Chapter 16: Ulrite Mechanical Clocks
The room was simple. And not just in the way that most Earth rooms are simple to aliens from more advanced planets (four walls, a ceiling, and a floor is a surprisingly barbaric design). It was simple in that it had only five objects inside. There were two wooden chairs set across from each other, made of a deep mahogany. In-between them was a brass desk with claw feet. On top of the desk was an hourglass, and a short, thick clock with the word Ulrite etched across the back. Jackson heard the second hand ticking away, unaware that he was listening to the most perfectly crafted, atomically accurate time-keeping device in existence.
“Have a seat,” said the Watchmaker, turning over the hourglass and sitting down behind the desk.
“Are… are you timing us?” asked Jackson.
The Watchmaker smirked. “I find it helpful in conversations to remind myself, and others, that time is not infinite. And neither should words be.”
Jackson thought about saying something, but felt unsure whether it was worthy of saying, given what the non-infinite nature of words. So he sat quietly instead, thinking that the hourglass was an unwelcome presence in the room, yet unknowingly supporting its usefulness through his silence.
“I imagine you are wondering how you could possibly be a candidate for President of Earth.”
Jackson nodded.
“Well, there is an amendment in your planet’s constitution that says if enough people make a vote of “no confidence” in the President…”
“...then a new election must be held,” interrupted Jackson, confident that this was a good use of his words.
“Very good,” said the Watchmaker.
“But you’re leaving out the most important part. To vote “no confidence” they have to name a potential replacement. And 67% percent of the planet has to submit the same exact name for the amendment to apply. No one has ever gotten close to that! And there’s no way I could have- not even 1% of people on Earth know my name!”
Jackson was right and wrong. 44 years earlier, a person named Blur P. Butt had actually gotten 62% of the vote due to a massive online campaign to make him President. Coinciding with the onset of fast and easy app voting, Blur was almost a candidate for President based solely on the fact that his name, when said quickly, sounded very similar to that of a popular cartoon character. His close brush with fame would lead to his own reality show, “Blurring out Blur P.”, which lasted only two seasons.*
*The campaign surrounding, but not including, Blur P. had caught him by surprise, and he insisted on having his face blurred out for the reality show. Although it enjoyed steady viewership from people hoping to catch a glimpse of his face, the show was universally panned by critics. A random sampling of reviews included comments such as: “Just show us his nose! Is that too much to ask??!!”, “Seems like you’re mocking us with that title”, and “Why did he even sign up for this show??”. It was canceled after two seasons, when Blur P. demanded his dog’s face be blurred out as well.
But Jackson was right that, statistically speaking, no one knew his name. To be exact, only roughly .0000033% of people on Earth had ever heard of Jackson. But, as he was about to learn, that did not stop him from being nominated.
“APBs have become remarkably popular across the universe, ever since Vice Chancellor Marmadonuck’s flubbed apology speech. And Earth is no exception. It seems 91% of voting-age Earthlings were watching this one, and when you put your message out there…”
“What message?” Jackson asked.
“When you said that Earth needs a new President.”
“I didn’t mean me! I didn’t even know that people were watching! I—”
The Watchmaker glanced at the hourglass. Jackson took a breath.
“You’re telling me that 67% of Earth wants me to be the new President, because of one outburst?”
“Close. I’m telling you that 68% of the people on Earth want you to be the new candidate for President. There will have to be a debate for people to learn more about you, your policies, your background, etc…”
“Policies? I don’t have any policies. I’m just against Earth having its water stolen,” replied Jackson.
“Which is a good start,” added the Watchmaker.
Jackson sat back in the chair in disbelief. “You still haven’t explained how I could get so much support when no one knows who I am.”
The Watchmaker smiled again. “Yes, well, it seems that the amendment doesn’t specify whether or not a real name needs to be used, just that the name is consistent. In this case it was a nickname that got 68% of the vote. A nickname which has been unequivocally attributed to you.”
“What did they call me?” he asked sheepishly.
“Shouty Freckles,” answered the Watchmaker. “I’m told it caught on rather quickly, as you can imagine.”
“I see,” answered Jackson. He thought a moment, staring at the hourglass. “So, can you help me get out of this? You and the Pocket Watches?”
The Watchmaker stared at Jackson with his large eyes in sincere confusion. “Get out of it? My dear boy, this is the chance we’ve been waiting for! When you win this election we will make sure that the Byzongs never get a single drop of Earth’s water! I can assure you… we’ll never get a chance like this again.”
“But, I can’t be President of Earth! I could barely handle being Personal Assistant to the Non-Personal Assistant to the Executive Assistant to the President of Earth!”
“In the interest of time, please refrain from stating your full title again.”
Jackson nodded.
“And don’t worry. The Pocket Watches have had a campaign manager in our ranks for quite a while now. You’d be surprised how often changing worlds depends on politicians.”
“I’m not a politician!” insisted Jackson.
“Not yet. But you will be. No one is better than Arn. He’s never lost an election and Earth happens to be his home planet.”
The Watchmaker slid a dyna-holographic business card over into Jackson’s hand.
Jackson’s stomach sank as he saw the name “Arn Brule” on the bottom of the card, and the enthusiastic smile of his old bully, waving at him in shiny, iridescent glory.