Faster on My Own: Chapter 23
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Steven had no time to celebrate his win in Iowa. He was a front-runner now, but delicately. A bad finish in New Hampshire would be devastating. As his campaign bus rumbled up the interstate, though, Rick informed him that the head of the RNC wanted to meet with him. So instead of jumping right into the diners and handshaking and other campaign activities, he walked into a windowless room in one of the interchangeable mid-range hotels that dotted New Hampshire. Ron Stannic, the head of the RNC, did not stand to greet him. He merely gestured to the chair across the folding table he used as a makeshift desk.
“So, this is about Iowa, right?”
Steven didn’t know Ron well, but in the minute they’d been in a room together, Stannic had held the expression of someone attending his entire family’s funeral at once. Beyond sadness or anger, instead a resolute disapproval of the world in front of him. He said, “Yes. It is about Iowa. You weren’t supposed to win that.”
“Yeah, it surprised me too.” So far, he couldn’t discern the tone of the meeting, but was going to try his hardest to keep it celebratory.
“It’s not a surprise. It’s a problem.” They were drifting from celebration. “The party believes you might win the nomination, but not the general.”
Mixed news, but he didn’t hate the idea that he could win. “I think I can win the general election. But that’s getting ahead of ourselves, isn’t it?”
“We don’t think so. We’re very concerned that Aaronson won’t be able to overtake you. His campaign staff selection troubles us.”
“It’s that bad?”
“They’re old friends, I’m sure you understand how that clouds judgement. Maybe not. Our research showed you don’t have any friendships.” Stannic’s voice bubbled and dripped from his mouth. “So that puts us in a difficult position. We do not like to interfere directly in the primary process.”
“Right. You have to let the base decide who they want.”
“No. We nudge them in the right direction. With varying degrees of nudge, but directness carries risks. We could be found out. The base would lash out against us. That would be undesirable. We need you to drop out of the race. Cite personal troubles. Perhaps come down with an illness. I happen to know of several diseases that correlate quite well with future political success. Do you know how many senators throughout history have had whooping cough?”
“Um. No.” Steven wished he knew more about Stannic. Desires, fears, hobbies, anything. But in Stannic’s 20 years on the job, no one had ever learned anything about him. It was like he’d been grown in a lab. “What happens if I don’t drop out?”
“Yes, directly to the heart of the matter. That’s a useful skill. If you don’t drop out, we will turn our resources against you in every phase of your political career. In Congress, for as long as you maintain your seat, you will find no support for any of your bills, any initiatives. You will be a ghost. When it comes time for re-election, you will find a primary opponent who is incredibly well-funded and endorsed. And if you think your treatment in our media is bad now, just wait.”
Steven looked into Stannic’s eyes. The exact same gray as his hair. “That’s one way it could go. But here’s another possibility. I get the nomination and win. Or even if I don’t. Even if I get close, I’m the exciting future of the Republican party. I’ll be too big an asset to destroy.”
“That’s a substantial ‘if.’ You’re performing well against a weak cast of candidates. We had some development problems this time. When you face one of the Democrats, you’ll lose in a landslide.”
“Well shit, let’s find out. Are you telling me you think Aaronson has a good shot in the general? Or Reule? Or fuck, Armstrong? They’ll all get pasted too. So why shut me out?”
Stannic leveled his gaze on Steven, no doubt present in any of his features. “They might lose. You will lose. That’s the difference. If you drop out now, we can be good to you. You’ve got the profile for a senate run now. Maybe in eight years, you’re not so young, you’re experienced, you’ll have our backing for a presidential run.”
“Eight years.” This presidential run had been sooner than expected. Perhaps he would be better served stepping back, building up more of a reputation. While he didn’t agree with Stannic that his defeat in the general election was certain, it would be a struggle to win. Eight years was a long time to become a force in Congress and the Senate, then come back with the full force of the party behind him. It was the safe way to do things. But he had energy behind him right now. That electricity, which leapt from person to person in the crowd until everyone was shouting with one mind, was the rarest thing in politics. Eight years from now he’d be more experienced, but he’d be more familiar. Even as a better politician, Steven couldn’t be sure he’d recapture that energy in the future. “Can’t do it. Everything you’re promising me, I can get by winning the nomination. But this way, I’m also going to be president.”
“That’s disappointing.” Stannic’s face didn’t reveal that either, and Steven wondered if it was a hyper-realistic mask. As Stannic made a note in a folder in front of him on the table, he said, “You better hope for your sake that you win. As of this moment you are cut off from any Republican party funds. And don’t try to play this up to the people about how you’re fighting the establishment. Our voters don’t care.”
Steven would have to find out for himself. He got up in front of a crowd, all eyes following every little move of his on the stage. Now Steven understood the appeal of leading a cult. The admiration soaked into his body, all the way to the bones, and strengthened him. He was pretty sure he could lift a car if a large enough crowd believed it. He shouted that the Republican Party had told him to quit. As soon as he did, he could feel the keyboards clacking that Steven had lost himself in conspiracy theory. The whole of the media would bring itself to bear on him. But the people responded. They screamed anguish at the idea that any sort of political establishment would rob them of Steven’s vision for the future. Steven’s promise of a new, unbiased government that didn’t eat people benefited from the foil of a decrepit political class fighting against it.
It wasn’t enough, however, to win him New Hampshire. A couple thousand votes ahead of him sat Armstrong, a surprise win in his own right, while Aaronson and Reule brought up the rear. After two fourth place finishes, Reule dropped out. A candidacy that never had a purpose came to an end, while Aaronson fought to reclaim the front-runner status he had held for so long. The ensuing primaries resolved nothing. Each of the three took their turns at victory, and by the time of the next debate, all anybody knew was that the race was a mess. Tamp Barcow, refusing to admit he was beaten, spent the debate taking more and more outlandish positions until everyone stopped engaging with him. Rather than admit defeat, he left the race a couple weeks later after coming down with a bad case of whooping cough.
For the remaining three candidates, the debate clarified nothing. All of them showcased their strengths and hid their weaknesses. Armstrong sounded the moral clarion he knew so well, Aaronson showed his political savvy, and Steven continued to generate excitement and create the narrative of the people against the government. As Super Tuesday approached, where a collection of eleven states all had their primaries, analysts doubted whether it, or anything, could offer clarity.
Steven won six states, Armstrong won five. Aaronson, finishing third in all but Minnesota, succumbed to reality and left the race. For the rest of the race, no matter what issues they launched forth, no matter what buttons they pressed, neither Steven nor Armstrong could pull away from the other. On July 20th, they walked into the Republican National Convention with no idea who would emerge the victor.