This isn't the longest chapter I've posted so far, but I think it's a decent length still. Not for the first time, thank you so much for reading this far. I think I might just post these chapters as I finish writing them, and people can read at their own pace. I do intend on the chapters all being there at the end, after all.
As usual, if anyone wants to contact me off this platform, I can be found at SnowLabrador#7822 on Discord. But please, enjoy this chapter first.
Current music: Breakdown - Jack Johnson
Getting back to the cave didn't take nearly as long as Flash had expected. Perhaps that was merely because this time, Lazarus seemed to know exactly where he was going (well, more so than he had on the way to the temple.)
The Zoroark insisted on holding the scroll on the way back. Flash didn't protest this (he couldn't carry it nearly as well), but he had to admit that letting Lazarus keep it in his arms made him feel somewhat uneasy.
If something should happen to him, then I lose control over what happens to it. And we risked quite a lot to get that scroll - I wouldn't want to lose it all.
"You did well, Flash" the Zoroark told the Luxray when they were almost back to the cave.
"You really think so?" Flash replied. "I mean, it's not like I did very much."
Lazarus shrugged. "Sometimes one needs to know when they should step aside. And when you did fight, you helped me take down the King. You should give yourself more credit."
It warmed Flash's heart to hear Lazarus say that, but only slightly. Really, it should have been more validating than that - after all, part of being President was the increased publicity, which came with both plenty of credit for the things you did right, as well as lots of bad press whenever you screwed up.
Later, when they were back in the cave (after yet another painful squeeze), the pair sat around the kitchen table, poring over the scroll. Even if they had some time to figure out how to interpret it, it was better to figure things out as quickly as possible.
In that regard, it wasn't looking good. Try as he might, Flash couldn't figure out a method to the madness when it came to the green text. He knew that at many points in the past, such as World War II, elaborate codes and ciphers had been used to hide messages from those whom you didn't want to read them.
However, that really didn't help much. For one, just because Flash had once been President of the United States didn't mean that he was an expert in breaking codes. That's why he hired other people to do it for him, albeit with the advice and consent of the US Senate.
"Maybe a candle would help," Lazarus said. "If it's invisible ink or something like that, holding it up to a light would reveal the message."
Flash frowned. "I don't know if having an open flame in this cave is a good idea. Wouldn't it suck up a lot of the oxygen?"
Lazarus waved the concern away, both figuratively and literally. "Ah, don't worry about that. I've got candles and a lighter, and if it gets you out of here faster, it's well worth the risk."
Yeah, unless I suffocate in the effort.
Lazarus produced a candle and lighter from one of the kitchen drawers, then placed the candle in what looked like a menorah (there was space for nine of them, and he put the candle in the middle spot.) He then lit said candle.
Already, Flash could feel claustrophobia kick in; it was as though his body were being squished by the walls, even if that wasn't true in the least.
"Let's see if this works," Lazarus said, completely ignoring Flash's shivers. "Tell me, Flash, do the characters on the scroll seem to mean anything to you now?"
The Luxray went around to the other side of the table so that he could see what Lazarus was looking at. Unfortunately, the answer to the above question was no. The symbols were an even brighter spring green, but they were still abstract symbols.
"It's just like Mandarin," the Luxray sighed.
Lazarus frowned. "Mandarin?"
Oh, great, now I have to explain Mandarin to Lazarus. A language I don't even know.
"Basically", Flash replied, "there's a country on Earth called China, where they speak (and write) a language called Mandarin. Some of that language's characters represent letters, while others represent words. And this scroll might be just like that."
"If so," Lazarus responded, "there's just no way to translate this. If we had a computer here, then maybe."
When I was growing up, computers didn't exist at all. There's no need to be surprised that Lazarus doesn't have one. He lives off the grid, after all.
"Even then, it would have to have a keyboard that supported these characters. And good luck with that when we can't even identify the language," Lazarus continued.
So in short, we're totally boned.
"So, what do we do now?" Flash asked. He didn't want to shoot down any hope they might have, even if realism was often the best policy.
"I don't know," Lazarus admitted. "We should probably find the other two as quickly as we can, though - that way, we'll at least have more time to analyze the text. But again, without a decoder key, we've got no chance."
Flash opened his eyes more widely. "Do you think we could find a key somewhere? Perhaps the pendant has that."
The collar lay on the table, not far from the candle. The Luxray could hardly believe that he hadn't considered this yet, but better late than never.
"We could check," Lazarus replied.
Flash squinted at the words on the collar once again. Truth be told, it didn't look very promising, given how small the pendant was; there were no other words on the badge that he hadn't already read.
"No dice," Flash said morosely.
"In that case, it's probably best to focus on what we can control. We can't translate the words into English just yet, but we can get the other scrolls we need. And that's exactly what we'll do."
BACK ON EARTH
The Presidential motorcade gradually made its way across the Washington, DC, metropolitan area. Traffic was heavy leaving the city, which made little sense - wouldn't there be more people entering the city in an effort to see what was happening with President Fiddlesticks?
VP Randolph shook his head. As he held onto the bar beneath the limo's ceiling, he reflected on just how illogical American politics could be. Not just the politics - nothing here, including the lack of good public transit, made sense.
"You know, you don't have to do this," the Secret Service guy next to Randolph told him.
"On the contrary, I need to," Randolph snapped. "Not only do the American people deserve an update on the President's health, but I already announced that the press conference would happen. It would gravely damage our credibility if I backed out now."
He could imagine the Senate Minority Leader giving his odd smile right in his face and saying something like, Your credibility has already been damaged, Mr. Vice President. Please resign.
But then, he couldn't worry about what the Republicans thought. No matter what he did (or didn't do), the GOP would call for him to resign, or worse. That didn't change the moral imperative to do what was right.
"We are here," the limousine's driver stated. "Get out, Mr. Vice President."
Randolph unlocked the limo's door and stepped out into the cool autumn sunshine. After a quick working lunch at the White House, it would have been great to go for a relaxing walk around Observatory Circle; sadly, today that was not to be.
Instead, he had to face cameras, dozens if not hundreds of them, as he walked up to the lectern in front of Walter Reed Medical Center. And he gulped.
Right now, President Fiddlesticks lay in a hospital bed, completely delirious and dead to the world. Randolph knew this, and yet he was going to go before the American people and utter a series of falsehoods.
The Vice President fiddled with the microphone attached to his jacket as he grabbed both sides of the lectern. He faced the reporters directly, for they were the window into the American peoples' living rooms. This address was far from prime time, but it didn't matter when the news concerned Andreas Fiddlesticks.
"Good afternoon, my fellow Americans," Randolph began. A nice, neutral line that any President would say. Of course, the copious fidgeting the VP engaged in would no doubt be weaponized by Fox.
"As all of you are no doubt aware, President Fiddlesticks is currently in this hospital. His medical team is treating him with monoclonal antibodies, blood thinners, and antivirals."
"But I thought he didn't have COVID!" one of the reporters bellowed, not even caring that it wasn't his turn to speak.
"These treatments are being administered out of an abundance of caution," the Vice President replied coolly. "And he's not taking ivermectin or inhaling hydrogen peroxide, so he's already getting better care than his predecessor. More importantly, he is expected to fully recover."
"If that's the case," a reporter from Newsmax shot back, "why hasn't the President been more transparent with the American people? Why can't we at least have updates on his health, huh?"
"That's what I'm giving you all right now," VP Randolph replied, feeling his annoyance simmer closer to its boiling point. "An update. If you all won't recognize that, it may be time for our White House to rethink our relationship with the press."
"Why wouldn't it come from the horse's mouth, though? Not horse dewormer, mind you, but news on the President's condition? If he is of sound mind to do this, could he not release a statement at least?"
"The President is resting comfortably in his suite at Walter Reed," Randolph said caustically. "And, as all of you are aware by now, his medical team has prescribed privacy. It's not a drug, but it still greatly helps one recover."
And then another anchor, this one also from Newsmax, said something that made Randolph's blood run cold.
"Mr. Vice President, I just received a notification on my phone: The House Minority Leader wants to open an impeachment inquiry over your lack of transparency regarding President Fiddlesticks' health. Numerous conspiracy theories are already swirling."
An impeachment inquiry… but the GOP doesn't have control!
Outwardly, Randolph waved it off, quite literally. With a flap of his left hand, as though swatting away a fly, he exclaimed, "I'm not worried about that. The Republicans are a minority in the House and Senate."
"The resolution also has support from seven Democratic members of the House, some of whom face difficult re-election bids next year. You can understand why they'd want to break the party line in this case."
Dammit.
The Vice President, true to his usual strategy of trying not to show any weakness (a leaf he took out of his boss' book), did not say a word. Instead, he kept staring down the reporters as though he were a hiker being approached by a bear.
"Well?" the Newsmax anchor continued. "What do you have to say about that?"
"I'm not afraid of anything they throw at me," VP Randolph insisted. "They're not going to silence me. I will not give up. I will not surrender - it'll take more than that to boot me out of office."
"Aren't you concerned, sir?" a reporter from CNN enquired. "If you are impeached and removed from office, that would make the Speaker of the House President; it's no secret that you've disagreed with him publicly on numerous occasions."
"It won't happen," Randolph replied curtly. "I've got enough support in the Senate to survive a trial. They're not going to convict me."
"A defiant Vice President Randolph, insisting that the laws don't matter to him because he's the acting President," a Fox reporter snapped. "He's going to learn his lesson the hard way."
"I never said that," the Vice President shot back. "Please point me to where I said I don't care what the law is."
"You literally just implied that impeachment wouldn't be enough to remove you from office. That you'll try to stay in, even inciting an insurrection if necessary."
Randolph frowned. "Incite an insurrection? Where have I heard that one before?"
"There is no room for whataboutism here, Mr. Vice President," the Fox anchor replied, curling his mustache a bit. "If you cannot win an impeachment trial, you have to leave office. It doesn't matter what the former President may have done."
"I'm going to win, and I'm going to accept that result," VP Randolph insisted. "Why wouldn't I?"
"And if you don't? Sir, you are the acting President now, for better or worse."
VP Randolph felt the sweat run down his face. Glancing at his watch, he realized that the President's medical team was late. Only by a few minutes, but in the era of the Internet, news can travel quite far in a few minutes.
"I am not the acting President," Randolph replied. "I can assure you that Andreas Fiddlesticks is still fully competent and capable of performing his duties. If that changes, if, God forbid, he takes a turn for the worse - I will be the first to let you all know."
The media personnel all nodded like bobbleheads, which looked like something out of a zombie movie. But Randolph wasn't done yet.
"Please, people… I know that the staff of Walter Reed have not arrived on the scene yet, but you must understand that they're busy. They can't be in two places at once."
"I'm not going to say this again, Mr. Vice President," one of the Newsmax anchors all but bellowed. "If the President is not well enough to appear in public, then the Cabinet must declare the Vice President acting President. That would be you, John Randolph."
"And how many times do I need to tell you," VP Randolph snapped, "that the press doesn't have a say in what the government does? The news media - especially the fake news media like Newsmax - is not the government!"
There were many gasps in the audience, but Randolph was dauntless. He continued.
"I will not hesitate to revoke a press pass if I need to. You - and I don't mean Newsmax specifically, I mean the press at large - are ruining our administration's chance at success. Even if you don't agree with our ideology, you should want the Fiddlesticks administration to excel, because America depends on it."
Little by little, try as he might, Randolph could tell he was losing his audience. He wasn't losing them in the sense that they were leaving - that would have been preferable. Rather, the journalists didn't seem to care what he had to say.
No. It's not that they don't care. They want to sabotage us by any means necessary. And they'll take any word they can and use it against me.
After a brief staring contest, VP Randolph felt a tap on the back and shivered. He was afraid to turn around - what if he ended up face-to-face with a would-be assassin?
But he did so anyway. And in turning to face the newcomer, he found salvation rather than damnation.
A buff man wearing a white lab coat and copious facial hair - the President's attending physician, Dr. Growler - had arrived. Surely the press would trust a doctor more than a politician… right?
Thank you, Dr. Growler!
That's what VP Randolph was tempted to exclaim upon seeing the physician behind him. He would have loved nothing more than to embrace the man in a bear hug to thank him for his service, but there were more important things to do.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Dr. Growler announced into the microphone. "I apologize for being late; traffic was killer."
This was presumably meant as a joke, but none of the media personnel laughed. After all, it was pretty obvious this wasn't true; all he had to do was walk from the presidential suite to the front lawn of the hospital.
"Anyway, what is it you all want to hear?"
"We want to know about the President's health, Dr. Growler," a female Fox News anchor piped up from the back of the crowd. "Isn't that what we deserve the truth about?"
"You do" Dr. Growler replied. The doctor gestured for the Vice President to back away from the lectern, so Randolph did so. And then Dr. Growler spoke into the mic.
"As the Vice President was no doubt assuring you all, nothing is seriously wrong with President Fiddlesticks. His COVID tests have all come back negative, but out of an abundance of caution, he will self-isolate as he works from the presidential suite. His condition is steadily improving.
"As for the efforts to impeach Vice President Randolph, all I can say is that it's a partisan witch hunt. There's no reason for it to be happening other than sheer gamesmanship. The House Minority Leader must stand down."
One of the Newsmax anchors pushed his way to the front of the crowd and all but yelled the following: "You realize that the impeachment inquiry has significant bipartisan support, right?"
Dr. Growler flinched at that news. On some level, this wasn't surprising; a doctor, even one as high-profile as he, had far less experience with the spotlight than a politician. It was no wonder that he wasn't as quick on his feet.
"Well, that's news to me," Dr. Growler replied. "Certainly, we will have to negotiate with Republican leadership in both chambers of Congress, but I remain confident that the Fiddlesticks administration will persevere. The American people put their trust in us, and we will not abuse it."
VP Randolph couldn't help but feel his heart sink. Dr. Growler seemed totally oblivious to the realities of the administration's relation with the media. Randolph couldn't blame the doctor for this, but it was still highly inconvenient.
I have to end things. Now.
Randolph shuffled back over to the podium and made the following declaration:
"You all keep asking us the same questions. This press conference is adjourned!"
Fortunately, the reporters, by and large, seemed to respect this order. The only "journalist" who remained was one from Newsmax, but this confrontation didn't escalate higher than a staring contest. The Secret Service did not need to be called in to disperse the crowd.
Randolph let out a great sigh that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. And then he turned to face Dr. Growler.
The doctor sighed as well. Once it seemed that the cameras were all out of range, Dr. Growler looked up at VP Randolph as though he were a child about to admit to making a mess of his room.
"I'm afraid I have not been honest with you, Mr. Vice President," the doctor admitted sheepishly.
VP Randolph felt too shocked to be angry. "What's going on?"
"Well, the President's condition is actually not improving as quickly as I said it was."
Randolph frowned. "I already knew that. This isn't news to me."
"But it's actually more than that. So far as I can tell, he is declining significantly. He might not have COVID, he might not be struggling to breathe, but that doesn't mean he's out of the woods. Far from it."
"Oh no," the Vice President mouthed.
Dr. Growler nodded. "Unfortunately, the President remains delirious, and his fever has risen to 104 degrees. We were forced to put him on a drip to keep him hydrated through it, though if it doesn't break soon…".
Randolph didn't need the doctor to finish that sentence. He was already well aware of the physiological implications, as well as the political ones of having a President be so sick. But he felt certain, based on Dr. Growler's expression, that the doctor had not yet disclosed the worst news.
"There's more," Randolph said.
The doctor frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I can tell," the Vice President replied, "that there's something you haven't told me yet. I can see it on your face."
Dr. Growler sighed. "You're right. There is something else."
Man, being right sucks sometimes.
"Whatever it is," Randolph responded, "just tell me. I can handle the truth, even if I was trying to evade it during the conference."
"Well," Dr. Growler replied, "President Fiddlesticks is not only feverish and at risk of severe dehydration, but he appears to be talking in his sleep. He's been thrashing about so much that we had to tie him down."
VP Randolph pictured his boss beneath all sorts of restraints in his hospital bed and shivered. But he still needed to know the truth.
"What's he been talking about?"
"Well, quite frankly, he's been babbling quite a bit. It's hard to make out the words sometimes, but something like luxury and an ark. Maybe he's dreaming about Noah's Flood or something?"
Randolph snorted. "Yeah, probably not."
"You never know," the doctor responded. "When you've got a fever that high, your mind goes places you'd never imagine. I also think he's brought up scrolls at some point, but who knows?"
The Vice President gulped. "Could he be referring to the Dead Sea Scrolls? Is Jesus going to come back or whatever?"
"Your mileage may vary about that" Dr. Growler responded. "But if you want to see the President right now, feel free to enter the hospital and go up to his suite. Be warned, though: It's not pretty."
PLANET NEXUS
The pair had pored over the scroll as long as they could bear to. One thing had become clear: They weren't going to get any further with it, at least not until they found the others. If it didn't make sense then, they were screwed.
No. Lazarus isn't screwed. He gets away with nothing but maybe a guilty conscience. I, on the other hand, need to cement my legacy as the greatest infrastructure President God ever created.
Eventually the Zoroark sighed yet again. "I think we should eat some more of the Magikarp filets. They're still in the fridge."
"But it can't be time for dinner yet," Flash said. "Isn't it usually unwise to eat between meals?"
"Not when you don't know when you'll find food again," Lazarus pointed out. "In that case, it's a good idea to store as many calories as you can."
Flash's eyes widened. "Are you saying that…".
"What do you think I'm saying?" Lazarus replied with a wink.
"Do you mean that we're leaving the cave now?"
"That is exactly what I mean," the Zoroark said. "It's already midafternoon, and you need all the time you can get. They say time's more valuable than money, because you can always get more money…".
"...but you can never get more time," Flash responded, finishing Lazarus' sentence for him. "Yes, that much is true."
"So we'll leave in a few minutes once we've both eaten our fill," Lazarus asserted. "And we'll head to the train station about ten miles away."
Ten. Miles. That's a pretty long way to walk.
"Where does the train go? I assume you want us to ride it?"
"It'll take us to Jubilife City. That's the largest city on the continent of Sinnoh, the most dominant center of media, culture, and information. If there's anywhere we'd get a lead, it's there."
Flash frowned. "How are we going to get tickets? Do we have to give our own names?"
"That won't be necessary," Lazarus responded. The Luxray waited for the Zoroark to elaborate; however, he did not do so.
"Okay then," Flash replied. "I guess I have to stick with you if I want to return to Earth."
"That's probably best. After all, I do want to help you."
Flash didn't question that, at least not outwardly. As Lazarus retrieved the two Magikarp halves from the fridge, and the Luxray started chowing down on his half, Flash had to admit that the Zoroark was giving him a pretty good deal. All things considered, his first day in the Pokémon world could have gone a lot worse.
Wait a minute… my first day. It's ONLY been a day!
Indeed, that was true. It was hard to believe, but it was only last night when Flash, better known as President Andreas Fiddlesticks, had gone to bed at the White House, feeling under the weather. And in the early hours of that morning, he'd left the White House entirely for Walter Reed.
Already, who knew what was happening back on Earth? There was more than likely a giant media circus surrounding his disappearance, not that anything else should have been expected. He'd been the President, after all, even if that title was stripped in his absence.
But as chaotic as Earth no doubt was, Flash's new existence in the Pokémon world had been even more so. In less than a twelve-hour period, his entire worldview had been warped in more ways than one. What was more, the day wasn't even over yet!
Eating the Magikarp was easier this time than it had been earlier. Now that Flash had grown used to the idea of consuming other Pokémon (it was a different species, so it wasn't cannibalism), he was able to focus on the taste and texture. It really wasn't that bad.
"Okay, we'd better get going," Lazarus asserted once he'd eaten his fill of the fish. "Like I said, it's about a ten-mile walk from here to the train station, and we need every minute we can get."
Flash sighed. While his legs didn't exactly feel sore, they were "comfortably tired" - he didn't feel like trekking another ten miles through the forest. Of course, he didn't have a choice.
"Are you going to carry the backpack?" Flash asked the Zoroark. "I don't know if I can do that as a quadruped."
"I will," Lazarus replied. "But you'll be expected to put your moveset to good use. If you don't, you'll be doing Arceus, or whatever power sent you here, a disservice. Not to mention, I'd rather neither of us lose any battles."
Flash couldn't argue with that, but there was another prospect that sent dread coursing through his veins once more. He didn't want to bring it up, but again, ignoring it wouldn't change the truth.
"We have to go through the entrance again," Flash muttered. "With a heavy backpack, too."
"I'll roll it in front of me," Lazarus promised. "You can just focus on getting yourself through. That's how we're going to do things on the way there."
The pair made sure they had all the essentials with them. A number of Antidotes in case one of them got poisoned, some bug repellent (which, according to Lazarus, was very much needed in the woods at night), and the remaining Magikarp (which wouldn't keep very long during the summer.)
"Wait a minute, it's summer here?" Flash blurted out.
The Zoroark narrowed his eyes. "It's not summer where you are?"
"Well, it's getting warmer in the Southern Hemisphere on Earth. But if it's like April weather here, then it's unseasonably warm, so -".
"It's July," Lazarus asserted. "Did you get hit over the head or something?"
"What? No! That can't be! It was October on Earth!"
"Well, look at it this way, Flash: There are a lot of differences between your world and mine. Some of them, you just need to take time to decode. But you're still very much a newcomer."
"Don't remind me."
"Anyway," the Zoroark continued, "we've burned enough time already. Let's go."
Once they were through the narrowest part of the passage, Flash felt some weight leave his shoulders, and not just the immense weight of all that rock. He felt tremendously relieved at the prospect of not needing to enter the cave again; something about it made him feel uneasy.
"So which way do we go?" he asked Lazarus with a smile.
The Zoroark pointed straight ahead. "That way, full speed ahead. I don't care if you trample the flowers - they'll grow back, and we won't be at this cave again for a while. Come to think of it, if you can't get back to Earth, where do you think you'll want to live?"
Man, that's a loaded question. I don't even want to contemplate it. But in the interest of pleasing Lazarus, I guess I'll entertain it.
And yet, the idea that he might not be able to get back to his home planet was more than he could bear. If forced to carry that weight on his shoulders, he would collapse to the ground and be crushed by it.
As Lazarus looked at him expectantly, Flash knew he had to come up with something.
"I don't know," the Luxray said. "I really don't. I'd need to learn more about the geography of this world, and all of its cities, before I made a decision."
From Flash's perspective, there remained so many unanswered questions about the world he'd found himself in. For instance, were Pokémon seen as equal to humans, or were they second-class citizens in the cities? How high were the housing prices? Which cities had the highest crime rates? The best public transit? The best access to national parks?
"That makes sense," Lazarus replied.
Flash glared at the Zoroark. "But don't think for a second that I'll think about that any sooner than I have to. Come hell or high water, I will find the scrolls if it's the last thing I do."