Afraea
16-04-2005, 20:49
17 Oxford Road
Strangelove
9:30am
“I’m open to score Dad, I’m open!”
17 Year-old Jack Daniels held a hand in the air and waved across at his father three squares down. The senior Daniels family member glanced at his son, and checked the opposition. Most of the opposing team were further down the board, but a player was blocking a clear shot to his son. The father then turned and saw a clear shot two squares down to his other son Peter. Throwing the ball over arm, he watched as Peter caught the ball before turning and scoring a two-point goal past the opposing Defence.
The blue team cheered, coming to the centre of the board as half time was called. Jack looked a little crestfallen at his father as the group of five huddled as if in conspiratorial discussion. “I don’t get it Dad, why’d you throw to Peter?”
Jonathon Jack Daniels wiped perspiration from his brow and looked at his younger son. “Because the risk wasn’t worth the benefit.” He levelled a gaze at Jack. “You were open to score, but the shot was blocked by their best Interceptor.” He glanced at the others. “What have I taught you about risk and benefit?”
Peter answered. “Judgement, Dad.”
Jonathon nodded. “Precisely, judgement.” He looked at Jack. “Remember that?”
“Yes Dad.” Jack was still sulking a little. He always seemed to be playing second fiddle to his 20-year-old brother, always seemed to be the one his father came down on harshest out of the two. He bit his lip and kept the thought to himself though as his father knelt down onto the concrete and began chalking a strategy on the square they stood on.
The back garden of Number 17 Oxford Road was half an acre in size and gleamed in the mid-day summer light. Temperatures were peaking at 32 degrees Celsius and causing the Chess Ball players to swelter as they stood on the bare concrete, the heat snaking from the grey and distorting the white grid lines of the playing field. The plants were in full bloom, benefiting from the sun and making the garden glow in pinks and reds and golds, making the high-walled oasis from the outside world seem even more peaceful, despite the CCTV cameras that buzzed and rotated along the eight foot walls around the perimeter.
Inside the house, Janice Daniels leant on the windowsill and smiled as she watched the players. She brushed her blonde hair back from her fringe before leaning over and turning up the fan on the shelf. She sighed, rubbing her neck and looking down at her sweat-moistened palm before sitting back down at the desk and continuing with the employee report she had been working through for most of the day. She preferred to work in Jonathon’s study because it looked out on the garden and gave her a chance to see her husband’s gardening successfully gleaming in the summer warmth, a momentary distraction from her own work.
A telephone rang on the Study desk. Janice reached over without looking up and picked the black telephone receiver from the cradle and put the wireless set to her ear. “Daniel’s residence,” she said distractedly, twirling a fountain pen through her fingers as she thought about the next sentence to write. She frowned in momentary confusion as the dialling tone hummed in her ear and the external ringing continued with seemingly more urgency. Then she looked down at the desktop and replaced the black receiver.
The red telephone sat on the desk next to its black counterpart, and Janice paused in reaching for it, glancing out the window at her husband before picking up the scarlet receiver and brought it to her ear. “Office of the Deputy Prime Minister.”
=<>=
27 Palace View Lane
Strangelove
Simultaneously
“Leon.”
The voice was hazy and vague, as if spoken in another room and heard through a wall. The man blinked, letting his head roll back and thud against the wall. He hardly felt the pain of the impact against the plasterboard.
“Leon, wake up!”
The voice became more urgent, and was followed by a sharp, cold shock across his face. The man instinctively put a hand up in front of his eyes and shook his head a few times.
“Leon, for Christ’s sake get up!”
Leon opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times, blearily looking through twisting shapes and distorted colours. He felt his face and his hand came away wet, tasting water on his mouth. After a few seconds more the world became clearer and Leon shook his head once more and looked up at the man that stood next to him.
“What time is it?” He mumbled, trying to read his wristwatch but failing to recognise the figures.
The other man, whom Leon now recognised as his brother, then walked across the room and threw open the curtains. Leon cursed, bringing a hand up again as the sun’s piercing light hit his face. The brother answered, “It’s Nine Thirty in the morning, you’re needed.”
Leon rolled over a little, knocking against something glass. He paused, and his hand brought up an empty whisky bottle. He smirked a little and threw it aside, watching it roll away across the floor and knock against another empty counterpart by the sofa. “Whoever it is, tell them I’m busy.”
“It’s Strangelove House on the telephone.”
Leon paused, and then looked over at Fred. “It’s a national holiday, what do they want?” He managed to speak with some clarity this time, the impact of the situation hitting him.
Fred looked around at his brother. “Well, they obviously didn’t tell me, I don’t have Beta Clearance.” He sighed, knowing the sarcasm was wasted on Leon in his current half-drunken state. “Just get changed and come downstairs, I’ll call your driver around the front.” Fred leant across and picked up the telephone next to the sofa, pushing the memory key. “Yeah, this is Chief of Staff’s residence, he needs his car outside in five minutes.” He glanced at Leon, who tried to push himself off the floor and fell back against the wall, swearing. Fred turned back to window and looked out across the cityscape. “Make that ten minutes.”
=<>=
A1 Motorway
Outbound from Strangelove
9:35am
“Edward, you-”
The woman paused in her conversation and stared accusingly at her mobile telephone as Edward continued talking. She sighed to herself and waited a moment before bringing the phone back to her ear. “Edward, just shut up a minute and listen.”
The talking subsided and the woman leant back, looking out the windshield of her car at the crawling morning traffic. Everybody was trying to get away for the holiday, and the outbound motorway was packed solid.
“Edward, the Police Amendment Bill is going to pass whether the Conservatives like it or not. The question is how much of a stink they’re going to make of this in the Lower House.” She shifted out of first gear and eased on the brake pedal as the traffic halted once more. “Now, as the Prime Minister’s Political Advisor, both he and I think this would be the best time to show some bipartisan unity in the house.” There was a pause as Ed spoke, and the woman sighed. “Whether they agree with it or not is irrelevant, Edward. The point is-” She stopped as her ‘phone bleeped, and she sighed. “Look Ed, I have another call, I’ll get back to you.” She cancelled the call and dialled in the second line. “This is Esmeralda Watson speaking.”
=<>=
Government House
1 Oxford Road
Strangelove
10:00am
The news broke quickly that morning. Afraea Central News was running it as their lead story, as were the six other networks in the country. All the main newspapers opened with their front pages dedicated to the shock, the tabloid newspapers more than others, but the broadsheets still made disparaging remarks on the issue.
Leon Warks nursed his hangover as he leant over his desk, wishing the front page of the Afraean Herald were not contributing to the heavy throbbing but ruefully admitting to himself that it was. This was not a good way to start a national holiday.
The door burst open, and Leon looked up in time to see Esmeralda charge in with a newspaper in one hand. She threw the paper down on the desk of the Chief of Staff and slammed her fist down after it. “What the hell is he doing?” She demanded loudly. “What in Christ’s sake is he trying to do to us?”
Leon raised a hand to silence the woman. “Speak quieter,” he said painfully. Esmeralda stopped and looked at him.
“Did you get drunk again?” She asked in exasperation. “Honestly, Leon, you need to see-”
“I’m okay,” Leon interrupted with force, and leant forward to look at the front of the Morning Eagle. “So how do they read it?”
Es grimaced and twisted the paper around to face the Chief of Staff. “See for yourself.”
Leon looked down at the paper for a moment, his head in both hands. After a moment, he smiled to himself. “Three weeks to telling him he needed to get in the media more,” he remarked. “Kind of ironic actually.”
A telephone rang on the Chief of Staff’s desk, and Leon picked it up. “Yes.” He listened for a moment before hanging up and looking at Es. “He’s here.”
=<>=
The car pulled up in front of Government House, its four bike convoy resting to a halt, two either side of the vehicle. Leon arrived at the driveway just as the Deputy Prime Minister pushed open the car door and stepped out into the sunlight.
“Good morning, Mister Deputy Prime Minister.” Leon fell into step with Jonathon as they walked back into the building.
“Good morning, Leon,” the politician looked more than a little irritated as two soldiers opened the door and saluted. “Is it possible that the Prime Minister could find any other way to destroy this administration?”
“Well, I really can’t comment on that, sir.” Leon took a folder from a passing official and leafed through a few pages before giving it to the DPM. “Briefing notes for the press conference, sir.”
Jonathan snorted, looking through the papers. “Yeah, like I need notes to explain what he was doing there.” He sighed, closing the folder and taking a turn in the corridor. “How long ago did the Motion come onto the floor?”
“Sir?” Leon already knew what he meant, though.
The DPM smiled to himself as they walked into the Prime Minister’s office. “Come on Leon, this is the perfect opportunity.”
Leon sighed. “The motion of no confidence came onto the floor fifteen minutes ago.”
Jonathon leant against the desk and sighed, signalling Leon to close the door. As soon as he did, the DPM kicked the desk with the back of his foot and cursed. Leon waited a moment whilst the man cleared his mind.
“It’ll pass,” Jonathon said after a moment. He sighed, looking across at Leon. “Well, we were intending on calling an election soon anyway.” He gave a wry smile and looked down at the notes on the desk. “Well,” he said, walking around the table and sitting down. “We better get geared up for this.”
=<>=
“This is ACN; Afraean Central News. Good morning and here is our main story.”
“Leading the news this national holiday, the Prime Minister has suffered considerable embarrassment this morning after undercover journalists photographed him in the arms of a prostitute on the outskirts of Strangelove.”
“The Prime Minister, caught ‘in the act’ as it were, has declined to comment on the event, but the government released a statement supporting the Prime Minister and his position in the government.”
“This morning, a motion was placed on the floor of the Lower House by Conservative Party leader Gregory Lear calling for a vote of no confidence against the current government on the grounds of moral laxity and abuse of authority. It is alleged that the Prime Minister used a government helicopter costing several thousand dollars of taxpayer’s money to transport himself to this ill-fated liaison with this prostitute.”
“Under the Constitution regarding no-confidence votes, a motion need only be passed in one house in order for a General Election to be called and the current administration replaced.”
“This comes as a blow for the residing Liberal Party, who only three years ago managed to take back both houses just to see several scandals regarding party members. The Prime Minister, whilst not being the first incident in the Liberal Party, is certainly the most serious.”
“We will bring you more news as the situation develops.”
=<>=
House of Commons (Lower House)
Voting House
2 Oxford Road
Strangelove
10:45am
Greg Lear was in his element.
He stood up from the blue leather seat and leaned against the debating table, glowering across at the Liberal Party front bench. He thanked God for this opportunity…thanked the Prime Minister, Lear though with glee; the Liberal Party had become pretty entrenched since the last election, and this scandal gave him the necessary leverage to dislodge the Liberals from their government position.
“Mister Speaker,” he said with force as he reached the peak of his speech’s attack. “Can we really trust a man who cannot keep his trousers on to keep the national economy running?”
The benches behind him cheered at the remark as Lear continued. “Can we really trust a man who cannot keep his drives under control to keep our law under control?”
More cheering. It was cheap, and Greg knew that the answer was actually, “Yes, of course.” But it was politics, and the stigma of prostitution, despite being legal for three years now, gave the public a popular reaction against those more open-minded.
The speaker called the roaring house to order and announced the vote of no confidence. Each member of the house took up a keypad from their seats and pushed either the red or green button depending on their own vote. The vote would last five minutes to ensure everybody present had input a decision, and then be displayed on the computer screen next to the Speaker’s chair.
Sitting on the other bench, the Economics Minister John Stanton was the ranking Liberal in the House and had therefore been forced to take the brunt of the attacks. He sighed, watching the computer screen, keying in his vote and then the telephone number for the DPM. Bringing the telephone to his ear, he spoke in a low voice. “Yes sir, it’s John. They’re voting now.” He paused a moment. “Yes sir, I’ll tell you.”
The screen blinked on and the tallies counted up for and against. The Speaker watched as the counting finished. The Speaker looked up. “For votes 227, against votes 73.”
The opposition parties cheered. John swore. The DPM swore too.
The papers later alleged that Harold Augustus Strangelove III did too.
=<>=
Imperial Palace
Number 1 Palace Road
11:00am
The immense Roman-style palace towered high in the rain that had onset within the last ten minutes. It had seemingly come from nowhere, and Jonathon Daniels hoped it wasn’t a sign of how this meeting would go. He stepped out of the Daimler and into the wet, shielding his face from the stinging cold as he quickly climbed the stone steps two at a time to find refuge under the yawning arch that stretched across the main entrance to the building.
The gold double doors swung open as a pair of uniformed royal aides bowed a little as he entered the main hallway. The room was the size of a football pitch, in marble and gold with a solid pearl staircase the width of two busses climbing up in front of him and splitting off in either direction at the top. Numerous paintings adorned the walls of past rulers, past nobles and past Prime Ministers. Jonathon began climbing the stairs, glancing up at the six-foot circumference chandelier high above his head as it glistened in the lights. A thunderclap rolled outside. The DPM looked over his shoulder at the sheets of rain outside and sighed, continuing to climb the stairs.
Imperial Aide Donald Muldoon was waiting at the peak, wringing his hands nervously. His white uniform was wet on the shoulders, suggesting he had been outside recently. The gold lining on the uniform sagged a little against the white material. He smiled a little. “Hello Jon,”
The DPM nodded as he paused at the top. “Hey Don.” He then glanced down the walkway to the door beyond. “How is he?”
Donald sighed, rubbing his wet brown hair. “Pacing up and down inside and outside the quarters. I’ve had to bring him in off the balcony twice so that the guards don’t hear his yelling.”
Jon sighed, adjusting his tie. “Okay, let’s get this over with.” The two men walked down towards the gold double doors adorned with a huge Imperial Eagle on the crest of the entrance. The two Imperial aides opened the doors as another thunderclap roared, the preceding lightning momentarily lighting the darkened corridor as Jon stepped inside.
The Imperial Quarters were collectively the size of a large house. The room in which the DPM stood was the living room, although it was the length of a ballroom alone. The gold and silver that decorated everything seemed dull in the darkened lighting, lit sharply by flashes of lightning from outside the windows. Jon stepped down a few steps in front of him and stepped around a long sofa facing a six-foot LCD Television screen. The doors closed silent behind him. A fire crackled ominously in the enormous fireplace that held a plaque of the Imperial Eagle above it. Jon could see the outline of the man reclining on another sofa facing the light, half-illuminated in his quiet anger.
Emperor Harold Augustus Strangelove III was the most liberal Emperor the country had seen in almost two hundred years, since Empress Elizabeth Strangelove II voluntarily gave up supreme rule and created the parliamentary system of Afraea. Whilst the ruler had little actual power to administer the country, Harold signed off on all laws passed by the two houses and had many times refused to sign the laws of previous right-wing administrations on the ground of his own political beliefs, forcing the government to institute the bypass clause of the Upper House to put the law into action. When the Liberal Party won the election two terms before, Strangelove had spoken nationally in great favour of the administration, and Jon could not deny that it helped their re-election for the third time more than any spin could have done. The Emperor had a 92 percent approval rating in the country; almost a third higher than the current record set by a serving Prime Minister to date. And that Prime Minister had just lost his job.
Jonathon approached to within a few feet and bowed, protocol and his own personal respect for the man demanded as much. He then stood and waited for permission to speak.
The Emperor was a young man, unmarried and in his early thirties. His short dark hair was lit in dark red shades by the leaping flames, giving him a powerful aura like some sort of demon. The white and gold uniform he wore was lit brighter by the reflection of the flames, giving a contrast in his appearance. But the expression on his face was unmistakable. After a moment he nodded. Jon cleared his throat.
“Your Imperial Highness, the lower House has voted against the current government. As acting leader of the party during the preoccupation of the Prime Minister, I must ask you to dissolve the current Parliament and call the next election.”
The silence ensued for several minutes after Jon finished speaking. He regretted using the word “preoccupation”, but it was the best way he could think of describing the situation. Jon shifted from one foot to the other. The fire crackled. Thunder roared outside.
Presently the Emperor sighed and looked across at the DPM for a long moment. “Honestly Jon,” he said in a quiet English accent. “Is he trying to get himself in trouble or what?”
Jon smiled a little despite himself. He rubbed his arm. “It does seem that way sometimes, Your Highness.” He looked up at the Imperial Crest; the gold eagle adorning the black plaque, three gold stars underneath the talons of the bird. The Imperial Eagle was almost a third larger than the Golden Eagle, bred for size and strength before being let loose in this area of the world some time before. The bird had come to symbolise Afraea as a nation; strength with restraint. As a historical leader once put it, “Walk softly, with a very big stick.”
Harold sighed again and pushed himself up from the sofa, walking across to a drinks cabinet and pouring two Scotches. Jon observed him. He was a quiet man, reserved in his language and his actions and always courteous. He and the Emperor had been friends at the same university when they were teenagers, and still shared a close bond. Harold embodied the nation; quiet and unassuming, but capable of much fire and brimstone if the situation so deserved. Handing one to Jonathon, he looked across at the man with a fixed stare. “I hope you win, Jon.”
Jonathon Jack Daniels nodded, and raised his glass to the Emperors. “I hope so too, Your Highness.”
The glass clinked in the darkness of the room and the two men drank in silence as outside the thunder clapped again and the rain beat down upon the city.
Strangelove
9:30am
“I’m open to score Dad, I’m open!”
17 Year-old Jack Daniels held a hand in the air and waved across at his father three squares down. The senior Daniels family member glanced at his son, and checked the opposition. Most of the opposing team were further down the board, but a player was blocking a clear shot to his son. The father then turned and saw a clear shot two squares down to his other son Peter. Throwing the ball over arm, he watched as Peter caught the ball before turning and scoring a two-point goal past the opposing Defence.
The blue team cheered, coming to the centre of the board as half time was called. Jack looked a little crestfallen at his father as the group of five huddled as if in conspiratorial discussion. “I don’t get it Dad, why’d you throw to Peter?”
Jonathon Jack Daniels wiped perspiration from his brow and looked at his younger son. “Because the risk wasn’t worth the benefit.” He levelled a gaze at Jack. “You were open to score, but the shot was blocked by their best Interceptor.” He glanced at the others. “What have I taught you about risk and benefit?”
Peter answered. “Judgement, Dad.”
Jonathon nodded. “Precisely, judgement.” He looked at Jack. “Remember that?”
“Yes Dad.” Jack was still sulking a little. He always seemed to be playing second fiddle to his 20-year-old brother, always seemed to be the one his father came down on harshest out of the two. He bit his lip and kept the thought to himself though as his father knelt down onto the concrete and began chalking a strategy on the square they stood on.
The back garden of Number 17 Oxford Road was half an acre in size and gleamed in the mid-day summer light. Temperatures were peaking at 32 degrees Celsius and causing the Chess Ball players to swelter as they stood on the bare concrete, the heat snaking from the grey and distorting the white grid lines of the playing field. The plants were in full bloom, benefiting from the sun and making the garden glow in pinks and reds and golds, making the high-walled oasis from the outside world seem even more peaceful, despite the CCTV cameras that buzzed and rotated along the eight foot walls around the perimeter.
Inside the house, Janice Daniels leant on the windowsill and smiled as she watched the players. She brushed her blonde hair back from her fringe before leaning over and turning up the fan on the shelf. She sighed, rubbing her neck and looking down at her sweat-moistened palm before sitting back down at the desk and continuing with the employee report she had been working through for most of the day. She preferred to work in Jonathon’s study because it looked out on the garden and gave her a chance to see her husband’s gardening successfully gleaming in the summer warmth, a momentary distraction from her own work.
A telephone rang on the Study desk. Janice reached over without looking up and picked the black telephone receiver from the cradle and put the wireless set to her ear. “Daniel’s residence,” she said distractedly, twirling a fountain pen through her fingers as she thought about the next sentence to write. She frowned in momentary confusion as the dialling tone hummed in her ear and the external ringing continued with seemingly more urgency. Then she looked down at the desktop and replaced the black receiver.
The red telephone sat on the desk next to its black counterpart, and Janice paused in reaching for it, glancing out the window at her husband before picking up the scarlet receiver and brought it to her ear. “Office of the Deputy Prime Minister.”
=<>=
27 Palace View Lane
Strangelove
Simultaneously
“Leon.”
The voice was hazy and vague, as if spoken in another room and heard through a wall. The man blinked, letting his head roll back and thud against the wall. He hardly felt the pain of the impact against the plasterboard.
“Leon, wake up!”
The voice became more urgent, and was followed by a sharp, cold shock across his face. The man instinctively put a hand up in front of his eyes and shook his head a few times.
“Leon, for Christ’s sake get up!”
Leon opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times, blearily looking through twisting shapes and distorted colours. He felt his face and his hand came away wet, tasting water on his mouth. After a few seconds more the world became clearer and Leon shook his head once more and looked up at the man that stood next to him.
“What time is it?” He mumbled, trying to read his wristwatch but failing to recognise the figures.
The other man, whom Leon now recognised as his brother, then walked across the room and threw open the curtains. Leon cursed, bringing a hand up again as the sun’s piercing light hit his face. The brother answered, “It’s Nine Thirty in the morning, you’re needed.”
Leon rolled over a little, knocking against something glass. He paused, and his hand brought up an empty whisky bottle. He smirked a little and threw it aside, watching it roll away across the floor and knock against another empty counterpart by the sofa. “Whoever it is, tell them I’m busy.”
“It’s Strangelove House on the telephone.”
Leon paused, and then looked over at Fred. “It’s a national holiday, what do they want?” He managed to speak with some clarity this time, the impact of the situation hitting him.
Fred looked around at his brother. “Well, they obviously didn’t tell me, I don’t have Beta Clearance.” He sighed, knowing the sarcasm was wasted on Leon in his current half-drunken state. “Just get changed and come downstairs, I’ll call your driver around the front.” Fred leant across and picked up the telephone next to the sofa, pushing the memory key. “Yeah, this is Chief of Staff’s residence, he needs his car outside in five minutes.” He glanced at Leon, who tried to push himself off the floor and fell back against the wall, swearing. Fred turned back to window and looked out across the cityscape. “Make that ten minutes.”
=<>=
A1 Motorway
Outbound from Strangelove
9:35am
“Edward, you-”
The woman paused in her conversation and stared accusingly at her mobile telephone as Edward continued talking. She sighed to herself and waited a moment before bringing the phone back to her ear. “Edward, just shut up a minute and listen.”
The talking subsided and the woman leant back, looking out the windshield of her car at the crawling morning traffic. Everybody was trying to get away for the holiday, and the outbound motorway was packed solid.
“Edward, the Police Amendment Bill is going to pass whether the Conservatives like it or not. The question is how much of a stink they’re going to make of this in the Lower House.” She shifted out of first gear and eased on the brake pedal as the traffic halted once more. “Now, as the Prime Minister’s Political Advisor, both he and I think this would be the best time to show some bipartisan unity in the house.” There was a pause as Ed spoke, and the woman sighed. “Whether they agree with it or not is irrelevant, Edward. The point is-” She stopped as her ‘phone bleeped, and she sighed. “Look Ed, I have another call, I’ll get back to you.” She cancelled the call and dialled in the second line. “This is Esmeralda Watson speaking.”
=<>=
Government House
1 Oxford Road
Strangelove
10:00am
The news broke quickly that morning. Afraea Central News was running it as their lead story, as were the six other networks in the country. All the main newspapers opened with their front pages dedicated to the shock, the tabloid newspapers more than others, but the broadsheets still made disparaging remarks on the issue.
Leon Warks nursed his hangover as he leant over his desk, wishing the front page of the Afraean Herald were not contributing to the heavy throbbing but ruefully admitting to himself that it was. This was not a good way to start a national holiday.
The door burst open, and Leon looked up in time to see Esmeralda charge in with a newspaper in one hand. She threw the paper down on the desk of the Chief of Staff and slammed her fist down after it. “What the hell is he doing?” She demanded loudly. “What in Christ’s sake is he trying to do to us?”
Leon raised a hand to silence the woman. “Speak quieter,” he said painfully. Esmeralda stopped and looked at him.
“Did you get drunk again?” She asked in exasperation. “Honestly, Leon, you need to see-”
“I’m okay,” Leon interrupted with force, and leant forward to look at the front of the Morning Eagle. “So how do they read it?”
Es grimaced and twisted the paper around to face the Chief of Staff. “See for yourself.”
Leon looked down at the paper for a moment, his head in both hands. After a moment, he smiled to himself. “Three weeks to telling him he needed to get in the media more,” he remarked. “Kind of ironic actually.”
A telephone rang on the Chief of Staff’s desk, and Leon picked it up. “Yes.” He listened for a moment before hanging up and looking at Es. “He’s here.”
=<>=
The car pulled up in front of Government House, its four bike convoy resting to a halt, two either side of the vehicle. Leon arrived at the driveway just as the Deputy Prime Minister pushed open the car door and stepped out into the sunlight.
“Good morning, Mister Deputy Prime Minister.” Leon fell into step with Jonathon as they walked back into the building.
“Good morning, Leon,” the politician looked more than a little irritated as two soldiers opened the door and saluted. “Is it possible that the Prime Minister could find any other way to destroy this administration?”
“Well, I really can’t comment on that, sir.” Leon took a folder from a passing official and leafed through a few pages before giving it to the DPM. “Briefing notes for the press conference, sir.”
Jonathan snorted, looking through the papers. “Yeah, like I need notes to explain what he was doing there.” He sighed, closing the folder and taking a turn in the corridor. “How long ago did the Motion come onto the floor?”
“Sir?” Leon already knew what he meant, though.
The DPM smiled to himself as they walked into the Prime Minister’s office. “Come on Leon, this is the perfect opportunity.”
Leon sighed. “The motion of no confidence came onto the floor fifteen minutes ago.”
Jonathon leant against the desk and sighed, signalling Leon to close the door. As soon as he did, the DPM kicked the desk with the back of his foot and cursed. Leon waited a moment whilst the man cleared his mind.
“It’ll pass,” Jonathon said after a moment. He sighed, looking across at Leon. “Well, we were intending on calling an election soon anyway.” He gave a wry smile and looked down at the notes on the desk. “Well,” he said, walking around the table and sitting down. “We better get geared up for this.”
=<>=
“This is ACN; Afraean Central News. Good morning and here is our main story.”
“Leading the news this national holiday, the Prime Minister has suffered considerable embarrassment this morning after undercover journalists photographed him in the arms of a prostitute on the outskirts of Strangelove.”
“The Prime Minister, caught ‘in the act’ as it were, has declined to comment on the event, but the government released a statement supporting the Prime Minister and his position in the government.”
“This morning, a motion was placed on the floor of the Lower House by Conservative Party leader Gregory Lear calling for a vote of no confidence against the current government on the grounds of moral laxity and abuse of authority. It is alleged that the Prime Minister used a government helicopter costing several thousand dollars of taxpayer’s money to transport himself to this ill-fated liaison with this prostitute.”
“Under the Constitution regarding no-confidence votes, a motion need only be passed in one house in order for a General Election to be called and the current administration replaced.”
“This comes as a blow for the residing Liberal Party, who only three years ago managed to take back both houses just to see several scandals regarding party members. The Prime Minister, whilst not being the first incident in the Liberal Party, is certainly the most serious.”
“We will bring you more news as the situation develops.”
=<>=
House of Commons (Lower House)
Voting House
2 Oxford Road
Strangelove
10:45am
Greg Lear was in his element.
He stood up from the blue leather seat and leaned against the debating table, glowering across at the Liberal Party front bench. He thanked God for this opportunity…thanked the Prime Minister, Lear though with glee; the Liberal Party had become pretty entrenched since the last election, and this scandal gave him the necessary leverage to dislodge the Liberals from their government position.
“Mister Speaker,” he said with force as he reached the peak of his speech’s attack. “Can we really trust a man who cannot keep his trousers on to keep the national economy running?”
The benches behind him cheered at the remark as Lear continued. “Can we really trust a man who cannot keep his drives under control to keep our law under control?”
More cheering. It was cheap, and Greg knew that the answer was actually, “Yes, of course.” But it was politics, and the stigma of prostitution, despite being legal for three years now, gave the public a popular reaction against those more open-minded.
The speaker called the roaring house to order and announced the vote of no confidence. Each member of the house took up a keypad from their seats and pushed either the red or green button depending on their own vote. The vote would last five minutes to ensure everybody present had input a decision, and then be displayed on the computer screen next to the Speaker’s chair.
Sitting on the other bench, the Economics Minister John Stanton was the ranking Liberal in the House and had therefore been forced to take the brunt of the attacks. He sighed, watching the computer screen, keying in his vote and then the telephone number for the DPM. Bringing the telephone to his ear, he spoke in a low voice. “Yes sir, it’s John. They’re voting now.” He paused a moment. “Yes sir, I’ll tell you.”
The screen blinked on and the tallies counted up for and against. The Speaker watched as the counting finished. The Speaker looked up. “For votes 227, against votes 73.”
The opposition parties cheered. John swore. The DPM swore too.
The papers later alleged that Harold Augustus Strangelove III did too.
=<>=
Imperial Palace
Number 1 Palace Road
11:00am
The immense Roman-style palace towered high in the rain that had onset within the last ten minutes. It had seemingly come from nowhere, and Jonathon Daniels hoped it wasn’t a sign of how this meeting would go. He stepped out of the Daimler and into the wet, shielding his face from the stinging cold as he quickly climbed the stone steps two at a time to find refuge under the yawning arch that stretched across the main entrance to the building.
The gold double doors swung open as a pair of uniformed royal aides bowed a little as he entered the main hallway. The room was the size of a football pitch, in marble and gold with a solid pearl staircase the width of two busses climbing up in front of him and splitting off in either direction at the top. Numerous paintings adorned the walls of past rulers, past nobles and past Prime Ministers. Jonathon began climbing the stairs, glancing up at the six-foot circumference chandelier high above his head as it glistened in the lights. A thunderclap rolled outside. The DPM looked over his shoulder at the sheets of rain outside and sighed, continuing to climb the stairs.
Imperial Aide Donald Muldoon was waiting at the peak, wringing his hands nervously. His white uniform was wet on the shoulders, suggesting he had been outside recently. The gold lining on the uniform sagged a little against the white material. He smiled a little. “Hello Jon,”
The DPM nodded as he paused at the top. “Hey Don.” He then glanced down the walkway to the door beyond. “How is he?”
Donald sighed, rubbing his wet brown hair. “Pacing up and down inside and outside the quarters. I’ve had to bring him in off the balcony twice so that the guards don’t hear his yelling.”
Jon sighed, adjusting his tie. “Okay, let’s get this over with.” The two men walked down towards the gold double doors adorned with a huge Imperial Eagle on the crest of the entrance. The two Imperial aides opened the doors as another thunderclap roared, the preceding lightning momentarily lighting the darkened corridor as Jon stepped inside.
The Imperial Quarters were collectively the size of a large house. The room in which the DPM stood was the living room, although it was the length of a ballroom alone. The gold and silver that decorated everything seemed dull in the darkened lighting, lit sharply by flashes of lightning from outside the windows. Jon stepped down a few steps in front of him and stepped around a long sofa facing a six-foot LCD Television screen. The doors closed silent behind him. A fire crackled ominously in the enormous fireplace that held a plaque of the Imperial Eagle above it. Jon could see the outline of the man reclining on another sofa facing the light, half-illuminated in his quiet anger.
Emperor Harold Augustus Strangelove III was the most liberal Emperor the country had seen in almost two hundred years, since Empress Elizabeth Strangelove II voluntarily gave up supreme rule and created the parliamentary system of Afraea. Whilst the ruler had little actual power to administer the country, Harold signed off on all laws passed by the two houses and had many times refused to sign the laws of previous right-wing administrations on the ground of his own political beliefs, forcing the government to institute the bypass clause of the Upper House to put the law into action. When the Liberal Party won the election two terms before, Strangelove had spoken nationally in great favour of the administration, and Jon could not deny that it helped their re-election for the third time more than any spin could have done. The Emperor had a 92 percent approval rating in the country; almost a third higher than the current record set by a serving Prime Minister to date. And that Prime Minister had just lost his job.
Jonathon approached to within a few feet and bowed, protocol and his own personal respect for the man demanded as much. He then stood and waited for permission to speak.
The Emperor was a young man, unmarried and in his early thirties. His short dark hair was lit in dark red shades by the leaping flames, giving him a powerful aura like some sort of demon. The white and gold uniform he wore was lit brighter by the reflection of the flames, giving a contrast in his appearance. But the expression on his face was unmistakable. After a moment he nodded. Jon cleared his throat.
“Your Imperial Highness, the lower House has voted against the current government. As acting leader of the party during the preoccupation of the Prime Minister, I must ask you to dissolve the current Parliament and call the next election.”
The silence ensued for several minutes after Jon finished speaking. He regretted using the word “preoccupation”, but it was the best way he could think of describing the situation. Jon shifted from one foot to the other. The fire crackled. Thunder roared outside.
Presently the Emperor sighed and looked across at the DPM for a long moment. “Honestly Jon,” he said in a quiet English accent. “Is he trying to get himself in trouble or what?”
Jon smiled a little despite himself. He rubbed his arm. “It does seem that way sometimes, Your Highness.” He looked up at the Imperial Crest; the gold eagle adorning the black plaque, three gold stars underneath the talons of the bird. The Imperial Eagle was almost a third larger than the Golden Eagle, bred for size and strength before being let loose in this area of the world some time before. The bird had come to symbolise Afraea as a nation; strength with restraint. As a historical leader once put it, “Walk softly, with a very big stick.”
Harold sighed again and pushed himself up from the sofa, walking across to a drinks cabinet and pouring two Scotches. Jon observed him. He was a quiet man, reserved in his language and his actions and always courteous. He and the Emperor had been friends at the same university when they were teenagers, and still shared a close bond. Harold embodied the nation; quiet and unassuming, but capable of much fire and brimstone if the situation so deserved. Handing one to Jonathon, he looked across at the man with a fixed stare. “I hope you win, Jon.”
Jonathon Jack Daniels nodded, and raised his glass to the Emperors. “I hope so too, Your Highness.”
The glass clinked in the darkness of the room and the two men drank in silence as outside the thunder clapped again and the rain beat down upon the city.