that I went to the trouble of getting my four constitutional amendments ratified by both Houses of Congress and all fifty state legislatures ? You’d have to do the same to repeal the 31stAmendment. So what’s the plan for that, any of you ? And have any of you actually read the Constitution you plan to rewrite ?”
That was plainly a ‘no’, and Silliest Gun-Nut tried insisting he could executive order amendments but the Moderators cut that off sharpish, telling him the platform they had offered did not entitle him to assert blatant falsehoods - a line that, comfortingly, got a sharp cheer of approval, and I turned to the not-so-former Teamster, correcting his stats and asking him straightforwardly why he thought it was a good idea to subsidise an increasingly obsolete and expensive form of freightage with a way high carbon footprint, preserving relatively few jobs at a potentially catastrophic cost to all. To his credit he did give a genuine answer, wanting to preserve the lifestyle of the long-haul trucker as the nearest modern version of iconic American cowboys - and somewhere in his dreams, I suspected, a necessary balance for renewed First-Person influence - but I shook my head.
“I can honour the wish, sir, but not the policy. Semis are way more inefficient, expensive, and polluting than rail and river. End of story. We are not remotely out of the climate woods, and even if wholly electric semis were easier, which they really aren’t, their economics still suck. The romance of the road is still there, available to all, and with hybrids and all-electrics booming and way more animal overpasses it now involves far less fumes and roadkill, but the version of it you want is already just a Hollywood memory. Or a C. W. McCall one. We’ve moved on, and so has the freight trade.”