I wrote this first chapter while in a very cramped airline seat. I mean, my legs are pretty long, so economy class is often rough. But that's what you deal with when you fly, I guess. Anyway, please let me know what you think. I'll continue this as soon as I can.
The day was cold in Washington DC, but the President of the United States tried not to think about it as he glanced out the window of his limo.
"What's going on?" the President asked, rubbing his temple as though wiping sweat off his face.
"I can assure you, Mr. President, that you will do just fine at the speech," stated the limo's driver: "No pressure."
"No pressure," the President agreed, speaking rather softly so as not to strain his vocal cords. There was a lot of energy he'd still need to use, so best not to spend it too early. The human body, after all, was a battery whose power needed to be conserved, for the faster you let it run out, the sooner you would die.
And, as some would say, the President was already in God's waiting room. If there was a God, that is.
"You do know what issue you are meant to address today, correct?" the Secret Service agent enquired.
"Yes, I do," the President confirmed. "It's hardly malarkey when I say that."
"I should hope so," the Secret Service agent replied, "because you've got to reassure the people in the audience."
"Why is that, Leatherman?"
"Because, Mr. President, people are scared. They've heard the news coming out of Latin America, and they want answers. Easy answers."
"Well, who's to say that the answers are easy? What if I can't give them easy answers?"
"Sir, you are the President of the United States. You're one of the most visible and powerful people in the world, and if you can't be a calming presence on the world stage, people will start to question why they voted for you."
"Why should I care?"
"Because, sir, it's already January seventh of an election year. On November 5, just under ten months from now, voters will go to the polls and decide which President to elect. Will it be you, or will it be the other guy?"
"Why should it be the other guy?"
"It shouldn't be, which is why you have to persuade the public that you're the better option!"
"Right," the President muttered. "Man, if only I could have had some coffee with ice cream on top before heading to the press conference."
"That's not my fault," Agent Leatherman snapped. "And besides, coffee doesn't sound like it'd go well with ice cream. Maybe you're looking for a root beer float or something, but that's hardly a consistent message against added sugar…"
"Fine," the President grumbled.
"We are almost there," Agent Leatherman told his boss. "And once we're there, you're going to have to remember why you were elected in the first place."
"Because I ran, and because more people voted for me."
"People voted for you, Mr. President, because they wanted calm above all else. It'll undermine your pitch to the voters if you can't deliver on that promise. They might as well defect to the other guy."
Soon after that, the motorcade arrived at the National Mall. It was here that the commander-in-chief was to deliver his speech about the crisis.
"What crisis am I talking about again?" The President asked his speechwriter as he shuffled over to the podium.
"The one in Costa Rica, Mr. President. The nation of just over five million -"
"Why should we care? Just let those five million Ticos deal with their own problems. They've got their hands full being tree-hugging hippies at the moment, don't they?"
"What happens in Costa Rica doesn't stay in Costa Rica, Mr. President. This isn't Vegas."
"I wish I was in Vegas," the President muttered under his breath.
"Something tells me you don't."
"Whatever. So what do I do now?"
His speechwriter whispered some directions into her boss' ear. However, the damage had already been done. The crowd before him were audibly scratching their heads, and pretty soon, they'd be booing.
"Got it," the President said simply.
"That's the spirit, Mr. President," the speechwriter, a young dark-skinned woman, told him with a smile. "I'm very glad you are in office. You'll do great."
"Right," the President stated simply, looking out over the crowd assembled on the National Mall. "How are all of you doing today?"
There were a few thumbs-up from the crowd, but most of them wore the same expression - wide eyes, pursed lips, sometimes even shivering. And President Fiddlesticks knew exactly what emotion that betrayed.
Fear. Worry. The need for reassurance that the country would weather this crisis. Anything that might induce a positive emotion, because that's exactly what the nation wanted. And President Fiddlesticks would deliver it.
"Right," the President stated simply. "Welcome to the National Mall in the beautiful city of Washington, DC. It's the most wonderful city in the nation, the giant city on a hill. A city that can never be defeated by any enemy, either foreign or domestic.
"It was in this city that the world's oldest existing democracy was founded. It was here that the Founding Fathers made a commitment to a country founded not on a common color or creed, but rather on an idea. That all men are created equal before the law, and that nothing can tear us apart..except, that is, for an unfortunate episode in the…".
But the audience wasn't having it. Not at all. Far from being encouraged by these platitudes about how America was the greatest country in the history of the world, a few people were booing him. Their democratically elected President, Andreas Fiddlesticks, was being booed.
"What's wrong?" President Fiddlesticks asked eventually. "Did I say something I shouldn't have? I just want to feel -".
The speechwriter seized the President's wrist and glared at him, right between the eyes.
"No more platitudes, Mr. President," she said. "People want to hear you talk about what truly matters right now. People want to relax. And they don't want to hear excuses."
"Right" President Fiddlesticks blurred out.
"So get out there and give Fox News hell," the speechwriter commanded.
"I'll see what I can do."
By now, the audience appeared fed up beyond belief. A few were holding fists in the air as though gearing up to throw snowballs at the head of state. Luckily for President Fiddlesticks, the ground was totally devoid of snow.
""Sorry about that," the President stated. "I just had to talk to Snapcrackle back there. Had to adjust my mic".
"We're not buying it!" came a shout from the crowd. It seemed to be originating from a bare-chested man carrying a Confederate flag and a scythe. "You should resign, Fiddlesticks!"
Pretending not to hear that, President Fiddlesticks bashed his wrist against the podium. This got the crowd, even his detractors, to shut up fast.
I'm trying to remember… what was today's briefing about? It was about Costa Rica. Those five million Ticos are having trouble with…something.
It was just a few of them. A few of those creatures. That species that hadn't been discovered yet.
"All of us want to know if this will be another pandemic!" a woman from near the front of the crowd bellowed. "Your predecessor claimed fifteen cases would soon be zero…".
"That was malarkey!"
"But this raises a very legitimate issue!" a reporter from CBS exclaimed. "If we were not to trust the last President about COVID, why should we trust you about the discovery in Costa Rica?"
"Because it's fake news!"
"Fake news?" the CBS anchor wondered aloud, that last word being key. "Mr. President, are the sightings of creatures considered merely mythical fake news to the five million Costa Ricans grappling with the reality that wild Pokémon are among them?"
"I'm not saying it's not true -".
"You just did."
"- but I am telling the public that there is nothing to worry about. The buck stops here, and I am going to move heaven and earth to make sure the world doesn't plunge into hell."
"Tell that to your counterpart from Costa Rica," another reporter, this one from Fox News, stated. "He's already declared martial law. All men under the age of 50 are prohibited from leaving the country. They're stuck there. And what do you have to say to them, huh?"
"Look," President Fiddlesticks announced. "It's all under control. It really is. Look - what's happening in Costa Rica truly is regrettable. What is happening there, I wouldn't wish on our geopolitical rivals, let alone our allies. But…".
""What would you tell the American public? They look at the events in Costa Rica in horror. They don't want Pikachu invading their community. And they want you to help them."
"How do I do that?"
"Andreas Fiddlesticks," began a reporter from OAN (One America News), "you are the commander-in-chief, whether your election was free and fair. When you speak, your words matter."
"Fine," President Fiddlesticks mumbled. "I'll solve it."
"You'd better," the OAN reporter snarled. "Because if you don't, the opposing party's base will see to it that you are a one-term President."
"Well, I'd rather get re-elected…".
"Then give us the facts," a woman from MSNBC with short hair stated curtly. "What does an outbreak of wild Pokémon in Costa Rica mean for the United States, and what are you doing to help?"
"We will do everything we can," the President promised.
"But what if it's not enough?" the guy from OAN asked.
"It will be" the President insisted, though by this time, this was said more to reassure himself than to convince anyone else. "We will send troops if we have to. All options are on the table."
"Mr. President, do you care to elaborate as to what those options may be?"
"Some information must remain classified," President Fiddlesticks stated neutrally. "I'm afraid I cannot."
There were a few more questions from the press, and roughly an equal number of answers from President Fiddlesticks. Who knew whether or not the "media men" and "media women" bought it. Perhaps they were mollified by the commander-in-chief's promises, but it did not seem that way.
"Man, good grief" the President sighed after the press conference ended, as he was being led back to the motorcade. "I didn't sign up for this malarkey."
"Actually, you did," Leatherman muttered. "You ran in an election, and you won both the popular vote and Electoral College."
"Don't remind me."