The debate occurred only two weeks before the election itself. My campaign assured me that most voters didn’t tune in until the last few weeks. That fact, while depressing, bore out in our numbers. More eyes were on us than ever before, and following the news storm our campaigns had generated, the polls showed us neck and neck.
I would have liked a more comfortable lead, all things told, but my early numbers soured as greater numbers of people logged in and garnered a surface-level view of my protest. Axle’s friends in the media wasted none of the footage, using the worst of it to paint the picture of a deadly standoff for irrational reasons.
A few guests on those programs managed to slip a little history and context in for the viewers that tuned in, but they never got prime-time slots. The fact was that I had acted to save my friend and had acted non-violently until Axle started using tear gas. Even then my response was restrained, but all they wanted to point to were the handful of weapon-free fights that had broken out among the starfish troopers.
Of course, no injury occurred from said fights. They were all wearing active starfish suits, which meant any injury was repaired immediately. The suits were still brutal in their methodology, which combined with hobb warrior culture to create fighters that actively refused to care about getting badly hurt in a fight.
Limbs were torn off and reformed.
Those hobbs who had engaged in violence did so only to shame their counterparts. Among starfish troopers, a brawl was considered quite normal. Family-friendly, even. It was merely a more passionate expression of their distaste for a position or statement.
My mostly-rich, well-pampered voting population on Nu-Earth didn’t see it that way of course, and their incorrect viewpoint was pushed in the press. Normalized, no matter how devoid of fact or context it was.
With our poll numbers matched, both Axle and I had a lot to gain or lose from the debate, and without a friendly co-host, I was outmatched. Hris C’aze smiled tightly at me from across the stage, before adjusting her partially exposed breasts and turning her attention back to a nearby monitor. Her suit top was so low cut as to be obscene, and the Conda Nah’gh had to tape her breasts in place to keep from generating a Silken Sands parental media associate nudity fee.
She was also a vibrant, natural purple. The debate was clearly career candy for the woman. My return to BuyMort and Nu-Earth had been a major boon to her personally. My mind wandered to Molls and I squeezed my eyes shut to take a breath.
Axle entered to scattered applause from the crew and took his place at the podium opposite my own. Once he was in position, he nodded and the lights around us popped on, illuminating the stage and host’s desk. She was seated at the bottom of the stage, Axle and I forming the other points of the triangle. As we entered, fact checker ads popped up across minds all over the multiverse.
“Welcome Nu-Earth!” she exclaimed at the camera. “Tonight we have the much-anticipated debate between our amazing CEO and his controversial challenger.”
She paused to allow the cameras time to focus on first Axle, and then myself.
“To begin,” Hris C’aze said. “We’re going to allow each candidate sixty seconds to express their vision of BuyMort should they be elected. Our CEO goes first, of course.”
The old Knowle I had once known cleared his throat. “Society within BuyMort is on the correct path,” he stated. “Prosperity is wide-spread, and security has never been tighter. Violent acts, system-wide, are at historic lows. Silken Sands, as number one on the top ten list, is guiding the rest of the multiverse in business and daily life for every employee.”
He paused and looked my way before continuing. “There is an old-Earth saying, where my friend here comes from. ‘Do not fix that which is not broken,’” Axle grumbled. Then he waved at Hris C’aze, who smiled wide and applauded.
“Okay, thank you CEO,” she exclaimed. “Well stated, as ever.” The color in her scales shifted to green as she faced me and sneered, “Same question, Warlord Dawes.”
I shook my head and smiled tightly. “I’m not a warlord, first off. I control neither armies nor territory. My only affiliate is my campaign, and I spend most of my free time in philanthropic work. Trying to right the wrongs of this system through direct action.”
“Pausing the clock,” Hris C’aze interrupted, one claw in the air. “‘Warlord’ is your former title, and as such is still applicable when in discussion of a public figure. SNN practices and norms are quite clear on this. But of course, if you win the election you will also regain your command over the BlueCleave military affiliate.”
“Fine,” I shrugged. “Calling me a warlord when I’m not one is a little too overt, though. I should warn you that the people at home watching are smart enough to know when they are being manipulated. That’s one of the things I’ve learned about leadership throughout the years, the need to be genuine, and how faking it never works long term.”
My timer on the far wall of the set clicked away my seconds, so I shifted gears again.
“Society within BuyMort,” I started, pausing to take a deep, dramatic breath. “Includes those in Storage. It includes the homeless all around us, barely making enough to stay out of Storage. If you think those parts of BuyMort are operating as intended, you wouldn’t be wrong, but you’d also have to recognize that you wouldn’t want to be stuck in that situation yourself.”
“Prosperity,” I continued. “Prosperity should never be forced upon us by threat of squalor and untimely death. Not in a system as rich as this one. There’s more than enough housing for the homeless, it is an active choice by those in power to keep those homes empty for the sake of nothing more than a few extra morties.”
Hris C’aze’s scales fluctuated as I spoke. Yellow and red clashed to form a vibrant orange across her body before a placid blue flushed them both out. Her emotional control was also evident in the statuesque expression she wore.
“Under my leadership, everybody will matter. That’s the difference between us. I’ll work to help everybody, for as long as I have to,” I said. “Thank you for the time to express that.”
Our Nah’gh host’s scales flashed orange again before she got them under control. By the time the camera returned to her, she was a calm, steady purple once more.
“Thank you both!” she said, oozing false bravado. “Time for an ad-break, we’ll be back with important questions for both candidates!”
My mind flashed, campaign banners slashing diagonally across my view as glitter popped from all corners of my vision. A large neon sign appeared in the center of it all as uplifting music began to pulse. Axle Seeker: Stability You Can Trust!” The words pulsed in bold, bright letters, as the serene images of laborers working contentedly at various occupations rolled slowly by in the background. “Prosperity for all—security for your future. Stay on the path that works. Vote Axle.”
I shook my head to dismiss the ad.
As soon as the monitors told us we were clear, I turned to Axle and asked, “You really believe what you said?”
He frowned but ignored me.
“Of course not, why would you? You know about the injustice on Terna’s World, but you continue it because controlling people’s food is how you control them,” I said. “With your military presence, you can squeeze supply and demand, while keeping direct control of something outside of your own affiliate.”
The monitors flashed, our warning that the ad break was coming to a close. When I focused on the monitors, I had to stop my reaction. Thirty-five percent of the ad revenue would still be a sizable contribution to my war-chest hopefully, but Axle had gotten the better of me again. All of the ads were from his campaign. Since he controlled SNN, he likely also controlled how much they charged him to run nothing but his own ads.
“Wasting no time, let’s move on to constituent questions,” Hris C’aze said. “Our first question comes from Alan, a human living in the upper west end of Prescott. He says; “My great uncle was a victim of dream crime, and now my stake in his Living Will has taken an eighty-five percent cut to make up for his losses. As CEO of Silken Sands, how will you address financial loss to affiliate and associate members from dream crimes?”
Our Nah’gh host gestured to Axle. “To you, CEO.”
“Our dream crime fund will be hiring directly from the pool of victims and their extended families, in order to alleviate these financial worries. Managers will draw from a percentage of the fund while managing it, but investments will be tightly controlled by Silken Sands Knowle Leadership Council, as always. The work involved will be minimal, and the benefits maximal,” Axle explained. “The fund is for the victims of dream crimes, after all.”
Hris C’aze applauded again, a tight, false smile showing off her fangs. Then her smile dropped as she turned to face me. “Warlord Dawes.”
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
“Not a warlord,” I started. “My campaign has a comprehensive plan to address dream crime at its source, removing the market need that creates criminals in the first place. It sounds like my old friend Axle here wants to pay off the wealthiest victims, but dream crime happens on a daily basis in the Australian shipyards. How will his elite fund help those victims?”
“Issues like dream crime are a logistical failure before they are ever a moral failing. It is a problem we can solve easily if the right steps are taken,” I insisted. “Standards and practices for managing large mortie accounts during sleep cycles used to be a major part of how this affiliate was run. From the top down, everybody was careful not to cause a dream purchase that gets out of control.”
Without applause or recognition, Hris C’aze turned away. “Moving on, this next question is from Zhalla, a Nah’gh associate owner in the Australian shipyards. They ask: ‘Ore costs spiked for the three days that Warlord Dawes was on Midnight. Is this kind of market instability something we can expect if we vote you in as CEO?’”
She turned to face Axle, a serious expression on her face. “CEO?”
“Of course!” Axle exclaimed, wringing his paws once for emphasis. “This is exactly what I am talking about. Everywhere he goes chaos follows.”
I scowled. “Ore prices fluctuate on a daily basis,” I interrupted. “And after my visit the cost is low and stable, exactly as the shipyards like it. Projected to last years at that level.”
“Warlord, please,” Hris C’aze said, raising a hand as if to stop me physically from across the stage. “We will get to your perspective after our next ad break. Please, be civil and wait for your turn.”
The ads ran, and for a brief moment, my thoughts were overrun by a jarring promotional flash: “Axle Seeker: The CEO Who Cares.” The message was paired with an image of Axle shaking hands with a perfectly polished holo-representation of a Nu-Earth farmer. Text scrolled across the ad-space: “Leading Silken Sands to Prosperity. Protecting Your Future. Axle Understands You.”
I dismissed the ad and scowled at Axle. “This won’t go the way you think it will. You know I’m never wrong about this stuff, and this entire debate is going to backfire. It's too overt.”
He turned and bared his teeth. “You are not in control here.”
I shook my head and sighed. “How much do you want to bet?” I asked him. Then I turned to the host and nodded my chin at her. “Hey, Hris,” I said. “You have that on tape now. How well do you think that would play for your ratings if you released it? Is it enough to risk the wrath of your parent company? It might be. You might be able to survive off it even if Silken Sands cuts you loose entirely. Especially if management won't be the same in two weeks.”
“You see?” Axle said. “I told you he would threaten.”
“Oh you’re such a baby,” I replied. “You can never see a forecasted outcome as a warning instead of a threat. It's not about me dominating you. It’s a damned warning you seem too dense to understand. Change is coming. If not this cycle, then the next time you run this sham. All I have to do to win this fight is stay in the public’s eye, which this helps me to do. It's falling down around you, Axle. It's falling down around you and I’m trying to save you before it all turns to rubble on top of your head.”
“What is?” he hissed. “Do please, be specific about what will land on me and crush my head.”
“The system,” I replied. “It's squeezing shut again and people are dying. I’m trying to stop that, not add to it.”
“It does not look that way from here,” he replied steadily. “And it never has.”
“I know,” I said. “It took me too long to realize it, but I know. Just like I know you gave Omen my coordinates.”
The statement hung in the air between us as the monitors flashed their warning. Axle took a few steadying breaths before turning back to Hris C’aze and nodding.
“And we are back,” she said. “Warlord Dawes was going to respond to the accusation of system instability.”
I frowned. “That’s a rather broad way to discuss the kind of effect any public figure can have when moving openly between planets. Industries on both worlds respond, here on Nu-Earth the tabloid market dropped until I returned, for example. Doesn’t mean I have some sinister effect on the sales of tabloid stories, just that I’m a public figure.”
“I would point out that your presence on Midnight was in direct response to a cult that was formed around you as the primary, central figure of concern or interest,” the Nah’gh woman countered. She glanced at her own teleprompter and nodded. “The Cult of Eternal Darkness was founded to try and kill you, if you ever came back, was it not?”
I scoffed and nodded. “In a way. It’s a warped cultural response to something that happened over a century ago, but I was dead for that entire time. I had no hand in its founding, practice, or attacks, but I did shut it down to prevent it from causing more harm. As quickly as could be reasonably expected. I recognized my part in forming the warped movement, and stepped in to shut it down,” I said. “What more could I have done? I’ve been away for a long time. Stuff like this didn’t used to fly in my day. We shut down bigger operations harder, and for less. Besides that, I’m not in charge anymore.”
“Oh of course. The man returns with the largest public tantrum that BuyMort has ever seen, and we’re supposed to believe that he’s here to make everything right,” Axle interrupted. “Since you destroyed an affiliate monument, you’ve done nothing but exert your influence and power on the soldiers under our associated BlueCleave personnel,” he accused.
“Again, it's not my fault that I’m well known among that community. Nobody asked me about a statue, and I feel like I get to have some say in art that I am a part of. Besides, I have repaid that debt from my personal affiliate earnings, as we agreed to in the Knowle Institute of History,” I countered.
Hris C’aze looked between us as we spoke. Axle scoffed and shook his head.
“Moving on to our last member question,” the Nah’gh said. “This comes from Mel, on Luna City. Fingers crossed it’s the Mel! She asks simply, but powerfully as is her style; ‘Tell us what the Church War was like.’ To you, CEO.”
“Hellish,” Axle said. “How things went so wrong so quickly, I’ll never understand. New planets, new universes being added to BuyMort is always a time of shake up and change, but this one stuck in our throats like a stone. The worst part of it was that I slowly realized I was part of the problem, part of the instability, because I was following this man’s orders! Eventually I was following those orders at gunpoint, and I’ll never forget what he said. He said ‘I don’t care. I’m using it all as bait.’”
I shook my head and sighed. “You remember it wrong, friend. I only ever used military assets as bait, and only when we had a solid plan to kill the final beholder. The fact that Nu-Earth and Prescott were going to be the place the attack landed is a matter of history shaping itself through systemic conflict and upheaval. I was responding to that imminent attack, not coordinating it. I saved you from the Church, and I never had you held at gunpoint,” I insisted. “You were under heavy guard because of repeated attacks on your life, but you were never being held at gunpoint.”
“So you say,” he gruffed back. “I remember differently.”
“Because a century has passed since then for you. For me it's only been a few months. I remember it more clearly than you do. It’s not an attack against you, it’s a statement of fact based on objective realities like the passage of time, and health concerns for a Knowle of your age with as much stress as you clearly are under,” I said. “You are my friend, and I am doing this entire thing to try to help you. I wish it didn’t have to be this public, but I understand the kind of demographic you speak to, and they need to hear this.”
“I’m just being told we have to break again. This will be our final break, there has been a technical error that is going to force us to close down the debate early, but there is one more question for both candidates when we return,” Hris C’aze said, cutting in.
The monitors flickered, and the space in my mind filled with yet another ad. “Axle Seeker: The Visionary Architect of Progress.” Behind a noble image of him standing proudly in an aristocratic manner, I could see a vivid picture of an idyllic Nu-Earth, bursting with markets, high-tech transport hubs, and carefully curated shots of beaming prosperous families in perfectly planned neighborhoods. “Innovation at Every Step. Growth Without Limits. Vote Axle for a Future Beyond Imagination.”
I shook it out of my head.
“This is what I’ve had to do to speak with you. I’ve been trying for over a week and you won’t see me or return any of my messages,” I told him. “I’m not trying to take something away from you. I’m trying to prevent you from doing something truly terrible in response to your personal fear around my return.”
He scowled at me, mechanical eyes narrowed and teeth bared. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean you seem sure that I’m going to become violent toward you at some point, likely in response to your own betrayal, which made me essentially dead for a hundred years. I lost a lot, because of that move, but I’m here trying to keep the rest of it. You were family at one point, Axle. Don’t drag this out any longer. The instability isn’t going to get better, it's going to get worse and you know that. You’re going to need me at the head of this thing again, and it's only happening faster now that I’ve come back into the picture,” I said.
“And you would be what,” he scoffed. “Willing to overlook my transgression? Forgive and forget? Am I meant to believe that?”
I nodded. “It’s more complicated than that, but yes, in essence. I’m not here to retaliate against you or anyone else, but there are a lot of problems I could help fix, if only I had my affiliate back. It’s a tool, after all, we need to use it the right way or it doesn’t really help us.”
The Knowle stared at me for a long, intense moment. “What if I believed you?” he asked suddenly, almost afraid.
“What would you want? Retirement, none of the world's problems at your doorstep? Yeah man, no problem. I’ll keep you comfy as you want for as long as you want, no harm done,” I told him. “I need the power of this affiliate to save the people caught up in the multiversal flow,” I droned. “This is bigger than you or me, or any one world in any one universe. The few that are left,” I finished.
He flinched. “I’ll . . . think about it,” he said after a pause. Then he nodded at Hris C’aze and left the set.
She turned on me, unabashed red filling her scales as she brought us back from break. “We are back, but the CEO had to leave. He and his competitor engaged in a telling debate backstage, between breaks which we at SNN are proud to offer as an elite upgrade package. Find out for a nominal fee what they said to one another in this history-making debate.”
The moment she mentioned it, my mind swelled. “Exclusive Content for Discerning Viewers! Witness the unfiltered drama between Axle Seeker and Warlord Dawes, RAW and Unedited. Only 1,200,000 morties to see it all. Don't miss this pivotal moment in Nu-Earth history!”
The ad lingered briefly, the words glowing with promise, before fading back into the recesses of my thoughts with a whispered, "Witness history in the making."
The Nah’gh smiled, still red, and looked at her teleprompter. “Warlord Dawes, our final question is for you. It comes directly from me, on behalf of SNN. What can you say to the people of Nu-Earth about the future?”
I nodded stoically and took a breath. “It depends. This system is volatile and spinning out of control again. I can probably fix a lot of it, save a lot of people, keep things going, but not without my tools. I understand the gravity of this choice, and genuinely wish each voter a calm moment to contemplate it for themselves. That’s where the power really lies anyway.”
With that, they cut the program. Hris C’aze glared at me, then carefully changed the color in her scales to a controlled, soft purple. “Either way this works out, always a pleasure doing business with you, Warlord.”
“Ohhh, you and your branding,” I replied. Then I turned and left the building, walking through their hallways to project a strong sense of normalcy.