Chapter 8
Senator Hutherton sat upright and attentive the next day in the senate, watching with humble attentiveness that belied the condescending disgust he felt towards one windbag senator after another who stood to speak offering lots of complaints but nothing of solutions to what was certainly the most pernicious plague Selegania had ever faced.
Although it seemed the moment would never come, he was snatched from a bit of a reverie by the words, “Senator Hutherton is recognized to speak.” He could pass and let some other senator get the credit for proposing what would inevitably be proposed soon. He had passed on many prior occasions, always fearing his junior status would render his superior intellect unappreciated amongst the ranks of these shortsighted fools. But not today. Today was going to be different. He had only had a small line this morning—and one in the restroom before the senate was called into session (that is, if you’re going to call a few measly grams a “line,” a feisty voice spoke up)—and he was feeling just about perfect. Not too hyper, but focused enough to prevent any of these old empty suits from embarrassing him with a question he couldn’t answer, as he knew inevitably one of them would try. The old and experienced hate nothing more than wisdom in a youth, he told himself.
“Thank you, Mr. President,” he said with a calm, self-assured manner that caught more than one of the senior senators’ attention, and from their looks it appeared they were ready to pounce.
With the practiced step of a groom walking down the aisle to await his dazzling betrothed in front of important onlookers, Hutherton’s somber, dignified air looked like a showcase for proper statesmanship.
He sensed correctly that he was impressing a large number of his junior and senior colleagues with his practiced bearing, but he also did not fail to notice a few stares from both the most senior colleagues and the most junior colleagues that nearly singed his hair with the envy radiating from their eyes.
This increased at least a hundredfold when he then proceeded to execute an oratorical trick usually only risked by those certain of the fidelity of their audience. He looked calmly in silence to and fro over the ranks of the senators like an alert border collie surveying its herd of sheep. Not wanting to overdo it, he cut the silence a few seconds after it was clear he had everyone’s attention:
“As the great philosopher said: ‘Foolishness prevails in the young, as does bravery.’”
He wasn’t quite sure whether this was the right start, as a few suspicious glances from the senior senators suggested they preferred the first half of the saying.
“In wisdom, you are my betters. But my youthful audacity compels me to propose what is merely the natural conclusion of reasoning far superior to my own which I have listened to you convey today.
“Our republic is in a crisis. We know not where this foul substance comes from that turns men into the most hideous of beasts, adorning themselves with their own feces whilst carrying out any number of felonies in broad daylight in order to acquire this substance which corrupts their soul.
“I’ve spoken to many constituents that have told me their revenue has gone down by ninety percent. They don’t know how much longer they’ll even be able to stay in business!
“Sure, our fine police will catch the ringleaders; none of us have any doubt about that. But when will the next wave of maniacs storm our nation’s capital in broad daylight in order to steal this foul substance or to rob merchandise in order to barter for it with their criminal cohorts? And what if instead of wearing feces next time they’re wearing armor and wielding swords?!”
This brought a shudder. Selegania’s police were prohibited from wearing armor or bearing swords, as these were seen as a sign of imperialism and monarchy, both of which were viewed as utterly antithetical to the nation’s republic.
“What will our police confront the threat with then? With clubs?!
“Let this foolish youth state the obvious! We will either outlaw this pernicious substance, or we will be forced to turn our nation’s police into armor-wearing, sword-wielding knights as if we were Sodorf, Dachwald, or Sogolia!” he stated with disgust.
“But, colleagues wiser than I will ask, What about Article 8? Does Article 8 not forbid criminalization of this substance? Allow this youth to give his opinion that it most certainly does not!
“Is Smokeless Green not poisonous?! Tell the store owners confronted with madmen worse than the legendary savages our forefathers vanquished that these fiends were not partakers of a poison!”
And now, feeling that he was perhaps at the apogee of his persuasiveness, based upon what his hawk-like eyes seemed to tell him, he decided he had better deliver his coup de grace.
“Esteemed senators, I shall now propose a bill entitled The Safety in Selegania Act, which shall criminalize this insidious substance!”
“What about Article 8?!” shouted Lord Felder, a senior senator. Technically, the rules of senate decorum required that a senator first be acknowledged by the senate president, but longstanding senate practice had relegated this strict rule applicable only to junior senators.
“And would you have gentlemen thrown in prison for what they decide to consume?!” Lord Felder shrieked, a long, blue vein bulging from his neck.
“Gentlemen, let me assure you—men of means will have an exemption in SISA. SISA is precisely about protecting gentlemen from the fiends that have plagued our city over the last several weeks, frightening away patrons from business establishments and even scaring some gentlemen away from their own businesses!”
This seemed to put Lord Felder at considerable ease, and Senator Hutherton made a quick mental tally of this and the probable reason therefor.
“It would never survive a constitutional challenge!” shouted Lord Landers, another senior senator, with a tone that suggested he was far more concerned with the logistics, rather than the morality, of passing an unconstitutional law.
“This vile substance is poisonous!” Senator Hutherton shouted, but without looking directly back at Lord Landers, but rather surveying the room confidently as he said this, not wanting to Lord Landers to feel like the rebuttal was directed at him but rather the rest of the senate.
“I have personally interviewed eyewitnesses who have seen men die from inhaling this foul powder! Both sworn depositions and notarized affidavits can be made available!” Senator Hutherton quickly added with an almost religious conviction in his voice. He hoped he hid the enormous gulp that descended his throat after this fib left his lips like a ship on a dubious mission. It had not been for a lackadaisical attitude that he was forced to play this card without first making sure it would pass scrutiny.
It was Ambassador Rochten, after all, who had insisted he could arrange for certain events to unfold that would make the atmosphere right for a bill like SISA, but Rochten had withheld all but the vaguest of details from him and told him to just worry about getting the legislation ready and that he would “know when the time was right to proffer the bill.”
Hutherton had doubted he would, but after the most infamous vandalism spree in the recorded history of the city’s capital had occurred, just days later he had started drafting with zeal. Once he got to the point he was visualizing the potential arguments that might come from the senate—which he did by alternating between addressing the chairs in his study as his audience and sitting in those chairs and challenging the proposals—he had found himself asking the proponent of the bill if he had any proof the substance was poisonous in anything more than a figurative sense, and upon asking that question he had quickly risen from his chair, reassumed the orator’s position, and proclaimed boldly that he had eyewitnesses to its poisonous effects, available to testify in sworn depositions or via notarized affidavits.
He had then quickly run back to the imaginary, pesky senator’s seat and said, “I’ll need to hear from them before you get my vote!”
This had sent Hutherton into a panic and practically sprinting off to the Gentlemen
of Selegania Club. However, unlike in his previous visits, Ambassador Rochten was nowhere to be found. Hutherton had religiously attended this irreligious locale every night since hoping to come across the magical genie who always seemed willing to grant another wish, but he seemed to have disappeared.
Thus, Hutherton realized it might boil down to a good old-fashioned bluff. He had practiced several, and he waited apprehensively to see what would happen now.
To his immense surprise, in spite of an intense stare emanating from Lord Landers, he made no further challenge. Although Hutherton felt the antithesis of confidence in that moment, his well-practiced body language conveyed supreme confidence, and Lord Landers, sensing the sentiment in the senate was turning in Hutherton’s favor, had felt it too risky to call Hutherton’s bluff. In fact, he didn’t know it was a bluff.
“I say we review the bill, and then we vote!” said Lord Felder, who looked at Hutherton with a mischievous eye. The erstwhile bulging vein in his neck seemed to have calmed significantly.
“I am humbled by this honor,” said Hutherton, holding sixty parchments in his hand, one for each senator, including himself. He had gotten the copies made at the local printing press just one day before.
The bill read:
“The Safety in Selegania Act:
“The consumption, possession, or sale of calinus ominesferus (also known as Orgone, Smokeless Green, and other names) by anyone below the rank of gentleman, or the sale by anyone (including a gentleman) to anyone other than a gentleman, shall be henceforth a Class B felony punishable by twenty to forty years in prison. A second offense shall be a capital offense. For purposes of this section, a gentleman is anyone with a yearly income of at least 200,000 falons; with monetary assets of at least 1,000,000 falons; or with fee simple absolute title to at least 1,000 acres of land actively used for agricultural production.”
The senators began poring over the act with the severest attention to detail. But their attention became most focused when reading the definition of “gentleman.” They were not all partakers of Smokeless Green. In fact, most of them were not. But word about this amazing substance had been spreading like wildfire around the city’s elite social circles, and unlike its treatment in the newspapers, it was not all bad press.
Stories of all-night parties were already starting to work their way around the gossip vines of the capital, and more than one senator was wondering whether he might feel inspired to try this substance at least once. And, as the saying often went in the senate, “It never hurts to have an exemption from a prohibition.” Furthermore, gentlemen were different. The wild hooligans who had vandalized the plush downtown shopping district were likely ill-bred thugs from the city’s foulest slums, individuals without the proper rearing to be able to handle something like Orgone.