I have to say I’m impressed.
Bellumine won the civil war.
Honestly, I doubt anyone saw that coming.
Especially the former government.
Haha.
Staring at the television, I sprawl out on the couch in a sports bra and sweats, sucking on a cheap grape popsicle. The reporters are going insane on every channel, excitedly or cynically commentating on Bellumine’s first official press meeting.
I admit I might be a little hyped too.
The old man looks pretty good on television, surrounded by his entourage of political and military superstars. I guess it helps he was born with one of those leader-like faces: chiseled features, sweeping gray-brown hair, broad shoulders and a full frame. Today, he’s wearing a navy blue suit and a periwinkle tie that works well with his blue eyes. Behind him, the white capital building of the Maximum looks just as polished and bright as ever, standing to contrast with his dark clothes.
What a man.
For almost two minutes, the crowd continues to cheer, and the reporters kill time with professional filler-gibberish.
I start nibbling on my popsicle stick, anxiously flipping upside down.
Finally, Bellumine holds his arms up, shaking his head.
“Thank you! Thank you! You all are far too kind.”
I wonder if he’s enjoying this a bit too much.
Eventually, the crowd calms down.
“First of all—” Bellumine has a voice that’s low and manly but still clear, “—first of all, I want to say that I am enormously humbled to be here today. Compared to the men and women and children - the heroes - who stood behind me these past ten years, I am a mere man. Only because of your sacrifice and your service are we here today - free of oppression.”
“Eh, he’s not kidding around, is he?” I say, sliding off the couch impatiently as the crowd explodes in applause again, “I wonder when was the last time Twainside even laid eyes on a leader like this…the self-righteous, indifferent prick.”
Well…
Maybe name-calling is out of place.
I should be clear.
I respect Bellumine - but I hate him all the same.
From what I’ve seen, he’s fantastically intelligent in strategy, and his heart for democracy is unmatched. I mean, you can’t just win a rebellion against a militaristic, tyrannical government that has been established and grounded for decades if you’re some spineless, lily-livered flop. Bellumine - over the last ten years since he began his uprising as a small pro-democracy anti-group - has seen his own ups and downs, even losing his wife to the war, but he’s always made the right decision for his followers, and I appreciate that. I suffered under the last government too.
Still.
Until he gives up his hunt - and he never will - Bellumine and I can never see eye-to-eye.
That much is clear.
“I have many people I need to thank,” Bellumine continues, “Thank you to the many journalists who have come here tonight to celebrate victory with us.” Applause. “Thank you to everyone who served in our military, strategy, and support divisions for your endless selflessness over the last ten years.” Applause. “Thank you especially for those from the former government who have helped provide a smooth transition of power.” More applause.
“Honestly, I could go on,” Bellumine admits with a small laugh, “I’m so incredibly happy right now, happy to be here alive and happy because of the response we have received from you all through the war. I know we have suffered much, myself included…” Dramatic pause, tangible pathos. “…but we have survived, and we now bear the responsibility of rebuilding, recovering that which was lost.”
“Woo,” I intone as the crowd spasms in excitement.
“I doubt you all would like to hear me carry on when you have your own questions. Please,” Bellumine says, “let me try to answer as many of them in the next half hour as I can.”
Instant bedlam.
Out of my mind from the waiting, I groan and close my eyes as the journalists desperately try to get their questions out first, all of them screaming like angry toddlers. Laughing kindly in a self-effacing sort of way, Bellumine points into the crowd, and the first woman steps forward with an almost shrieked-out question: “What preventative measures will the new government take to restore checks and balances of power?!”
“This begins with me,” Bellumine replies, “I am not arrogant enough to believe I am a man righteous enough to withstand the corruptive effects of absolute power.” The crowd disagrees, but Bellumine shakes his head. “Over and over in history, we have seen good men turned evil by opportunities for self-gain. Even if I am the exception to this rule, how could I risk your well-being to determine that?”
I grimace at the television.
This man is unfairly good.
“In the new government, according to the New Contract, if we find that the citizens of Twainside are in agreement, we hope to install a nine-member council, represented by the members before you here.” Bellumine flourishes an arm at a number of faces I know - and some I don’t. “These men and women will be direct ears for you in a legislative and judicial manner, and they will be ultimately responsible to the executive power, which will be comprised of another council.”
“How will we be able to trust the councils?!” someone yells.
Bellumine smiles kindly in response. “You will be the councils. Every council member will both hold a two-year limited term and be voted in by fair-ratio proportion representation - with a salary cap. If you love Twainside as much as I do, perhaps you could be a member of the council.”
“What are your plans for the Minimum?”
I perk up instantly.
Finally.
Yet, just as the world’s best journalist asks the question I’ve been dying to get the answer to, the door to the loft swings opens, and Janiyah, my little two-year-old sister, runs in, laughing and shrieking. A second later, Dante, my nine-year-old brother, comes up after her, scowling.
“Sorry, Jaiden. She got away.”
I shake my head, turning up the volume. “Don’t worry about it.”
Janiyah climbs onto the couch with me. “What - you - watching?”
“News.”
“For now,” Bellumine says, “we do not have the stability to tamper with the Minimum.”
The crowd rustles. Their first evidence of disapproval.
“However, I have no intention either of letting the Minimum subsist untouched for any length of time. When the Maximum is stabilized sufficiently, my reform team will amend the violence and squalor rotting beneath these city grounds.”
“What is the time estimate for reform?” another reporter asks.
“Two years,” Bellumine answers, a cool edge in his voice, “If we pull everyone together cooperatively during this current unstable moment, then we will likely proceed in less time than that. The new councils will discuss this matter in length and release an official statement. For now, if we do not continue to rally together, we may very well lose the footing we hold now. The war for democracy is a life-long battle, my friends.”
Dante looks at me, tilting his head. “What's squalor?”
“You,” I reply deadpan.
He grimaces and leaves, slamming the door.
I think I’m done too. I have the answer I needed.
Scooping up Janiyah in one arm, I click off the TV with my free hand and toss out my popsicle stick with the other.
“Down you go,” I say, pushing Janiyah out of my room and closing the door.
She squeals, protesting, but runs off to harass any of my other seven siblings, probably Dante again since he’s so good with her. When she’s gone, I sink to the floor, drawing my knees into my chest. Just being around her for those few moments, while hearing Bellunine’s estimation at the same time, suddenly makes me feel incredibly sick.
Down here, in the cavern city underneath the Maximum, exists a dirty, highly-criminal culture that was well-culled by the former tyrannical government. The drug lords had their regular customers and no more; the gangs kept to their respective territories and nowhere else. Since the turn of the government, though, crime has quickly bloomed with no authority to step on the Minimum’s illegal activity.
How many friends have gone missing within the last week? How many corpses have I seen dragged into dark cracks in the rocks, shot to shreds?
I can’t let any of my siblings leave the house…
Even when I leave to buy groceries or to work, human traffickers are always watching, waiting for me to be alone…
The Maximum needs to help the Minimum immediately. If Bellumine’s focus isn’t here, then my first order of business is to get his attention at any cost, which means I need to make a phone call to my only connection to the surface…
Antony.
~ ~ ~
Write on!
Clove
