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[sirxantham-blog]

Catherine, Chapter 3

The Pundits, along with the American people, were scared. The ever-rising temperatures, along with the melting of the polar ice caps, the untimely extinction of the Polar bear, and the partial sinking of Venice had all taken its toll on the psyche and imaginations of the world over, traipsing upon the shared ideal and promise of longetivity, giving way to a sure demise full of intrepidation. Intrepidation gave way to concern, concern to fear, and with many A-list celebrities joining in with companies and news organizations to bring illumination to the subject that was on everybody’s minds, fear gave way to resolve.  And as Catherine once posted to her Mu account, “Resolve to change is like the sun on a rainy day, a flowing river under a stalwart mountain or the tectonic plates moving ever so slightly beneath our feet:  It is always there, you just may not see it directly.”  The plan for halting climate change was starting to form when a small company figured out how to eradicate carbon dioxide from the atmosphere inexpensively.  At first, the process cost about 100 dollars per ton, which when calculating how much carbon dioxide was being put into the atmosphere by every country, came out to about 3 trillion US dollars a year, a bit too much for most countries to think about, even though at the time of 2018 temperatures were rising so drastically that there were very few climate change deniers, or those who had been brainwashed by the oil conglomerates who owned many major news companies.  Most of the U.S. public weren’t fooled, however, as celebrities like Catherine quickly began using their voices to speak out about the issue.   By 2026, though, the process cost significantly less than at first, and countries started touting it as a priority.  A giant tide of awareness was shifting in the shadows, on the streets and in front of homes you would see signs tacked up or on posts - “Help Fight Climate Change!”  and “Save our Earth from CO2 Emissions!”. T-shirts were worn during the summer and flags flown from buildings the whole year proclaiming the need to change to solar, or green energy, and bumper stickers started popping up urging to call congress to make plastic bags illegal.

As Catherine stepped further and further into the spotlight, she found that the crowd in the shadows was filled with a world that desperately wanted change in ways that would secure a more viable future for all.

For Catherine, being a viable change had its upsides and downsides; each night looking over the reports of the congressional and senatorial leanings and actions, finding out the public opinion versus the news media opinion on TV, rerunning all of her notes for future speeches, even being able to get a quick chat with Matthew was not a certainty in the business of the moment.  But writing in her journal was the remedy of said moment, the serene pool of reflection and monumentous discovery, the tranquil oasis in the desert of “fake news”.  It was after flipping through her twitter feed and reviewing some notes for the next day’s high-profile meetings, after calling her defense minister about any requirements that must be met (one of her least favorite jobs in office) and finally going to the Periodical with Matthew that she grabbed a sleek slate, traced a rune on the front, and used the surface as a keyboard that buzzed bright green against her fingers, the only glow in her room as Matthew sat beside her, playing a holographic word game on his own tablet.  Her tablet’s interface had a retro feel, with the letter font like an old MS-DOS computer, all green and tethered, against a pure black screen to aid in keeping light pollution down at night.  She had a fondness of looking back at her campaign trail memoirs, as she was extremely lucid during those volatile times for some reason.  Perhaps it was the rush of the crowd, always accepting, getting bigger and bigger as even large stadiums had to start to overflow, the cameras flashing, her heart racing with every upswing of her fist, catching herself to make sure she doesn’t seem too much like an authoritarian autocrat like Mussolini or even Che.  She found a favorite entry of hers, from back in the day where she would be typing two or three pages an hour, just to test her endurance.  Glancing over it, she smiled, looking over at Matthew she ruffled his hair and said

“There’s a literal aura of tension around you, I can feel it glowering like a scared hedgehog or something.  Are you doing okay over there?” Matthew laughed, and put away his tablet, picking up Halbert/Dakolon who had come up to hang out with them.  

“No, I’m just stumped at this word puzzle.  I keep trying out ‘defraction’ but its telling me that its not actually a word. And what are you doing here, Halbie?  This is strange – and new – our cat actually wanting to be with us?  I’ve always tagged him as standoffish.”

“Diffraction’s a word,”  Catherine replied, giving Halbert a scratch on the cheek. “I’m pretty sure it’s used in light and wave forms, things of that nature.  And yeah, did you see what Halbert did today?” Catherine said with a shake of her head and a smile, feeling strange and wonderful at her cat’s newfound spirit identity, the initial discomfort all but dissipated.  

“No, what?  What’d I miss?”

“Oh it was all over Twitter and Mu today...”  Catherine spouted about how Halbert was flopped against her.  She breathed and looked in Matthew’s grey-blue eyes, wishing that she could share her experience with Dakolon to her husband.  Her struggle was real, and in a moment of weakness, with the lights dimmed in the padded luxury of her estates room surrounding her like too much stuffing in a tofurkey, she almost revealed the whole ordeal, from the meeting of Dakolon to the séance she would have with the other spirits for the effect of diverting Climate Change.  He smiled at her and tilted his head questioningly, but she shook her head, and told him about Robbie Armistead instead.  After telling Matthew about the strange message from Robbie (“I always thought of that guy as a creep”) and a bit of more small talk, Matthew turned over to bed and Catherine turned out the lights and started flipping through annals of her journal, finding one of her favorite times and rereading it as the moonlight slowly snuck into their room and Halbert sighed and purred in the crook of Matthew’s arms, a first for him.    

  I sniffed, inhaling, steadying myself like a matador before a bull, I sway before coming out into the spotlight at Chrominial hall in Newark, New Jersey.  My heart races, I feel a tightening of the nerves around my solar plexus chakra, my inner sun clamouring for space- “Too much light!  Too much light!”  It may say, as I am a Virgo, even a late blooming one, unused to the thrall of the crowd calling my name, as if I am someone who needs to be called.  I am here!  You know I’m coming!  Why call for me- is there going to be any reason I would not come out?  I am contracted to meet you at, woah, xxx.xx dollars per speech, and yes, it would have been xxxx.xx but I had to make sure that some kid in Myanmar gets fed before my over-decked-out RV gets a new hot tub or my… McMansion gets a new kitchen.  Do we need these things?  Do I?  Well, as you clamour for my name, I clamour for the title of “Empress” or whatever you want, whatever Matthew calls it nowadays.  Ghengis Cath rang so familiarly in my ears, almost hurting my sides with laughter as I write this, now, with ketchup stains on my blouse from when I slipped, my fries missing my mouth as it were.  Oh Matty.  The lights Matty, the lights!  The cameras!  Still, they crush my sedimentality, my core isolationism, the castle of my evanescent being.  You know, you know.  I gripe, I complain.  Maybe, I told you today over tea and coconut butter toast, maybe this whole White House thing will grant us some… more… privacy?  You laughed.  And I think I spat tea out of my nose.  Snorting.  Still, I talk to you now, crowd of deafening proportions.  You who saw the millenials penchant for laziness and took your constitutional rights to the streets.  You who incessantly called your congress and demanded justice – demanded regulation on corporations so they don’t ruin the planet.  As I walked up the stairs, doing my best princess smile and wave, I tripped UP the stairs (I didn’t even know that was something you could do – vis a vis gravity) and sprained my ankle.  Just tallywankered it.  It was throbbing for days, and walking was out of the question.  The crowd, was aghast and some of them ran immediately to my aid.  Even though nothing was broken, one of them who was in the front (I think his name was Kent) told me “Mrs. Harper, I think you might have broken your foot.  Should we call an ambulance to take you to the hospital?” I deflected, stating, No!  I haven’t broken anything, I know my body quite well, thank you kindly sir.  He nodded and smiled, giving me the benefit of the doubt, signaling to the crowd that all was okay and after about a minute of convincing him and a doctor who also rushed up to help that I didn’t need to go to the doctor but could continue on with the campaign event as usual.  Kent, and the crowd, were all for it!  He and the doctor ended up propping me up while I went on and continued speaking.  It was magical, like seeing the aurora borealis first time or fireworks because all the lighters from the crowd started lighting up as if I was singing a cheesy, moving pop song.  Sometimes the cheers after my urgent calls to make lobbying illegal were so strong that I couldn’t even hear myself over the din.  My handlers were soft yet strong and were somehow able to keep me propped up for longer than my usual events, as if they were miraculously strong like superheroes.  Sometimes, I feel like the people surrounding me are superheroes – McKenzie with fire and abandon, giving me hope when all my confidence shatters, Mike, who defies any equal of a campaign manager and manages to get me on talk shows with the most amazing people, Charity, my confidant and assistant who has brought me more laughter in time of need than I could ever ask for.  And of course, Matthew.  You see me when nobody else does.  You’re like Cyclops and I’m like Jean Grey – I have been given exceptional abilities (they are waning now...) and you have extreme foresight to look into my situations and identify the root problems that may come up.  So my heroes of that night took me in their arms and held me up for a good hour while the crowd got more and more enthusiastic.  There was so much screaming by the end, they were clamouring for me to come back, but I had nothing more to give you, I gave it my all!  Sweating profusely, my arms feeling like giant sore bruises were covering them, my ankle swollen to somehow make my shoe unable to fit, I could only say so much before I knew my own limits, and Kent and the doctor let me down, them somehow able to hold me up for an hour and looking, and probably feeling a little spent and weakened.  Afterwards, during the photo ops and poster and picture signings, a girl came up to me and looked at me very seriously, pausing to catch herself as she said, “Excuse me, Catherine, can I ask you a question?”  She had brown hair, much like mine except longer and pushed into a pony tail and she was carrying a note-slate like the one I am writing on.  She looked like she was coming from a dance party, dressed with odd fitting clothes draped over each other, which was a style many young kids actually acquire when going to one of my rallies, the media calls them “Sharpers” after my name, I guess, and they all are notoriously quizzical and, well, seem very smart.  I said she could, of course, and then she went on about the importance of family and how the family unit is one of the most powerful forces in culture.  She then got to her question.  “Why don’t you have any kids?  And… would you adopt me?”  She laughed at that and steadied herself.  I shared her laugh.  I told her about how I feel it is somewhat irresponsible for me to bring a child into this world as it seems to be falling apart to climate change, and how much resources children consume by the time they are 18, which is exorbitant, especially in the U.S. She listened politely, and then said one of the most striking things I have ever heard.  “Catherine, if I’m being honest with you, it is people like you that give me hope enough to have children and… rear them proudly, knowing that there is good in the world.  Knowing that you could be our president gives me hope for our next generation.”

At that moment it all felt so surreal, like I was walking through time and space, seeing all directions at the same time.  I remembered when my mom used to sing The Beatles to me whenever I had a bad day, or sometimes just for fun, her soft, flowing voice singing Penny Lane after I came home with two F’s one day in seventh grade.  She insisted on coming on the campaign trail with me but I assured her that I had all the support I needed.  But somehow, all I could say back to that girl was “But there are so many more like me who are starting to take office, who are taking the lead.”  And I gave her the website of the progressive and green movement that highlighted leaders who were taking effect and the reigns of history as we know it.  I am so thankful to all of my higher powers for putting me on this path, and though it is scary many times, I am delighted to be surrounded by so many people that support me, sometimes even physically.

The gates to the Air Force One hangar were opened with an eye scanner of one of the secret service members, and Catherine and Matthew dodged out of a limousine and into the plane, a little behind schedule as Matthew took a bit too long to pack clothes for the trip to Alaska to oversee the shutting down of oil pipelines.  Ever since electric vehicles were pro-rated as the best and newest way to travel, gasoline eventually became an extinct form of fueling and was outlawed in the continental U.S. for all of the damage it did to the atmosphere with CO2 emissions, except Alaska where there was still some refineries left.  One thing that Matthew took up ever since becoming “royalty” as he sarcastically commented about himself, often with rolled eyes, was fashion.  Once, when hanging out with “Sharpers” after a campaign event, he shared a joint with a few of Catherine’s fans, much to their delight.  

“So, Mangus, what’s gonna be your deal when you get into the spotlight?” Asked a rather flashy dressed sharper dude with a pink poncho covering a light blue blazer and orange striped pants.  The “Sharper image” as it was called, was what you might find at a rave or dance party, except with a bit of formality.  Matthew’s last name was Mangus, as Catherine very famously kept her own last name, being already an elite celebrity with it.  Matthew blushed, took the joint and hit it, and with a look of shock on his face began a fit of coughing.  

“Wow...” cough cough “That is...” cough “An intense… Ah… joint!”  He brayed.  He regained composer as a wave of giggles and laughter swept the circle behind their clear, giant RV.  A girl with blue hair and bright, orange contacts pointed her finger at him.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be like, Harper’s number two, man...”

“Hopefully,” another in the group pointed out, a black long-haired young man in a suit with glowsticks surrounding his arms and neck.  

“Yeah, hopefully,” She responded, waving her hand around.  “What if you show up to all of these events with Catherine sporting her usual fab couture, silk scarves and gucci handbags and Indian dresses and all that… gorgeousness.  And alls you do is show up with a suit and, what, differently colored tie?  Who would have that nonsense?  Are you- are you going buy into all of that shit?  Being plain?” Matthew gulped.  He exhaled, learning a long time ago that you needed to hold in the smoke to get the full effect, and considered his options.  Being pretty high already, he knew he could regale the group with one of his experiences at a fashion show, garner a couple of laughs, and excuse himself as he was perhaps too high to make any such decisions then, but he decided to tackle this idea head on.  

“Hmm… you do have a point there...”  He nodded thoughtfully.  This elicited a wave of chatter and laughter from the group who all seemingly started to talk to him at once, one throwing out

“You could have a man bun!” and another, “You could cross-dress sometimes, as a statement about gender roles!”  And the girl with the orange eyes seemed to shout “rainbow crocs!” Along with some other things he couldn’t identify at the time, with a bit of laughter after it and a few boos.  He raised up his hands defensively and tried to address them all at once.  

“Yo! Friends!  Er, Peers!  I am, as you might say, ‘too high for this shit.’  But!  Um,”  He steadied himself and rubbed his temple, an old trick he picked up from his many bouts with acid to aid his thought process and stared into the ragtag group’s bright and expectant faces.  “I feel like what you are saying is valid and has merit.  If Catherine is going to be the Independent, free-thinking, progressive candidate, I need to mirror that idea.  And while I probably won’t be sporting any dresses, which, let’s face it, isn’t really my thing, I feel, now more than ever actually, that I need to redefine what it means to be a man in politics.  Because,” He paused for effect, “I hate politics.”

So whenever Matthew went out, he decided he might as well go out in style, often being seen in arrays ranging from cowls to top hats to multi-colored vests, to a sheikh’s garb on a few occasions, copying the Indian motif that Catherine loved to sport.  Needless to say, the media ate it up, and on more than one occasion, Matthew was featured in the style section of Men’s Journal as the most savvy and sleek of dressers in the world.  And having the full disposal of his wardrobe encompassing multiple rooms was a bit of a distraction for Matthew, who was used to wearing simple suits and ties before living in the White House.  Usually, Catherine helped him pick out his outfits, opting for more traditional styles for him, but he often came out with a few surprises.  

“Oh dear, dear dear dear, let me get that for you-” Catherine swiped at Matthew’s scarf as they were entering Air Force One.  He was dressed in a smart purple blazer with a beige skinny tie and skinny black jeans and cowboy boots.  “You mixed purple and yellow again -” she tisked in his general direction, handing his yellow scarf to one of their secret service.  

“Hey!” He exclaimed, trying to get the scarf back, reaching for it and pushing up his glasses.  “I can rock that!  Maybe it could go with my orange sweater?”  Catherine shook her head, taking his arm affectionately as they found a seating arrangement in the giant plane that they liked, nodding to the assistants on board who greeted them.

“Champagne or appetizers, Madame and Sir?”  queried a steward with a navy blue outfit and red curly hair.  He tipped his hat to both of them and smiled, but Catherine waved him away but Matthew said,

“I’ll have a sparkling water, thank you.”  Catherine gave a long-faced surprised look at Matthew, who shrugged.  “What?”  Catherine batted her eyelashes.

“Well, well, well.  Matty finally taking advantage of the – opulence on Air Force One!”  Matthew rolled his eyes and scratched his beard.  

“I mean, what am I supposed to do – I’m thirsty!  And they’re there, like, waiting on our every desire.”  He sniggered.

“Don’t you find it a bit unsettling – your words?”  He kept scratching his beard.  

“I dunno, I’m on the fence about it, I guess.  If you wanted to make a statement about conservation and helping fight over-opulence, you could just boycott Air Force One and take a smaller plane, like not even a jet plane that still uses fossil fuels.”

“I can’t wait until they find another fuel source for jet planes,” Catherine said, crossing her arms and looking out the window as the plane began to take off.  “But boycotting this big old thing would definitely be something good.  We could take a Cessna or something like it, or something that runs on electricity.  It is so positively hard to have a small carbon impact when you have the biggest military on the planet.”  

“Except for China,”  Matthew interjected, relaxing back after receiving his water and kicking his feet up on an ottoman.  “They’ll always beat us at everything.  Remember how hard it was for America to concede military dominance?  It was like taking a toy from a baby. All we heard for years was ‘waah waah waah, they’re gonna have a bigger dick missile than us’.  Well, go and poop in your diaper. Who the hell cares?  I’m glad someone else is doing the bullying rather than us for once.  Being the second biggest jerk in the world as opposed to the first is good for us.”  

Catherine actually talked about removing Air Force One from her presidency with some of her campaign staff, something unheard of, but for the first nine months she told herself that she wanted to try it out, but each time Matthew made his stand by not ordering anything and sitting frumpily in the corner usually saying nothing.

“That’s it, Matty.  I – I can’t do this anymore.  I told myself that I was going to enjoy this one thing, if only for a little bit, but I cannot be a true green party candidate if I continue to fly this behemoth.”  She smiled at Matthew and he brightened up and sat up in his chair.  

“Really? You mean it?”  Then he snapped his fingers and sighed.  “Aw man, just when I was getting used to it.”  He looked at her slyly. “Maybe we can enjoy it one or two more times?”  She nodded.  

“Maybe. But let’s make some noise on Twitter and Mu about this.  I think the public would like to know that their president isn’t going to keep wasting gas and money like this anymore.”  Matthew shrugged.  

“I am for it.  I’m glad that the military went mostly electric these last few years.  That was a huge sigh of relief.”   Catherine nodded, straightening her hair.

“And the government stipend for anyone who doesn’t have an electric car to get one was a nice touch.  Funny how much money can be found in the budget if you consolidate military spending.”

“Military spending,”  Catherine retorted, balancing a book on her knee. “Remember the 21 Trillion our military ‘accidentally misplaced’ between the years of 2008 to 2015?”

“Oh god,”  Matthew rolled his eyes.  

“I mean that could have...”  She shook her head, pursing her lips. “That could have solved world hunger thrice over for a decade.  But instead, our government chose to bomb, pillage, warmonger.  It hurts, Matty.  It hurts my heart.”  Matthew smiled, chuckled to himself and started bobbing his head.  

“Please don’t hurt my heart, my achy breaky heart… nananananah na nyaaaah”  Catherine laughed, tilting her head back and gave Matthew a soft kick from across the aisle.

“Wow, what a throwback. But really, it hurts.”  She gave him a soft smile and put her hand to her heart.  “Just imagine a generation that was stolen from, in great amounts, never to see or hear from that money again.  Don’t you think the government owes the American people something?” Matthew nodded, sipping his water.  

“Which is probably the reason for the electric stipends.  The U.S. government: finally getting something right for once.  It feels good to be on the side of justice, whereas before when I was, you know, rooting for our country in the olympics or the world cup, it just didn’t feel right.”  Catherine looked sympathetic, but still shook her head.

“No, no no no you gotta root for the home team, right?”  Matthew held out his hands, as if to say he had no other choice in the matter.  

“Are you kidding me?  Not when we’re literally getting swindled by the government, believing that all of our tax money is going to a good thing but is being a) lost, b) used to kill innocents, and c) probably against us and the planet, creating, as you know, the biggest carbon emissions on the planet called, The U.S. Military. Not to mention the 21 bombs a day that they were dropping on people, random people and cultures the world over with them admitting that they were only hitting about 2% of their targets when they bombed others.”  He scooted closer to Catherine, becoming more and more animated, waving his hands dramatically as he talked.  He was passionate about some things, and it showed.  “That’s a dangerously low number, and I would trust a child to hit more ‘targets’, whatever they may be than the government if it is that low.  And who am I to believe that the military is choosing the best targets of people for my tax dollars to kill?  Do I want to be paying for murder without me knowing who it is?  By being a taxpayer of the US of A, am I paying the military to be a hitman for me to kill people I would have no inkling of a desire to kill?  Innocents?  The answer, is, of course rhetorically yes.  I am taking a hit out on innocents and the government is lying about it and hiding the money.” He finally leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.  “It is the most heinous thing I could possibly imagine.  I could be on trial and locked up in jail for murder of the second degree of another human being because I helped fund this abomination.”  He said the word ‘abomination’ with a french accent, blowing and huffing through his nostrils like a bull.  “Huh.  Hum...”  He started harrumphing as well, and Catherine smiled and reached over and grabbed his hand.

“I love it when you go all activist on me.”  And in her nodding silence, she acquiesced to his rant, giving him a platform for his principles in their one-on-one.  It was difficult to give him a platform publicly, but since the information was leaked a decade ago that the military not only stole 21 trillion from the people but dropped 21+ bombs a day with only a 2% success rate.  most citizens were definitely perturbed and many even protested against the government, one of such protests Matthew attended, with the republican party especially trying to label him as “unpatriotic” but those who knew him took up bat for him, especially Catherine, who quickly silenced any naysayers with a speech of what it truly means to be patriotic, to consider yourself a citizen of earth first and foremost, to look out for your fellow human and to stand up for human rights.  This speech was one that was widely known and at one point was played over the superbowl halftime to heavy electronica pop band that was making waves at the time.    

“Protesting a government that has forgotten and abused its own people is one of the most patriotic things you can do.”  She was famous for saying once, at a response to a rally of people who were tired of corporations taking over their much needed jobs with artificial intelligence without giving anything back to them.  Poverty hit the US like a landslide or a slowly moving volcano, first taking over the food industry jobs and then taking retail, utilizing smart robots that stocked the shelves and a check-out system that was truly revolutionary – a holographic program that made small talk and easily directed shoppers to special coupons designed just for them based on what they bought that day.  

“It is in fact one’s civic duty to protect your most important assets – your freedoms and human rights.  These rights are based upon an ever-changing socio-economic landscape and home life, which, unfortunately, leave many homeless.  When you have nowhere to go, are homeless and devoid of sustenance or hope, or even are viewing your brothers and sisters having to go through the same, you can call it your job, because your employees, the government aren’t doing theirs.”

There was slight turbulence on the plane, causing Matthew to stare out the window into the dwindling scenery while Catherine wrote on twitter, fingers hitting keys that were purely holographic, not minding the shaking and shuttering going on outside her.  

Thinking seriously about abandoning Air Force One for the rest of my term in favor of a lighter, more economical plane.  We at the White House must set an example if we are to truly beat the negative effects of climate change!  #ecoflying #makeachange #shouldhavedoneitsooner

Then, still typing on Mu, without looking up she tapped Matthew on the heel.

“Ahem, I really think you should make good use of our resident stylist, Matty.”  She looked up and gave him a big smile, stretching her face a bit to overdo it.  Matthew twirled the tiny straw in the bottom of his cup.

“I know, I know, I could, but where would the fun in that be?  I mean, nobody knows I dress myself and the reviews have been mostly good...”

“They have not been good.”  Catherine said with a wag of her finger.  “Just the other day I saw a picture of you in People magazine with the caption Gringo Goof? When you sported a mexican poncho with sneakers.  I would have understood if you wore a sombrero but sneakers? You gotta draw the line somewhere!  And!”  Matthew started to protest but she interjected. “He’s gay.  So you know he’s got good taste.”  She smiled coyly.  

“Now you’re just profiling.”  He said with a sideways smile.  “Okay there was the sneaker incident.  They got me on sneakergate, you might as well lock me up for a federal offense.  But hey, I did not – look at the bright side – I did not wear crocs.”  Catherine nodded,

“But I saw your pair of bright green crocs in your second wardrobe, dear. You can’t fool me.  I better not catch you out somewhere wearing those or you’ll - be – sorry.”  She said these last words menacingly, kicking him in the shin lightly, and Matthew almost spilled his glass.

“Hey! Owch, hey, hey, fine, I’ll behave.  Just don’t be surprised if I decide to switch it up every now and then.  I may not have the expertise, but I have the ‘it’ factor, the creative, uh, punch, the flair and be tasteful at the same time.”  

Catherine sighed, and turned into her book, an award-winning childrens fiction book, and Matthew left her in comfortable silence.  

About mid-flight, Catherine got an incoming video call from Allison Kerimyov and her bracelet buzzed and chortled, so she squeezed a bead and a stream of light emitted from it and fell upon the back wall of the cabin, which she faced.  

“Oooh, Matthew, it’s Allison!”  Catherine exclaimed, smiling in anticipation.  Matthew was reading a progressive publication on his own tablet, and glanced up as Allison’s face came up on the projected screen.  She was a soft-featured Russian-American whose parents moved to America with a wish and a dream and virtually nothing to their name.  Coming up from near poverty to achieve what she had socio-economically had given a confidence to her nature and a determination affixed with a resolve that anything could be accomplished if she put her mind to it.  On the screen, her blonde hair waved in the wind as she was standing outside with wind turbines behind her and a male reporter was in the shot, who extatically waved before ducking out of the vision of the camera, his brown beard and bright eyes flashing as Allison waved him away.  Matthew stood up attentively, putting down his reading glasses and adjusting his tie. Allison spoke first.

“Cath! Matthew!  Greetings from the great plains of Minnesota here, uh, yeah that was Roland, say hi again Roland!”  He came back into the shot again and gave a hearty wave.

“Hey, Catherine!  I’m a huge fan, by the way!”  Catherine laughed and gave him a wave of her hand, the bead able to keep the picture steady with micro-density frequency stabilizers.  

“Hi there, Roland.  And, Allison!  What a beautiful field you have there – my favorite wind flowers in action,”  She laughed and so did Allison, while Roland exited off screen.  

“Yes, they are beautiful, aren’t they?  You know, our friend Whizzy, you know, from the Campaign trail?  The one with the beautiful grill?” Catherine nodded.

“I think so.”  Catherine met many amazing people on the trail but it was Allison who kept in contact with them on social media and ended up compiling an album and group of people who stayed connected and some of them even co-wrote a few things with Catherine on Mu.  

“Well,” she pushed some of her hair away, she was wearing a blazing white sportscoat and a gold blouse, her own bracelet shining as the high-definition camera was bounced back from the surface it rested upon to capture her and her surroundings in a refracted light panel array.  “He just shared a picture with me of a wind and solar turbine that he built in his backyard!  It was amazing, Cath, just brilliant, he had solar panels above the turbine itself and it looked like a lighthouse, a black, glittering lighthouse, majestic in the sun, like… like a psychedelic power flower giving hot, hot energy to his house!”  Matthew and Catherine looked at each other and laughed, Catherine placing a hand on matthew, steadying herself as the plane took a few more turbulent hits to the hull.  

“You – you have a crush on him, don’t you?  Yeah!  Yeah you do!” Allison pursed her lips and shook her head.  And then squinted her eyes, smiling and nodded.  

“You got me!  I think he’s cute!”  Catherine couldn’t help but laugh, as nearly every time she talked with Allison was full of laughter and quips, who also came along with her on the campaign trail for a few months.  Allison was also in an ‘open relationship’ with her husband, which Catherine liked to rib her about often.  

“You always go for the men with golden teeth.  I think it screams ‘accomplishment’ where you come from or something.  Newsflash! Here in ‘Murrica it just means you don’t know how to floss.” Allison smiled, her accent sometimes shining through although she tried to hide it professionally.  

“Oh, Cath, you know I like my men without scruples.”  She composed herself, turning to a more serious note.  “I heard that you managed to, kind of, fuck up a labor union party?”  Catherine rolled her eyes.  “Oh god, don’t remind me.”  Matthew nodded and cut back to the center of the shot, getting right next to Catherine.

“Yeah, did you see the footage?  Her talking points included cutting local jobs and sending them overseas.  The crowd just stood there, mouths wide open, looking like they didn’t even know what they were supposed to be doing.  But hey, hon, at least you got to mention immediately after how you’re about to set up personal welfare for every citizen because of the displacement of jobs.  Jobs, jobs, jobs. That’s all I heard from the government for so long.”  Allison shook her head and sighed.  

“At least you’re doing something about it, Cath.  What you’re promising is more than jobs.  What you’re promising is freedom, a new way of life, a counter to this homeless and destitute life that half of Americans have received from the tech companies.  And I’m gonna stand by you every meeting, every speech, every – filibuster, if needs be, to see this measure through to the end.”  Catherine folded her hands and gave Allison a slight bow, and smiled.

“Thank you, no really, thank you for all of your unmitigated support in this venture.  I feel like, honestly, I have so much on my plate that sometimes, just sometimes I feel like I could not do everything that I ever wanted to do in one term, which is why I’m playing it safe with my prepared speeches.”  Matthew leaned closer and interjected.

“Playing it safe without being a pawn in someone else’s game, or so we’re hoping.  I don’t know what game it is they were playing when they outsourced jobs to Afghanistan, but from what I can tell, everything that Catherine has said that goes against her morals and straight out reviles the American people seem to be from – the military or the oil conglomerates.”  He shrugged.  “And both seem to be in cohouts with each other, and it makes sense, since our military was once, or still is the leading user of oil on the planet, and most of our military bases are poised to protect our claims on oil reserves the world over.”  He looked at Catherine and held out his palms, in a surrendering gesture.  “That’s at least what we make of it. Isn’t that right, honey?  Big oil and military?”  Catherine nodded.

“Or, the military industrial complex.  Which, thankfully has been weakened by legislation that puts electric cars on the road, even forcibly so. But there are jet planes and hummers and transport vehicles and aircraft carriers that still use natural gas or fuels so… there’s still a ways to go.”  Allison pursed her lips.  

“If only there was another way to fuel airplanes and… rockets and things like that.”  She said thoughtfully, tilting her head and taking a backwards glance at the windmills that were twirling in the noonday sun.  

“Agreed,” Matthew said.  “It’s probably out there, we just need to find it.”  And suddenly, Catherine remembered Dakolon and his network of spirits, and a cryptic smile crept on her face.

“There might be a way to find it… I’ll just have to call on some – people, and get back with you.”  Allison looked surprised.

“Like, a secret meeting?  Don’t you know that all of your calls and emails are bugged by the CIA?  And they are notoriously in bed with the oil companies and the military as well – you could get fired just like that somehow, or even worse!”  Allison held up a hand, shaking her head.  “Be careful, Cath.  I wouldn’t be caught talking to the wrong kind of people in your position.”  Catherine scoffed.

“Wrong people?  These ‘people’”  She used quotation marks there, “Are the best kind of people earth has to offer, giving us on a platter the salvation of our ecosystem as we know it.  You should know this more than anyone.”  Then, she smiled “But don’t worry.  My methods of talking to these people are incredibly secure.  Everything will be done safely.”  Then there was a strange silence, as none of them wanted to talk about this subject anymore as to cause those listening in to have any sinister designs upon any of them, and they all looked at each other in a slightly alarmed way, then looked away as Allison broke the silence.  

“Well, there is a chief of staff meeting right before the G7 summit, as you know, where we are to discuss strategies specifically about climate change.  Is there anything else you wanted to talk about and bring to the forefront, Cath?”  Cath squinted her eyes and mussed with her hair.  Then stood upright as she had an epiphany.  

“Well, yes!  This just came to me, but I have an idea that would completely deflect any corporate lobbying.  Or, we could just make lobbying congress and the senate illegal altogether?”  

Matthew laughed this time, sarcastically sweeping his hand dramatically.  

“Get rid of lobbying?  Good luck.  The corporations have their hands so deep in the pockets of congress especially, it would take an all out war for them to let go of that kind of power.  None of the congress or hardly any of the senate would agree to such a thing.  You would need to start a revolution of sorts.  But, I promise, once this happens, legislation to end big oil interests and lobbying will be over and our fight to save the earth from carbon emissions fallout will be that much easier, as you know.”

Catherine smiled, holding a secret, an ace of spades in her hand.  She felt giddy, as one who was about to play a supremely winning hand and take all the chips on the table.  

“Yes – yes, I have something.  An idea that would circumvent all of this, something democratically inclined, so to speak.”  She winked at them.  “I will unveil this step-by-step idea at the staff meeting, as well as at the G7 summit.”  Allison clapped her hands excitedly.

“Oooh, Cathy has another idea!  I swear, girl, you are a force to be reckoned with.  A creative force, for sure!  Are you going to give any hints to us?  To Matty?”  She pleaded, giving her best pouty expression, her hair fluttering in the wind.   Catherine shook her head.

“Uh uhh, its a secret, really, until I can get the plans all together, the schematics working and all whatnot, I can’t really divulge much information.  Even to you, Matty.”  She looked over at Matthew and gave him a consoling pat on the arm.  “Too sensitive for this one,” She said, looking at Allison’s picture on the wall and gave her a nod, as if sharing a secret.  “He’ll probably just tweet it or put it all over Mu and then MSNBC will spoil it for everyone and then nobody will get it for months because of ‘beauracracies’.” Allison sniggered.  

“Yeah, like that day he tweeted about the solar powered drones?  Those were going to be for the U.S. post office!”  They all started laughing. Matthew retorted, scratching his head.

“How was I supposed to know that the department of homeland security would get involved?  And why, for fucks sake?”  Allison and Catherine got serious for a second, and gave each other a sideways glance.  

“Matthew,” Catherine interjected, with some timidity. “I thought we discussed that… it too was… the oil companies...”  Matthew sighed and gave Catherine a hug.  

“I guess there’s no getting around it, huh.  Every good idea, just thrown to the wind.”  She looked him in the eyes, in an embrace.  

“I know it feels like it’s us against the world.  But we have a whole cabinet with us, and most of the Senate.  How about we stick our noses out for the win and even if we come in second or third, we still get some good things accomplished, hmm?”  Catherine smiled into him and Allison seemed to share their tender moment.  Matthew let go of her in deference to Allison and gave a long sigh.    

“Well, it’s all going to be more than okay, I guess, as you always say – don’t worry about anything because worrying doesn’t fix anything. As long as you are safe in broad scheme of things, I am okay.”

“As am I.”  Allison interjected.  “We still have a lot of work to do, and I would be remiss if I were without my favorite activist who happens to be president.  You – you don’t give yourself enough credit for all of the good you have done already, Cath.”  Matthew nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, you really have done a lot.”  He said.  Catherine looked nonplussed, agitated.  

“But there’s so much yet to do!  For one thing, I aim to put forward legislation that would outlaw plastic bags.  I will suggest it during both G7 and the staff meeting, something that I may need your help in getting off the ground, Allison.”  She looked pleadingly at her friend glowing on the screen and Allison nodded and furrowed her brow.

“Of course, of course, Cath.  You know I have your back.  I’m going to pull some strings in the state department, and if we can’t get this measure put through on the federal level, we can probably have each individual states vote as to how much they want to help save the earth, if they want.”  She said with a biting tone, pointing her finger towards them and rolling her eyes.  “Though, I’m not sure how successful that would be as plastics are made of...”  she paused.  And they all responded in unison,

“Oil.” with Matthew a little late.

“Yeah, oil.”  He laughed.  “I’m just glad its not edible, or our oil reserves would put earth on a terminal level of danger.”  

“Yeah, that’s what I heard,”  Allison said.  “If the earth’s oil reserves get too low, the structure can be compromised.”  Catherine looked pensive.

“Interesting…” And she gave Matthew a worried look.  He cocked his head, eyebrows raised.

“What is it, Cath?  What’s bothering you?”  Catherine gave a long sigh and then addressed Allison.

“Remember our last staff meeting where most of my talking points about giving a universal basic income were overrun by so much talking about finding new jobs?”  Allison nodded, and interjected.

“But, remember where I interrupted defense secretary Corbin Hargrave that we needed to listen to you, and it seemed that you had the only viable option?”  Catherine shrugged.

“But even then, nobody was really listening to you.  It’s like whenever anybody talks about universal basic income, nobody is willing to listen.  Even the news stations gloss over it when talking about the intense poverty that has overcome our nation.  I mean, here I am in – in - in a jumbo jet,”  Catherine was furiously stuttering now, something she did when she got upset.  “And millions of Americans were kicked out of their homes and placed in poverty out of mere circumstances.”  She shook her head.  “I just hope that people will listen to me this time.”  Allison looked away, pensively, putting her hand on her mouth, then stared back at Catherine.  

“Don’t get me wrong, I love, love all of the cabinet members you have chosen.  Greg Tullard is the best Chief of Staff you can have, all muscle, all grit and brains, love him, really.  And Kathy Coates-Gilles really brings a – flair of utility – to the secretary of education position… Really, I love everyone you have, even your vice president Bardiem whom you didn’t even get to pick, such a shame that they are chosen for you by the ‘powers that be’” Catherine shrugged.  

“Without which, I probably wouldn’t be here, in office.”

“True,” Matthew interjected.  “Sad but true.”

“But!” Allison pointed a finger to the sky, lowering her head, her golden hoop earrings swaying in the wind.  “I believe in you, Catherine,” She used Catherine’s full name whenever she was making a point. “And will follow you, as I said, until the glaciers all melt and the sun burns the plains of Kansas too much so that… wheat cannot grow there anymore.”  She said this dramatically, shaking her head, and causing Catherine and Matthew to look at each other and smile. “And I will do this all, as long as I get my coffee.”  She breathed heavily and looked back to somebody, who was telling her to wrap it up, probably Roland out of frame, signaled to him and then looked back, hands clasped in front.  “Well, it seems I am out of time.  We really should get coffee sometime, Cath!  We’ve gotta catch up more, it’s been awhile...”  

“Yes it has!”  Catherine exclaimed.

“And I have a theory as to why your ideas aren’t being heard in staff meetings… It has to do with corporate buyouts.  Meaning, I think some of your staff members are compromised.”  Catherine and Matthew looked at each other surprisingly and Allison just brushed it off. “Well, I’ll see you at the staff meeting for sure.  Have to go! Bye, Matthew, So long Cath!”  They both waved at the screen and it flickered off, the bead on Catherine’s bracelet setting back into the band, retreating into place.        

Matthew sat down and mussed his hair, staring out the plane window.  

“Well, that was strange…”  He looked back at her and raised his eyebrows.  Catherine was also at a loss.

“Definitely, just throwing out corruption charges at the end as if its an afterthought?  Yeesh.  I hope there’s no truth to that.”  She replied, and Matthew shook his head and looked pensively at Catherine.  

“I wonder what Commodore oil has in store for us, being the very image of everything they are trying to silence and destroy.  I am glad we requested even more security here at these proceedings because to be honest, I don’t trust big oil as far as I can throw them.”  

“I would try and throw them away,”  Catherine said with a laugh.  

“Ha! Agreed.”  Matthew replied, then left Catherine to her reading, but they both more or less stared out the plane windows for the duration of the flight, contemplating what these allegations might mean for them.  

The somewhat chilly night encompassed them, aides scrambling to retrieve loads of suitcases from the cargo (Matthew had the bulk of them), and Matthew wished he had the scarf with him, although it was only April. Catherine and Matthew were greeted by a woman clad in all black, with dark sunglasses, the wind almost taking off her stylish bonnet and as she grabbed it with one hand, the dark-haired wiry lady waved at them with another.  

“Madame President!  Welcome to Anchorage, I do hope your trip was safe here, you must forgive me but we have so many people to meet on your first day here so we must be going.”  She feigned a smile, then immediately turned to her resting frown on her face, which unsettled Catherine immensely.  “My name is Kim Dalton, it’s a pleasure,” She said, reaching out her hand to Catherine and Matthew.  

“Er, you can just call me Catherine”  Catherine replied, looking questioningly over at Matthew, who took Kim’s hand and tried his best to be friendly.  

“Only a bit of turbulence on the flight here.”  He looked at Catherine. “We’re actually considering opting out of using the Air Force One during her term, something we just tweeted about a few hours ago.” Then he glanced back at Kim and gave her his best smile.  “Is – er – are there any good places to eat around here?  We are absolutely famished.”  Kim shook her head and clapped her hands, signaling two men in suits to carry their luggage to the motorcade that was awaiting them.  

“Nonsense, we will have our executive chefs make our dinner at commodore.  It is strange that you would want to get rid of Air Force One, being such a magnanimous symbol of American prosperity for the White House.  I would suggest that you keep it, and keep your status as a successful President intact.”  Catherine narrowed her eyes, shaking her head.

“No, a government’s success is determined by how we take care of our people, not by some overpriced, magnanimous status symbol.” Matthew nodded in agreement, then said under his breath to Catherine,

“Yeah, they would want us to keep it for the oil money.”  Kim pretended she didn’t hear that and feigned a smile.  

“Fine. Do what you will with your plane, but know that you will only be disappointing the American people.”  She said snidely.  “Tis such a shame such a beautiful plane would not be used and go to waste.” She then gestured to the motorcade.  “Please, follow me.”

The motorcade took a winding trail to what seemed to be a large mansion, which alarmed Catherine because she was expecting to speak at the oil refinery to talk to the workers about universal basic income, something that would displace their jobs that were being taken away from them.  She leaned forward and rapped on the glass in the limousine.  

“Um, excuse me, I believe we are at the wrong place.  We’re supposed to arrive at the commodore refinery?”  There were holes in the glass between the driver and Catherine and Matthew, so she heard them but the driver still shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, choosing to go mute to ignore them and continue driving.  Matthew turned to Catherine and gave her a strained look and knocked on the plexiglass himself.  

“Hello? I think we’re at the wrong place.”  The driver just waved a hand in their direction and pulled up to the brick mansion with a circular driveway and a fountain in the courtyard in the middle.  Matthew looked forlornly at Catherine.  “I don’t think she’s listening to us.”  The driver, a redhead with blazing green eyes and dressed smartly with a black driver’s cap, got out of the car and opened their door to let them out.  Matthew was having none of it, and got out and tried to reason with her.  “This doesn’t smell right. This wasn’t on our itinerary, ma’am.  Ma’am?  Did you get that? We are scheduled to talk to the workers at the oil refinery.” Catherine put a hand on Matthew’s shoulder and tried to gather her bearings.  Matthew turned back to Catherine.  “Honey, let’s just wait and see what happens.  I’m sure this is some kind of mix up or something and is perfectly innocent.”  Catherine twitched her nose, closed her eyes, shook her head, breathed in the unnaturally warm Alaskan air and breathed out slowly – something she picked up from a camper on her travels to Europe to relieve stress.  

“Okay.” She finally said.  Matthew smiled, knowing that somehow that whenever she did that, everything turned out alright, kind of like her own magic spell.

“There. You feel better?  We can do this thing.”  He gestured to the limo driver to leave while some men in suits stood by the door, smiling, seeming almost sinister in their attempts to make their guests feel at ease.  All four of them were older, but one black haired, pointy nosed man stepped forward and spoke for all of them.  

“Greetings, Catherine, and Matthew, welcome to Montecalo estate.  It is here where you will be having a meeting with the, ehm, board of trustees of Commodore.”  Catherine glared at him.  

“I could care less what the owners of Commodore are up to.  I came to see the workers, to offer them hope for a new life and stability.” Matthew interjected, angrily swiping his hand.  

“I know what you’ve been up to.  I’ve been wanting to give you guys a piece of my mind for awhile.  You’ve been raping and pillaging the earth and creating natural disasters for personal profit, on top of silencing all other renewable energy sources!  You should be in prison!”  Catherine shushed him, holding a finger up, putting on a diplomatic air.  

“I’m sure there’s a way we can talk to them.  Where are your workers? Did they not get the memo that we were coming?”  The man in the slick black hair sniffed back at them.  

“Most of them have been laid off, no thanks to your administration.  They are probably searching for new jobs, which are hard to find these days.”  Catherine scowled at him, pointing her finger in his face.

“That is exactly what I came to talk about, universal basic-”  He swiped her finger away, and interrupted.

“Something that is likely not to happen, and shouldn’t, thanks to our Republican house of representatives.  But that is beside the point. We have matters to discuss and our time is precious.”  The sun shone almost too brightly against their hasty eyelids, everyone eyeing each other like in a cowboy standoff.  He didn’t let the silence last too long, however.  “My name is Morgan, Morgan Atwell,”  He traded his cold sneer for a more affable smile and gestured to the door.  “Allow me to show you inside.”  The ivory-like carved door opened and they were met with another fountain in a stateroom with dual winding stairways behind it.  It was mostly decked out in an off-white with gold trim, reminiscent of drug-lord mansions of South America of the 1980s.  The art in the room, Catherine noticed, was all very exquisite and modern, with busts of unidentifiable figures and twisting metal sculptures.

“I like the artistic tastes of whoever lives here.”  Catherine said, eyeing one particular painting with a faded portrait of a goldfinch. One of the other greying, balding men who followed them into the room nodded and pointed at a black marble sculpture of what seemed to be a squid-like entity.  

“Yes, that one and that one over there are Frederick Monards, a french sculptor that is rising in the ranks very quickly, he was featured at our gala last year.  He won the Fautin award for his work in the lourve.”  He spoke in a whiny tone of voice, with the ends of his sentence trailing off to a whisper, causing Catherine and Matthew to lean in uncomfortably, then lean back, nodding as if they understood. Morgan shook his head, obviously displeased that one of them had spoken, and quickly shooed them all into a side room.  

“Nevermind, here, let us convene in the study.”  Catherine was about to make an objection, but she withdrew her feelings and decided to just go with it.  Whatever was happening was a part of fate’s balance, in her line of reasoning, and she mouthed ancient words of protection over herself and felt a familiar chill down her spine.  Morgan continued speaking to them and waving them into a seating arrangement surrounded by three more older male guests, all of them white, in vaguely the same kind of suit.  “You may know, or have heard of our CFO, John Donnel, he recently brokered a trade deal with Venezuela to gain control over a large number of their oil fields last year.” He sniffed, eyeing Catherine with a leer.  “We may be an over-regulated company but we still have good business partners the world over.”  Matthew stood out as the lone male with a purple houndstooth print shirt with a western-style string and brooch tie around his neck, sporting also some black cowboy boots.  His deepset eyes darted around the room, scanning and evaluating the over-classed room.  

“I hope that whoever’s in there can give us a good reason for this mix up.  It would have been extremely easy to bring your workers all to a meeting with the President, but instead you steal even that from them while you sip wine from your -”  He sniffed, looking back at Morgan in the eyes, challenging him with a swipe of the hand.  “Ivory tower.  This place is a disgrace to your company and your workers you laid off.  This house alone could help cover the misplaced jobs of dozens of your workers.  Where are the repercussions of the government’s shut down of oil prospects on your lives?  It is always the bottom 80% of laborers who get the bad end of the deal, while the rich get off scott free.  This is an outrage!  There needs to be equality in the ways the company was punished for its flagrant crimes against the world.”  

This rant was heard, however much the intent of Matthew, by the rest of the board sitting in the study around a circular table, and some of them began to shift uncomfortably.  Catherine just stood back and smiled slyly to herself, letting her activist husband do what he wants with the crowd he wanted.  Here he was in his natural element, his years of teaching Humanities at Oberlin University paying off as he had dreamt of saying these words to these exact people as he was saying them before enthralled students many times before.  One of the men at the ornate table in what was a glorified library with mirrors on the vaulted walls and a grand clock in it spoke up, choosing to ignore Matthew’s comments.  He had a thick moustache which twitched when he spoke, making him look like an old prospector from the wild west as he spoke slowly and articulately.  

“Why don’t you all sit down, we have -”  He cleared his throat and scanned some papers in front of him, “Much to talk about here and we would like to get right to the point.”  He said, trying to deflect any accusations.  But Matthew was insistent, coming up to the table and putting his finger down on the table.  

“The government fined and shut down the decision makers of this company, and it is you who should be out of a job, sir.”  He looked behind him at Catherine for her approval, saying “Right?” and she nodded and shrugged, giving an up-eybrowed, pouted mouth sign of conceding, and he straightened back to face the three men sitting at the table. “The blue-collar workers didn’t do anything wrong.  They were just taking orders from you corrupt magnates.  And whose house is this?  I thought we shut down your operating business?  How can you continue to make millions,”  He looked around the room, “Or billions, from the looks of it, when we took away your refineries?” One of the men who may aw well have been a russian nesting doll with the rest of them scoffed.  

“We don’t have to listen to you.  Our deal is with your wife, the president.  You have no say in what happens governmentally.  You were just brought here as a support, because apparently she has to bring along her watch-dog, her pet who does all of the barking for her.” Catherine stepped forward, and was the first of all standing to take a seat and addressed all of the men in the room, making sure to look at everyone in attendance.  

“What my husband says is a direct reflection of what my administration and the White House believes and will act upon, if need be.”  She squinted her eyes, feeling as if she was about to pull out a gun in what could have been a western shoot-off.  “Do I need to sign an executive order to have you give over up to 80% of your assets over to the employees you fired as severance?  Maybe it should be all of it and I can also sign another to put everyone here in jail.  But I am feeling fair.”  She nodded her head and sat back, in a less threatening pose.  “Is this what you have brought me here to debate with you?  Your very livelihoods and freedoms?  Because at this point, I believe that is what is on the table.”  Morgan at this point had stepped up to join his comrades at the opposite end of the large table to where Catherine and now Matthew were sitting, and sat down, and gave a slight chuckle.  

“It is doubtful that Congress would allow such a ridiculous proposal to be made without revoking it.  Much of Congress are still our allies and will do what we say.  And, may I remind you that our military is still run mostly on oil.  Of which we still have a stake in as well, so you may think of it as our military as much as it is yours.” Catherine put her hand down on the table, challenging him.  

“But I am the highest ranking member of the military and it does what I say, not yourself.  I do not usually like to pull rank, Mr. Atwell. But being the highest ranking official, I can do what I wish to do with you and your company for, as my husband truthfully said, your crimes against humanity and what I wish to do is to offer you 20% of your company’s capital, in exchange for your freedom, which you can keep.  Although putting your workers out of a job is fault enough for me to remove yours, equal crime, equal punishment.”  One of Morgan’s fellow suits interjected, and tried to back him up.  

“The government has no right to interfere with businesses!  How we conduct our affairs is up to us, when you start to supersede the free market, the government becomes too powerful.”  Matthew looked fed up and shook his head.  

“No, it is because the government didn’t intervene soon enough that we got so far into climate change as we did, and now we as a planet are spiraling to destruction.  Did you know India is almost uninhabitable during the summer months because it is getting too hot?”  Matthew looked at Catherine matter-of-factly.  “And aren’t government subsidies the ultimate way of interfering with the so called ‘free market’?  Thankfully, we are almost on the brink of de-subsidizing oil in America so that this chaos and destruction will be out of our hands.”  He looked back at the men gathered around the table and waved his hand exasperatingly.  “It turns out, it is the government’s fault for supporting this crime all along.  Soon,” He pointed at Morgan, who was trying to hide a scowl on his face. “Oil will be outlawed to use and everyone will have electric cars and trucks and the likes of you will not be around anymore.  So you better enjoy all this unnecessary affluence now, as soon it won’t be yours to have.”  Morgan, who identified himself as the leader of the seven men surrounding them, was especially riled at Matthew’s attack on his wealth, who started wringing his hands nervously.  

“This house is mine, and I assure you, that the government has no right to seize it or my assets.  If done, I will take it all the way to the supreme court, who will likely rule in my favor, being like minded in constitutionality.  And aren’t you always saying that it is the meat industry that causes a majority of carbon emissions?  I believe it is more likely their fault, not ours that India has become like it is.”  Matthew rolled his eyes.

“Oh, so now you admit that climate change is caused by your company? Great to have you finally on board, after dozens of animals and species have gone extinct and countless other disasters have – have pummeled the earth.  You who have been denying this crime for decades.”  Morgan went silent at this, bending down his head in thought, then looked up smiling, showing them a full set of very white teeth.  

“It is not I who have brought the carbon dioxide but my predecessors.” Catherine took in the general age of every suit in attendance.  It probably was about 58.  

“And some of your colleagues.  Are you new to this company?”  He looked defiantly into her eyes.

“Yes. We have a proposition for you.  Your predecessor brought our company down and halted all of our progress.”  Matthew scoffed.  

“Progress? Of killing the planet?”  He said, with a state of unbelief.

“We had built up our company to enormous entities, outmaneuvering even BP as a leading performer on the global market.  We were decimated.  All of our time building, and immaculate speculating on the trade strata, gone, in an instant.”  Catherine started to shake her head, tapping the table.  

“But it was Donald Trump who took away regulations and gave you ties with oil magnates in Russia.”  Catherine felt like she couldn’t have held this one in.  Morgan snarled at her, because this wasn’t public knowledge.  She was actually reading WikiLeaks, something that the common person felt they had no time for in the grand scheme of things.  

“That was just a small blip in the glorious acquisition we had during the next four years.  Nothing could have prepared us for the wealth that came from acquiring much of Venezuela.  It was a time of passion, growth, expansion, luminosity.  The entire world was unfolding to us like… like a geisha lifts her dress to a suitor.”  Matthew hissed, looking at his wife as if saying “Can you believe this guy?”  Catherine shrugged, and Morgan continued, a look of enrapturement gone from his face.  

“So now we are at an impasse, my company and yours, as we once were a team, a twin tour de force in the world economical stage.  We would give suggestions and you would come running at us with answers and responses to the suggestions...”  he smiled again, looking away distantly as if Catherine and Matthew weren’t there.  “There was nothing we could not do together.”  Catherine spat.  

“Two crooks in a pod.  You were a regular Bonnie and Clyde.”  He eyed her wistfully.  

“But there is no reason why we couldn’t do business again.  Come, let us be reasonable.  We have representatives in the White House making sure things run smoothly between us.”  Catherine gasped, and her mind flashed to Semicontra.  She knew there were operatives still working for her, but she wasn’t sure how many, and to do a full investigation would take more intel and manpower than she could afford, but it was one she was willing to do.  Morgan must have sensed her mind spinning, so he swatted his hand and looked away, seeming bored.

“Don’t worry about trying to find all of them.  That would be like trying to find all the white shells at a beach, it is impossible, you must know.  Besides, you’re not the only one who is ‘in tune with’ powerful abilities.  There are some of us who have begun to grasp the ability to read minds.”  He looked at her again, grinning.  “We can now trace your every thought and action and find ways to subvert you at every move.”  Catherine decided to try and look more surprised than she actually was, as she honestly had the same ability but thought she was one of the only ones who could occasionally do it.  Apparently, she thought, Morgan was on top of his game.  

“Impossible,” She hissed at him.  He smiled again.  

“So. Can we count on your cooperation?  For your, ahem, health and well being?”  He paused, reaching for an envelope from his jacket, and quickly opened it.  “From what I can see here,”  He said, scanning the document, then putting it blithely back into his suit. “We are willing to offer you ten million dollars a year to play along.  Namely, to walk and just let your Vice President Victoria Bardiem do the rest of the work from here on out.  You can tell people that you felt you weren’t just up for the job.  Having no experience in government and not understanding now how the game is played, you realize that you just don’t have the skills to play it.”  Catherine quickly was reminded by Dakolon and the spirits that were coming to the White House.  She mused to herself that if she were to keep talking to Dakolon intermittedly, she would be able to find these operatives and fire them immediately.  She smiled, knowing she was holding not one but two cards in her hand that might just help turn the tide in her favor, having highly attuned extrasensory abilities, even to the point of mind reading at rare moments, and her cat, or rather, soon to be cats, she guessed.  She smiled back at him but Matthew was the one who spat at the seven mostly quiet men who a few were smiling but most of them looking strangely stoic in the midst of the volatile situation.  

“You’re just telling her to resign because you know that she won’t cave and do your dirty work for you.”  Morgan looked at Matthew with an air of incredulousness.

“I’m finding the path of least resistance,”  Morgan agreed.  

“You are disgusting.”  Matthew retorted.  “All of you.  I can’t believe this display of pure evil and depravity.”  He then added, stuttering, getting really emotional, “You – you - you can’t put a pricetag on killing the Earth.  This is the only planet we have.  I know my wife, and she would never agree to do something this heinous.”  Catherine felt aglow at the confidence boost from her husband, being shaken by the figure of ten million a year but remember turning that ridiculous number down before, when she was the star and one of the producers of her own reality TV show.  One thing she had learned from her dad, a stout and hardy rough, long bearded teacher named Byron Harper, was that you should never chase wealth for the sake of wealth.  It would always corrupt.  

“He is right, I’m afraid.  There are no zeroes before a decimal that could change my mind about this.  I know Victoria will follow you, if it comes to it.  She has told me more than a few times.  Which is why I am told I was even given a chance with the media and the super delegates in the first place.  Your influence in the media is waning, though, and they, for the most part, are now on the side of progress and saving the earth from certain catastrophe.”  She stared at them intently.  “And it is through this partnership of myself and the media that I truly believe can beat whatever game you are playing here,”  She announced this with forceful clarity, playing her most obvious card and keeping her two hidden cards to herself always.  She had only told Matthew that she was sometimes telepathic, and she would tell only him of her communication with Dakolon and the other spirits, when they come.  She kept hearkening back to her experience with the air spirit and it’s immeasurable effects on her soul, lifting them from a near constant depressed state about the earth and where it is going, to something more optomistic.  She even had to see a Therapist for, Dr. Miles Oconnor, a frizzy red headed, cautious and reserved specialist in treating people who had become depressed singularly because of climate change.  She pondered sometimes if she should tell her therapist, but she feared she would be declared unfit for duty, something the House Republicans had threatened because of her past Wiccan ideologies.  Matthew pounded his hand on the polished wooden table and scanned the room.  

“I believe, gentlemen, that we indeed are at an impasse.”  His bushy grey eyebrows twiched, and he pushed his glasses up his nose emphatically, and Catherine could feel his heart growl like a dog.   Being so incredibly “in tune” made her aware of her husband’s every heart palpitation, his every strong feeling, whenever his very nerves screamed in one certain direction.  She put her hand on her heart in that moment, because whenever this happened, she liked to feel the same thing, her taking a deep breath, and glaring at Morgan and the others as well.  He then motioned to Catherine with his left hand, as she was on his left, and pat her on the shoulder.  “Come on, Cath, it’s time to go.  We have no more to talk about with these creeps.”  One of the grey haired suits laughed at them, changing from his constant eerie smile after being silent for so long.

“Ha! You have no idea how much power we have!”  Catherine whirled around and shook her head.  

“No! I have no idea how much money you have.  And soon, with lobbying congress to become illegal, money will no longer equal power in government.”  The man blanched, mouth agape, obviously taken aback by these turn of events.  “Oh?  Don’t act so surprised.  There are 78 members of congress who have turned their backs on any dirty money from corporate sponsors and there are plenty more to come.” She turned to Matthew and smiled, sharing something they both were excited about, and had talked about many times eagerly with their friends and compatriots.  “The legislation is being drafted as we speak.  We may not get a majority in the House right now, but we have the Senate.”  She turned back to the group and waved her fingers at them with a twirl, accentuating her words as she smiled with her eyes, knowing she had won whatever game the oil magnates were playing.  “Your days of controlling politics and the climate are over.”  She said to a group of fuming suits, Morgan standing up in defiance.  

“And your days of holding the office of President are over, Catherine. Our operatives will find a way to circumvent you and your far-fetched policies.”  But Morgan was talking to their backs, as they walked out the door without even saying goodbye, except for Matthew calling out behind them,

“Don’t worry, we’ll see ourselves out.”   Catherine breathed, feeling all of a sudden creeped out by the black, metal sculptures and the modern, still-life art in the causeway to the main doors.  “That felt like an all out war,”  She said, holding her hand to her heart again, as it was beating rapidly.  She felt flush, overwhelmed with the threats and the melodrama that just played out, and inwardly reminded herself to restabilize.  Matthew huffed, took off his glasses and started to wipe them on his shirt.  

“Glasses got foggy.”  Was his reply.  He kept wiping, and Catherine scanned the estate searchingly, looking at the overpriced gilding on the columns and the gazebo to around back, which was hard to spy, with the mammoth house blocking what was behind it.  There was a trail that seemed to lead towards a garden back behind the structure, with orchids lining the sidewalk and elm trees planted in a straight line even further back.  Catherine breathed heavily again, trying to shake off stress.  

“I think I need to meditate.”  She looked at Matthew’s eyes as he squinted, trying to understand what she was saying.  Something seemed to dawn upon him, and he put his glasses back on.  

“In the car,” he offered.  She shook her head, putting her finger to her chin, still glancing around, until she found a solid magnolia tree about a hundred feet away that was sitting all alone just before the forest line after it.  

“No, here,” She said matter-of-factly, and started walking towards the tree.  Matthew looked like he was in the process of accidentally swallowing a spider.

“No!” He objected trying to cut her off and walk in front of her.  “What if- yeah, they can see you from the house.  I don’t think this is a good idea, Cath”  and he looked warily back at the house and tried to direct her by waving his hands towards the limousine like a aircraft signaler directing jets onto an airliner.  She waved him off, laughing.  

“No, I’m fine, if only I had my stones I could do some real damage here...”  She sniffed, gauging the energy from the house to the magnolia.  “This tree is the sole bastion of good energy emitting from this area.  I can see its aura, it’s very bright and wide.  If I ground myself here, I can use the tree as a tether into the spiritual realm.  It will only take a few minutes!”  She exclaimed when Matthew started to look slightly horrified, although he usually supported Catherine in her beliefs and practices, it was him who consoled her and brought her out of staunch Wiccan theology and practices into more “New Age”, as she had explained in one of her video blogs on Mu.  Her blogs gained national popularity and even her speeches were put to electronica, spurring her wide fan base to the billions.  She kept a regular circulation of breathing, as she was following a feeling , like an illusive fairy in the breath one has to catch to gain a wish, and her wish was resolution and justice in her situation.  Justice, she thought now, sending the fateful wish out to the heavenlies, spreading her desire like seed onto the etherial soil that is the shared consciousness of space time.  She even whispered it sometimes to herself right before a well-televised meeting or before encountering General _______ for her defense requirements.  

Catherine got down on the solid ground underneath the large magnolia tree, that was big enough that she could play in its branches, paying no heed to her pantsuit, flowing black maroon, and instantly grounded herself.  Closing her eyes, she focused on her breath, trying to ignore Matthew who was saying something like “President can do whatever the damn well she wants.” She trained herself early on to block all other stimuli out from her meditations.  Instantly, bursting into view of her mind’s eye, she saw her “soul tree”, as she called it, flowering, and almost ready to sprout fruit, which happened whenever she was about to create something.  It was a Georgia peach tree, like one she had eaten from at her house when she was a child living in South Carolina, and it’s flowers glistened with a rainbow of spectrum as she held each flower in her breath, focusing on them as goading the fruit to come into existence.  Sometimes she would breathe on these flowers until they bore ripe peaches, which she would then eat in her mind’s eye and then write in her journal or on Mu.  Her “eye of the mind” was a black space where she interpreted the world through in meditation, happening on a “screen” of 3d imagination. Whenever she focused on one of her chakras, a flower would sprout and even get a life of its own and morph into all kinds of imaginary things like dragons or angels, that she created and nourished while focusing on her breath.  This time, a tower came up from her pineal gland chakra and became a grand lighthouse colored white and black with little elves running running up and down the stairs and operating a pulley system that took the peaches from her tree to the top of the tower, and they all turned into a liquid-crystal that started to bathe the mansion in her mind, as she was focusing on it, in pinkish light.  That light sparkled and illuminated some dark figures inside the mansion, who were now looking at her through the blinds.  

“What – what is she doing?”  Demanded Morgan from his other peers, who were all gathered around the window, glaring at Catherine from inside.  One man leered from over his shoulder, squinting in the sunlight.

“It – it looks like she’s summoning her demons!” he gasped.  There erupted a slight murmer from the rest of the gentleman, and one of them said, “Damn punitive witch.”  Morgan blanched.  His eyes darted to his wristband, which he had an inkling to use to call the police.  But someone behind him voiced his idea.  

“Should we call the police?”  Upon hearing it, Morgan knew it was a bad idea and he scowled, being accustomed to other people voicing his thoughts since becoming initiated at a secret psychic ritual, and hating it every time.  

“Dammit, fool!  You can’t call the police on the president!  We would be the laughingstock of all of the news tomorrow!  Especially when she’s…” he shuddered “Meditating.”  He said this with disdain, as someone who was told to increase his psychic powers with meditation but hated the idea and practice.  

“Well, what should we do?” whined the man who suggested calling the police.  Morgan saw Matthew looking at him intently from the magnolia tree while Catherine was sitting in a half-lotus position, eyes closed.  He stood brazenly in the window, making no effort to hide his distaste in the situation.  

“We send Terry out to get them to vacate our land and property if she’s still there in ten minutes!”  Terry, the butler, wavered.  He was slightly older than most in the group at 75, and was an admirer of Catherine and all that she was trying to accomplish.  He had a worried expression on his face and his moustache twitched anxiously as he was trying to think of other ways in which he could help besides accosting the President in her sacred space.  

“And what if that doesn’t work?  What if she doesn’t move?”  He whimpered.  Morgan glared at him.  

“She’ll move, or else…”  He growled.  One of the gentleman looked at him questioningly.

“Or else, what?”  He turned around, seething, eyes wild and piercing.  

“Or else I’ll figure it out, you idiot!”

Catherine was lost in her head space.  She was trying to decode the meaning of the tower and the pink light that was being cast upon the mansion in her imagination.  She peered through this light, noticing the auras of the men inside becoming more and more hostile, except for one, which she suspected was going to be sent outside to accost them.  Not wanting that to happen, she willed her higher self to act, which she viewed as a prism of rainbow-colored light sometimes and other times, a white bull.  This time, however, her higher self, who was hovering above her appeared as a little girl and jumped off a swing she was swinging on and jumped down to the ground, turning around and smiling at Catherine.  The little girl was black and had her hair pulled up into what looked like two fluffy ears.  The girl laughed, and pulled out a hand-held windmill and started to blow and another brick house flew from a distance, being caught by the wind and settled onto a field behind the gardens.  She saw in the distance another house, looking like a duplex but perhaps more modern, coming flying in and landing upon the ground.  The pink light was illuminating figures working in the gardens, shapes of vegetables flying up from the ground to enormous heights and sizes, creating giant pink tomatoes and melons.  Matthew was sitting as calmly as he could beside her when she opened her eyes.  

“I got it.”  She smiled, turning to Matthew, and clapped her hands, grinning.  Matthew’s eyebrows twitched.

“Huh? What did you get?  Hey, Cath, somebody is coming to tell us to get the hell off this plantation.”  And there was Terry, gingerly wringing his hands together while slowly walking over to him.  She waved to Terry, getting up from her seated position.  

“Hi! We were just leaving.”  Matthew laughed nervously.  

“Um – yes, we were just – er, appreciating this tree here.” Matthew said.  Terry smiled.  

“I know what you were doing.  And I fully support it.  But my employers wish to tell you that you cannot do that here and must leave immediately.”  He put a finger in the air, closing his eyes.  

“But this does not reflect my opinions of what you are doing.  If it were up to me, I would let you stay all day.  Who is to say where someone can or cannot meditate?”  Catherine blushed, wiping the dirt from her dress.

“But it is their property, we completely understand.  We will be leaving now.  Thank you for understanding.”  Terry smiled and turned around, walking back towards the house.  Matthew glanced at Catherine.  

“So, what did you ‘get’?”  Catherine grinned and started walking with Matthew to the limousine.  

“The House is sure to uphold this idea.  Check it out – I executive orderly turn this property into ---”  She paused for a second, elongating the “o”, while Matthew looked expectantly.  “A gardening community where the workers who got laid off by the governmental intrusion would be given a free place to stay and more houses will be built on this property for all of those workers and their families!”

Matthew laughed, taking his glasses and wiping them against his sleeve.  

“Haha, executive orderly.  I like your executive orderly idea, is that what you got while sitting down and getting your butt all dirty?”  He teased, wiping some dirt off her dress. Matthew gave her a sly look.  “Couldn’t you have just thought about it really hard though instead of getting us kicked off the property?”  She nodded her head, ducking into the limousine.  

“Perhaps.”

[sirxantham-blog]

Catherine, Chapter 2

Once Stephanie was out of the office, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief, feeling less restricted now that she could finally finish looking over the rest of the bills without any outside forces impeding on her decisions.  She smiled.  This is gonna be easy, she thought.  Circling around to the desk again, Catherine straightened her hair and sat down, scanning the first document on top.  It read:  Provisionary supplement for families with children act.  After scanning through it, she felt that it was something she would definitely want to employ, so she signed it, but then realized her pen was dry.  

“Gah, at least the scanner pen had ink…”  She muttered to herself.  She looked through the same drawer where she found her current pen, found another, tested it on a sheet of blank stationery, and signed it, putting it in a manila folder.  Then she found the health care act, immediately tossing it in the folder after reading it, having a gut feeling that it was disdainful and retrograde in its alignment with the natural progression of society and norms.  After that, she passed over the immigration bill and read the national park bills thoroughly, making sure that it was to protect them rather than the opposite.  Once she was sure that she had even read through all of the extra legislation to check for any secret clauses that would cut into the bill, she placed everything into the folder and handed it to her silent aide, stationed at the door.  This rarely happened, but a few times she had to hand the bills back to the aides to send the bill back to the creators, circling the offending articles.  

One of the aides offered to escort her back to her room, or wherever she was headed, as she was going to her yoga class at the gym, an afternoon habit she had grown accustomed to right before dinner.  The bright afternoon sun shone through the indigo curtains on the windows, casting some purple light on the hallway.  Catherine smiled into the sunlight, feeling more free now that she was able to do her work unhindered and tapped a bead on her bracelet and the time flashed in blue numbers on her wrist:  2:49, ten minutes until her yoga class started.  The yoga class was taught by Joey Bartlett, an old guru of Catherine’s from her travels around Europe when she had begun her blog that turned into a TV show.  The TV show, simply titled Premonition, was picked up for a network once she started telling movie stars, politicians and even random people on the street what was going to happen to them in the next few days, and then came back to them later, with a nearly 100% success rate.  She flipped through some messages on her hand-screen- a meeting with secretary of treasury Furman Gadot, for a review of crypto currency (Catherine wanted to make it more widespread, Furman was skeptical but open to the idea), a review of all the headlines from the nation, her twitter feed.  But just as she was about to enter the threshold of the gym in the basement, a call came in, beeping and flashing on her wristband. Catherine took a bead from her band and placed it in her ear.  As it inflated and fit into her ear, she pressed it and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. President, your scanned bills aren’t looking very… amenable now, are they?  I am afraid some corrective measures must be taken.”

“Who-who is this?”  Catherine demanded.  “And how did you get this number?”  She leaned in front of the doorway, signaled to Joey that she was on a call, and crossed her arms, fuming, and mumbled.  “I swear, if I get one more sketchy call today I’m going to tighten security on this line...”  The voice on the other line seemed to belong to a male with some kind of unknown but unmistakable accent, perhaps light Armenian with a flourish of Moroccan.  

“It is useless for you to do so, Catherine.  Senicontra has full access to the Executive branch, to your office and private numbers.  Because we own a majority of your branch and all of its communications, we, the ‘shareholders’ of your ‘company’ as one could call it are scrutinizing your every penstroke, and let me tell you, the scans we just got in of the bills you were supposed to have signed were not beneficial in any way.  Did you speak with Stephanie?”  

“I just fired her.”  Catherine growled.  “I dislike firing anybody and have set up a very reasonable care package for those who have tested my patience so.  Don’t test me again.”

“Ha! Test?  You have failed every test we have put to you besides the budget cut, and that one we saw was begrudgingly met.  I implore you, do what you can to keep your job, because we have ways of making sure you get impeached very, very soon.”  Catherine snarled.  

“You don’t scare me.  Don’t call this number ever again, or I will have you reported!”

“No, it is I who have reported you.  You are under review and if corrective measures need to take place, they will.”  She shook her head.  

“Goodbye.” and she pressed the bead in her ear, feeling it decompress, and she clipped it back onto her bracelet.  She shuddered.  Just like the sensation of falling she felt in her dreams as of late, Catherine was feeling like she was losing control bit by bit, like the grains of sand held in your hand by the beach at night, or the moonlight you try to see in a halo surrounding the moon.  She breathed heavily, and scrunched her face and hands in helplessness, aware of people in the workout room watching her, and suddenly aware of a slight rubbing against her legs.  Halbert/Dakolon could sense her worry, and was offering what support he could, purring.

“Aww, thanks there, buddy.”  She reached down and picked up the cat, and he immediately started purring and rubbing against her face with his. “Wow, you really like being a cat, huh?”  she smiled, and gave him a butterfly kiss with her nose.  Just then, Joey signaled to her.

“Cath! Are you doin okay?”  He waved her in, smiling concernedly.  “Seems like being in charge has its little downfalls, doesn’t it?”  She walked in, acknowledged the three other staff members who would be taking the class- a secretary named Hilda, a gardener she knew well, Anthony, so she gave him a side hug, and a older black male aide she forgot the name of so she reintroduced herself, after replying to Joey.  

“Hey, Joey, yeah, I’m… wow…  feeling a bit work-weary, but...pulling through.  And what’s your name again?”  She assumed everybody knew her so after the first few weeks she learned not to introduce herself after usually getting a strange look and a ‘yes, madame president’.  Being the first third-party elected president made everyone who worked there all seem aglow, like children at christmas, or even ‘elves’ as some jokester started calling White House staff, all who were green party affiliates or progressive democrats.

“Murray, Madame” he smiled coyly and gave a slight bow.  Ignoring the formalities, Catherine laughed and patted Murray on the back, but immediately felt self-conscious and drew her hand away, putting on a smile.  

“Love the aliteration… didn’t I play you in Golf Siege Z?” He nodded, clad in jammers and a blue spandex shirt, he was hunched over, probably from scoliosis or the like, and began stretching his arms.  

“Yes, we beat you thoroughly, haha.  I still have the golden sky rocket I stole from you!”  Golf Seige Z was an augmented reality game that was popular among adults and children alike in the U.S. for its multi-faceted approach to playing disc golf.  There was a popular tournament in Central Park every year that many of Catherine’s friends attended, and there was a 9 hole course programmed on the White House gardens and premises.  

“Oh really?  Wow, I think I remember now.  That was my favorite mod, I think!  Honestly, I can’t hardly keep up with all of them, or even have time to play.  Sad, really.”  Murray nodded earnestly, eyes shining, and he straightened up a bit.  

“Did you get the new predator pack for polititians?  You even have a vacuum attached to your disc that sucks the money from any player that is nearby!”  He laughed.  “Although I can’t see you using it.  What if you did?  What if you did?”  He chuckled to himself. Catherine just rolled her eyes in response.  

“If someone taped it and put it on the internet, I’d never hear the end of it.  No, I’ll- I’ll get my golden… flash rocket back from you.  Or something.  We’ll play again, I’m sure!”  Then, she put a hand on his shoulder “Excuse me, I have to go and change…” There were gym and yoga clothes folded neatly in a locker for both Catherine and Matthew next to the gym, as well as his and her bath robes in the spa and sauna, which Matthew used frequently.  After quickly changing, getting back to the gym where the rest of the staff were patiently waiting for her, and ribbing Anthony for putting nothing but wildflowers all over the back lawn (“I thought that’s what was trending nowadays!  I’m sorry!”), they got onto the yoga class, all four of them facing Joey.  Having some of her energy depleted from dealing with Senicontra, it was worthwhile to recharge and refocus for Catherine, who, in addition to the routines, added some of her own “ohming” mantras to the exercise.  As she stretched, she revisited in her mind the overwhelming events that led to her historic victory over democrat Vicky Sonmers, and the derelict two party system that the American people had obviously outgrown.  It was an easy decision for her to make, one that was unpopular with her advisers but embraced by the media, who painted a picture of a struggle that everybody could relate to- bringing people together to save the planet from imminent destruction.  Having “superpowers” as many late night hosts dubbed it, didn’t hurt either.  There was even a popular comic book based on her life story, except with a few of her abilities perhaps overblown, but when read, the similarities were a near perfect match, and the comic book was in the process of being turned into a TV show.  There was nothing more dear to Catherine than a certain moment on the campaign trail, which she famously camped out in an all-electric RV and drove from state to state in it, one she came back to again and again, and that she revisited while doing a “star” pose.  

It was a Tuesday night in August and the sunset over the verdant hills of Ohio sparked in reds, indigos, and blues, all twisted in shuffling clouds and chirruping crickets who told tales of the blistering day. Her RV, a completely clear giant living pod that became murky for privacy at a push of a button, was parked on a campsite on the Wabash river surrounded by tents, and it was parked there for days, allowing Catherine, Matthew and her best friend and sometimes costar of her show, McKenzie Dee-Martin.  McKenzie was eleven years her senior, and a wizened proof of age and beauty aren’t mutually exclusive- her gray hair dreads were adorned with beads and colorful threads, and thanks to a recently discovered natural supplement, there was hardly a wrinkle on her usually smiling face.  This night was one of such joyous, raucous festivities as they had just finished camping three days with what is called a “rainbow gathering”, or a group of earth conscious people who came together and cooked, cleaned, told stories, hiked and even partied together, sometimes going on for weeks.  This party, however, was a fireside musical romp that started seemingly Sunday night and lasted until that night, with two groups of people either sitting around two different fires, or “movies” as the campers called them.  The “movie” roared and it was Catherine’s job to feed it and the flame flickered across many toasty faces that Catherine had gotten to know pretty well over the past few days, as they all knew and recognized her from either the Campaign or her TV show but the motley group seemed not to fawn over her and treated her like they would anybody else.  This, especially was a gift to Catherine who cherished her privacy from adoring fans and the like, as most encounters with people led to them asking for an autograph, which made her feel a little bit uncomfortable.  The incense sticks creating sweet, nestling aromas, the ramshackle guitars strewn about the campsite that were played often, the freedom of movement and dancing during a drum circle- all of these made her feel comfortable, as in their own way, they made her feel at home like when she was traveling freely in Europe.  

“Doesn’t it feel great?”  A long-haired, frazzled young man with a long beard, glasses in a blue parka turned to her that night while fireworks were being brought out from someone’s tent.  He was missing a tooth in his front and smiled unabashedly when she turned back to him quizzically.  Some people had left the circle when about 9:00 hit and were ambling back to their tents or RVs.  

“Hmm?” She responded.  He spread his arms out, looking around.

“This! All of this!  It’s like...”  He looked at her in the eye, and had a sage-like demeanor about him, like he had more answers than a top-paid professor.  “You got lucky, right?  Just being here.  I mean, out of all the planets you could have come to, you chose Earth. At this time.  This- brilliant, important, all-pervasive time.” Catherine looked down and smiled self-consciously.  Sometimes she did feel that Earth was an assignment of sorts, with all of the fragility and the uncertainty of life, with her political career lifting off to new heights every day, sometimes she felt like destiny pointed at her with conviction, and all she could do was cower at times.  She looked back, showing him interest, giving him time.  He continued, “We won.  We won the lottery just by being here.  Look at this food! Look at it!”  He picked up a slice of pizza that was baked in a makeshift oven by his transient friends who got it, not yet baked, from a dumpster outside a pizza shop, still in its plastic casing. It was fresh-not-so-fresh redeemable treasures like these that made the rainbow gathering community erupt with glee upon finding it. “This planet GROWS FOOD.  From the Ground.  To nourish us.  Isn’t that insane?  That something as delicious as this that hits all of your… synapses with glee AND gives you the energy to do something like this-”  He grabbed a guitar nearby and strummed a flamenco riff, picking the last few notes with relish, wincing with a vibrato at their melody.  Catherine laughed, and picked a piece of pizza from a plate on a chair next to her and started to eat.  She didn’t really feel like responding, she just wanted to take it in, as if his words were a tonic meant to soothe all by themselves without need of any effort from the receiver.  He kept playing wildly, shaking his long, brownish hair with abandon, causing his glasses to slightly fall off his nose, which he paid no attention to while entertaining. The night was warm and full of laughter, from afar as people were preparing fireworks in the road nearby and Catherine’s bright laugh bounced off the trees and boulders surrounding the campfire, adding to the music of the atmosphere as the stars twinkled in agreement with what the traveler was saying.  “If life is a game,”  He looked at her, very seriously, his glasses distraught and his eyes like fires.  “We won the lottery.  Just by being here.”  He glanced around and with a swoop put down the guitar and gestured around and cried, “Earth!  You’re so fucking beautiful!  I love you!”  Catherine could do nothing but look around in silent agreement.  He laughed and looked up at the sky, probably high on something, but content, as most travelers seem to be, to Catherine. A star caught her eye and she winked at it, and a smile grew on her face.  

“You’re right, it is so beautiful.”  She thought for a moment.  “That’s why we’ve got to do all we can to protect it.  The beauty,” She added, swallowing some pizza, “She’s the fragile beautiful princess we have to protect.  A home we have to protect.”

“Against ourselves!”  He added, with a punch in the air to prove his point. She nodded solemnly, folding up her paper plate and getting up, looking at the other trash strewn about the campsite.  She made it her duty not just to look after the campfire, but the trash as well, quickly reminding herself where the recycling and trash bins were. They were the only ones left at the campfire, and yet, since she seemed to meet about five new people a day, she felt it unnecessary to ask her companion for his name.  As Catherine made herself busy around the fire collecting trash and recycling bits into separate bags that she found, her friend simply sat watching her for a few minutes while some shouting commenced behind them, then, explosions erupted, catching her eye.  He noticed her looking at the commotion, and while she passed in front of him and gave him a smile, he grabbed her arm, softly.  

“Do you wanna go see?”  She smiled, and nodded, not wanting to pull away either.  He laughed and took her hand, pushing up his glasses with the other, his hair flailing wildly all about him, and he struck a pose like he was leading a charge against a calvary.  “Come, come!”  He said, more or less to the sky.  “Beauty awaits!” Catherine giggled, running with him up the hill to the road, excited and feeling more alive, and not wanting to let go of this strange man’s hand, who seemed to be like he was in his 20s.  Even though Matthew was nearby, she had no qualms of even flirting with strangers sometimes as they traveled, as Matthew and she had an understanding of sorts, a trust that was always present between them, like a giant river full of emotion that never ran dry.  They reached the street, adding to the noisy laughter that was all around, about a dozen people including a few kids were lighting the fireworks and tenaciously dancing around them, careful not to get too hurt.  Her friend , when she looked back, was already dancing among the sparks, twisting and turning erratically, jumping and twirling with a little girl, who kept calling him “Funnyface”.  Catherine looked around for Matthew instinctively, knowing he was probably calling it an early night in the RV, he was well known for going to bed at about 9 and getting up at 5:30 in the morning.  “Funnyface” halted his dance moves, spun around and gestured to Catherine.  

“C’mon! You gots ta make a fire walk if you want to complete the trial of the Oompy Loo!  Only the strongest  of feet can survive!”  He laughed.  She chuckled, about to inquire as to this trial of theirs, then he continued  “The council of Lala land can only accept the Frou Frou who walks through fiiire with… bravery and conviction!” He was making a theatrical turn here, causing the little red haired girl who seemed to be about five to cover her mouth in laughter and join in.  She had freckles and a blue jumpsuit on, and was still dancing about.  

“Yeahh lady,”  She pointed at Catherine.  “You gots ta do the Oompy Loo!”  Catherine crossed her arms.  

“Well what if I don’t wanna?”  She made a pouty face.  “What if I don’t wanna be a frou frou?  I like my feet fine without having them blown off!  And where- where is your mommy, young lady?”  The girl made a face at Catherine and stuck out her tongue.  

“What mommy?  I don’t have a mommy.  Where’s your mommy?  I – can – do – what – I – want!”  She stomped on each word, and laughed when “Funnyface” poked her.  “Funnyface is my mommy!” Catherine shook her head, crossing her arms.  She refused to budge, even with the both of them goading while the fireworks were going on and off, as there was a lull in between eruptions, a group of campers were coming back with more fireworks.  When they got them set up and decided to light them-

“Should we?”  asked one older man to a younger teen guy, with long black hair and a jean jacket.

“Ahhh...”

“Should we?”

“Ahhh...” The little girl was starting to jump up and down again, pumping her fist in the air.

“Pleeeeaase?”

“I dunno,”  The older man smiled, a red bandana around his mostly bald head, his eyes crinkled and sparkeld.  “Maybe we should wait...”

“Nooo!” Cried the girl.  

“Lets do it!”  Said the teenager.  And they lit the sparkling fireworks on the road, making sure to jump away as they switched from candle to candle, the little sparklers that you would find in a corner store somewhere.  Then, “Funnyface” held out his hand, and Catherine self-consciously grabbed it, a look of doubt clouded her visage, she pushed a strand of hair over her eyes.  He flashed a smile, his missing tooth in the upper right corner of his mouth, he had an air of confidence about him and did everything with a theatrical flair, almost as if the world were a stage.  Catherine melted into his confidence and, with a twirl, jumped into the sparkling fray and started kicking the whistling fireworks with the bottom of her feet, as she had sandals on that flapped when she walked.  Furryface had sneakers on, black converse style with holes in them, but he still rambunctiously kicked the spinning fireworks at Catherine’s feet, causing a startled “yelp” from her lips every time the sparks came flying close to her.  She finally managed to take her sandals off and bend down and swat the fireworks in his direction, yelling at him.

“Yaaah! Yahh!  This is one Frou Frou who can pass all of your stupid tests!” He chuckled and returned fire, tripping and righting himself with his hand and kicking a sparkler her way.  

“Milady, you mistake me for a charlatan,”  He said in a british accent, picking up a sparkler and waving it at her.  “Might you be the princess of the divine Flametongue order?  The one from planet - - Embry-- Embryonis, who slayed the mighty dragon race Puff- - er, pufferpot?”  Catherine tilted her head and furrowed her brow, putting her shoe back on.  He continued, switching to a slightly more cockney accent, the sparkler sputtering out, he bent down to find a new one.  “Hodgepodge Puffpot the third was the mighty golden- no, rainbow- dragon upon the throne, yes, as I remember it, and put the edict in effect to offer a parley between the flametongue order and the dragons.  The dragons, in their mighty sky castles and their strong, hearty brews and their aptitude for… star fishing.  That’s right, they fish for stars.”  He looked at her seriously and gave the firework a slight shake and pushed his glasses up on his head.  

“Star fishing huh?  Sounds – slightly dangerous to me.” She kicked one firework towards him that had sputtered out already and he kicked it back.  He pointed at her dramatically.  

“Well, stardust, actually.  The stardust they get from stars using a diamond crusted hydrocarbon line gives them the gift of immortality.  And it’s just about as dangerous as what the flametongue order requires of dragons to live, to keep from getting killed, and in effect, to partner with the flametongues to rid the galaxy of the evil buckaboos.”  A glint in his eye, he turned to the little girl.  “Of which YOU are one!  Buckaboo!  Begone!  Go back to thine mother and grace this starburst field no more!”  He then jumped out at the girl with a sparkler, who was watching, enraptured, and giggling in short interminent spurts.  She cried out, arms akimble.

“Aaah! Mommy!”  And ran off towards a few RVs that were parked in the distance.  He looked back at the girl running, and With a mischievious grin, furryface turned towards Catherine and flourished a bow in her direction.  

“And here am I, but a humble red dragon at your service.”  Catherine put her hands on her hips, and straightened out her green, flowing skirt. She had on a multi-layered green and purple top, and brown bead bracelets, as she remembered, and a golden topaz necklace that glistened against the sparkling fire works in the night.  

“A dragon, huh?  So you’re...”  And before she could continue, he went on, still in a british accent.  

“Yes! And in order to win the terms of the parley that your order requires,”  She tried to interrupt.  

“But I don’t think I’m...”  

“Flametongue order?”  He scrutinized her, waving his sparkler at her with every word.  “I can tell by the way you dress that you are!  Those beads on your wrist, alagonian beads that contain the very fire from these stars I breathe in to keep immortal!  And you- you have been given a mission to snuff out my race, down to the very last drop unless we can complete the flametongue Parley!”  He said this last word like a pirate would, swirling his words in his mouth like a sifter, feeding off of her attention and intrigue like a hummingbird off a feeder, he was still waving his sparkler about energetically. Catherine smiled, and decided to play along.  

“Ah, the parley.  What would be the conditions of the parley again, so I don’t – I don’t shoot you down where you stand?”  She reached for a firework hesitantly, then withdrew her hand.  He stuttered for a second, breaking character.  

“Are- are you… Are you really going to grab one?  Because you don’t need one for the parley...”  He flashed her a mischevious smile again and continued in his cockney/british accent.  “Oi do!”  

“Oh! Of, of course.  I knew that.  Ahem.”  She extended a hand towards him to continue and twirled it and he nodded.  

“Milady, according to our long-lived tradition, all I have to do in order to gain your favour and possibly stay in your quarters with you, is swallow a star!”  And he opened his mouth and began to inch the sparkling firework towards his mouth, closing his eyes so that the spark wouldn’t harm his eyes going in.  Catherine gasped.  

“N-no! What!  I don’t want you to do that!  Nononono no, wait.  You- you don’t have anywhere to live right now?  Is that what this whole thing is about?  Because you can stay in my RV on the couch if you want- I’m sure my husband won’t mind.”  He put down the firework gingerly and looked at her, surprised, but obviously was a little let down.  

“Oh! Your husband?  Are- are you sure?  I could… um… ask someone else...”  He waved his hand as if his homelessness wasn’t that big of a deal.  Catherine and her husband brought an extra tent just in case they found anyone who was homeless on their journey across the U.S. and even let more than a few people stay on their couch while McKenzie stayed on a bed overlooking the driver’s seat.  

“No, please, I insist.  Consider the order of the flametongue fulfilled,” She laughed, and he went up to her and gave her a hug.  

“Ohmigod thank you, thank you so much.”  He said, holding the hug for a little bit longer than what was comfortable for a hug, but it was appreciated, as long “super-hugs” were common among rainbow gathering devotees.  She laughed, breaking the tension.  

“No worries, we got ya, friend.  Hey, I actually didn’t ask for your name?”  He smiled back at her, his long hair caught in the wind, all pretenses brushed away, and seemed to settle more into himself.  

“You can call me Furryface.”

The yoga class had given Catherine a blessed moment of reprise and she felt her soul calming down from the slight terror of the phone call she received from Semicontra, a few times even mumbling to herself “furrfurrs” and giggling, for sometimes Furryface would try on multiple accents and personas, always performing and entertaining his guests as he traveled, one accent being full of murmurs and slurred “r’s” where he spoke of himself in third person.  Although Matthew didn’t seem to find Furryface all that funny, but perhaps a bit overblown, Catherine and McKenzie adored their adopted “rainbow” friend and found themselves constantly laughing in his presence and even shared a few rollicking inside jokes, a few of which the two girlfriends still repeated, always edging a giggle from and following up with “remember that time?”  After padding down real quick in the spa and paging Matthew to see if he wanted to join (he was busy in a poetry collaborative class), Catherine said her goodbyes (“Don’t worry, Anthony, I’ll get somebody to pick all those wildflowers before we can get back the lawn again!) and headed contentedly over to visit Matthew’s poetry class, owning a popular poetry website of her own, called Mu, it was a non-profit creation of hers and her friend Annette, an African American who was all business, no frills.  She had one of those personalities that could wrench a fly into attention, setting trends with the snap of a finger to create one of the most successful and visited social networking sites of that generation, with the user interface like a game where users interact and post stories, poems, and soon to be done – music – where moderators view and check and double check the creations made so that it is intelligible and edit any mistakes and block out any spammers.  If the spammers were to create good and intelligible things on their own “bookshelf”, the moderators would then grant these past spammers the ability to collaborate again, granting new privledges every time more is created.  It was this kind of attention to detail that redefined Catherine as a star in her generation,

she often posted quite a few of her own verses that she came up with on the spot, as well as whatever was crafted in the poetry classes that were held twice a week at the White House.  After brushing through the hall, Catherine peeked her head in the conference room to find two aides furiously scribbling alone in the room on their pull-out screens emanating from both of their wrist bracelets.  One of them, Ephraim, was from Zaire and had an accent, and a strut about him that was self-evident of his working at the White House in such a popular administration.  The other, Gloria, a hispanic american who liked to keep flowers in her hair, was looking over Ephraim’s shoulder and was nudging him emphatically every time he came up with a good word or phrase.  Catherine worked with Ephraim before but did not know Gloria, so she nudged the door open and introduced herself.  

“Hey there, Ephraim, and who are you, again?  Have we-”

“I’m Gloria,”  She replied, her large brown eyes sparkling after fawning over Ephraim.  Ephraim motioned to Catherine.  

“Would you like to join us, Mrs. President?  Er, Catherine?”  Despite Catherine having a staff meeting where she urged those who worked for her just to call her Catherine, for the most part, the staff still liked using the formal moniker, and she begrudgingly let them. Catherine walked up to them, smiled and pressed a button on her bracelet and synced it to theirs, waiting until it was done to fully respond.

“Ahh, yes, I have yet to post on Mu today and would love the chance to add to the host of repertoire we have been letting flow from us lately, it’s quite refreshing honestly, I just recently came up with a shakespearean lore poem using classical english and two characters from As You Like It’s Orlando and Celia.  There was just too many hidden gems in that play to choose from so I chose them on a whim after a second read-through. It’s just too fun to add to the Mu website’s poetry slam things like lore because, honestly, with a little bit of study, you can really even begin to come up with all new stories involving those same characters, I once created a character arc with Romeo and Juliet if they lived and eloped somewhere else, you know, I think it is on the website but it may have been deleted, though My assistant was careful to only bring proper prose over to the White House annals, as both of those poems were, ah, shall we say, not too apropo” Catherine gushed, all in seemingly one or two flowing breaths, she finished with a flourish of her bracelet scanning in to their own, allowing her hand to add to the projector screen.  Ephraim chuckled, nudging Gloria away from her ever closer proximity to him to give Catherine some room.  

“Well, er, yes, Ca- Catherine, I believe we were just – ruminating on what could be either ‘death by pansies’ or ‘the eclipse of’ Gloria was going to go with ‘earth by sea’ and I was going to go with ‘family’ because, as you can see, the earlier verse was ‘you can try to live happily, picking apart until-’”  And he paused for reflection, Gloria’s gaze never leaving Ephraim’s, he tried to play it off by focusing on Catherine, obviously feeding off of Gloria’s attention.  Catherine, overjoyed by poemic collaboration, jut in.  

“Until the eclipse of earth by sea… Obviously a climate change allusion, right?  That I like.  That I like a lot. So what is the structure here?  Iambic pentameter?  Or, as it seems-”  He interjected, widening the projected screen.

“There is no structure, as you can see from the previous verse.”

“And the rhyme scheme?  Is that set in stone or-?”

“There is none, again, as we have ‘pills’ rhyming with ‘agate’ and ‘front’ alltogether, there, see?”  Catherine paused, putting her hand to her mouth, usually very deliberate with verse craft.

“I see.  Well, as you know, I rather don’t like to have to constantly rhyme and putting rhymes into otherwise non-rhyming verses isn’t really my kind of tea, but I like where you’re going, and as I said before – yeah, my vote is on ‘Earth by sea’”  They all paused, saying a chorus of “yeah’s” and “uh-uh’s”, scrutinizing the screen while Ephraim typed on a keyboard that emitted from his bracelet onto the glass table.  The afternoon sun flitted through the window, creating a glare on the glass table and the three each had furrowed brows, aiming at something intangible, reaching for the ephemeral.  

“If – if I may,” Catherine drawled out the last word, still searching through the first part of the poem.  “Could I try and – let’s see – finish this part of the poem?”  Ephraim nodded and swiped the keyboard over to Catherine.  

“I think you should go for it.”  He smiled.  Gloria giggled and padded Catherine’s arm.  

“Yeah! Go for it!”  Catherine straightened herself and wiggled her fingers over the projected keyboard.  

“Okay, well, ‘running into oblivion’ just came to mind, continuing with the climate change theme, I’d like to try something...” And she typed furiously, her mind swimming with possibilities, channeling the inner angst of taking hold of an entire nation and world that was headed for ruin.  She thought of her best friend, McKenzie.  She thought of a generation that may grow up with their planet in peril, uncertain of their future.  “Okay… Almost there… okay let me know what you think.”  

And then a ghost approaches, “will it float?  Will it sink?” and the deer eyes brighten as our minds are made unaware, “beware! Beware!”  a call from a time unknown, not yet, not yet, we say, it is too much for our minds to behold.  When you begin to behold, then you must begin to let go, when all manner of rites have failed you, that is when it needs to let you know that you may fail, the ship approaches, in the time river’s flow.

Gloria looked over it once, and immediately gushed “oh, its brilliant! It’s amazing, really.”  Ephraim, however, looked over it more carefully.  

“I like it, the allegory, almost a ‘ghost of future past’ kind of feel.  But you did say ‘behold’ twice in those lines… I would say ‘when it starts to unfold, then you must begin to let go.’?” Catherine nodded, pleased with this turn of collaboration, the many word games on the website ‘Mu’ and the ease of collaboration of ideas and prose made this season of classes quite popular with more than a few of the staffers in the White House, with Mario Kart coming in first and cooking classes with the head chef Pietro third.  

“Yes, let’s definitely make that change.  I like it.”  They all looked over the glowing projected screen, and then Ephraim pushed down the part of the table that was supporting the screen.  

“I do too!  Wow – Deep.  You added some good aspects to that, I think – I think that is postable!”  Catherine blushed, sitting back in her seat.

“No, you think?”

“Yes! Quite!  We need all three of our signatures, are you all ready?” Gloria jumped slightly out of her seat, rubbing Ephraim’s shoulder again.  

“Ohh, yes!”  Catherine still wavered, stoking her brooch.  

“I don’t know… maybe we should continue to revise it?”  Ephraim shook his head.  

“Nonsense, with the star power that we three hold on Mu, this one will be instantly favored to rise to the top, actually, all of your posts are Mrs… er, Catherine.  Haha, sorry”  He rubbed his head and smiled bashfully.  “I sometimes get that… anyway.  Yes.  What do you think?”  Catherine swiftly gave her signature and clicked the link that would post it, and stood up.  

“Well, it has been wonderful collaborating with you all but alas, I must go.”  Catherine made a pouty face and made sure to hug Gloria and Ephraim before she left.  “Au revoir!”  She smiled, and she flitted out the door, looking around for Matthew, leaving the two aides to mingle some more.  

Catherine ruffled her hair while calling Matthew, walking down the hallway that led outside, to the gardens.  She was immediately accosted by a press secretary who greeted her with an awkward smile and a slight laugh.  

“Ahem, Mrs. President, How are you?  Um, do you have a minute to talk?” Usually her relationship with the press was very positive so every time she saw Myra Panuk it was a cause for celebration – a successful speech at an energy summit, a professional outlook on trade tariffs, a beneficial meeting with the Iranian President, positive remarks on her twitter account activity.  But this time Catherine saw some trepidation in her press secretary, with whom she had gotten to know very well over the past nine months.  The process usually started with a quip about how she was “killing it” with the press (“every time they stand up, you sweep them off their feet!”) so Catherine had reason to remain upbeat.  

“Hi, Myra!  Well, you tell me!  Did my polls reflect strongly after the Italian Prime Minister’s visit?”  She had stopped saying the word ‘favorably’ between them after a while because the polls always viewed her favorably, it was all about “strength” now, said her head of P.R.  Myra pushed some bangs out of her hair and opened a holographic screen on her hand and expanded it with her thumb and index finger.  She had a narrow face and bright brown eyes that always seemed to slit with intensity when talking about the Republican opposition and widen with serene excitement when spouting the (usually) positive reviews coming from Catherine’s Presidency.

“Ah, ma’am, yes, um, there has been no negative fallout to your innocent ‘babyface’ gaff.  Most have taken it to mean that you appreciate the youth of culture taking charge and did not mean to come on to him, except, of course for Fox News, who immediately said that you were quick to want to get in bed with other heads of state, even though your hand was touching your husband’s at the time...” Catherine winced.  The newly elected Prime Minister of Italy, Emilio Ricardo was as ambitious as he was young, and at 33 he was famous for taking risks to move his country forward technologically, his hair slicked back like a don and always wearing a three piece suit, he was known to have an air of stickiness about him, like a mob boss, and had a nickname “sticky rick”.  Catherine, however, found it endearing and during a press conference joked around about having a “baby face” that any mother would want to protect.  She felt it would make her seem more motherly, as Myra pointed out that Catherine not having any children did not poll well with millenials.  

“Yeah, I know, but once you get to know him, Emilio is really adorable.  He tries to put on this ‘tough guy’ facade, but honestly I could see right through that and I was trying to help others to see it as well.”   Catherine put her hands up, as if to say ‘I’m innocent’.

“Well, Matthew’s confused look to you after you said that is trending on news sites everywhere and is giving the right wing media some fodder for their fires against you.  It is not a politician’s job to joke, Mrs. President.  Usually when politicians try to make a joke or light of something it ends up coming off obtuse.”  Myra, an indian woman was known for ‘telling it like it is’ and helped shut down some obfuscations about Catherine’s protocol when it comes to decision making, her being the first woman president the U.S. has ever known. Catherine sighed.

“What if, honestly, what if I am trying to change that?  Create a new paradigm for the position of office when it comes to relatability? You know that is always my agenda, Myra, relating to people well.” She did not need to say “and I do it well, do I not?” because that was implied, and the rhetorical answer would be, yes, she did do it well.  Myra looked back at Catherine sternly.    

“To be frank, you are trying to juggle too many balls, do too many things.  Focus on your primary agenda – welfare reform and climate change counteractive infastructure – and let your team do the rest. Nobody gets too far if they worry about what people think.”  This was a stern lecture, and coming from someone about ten years her junior made it sting a bit.  Catherine breathed, tight-lipped and pondered for a quick second before acquiescing.

“I guess you’re right.  Thank you.”  She paused to let Myra continue but Myra seemed to be proud of what she had accomplished, so she stood as if in a daze, looking off somewhere indescriminant to the sky.  Catherine brought her out of her daze.

“Is there anything else, Myra?”  Myra looked up at her, startled, and brought her attention to the screen on her hand that she had put away during the time she was talking to Catherine.  

“Er, yes.  The main reason I wanted to talk with you was about your recent poetry post on Mu.” Catherine’s eyebrows raised, they were headed outside as Catherine had begun to page Matthew at this time, and a ring came in from one of her beads that she quickly detached and put in her ear, feeling it expand and she pressed a button on her communicator.  

“Hmm, you’ll have to excuse me, this is my husband.”  She paused. “Hello?”

“Honey, I’m making reservations to The Periodical. I gotta have their shepherd’s pie.  Just gotta.”  Catherine laughed.  

“Okay, but can you make sure it isn’t until after 8?  I have yoga class.”

“Didn’t you already have yoga class?”  Catherine snickered.  She was used to doing yoga twice daily and invited all of her coworkers to do it with her, something Matthew liked to rib her about.  

“I dunno, I don’t really feel that mind/body connection yet.”

“Well, when you become a yogi and learn to levitate, I’ll just ride on you everywhere we go so we save on gas, mmkay?”  Catherine nodded.  

“Deal. See you there?  I’m gonna be in a meeting until yoga again.”

“Sounds good, honey.  See ya!”

“Bye!” and she clicked off the headset and pushed the bead back into her bracelet, which accepted it with a hum.  Myra was standing patiently next to Catherine in the glaring sun, shielding her eyes from it and tried not to look like she was grimacing.  Catherine acknowledged her with a wave of her hand.  “Sorry, what were you saying about a post of mine?”

“You just posted something on Mu involving ghosts?  It is the White Houses official stance that ghosts do not exist.  If I were you, I would be careful to more secularize yourself if you want to be taken seriously, especially by congress.” It was no secret that Catherine and congress did not get along, currently with a Republican majority who mostly resolved to name calling and beration, especially to the press, who usually backed her up.  

“Hmm, you have a good point there.  Honestly, I don’t know if Congress and I will ever truly see eye to eye, oh hi Halbert, hey, hold on… Here, kitty, kitty!”  Halbert had sauntered up to the glass doors facing the gardens and had started scratching on the door, so Catherine let him out.  “All they seem to care about is, well, if you want to lay it out plainly, killing the environment with natural gas and carbon emissions, taking away the rights of the poor, propping up the corporations that are killing our planet and our people and, well, getting in my way, heh.”  She let out a soft chuckle, as if all of this was some kind of joke, trying to alleviate the severity of it.  She had griped to Matthew plenty of times about her trouble with congress, and even sometimes to talk show hosts, who shared her concern aplenty.  

Halbert/Dakolon sauntered up to Catherine and started to purr, giving Myra a cautionary eye.  Catherine smiled and picked him up.  

“Lookit you, you little spirit guy.  Aren’t you just a spirit guy?  A wittle spirit guy?”  She gave him a rub on the nose with her own. Myra chuckled nervously and put away the screen emanating from her hand.  

“Spirit guy?  What, uh, what is that?”  Catherine ignored her while Halbert went limp in her arms and gave her a mew.  

“You know what I think, Myra?  Damien Rylance was right, pointing out that it was in my power to do something about congress.  He said:  ‘As my mom always said, You can never get anywhere by complaining about something if it in your power to change it.’”  Damien was a popular talk show host who had famously had the president on his show three times, each time playing a creative game with her like charades or a singing challenge.  Catherine had actually gone on more talk shows already than any other president had in their career, something she enjoyed doing as it connected her more to the people in her opinion.  

“You’re right, Mrs. President.”  Myra offered, standing respectfully with her hands twisted in front of her, switching to support mode.  

“Please, call me Catherine.  I know people like the way that sounds and all but it just sounds too… Campy to me.  Anyway, there is something we can do, something we all can do to fix this… problem, if you will. I actually just thought of it today, and I’m really excited about it.  And Myra, please tell me what you think.”  Catherine smiled and suddenly lifted Halbert over her head and wrapped the limp cat over her shoulders, wearing him like a shawl, his limp arms and legs dangling down over her shoulders, much to Myra’s enjoyment.  

“Ohhh, Catherine, that is so, so cute.  Oh my god.  I have Got to get a picture of this and post it on twitter.  What’s his name?  Hal- halbie?  Halbert?  Yes.  They are going to Love this.”  Myra squeezed her bracelet together and out popped a screen on the back of her hand, projecting what the camera on it saw.  She zoomed in by flicking her hand at the screen, and laughing took a picture while Catherine posed and smiled, turning her hips to give a more edgier look to the camera.  

“Oh yeah?”  Catherine said between shots, even giving a slight pout and a more serious squint in her eye to capture something different. “Twitter, huh?  I’d like to see what they think about this one.” Catherine pet Halbert, the cat still purring on her shoulder. “Yeah, Halbie, you’re gonna be famous!”  Myra pressed her bracelet down and reached out to pet the cat on Catherine’s shoulder.  

“So, what is your idea?  I’d like to hear it.”  Catherine breathed and steadied herself and Halbert, as if about to give a lecture for a large crowd.  

“It came to me lucidly today, in a… strange way, almost as if I am a transistor element for the universe, a gateway of sorts, like what you would experience in a dream.  Don’t worry, I wasn’t on any drugs, of course, I just was… channeling something.  Something simple, unique, elegant, world-changing.  Something that if implemented, it would greatly shift the way politics are done in the west, or if it catches on, the rest of the world.”  She pet Halbert and held on to his paws so he didn’t have a chance of falling, looking Myra intently in the eye.  “What if… our entire legislative process was done on an encrypted, hacker-proof app, written by the people and voted on by the people.  Just imagine you would get notifications every day of new bills to be voted upon, with their popularity so far and a few paragraphs on what they would do for our country.  And you vote either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ on if you would like to see that happen, and if a majority votes ‘yes’, it happens, with perhaps a Presidential veto power and a Senate to make sure that whatever gets voted by the people into effect, happens. Same checks and balances, except the citizen has the power.” Myra’s eyes widened.  

“Wow.” She crossed her arms and stared off into the gardens, contemplatively.  “That sounds like a true democracy.  And ours is, well, broken because of special interests.”  She nodded “That would fix so many of our problems.”

“Right? There are so many ideas, good ideas, I feel, that get pushed aside like so much compost for the heap in the name of corporate interests.  Did you know that in 1988 a man created an engine that could run on water, but was poisoned for disrupting the oil companies agenda?” Myra looked back at her with renewed interest.  

“I did not know that.”  

They both stared at the sunset as it eked over a cerulean sky, contemplating the idea and its ramifications.  The air seemed lighter around them, the concept dizzying, exciting in its upending qualities.  Halbert blinked as he sighed, his paws and legs held by Catherine, content that he was able to be a conduit of knowledge for an empire that needed democracy’s hope desperately.  

[sirxantham-blog]

Catherine

Hey- in addition to being an aspiring producer, I am also an aspiring novelist!  Take a look at the first chapter of my upcoming novel about a Green Party President!

A stray wind wafted by Catherine _____ between her bed and dresser, visibly shifting the door on its hinges, adding a creak ito one of the oldest and most famous houses in the world.  It was strange because the windows were closed.  Catherine, the 48th President of the United States and also a practicing wiccan, was used to this kind of strange behavior in the elements ever since swearing in, as her first year was wrought with conflicts involving the stability of the environment and weather, with the wild climate patterns shifting out of control.  Cause and effect. Catherine thought.  The air elementals have something to parlay about the tornadoes. Instinctively grabbing her (pyrite) pendant, more closely tying her to spiritual activity, Catherine sat on the edge of her bed straightened her hair and gazed into the space of turbulence by her bedroom door.  

“Ahem, greetings, spirit, I am at your… Command.  Tell me what you wish.” Uneasy yet excited at communicating with an air elemental, it had been about four years since her last successful bout with a disembodied air spirit such as this, with most of her experience in the past few years being with visible spirits that left more impressions and sometimes even signs that appeared on pieces of paper that could be visible under the scope of special RFID tracking binoculars or other equipment.  This kind tended to animate her body involuntarily, speaking to her though her own vocal chords, which bothered her quite a bit the first time it happened, as there aren’t very many people in the world who would understand such a thing, especially in the political community.  Thankfully, Catherine was able to secretly keep in communicado with a group of well trained, yet eccentric group of wiccans and earth magic practitioners so she wouldn’t have to keep all of this bottled up and kept away from those who would further try to label her as “crazy”, like the far right who almost successfully averted her campaign, trying to call to their mass of Christian followers to rally against her beliefs. Though they proved to be an obstacle, it didn’t stop her from winning the popular vote, though she had a bit of trouble with the electoral college, narrowly clinching Michigan and Alabama to break past her opponent, ________.  Campaigning as a near progressive had been a risky move, but with the success of her wildly popular TV show, she was able to garner the support of the young adults and minorities.  

Unfortunately, she seemed to be at a stand still with the air spirit as the stray wind had vanished. Banking on experience, meditating was Catherine’s primary tool in accessing her spiritual side, so she got in a half lotus position and began to meditate on her chakras.  Closing her eyes, Catherine focused on her throat chakra, so she let out a forceful “haaaaaam” and breathed on the blue aura surrounding her thyroid gland in her throat for about ten minutes.  It was calming and refreshing to be able to rest for even a short time, as meetings and bureaucracies seemed to take up most of her days in the White House.  Shortly, in her mind’s eye, she felt another aura color begin to merge with her throat’s aura, a grey ball of energy.  So she consciously let it in and began to feel another presence slowly take over her vocal chords.  

“Ha!” She spoke involuntarily, “The council has yet to properly congratulate you on your win, my dear Cath.  May I call you that? Cath is the name of an ancient light deity and we at the spirit council in Laodecia playfuly have given you this nickname.  It seems fitting”

“Erm, greetings, spirit.  To whom am I speaking?”

“I am called Dalokolon.”

“Well, Dalokolon, You may call me what you wish, for as you may know I have done my best to be as loyal as I can to the Earth and all of its spirits, rather, that which are benevolent and upholding the tenets of the council of light.  So you’re from Laodecia, then?  I have heard of this council before.  Tell me, What are its allegiances and how similar is it to the council of light?”  Fluidly, she began to speak again.

“It predates the council of light by 3000 years, as the council of light is an inter-planetary council as you may know, while Laodecia concerns itself primarily with the cultures and intertwinings of the spirits of Earth as they relate to humans.  Maybe our most recent work you would not have heard of, however, was giving the idea for a car engine that runs on water in a dream to some unfortunate being who was promptly poisoned to death by cranberry juice at a Cracker Barrel in 1988.  Since then we have been loathe to whisper our secrets for ascension, as we call them, and hereby dedicate ourselves to energizing and encouraging “world changers” who have the ideas that will save our planet from further crises.” Catherine breathed, widened her eyes and swatted the warmer-than-normal air of the spirit that hovered inches from her face, controlling her voice.

“Cranberry juice, eh?  Well, that’s too bad.  I really liked cranberry juice, though not the pure stuff, just the blend that they put in the drinks nowadays.  And no, I have not heard of cars that run on water, though I’m not surprised that perhaps oil and energy companies would have problems with the idea.  Great idea,”  She added, eyebrows raised. “It’s too bad.”

“Too bad indeed, which is why we have decided to send our sprites and muses to large groups of people.  For instance, burning man was our idea.”  Catherine laughed.  

“Burning man?  And, what, let me guess, LSD?  Enya?  Yoga pants?”  It was the spirit’s turn to laugh through her.  

“You got two out of three.  I have heard you are an entertainer.  This proves to be very helpful, even in our world, as there are many a sprite who have latched onto humans to provide nothing more than simple wit in order to entertain.  I am surprised to see you without one, as it would prove very helpful in proceedings and interviews to come.  I could summon one for you if you wish- just imagine being able to deftly come up with remarks to garner laughter and comraderie on the fly that seemingly come out of nowhere.”

She shrugged, “Well, that is very kind of you, but most of them seem to fly away at the first meeting or summit I attend.”  She then shifted, and nodded uncontrollably.

“Ah yes, ‘perilous politics’ as we deign it.  Our council has made it one of our top priorities never to get involved in politics. Whenever we try to do anything, the measure gets riddled and messed up in jargon by lawyers and the sprite comes back to us immediately shaken and disturbed.  It is an unfortunate affair that has broken the spirit of some of our best.  Which is why I have come to you.”

“Oh, Dalokolon?”  Catherine shifted an eyebrow.  “Why are you here if you try and keep away from politics?”  Then she nodded again, involuntarily.  

“We have come to thank you for your efforts in heralding the serious need to stop climate change.  Though we are grateful that America is finally in the Paris Climate Agreement, albeit a bit too late, the threat we now face has always been so much more than a political one, of course.  This threat is so much more than politics, so we in the spirit realm have all come together to summit on the topic of climate change, and so the Council of Laodecia have sent me to formally invite you to it.”  

“To a spiritual summit?  Sounds exciting.”  Catherine shifted.  “So, if all you had to do was invite me, why spend all this time chit chatting?”  She smiled.

“I guess this would be a meet and greet.”

“Meet and greet, eh?  Well met, well met…” she trailed off.  “Well, Dalokolon, I am sure you know I have body guards around me 24/7 and even a bug I think in my bathroom, though that hasn’t really been confirmed… Truthfully I don’t know if I will be allowed to come to a ‘spirit summit’ as my movements and hours are plotted to the minutest detail.  Alas,”  She shook her head, “My life is not my own.”  

“Nonsense,” the spirit replied, “I am sure you have SOME say over your days as President.  Be that as it may, the good thing about being at a spirit summit is that it comes to you.  Your gardens would work just fine. All we would need for you to collect would be a few crystals here and there, and to burn a special kind of incense that would keep any energetic pollution at bay.  Admittedly, there are not very many good spirits who would willingly travel to Washington D.C. as it is a hub of negative spiritual energy, consisting of so much Freemason presence.”

“Ugh,” Catherine rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”  

“Yes, the Freemasons have done so much to thwart any Laodecian presence or otherwise over the Centuries.  But this meeting is too important for us to miss, besides,” Dalokolon added, giving her finger a point at the mirror she was talking into, “To any outsider it would just look like you are meditating in your gardens.  And I know everyone knows you meditate.”   She looked at the ground and pursed her lips.  

“Well, I’m sure my aides would be asking questions if they see me in a… what, a circle of… stones, and incense and fairies… Do the spirits give off any particular auras that are visible?  I’d like to keep what I am up to a secret if at all possible.”  The spirit sighed through her.

“And no.  We will not be giving off any visible spectrum auras, unless any of your aides happen to have their third eye open, which… is that a possibility?”

“Doubtful. With all of the pollution in this area I struggle to keep my own pineal gland activated.”  Catherine paused for a second.  “Well, If there is no other way, then I guess that would be fine.  It would be refreshing to have another more objective approach to climate change for once that doesn’t just include taxing emissions and hoping the oil companies will comply.  To be honest, I’m tired of all of the environmental talks and meetings and would like one that just… well, gets things done.  So tell me, what are we going to cover in this, erm, garden party?”

“Well, when it comes to new ideas, our scouts are always pumping information from overheard conversations and causalities when mixing together technologies that appear across the horizon of our collective consciousness.  Information travels quite fast among the faeries, who themselves have evolved in communication just as humans have, except in a much more… ethereal design.”

“Oh?” Catherine tilted her head.  Then began to lick her lips for some reason.  

“Ah, it seems I have depleted your saliva by channeling through you.  May I have some water?”      Dalokolon requested this as he craned her head around the room, apparently looking for some water.  

“Um, no I’m fine… wait, you take actual saliva from me to channel? How in the hell does that work?”  She looked into her mirror and watch her face turn from a picture of incredulousness to to a crinkle-eyed smile.  

“Well, if you must know the mechanics, my physical form is most comfortably stored in water, much like the soul aether.  And in order to travel from Laodecia to your United States I must transport myself in clouds and storms, which is the most unstable, or take control of great whales or fish, which is the easiest and most stable.”

“So… you took a fish here.”

“I prefer dolphins, actually.”

“The dolphin express.  Does it take long?”  She licked her lips again. “Ah, I am definitely beginning to feel a bit dry.  Fascinating.” The spirit sighed.

“And no, it only takes a few weeks.”  Her eyes widened.

“Weeks? Yikes, it takes only a day by plane.  And isn’t it dangerous out there, with sharks and all?”

“No, I can easily find another host if the one I am using dies for some reason.  So may I...”

“No, we’re fine.”  Dakolon sighed again.  “This is kinda funny, by the way,”  She added.  Then, “Oh!”  She gulped.  “Well, this is...” gulp “easy.” gulp “Ahem.”  She paused.  “Got any more?”  She blinked twice, then gulped again.  “Ah.  Good.  Always a way.  Glad I made it work even though I’m not a dolphin.  Anywho.  Were were we?”  

“We communicate.”  She blinked twice again.

“Ah yes...”

“As you humans have eight chakras, including one that encompasses the soul, us spirits only have one, a pink glowing spherical energy center that exists much like your crown chakra.”

“I see.”

“And we communicate primarily by emoting feelings, which turn into light-codes that are refracted off of each other’s energy centers, that most every spirit can interpret because we have created a universal code-language, much like ants in a colony, except much more advanced.”

“Sure.”

“Although there is a sect of spiritual entities that have kept to a separate language of code, they are few compared to the many that heeds the Laodecian by-laws and language.  We call them ‘Entemyrs’ and their language ‘Entemyrian’, one descendent from ancient aliens that inhabited your planet tens of thousands of years ago, and are even mentioned in Biblical and ancient Sumerian records.”  

“So, some kind of Alien code?”

“Yes, emitted from… well, technology that existed at one point and perhaps will never exist again.”

“So what is this code like?”  She asked.  Then, a pause.  

“Oh, it is based upon the light of the sun.  The sun gives off light that is different compared to other stars, each has its own unique signature, a relay of information that can be read metaphysically by your crown chakra or aligned with any of your endocrine glands, really, your endocrine glands being, of course, the chakras of old.”

“Of course,”  Catherine replied to herself.  She had done some studies of how metaphysical meditation related to the physical, each chakra having been found to relate to the seven endocrine glands in the body.  “You don’t need to school me on meta science.  I know how the body works.”

She then inquired to Dakolon again, after another pause.  “You seem to be distracted, Dakolon.  Tell me, what’s on your mind?”  

“Ah it is nothing.  Simply a memory I have of a fellow air spirit from the time of Lemuria, a brother of mine if you can call it that, one that always causes me to pause and recollect fondly.”

Her eyebrows raised.  

“I’m listening...”  She felt herself laugh and smile.

“Well at that time, about 11560 BC, there existed much more land on the earth that now exists.  About 1/3 of the land that existed at that time is now underwater, decimated by natural disaster and wars.”

“Wars? Are we talking nuclear wars or...”

“No, one of higher technology, brought in by aliens.  Technology that could instantly create storms, earthquakes and even volcanoes, decimating landscapes, creating the eventual ruin and subterranean descent into the waters of what is now the Pacific Ocean by a flood.”

“Was this flood caused by aliens too?”

“Indeed. We spirits latched onto this technology and so my brother Armanth was quite adept at controlling weather patterns, helping humans and spirits alike by creating sunny days to provide surges in solar power arrays or rainfall to help with crops when needed.”

“Solar power, eh?”

“Yes, solar power and wind power were the primary types of energy harnessed during this age.   We spirits were often called upon to help humans to harness these forms of energy to much success.  This was our primary role in helping the human race become more in tune with nature, by becoming a bridge of the elements in order to bring sustenance and life.  Lemurians often held festivals and early forms of seances to grab our attention and partner with us for a specific cause.  As I recall, there was one particularly arid spring and summer needed more rainfall for a village to continue, so Armanth was called upon and he brought me and some of his friends to a meeting with some of the village elders.  It was a particularly sunny day, with the crystal tablets containing the solar energy in the fields shining and creating all kinds of colors in the visible and non-visible spectrum.  After exchanging pleasantries, we all harnessed the clouds as some of the villagers started to rain-dance in the nude, a clarion call of the utmost importance for bringing rain.  Suddenly, a hovership arrived within a tornado to disrupt the séance, as the aliens who created the flood were already starting to attack the land with small disruptions here and there.”

“What were these aliens called?”

“In your Bible, they were called ‘Nephilim’, or fallen angels.  In other languages, of course, many other things.  They came from a rift in time from another galaxy to enslave entire cultures to their wills, their most successful outcome for them being Judaism.”

“And subsequently, Christianity.”

“Indeed,” Dalokon agreed, “Christianity was also an alien dichotomy, one created by what many call the ‘greys’.  If you read the new testament you have to opposing teachings- Jesus and the apostle Paul, or ‘Saul’.  Love and hate.  Human and alien.  But that is beside the point.”

“Really?” Catherine responded in surprise.  “Do you have proof of this?”

She then shook her head and waved a brown lock of long, straight hair away from her eyes.  

“Not now.”  Catherine laughed and put the lock of hair back in place.  

“Do you usually get this off-topic with people though?  Really, this is all quite interesting… but, I do have meetings to go to and my husband may come in after his workout and spa treatments.  If someone comes in and sees me talking to myself… well, Matthew may understand, as I can tell him almost anything but this, this takes the proverbial cake.”  She then pursed her lips.  

“Do you want to hear the rest of this story?  We could always get back to talking about the sun...”

“Well, yes, I am more than intrigued.”  Her head nodded.

“Ahem, the Nephilim were that day successfully routing the festivities with a tornado, when Armanth had an idea that he quickly whispered to me. While the tornado was in its fury, we all decided to go into the hover ship and disable the device that was creating the storm. Needless to say, the aliens didn’t see it coming.”

“You can disrupt technology, then?”  She then shrugged.

“Nowadays, not so much.  But back then, with the atmospheric conditions, we had much more power than we now do.  But his plan went one step further- to also disable the hovering engines that kept it aloft so that the village could see what was really going on, pulling back the curtain on their plan, so to speak.  For that Amarth sacrificed himself, shedding his spirit form in an effort that wasn’t yet seen for centuries.  I thought at the time he had the power to turn off the engines, but he must have known what he was doing.  I will never forget his glow and lightsoulishness.  He had a way about him that lit up beings who were nearby.  The whole village looked up and saw a giant hovercraft crashing in the remnants of a tornado.  They stormed inside, held those inside accountable for crimes of disruption and placed the ship on top of a mountain as a shrine to the spirits that were involved.  Though it is our intention as spirits to always work in ways unseen, promoting atheism, as most religions are alien based, I visited that shrine with my friends for centuries to come, up until the great flood.”

Catherine’s eyes widened and she breathed in heavily.  “Wow color me impressed. How many times have you shared that story?”  

“With a human?  None.”

“So what happens when a spirit sacrifices itself?”

“We now know that it dissolves its chakra and becomes light and goes back into the sun, waiting for millions of years to evolve yet again into another spirit perhaps.”

“Which brings us back to our discussion about light, haha”  

“Indeed. So, each star gives off its own unique signature and that signature, or language, changes with each age, as the age of Aquarius heralded a ever-so-slightly faster sequence of light that translates to a higher vibration in our collective aura.  One, that if focused upon, creates more unity and even clairvoyance in the consciousness and more interactive feelings in each endocrine gland that causes humans and spirits alike to come together and coexist in harmony.”

“Ah, I was wondering when and how the age of Aquarius was going to kick in.”  Catherine replied as she walked over to a studded red antique chair.  Her bedroom was decorated in red and black primarily, with fixtures and paintings of white and gold providing most of the contrast to her color scheme in it.  Scarlet curtains adorned slate gray wallpaper and she flipped open the dresser next to the chair to remove a tray of glasses and a pitcher of water.  Dakolon laughed through her.

“Ha! And I was wondering when you were going to refresh yourself.” Catherine said nothing in reply but sipped the water and situated herself in the chair.  Then, after a moment, channeled again.  “Do you have any questions?”  She tilted her head and furrowed her brow.  The soft orange lamp came on automatically as the sun began to set and she could hear some commotion in the hallway beyond the door.

“So, when is this going to happen, the summit meeting?” Catherine whispered to herself.  

“In about two weeks.”  She whispered in return.  “We have spirits traveling in from all over the world.  Make note of the date June 8th. A spirit or myself will come to you to give further directions. Please bring an abalone shell for protection, obsidian, ocean jasper, some rose quartz, and turquoise if you can find any.  Also, burn juniper incense and sage at the summit.  These effects will help relay our auras more fluidly and protect you from psychic harm.”

“Sounds good,”  She replied in a whisper as she turned on the screen that emitted from a bracelet on her wrist, projecting onto her hand.  She tapped a few keys in, closed out a few windows and a ting sounded from the calendar program she was using.  “I’m honestly excited about this, as most human meetings are riddled with bureaucracies and lies trying to benefit the corporate takeover that is constantly a thorn in my side when it comes to getting any true progress done…  I have to play a very slow game and agree with most everything that comes my way from certain companies if I am to even keep my cards in my hand.  A meeting without agenda besides to benefit the earth would be welcome.”

“Well, that’s why we’re here.”  She responded to herself as the screen faded and her bracelet dimmed, shutting down.   “We are nothing if not adhering to the higher order of furthering human progress and development.”

“Atheism, huh?”  

“Yes, the societies that all flourished the most, historically, were all atheist.  I won’t delve too much into anthropological history, but trust me on this,”  She felt herself smile  “The winning game is one without religion.”

“I dunno, being a wiccan follower has always worked out for me.  But I guess we’ll agree to disagree.”  Still whispering,  she heard someone come to the door and walked in.  “Oh!  Matthew, Honey, I was just, uh...”  Catherine trailed off.  Matthew, a greying professor of humanities at Oberlin college, had taken off from his teaching to support his wife in her first term.  Matthew heaved and placed his hat and bag on the coat rack and looked at her inquisitively, turning to put his hands on his hips.

“Contemplating? Scheming?  Sneaking?”  He bent down and took off his shoes. “World domination?  You know what I keep telling you about that, honey.  None of that here.”  She laughed and offered him her glass of water.  

“Hmm?” He shook his head.

“No thanks.  I just had sports drink from the free vending machines downstairs.  Did you know they now carry smoothies?”

“Ooh, what kinds?”  Catherine rose to give her husband a hug.  

He embraced her, then sat in the chair beside her and began to switch on the wall projector TV.  “Well, only three right now, raspberry punch, chocolate almond and, uh, I think some kind of banana or colada.  Pina colada.”  

“Seems like they’re puttin on the ritz, huh?  I really liked their kombucha offering.  See,”  She ribbed him on the shoulder.  “World domination has its perks.”  He scoffed.

“Yeah, you play as the military that already has it all and maybe a kombucha will help you forget those that suffer because of it.”  

“Kombucha’s really niice...”  Catherine sang.  She reached over and massaged Matthew’s shoulders, his hand still on the remote.  “Come on, don’t fret what we can’t really change.  Let’s do the little we can do every moment to see the tidal wave come at the end.  Let’s ride that big ol’ wave till kingdom come.”  Matthew looked at her inquisitively.  She sighed.  He perked up, though and reclined more in his chair, flipping through the stations as the projector flickered on the wall.  

“You seem more upbeat than usual.  You’re mostly the one complaining about corporate cronies and not me- you… you must have been talking to someone.”  She felt herself smile involuntarily and then widened it.  

“You could say I have my sources...”  He harumphed, fixed his glasses, then landed on the history channel.  

“Well, I’m glad.  Keep talking.  Kombucha is good for you.”

“Too true.”  They then listlessly fell into silence, Matthew fixated on some old murder mystery still unsolved and Catherine reviewed notes given to her by her speech writer for a labor union speech the next day.  Once she got near the end of the speech, something she read caused her brow to furrow.  She then looked over at Matthew, then at her notes.  Then at Matthew.  Then back to her notes.  “Honey...”  

“Mmm?” He kept looking at the screen.  

“Aren’t we for keeping jobs and business domestic instead of overseas?”

“That’s what they hired you for, business, I suppose.”  She pinched him.  

“Hey! I kept my television show up and running mostly by myself.  And there were all of those non-profits I had to cede over to my subordinates...”  He turned back to her.  

“So?” She sniffed.

“I just didn’t want it to seem like I’m flip-flopping.  It says here that I am supposed to say ‘We are grateful for Iran’s protection of the Afghanistan border by threat of refugees and criminals and are pleased to offer them full coverage of our shipping fleet in cotton, wheat and textiles and will be hereby operating at full throttle and will be repealing all overseas taxes to this region.”  He looked at her inquisitively.  

“I don’t understand.  Isn’t this something we’re not really supposed to care about?  Aren’t you the ‘energy, climate change, welfare’ candidate?”  

“Well, the fact is, we can offer all of those things domestically and haven’t really relied on importing them in the past.  Especially wheat?  I mean, isn’t kansas’ entire reason of being for wheat?”

“It would take away a lot of jobs...”

“And its at a labor union gathering!  Most of the executives there are solely interested in keeping their workforce local.  It would be like announcing that we’re taxing racist sentencing outcomes at a police gathering.”

“Burn!” Matthew exclaimed, turning off the projector and giving her his full attention.  “Well, it would definitely make you unpopular with the people.  You might even get a few ‘boos’”  She shook her head.

“I just don’t get it.  I know I have had to say a few unpopular things in my nine months in office, and many things I would surely never say.  But this stumps me.”  He shrugged and waved his hand in the air.  

“It’s the nature of the beats.  What can you do?  You know if you don’t say it you will come under a lot of flak from congress who will all likely just pass sneaky legislation making taxes from Afghanistan obsolete, driving companies to take their business there.  And then what?  You don’t get a second term?”  He patted her arm.  “You gotta choose your battles, Cath.”  She thought for a moment.  Then exclaimed,

“Cath! Oh, hey I’m gonna, uh, take a shower.”  

“Haha, Cath, you callin yourself now?  Are you okay?”  She nodded.

“Yep, just be a minute.”  She ran to the bathroom, shaking her head, muttering to herself.  “Can’t believe I forgot.”  Then she felt herself chuckle and smile.  “You’re… you’re really sneaky, aren’t you?” she whispered to Dakolon once she got out of earshot.

“Did you forget I was here?”  Dakolon replied whisperingly, through her, of course.

“I dunno, I just got all involved with Matthew and work… Did you hear what I have to say tomorrow?  Were you there for that?  People are going to kill me!  What am I going to say?”  She was flustered, and began to take off her clothes.  “And, more importantly, is there anything else I need to know?  Am I good?  I mean, are you going to leave now?”  

“Hmm...” The spirit crinkled her face in contemplation and she felt it patiently wait for her to get in the shower before they continued their conversation.  She got into the corner of the lavishly decorated bathroom and pressed a button on the wall and the glass panels came down and clacked into the floor.  When Catherine got under the water, she felt her body relax and she started to scrub, reaching for the soap and began to lather.  Dakolon then channeled, “Well, Cath, I have an aura that even makes my energy unsuceptible to humans, and in nearly every interaction with humans I am forgotten in moments or days.  I reside in your soul right now, so I am you, according to your perception.”  She bent over and began to wash her hair.

“Uh, fascinating.  So… why are you still here?  I mean I appreciate this and all but after a while it becomes a little bit invasive, if you know what I mean.  I mean, I am taking a shower.”  She felt herself nod respectfully and then was silent for a moment.  But then she pressed the spirit more.  “Look, I brought you in here.  I still feel like there is more that you can do for me, things I could never truly know about or understand, things going on around the world that you know and are connected to… even politically speaking.”  She was speaking freely now, at a normal vocal range, thoughts racing, putting ideas together, scrubbing furiously.  With the addition of italian marble and silver metalworking intertwining with the all-glass hot tub and automated shower panels, the bathroom was an upgrade Catherine did not expect. Unused to such extravagant luxury herself, the shower was one of the few places where she felt she could think so having her own technologically advanced pondering spot was a genuine bonus for her. There was even a panel installed near the hot tub for watching TV but she didn’t use it.  She felt herself nod.  

“Go on...”  

“Was your plan just to hang out until the spirit summit?”

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere if that’s what you mean.  I could take control over one of your domestic animals in the house, I see you like cats.”  She shuddered.

“That would be creepy.  And perhaps unethical.  Is it much like what you’re doing with me, uninvasive and minimal?”

“But of course,”  came the reply.  “Most of the time I would be just watching but can interact with you at any moment and leave the cat whenever I want.  Having a host is just easier so I am not whisked about by air conditioning and have to expend energy to create drafts and winds.  It is how most spirits interact with the world.”  

“I dunno...”  She replied, and pushed the button implanted in the colorful fresco tile wall.  The dripping panels automated and moved up and she stepped over the small partition on the floor to the purple, fuzzy rug and grabbed a towel.  She wiped her face, looking into the mirror again, wrapping the towel around her torso. Catherine usually kept her brown hair short and businesslike, as per advice from an old friend after her successful bout as a famous fortune teller.  At one point in her life, she would keep her hair in braids, traveling the world, bathing not quite as often as she should, a fanny pack on her hip and a quick smile on her lips, always stooping down to pick up trash and recycling, crashing on couches. Those days in Europe were in her twenties, before she went viral online by being able to give the most accurate psychic readings possible, as well as being able to read minds on occasion, much like a magician performer would tout.  Now, it seemed her powers have since dimmed, probably through prominence and politics, the latter her having stumbled into it by suggestion, always having good ideas and report with world leaders who regularly called upon her to ask for advice.  She studied herself anew, her sharp eyebrows furrowed, trying to find all the angles to this new situation she could use to her advantage.  Dakolon seemed to do nothing but eke out a smile after a few seconds of scrutiny and put her hand over her mouth, chuckling in some kind of child-like, kiddish gesture.  She responded with more furrows.  “You spirits are really the playmakers aren’t ya.”  She paused, grabbing another towel to dry her hair and began to comb it.  “I don’t see any reason why we should part ways,” She whispered again, glancing quickly at the door, then back, offering up a smile of her own.  Her bright brown eyes were piercing, almost trying to convince herself of something she wasn’t sure would work out.  “What do you say- answer me, however you can- would you like to come with me and help save the world?”  She then felt a wink and a slight smile.  Dakolon breathed through her and whispered back.  “Politicking isn’t really my game.  I prefer ideas, collaboration, not legality.”

She contemplated her next move, starting with an “um,” a tisk, then faint memories of gubernatorial meetings gone right and wrong flooded, wins and losses, fists thrown in the air of victory and defiance, a wine splotched plaid blazer, her mother’s baked cobbler.  She ended up just feeling nostalgic and hungry, and scratched her head, reaching for her presidential bathrobe.  

“This isn’t over,”  she breathed, and stepped outside to her husband reading.  

“Oh, Cath,”  He nodded, “I was thinking for lunch we could head over to The Periodical to show, you know support and good will of the people and all that jazz.”  he gave a shrug,  “Ehh?” Craning out his neck.  She sighed.

“And to try their lamb skewer again?  I do have some bills to sign after I eat… Why don’t you make a request of Pietro?  Didn’t he recreate your favorite shepherd’s pie, even better you said than The Colonial Inn?”  He looked forlorn, but reserved.  He had a habit of playing it cool when it came to matters of ill-importance, keeping his cards far from his hand, only reaching when it came to major hockey events nearby.  The big stuff.  

“Ehh, I feel squished.”

“Cabin fever?”

“Like that time in the okanoakes.  Remember how all the cod I caught only lasted a day in the fridge?  And I felt so cheated by that bed- I still get nightmares from that spring tearing into my back.”

She shrugged, walking away from him and into her walk-in closet, pressing a panel on the wall that opened the spacious room even further, showing a slideshow of the possible outfits that could be brought in by the White House tailor at a moments notice should she choose them from the opaque screen coming from a tablet.  Her closet was divided into a color scheme that resembled a rainbow- reds, oranges, yellows to her left; greens, blues and purples and violets to her right. Being a woman that wore a lot of violet, the right wall looked like an over-ripe grape vine with the brown and emerald finish.  She still had a hankering for plaid and berries, so, she picked a green and purple blazer and skirt match up, picking up some black earrings that were placed neatly behind them.  

“Oh I remember,” she replied, slipping on her clothes and half-shouting back to Matthew, as the room was big enough to hold a good sized cafe and bakery, with plenty of seating.  

“But you can’t bring up your first world problems here, mister, remember?  One of our rules for living royally?  And besides, Hunt Tieszen will be there.” she turned and looked at him in the eye as she said this, pointedly bringing her words home.  

“I doubt it.”  She shook her head.

“No, I’m serious.”  He looked back at her with renewed deference.  

“Oh, that’s what you mean.  I thought you said your abilities went away.”  She struggled with a floral brooch on her lapel.

“N-nope. Just comes and goes.”  

A wind rustled in the room, twisting one of the curtains in a spiral and Catherine felt a presence leave her.  The gust wasn’t lost on Matthew who immediately dropped his book and pulled off his glasses, mouth agape.  

“Wha- what the hell was that?”  Catherine stammered.  Usually adept at coming up with solutions on the fly, a.k.a. bull-shitting, she had to check herself for a good ten seconds.  Matthew, however, was immediately on the disturbance like a housecat on a beetle and was hunched over, looking under the rug and behind a coffee table, scurrying.  She blinked.

“Uh, it was probably the air conditioning.  Such an old house, this place… this place gives me the creeps, hon, I’m not kidding you.”  After checking the perimeter and returning to his favorite armoir. He gave a few “whew’s” and sighed into his book.  

“Scared the ‘ell outta me.”  

“Hmm...” Catherine squinted at the curtains and could see a bulge of air still, thankfully, over the vent by the window, as yet undetected and perhaps indiscernible to the naked eye, or one who perhaps didn’t know what to look for.  

“Well, I’m going to report it to the house staff and see if they can look up the electrician or somebody.  Somebody… who, who would that be… anyway… Um…”  She cleared her throat.  “I wonder if Halbert is having fun, needs some company.  Our calico can be pretty needy sometimes.”

Matthew shrugged.  

“Just don’t forget to call representative Clancy about your defense requirements”

She shuddered and thought of the wiry haired, monstrous eyebrowed representative who was the bridge, or arbiter between her actions and the military.  Needless to say, she didn’t have much say over new bases that were built or where the next fleet of battleships were going to be stationed.  It was Frederick Clancy that pulled the strings, although she was sure there was somebody above him that was so much more imperious than “Fred”, but that was as ambiguous as tomorrow’s rain.  When someone else was controlling the largest military in the world and she only took “orders”from above, the meeting every month and the call once a week took a lot of energy out of her.  Where were all those bombs going?  Where was all that exorbitant amounts of tax spending being allocated?  She had little idea, and neither did the public.  She made herself a note every time she heard his name to change that somehow.  

“Oh my, I think I’d rather eat raw steak.”  Being a vegetarian, for Catherine, that was saying a lot.  Matthew snickered.  

“Maybe you can start small.  Fish?  Shrimp?  A hiatus on military bases? There are baby steps you can take.”  She breathed.  

“I… I think I’m going downstairs to eat.  Joining me?”  Matthew picked up his book, a copy of ________.  

“Nah, I mean, not now, I’ll maybe get some food later.  Just had a smoothie from the machine.”

Catherine tilted her head.  

“I thought you wanted to go to The Periodical?” He shook his, finding his place in the book.

“Nah, that was just for later.  I dunno.  I’m feeling indecisive at the moment.”

“Mmkay.” She smiled, and she left the room.  The opulence of the hallways reflected a time of introspection of the glory within the American experiement, tapestries and collages of landscapes and city skylines, all surrounded by scarlet and purple in the carpet and wall trimmings.  Per Catherine’s request there was no gold, as she felt the color to burgeois for her tastes.  Still being mindful of Dakolon, she looked for any stray gust of wind in the corridors and indeed, she felt a chilly air surround her, and then a smile play about her lips.  

“Should I look for your cat?”  Catherine sighed.

“Yes, yes.  I’m just really feeling that we could collaborate on a few things I have to do in the next few weeks – the G7 summit lies just days away and I could use your help on the, um, energy and global peace innitiatives.”  Her eyebrow was raised.  She saw someone walking down the hallway, an aide, and quickly put her cellular dot to her ear, and continued talking as it lit up, masking the fact that she was talking to herself.   “And who knows what else?  You could… you could just speak through me, is that right?  I mean I could just ignore the- the trash I’ve been given to say that would truly weaken our future globally and...”  She caught her breath.

“I’m sorry, Cath,”  She shook her head “I cannot get involved with human politicking.  Only as it applies to the greater whole,” her hands twirled and formed a globe.  “You need an adviser that is on your side, on the people’s side.  I can only give advice to you, and only on certain subjects.”

Thoughts of her secretary of state flashed through her mind as she rounded a corner of a hall, aiming for the elevators, running to hold the closing door as she mumbled to herself,

“Certain subjects.” then, “Thank you” to the masseuse who held the door open for her.  Her chosen Secretary of State was progressive CEO Allison Kerimyov, a feisty but reluctant staff member who headed up the world’s first non-profit electric car company, Mao.  The graying, eccentric visioneer constantly kept Catherine in check, saying “Remember what could get you killed.  No exposing wall street.  No usurping the Military’s authority vocally.  Be quiet, calm, and calculated.  Focus on your long game.”  And every time she met with Allison, she genuinely had fun, sharing jabs at opponents and each other, walking along the West Patomac park, she was a true friend in this dreary political game she was playing, and it seemed to get more and more bleak the more she found out about it.  As she descended down to the basement for dinner, she continued to play with her hair, an off-screen habit her handlers were trying to make her break, as the right side of her bangs hung down lower than her left side, easier for grabbing.  “What subjects, then?”

“Climate change and technology.”  Catherine scratched her head.  

“Why only those two?”  she put her voice on an up-swing on the word two, to make it sound like she was about to answer her own question, being mindful of the masseuse in the elevator.

“It is because within those two subjects, if resolved in the most widespread way, exists the solution to everything.  Politics, as you know it, ceases to exist.”  She paused, allowing Dakolon to finish, sensing that she had her fellow passenger’s attention.

“Just imagine a world where everyone is connected to a block-chain encrypted communicative application.  On this application, anyone who wanted to come up with legislation or ideas for governing the whole could do so, have those ideas spread and garner attention nation wide, and have those ideas sent to anybody with the application to have them vote either ‘yay’ or ‘nay’, putting them to effect by a group vote.”  Catherine’s eyes widened and she smiled and waved at her fellow passenger to go ahead out the door, knowing that she was being watched talking to herself.  

“And that would make my job a lot easier.”

“That would make it obsolete.”  She snickered.

“And you know how my opponents talk about jobs.”

“When truthfully,” she felt her finger make a pointing notion, “Technology supplants 86% of all jobs, as you know it, and halting the progress of technology will only hurt the economy that could, through it, bring wealth and prosperity for all.”  She smiled, and waved to Arnold, a secretary she recognized who kept records of all of the letters to and from her desk.  “And that,” Dakolon replied, “Is my only platform, and my only speech I can give to you to repeat, besides what we have in store for you relating to climate change.”  

She shook her head, finding a table alone at the restaurant, one with a menu that had a near infinite combinations of food items, or so Catherine supposed.  A waiter came up to her immediately, a young, vibrant fellow with a lot of piercings and a comb-over.  He smiled, self-aware that he was in the presence of “royalty”, as Catherine was said to have a certain “glow” about her, as liberal pundits observed.  

“What can I get you today, Madame President?”  She put her reading glasses on and looked at the suggested menu, which was three pages long with a velvet backing for each page.  

“Um, I’ll start out with a Reisling and a glass of water.  And French bread with Tapenade.”  The waiter nodded his head.

“I’ll get right on that.”   She paused and looked up, clutching her reading glasses.

“Oh, and by the way, what is your name?”  He blushed, and clutched the menus tightly that he just picked up from her table.  

“Er… it’s Alex.  Madam.”  She smiled up at him, eyes locking.

“Good. Alex, it’s nice to finally meet you.  I think I have seen you here once before, no?”

He nodded, sheepishly, scratching his head.

“Yeah, I’ve been here for about three weeks.  Or so… Yeah.”  

She smiled, more genuine than forceful, turning off her cellular bud and returning it to her hand, her expression quizzical.  

“So, do you like it here?  Do they… do they pay you well?”  She gave him an eyeball and he laughed.  

“It’s one of the better jobs I’ve had, yeah.  Pietro is so cool.  The other day he and I came up with an, I know this is gonna sound crazy, orange creamscicle drink that was out of this world.”  He seemed to beam with the glory of a morning sun, his professionalism set aside for the moment as he relaxed in his white long-sleeve, vest and pants, contrasting some black neck tattoos.

“Wow, hey, bring me one of those, would ya?  And I love your piercings. They would never let me have any of those.”  She responded chidishly.  

“Nah, you could rock em.”  He swatted his hand.  Catherine scoffed.

“I wish.”  Alex chuckled and left her to peruse the menu.  

She shifted and looked excitedly at the menu, putting the phone bud on her ear and even activated the wrist screen projected from a bracelet.  Eating gourmet at the White House was something Catherine hadn’t yet gotten tired of, falling for Pietro’s European, Slovenian dishes immediately, having only a few choice dishes in which she alternated.  A few diners came in and waved, but mostly the white and pearl decorated chateau style diner was empty, its gold etched chairs gleaming in the soft orange glow of the hanging chandeliers.  She sipped on her reisling, lightly, with a scrunched face like a child looking through binoculars for the first time, peering at the scrolling data emanating from her hand- a red-tinged flight canceled to Chrimea, blue lit twitter quote suggestions (she had a long list of famous quotes she shared on her twitter account), energy sanction summit ideas, notes from a book she was having someone ghost-write, all the while muttering to Dakolon, testing the limits of their new-found friendship.  

“Mmmm, looks like secretary of Agriculture Dawson hasn’t latched onto hydroponics in Texas, where technology seems to be at a standstill. What should I say… What should I say?”  This was followed by a shake to her head and tight lips.  “Nope.  Nothing.  Okay, moving on.”  Catherines heel was lifting off of her foot as she swayed it up and down, crossing her legs, finishing her wine and dipping the bread into the tapenade.  “Well, maybe Crimea can come here and see the way our revitalized education system is working in downtown San Fransisco, we can put them up in our swankiest hotels and offer to send maybe Allison over in the future… But that would weaken my stance on continuing education in third world countries as it is one of my strengths.  Well?”  Another shake of her head.  She harumphed and put down her half-finished wine.  “You gotta give me something, friend.  I am sure you reeeeally want to help.  Don’t you?”  She felt her head shake again.  

“If I could offer up a suggestion?”  Catherine perked up, straightening out a napkin in her lap.  

“Yeah, what, anything?” She looked around self-consciously, noticing that nobody was honing in on her self-conversation.

“May I please inhabit your… Calico?  What was it’s name?  I promise I will not be very much invasive at all.”  Catherine sighed.

“You don’t like this.”

“I do not.”

“I for one,” she put her hand to her breast, “Think this is pretty cool.”  She kept nibbling at her french bread, signaling to Alex to give her more time.  All of a sudden, her ear bud started to beep and glow brightly.  Catherine mumbled “Hold on,” and pressed her in-ear.  “Hello?”  The voice on the other end sounded jubilant and playful, almost whimsical with a raspy edge like a smoker who liked to party and do the occasional whippets.  

“Catherine! Hellooooo, how’s my favorite 48th? I have the biggest news for you!”  Catherine squinted and started on her ice water.  

“Robbie? Robbie Armistead?”  

“Dumbooh, of course it is!  It’s been a long time, snagglepuss.  Two years, by my recollection.  Saffron, uh, the _____ Gala?  Mike Papierto got so drunk he fell into the punch bowl?  Poor thing, but ya know, sometimes success goes to people’s heads and they get reckless. But I bet you’ve got all kinds of support and aides and ass-wipers and yea-sayers and… and tiddly winkers, am I right?”  he drawled off the word right as if he wanted to pierce the sky, or her consciousness with it.  Robbie was a younng, thin and gaunt network producer who had ridden the tails of Catherine’s voluminous success in premonitional “divine guidance” reality TV and had seemed to drop off when she started to suggest parts of her own salary go to establishing various non-profit entities, with him suggesting she take the more “Diva” route and start making her own line of fashion, accessories and retail. Although the idea intrigued her, they had creative differences but still remained affable relations after her business creations started to take off.  

“How on earth did you get this number, old friend?  You know this is a very private and very tapped line.”  He laughed kind of like Count Dracula would, except with a more musical finish.  

“Ah-ah-ahhh, I do have my sources.  Look, I know you’re a busy woman and I won’t take up too much of your time reminiscing of the old days.  I mean, who told you to go into the world of politics and take divine power? Goddess, I am thrilled for you, every day I watch the CNNs and the NBCs and the lip-smacking talking heads, and think to myself- now theres a lady who knows what she wants, am I right?”  There it was again, the note that pierced the chem trails.  

“I kind of left behind a lot of ‘new age’ idioms when I took office,”  Catherine replied sheepishly, “And it was my father who...”  

“There was a hamster locked in her cycle,”  Robbie cut her off.  Even though straight, the metrosexual, long-winded man had a tendency to give others the impression that he was gay.  “And she wanted a way to get to the ferret, who she was in love with, who lingered on the outside of her cage.  The ferret’s name was weasel, if it matters at all, Weasel was his name.  She loved weasel.”  He was rolling off this story breathlessly, with such vivid inflections that she could hardly keep up, almost like riding a roller coaster of timbre in the voice.  “But all weasel did was blink, nothing else, nothing else.  One innocuous day the hamster saw her human come in and the weasel bit the human’s arm, making it bleed.”  As she tried to listen to the story, she heard on the line two distinct beeps, telling her that the phone call was being taped, and was liable to be cut off.  She tried to warn him.  

“Uh, Robbie, you may want to...”  He kept barreling through.  

“The hamster liked the smell of the blood, and thought that if she was able to do the same thing, she could catch the eye of Weasel and maybe even escape.  So the next day, she waited for her human to bring in the food and voila!  She ripped the bandage off and bit the human in the same spot, causing the human to bleed more and more until the human died.  She found Weasel and they lived together in bliss.  The end.”  Her eyes widened.  Catherine shifted in her chair, and saw Alex walking over to her, expectant, smiling.  Robbie continued.  “That, bugaboo, is your story and that, sweet cheeks, is how I scraped together what I have for you.”  He emphasized you just like Oprah Winnefrey would, pointing to her crowd.  “An all express pass to a media outlet, Lycra, that would effectively turn the profits from your fame and eminence through a company that would benefit, well, anything you want!”  Robbie always had a way of selling new ideas, with a flourish almost like a circus ring leader, although this one being strangely tied to a tale of death, the sweetness and breathlessness in his voice certainly carried a hard sell.   Catherine’s head was spinning.  Alex came over, eyes aglow, waving at her menu.  The musical mood in the room changed from soft classical to jazz, someone coughed in the corner.  

“Have you figured out your taste of the night?”  Alex said slyly, refilling her wine.  She was allowed two, maybe three drinks per meal.  “And don’t you usually dine in your private state room?  I mean, I don’t usually see you here...” He took off the plates opposing her from the empty seat.  She beckoned to her earbud.  

“Sorry Alex, I’m on call… Hey, uh, Robbie, could you hold on for a minute?… Sorry about that,”  She said to both of them.  “I was thinking, Alex, the borscht or the perogies?  Borscht or perogies?” He smiled back at her and lifted off her menu.  

“I got you.  Would you like anything else tonight Madame President?” She squinted, thought for a second.  

“Does this mean I am getting both?”

“But of course!  How could you get either or when you could get both! Twice is nice!”  She laughed.  

“But, yeah, I hate being wasteful… I guess I could give the leftover perogies to Matthew… anyway, I have a, erm, call on the line. Thank you.” then pressed a button on her bracelet, which had charms dangling around it to cover the newly featured tech.  “Robbie, are you there?”

“Yes, dear, so… about this deal.  I know you’re a busy girl, as I’ve said before and I don’t want to keep you from your important duties,”  He said duties as if her most important job was cleaning the cat box.  “But I am sending you my number,” he inflected this purposefully, as the phrase itself triggered her device to save his phone number into her contact directory.  “And voila, all’s well that ends well.”  She felt uneasy.  

“But really, Robbie, come on, what did that story mean?  You almost disconnected our call with the word ‘blood’ I’m pretty sure and I’m… um...”

“Freaked out?  Ahh-ah-ahh, silly face, I would never hurt yooou!  You’re gonna be my most valuable asset!  Pish posh, all that I had to do to acquire Lycra was wait for my mentor and dear friend Monty Terman to perish, may he dwell on high with the goddesses, and wah-blam!  I’m chief shareholder of a rather lucrative media outlet.  Details, details, we’re gonna go over what else this means for us later. Later, miss cheeks!  Au Revoir!”  And then a click.  A little bit shaken, but not stirred to do anything with that new information, Catherine felt a “Ahem...” escape her lips.  She turned off her ear bud but kept it attached to her ear.

“Don’t worry, my friend, I haven’t forgotten about you.” she mumbled. “You can hear me when… ah,”  Her head nodded.  “Okay.  So. How do we get you into Hubert?  Don’t worry, you convinced me that it is the right way to go.”  Her head nodded.  

“Yes, cats are more aloof and capable of having a demure, symbiotic relationships.  I find that dogs especially find me distracting and constantly want to play with me, somehow thinking usually that I reside in their tails so they end up chasing their tails constantly, or something of that nature.  It is quite frustrating.”  She chuckled.  

“Okay. How can I help?”  Her head tilted to the side and she bit her lip.

“Do you have a strong memory or image off, um, Halbert that you can conjure in your mind’s eye?  Or you can go and find him.  Usually this process is simpler, as the houses of my hosts are not quite as... big.”  Catherine breathed in heavily, and closed her eyes, folding her hands in her lap.  She focused on a memory of Halbert chasing a moth in her private kitchen, right across the hall from her master bedroom.  She remembered laughing herself silly with Matthew and one of her secretaries, as she got Halbert right when she moved out of her Chicago apartment and into the White House.  She even took a video with the camera on her bracelet, pressing the ‘record’ button on her bracelet while a playback screen hovered above her fist.  He was a feisty, curious cat that enjoyed purring and sitting on her lap when she ate at her private kitchen, even though she kept pushing him down saying “Bad!  Bad, Halbey.”  He didn’t yet know the meaning of the word “Bad.”  She was also ruminating on this memory as well when Dakolon spoke up.

“You know, I can teach him the meaning of words.”  She was taken aback.

“Whaaat...”

“Yes,” she replied, “I can take any word you like, apply a feeling to it, or even a movement, and repeat it.  Eventually the cat will take it to mean as something important to learn, will catch on, and apply it whenever heard again.  Like so...”  And all of a sudden, she felt a thought reverberate through her mind and tickle her ears- Bad! Bad Halbey.  It was even in her own voice.  She shut her eyes and put her hands to her temples.

“Ahh… I don’t like that.  I mean, I do, it doesn’t hurt or anything, but I like to have control over my own thoughts.  Channeling is okay but this… this is just strange.  I can’t do it.  Please, do you have the information you need?”  And with that, she felt a stirring of wind beside her, ruffling the white and gold trimmed tablecloth linen, causing a diner to look behind them quickly, and turn back. She sniffed, suddenly getting the shivers and shook off a sudden chill, perhaps one remnant from Dakolon.  A few moments passed while she worked on the rest of her Tapenade and Alex brought the perogies to her table with a flourish of his hand.  

“Madame,” Catherine put her hand to her chest.

“Why, thank you.”  And as she started to eat, she heard a slight “mewing” from the swinging doors that comprised the dining area.  Alex heard it, immediately set down the cutlery he was polishing, and ran over to let in Halbert.  

“Oh my, here we go” Catherine mumbled to herself and reached out towards the cat.  “Halbert!  Come here, uh, sweetie.”  The cat mewed and ran over to her, putting his paws on her legs and standing on his hind legs.  “Oh dear.  Hey there.  Is everything okay?  Did you make it in there safe?  Is Halbey feeling good?”  As a response, the cat began purring and rubbing her legs.  She smiled a bit.  “Well, I guess all is safe and sound, huh?  Yeah, thaats right.  Soon you’re gonna have all your friends here with all the pets in the house, aren’t ya?  Yes you are!  You’re gonna have a big meeting in the garden and then you’re gonna all get together with all of the cats and dogs and have a pet get together?”  She chuckled.  Halbert/Dakolon managed to sit atop Catherine’s lap while she ate, and with a swish of his tail and a purr he rested there while she finished her perogies and borscht.  Alex dropped by a few times to once top off her wine (“Are you sure you want another? I don’t want to be an accomplice to you getting drunk...or something!” and “Wow, he really enjoys sitting on your lap, huh? Think he’s gonna get any scraps?”) and Catherine finished her lunch and walked to the door with Halbert walking beside her.  There was an aide standing near the door, politely waiting for her to finish her dinner, and Stephanie Tullis, a blone, curly haired 28 year old walked up to Catherine, tight lipped, eyes direct and piercing.  

“Mrs. President, there are many bills on your desk for you to sign.” Catherine shifted uneasily, and Halbert mewed and meandered off. Catherine had a penchant for requesting further legislation and reading it thoroughly before signing off on any bills, a habit that was especially taxing for her administrative assistant, who, according to Catherine wanted to “Phone it in”.  Though not unprecedented, it took her signing sessions in the Oval office about an hour longer, something that took most presidents less than thirty minutes a day.  She forced a smile.  

“How about digging deep today… for the truth- for the truth!” Catherine pleaded.  Stephanie smiled back, a rarity, pushing her bangs out of her hair and sliding forward a few beads from her bracelet, emitting a clicking sound and passing over some notes on the bills to Catherine’s own projector phone.  These notes came from a corporate liaison who gave Catherine her “scripted” duties for the day, including sometimes what to say at certain junctures during meetings.  Needless to say, this caused a sizable amount of tension between Catherine and what she guessed at any moment was simply  a shadow entity based off of military interests that all went under the name Senicontra, with its name emblazoned on a golden pen with which she signed the papers.  Her guess to this was based on the fact that the company was effectually trying to turn her into a conservative commander-in-chief, even though she was elected as a green party candidate, with a neo-liberal, progressive agenda.  Each bill was scanned by the pen, then signed, then scanned again and the pen returned to a usually ruffled Stephanie, who was even recording their interchange for the mysterious company, which was usually strained.  A few times Catherine was pulled into meetings with dark suits with dark glances to “review” her bill signing agendas, at one time with a threat at the end of the meeting with a fruition of adding Stephanie to her daily bill signing responsibility.  Stephanie shrugged as they walked down a hallway.  

“Mrs. President, the new health care act is straight forward, just sign to enact the new proceedings protecting medical malpractice defendants as well as businesses who…”  She read notes flashing on her hand. “Are seen to lose out if and when medicare expands.”  Catherine scoffed.  

“Over my dead body.”  Stephanie placed a hand on Catherine’s shoulder, putting on a concerned  demeanor.

“Look, we’re just trying to protect U.S. jobs here, nothing else.  It is in everyone’s best interest.”  Catherine shrugged her off.

“But that is what my welfare reform act seeks to change.  Don’t you see?”  Stephanie nodded and focused back on waving her hands, almost swatting off Catherine’s arguments and stirring up supporters from an unseen crowd.

“But Mrs. President, these ‘ideas’” (She actually used quotations there) “are not very bi-partisan and probably wouldn’t be put into effect during your term, if at all.  I would be surprised if you even live to see these… things… play themselves out.”

They walked to the elevator that would take them up to the oval office and Catherine fumed while she thought of a good comeback, hesitating and trying to get in a word edgewise while they boarded the elevator and Catherine fumbled with the controls while Stephanie flipped through the screen on her hand.  “The immigration bill you should sign would upend families who are here illegally and put the law into the hands of police officers to effectively ship them safely across the border.”  Catherine gulped.

“Wha… well.  That is uh, not going to happen.”

The elevator shifted, opening its doors and the two women exited, Catherine extending her hand to let Stephanie out first.  

“Your friends in the Democratic party are few and far between, as you know. Legislation you support will be hard to parley into actual bills passed so our… vision is to see you first and foremost pass any legislation that would help the economy flourish.  We are looking to move forward and any ‘arbitrary officials’ as you called them who are watching you from Senicontra are merely taking the interests of the American People at heart.”  Catherine smirked.

“More like the rich and powerful.  Stephanie, you know that all of my ‘ideas’ or bills that should and could be passed would all progress the economy and take it to new heights, with poverty eliminated and the working class revitalized.  The rich will always be rich.  I say this enough- it is time for someone to go to bat for the poor.”  Catherine came up to the doors of the oval office and stood next to the eye scanner and waited until she heard the click. “Somebody has to stand up for...”

“Look, Madame President,”  Stephanie only brought out the Madame when she was trying to leverage a point home, and interrupting Catherine was no problem for her.   “Our constituents want fair treatment throughout this transition to a new world that technology brings, one that would be tumultuous and… very difficult without our help.” She took the bills out of the hands of one of the two security officers standing at the doorway, and offered her the gold scanner pen.  “The other three bills have to do with simple national park maintenance and police protection against… civilian discord.” Catherine swiped the pen out of Stephanie’s hand too quickly for a friendly motion and swiftly walked around to the resolute desk, showing her aide that she meant business.  

“Civilian discord?  Isn’t it already a hate crime to attack a police officer? For some reason?”  Catherine chuckled to herself and shook her head.  “Somebody tell me how that piece of legislation got passed.”  Stephanie was silent and waited for Catherine to scan in the documents, which she did while muttering with enough loudness for Stephanie to hear her.  “I’m pretty sure we were the only country to pass that kind of ridiculousness before Russia caught on...”  

“Civilian discord,” Stephanie continued after the scanning was complete, “Would mean that any civilian provoking or insulting police could then be detained and brought in for further questioning.” Catherine’s eyebrows furrowed and she flipped through the papers on the desk.

“Where? Oh...” and she put on her reading glasses and mumbled out the brief synopsis.  “Any or all instances of blatant provoking… in order to usurp police authority with verbal attacks… Yikes, um, this is unsettling.  I feel like I can quote a ‘sticks and stones’ clause to upend this whole idea.  Are police that sensitive nowadays? Are we trying to protect their feelings here?  I’m sorry, there is no way I am signing this.”  Stephanie quickly looked at notes on her hand and then glanced back at the bill.  

“It seems this one is critical to our system working at full function. If you do not sign this, I am going to have to recommend a demerit for not upholding the honor of our armed and police forces in the public mindset.”  With that, Catherine turned around and eyed Stephanie, taking off her glasses.

“Well then I may just have to let you go.  I do not feel like this much power given to police to arrest people would be in the public’s highest good.  Free speech is what I am protecting here, especially if it means free speech against the lawgivers, which is necessary for a functioning democracy, which thanks to my companies’ indictment of the previously broken and corrupt voting process, is still alive and standing.”  She handed the document back to Stephanie with a tired look.  “Although barely.  And your company…”  She said with a tap on the desk, “Is, I believe, not acting in the interests of the American people, just the military, which does not represent the people.”  Stephanie begrudgingly accepted the slightly crumpled paper and scanned it with her own pen.  

“We protect the American people, so in a large way we do represent their needs.”  Then she sighed, folded up the discarded bill, put it in a bag, and inched closer to Catherine and brought her voice down to a stifled murmur, so that Catherine had to get even closer to Stephanie to hear her.  

“Look, this has been our third week together.  I know you know what we do. We are a defense contractor.  One that has been prevalent in the White House for 16 years, once drones completely replaced most forms of military operations.  We were very successful in generating interest and support bi-partisanly during the past two decades and, honestly, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the fact that you didn’t choose one of our officials for your cabinet like it was suggested to you. Because Senicontra controls about 24% of the market share of missile ballistics and drone technology for the U.S., it is important to our investors that I get my job done.  But I can’t do my job if you fire me, which, technically, you can.  But I am willing to keep quiet if you simply take my suggestions and do what you will with them.  Senicontra can’t control you, but they do control most of the republican senate and a few of the democrats as well.  And if I go, we have connections to vice president Stalton, who is already under our grasp, and he can start to campaign for us like he has in the past.  So even though we may not have your full support, we have a majority of the senate and more than a part of the executive branch, with a few cabinet members on our side.” Catherine continued to give her a tired look, tight lipped and gave a shallow sigh.

“I know, you told me all this in your dossier.  I was hoping to just win you over, perhaps, you really are a bright girl and have your whole life ahead of you to change and mold who you want to be.  And if being a pawn for a ruthless military conglomerate is who you want to be, then I cannot stop you.   It is simply not in my nature to fire staff members I hired, even though you seemed to have slipped through somehow, I don’t know how you did it,”  Catherine offered a smile.  “And besides, I simply don’t know what the pen is for, anyone can look online and see what I have signed and what still may be in the legislative path for me to sign.”

“It is to analyze your signing technique and record our conversations. The data can implicate whether or not you sign willingly or begrudgingly, which gets pushed over to analysts who give me more assignments and talking points.”  At this, Catherine handed over the pen to Stephanie and began to search for another one in the resolute desk, opening drawers and closing them.  

“Well, in that case, um… where… where are the damn pens in here… ah!” She lifted another fancy looking pen from a middle drawer and turned to face her aide, who was now holding her arm a bit nervously, but straightened up when they met eyes.  “It is my personal resolve to never sign anything I am uncomfortable signing, or anything that flies against my moral code.  Never again.  And since we seem to be at odds when it comes to this important aspect of my job, I feel like you are of no more use to the White House.”  Stephanie shifted uneasily.  “Stephanie, I relieve you of your duties.  You may see Trisha in HR for your compensation package.”  Stephanie gave nothing but a tight-lipped response, took her pen and started for the door.  Once she was there, she looked back, almost as if to say something else, but decided against it and exited the oval office.

#Catherine GreenPartyCandidate Novel

[sirxantham-blog]

Hey!  So I am just playing around with the name 3LLO for my music until I can start to make things more... ahem... professional.  Right now, its kinda sucky, as you can tell.  Perhaps I caan do things to make it better, but for now, let’s just say, this is as good as it gets for me.  Thanks for tuning in!