Well here's something I've been working on for a while; just the prologue for now. I hope to make this part of a shared universe called Dark Earth that I am working on for the future!
In the year of our Lord 2022
I
The limousine drove up to the large state building followed by a huge procession of similar black vehicles. The limousine didn't seem all that special; it looked exactly like all the other ones that were dropping off their patrons under the awnings. But it was different: the black vehicles in its motorcade were carrying secret service. This vehicle was the Presidential State Car for the American Empire, the personal limousine for the Empire's president, Adoniah Stone. This vehicle, known as Cadillac One, is outfitted with military armor at least five inches thick, bulletproof windows and the wheels are fitted with run flat tires. Anything other than that is unknown. Indeed, the security for this vehicle, nicknamed "The Beast" is said to border on levels of paranoia. However, in this day and age, that type of protection is looking increasingly more necessary…
The vehicle pulled up to the door under the awning. The rear right door opened, and out stepped a tall handsome man in his 40s of African descent. He was a 7-foot, muscled, imposing figure. He wore a moustache and goatee, and had long black hair kept up in dreadlocks. He had a stern, hardened face to match his rugged body, and had a look of wariness in his eyes. He kept his right hand close to the gun under his suit coat and extended the left to a young woman still trying to get out of the car. The young female was somewhere between 18 and 22. African, like her father, her skin was more of a creamy color, unlike her father the president, who was a darker, chocolaty brown. Her long flowing hair, too, was more of a lighter brown, as opposed to her father's blacker, coarser hair. The beautiful young lady's name is Ceres Stone. Like her father, she was still getting over the death of the third part of their family, Sicily Stone, who had died from cancer only 3 years ago, but came to this party because it was unheard of for important government officials and their families not attend. So they both had mentally prepared themselves for this showcase in decadence, though neither of them was really interested in this farce, the "customary" Emperor's Ball. I mean really; World War III just ended two years ago, half the Imperial Army is still overseas, and the nation is still fighting a civil war with the last remaining terrorist groups and this is a time for this kind of a waste of money? Government stupidity at its best, yes indeed! Stone hid his disdain and walked through the main doors to the Imperial Palace.
The palace itself was a monolithic structure and the central part of a huge palace complex, located in the southeastern portion of Washington D.C., south of the Anacostia River, taking up the entirety of Wards 7 and 8. The expansion has taken such precedence with the various Emperors that the Naval Support Facility at Anacostia and Boiling Air Force Base were moved just south of Fort Meade, and Blue Plains Treatment Plant was moved just south out of Washington. The palace, originally quite small, has expanded exponentially, covering a total land area more than twice the size of downtown Washington, D.C., which has been controversial at times as this area was historically home to much of the city's black population. The actual Royal Palace is a mixture many building styles known in Europe and America: Baroque, Neoclassical, Renaissance Revival, and Gothic Revival. The newer palaces around it were built using various newer styles such as Postmodernism. This clash of old versus new is, unusual, to say the least. Most just think it's downright ugly. Others say it is one of the most unique clusters of buildings in the world. Either way, it was here and it wasn't going anywhere.
The father and daughter walked up the huge daunting steps to the well lit open doorway, paying attention to the men standing on either side of them all the way up the steps. These men were clad in huge medieval-looking suits of armor. The armor had huge symbols on them that represented the crest of the Royal Family. The armor, while looking ancient, were actually fully integrated autonomous battle suits, made with the cutting edge of technology. These armor clad warriors were the Praetorian Guard, the protectors of the Emperor, prepared to strike down even the president if he stepped out of line. As the father and daughter team walked through the large, wooden, heavy doors of the palace, they were greeted by…yellow.
The entire atrium was covered with golden sheet: the columns, the walls…well, everything except the floors, ceiling and stairs (they were a shiny reflective marble). People crowded the compact atrium halls, walking up and down the grand staircase opposite the main door. Doors on either side of the long room were also filled to the brim with people. The Stones walked toward the grand staircase in front of them, carefully flanked by black suited Secret Service men on all sides. People cleared the center of the room to allow the president and his entourage to pass, all the while whispering and murmuring amongst themselves. The President himself didn't pay them any mind. He walked up the grand staircase, the top of which split in three directions: on either side of the walkway at the top was a path leading to more stairs that led to the balcony at the top of this room and the third floor, while right in front of the staircase's top level was a large door attended to by two servants.
Both servants looked at the president and said, "Welcome to the party Mr. President," subsequently opening the doors for the Stones. What greeted the Stones was an elegant, exquisitely decorated ballroom, complete with bright chandeliers and a pristine floor you could see yourself in. A live band was playing a light, slow jazz piece, with some party members even up dancing. The president looked around to see who had showed up, though he already knew who to expect: he saw congressmen from national, dominion, provincial, and state level governments; he saw governors, lieutenant governors, parliamentarians, his own cabinet members, lower members of the aristocracy, and the heads of various government and military organizations, from the head of FEMA to the Field Marshal of the Army.
"You having a good time, sir?"
As he already knew who was speaking to him, he didn't turn around when he answered, "I haven't exactly been here too long, but I can already tell it's going to be a waste of my precious time."
The man the president was speaking to was Generalissimo Gene Schneider, supreme commander of the American Imperial Armed Forces. As generalissimo, Schneider was Commander and chief, and ranked above the Five Star ranked military leaders. He had served under President Stone when he was Generalissimo during World War III, and now answers only to himself, in this "rank above ranks." The president had known the man personally since he had made brigadier general many years ago, and had personally promoted him to his current rank, much to Gene's delight. The president turned around to shake hands with his old comrade and friend.
"How are you old friend," Schneider asked in a soft congenial tone, not the usual tone of a military officer, especially one who has had a career as extensive as the 5'4", handsome, brunette Schneider's.
"Ah, so-so. I'm starting to understand what people mean when they say this is a life ending job. And you don't look much better! In fact, you look more haggard than I do!"
"Well, Mr. President, I haven't slept in 72 hours."
"72 hours!"
"Yes. As you know, I have been in South America planning strategy with several generals who are still fighting the good fight against the leftist rebels down there. In fact, I would still be there if it wasn't for this party."
"Yes I can understand what you mean."
President Adoniah Stone paused to study the countenance of his old brother in arms. He did look truly exhausted, worn, and worrisome, as if he was holding the entire country on his shoulders, and one wrong move would send it all crashing to the ground. Stone had seen this look before, in his own father, who had to take care of him and his five siblings. Stone could also see anxiousness in Gene's eyes, which was also familiar, for he too was anxious: anxious to get out of here. These two military men were peas in a pod, fish out of water, both stuck in a situation neither one was particularly accustomed to, forced to keep up appearances of being amused when they both only wanted to get back to work. Neither one was anti-social; on the contrary, they both loved company. But, this level of decadence was just overly excessive to two very simple men.
"Why don't you make the most of this situation Schneider? Use the party to relax and enjoy yourself!"
"With all due respect, Mr. President, I'm only here to be seen. I have no intention of staying more than an hour."
"You're lucky then!"
The two men laughed and shook hands, then parted ways. The generalissimo was migrating towards the other military officers, while the president was moving towards the higher ups in American politics, his premiers.
The Premiers were some of the most powerful men in the government. Originally appointed by the Emperor, a 2001 constitutional amendment changed this so that they are now appointed by the president and confirmed by congress; even so, they were usually old money of the Empire who had a lot of connections, ruling their territory with great power. These premiers are the heads of the dominions: the American Empire's political divisions between that of the federal government and the provinces and states, giving an intermediate to the four institutions. The leaders of these dominions were all acquainted with President Stone, as he had personally appointed all of them. Most were old soldier buddies of his, but some were members of his political party, the Federalist Party, a center-right pro-federalism political party that balanced out the more reactionary, pro-imperial Republican Party, center left pro-states rights Democratic Party, and the liberal, almost radical Progressive Party. The premiers (and there adjutants who took their places if they were no longer able to do their jobs), whether members of his political party or not, were all loyal to their president, and worked well with him-that is, except for the newest amongst their fold…
The president walked through two large double doors leading out of the main ballroom that lead to a wide dimly lit hallway. In this hallway, were many closed doors and right next to the two double doors on either side of the hallway were staircases leading up to the third floor balconies, where the "Old Money" of the empire and its most politically powerful looked down upon the "Nouveau Riche" and those lesser men in the government. The president, while standing in the middle of the door way could here light moaning from some rooms. He realized these were the "private rooms" where the rich could have their desires satisfied, for one must realize that the Emperor held great power in his palaces. Aries Villa was usually the home of the emperor's "Hellfire Club," but it seems that today, some rooms in the palace were being set aside for the Club's normal purpose of giving concubines and fully automated sex dolls to the rich, famous and powerful. The president threw a sigh of relief that his daughter decided to mix with friends in the main ballroom instead of coming with him. Quickly regaining his composure, he swung a right, going up one of the staircases to the third floor.
Once on the second floor, he was met with an even darker hallway that seemed to go on forever in both directions. He also could smell a horribly strong stench that he quickly realized was tobacco. I hate cigarettes, he thought to himself. Trying not to think about it too much, he brushed through the obnoxious smoke as he made his way to a door to his right that lead to one of the balconies overlooking the main ballroom.
"Well, nice to see you've finally arrived old man!"
Stone smirked and replied "Don't know what you're talking about young blood! I could still beat you in a foot race!"
The president closed the door behind him and took a seat in the balcony room. Inside this private room were the premiers, the heads of the dominions and their vice premiers. The man who was talking so openly with the president was the Vice President himself, Ray Jacobs.
"Yeah, I still wouldn't race you, as you would probably hurt yourself," Ray replied. Ray had known the president's family for many years, having been next door neighbors with them. While Stone sought the military to escape his hard life, Ray had sought education. He did everything possible in school to ensure grants, scholarships, and accolades came his way, and he succeeded, eventually being accepted into the University of Houston, and then, into Harvard. He became a senator for the increasingly powerful Federalist Party, and when Stone accepted his nomination for president, he did not forget his old friend.
Ray took a seat next to his aging counterpoint who was wearing a simple gray suit. He looked around at the other politicians in the room: Franz Holden, Premier of North America, standing next to his vice premier Chester Roberts; Josiah Ferdinand, Premier of South America, sitting next to his V.P. Jésus Diego; Willard Sheldon, Premier of Australasia, sitting across from his V.P. Avon Jones; Charles Hopkins, Premier of Britain, standing behind his V.P. Ray Carter; Dwight Freeman, Premier of Indonesia, who was standing and talking to his V.P. Rodney Cunningham; Percy Jones, Premier of Oceania, who was having a drink offered to him by his V.P. Mark Kent; Riley Smith, Premier of the Atlantic, who was not on speaking terms with his nearby V.P., Hector Voltaire, as he had slept with his wife; John Riker, Premier of the Philippines, who was accepting a drink from (and feeling up) a servant girl who had also just served his V.P. Lawrence Carlisle; Nicholas Nolte, Premier of the Caribbean, who was flirting with his V.P. Sarah Moreno, the only female premier in history; Victor Banks, Premier of the Chinese Territories, who was reading a book and sitting behind his V.P. Ray Burrows; Hank Warren, Premier of Gibraltar was fast asleep while his V.P. Rock Ford was looking out over the ballroom from the balcony; and then there was Jack Hannigan, Premier of the Middle Eastern States, who was not here as he was downstairs having sex with a concubine, and his V.P. Shawn Spear, who was also not here because he was sick. Representing Japan was the V.P. Rob Hort, who was leaned back in a chair relaxing, but the newest premier, the actual Premier of Japan, was nowhere to be found.
'Where is the new guy," the president asked somewhat annoyed.
"Hell if we know,' Chester Roberts responded. Since he was the Premier of North America, the center of the empire, he had somewhat more authority than everyone else, though officially, everybody was on equal footing.
"So what is on the agenda for tonight gentlemen," the president asked sincerely.
"Partying," Jésus Diego replied jovially.
Chester shot a look at Diego, then turned to the president stating in his usual dry formal voice, "Nothing for the time being. Not until you know who arrives."
Just then, the door to the balcony was kicked open, startling everyone present and waking up Hank Warren. The young man who had so rudely disturbed the peace of the room wore a flashy all purple aristocratic suit, as if to purposely contrast with the darker blacks, blues, and grays worn by the other premiers. He was a young, Germanic man, with dark blond hair and blue eyes, who had chiseled boyish looks, and wore a somewhat annoying grin on his face. This young man's name is Clovis la Britannia, Premier of Japan, and Third Prince of the American Royal Family.
"Well hello gentlemen," Clovis shouted enthusiastically, while all the more clutching the two women under each of his arms.
"You're late," Stone replied, unamused at the crown prince's antics.
"I wasn't under the impression that there was a certain time I had to be here."
"Don't worry about it! If anyone arrives after the president arrives, he considers them late," Josiah Ferdinand replied.
"But, really now! Tell those two floozies to go about their own business. We have more important things to discuss," Chester added.
"Floozies," one girl replied in anger.
"Now now, gentlemen! There's no need to be so base! Don't worry girls! We'll continue later on this evening." And with that, Clovis gave his two "friends" deep kisses and "friendly" pats on their posteriors, sending them away and closing the doors behind them. At that moment one could hear the words, "skirt chaser" uttered by one of the other gentlemen. Though Clovis heard it, he paid it no mind.
"Well, that was very professional," Clovis said still wearing his annoying grin.
"Sit down Lothario," Rock Ford says nonchalantly. Clovis obediently did so.
The president sits down right in front of Clovis, looks him square in the eyes and states, "Well Clovis, this is the first time we've actually all met like this. You are the newest amongst us, so all eyes are on you. You are a popular socialite in public, but now you must be a good statesman as well. As you know, the situation is intense; the man you are replacing, Rupert Grant, was well respected and professional, as I expect you to act, and he was only the fifth premier in our nation's history to be assassinated. He was killed by Japanese nationals fighting for Japan's independence. Though this nationalist movement has only a small following, it is well funded, organized, and led by former top military officials. You must know that you are inheriting a volatile situation and are coming in behind a popular leader that you will be expected to imitate. Now I feel that you are not prepared for this, but of course, your status is not entirely up to me. I will, however, ask that you make decisions carefully, and to remember that every decision, whether good or bad, reflects on all of us."
Clovis looked at the president, not changing his expression, and said, "Mr. President, I am more than prepared to live up to everyone's expectations."
"Words are one thing, actions are another," Chester replied, deadpan.
"It isn't that we don't trust that you will try to do the right thing, it's that we worry you won't even know what the right thing is when you have to do it."
"There's also the fact that you're a philanderer and will probably get into a scandal sooner or later, most likely sooner," John Riker added, drawing glances from everyone in the room, as it was well known that Riker was an infamous womanizer.
Clovis brushed that last remark aside, adding, "I promise to be on my best behavior, scouts honor!"
"That's not the issue…," the president broke in.
"Don't worry Mr. President! While I'm slightly new at this, I think you can agree that no one is ready to deal with a powerful, homegrown rebellion, am I right? You would have to deal with same thing with anyone in my position."
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call them powerful," Chester scoffed.
"Look, Clovis, this isn't just about the rebels, alright? It's about everything else, plus the rebels! I don't think you're ready to handle it all…"
All of a sudden, a servant came through the door and said, "Mr. President, the emperor would like to see you. Please come with me."
"Well Clovis, I guess we will have to continue this discussion later."
"It's okay Mr. President, I look forward to speaking with you again before I leave for Japan!"
The president stood up to leave with the servant, only to watch as the servant was nearly knocked down by Reece Sanders, the President's Chief of Staff.
"I made it guys," Sanders added as he walked through the door.
"Your late," the president responded.
"Wow, Ceres! You look great!"
"Thank you!"
Ceres Stone was born to her military father while he was still rising in his career. As such, she moved around a lot and was never able to really meet friends. As her father moved up in rank, he moved around much less, until he finally began to stay in one place for extended periods of time. He found a permanent home in Washington D.C. once he obtained the rank of General, but as a trade off, he was home much less than before. His daughter didn't mind though-she could make many friends now. Ceres lived most of her teenage life in Washington, eventually going to, and graduating from, George Washington University; afterward, she began to go to Harvard Law School, somewhat against her father's will, as he wanted her to stay close. She fell out of contact with her family over her years of studying, though it struck her that she has never really had good communication with her parents, especially her father…
She was at school when she first heard her mother had died, and returned to Washington for the first time in five years for the funeral. It was in 2019, a couple of months before the start of World War III. Her father was still Generalissimo. Her mother had suffered from the cancer for two years, but never wanted her daughter to know, afraid she would stop focusing on her studies. In many ways, Ceres felt anger for this. How could her mother not tell her she was dying? And then, die without saying so much as goodbye? Ceres always thought she could find solace in her mother since she very well couldn't really talk to her aloof father, and now even her mother has betrayed her. Her relationship with her father grew strained and World War III and his subsequent run for election only widened the divide. Now, her only friends are these shallow people who think themselves the greatest their country has to offer, riding off of their parent's fortunes without even having the sense of mind to actually prepare to take care of their own inheritance…
"So Ceres, I hear your birthday is coming up!" This came from a young girl in an elegant white dress sitting across the table. She had long hair that was to the inhuman color of Fandango, a light Fuchsia, most likely the result of genetic manipulation, though her hair seemed to be graying, most likely because genetic manipulation is still in its infancy.
"Yes, it is Princess Euphemia! It's June 18! By the way, how did you know?"
"Your father the President told me, if you will forgive me for being nosy! Oh, and you can just call me Euphemia, or Euphy, since that's what all my friends call me!"
Euphemia Li Britannia, Third Crown Princess of the American Royal Family, was never the most worldly, realistic or knowledgeable person in her huge family, but she was, always sincere, kind, and personable. She had tried from day one to be friends with Ceres, despite the age difference (Ceres was 30, while Euphemia was 16); Ceres saw her as annoying and sheltered originally, though has grown to tolerate her. Euphemia apparently always saw Ceres as a big sister figure.
"No, I have no problem with my father telling you my birthday."
"Great! We'll have to do something special to celebrate!"
"That's not really necess…"
"No, I insist! Oh, we must go to that new Italian restaurant on the other side of river…"
"She said she didn't want to celebrate with you twit!" These harsh words came from a much younger girl (she was 14) with auburn or dishwater blond hair tied into angel wings, who was sitting at the same table between the two older women. This was Karine Le Britannia.
"Karine, stop being so mean to your sister, I mean really!"
"I was just saying what you wanted to say bitch! By the way, isn't your father leaving for Jerusalem to discuss the final peace treaty to the war?"
"Yes."
"Damn, I was hoping it all fall apart and we'd go to war again!"
"What!"
"Karine, why would you say that!"
"Oh come off it! That war was the most interesting thing to happen in years!"
"There is nothing interesting about war Karine," Euphemia retorted, trying to remain calm but firm.
"Fuck that! Everything about war is interesting. When I'm old enough I'll join the academy and become a military officer!"
"Humph! They won't let you anywhere near the front with that kind of attitude." These words came from behind Karine. The woman who said that to them was a tall, stout, regal woman of 28 years, who had what, could best be described as Lilac colored hair. Guinevere Su Britannia took a seat at the same table as the other girls. She seemed to glide gracefully to her chair, which was fitting, as she was the Crown Princess, the first among the Emperor's daughters, so she had to present an air of sophistication.
"Yeah whatever," Karine replied, crossing her arms and pouting.
"Anyway, Euphemia, how is your sister," Guinevere continued, completely ignoring Karine altogether.
"Oh, well, Cornelia's still stationed in the Middle East, but she treats it more like a vacation than anything else," Euphemia added jovially.
"Yes, I heard she was just chasing some more of those Arab rats that refused to lie down and die after the war," Guinevere stated nonchalantly
"Huh, chasing weak little Arab nomads is never fun," Karine added haughtily. "Don't you agree Ceres?"
Karine turned to see that Ceres was looking somewhat uncomfortable at the moment.
"What! I said Arab nomads, not African Bushmen?"
"Karine shut the hell up," Guinevere interjected.
"Whatever, bitches," Karine retorted, adding that last word under her breath.
II
President Stone walked down the wide hallway, being sure to note the vaulted ceilings and beautiful Greek Arches. As he walked down the large hallway, he constantly passed Praetorian Guard, who, standing still and silent, seemed to not notice the president passing by, though the president knew that under their armored helmets and face masks they were watching him intently. As he slowly walked down the hallway staring at the armored men, someone caught him on his shoulder.
"Hello Mr. President, I see you too have been summoned to see the Emperor! Oh! Did I scare you? Sorry, I guess I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that!"
"Darn it Mikkel! Please, don't do that! I already have bad nerves!"
Mikkel Sigfried Nicklaus was one of the most powerful men in the Empire, arguably, more powerful than the president himself. He was Grand Vizier, a position that made him the highest ranked official in the Royal Court. It was actually seen as unusual for someone outside the Royal Family to have the position, as it would normally be held by the Crown Prince, however, Prince Odysseus eu Britannia, the current First Prince, chose to give the position to Mikkel, an old friend who graduated from college at 16, became a certified Rhodes Scholar at 18, became mayor of his city at 20, and became state governor of New York at 26. Mikkel himself talked big about wanting to help reform the government when he first got the position, but he hasn't done much of that. However, Mikkel himself is still one of the most powerful men in the government and could probably change the government if he wanted to, but it seems he has lost the fire for that as of late.
"So, what are you being called for," Mikkel asked in his usual cheery voice.
"I wasn't told, just summoned; how about you?"
"Same as you I'm afraid."
"I guess that makes three of us." These words startled Mikkel and Stone. They turned to see a tall, extremely handsome 27 year old man walking up behind them. He was the epitome of the "Master Race" concept; he stood around 5'9", had a good body build, and had some of the most delicate, smooth skin the president thought he had ever seen on a Germanic man. He had beautiful, bright blond hair, blue eyes, and chiseled looks that were said to melt the hearts of women everywhere. His name is Schneizel el Britannia, Second Prince and acting CEO of the company General Resource, a corporation owned by the Royal Family and its only source of income. Schneizel himself was an unusual man: he wasn't really all that ambitious, despite being the Second Prince, thus placing him in line for the throne, and he was a man who did not seem to have too many desires; he was just content.
"So gentlemen, shall we not keep the old man waiting," Schneizel continued, walking right past the two men. The two other gentlemen, seeing no reason to continue discourse, followed behind.
The three gentlemen reached the end of the hallway and were greeted by large, heavy wooden doors. The doors opened and an older gentleman with a balding head and sharp features walked out and said, "The Emperor will see you now gentlemen." This man, who was Mayor of the Palace Oliver White, bowed before the prestigious gentlemen and stepped aside, gesturing his arm to let them pass. The men passed through the large doors, which White quickly closed behind them, and stepped into a large, dark room, lit only with aroma candles. The president looked his sides to the far flung walls, and could just barely make out figures in the dimness. They must be the Janissary, the Emperor's personal guard detachment, he thought to himself. He could only just see the heavy exo-suits the powerful knights wore, and large, intimidating assault rifles they held.
The Grand Vizier paid more attention to his front, where he could see various female forms moving seductively around a large throne. He could tell by their "stimulating" outfits that they were not among the Emperor's 108 consorts (lesser wives), but among his 200 and something concubines. The Emperor had the power to make any woman in the Empire a concubine (as long as she was unmarried and at least 15) and he liberally used this power: everyone from movie stars to business women were his lovers, and what's more, it was considered an honor to "serve" the Empire this way, as it is from the concubines that consorts were chosen, and it was from the consorts that the Empress Consort, the Emperor's "true wife", was chosen. The women licked themselves (and each other) sexily, looking directly at Mikkel. Though Mikkel nodded back to them, he knew that so much as touching a concubine was grounds for "bad things happening to you".
The Prime Minister, however, was looking directly at the man who sat on the throne. Emperor Charles zi Britannia, sat leisurely on his throne, surrounded by 40 women, all pleasuring themselves and each other for his entertainment, yet the entire expression on his face simply said "Whatever." The now 63 year old man sat lazily in his chair, his head resting on his fist, his aged, hawk like features relaxed into a kind of daze. His white hair accentuated his grave appearance, making him look as a ghost in the dim lighting. Despite the constant moaning and grunting by the women around him, he looked unfazed and uninterested. He only stared on blankly at the three men that had just walked into his domain. The Prime Minister angled his eyes downward to see that others had been summoned as well. Already on their knees, bowed before the Emperor was the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, National Security Advisor, Chief of Staff to the President, Deputy National Security Advisor, Director of National Intelligence, the Generalissimo, the Chief of the ISS, the entire Imperial Cabinet, Director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, Imperial Chamberlain, Grand Inquisitor, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Civil Security Advisor, Chief of Staff to the Vice President, and standing behind them all was the Knight of One, the head of the Royal Knights himself, Bismarck Waldstein.
"You're late," Bismarck states.
"Late? We were just summoned," the president retorts.
"Damn messengers were goofing off again then!"
All of a sudden, the front door opened again, and Vice President Ray Jacobs walked through, strolled right up to the president, and said "Well, he summoned me too." It was then that the president realized that what the Emperor had convened here was a meeting of the American Security Staff; both the National and Homeland Security Councils in their entirety.
The four newest arrivals walked forward between those already bowing before the Emperor, and did the same. Bismarck Waldstein looked up toward the Emperor and bellowed out, "Everyone is assembled my lord!"
"Excellent." The large, muscled man shifted himself into a relaxed position. He was wearing a black suit with white pinstripes, a black tie, a white dress shirt, and white gloves, with a white boutonniere in his suit pocket for added effect. The gruff gentleman, crossed his legs and bellowed, "Gentlemen, I'm sorry to have called you here during the party, but I realize this maybe the last time I get to speak to all of you like this for some time. I would like you to give me a sitrep on the nation's current situation, a kind of "State of the Empire" address for me. Will you start first Mr. President? Oh, and you all may stand up and take a seat. Seats for the gentlemen please?"
The Emperor's handmaidens, his personal servants (and unofficial harem) brought seats to the other men who all sat in a line in front of the emperor. Normally they would all sit at a table, and sitting like this made them feel strangely like they were on trial.
The president spoke up saying, "My Lord..."
"Please call me Emperor, Stone. Saying "My Lord" makes me feel like you think I'm Jesus or something."
"Yes sir, Emperor. Well sir, as you probably know, the biggest issues we have now is self-defense, signing a peace treaty to end the war, and rebuilding. Our nation, however, faces a myriad of financial, ecological and military problems. Such as for example…"
"For example," the Secretary of the Interior, Peter Rush interjected, "the fact that we are facing a drought in the western states. There is also the disappearance of the Louisiana wetlands. Right now Lake Salvador is part of Barataria Bay, making New Orleans beachfront property, and by the way, that city is still underwater. Of course, now that the Old River Control Structure has been destroyed, the Mississippi River has switched course, which means we may no longer have to rebuild the city anyway. But thousands of oil refineries and miles of port facilities are now at risk of being destroyed by future hurricanes…"
"Excuse me," the Emperor interrupted, "I thought you said our main worries were security issues?"
Rush stiffened and replied, "My liege, these are National Security issues! They affect our ability to do business and keep our citizens from dying of thirst! Several of our more desert states are losing population. As a result, we may see a dramatic population shift, and maybe even a refugee situation."
"And it isn't just the environment my lord," says Sandra Frost, Secretary of the Treasury, "Our nation is approaching bankruptcy! The war, the energy crisis, terrorist attacks, and a growing national debt are draining our coffers! The national debt is currently 200% of our GDP; we can no longer afford to operate normally, we are on the verge of economic ruin! We can't pay for basic services. And with the energy crisis, stock market crash, and current economic depression, things will only get worse from here. Low taxes and increasing cost for social programs are destroying us. This isn't taking into account our battles with the rebel groups, as well as the troops we still have occupying foreign soil."
The Emperor didn't change his expression or position; in fact, he didn't even look alarmed. He simply replied dryly, "Why don't we just tighten our belts? Cut cost and raise taxes? Surely you know how to balance a checkbook?"
Sandra, not knowing what to say, leaned back a bit, and answered, "Well, you see, um…"
"Oh, I see," the Emperor states, leaning down with a sly look on his face, "you don't want to make the necessary changes because you're afraid of damaging yourself politically, eh? Let me guess: only the most politically unfeasible budget cuts will save us now? Do you want me to, perhaps, send out an Imperial decree to, say, cut funding to some programs, maybe remove some government organizations right?"
Sandra looked down, avoiding the Emperor's knowing gaze. She didn't respond to the question.
"Mrs. Sandra, I want a full financial report on my desk in within two weeks outlying our financial situation in its entirety. Is that clear?"
"Yes sir, Emperor."
"Mr. President, how goes our negotiations on that peace treaty, hmmm?"
"Well, Emperor, right now there are negotiations regarding foreign occupation. There talks to create an international security mission for the purpose of rebuilding various nations affected by the war, called the International Security Assistance Force or ISAF for short. Its purpose will be to secure various nations currently in a state of anarchy and assist in rebuilding, primarily, former members of the Unified Forces, though also some Allied Forces members."
"Well Mr. President, what do they want our troop commitment to be?"
"Well, they project that we need to send at least 1,000,000 troops. We are still calculating the amount of equipment necessary."
The others present in the room downcast their eyes and didn't make eye contact with anyone else. The Emperor narrowed his eyes and said, "Exactly, how many troops is that, in terms of what other countries are sending?"
"That would make our troops 80% of ISAF."
The Emperor, for the first time since the meeting began, shifted his position, leaning forward and clasping his hands together, allowing one to see clearly that he had a cloak draped over his back; though he did not change his expression or pitch of his voice, he was starting to sound perturbed.
"Are you serious?"
"Well we are still negotiating…"
All of sudden, the Emperor raised his voice, getting a little extra edge on it and said, "Well you damn well better! Really, do they want us to take care of the world? Really? Are we the global police that they can call out to handle their shit? Why don't they get those damn Africans to pitch in more? Hell, they barely took any damage, and not one nuke fell on them! They might as well stop being a burden to everyone else!"
The Emperor leaned back and crossed his arms. He stretched out his legs and crossed them. The President widened his eyes and everyone else looked up.
"I mean damn, we've been carrying them through their damn health crisis, while they export that shit everywhere else! It's about damn time they took some responsibility!"
The President continued to stare at the Emperor and responded, "Sir?"
The Emperor sat there, then reacted as if he had realized something, and responded, "Oh, yes! That's right! Allowing them to have substantial troops on other continents would spread the disease, wouldn't it? Yeah, I guess that was a bad idea, wasn't it? Yes, thanks for pointing that out, have the Asians pick up the slack. They've got more than enough men, right?" "
"Well sir, the Asians are embroiled in civil war, thus can't commit as many troops as we would like."
"Useless imbeciles! Anyway, to make a long story short, our National Security is pretty much shot, right? What about our Civil Security?"
The Secretary of Defense, Deo Anstice recovered and replied, "Well, good news is that the Leftist are growing weaker by the day. We have got them primarily confined to the Amazon Rainforest at this point. Their support is consistently eroding; it's only matter of time. Most other rebel groups, like the IRA, will face the same fate. As for the Japanese Liberation Front, they never had much support from the average Japanese, err, umm, American citizen in Japan, or ethnic Japanese in general. They and the various other major Japanese rebels are, however, well equipped, somewhat better than the Leftist. And we are not just talking about tanks: Mechs, Labors, Knightmare Frames, and Asian Arm Slaves. No word on whether they have any kind of aircraft. Oh, all of this is not taking into account the fact that many of the JLF's, that is to say the Japanese Liberation Front's, top echelon are former military commanders, many of them distinguished servicemen with years of service and various medals for their service, all of them World War III veterans. Oh, and a vast majority of their rank and file troops are also former servicemen. This has made them extremely hard to find and route out."
The Emperor, who had sat quietly and listened to this long explanation, quietly said, "You mentioned that the JLF had a large amount of military equipment. Have you figured out who is funding them?"
Deo looked like a deer in the headlights about to get ran over. He quickly replied, saying, "Well, that's not really my area, I mean, I don't know who you could ask, but I'm mainly worried about defense, I mean, I really…don't know. I actually haven't been in Washington since I got my position…"
The Generalissimo spoke up to bail his friend out, stating, "We believe the Fourteen Kings of Japan are funding them."
The Director of the FBI, Martin Fritz looked the president and shouted, "Generalissimo, we haven't confirmed that yet!"
"They are the only group in Japan with the resources to give that kind of funding. I am positive it's them."
The Emperor, undaunted, deepened his voice and said, "You understand what this could mean, don't you Generalissimo."
"As the Director of the FBI pointed out so quickly, Emperor, this is all conjecture at this time. We are unable to tie the Fourteen Kings to the terrorists as of yet, but I feel it is likely they are the ones supplying the rebels and it is only a matter of time before this is made known."
"Well, Mr. President, do you think that I should imperialize them?"
"No, sir; until we confirm the truth, we should not move so hastily. Imperializing the Fourteen Kings' assets at this time would raise eyebrows. We shouldn't move till we have proof that they are acting in league with terrorists."
"I see. Well thank you for the information Generalissimo. And thank you gentlemen for the update in world events. That will be all, return to the party. Oh and by the way, Mr. Anstice. The correct term you should use to refer to the "Japanese" now is Yamato. The primary race of Japan is the Yamato people. You see, saying Japanese cultivates a national identity. They aren't Japanese anymore. There is no nation of Japan. They are Americans. Though they may be of Yamato, Ainu, Ryukyuan, Korean, or some other descent, they are Americans; never call them Japanese. The JLF use "Japanese" in their rhetoric. So, naturally, we should espouse an air of inclusiveness when dealing with Japan; the Japanese are American citizens, and have all the rights and privileges we do. Japan as a nation must cease to exist in our minds if we are to ever defeat the rebels. That goes for all of you here and everyone else in the government, so spread the word. There are no Japanese. There are only Americans. The first official census we issued to the Japanese made this distinction, now it's time we started doing so as well. Good night gentlemen."
The meeting was adjourned, and all of the attendees left the room except the Emperor. The last two men to leave were the Grand Vizier and the President.
"Well that was uneventful," the Grand Vizier says in his usual jovial tone.
"Well at least it was short," the President responded.
"Huh. I mean really, he basically hands over most of the actual political power to you, and still actually cares about how the government is run."
"Hey, easy Mikkel."
"What? I can say whatever I want! This is a free country, and I can voice my opinions if I so please!"
"Hey, I'm just looking out for you. Are you going back to the party?"
"Nay, I say! I'm going out to meet some lusty wrenches and get wasted!"
"Get wasted?"
"Yes, I know! I must be getting old to use such out dated jargon, right?"
"You sure that's good for you image?"
"Image? I am the poster child of wasted potential, big government, federal cronyism, and Imperial Elitist Doctrine. Plus, I have no family or real friends. How the hell is fucking 17 year olds and getting loaded going to hurt my image, and why the hell should care? It's not like I'm an elected official or anything."
"Aren't you a Christian, Mikkel?"
"Yes, and I'm aware of my hypocrisy! You try having my job and not losing faith in humanity's right to exist! Since you're a pastor, Stone, you be the light unto the world Jesus wants us to be. Everyone else is looking at you anyway. Meanwhile, I will go out and get a little tipsy. Just a little! Can't go out and get too drunk, lest I get enough liquid courage to actually kill myself!"
Mikkel walked away humming "He's a Jolly Good Fellow", while the President looked on in amazement.