This chapter is non-erotic.
*****
Chapter 11: Suitable Leaders
He led them first to the converted saloon. "This is where we run things. I want to introduce you to the other counsel members."
They stepped onto a covered patio that creaked underfoot. Tad ushered them through a new, polished wooden door in the frame where Ellie thought swinging saloon doors might once have hung. The air carried the heavy, sweet smell of antique lumber. It wasn't unpleasant.
"It's a shame you replaced the original doors; I wanted to bust in here like a dusty troublemaker with my cowboy boots," said Ellie.
Tad let out a bark of a laugh and leaned over to slap his knees. He looked at Hannah. "I like her!"
Hannah grinned. "Told ya."
The room was tall, crowned by a balcony that led into rooms above. Fans dangled on long poles from the high ceiling and churned quietly in the dusty air.
Three empty office chairs, modern but outdated, sat behind a long polished oak counter. Crates of files, folders, and documents sat haphazardly piled along the far wall, and uniform binders lined the shelves where liquor once stood. The space had been converted into a utilitarian town hall or city counsel chamber of sorts.
Two individuals -- an East Asian woman in her 40's and a younger white guy with long hair pulled into a man bun -- worked their way down the stairs in greeting.
"Sandra, Mitchell -- I would like for you to meet Ellie." Tad gestured toward her. "Ellie, these are the other two counsel members."
They both approached and extended greetings. Ellie noted that they each looked fatigued, but they were gracious enough.
"So what does the counsel do?" asked Ellie.
"We make the big decisions," Mitchell offered. "Supply shipments, project prioritization, conflict resolution, that kind of thing."
"What do you mean by 'projects'?" asked Ellie.
"Pretty much what you'd think it means," piped in Sandra. "Construction. Additional housing. Crop rotation. Just things that need to be done as our community grows."
"People petition their requests based on their need," added Tad, "and the adults meet here once a week to make their voices heard."
"We hold votes and make it happen," said Mitchell. "Not to mention -- we're basically the only contact with the outside world. And with Yeltsin's people, it's a lot," he nodded wearily, and Ellie knew he meant it.
"So this is basically pretty democratic," said Ellie.
"We have to make decisions on everyone's behalf sometimes," said Sandra. "Not everything can be put to a public vote. But we do our best."
"And you're elected? Do you run for office?" asked Ellie.
"Yes to the first one, no to the second," said Mitchell. "We don't do political campaigns. That's strictly not allowed."
"Wait, so how do you win an election?"
"We serve if people want us to serve," said Sandra. "No speeches and no asking people for votes."
"So then..." asked Ellie, working on this, "How do you not just end up with everyone voting for themselves? Or just a few votes for, like, eighty different people?"
"She asks good questions," Sandra said to Tad.
He smiled and nodded. "Voting does not work here like it does out there," said Tad. "You can almost think of it like a tournament. You move down brackets or get disqualified based on the number of votes you get in each round. Eventually winners emerge."
Mitchell snorted. "Winners."
"You didn't want to win?" asked Ellie.
They all shook their heads in unison. A gust of wind outside made the building groan around them.
"Like Mitchell said, it's a lot of responsibility," said Sandra. "We're mandated to serve whether or not we want to. One of our core tenants is that we don't reward ambition."
"You ever heard that old saying, 'the person capable of getting themselves elected President is probably the person least suited for the job'?" asked Mitchell. "That's the spirit of it. And I must be pretty fuckin' suited for the job, because I am not having fun. It all comes back on you when the biggest things go wrong. I'd rather be out there playing with the kids or teaching them how to cook or whatever." He crinkled his nose and looked around the drab old saloon. "Nah. I wouldn't pick it."
"It can be hard on us," said Sandra, giving Michell a slightly disapproving side eye. "Everyone else enjoys equality. Our burden is higher. Poor Thaddeus has been doing it for twenty-three years."