7 – Filibuster

There were often times when President Ezra Gerrymander, leader of the Nation Formerly Known as the United States, wondered about his purpose. Not his grand, fire-in-the-sky kind of purpose, but the rote function of his job. In the recent era of peaceful Hegemony, his status had been reduced to that of an ambassador, a representative to attend the Summit of Nations. There were no wars left to fight and no edicts to be signed. The Hegemon and his cabinet dealt with all the important legislature and territorial sandwich disputes.  The world had settled into an era of peace, for better or for worse.

The region governed by the President was currently known as the United State, singular. The people who lived there had grown fat and complacent, content to spend their lives watching videos of kittens biting young men in the face and baby turtles humping shoes. Ezra knew that, though it might seem peaceful, the world was growing dangerously stagnant. There was no fear, no urgency, and no drive toward excellence. The President felt like he had been given charge of a bloated carcass; a once great nation sat rotting in its own fluids, smelling slightly sweet like memories of marmalade.

The President was beginning to understand that his only real responsibility was to reflect an after-image of the great men gone before him, to instill tranquil pride in the hearts of his people. He would much rather be stirring their hearts, stoking the fires of Patriotism, with a capital P. In these languid days, Patriotism couldn’t buy a taco off a fast food menu.

President Gerrymander had just finished eating dinner at his favorite restaurant in the whole District. At Rigotoni’s, the food served was an Americanized bastardization of Italian cuisine. The President, without fail, ordered the shrimp linguini; he ate it weekly, every Sunday at six.

Ezra sighed. When had he fallen into such a droll routine? Picking excess exoskeleton from his teeth, the President mused that no soul was exempt from petrifying doldrums. He grinned, revealing his handiwork, perfectly clean incisors. Ezra Gerrymander was determined to make everything change before the night was over.

He made his way to his car, flanked by his two most trusted servicemen.  Local gossip said that dangerous folks had been running wild through the District in recent days. The President didn’t really follow that sort of drivel and he hadn’t run into any loonies. Even so, he thought it was always nice to have an extra pair of guns on hand.

Suddenly, the world around the president slowed to a halt, like a slug crashing into a wall. His bodyguards froze midstep; they looked ready to fall over at any second. A family eating in the al fresco café nearby resembled a photograph, their faces petrified in masks of laughter. The President couldn’t see what was so funny; he felt he was missing a joke. A tripping waitress was spilling chowder all over an obese customer’s lap, but the meal levitated, hesitant to stain the pants of the man below it; the liquid dinner was paused like the rest of the world.

A figure appeared in front of the president, garbed in an oversized tweed robe. The hood of the robe obscured his face in shadow. From within that darkness came the light tenor of a young man.

“Are you the President of the United State?”

The President was terrified and excited, all at once. Had someone finally decided he was important enough to assassinate? The blood in his veins began to boil.

“Who are you? What do you want with me? What have you done to my men? What weaponry is this? I’m not going down without a fight, you terrorist!” He stepped forward and took a swing at the odd figure. The stranger easily dodged the President’s wild blow with a quick step to the side. The motion revealed the man’s feet; he was wearing sandals, simple and large. His feet were fleet, for someone wearing such clunky thongs.

“Mr. President, I’m sorry for the surprise. There was no other way to reach, erm, Your Highness. I just need to talk to you for just a few minutes.”

“Don’t try to sweet talk me, sugar.” The President attacked again. He tried to distract the monk-like man with a feint to the right before striking from the left. This time, the monk didn’t bother moving out of the way, he simply swatted the President’s fist away like a drunken fly.

“Really, this would go a lot easier for both of us if you’d settle down. Please take this gesture as a sign of truce.” The tweed-clad man reached up and pulled his hood away. Replacing the ominous darkness was a face full of sharp features, topped by a crop of short, blonde hair; it was greasy and unkempt. He appeared no more than fifteen years old, but spoke with the tongue of a much older man. “I’m so sorry for my appearance. Bob frowns upon those of us who haven’t showered, but I’ve been awaiting your arrival for several days now. I’d hoped you would come a bit sooner.”

The President stopped his assault, but kept his fists raised and his stance low, ready to launch a defensive maneuver. “Alright, let’s talk. You’re just a normal, everyday stalker, maybe. Everyone and their brother know I like Rigotoni’s on Sundays. So you wanted to meet old President Gerrymander? Tell me what you’re after, kid. And tell me what you did to these men!”

The mysterious man sighed with exasperation and tossed away his airs of mystery. “All right. I’m just borrowing some of their time. Don’t worry, I’ll give it back…eventually. Maybe. They probably won’t even miss it if I don’t. Look, I know it goes against your protocol, but it is imperative that I speak to you immediately.”

The President squinted his eyes in concentration. This stranger was probably trying to confuse him. “What language are you speaking, boy? I don’t know what protocol you’re going on about. Are you an assassin?”

The hooded stranger let out a deep, irritated sigh. “No, I’m not an assassin. Surely, you realize I could have killed you ten hundred times already if that was what I wanted.

“My name is Jeremy. I am a Brother, Second Rank, in the Order of Builders. You haven’t heard of us because you haven’t needed to know about us until now.”

This hurt the President’s self-righteous feelings. “Well, who’s to say that? I’m representative of nearly five percent of the world’s population, damn it! If you’re so important, I should be the first to know about… well… All right, what is it that you and your brothers do exactly?”

Ignoring the President’s smarmy tone, Jeremy explained. His eyes lit up with the pride of a father showing off his daughter in her prom dress. “Well, you could say that we’re architects. You could also say that we’re clockmakers. Maybe even artists. I guess you could say that we’re a lot of things, but none of them would tell you exactly what we’re doing. But see, what I do and who I work with and where I ate lunch…these things are not important. What is important is that we have an opportunity to save the lives of millions upon millions, depending on what happens tonight.”

The President raised his eyebrows. “Millions of people? United State-ians?”

“Well, yes, actually. Among others. Not that it should matter.” Jeremy took a deep breath and held it in for a moment, stopping himself from getting too flustered. “Here’s the story. You were on your way to a secret meeting with a couple of representatives from other ‘once glorious’ nations, am I right? Some of your close friends from better times? Just a little get together before the Summit of Nations this weekend?”

“Yes, that is correct. How did you-”

“Mister President, if I let you get to that meeting, you’re really going to screw the pooch. You’re going to muck everything up for everyone you care about. And then some.”

This was not what the President expected to hear. “Do you have something to back that up? It’s a mighty powerful allegation you’ve got there. Everything I do, I do for my country and her people.”

“Mister President, just stop it. You’re going to embarrass yourself. There are forces out there that you can’t possibly imagine. Legions of chaos are playing a dangerous game with the fate of this world as the stake. A revolution is coming that will flip every truth you thought you knew upside down and round about. When chaos rules the land, your people will need someone to lead them, someone they can trust. Someone dead will do them no good.

“You are going to this clandestine meeting to vote on something very important with the other leaders, something that’s been itching your legs for a long time. The ten of you are going to decide whether or not to secede from the Hegemony; I have orders to not let that happen under any circumstances. One nation after another will follow your example, until the Hegemony is shattered. War will blossom in such a garden, fertilized by blind pride and hurt feelings. I know this is exactly what you’re looking for, but you are oblivious to the immediate repercussions. Lives will end, cut short by your selfish whim. Families will crumble; friends will cut friends by tooth and claw, all for the name of Mother Country.

“Then, things will get a whole lot worse. Chaos will flood the battlefield. Unstoppable, furious spirits will ride the winds as they seek out human blood. I can’t even begin to describe how badly you should fear the reign of disorder.

“So, rather than try, I’m going to keep you here until your clique’s secret vote is over and done. I can’t risk you making the right decision on your own. Your presence at this meeting would have tipped the mood toward secession. Can you imagine? Just by being there, you would send the world into a spiraling nosedive of anarchy. Your aide is already present at the meeting and she will vote in your place once the other ambassadors are bored and tired of waiting. She will vote for peace, thank the Builder.”

“How do you know all this?”

“You don’t need to know the details. To put it simply, I took a loan on some loose time I saw floating about. I’d appreciate it if you kept that little tidbit to yourself. I didn’t exactly follow the proper etiquette required of a lowly Brother like myself.” Jeremy sighed, and shook exasperation out of his hair.

“Mister President, I’ve done what I needed to do. I’ve said all that I can really say. At least, I’ve said all that you’ll understand. It’s been three hours by my watch. Yours too, though that probably boggles your mind, doesn’t it? Don’t try to think about it too hard, your clock will sync up with the rest of the world before you can spell linguini. Those other ambassadors are an impatient lot, they’ve surely finished up the voting by now. I’ll take my leave, if you don’t mind.”

The President didn’t understand the first thing Brother Jeremy about what Jeremy meant by borrowing and lending time. He was perfectly fine with that.

Were his people really happy being lazy and carefree? Were they satisfied living their lives in mundane cycles, protected by general inaction throughout the world? He hadn’t really put much value in that sort of lifestyle, but perhaps living a dull, peaceful life might be the best for everybody, after all.

“Wait! Jeremy, did I,“ he stammered, “Did we really just save millions of people?”

The monk smiled and turned to leave.

“May Bob provide you shelter wherever you may roam.” With that simple blessing, Jeremy disappeared, fading away into the glowering dusk.

The world cranked back to life with a high-pitched pop, like a wishbone snapping. The president’s bodyguards finished their half-steps and sprinted forward to catch up to their ward. A dining family continued chewing and swallowing and laughing. A waitress began profuse apologies before spilled soup could scald her panicked customer’s lap. Everything was as it should have been all along, borrowed time slowly trickling back unnoticed into these innocent lives.

Abundantly, life flowed on, unfazed. Not a soul perceived that hours had disappeared, vanished in a heartbeat. Days later, after the time had finished returning to its previous owners, not a soul noticed the few minutes that were gone forever, stolen by a man in tweed.

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