2178
June 18
Canada
Ottawa
Presidential Manor
***
Someone knocked on President Lanc's door, but their noise failed to rouse him from sleep. The phone on his bedside table rang. Its annoying ringtone yanked him from the peacefulness of a dreamless slumber. The room, having no windows, was blanketed by darkness, but his probing hand found the phone lying atop the wood. He picked it up, and a woman's voice said, "Mr. President, Phil Naff from the advisory committee is here to see you. I asked him to wait, but he insisted that he needed to see you now and went ahead and entered your residence."
"Thanks, Sue. I'll go meet him."
"No problem, sir."
President Vincent Lanc raked his hand through his grey-streaked hair. He rubbed his eyelids, which were heavy, wanting nothing more than to close once more. Yawning, he swung his legs across the mattress, and placed his feet in the polished black shoes he kept by his bed.
He said, "Light." The overhead fluorescent lights flashed on. The room was pale pink with a ribbon of redwood running along its mid-section. A fake palm tree decorated a corner of the room. Glass cologne and perfume bottles rested atop the dressing table. A black box with a small lock held his wife's precious gold jewellery.
He caught his reflection in the mirror. His hair stood up at odd angles, and he smoothed it down with his hand.
Bits of red hair poked out from the sheet that hid his wife's head. With a final look at her curled-up figure, he left her side and pulled on a black blazer over his satin shirt. He spritzed himself with some cologne in case his body had produced any odour as he slept.
Outside, he met his advisor, Naff, a handsome fellow nearly six-foot-tall with grey eyes and combed-back black hair. The president walked across the white tiles without acknowledging Naff. Phil Naff gripped his clipboard filled with paper and hurried along the dark wood-panelled halls to keep up with the president's much longer stride. The presidential guards protected their front and rear as they moved; stern-faced men with good builds and guns hidden beneath their long black blazers.
Lanc took Naff into a small, private room, leaving the guards outside. Sensing their body heat, the lights flashed on. Two leather chairs sat around a mahogany coffee table. Fake palm trees sat in pots, filling the room with a touch green to offset the drab-brown wood that formed the walls and floor. Naff placed his clipboard on the table. He took out a pack of cigarettes and offered the president one. President Lanc put it between his lips, and Naff leaned over the table to light it for him. Lanc got a whiff of the sweet-scented aftershave Naff wore and glanced at the stubble decorating the younger man's chin. Lanc smiled. "What's the matter now?"
Naff flipped through the papers. "It's Relar, sir," he added 'sir' after a slight pause, his gaze flickering up to Lanc's. There was something unsaid between the two. Memories of their past rendezvous made it hard for them to talk about business alone. Naff licked his lips then added hastily, "Some kids, mostly guys but a few girls, wanted to protest killing, rape— you know, the things that make the games entertaining. Most of them come from good families, rich moms, and dads, so they didn't fear any repercussions for insulting Relar Corp." He flipped through pictures of the young men and women who had perpetrated the crime. "The game's moderators turned off the cameras broadcasting the individuals as soon as they realized what was happening."
"And this is something to wake me out of bed because?" Lanc took the files from Naff and scanned the pictures of the young, hopeful faces. There were transcripts of the speeches that each player had managed to get through before the cameras had died. He took a long draw of the cigarette, letting it settle in his system.
Naff said, "Well, we earn a lot of money from Relar due to domestic and foreign investments. The kids asking for killing to be banned will cause others with the same sentiment to protest. But moments of brutality between contestants are what provide the highest ratings.
"If we ban killing, it would take the excitement out of the game—but the number of people who want to ban killing in Relar has grown exponentially on a year by year basis. In the future, they might outnumber those who support making killing legal. In the long run, the financial damage might not be as bad as we think it might be. You might want to consider—"
"Make killing illegal in Relar?"
Naff swallowed. "Well, if enough people wanted it, it might be worthwhile. And Fidel would eventually forgive you."
Lanc said, "I have an agreement with the head of Relar cooperation, I do not interfere with their policies and they give us a big cheque at the end of the year. Every kid who signs up for the games knows the risks outlined in their contracts. If they don't want to play, they don't have to."
Naff said, "But we could—"
"What happened to the kids who protested?"
Naff said, "They were killed, sir. Tsunami."
"Natural tsunami or artificial."
"Artificial, sir."
"Do you really want to fuck with a company that can create an artificial tsunami, Naff?"
Naff sighed. "I think we are giving them too much power, Vincent."
Lanc seethed at being called by his first name. It was a breach in protocol and placed the two of them on equal footing. Of which, they weren't.
Naff bowed his head apologetically.
Lanc blew out a cloud of smoke that hit Naff's face. He said, "I'm in office because of Relar. The game has its rules, and the players should obey the rules. If the players break them, then they are punished accordingly. Simple as that. Those boys and girls were told beforehand that if they criticized the game's structure on live TV, they would be punished accordingly. They gambled and lost their lives."
"Then what do we tell the people?"
"The truth. There was some faulty equipment, and the game's moderators weren't able to pick up on a tsunami that killed the players and non-players who were stationed on St. Lucia. Our prayers are with the families and friends affected by the incident. As for the banning of the killing in the games—everything has a price. The games have always had risks, and players who don't feel prepared to take the risk shouldn't play. I was at the top of my season. Everyone feared my hand. If kids don't want to die; they simply have to assume superiority over others, only then can they be safe."
Lanc extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray. As desire washed over him and took possession of his senses, he walked over to Naff. He tugged on the man's tie. Naff tilted his head back to watch Lanc, hesitation, and fear crossed his face. Lanc kissed the man's lips, licked them. He forced his tongue between the man's lips and teeth and tasted the tobacco on Naff's tongue. Lanc's desire made his penis strain against his pants. He removed Naff's jacket and unbuttoned the white shirt beneath. He ran his hands over Naff's chest, enjoying the power he had over him and said, "Whatever you decide to tell the press, don't piss off our allies."
Naff nodded and kissed Lanc's neck. As the man's tongue tasted Lanc's skin, Lanc unbuckled his belt.
***