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Arm the Election and Damn the Torpedoes
Night of the Proofreader
[The scene opens on a well-known white-haired zoologist in a television studio.]
MARLIN PERKINS: Welcome to Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. I'm here with my co-host Jim Fowler for another thrilling and educational episode. This week we're going to be examining the Great White Proofreader. Why don't you tell us about this fascinating creature, Jim?
JIM FOWLER:Glad to, Marlin! The Great White Proofreader is normally a fairly calm creature, but it has been known to become aggressive in the absence of proper sustenance. It lives in the seas of fan fiction and its primary food is new chapters. This week, we've come across a specimen that's becoming slightly ill-tempered.
MARLIN PERKINS:Oh, my! Why is that, Jim?
JIM FOWLER:Apparently this particular specimen has been starved by its author for several months. Even worse, its author has found the time to publish and update several other stories, which, while very entertaining, are the not the chapters for the story he had been feeding his proofreader.
MARLIN PERKINS:That sounds like terribly risky behavior. Let's examine this more closely.
[The camera shifts to a majestic view of the ocean waters at night. A full moon hangs in the sky.]
JIM FOWLER: Here we can see the author merrily distributing new chapters of his latest stories to a school of readers.
[The author is sitting on a small wooden platform at sea, feet dangling over the edge, blithely tossing new chapters to a school of readers nibbling about his toes.]
AUTHOR:They tickle!
JIM FOWLER: As you can see, he has chapters from every other story he's published except for Every Silver Lining Has its Cloud. This is about to prove a very dangerous endeavor…
[The Jaws theme begins to play, slowly at first, but picking up tempo.]
MARLIN PERKINS:Oh, dear. This doesn't look like it will end well…
[The school of readers nibbling on the new chapters abruptly disperses as the author's platform begins to rock and bob sharply from the wake of something large passing beneath it.]
JIM FOWLER:Now that is a definite danger sign. What happens next should come as no surprise…
[The Jawstheme tempo begins to increase rapidly, and suddenly the author's platform is jarred sharply, catapulting him into the water.]
AUTHOR:Ahhhh! Help!
JIM FOWLER:We should caution our viewers that the next scene may be disturbing to younger children…
[The Jawstheme tempo abruptly reaches a climax, followed by a brief agonized shriek that is quickly silenced as the Author is pulled beneath the waves.]
MARLIN PERKINS:And there we can see the tragic consequences of starving a proofreader.
JIM FOWLER:Indeed. And the real tragedy here is that this could have been so easily averted. Teasing a proofreader with updates to all of an author's other stories is just never safe behavior.
MARLIN PERKINS:Well, Jim, don't you think it's time for you to wrestle with our animal of the week?
JIM FOWLER:Ummm….I'm not really sure that's a good…
MARLIN PERKINS:But it's what you do every week.
JIM FOWLER:Well, that is to say…
AUDIENCE:Boo! Chicken!
MARLIN PERKINS:Jim, I think the audience has spoken. Why don't you give it the old college try?
[Marlin gives Jim a firm shove from behind and he suddenly appears in the air near the platform, dropping down into the water with a loud splash.]
JIM FOWLER:Marlin! What the hell? Gahhh! Gotta make for that platform!
[He begin swimming flat-out for the platform, splashing up a storm in the process. Unfortunately, he never makes it. The Great White Proofreader abruptly erupts from the water underneath Jim, shooting up like a torpedo and capturing him in its jaws.]
JIM FOWLER:Aiiieee!
[The proofreader plunges back into the waters again, taking Jim with it.]
MARLIN PERKINS:Oh, dear, that looked rather painful for Jim. I'll bet he wishes he had some quality Whole Life Insurance from Mutual of Omaha. Well, what do we say, audience?
AUDIENCE:Gonna need another Jimmy!
MARLIN PERKINS:That's right! We'll be right back after these messages…
[The Jaws theme fades ominously in the background as the scene fades out...]
The blame and thanks for me getting my butt out of my chair and my hands typing again, go to my proofreader, Janessa Ravenwood. I cower in fear and horror, oh Great One and the next chapter shall not be as long coming. I shall give sacrifices of text and dialog to lay at thy alter.
Really, I mean it.
"Okay! That's enough!" Joyce yelled, breaking up the debate that was quickly turning into a wild-west style bar fight. "We are here to work on building the new constitution, not bicker like children over a broken crayon!"
Eyes turned to her with more than a little fear.
"Jesus, how do you feel about this? Nobody say anything! Just let him speak," she commanded, cutting off the comments about to be thrown in her direction.
Jesus Rodriguez straightened his tie and sat up straight. "I simply feel that there is no need for a two house system. We do not have the population nor the area to rationalize such a thing. We don't have an aristocratic class like a House of Lords. I think we should have districts based on population and leave it at that."
"Thank you," Joyce said. She turned to Duncan and nodded. "Your opinion?"
"It's a matter of tradition as well as checks and balances. The US has had a two-part congressional system since the constitution was adopted. It prevents silly things from just getting through," Duncan explained.
"Allan, your opinion?" Joyce asked.
"I don't know if either is exactly correct," the acting mayor said. "We've only got about fifty thousand people with the additions of the locals who are immigrating in droves. If we just have it based on population, how do we show demographic representation? We don't want to alienate the locals by making them feel like second class citizens."
"They do seem to be building their own enclaves along the ridges," another committee member mentioned.
"That's a mistake," Rodriguez said. For the first time, the lieutenant agreed with the Hispanic man and nodded. The two of them rarely agreed on anything. "That's no different from self segregation and it only causes problems. It breeds mistrust."
"I agree. While they would have representation, they would be apart from the rest of us," Duncan said. He absently scratched his head, an act that let people see his black scalp through his prematurely thinning hair. "We don't need a bunch of cultures, we need to all become one culture with different aspects. If we focus on our differences, we'll only break apart."
"True, but how does this help us decide? Do we go with one house or two?" Joyce asked. "Yes, Maggie?"
Maggie Walsh was just visiting, not having been a regular attendee, but seemed to enjoy the focused anarchy that these meetings tended to become.
"It seems like population is the best choice at this time," she said. "No government is perfect. We just have to try to make it as close as we can. When the US Senate was created, it was organized that way because they were trying to bring together states stretched along thousands of miles of coastline. We don't have that, so it just seems unnecessary."
"Thank you, Maggie," Joyce said. "Now, we can either butt heads or we can put it up for a vote. Which is it?"
Ashamed, they muttered that they would prefer a vote.
"Okay, one house. I propose we call it the Senate, what do people think?"
"That sounds good," Rodriguez agreed.
"Better than many of the other ideas put forth," Duncan admitted.
"All in favor of naming it the Senate?" Joyce glanced around at the hands. It was nearly unanimous. "Great. We have the Senate. Next order of business, what about the Head of State and the Head of Government?"
The debate began and the headaches grew.
"Tell me again, Manshoon, of this new land and its strange people," Fzoul said with an air of self-assured superiority. The archmage bristled at the implied insult in the tone, but centuries of talent and experience had ensured that Manshoon only showed the face he wanted others to see. And besides, he always wore a mask, so who was to be the wiser?
"Sunnydale is much the same as the last time I explained," Manshoon said in a tone one would use with a particularly unruly child. The archmage was pleased when that did procure a response from the irritable cleric. "There are few who follow our deities, although there is some overlap with certain, specific entities. Tyr is one, as are the deities of Mulhorand. They are technologically superior to us, and yet they do not have the manufacturing that they are used to. They are both frivolous and miserly. They are both unruly and practical."
"And yet that tells me nothing," Fzoul snarled as he brushed a hand through his blond hair. "My Dread Lord Bane demands that they be under his heel."
Under his mask, Manshoon sneered in seething hate. "That will not be so easy a task."
"And why not? Are you going to let your continued failures at the hands of the Harpers impede you further?" Fzoul inquired, implying that all Zhent failures should fall at Manshoon's feet.
"Any presence the Harpers have in Sunnydale is of little significance," Manshoon countered. "Unless one has an innate mastery of their language and culture, and not one born of magical talent, then any agent, Harper, Zhent or otherwise, would stand out like a castle in the sands of the Great Desert."
"If deceit is already a failed path then there is only the Tyranny of Bane," Fzoul said in time-honored words of a classic fanatic.
"They are currently neutrally aligned between the Silver Marches and the Zhentarim," Manshoon pointed out carefully. It was always a good choice to be careful when dealing with a powerful cleric. While his arcane might was impressive, he had no illusions that the Church of Bane had more members than his personal Black Cloaks. To borrow a Sunnydale phrase, he was treading on thin ice. "Conflict against them will only push them towards the Silver Marches and we will have a full-on war. That is something the Black Network that I built cannot withstand. I did not gain my position by being stupid and any arrogance I hold is earned. You, Fzoul, are being both stupid and arrogant, but have only earned the former."
Fzoul glared at the archmage with a look that promised divine retribution, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood up, turned and stalked out of the room.
Manshoon leaned back in his chair and wondered if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. Only time would tell.
I can't go out there.
It's everywhere.
I can feel it when I walk on bare ground and I know it can feel me.
It slithers.
But I'm not a meal, I'm just a snack.
It feeds.
An army returned, warned by spells, but they could do nothing.
I need food.
So hungry, so thirsty.
But I can't get caught, can't get caught, can't get caught, can't get caught.
I'd be gone.
I'd be like the orc.
It was stupid and hunted kobolds.
Then it was hunted.
Just a snack.
Not even a bite.
I need to go, but it's so far.
The tunnels are so far.
Menzoberranzan is too big.
Broken.
Broken and big.
And lost.
Menzoberranzan is fallen.
Lost.
So hungry.
IT'S HERE.
The former Mayor of Sunnydale chewed carefully as he devoured the drow. It had been a month since his transformation and after much deliberation he had finally come to a decision. While orc has a nice gamey flavor, drow tended to be much more tender, even when well aged, but both made equally delicious snacks. Richard Wilkins glanced over towards the center of town.
"Hmm..." he said to himself. "Wasn't there a tower over there? I was sure there was a wizard's tower right next to that glowing pillar. Well, it's not glowing anymore."
"Okay, so why don't we wrap this up with a vote and I'll go announce the political parties that people came up with," Joyce said. She was still the unofficial PR woman for the not-quite government. It was a thankless job, but at least people were starting to respect what was going on. She didn't hate being involved with building the new government, although more than once she felt like she was running a daycare of unruly children. Buffy was never this much trouble and she burned down a school gym.
"All in favor of a three-tiered judicial system?"
Unlike most votes, this was unanimous.
"Let the record show that we have our first unanimous vote," acting-mayor Finch said, nodding to the secretary. "This meeting of the Constitutional committee is adjourned. Let's all go face the cameras."
The press conference was held, as always, in a small room that was once used for honoring service to the town, round table discussions, and occasional human sacrifices. Rare at the same time mind you because it was always difficult to get blood out of the rug. Today, Joyce felt like she was being sacrificed. Luckily for her, there were only three sources for news in Sunnydale: newspapers, radio stations and the local television stations; although there were several different opinions among those, so the result was twelve reporters each with their own agenda. Joyce smiled as she took to the podium.
"Thank you for joining me once more," Joyce said, keeping herself from flinching at the bright flashes from the cameras. "We now have the results of the political party registration office. For your information, two weeks ago, we asked people to start registering their political groups into a more formal setting and we weeded out any with only five hundred members or less. I am pleased to reveal that we will not be having a two party system, but a more diversified political group to more fully represent the diversity of our new nation. The first to register was the Christian Conservative Party, which is dedicated to their religious beliefs and political activism. Soon after that we had the Sunnydale Republicans as an extension of the former American party. The Sunnydale Socialist Party was registered with a diverse base from some surprising circles. Then we had the rather popular No-Pants-All-Party led by Butters who still refuses to wear pants. Yes, Molly?"
"Are we to assume that this means Butters is a serious candidate?" the reporter asked.
"I'd say that depends on the polls on election day," Joyce said. "We do not exclude anyone from this, save groups with small numbers. Butters has shown himself to be a loyal and dedicated citizen of Sunnydale, working in construction and hosting parties nearly every night. Aside from his refusal to wear pants, he has been a model citizen. You can laugh and call him a joke, but when it comes down to it, he's a popular figure. Ridicule only weakens us as a nation."
Molly smiled. Everything was working according to her plan. A little character assassination there, a reinforcement of stereotypes there, and a little more screen time and everything should work out. She was brought out of her internal back-patting by another reporter's question.
"How is the Executive branch going to work? Things haven't been too clear on that front," he said.
"That is true, and I regret that we have not kept people up to date," Joyce said. "If we can finish up this, I'll get to your question in just a moment. The next was the Isolation Party, a party that believes Sunnydale needs to limit immigration and strengthen our borders. The Sunnydale Magical Democrats have had a large turnout, including several rallies thus far, and feel that we need to fully integrate magic into our society and religion, not ban or vilify the practice. Then we have our next three political parties: Maho Shojo? Am I saying that right? I'm sorry, but they feel that, well, that we would be best protected by young magic wielding teenage girls in skimpy clothes. I'm sorry, but I'll be honest and admit that I don't share your beliefs, although you did have a rather significant turnout. As the mother of a magical child, I simply cannot see this as anything other than exploitation."
"Are you sure it's your place to pass judgment on political beliefs?" asked a reporter from a particularly conservative radio show.
"I'm a mother, I'm a woman, and I'm a person," Joyce said tersely. "I have opinions like each and every one of you. One thing I believe in is free speech, and while it might not be the most professional act for me to express them when speaking as a member of the government, I might remind you that I am not a professional. I'm a volunteer. I'm doing this to help people, but I'm not going to just be a sock puppet with the government's hand up my-er, next question please."
"Could we continue with the parties, please?" Molly asked with a winning smile.
"Certainly," Joyce said. "Next is the Sunnydale Greens, dedicated to environmental responsibility in our daily lives and in our interaction. The Fiscal Conservatives who feel that we have been overspending and need to pull back. Then we have the Liberal Party, a socially liberal party concerned with the state of personal rights, education and what they describe as draconian measures taken by the former Mayor."
"We are still allowed write-in candidates, correct?" Molly asked.
"Of course," Joyce said. "We allow that for every elected position."
"Wonderful," Molly said with a Cheshire smile. "Sorry, please continue."
"We have the People's Party, a neo-communist movement that has gathered some success in the past month," Joyce continued. "And the final party is the We-Want-Giant-Mechs Party."
"WHAT?"
"A political party dedicated towards ensuring that we, Sunnydale, make giant robots to combat hostile dragons, giants and other huge creatures," Joyce read off her sheet. "Yes, that is the description they put forth."
"That's not a political goal!" protested the reporter from before.
"I thought we weren't supposed to give our opinions?" Joyce asked with a raised eyebrow and just a tinge of sarcasm. The reporter had the decency to cringe. "You might ignore them, or laugh at them like people did with Butters, but they have support, no matter what people dislike. I don't agree with them personally, but almost two thousand other people apparently do, and have registered with the Mech Party."
Across town, Jonathan Levinson was trying to fade into the background. He'd started the party as a joke to parody Andrew's "Church of Gygax" silliness. He hadn't expected people to take him seriously. Warren gave him a Spock-ishly inquisitive eyebrow raise and the young man held his hands up in defense.
"It was a joke," Jono said. "I didn't even register with them. I'm a Green."
"Oh, I figured you for more of a Magical Democrat," Warren mused.
"I thought about it," Jonathan admitted.
"You started a political party and didn't join it?" Andrew asked as he brought in a bowl of homemade cheetos. "I joined. I got a few to join the Church of Gygax too."
The two boys looked at their slightly insane friend with wide eyes before Jonathan edged over to the phone.
"Hi, Mrs. Wells? This is Jonathan Levinson," he said. "It's time for Andrew to go home, can you send Tucker over to make sure he gets there safe and sound? Thanks."
"But I don't want to go home yet! I haven't finished telling you about the temple I'm going to build. It's a giant d12."
"Mrs. Summers, what party do you support?" one of the others asked.
"I haven't decided yet," Joyce admitted. "There are a number that have parts of their platform that I agree with, but not one that really represents what I feel. While I do dislike the amount of debt we've incurred to our neighbors and training partners, I don't feel that isolation is the answer. I'm a mother as well, so I'm concerned about the passive and active prejudice that's been directed at my daughter and other magical and special children and citizens. I think we need to pull together. It's easy to break into factions, very easy, but that's not going to help us in the long run. We're strangers in a strange land, being strangers with each other will only hurt us more."
"You talk about us getting hurt, what do you mean by that?" Molly asked.
"Well, look at history," Joyce said. "Earth's history, and Faerûn's I suspect, is filled with stories and events where a group was marginalized and turned into scapegoats. It would be easy for us to do that here. Some people are already doing it towards magic-users or orcs. One thing that happens frequently is that those societies become corrupt and fall. I don't want that to be us. I don't want us to be known as Americans and Japanese and Chinese, and any other group you can name. I want us to be Sunnydale. I didn't agree with everything the Mayor said, but I think that's one thing he had right."
"So you agree that the Mayor was a tyrant," asked another reporter.
"No," Joyce replied with no hesitation. Her voice was firm and her gaze steady and seemed to be looking right into the camera and out at the viewers from all over. "He did what he had to do. It wasn't nice. It wasn't polite and he pissed more than a few people off, but if Richard Wilkins III hadn't done what he did, we would have been starving, dead or enslaved or even a combination of those. In some cases we would have been food."
"But he had forced labor! He's no different than Stalin or Hitler!"
"Stop and think about that statement," Joyce instructed. "You're comparing the man who kept us alive, and well, long enough to have this conversation to the two most infamous mass-murderers of the 20th century? If he had been like Stalin, we wouldn't be having this conversation. We would have vanished without a trace. If Richard was like Hitler, he would have started splitting us up, blaming people for things that unfortunately plague us all. And sending certain scapegoat groups off to concentration camps would have soon followed. Now, I ask you, did he do any of these things?" When the reporter didn't respond at first, Joyce raised an imperious eyebrow.
"Uh, no," the reporter said quietly.
"Exactly," Joyce said. "Before coming to this world, how many of us had seen snow, much less lived through an entire winter? Not too many native to Southern California. We needed to change. We needed to change fast and the only way to do this was to make sure everybody did their part. And look at us-we're almost there! Don't you dare compare a man who helped bring us together so we can save ourselves to those monsters in mortal form."
The reporter didn't really have a response to that.
Sitting in his recliner with his "family" about as they watched the address, Kannyr Vhok whistled innocently. While Ms. Summers made good points, what she didn't know about the former Mayor could have filled, well, an ocean maybe. Oceans were supposed to be big, right? He'd never seen one, but he'd heard stories. Anyway, it was a lot. Still the cambion was among the best at what he did, and keeping secrets was only one of them.
"Aliiza," he purred as he pulled her into his lap. "Tell me, what do you think about this political process?"
"It confuses me," she admitted as she wriggled enticingly. Well, truth be told, with her as a half-succubus, everything she did was enticing, but that was beside the point. "They set things up to limit power. They make a maze for anyone who wants power. I just...it seems...I don't know. I still do not understand it."
"Have you registered to vote?" he asked.
"Yes, undeclared, although the Maho Shojo Party amuses me," she replied.
"I thought it would," Vhok replied. "I considered signing up for the Christian Conservative Party just to annoy them, but decided to go Green instead. What about you girls?"
Not moving from place as they stared at the television, his four pregnant succubus lovers replied in perfect unison. "Magical Democrats."
"Whatever happens, this will be interesting," Aliiza said with a saucy grin.