Chapter 268: Motivation

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The ghosts decided to run the president and the Secret Service agents (as well as a rather out of place human the president tentatively identified as Mr. Lancer, the missing Casper High teacher) through a complete medical check before sending them back (although the ghost identified as Frostbite, and the Ghost Prince himself had been surprisingly well versed in first aid), a gesture the president could appreciate, even if it frustrated him to be incommunicado for so long. He was used to keeping his finger on the pulse of the nation, even during downtime, and this was very much not downtime.

He might be a sleezy politician, but he wasn't the most sleezy politician, and he took his responsibilities to his constituents very seriously!

This gave him the opportunity to see some further examples of ghost architecture and ghost society. He'd had little enough exposure to the concept of 'ghosts are real' prior to actually meeting ghosts that he didn't have all too many misconceptions about their society to clear up – At least, that he was aware of. That was, of course, the problem with misconceptions, wasn't it?

In any case, beyond a vague concept of decaying buildings and graveyards, drab colors, lifeless environs, etcetera, etcetera, he hadn't truly thought about what the Ghost Zone would be like.

Once out of the room that really was ruined, the building he was in gained new… er. Should he call it life? In any case, although the décor was eccentric at best, but it was intact and clearly put together with some care. Also, there were other ghosts here, humanoid and… not… rushing around their business. It reminded the president, strangely enough, of the White House, or certain sections of the Capitol, although the traffic was a good deal sparser.

Or perhaps not so strangely, if this was the Regency Council.

"Do you guys have a human-compatible medical facility here?" asked Phantom ahead of them, voice low.

"I've been building one," said Frostbite, "but it isn't complete as of yet. The intention is to take them to Libra's medical center."

Their conversation continued, but the president was distracted from it by Themis clearing her throat. The president looked up at the tall, blindfolded woman, wondering what she could want.

"If I did not misunderstand," she said, "you wished to argue for the release of the GIW agents currently awaiting execution."

"Yes," said the president. "I did."

"And so? What is your argument?"

"I… rather need some more time to prepare… your honor?" He wished he'd had a briefing about customs before getting tossed in here. He felt horribly underprepared. Unprepared, even.

(To the point where he was rambling inside his head.)

"That is an acceptable title," said Themis.

He nodded, reassured. "Yes. I have little knowledge of your legal structure, your laws, your traditions, your precedents. To give you a fair argument, I would have to engage in quite a bit of study."

"A pity, then," said Themis, "as we will likely be executing them long before you would deem yourself completely ready. Within a day, in fact."

"That's rather disingenuous of you, in that case," said the president. "Your offer of an argument is no offer at all, if you expected me to be unable to make it."

"Oh, I didn't say that at all. Aren't you making your argument already?"

"Even so, I must request a stay of execution on their behalf. I assume that, as the person largely in charge of the legal system, you have such a power. Or that you have such a power due to your executive position on the Regency Council." He hadn't pulled so much nonsense out of the air since freshman English.

"To delay justice is to subvert it. We are both blind and swift."

"You do need to give him a chance to get an advocate," said Phantom, voice pitched in such a way that the president knew he was talking to them.

"An advocate?" asked the president, jumping on topic. Anything to give himself an advantage.

"Everyone with standing in a trial has the right to an advocate, should they choose to exercise it."

"Ah, but does he have the standing to earn an advocate?"

"You've acknowledged his standing yourself," said Phantom, "when you explicitly allowed him to make an argument to delay or avert the execution."

"I will cede your point," said Lady Themis. "But finding you an advocate is not a difficult proposition."

"You're on your own with that one," said Phantom, rather sheepishly.

The president was somewhat confused as to why Phantom had helped him at all. Perhaps he truly didn't want the GIW agents executed. Perhaps he intended the gesture as an olive branch, as a salve for when they were executed. Perhaps it was an entirely political, pragmatic maneuver. A way to save face while the rest of his government carried through with their legal duties.

Even in the most paranoid, political part of president's mind, however, he didn't really feel like teenagers, even dead ones, had that sort of mindset. Maybe if Phantom really was thousands of years old…

He shouldn't make assumptions based on appearances. Or human motives.

They came out of the building, then, and the president was once again taken aback by the appearance of life. Lush lavender grass and off-white flowers came up to his knees. He could count several neon-purple trees in full leaf planted at regular intervals. The sky was green, streaked with slow moving clouds and speckled with what looked like floating islands.

Were they on a floating island? It didn't seem impossible, what with the way the ground seemed to end abruptly several yards away, but the thought made the president distinctly queasy.

It was just like being on an airplane, he told himself. Or a hot air balloon. Those did have methods of lift he was fairly familiar with, however, unlike whatever was keeping the islands floating overhead up. And, good lord, that was an entire New York city block just drifting by, wasn't it? One twisted almost beyond recognition, folded away from itself at odd angles, but he recognized the storefronts of the bottom stores, and the structure of some of the less twisted buildings. How was that made? Why was that made? Did someone even make it, or was it some kind of ghost itself?

"I've gotten so used to flying," said Phantom, "but is it really a good idea for these guys? I mean…"

The president could very clearly feel Phantom's critical gaze sweeping over both himself and the members of his security detail that had been escorting him very closely.

"You could always make a bridge," said Clockwork, softly.

"Oh. Yes, I could. You're right."

Phantom flew over to what the president decided probably was the edge of the floating island they were on and spread his hands.

A glittering white bridge that practically radiated cold stretched out and down, out of sight. It was several yards across and had guardrails.

All of the humans (save the ever-mysterious Mr. Lancer and Jasmine) tensed. That was… certainly a display.

"That was easier than expected," said Phantom, examining his handiwork.

What an excessively unsettling proclamation.

"I don't think that's safe, sir," said one of his security detail.

Quite right. Nothing here was safe. Including words, apparently, given how intent Themis was on an 'argument.' Still, the president put on a brave face… or at least a politically prudent one.

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Dmitri didn't like what was happening.

He didn't really know what was happening. Events blurred, liquid, in his mind, all overwhelmed by red.

Red. Red wasn't a good color. Except… Valerie? No. Valerie wasn't here, and she wasn't his friend. She was Father's employee. No. She was Danny's friend. Sometimes. Only sometimes.

But this…

Something about this… It reminded him of Danny. Danny and trains. Or Danny and the circus.

The circus… the circus… Freakshow? Freakshow and… Red.

Sam and Tucker and falling.

Had that happened? Not to him.

Sojourn was here. Why was he making that kind of face? Oh, well. Nothing too bad could be happening, right? Not if Sojourn was here.

What was he saying? Who was talking? Whoever it was, they were saying some pretty disturbing things, weren't they?

Something about cores. It reminded him of Danny. Danny had carried Dmitri's core for… For a while. Not carried it exactly.

There was an order.

Was he moving or standing still?

There was-

Red.

It reminded him of Danny.

Something about Danny. Danny and… A TV show? A commercial? A billboard?

He had received something. From Danny. Through Jazz.

Something, something, something. Something that was a gift. A peace offering?

What was it?