The mark of a great leader

The streets of the Kasbah were crowded. The man was weaving in and out between thongs of people, laborers in their drab rags, the nobles rubbing shoulders with them, stepping over filthy puddles and piles of dog dung. Keeping his hands shoved in his pockets and a moody cloud darkening his face, he strode with determined steps towards his destination.

Looking up, he spotted the iron sign hanging from its hook, 'the Bull and the Bear in', did it read in red letters upon the two animals pictured in black against a backdrop of fading yellow paint, the metal shining through in parts. People stepped out of his way without meeting his eyes, as he forced his way through the crowds, elbowing others out of the way. Not bothering with meeting the eyes of the usher, he pushed open the creaking wooden door, and was soon inside of the dusky and crowded hall, the monumental buzz of uncountable voices hitting his eardrums, as he breathed in the stench of stale ale, sweat, ganja and other odors he couldn't bother with recognizing.

Craning his neck, he scanned across the room for the woman he was about to meet, as he moved his way counter-clockwise across the room. Yes, there she was, at her usual place, by the table beneath the painting of the Indian in the feather headdress. Jeyna Taylor was sitting leant against the wall, a beer tankard in red plastic in front of her. Next to her sat a man and a woman, both of the nondescript yet sturdy-looking kind, that spoke of ex-army. War veterans from the Rus war, no doubt. People like him.

As he arrived by the table, Taylor greeted him with a small movement of her hand to her forehead. Army salute. He smirked at that, those were the days. The mirror ball, which was revolving slowly in the middle of the room, was sending reflections, which crept around the table and the seated quartet. Pulling out the fourth chair, he seated himself, whilst the obese waitress came over, asking what he was drinking. He ordered a beer and the girl was off, maneuvering with unexpected agility between the tables, taking in mind her size.

They shit-chatted a bit of common acquaintances, gossips and assurances of wellbeing, whilst his beer arrived. Then Taylor went down to business.
"These are Gordon Benvolio and Clarys Thames. They have what it takes," she simply said, not even bothering indicating the man and the woman, since it was obvious who was whom.
"That was quick, my constituent will be pleased."
"When do you need them in place?"

The man eyed the duo, as he drank of his beer. It was musty and fizzy, however a bit lukewarm. That was the benefit with  'the Bull and the Bear in'. They didn't water their beer down, like so many other joints in the Kasbah did. Birds of a feather, they were as serious about their business, as he and Taylor were.
"It's not done in a jiffy, getting someone inside the Grand Residence on false premises. Security has tightened up, since that mutant story the other month. But I've begun setting things in motion. Fixing bogus ID cards and so on, getting their names in the permission roles. By the end of next week, there'll be an opportunity window, and then you'll have to be in." He faced the duo, and the man, Gordon Benvolio nodded solemnly at him.

"Good," Benvolio rasped. "I am the performer, Thames is my backup in case anything goes wrong. Just to make sure we are all understanding each other here, sir, you want us to kill a certain prominence?"
"Yes, and I take it from Taylor's message earlier today, you already know who."
"Yes," Gordon Benvolio kept facing him, coffee-brown eyes boring into his. "The mutant woman dwelling in the Grand Residence. Halie Kraitz."

----------

Halie produced the document, and put it in front of Anthony, at his desk. It was the annulment of the shooting reward terms, written in the Evensent, the language of Mutant City, and most other mutant groupings around. She'd already put her signature and seal on it.
"You finished it?" Anthony enquired and Halie nodded her head.
"Took me the lion's share of yesterday, but I had to reword it, since I wanted it sound very staid, even in our language. You can have professor Mannings check it over if you want though, to prove that I have no intentions of giving out any secret orders to my people, and that I am not deserving you."

Anthony looked at the document. As a matter of fact, he had no idea what it said, it was just a jumble of letters, some with umlauts and other quirks, but he had no intention of questioning Halie. He had to trust her, that was the only way he could make her trust him in the future.
"No, I take your words for it, Halie. I'll seal it and sign it, and I'll see to it, that Cole also has this distributed. He has his own spy organization, you know," the President smirked.
"What do you mean?"
"Cole Halifax has quite a few in his pay, who are experts on filtering down and spreading the right kind of information, the information I want out there. Even a bit of disinformation, if that should be the case. However this is straightforward enough, an annulment of the shooting reward terms."

"He deals with the reporters?" Halie asked.
"Yes, surely you have that kind of function within your society as well."
"No," she hesitated. "The Congress never sees journalists. They just notify their new legislations on the Grand Boards for people to read. No reporters. In Mutant City, the papers are all about murder and gossip anyway. Don't you need your Congress to approve your orders, by the way?"

"Not in this case," Anthony smiled. "Since a precursor of mine made this law, it's a governing law, and it's accordingly in my full right to repeal it as well. And as I said, the Cabinet has been let in on it additionally, they won't make any trouble in this case."
"In this case? They do that otherwise, you mean?"
"They are a very independent group. Independent, but good people. Still, I guess you have to take the rough with the smooth as a ruler, if you want to be surrounded by the best of people, you have be prepared for them to not always follow your objects."
"I'm so unused to that," Halie admitted. "Where I'm from, the leaders select their aye-sayers."

Leaning back in his chair, Anthony regarded the woman sitting opposite of him. The late afternoon was falling in from the windows, painting squares in the room, one of them falling across her hair, making the reds of it look like it was on fire.
"Good leaders should know how to avoid that," he said, twirling a ballpoint pen between his long fingers. "Or you as a leader end up being suffocated in indecision, since no one is challenging you or providing with fresh ideas. And your rule becomes stagnant, disqualifying you to really change things, to do what your votes asked you for. The mark of a great leader, is the mark of someone always ready to challenge himself."

"I'm no great leader," Halie bucked her head, "However, I believe people should love and respect you as a leader. Or they won't rally to your cause."
"I know what you mean," Anthony replied whilst he regarded Halies' document. "And you shouldn't think less of yourself as a leader, because you want to show compassion. It's one of the finest traits. And sometimes one of the hardest."
"I don't think less of myself," Halie shrugged her shoulders. "I'm just honest with myself. I'm not a great Sovereign, I wasn't able to change things in a way that mattered, despite my trying. Good leaders are able to stop injustices like these things I mentioned earlier, and they can do everything in their power to reach their objectives. However, I wasn't even able to stop Salvatore Angantyr from murdering the man I loved."

Anthony regarded the woman on the other side of the desk, his heart skipping a beat, now this was new. Somehow, he had understood that she had also lost a beloved, but not in such a cruel way.
"Tell," he asked. "What happened?"
"I," Halie began as tears began to sting her eyes. "Dagun Remarkand was my husband, at the time I got elected. He had been a member of my band, the most wonderful, happy-go-lucky being. Lived for his music. And for me. We planned the most astonishing future to be. A home. Kids. But, Angantyr send someone, had Dagun done in. To break me. And he succeeded. I was never the same again. Oh, Jehow, but I miss him so much."

Seeing her tears, Anthony opened a drawer, offering her napkins. She accepted them gratefully, spent some time to try to dampening the crying. Meanwhile he stood, fetched a glass in the cupboard and returned with it, filling it with water from the carafe he always had standing on his desk. She accepted the glass as well, gulped greedily from it, whilst he sat down.

"To understand what happened," she began, whilst putting down the glass, "you must understand what kind of man Salvatore Angantyr really is. And the mechanism behind him, the cogwheels if you like. Angantyr is my opposition, yet he's nothing like your Congress' Iva Winton. We don't have parties like you, every Congress man or woman is on their own. So they rally behind the strongest. And the strongest in my world is Salvatore Angantyr. In a way you may say he IS the Congress of Mutant City."
"And why is he so strong?" Anthony asked, craving every grain of insight into how the mutant world worked.  
"Because he's totally ruthless," Halie replied. "Salvatore Angantyr has no conscience."

"Pardon my impudence," Anthony said, "but is that a mark of strength among your kind? To be ruthless?"
"Honestly yes," Halie nodded her head. "Some people definitely think it is. However I don't agree. I don't think it's a virtue being without principles. Yet, it has benefitted a man like Angantyr, because his ambition knows no bounds and he has always been able to pull through with whatever he wants. Including killing. Or bribing, threatening, blackmailing, spying and cheating. Gathering people around him, who are as ruthless as he, and always ready to do his bidding. To gain things for themselves."

"But how can your people tolerate it?"
"You haven't seen my people, Anthony. They're like children in a house with a cruel, drunken father. They tiptoe about and speak in whispers, fearful of making the slightest sound, lest they wake him up and be punished terribly for their presumption," Halie said softly, her eyes filled with sadness. "You talked about compassion earlier, Anthony. A lot of my kind has been raised, learning that compassion is a sign of weakness. Angantyr being one of those. He's been trampling over people all this life, taking whatever he wants, convinced that the end always justifies the means. I didn't believe a man could be as ruthless as him. So I underestimated him. That was perhaps the biggest mistake in my life."
"In what way?"

Taking another napkin against renewed tears, Halie resumed.
"I believed Angantyr was being honest, when he told me, he wanted me to assume the position of a Sovereign after Manitoba. I should have suspected something fishy already back then, I remember I was surprised that Angantyr didn't claim the position for himself, having himself elected. Nonetheless, I guess I was flattered, letting my pride getting in the way for my common sense, not realizing that Angantyr was just planning to use me. And thus I became fooled."

"But pardon my frankness, Halie, but why were you of all people asked? As I understand it, you were almost newly elected."
"Yes, and since the Congress members sit for life or until they voluntarily resign, I entered on a by-election to replace a dead member. I guess Angantyr thought me an easily manipulative little puppet, since I was so young, new in the game and really just an entertainer."

"What were your thoughts at the time, had you doubts?"
"Not exactly, it's unheard of to decline. It's an honorable position, and besides, I hoped to be able to make a difference. Call me naïve, but I had no knowledge of the real power or shrewdness of Angantyr, and the people behind him, at the time. I always thought it was my god's work, as he promised me great things in my vision of him."
"I understand what you mean," Anthony said. "Nobody knows how gods think, or why they do things. They hardly ever visit people these days, and the only claim you hear is from people who have seen them in visions, dreams or glass mirrors. It is said, that back in the days of the ancients, the gods walked among the humans, but after the Disaster they withdrew to their paradise dwellings on the back side of the moon."

Absentmindedly, Halie toyed with her napkin.
"I've had a vision and heard whispers. But it's been so long since my god whispered in my ear. However every night I read in my Book, about the people there, about how Jehow helped them, how he sent his only son to give them absolution. But it was so long ago and in a faraway part of the world. The world is different now. I don't think the gods really understand it anymore. And if they appoint leaders, they might not always pick the best one."

"What was it like, becoming elevated so quickly and ad-hoc?"
"It was terrifying. It felt like too large a leap for this little girl. It was like being in a dream. I just thought I was going to wake up at any moment, and everything would go back to normal, and we would go on a tour again, riding that wreckage of a bus, playing in faraway towns. Then my life as Sovereign wasn't pleasant. It was in the beginning, when I had Dagun around. But after he was gone, I realized how really lonely you are on the top."

"I remember the day I got elected," Anthony said. "I rode an open motorcar through Vega City that day after the results were in. The people were filling the streets, cheering at my sight. Thousands of thousands they were, and I remember asking myself 'What have I done?' and I so hoped that I wouldn't disappoint all those people who have voted for me. And when my major adversary, the precursor of Iva Winton, Melany Bastian, came up and took my hand, thanking me for a good race, it hardly felt real to me. It was so dreamlike."

"As a routine, the Congress used to parade me around Mutant City once a week, for the commoners to see me. But they couldn't touch me. I was surrounded by bodyguards, and I was told that I couldn't talk with or speak to the commoners. I always felt so detached from them, and I'm sure they felt the same about me. I'm the Sovereign, yet they couldn't even touch me. I never felt myself worthy of their cheering, because I wasn't the one in the control. I was just the puppet and Salvatore Angantyr was the puppeteer. And you don't cross him, he's dangerous!"

"I don't care, how dangerous that bastard might be," Antony said, something steely had come to his voice and obsidian eyes. "I believe, you should be the true leader of your people. You yearn to do the right thing, and that's what matters."
"Thank you, but that will never happen. Not as long as the Congress rule, and nobody has ever been able to overthrow those who call the shots there. All those who have tried, have been either bought out or murdered. Including the man I loved, whom I failed to protect. My lost Dagun."

"Halie," Anthony tried to sooth her. "You place too much blame on yourself. Dagun's death was never your fault. Assassins are paid to do the dirty work of higher powers, and they feel no remorse, they just kill the target, and cash in the money. You know that as well as I do."
"I'd rather seen that they tried to kill me, than the person I loved! Dagun didn't deserve it. He was just an artist. He had nothing to do with the filthy moves of politicking, he was over that, he was completely honest in his actions. I on the other hand, I'm the Sovereign, It should be me, who people try to kill."
"Killing a leader is hard," Anthony said. "Halie, I know, enough people have tried to kill me. They killed Dagun Remarkand because you loved him, and because they knew, that if they took him from you, it would break your spirit."
"Well, then they succeeded, because I missed him so much when he was gone. I even see him in my dreams still and it reminds me that I wasn't here to save him."

"Your spirit isn't broken, Halie," Anthony comforted her. "Far from it. I can see it in your eyes, they burn!"
"But I cannot do anything right these days!"
"Yes you can. Today for instance." He nodded to the document on his desk, Halie's translation.
"Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while."

"Oh come on!" Anthony almost laughed out loud. "Stop being so hard on yourself. I think you're doing great. You think ahead and you ask me things, to make sure I don't set you up. Like if my Cabinet or my Congress would trip me in the process of altering a law like this. Perhaps you're going to need some guts, to stand up against this Angantyr and his aye-sayers and ass-kissers. But I believe, this little venture which you have been undertaking, has taught you a bit of these things."

"But?" she challenged him. "Yes, I can hear a but here, Anthony, so spit it out!"
"Yes, Halie, you need to be more honest with yourself. And appreciate yourself a bit more, as well. Take credit for what goes well, and not just taking the blame for what goes wrong. Believe a bit more in yourself, dear. Because other people see if you don't. And then they tend to trample all over you. Just the way this Angantyr did."
"Do you always believe in yourself like that then?"
"No, but sometimes I pretend I do, to not let others see my weakness."
"Anthony, I cannot do such a thing."
"Why not?"
"It would make me feel as if I was a hypocrite. I don't like people pretending to be something else than they are."  

Those words were expressed from the heart, Anthony understood. Halie plainly didn't want to be anyone other than herself, and to be accepted as such. Very few people he knew, would ever say that aloud, even if they thought so inside. Anthony knew, that among the people of his trade, the politicians, most people were forever trying to be someone or something else. Someone more influential and important. Someone braver, brighter or wealthier than they were. They used all kinds of tricks to look better, from label outfits to cosmetic surgery.

Jim Louvre's hair transplants and Martha Claude's face lift were just some of these things people around him underwent all the time. Even Anthony himself used to put on different face in front of officials, because he feared that if they saw him as who he really was, they'd consider him weak. He coloured his hair to hide the gray strands and he filled the wrinkles with keratin shots to make his face look smoother, and he ran the treadmill to not let the extra kilos of fancy dinner parties stick to his body. There was no denying, that he too fought the battle against time, so he thought no lesser of anyone else for doing so.

Yet, once he too used to embrace the notion of being himself no matter what. But now it seemed, he'd forgotten what it meant to be himself, Anthony Muramaki, in the company of others. These days, he always put up the mental blocks to stop people from getting inside, behind his mask. And he wondered briefly, if he should ever dare to change that habit.