Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
On the beginning of the summit’s second day, Lugh returned to the Teatro along with the British contingent, anticipating that the previous night’s events would be a popular topic of conversation amongst the others in attendance. Their attentions, though, were split between the current dealings in fiscal policy and, in the case of the British media, speculation about the Prime Minister’s speech. No one raised an objection to the story that he had made before retiring the prior evening. “I guess these humans will believe anything,” he thought.
He traveled down the same aisle walkway, passing the row of translators and smirking at them as they struggled to come back from last night’s drunken revelry. Sally’s look conveyed rage and jealousy. She spoke not a word as he passed by. Her rage amused him; such a waste of energy. He reached the small staircase and continued up to the backstage area.
He was joined there a few minutes later by the Chief of Staff Bryan Arnold who was accompanied by a few members of his staff. Lugh stood alongside the Prime Minister and his press staff, discussing his speech as well as any last minute changes to it. The Chief of Staff noticed Mr. Pearson’s confident arrival and groaned.
“There’s still time to change course, sir,” Mr. Arnold remarked as the PM disappeared in a ball of blush and powder. “All you have to do is say the word and we’ll pipe the other speech in to the prompter.”
“We’ve gone over this, Bryan,” Mr. Temple barked as the makeup team finished. “We need to embrace a new era of compassionate conservatism in Britain. Not the piss poor version the Americans trumpeted out like drunken buffoons a decade ago. But a version that actually lives up to the term. The only way that is going to happen is by trying big, bold ideas.”
“But with all due respect, sir, we just got out of the shit storm,” the Chief of Staff roared in protest, approaching the PM. “The economy’s starting to come back. Our opinion poll’s ticked up a few points. We have a chance now to fulfill the promises we made when we got to Downing Street.”
“You’re blathering on as if you were elected yourself two years ago,” said Temple, gazing over at his subordinate. “rather than having been saved by me from the Street and a long stay in prison for insider trading.”
“I can’t take this anymore,” Mr. Arnold gritted his teeth. “I speak for many in the Party when I say we will not stand by and watch you squander all of our political capital on a pie-in-the sky pipedream!”
The Prime Minister finally rose from the rickety wooden chair. His chest rose up along with the rest of his six-foot, one-inch frame as he stood before the Chief of Staff. “If they want to stake their political careers over a futile grasp of the past, I will happily take their resignation letters the moment this summit concludes. The question, Mr. Arnold, is whether you are really comfortable in joining them on that slim branch.”
They stared down one another for a few seconds. Bryan tried his best to intimidate the much taller man. The air around them became ripe with tension as each second passed. Finally, the Chief sighed and sheepishly shook his head.
“I thought as much.” The Prime Minister grumbled to his subordinate, walking over with one of the Press staffers to a barren area to discuss the speech further.
Lugh watched as Mr. Arnold paced around the wooden floor, trying to cool down. He resembled an old warrior walking away from the edge of a large castle wall after a failed revolt, wishing he were dead. A part of him almost felt bad for the beleaguered Chief of Staff and his shrinking influence.
“Get back to work, Pearson.” The Chief of Staff seethed at Lugh before walking out toward his seat.
***
Like the previous day, the speeches from the economic heads of the member nations stuck to the same ideological stratagems as their heads of state. The Italian Minister of Economy and Finance proclaimed that his country was “rising up from the ashes” of their economic malaise thanks to the work he and the British Prime Minister had done to reform its past problems. It was a sentiment shared by his newly installed Greek counterpart, though he ignored the rebellion from his nation’s labor union to those policies. The French finance minister followed, echoing his boss’ positive views of concentrated spending as a way to improve the economy. The view was shared by his counterpart from the United States who would follow him up to the podium. The minister also received support from the finance heads in the Scandinavian countries that fared better economically than their European brethren.
The Commissioner of Economic & Monetary Affairs for the European Union came out ninety minutes later and was greeted by a mixed chorus of boos and polite applause from the audience. He spoke about the need for a comprehensive long term economic strategy to fix the Union’s economic woes. And then at around four in the afternoon local time, the Prime Minister stepped to the podium for his much anticipated speech.
Much like the EU Commissioner, he was greeted by a mixed response. The most negative came from members of a populist movement who had traveled from Madrid to the summit to make themselves heard to the politicians in attendance. As the Prime Minister began his speech, one of them stood and screamed “Micrófono Comprobar!” at the top of his lungs, the voice ringing through parts of the Teatro. The person was joined shortly after by the others in their group who stood to shout the same phrase themselves five more times before beginning an organized chant.
“Somos el 99%! We are the 99%!
Usted es un bastión de la democracia! You are a bastion of democracy!
Sin embargo sufren! Yet we suffer!
Dice ser del pueblo! You claim to be of the people!
Sin embargo los ricos tienen el oído! Yet the rich have your ear!
España y Gran Bretaña! Spain and Great Britain!
Defender a la humanidad no corporatocracia! Defend humanity, not corporatocracy!”
Their shouts filled the auditorium until the police arrived inside the Teatro. They continued for another minute before police officers grabbed the half dozen people there and dragged them out of there. Charon watched the whole scene from inside the body of the Prime Minister himself, inhabiting every part of his human body. Charon saw the perfect humorous one-liner in the statesman’s mind that would deflect attention from the protesters and revert attention back to him.
“What, no pie,” he grinned. “I guess they were too poor to buy one!”
The crowd roared in laughter and Lugh joined in. Charon’s getting quite comfortable, he thought as the laughter died down. The Prime Minister wiped the smile from his face and took in a few moments of silence before beginning the speech.
“I came into the Prime Ministership three years ago trying to fix the troubles that years of reckless economic policies had caused and bring ourselves back to prosperity.” He paused briefly before continuing. “I said all throughout the campaign as well as in my victory speech that we had the answer.”
“We needed to reign in a decade-long spending spree that began under Prime Minister Ramsay,” he continued at a slightly increased pace. “We needed to eliminate the waste and reckless fraud that has degraded the public’s faith in us. And we needed to wean ourselves from depending on the government in every aspect of our lives and social well-being. Over the past few weeks, however, I have come to the realization that...I was wrong.”
The audience gasped as did much of the British press who were seated in the balcony and taking photographs. There was also noticeable shock on the faces of the Chief of Staff and the Chancellor seated behind the head of government as he and the podium were engulfed for a few seconds in a sea of camera flashes.
“I was not wrong about the need for government to control spending,” he continued moments after the murmurs and flashbulbs abated. “Nor was I wrong in my belief that only a bAmandaced budget can ensure stability and prosperity in the future. I was wrong to believe the only choices we had was a bloated Welfare state dependent on the government or a trim austere state where government is called on few occasions. I believe now…that we can do both.”
The pro-austerity contingent went berserk. In the press pool, one reporter from the Sydney Herald opined to a colleague from the Melbourne Post that “the man’s off his fucking rocker!” The smooth talking demigod inside the PM’s body briefly looked around at the audience for an extra moment before continuing with a degree of passion in his voice for theatrical effect.
“I propose today the birth of a new Great Britain, where we marry the best aspects of the future our greatest science fiction writers could imagine with the world we have today. All without having to break the proverbial bank. You may not believe such a thing is possible. But in time you will see the prosperous and peaceful world it will create for all.”
For the first time in his speech, he started to garner more applause from the audience than boos. Charon smiled brightly before going into further detail on what the program would look like. An increase in defense spending countered by cuts in wasteful spending across the board. A heightened attention towards Science & Technology in the schools beginning with students in primary school and steadily up to the university level. The introduction of tax incentives for every taxpaying Englishman beginning at the start of the summer Games which would open up hiring in small and medium sized businesses in the country. He proclaimed the plan would save the British government £10 billion over the next fiscal year while raising five times that in new revenue every year afterward.
“How do you plan on doing that?” One of the pool reporters from the Birmingham Post yelled out to a chorus of angered, offended boos from the other members of the British press next to him.
“I’m glad you asked.” Charon chuckled, clearing his throat as the groans died down. “I’m proud to announce the news that a couple of intrepid scientists discovered a new energy source outside of Colchester. The selling of this source on the open marketplace will pay for the programs I mentioned earlier. It will also make Great Britain energy independent by the end of the decade for the first time in the Industrial age.”
The audience once again roared in cheers and surprise over the news. The reporters in the balcony furiously took to their smartphones and called their home offices, seeking more information about this new energy source. Lugh meanwhile sat back and watched it all with a sense of ambivalence. He couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the theatrics Charon was using.
“The energy, which they dubbed CV-220, is in the process of being perfected at the University of Cambridge by the Ministry of Defence’s best scientific minds as we speak,” he continued over the outraged voices. “We will announce the rollout to a worldwide audience in a month’s time on 8 June. Will it be difficult? Yes. But in the words of the Greek philosopher Plutarch, ‘Those who aim at great deeds must suffer greatly.’ We may suffer and struggle in the short term, but we will rise in the long term and beyond to heights never dreamed of in our historical texts. Thank you, and god bless!”
The sound of applause filled the Teatro as the speech concluded. Charon flashed a smile to the cameras and the photographic bulbs that flashed in his direction for a few moments before he walked away from the podium, followed by the rest of his convoy. When they arrived a few minutes later at a secluded area backstage, Mr. Arnold and Chancellor of the Exchequer Reynolds looked over at the Prime Minister with confusion and curiosity about the speech.
“Sir, when the fuck were you planning on notifying the Cabinet about this CV-220?!” the Chancellor shrieked.
The Chief of Staff jumped in. “With all due respect, have you lost your damn mind? We’ll be lucky not to face a brand new election when we come back home!”
“When did you even find out about this?”
“A week ago,” Mr. Temple looked calm and in control in the face of his subordinates’ rage, taking each one in one by one. “I had to keep the discovery under wraps, including from my staff, till MOD could confirm it was genuine.”
“Let’s at least see the men who found it,” Mr. Arnold remarked, walking past the Chancellor to reach the P.M. “Maybe we can trot them out to the press and milk something positive out of this.”
“The man who made the discovery is currently in Colchester working on the containment unit.”
“What are the names of the scientists?” Mr. Reynolds asked. “Maybe we can schedule an interview with them on the BBC tonight.”
“They died in a car crash shortly after their discovery,” the PM uttered using Charon’s words. He peered down at the Chancellor and his Chief of Staff. “My press man already has their tragic story set for the evening news back home. Our job here is to make explicitly sure to have the nation and the world behind us. Is that clear, gentlemen?”
“Yes, sir.” the Chancellor quickly replied. A few beats later Ryan closed his eyes and sighed. The PM walked out to the small press assembly outside of the Teatro. As the head of government walked away from view, the two bureaucrats shifted their collective anger toward Lugh.
“You,” Mr. Arnold roared, moving toward him forcefully. “I should have seen it from the start.”
“What are you talking about?” Lugh feigned innocence. A crowd of reporters nearby noticed the confrontation taking place and started to move toward them.
The Chancellor moved alongside Mr. Arnold a second later and started moving Lugh toward the wall. “How you were hired here without anyone in Wales knowing a single thing about you,” he uttered, sharing in Mr. Arnold’s realization. “How you rose so quickly into the Prime Minister's inner circle with very little effort. How you were able to change the man’s political instincts in the blink of an eye after more than twenty years of service in government?”
“What scam are you running?” Mr. Arnold barked out, standing within a couple of feet from the younger man.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, gentlemen,” Lugh said with his back against the wall. For the first time, he was concerned that the two of them might see through his façade. “I’ve been nothing but truthful with everyone here since I got here.”
“Bullshit,” the Chief of Staff fired back, placing his hand forcefully on Lugh’s shoulder. “No one in the history of politics with your career trajectory has gotten there solely by their merits. Now tell us who the hell you really are or I will—”
“You will what?” Lugh shot a defiant look at Mr. Arnold, noticing the reporters looking on behind them. “Given what I have seen right now, I don’t know how legitimate you are going to look in the court of public opinion.”
The Chancellor laughed at the young man’s assertion, standing behind Mr. Arnold. “Do you honestly think the public will believe a low-level bureaucrat over the Chancellor of the Exchequer and the Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff?”
“Believe me? Of course not, Mr. Chancellor. That would be rather hard to accomplish on my own,” Lugh replied, quickly grinning and gathering a higher degree of confidence. “But with some video evidence and a couple of witnesses to corroborate said evidence, well...anything is certainly possible.”
The two senior staffers turned to see half dozen reporters standing in a half circle along with a single cameraman taking note of the confrontation. It didn’t take long for the political veterans to recognize the potential political ramifications of any physical confrontation and they backed away from the scene.
“This isn’t over yet, Pearson,” Mr. Arnold warned Lugh. “I will find out who you are. And when I do, you’ll be lucky to get a job transcribing the minutes at a town council in Burton upon Trent!”
The two bureaucrats left the area in a huff, leaving Lugh alone with the assembled members of the press. One of the reporters asked the young man a question. “Do you care to comment about all that?”
For a moment, he pondered how to respond. Then, he offered up what he thought was a plausible anecdote. “I think the Spanish call it a ‘Basura Apuesta.’ The Chancellor bet me £50 Wolves would beat Man City this past Saturday. After the speech, one of the interns told us they just lost on a late penalty kick to City, and—well, even government workers can get angry about Football matches.”
The reporters laughed. Once the laughter died down, they exited the area out to the lobby with the rest of the press. Lugh followed them a few moments later, brimming with satisfaction at what he viewed as a profitable day. He stepped out to the large press pool that had gathered in the Teatro’s lobby, weaving past the enclaves of reporters interviewing the different foreign dignitaries. They paid very little attention to him since he was only a pencil pusher. It wasn’t till a few minutes later that a loud voice could be heard in his direction.
“Lucas, my boy!”
He looked around in the sea of humanity, trying to find the Prime Minister. Finally, he saw his superior waving to him a couple of feet away near the back. He had just finished giving remarks to for someone from iTV and had some downtime before the next reporter would come.
“Come and show yourself off to a curious British people.” He said joyfully, flashing a wide smile to his underling.
“I would be honored to, sir. But I must decline,” Lugh replied courteously. “I was hoping to catch some of the sights of the city before we flew back home.”
“Fair enough, lad,” the Prime Minister said with a mild chuckle. “We’ll talk later.”
***
Lugh walked along a sparsely occupied stretch of sidewalk, looking up at the beautiful starry night with great pride. He stopped in front of a light pole next to a café ten blocks away from the Teatro. The sign on the door said that it was closed for the evening. He sniffed the air a couple of times, sensing a familiar presence walking towards him. It took a few moments before Charon was visible to Lugh. He was dressed in a finely tailored navy blue suit and pants.
“Nice work with the humans today,” Lugh said. “I especially liked the reference to Plutarch you slipped in near the end.”
“Thank you.” Charon replied, dusting the lapels on his jacket coat. “Though I’ll admit I was just showing off to these easily excitable insects.”
“I am surprised to see you out so soon after the speech,” Lugh remarked as the dapper looking demi-god stopped in front of him. “I thought you would still be in your human host, bathing in their never-ending accolades.”
“I needed a little bit of a stretch. It can get very cramped and pungent inside,” Charon stretched his arms out to his sides. “Besides, it’s not like it’s that hard to get back in. For a tall man, he doesn’t put up much of a fight.”
The two of them chuckled. Charon then shifted to a more serious tone. “As good as today was for us, dear Lugh, we have to be prepared for every possible scenario that will come in the future.”
“You mean the Halfling,” Lugh scoffed. “I do not believe the human is much of a threat to us. She should be a simple enough hurdle to overcome.”
“I’m not referring to her,” Charon said a little more intensely, pressing his right hand to his thigh. “I’m referring to the group the Halfling has befriended- the Guardian. We must keep them contained and distracted till the unveiling.”
“How are we going to do that?”
Before a satisfactory answer came, Charon vanished into the Spanish night. The only thing left where he once stood was a folded piece of paper. Lugh plucked it from the sidewalk to find it held the layout of a diagram from the London Electricity Board. The diagram outlined the electrical grid for King’s Place with one section circled in red. Written above it were two words: “The Guardian.”