Part Two: What Goes Around… (1 of 2)
Ta’ana was abuzz with excitement as the sun rose over the city on the day of the Kevantza Mitalldukish (KM) party convention. Delegates from all over the country poured into the convention center, a massive structure with gleaming glass walls and towering arches. The streets were flooded with protesters, mostly supporters of Ya’oran Gallai, chanting slogans and waving banners. The sound of their voices echoed through the city, a stark reminder of the rising political tensions.
Inside the convention center, the atmosphere was electric as, delegates mingled in the grand foyer, discussing the upcoming speeches and exchanging knowing glances. Some gathered in small groups, whispering in hushed tones, while others made their way to the main auditorium to find their seats.
Daman stood in the center of the foyer, surrounded by his team. He wore a tailored suit, his posture confident but with a hint of underlying anxiety. His campaign manager, Akana Tponkri, stood at his side, whispering last-minute instructions. The security presence was noticeable, with uniformed guards stationed at every entrance and a few discreetly positioned throughout the crowd.
“Daman,” Akana said, leaning in to be heard over the noise, “the first speech is in fifteen minutes. I suggest you make your rounds and greet the key delegates. You need to show them that you’re in control.”
Daman nodded, his gaze scanning the crowd. He saw familiar faces—party loyalists, long-time supporters, and a few notable figures who held significant sway. He knew that his father, Lukian Kullan, would be watching closely, expecting him to make the right connections and secure the necessary support.
He moved through the crowd with practiced ease, offering handshakes and polite nods to those he recognized. Every interaction was an opportunity to gauge the mood and solidify his presence as the front-runner. He stopped briefly to speak with Isik Tib Iskan, the chairman of the convention, who seemed slightly on edge.
“Tib, everything going smoothly?” Daman asked, his voice friendly but with an undercurrent of authority.
Tib forced a smile. “So far, so good. But, you know, the protesters outside are getting louder, and security’s a bit nervous. I just hope things don’t escalate.”
“Let’s keep things under control,” Daman replied. “We don’t need any unnecessary disruptions. If you need anything, let me or Akana know.”
As he continued to make his rounds, Daman spotted a familiar figure standing near one of the side exits. It was one of Naprital Inska’s key delegates, a man with a reputation for being difficult to pin down. Daman knew that winning over this delegate could be crucial in securing the nomination on the first ballot.
“Akana,” Daman said, indicating the delegate with a nod, “I need to talk to him. Make sure we have some privacy.”
Akana nodded and moved quickly to clear a path. Daman approached the delegate with a friendly smile, his handshake firm but not overly aggressive. “It’s good to see you,” he said, his tone warm. “I was hoping we could have a quick chat before the speeches start.”
The delegate raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Of course,” he replied, glancing around to make sure no one was watching too closely. “Lead the way.”
Daman guided the delegate, the vice chair of Inska’s delegates, to a quiet corner near one of the side exits, where they could speak without drawing too much attention. This was where the real work began— securing support through personal connections. The speeches and public appearances were important, but the backroom deals and private discussions often determined the outcome.
As they began to talk, Daman knew that every word mattered. He had to be careful not to promise too much while making it clear that supporting him was the best choice. The convention was just beginning, but the stakes were already high, and he couldn’t afford any missteps.
“Thanks for taking the time,” Daman began as they settled into the quiet corner. The bustle of the convention center seemed distant now, muffled by the thick curtains and heavy carpets in the foyer. “I know it’s a busy day for everyone.”
The delegate nodded, a hint of a smile crossing his lips. “Busy, and interesting. It’s not every day we get to shape the future of the party, is it?” He spoke with a touch of irony, suggesting he knew more than he let on.
“True,” Daman replied, keeping his tone light. “We both know that this convention is critical,” he continued, his voice low but confident. “The first ballot will set the tone for everything that follows, and we need to make sure we’re on the same page.”
The delegate’s expression became more serious. The delegate nodded, his expression cautious but interested. “I understand,” he replied, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “But you’re asking me to make a commitment before I know what I’m getting in return.”
“Of course,” Daman said, his smile unwavering. “What are you looking for? I can assure you, we’re willing to be flexible within reason.”
The delegate leaned back, considering Daman’s words. “What if I say no? What if Inska decides to throw her support behind Gallai? How does that fit into your plan for order and stability?”
Daman’s eyes narrowed, his voice becoming more forceful. “That would be a mistake,” he said, his tone colder. “Gallai’s not just a threat to the party; he’s a threat to the entire country. We don’t need chaos right now. We need leadership, and that’s what I’m offering.”
The delegate glanced around the corner, then back at Daman. After a few moments of contemplation, the delegate began, “Gallai’s camp is offering quite a bit. Positions, contracts, you know the usual. What can you offer that they can’t?”
Daman took a step closer, his tone conspiratorial. “The difference between us and Gallai’s people is simple: loyalty. You support us now, you’re set for life. You back him, you’re taking a gamble with someone who’s known for changing sides when it suits him. My father and I, we value loyalty. If you’re with us, we won’t forget it.”
Daman shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “We can negotiate. I’m willing to listen to her concerns. But we need all of her delegates to back us on the first ballot. We can’t afford a long, drawn-out voting process. It would give Gallai too much time to sway people.”
The delegate tilted his head, considering Daman’s words. “Sounds good, but I need something more concrete. The people I represent are concerned about their future, not just in the party, but in Mitallduk as a whole. What can you do for them?”
Daman nodded. “I understand. If you bring your delegates to us, we can ensure that they have a voice in the party’s direction. Committee positions, say in the National Infrastructure Council or the Economic Development Board, are not out of reach. We also have influence in the Ministry of Trade, and there could be some opportunities for your people there.”
The delegate raised an eyebrow, his skepticism fading slightly. “Alright,” he replied. “But I’ll need assurances that these promises will be kept. I’ve seen too many deals fall apart once the power shifts.”
“Fair enough,” Daman said, his eyes locking with the delegate’s. “Here’s what I can promise: if we win this nomination, you’ll have direct access to my father and me. We’ll make sure that your people are heard, and that they get the positions and opportunities they deserve. If we don’t follow through, you can hold us accountable.”
The delegate seemed to relax a bit, his arms uncrossing. “All right,” he said slowly. “I’m willing to consider it. But I need to hear the same from your father. If he’s on board, then we could have a deal.”
“He will be,” Daman replied confidently. “I’ll set up a meeting after the speeches. You’ll get your assurances, and then we can move forward. We can’t risk reaching the fifth round and giving Gallai an opening.”
The delegate nodded, his gaze steady. “Understood. I’ll see you after the speeches, then. Make sure you have something concrete to offer.” The delegate met Daman’s gaze, his expression inscrutable. “Just know I’m not the one to make the final decision, but I can certainly influence it. Let’s just say, I’ll pass along your message. But you should know, Inska values loyalty and… reciprocation. Make sure you don’t promise anything you can’t deliver. That could be very bad for both of us.” The delegate straightened up from the wall. “I’ll let her know what you said. Just remember, Daman, these things can change quickly. Be careful not to overstep, or you might find yourself on the wrong side of a knife.”
Daman nodded, understanding the implicit warning. “I know how important this is. I’m willing to work with Inska to find common ground. But we need her support. It’s as simple as that,” Daman replied, extending his hand for a firm handshake. “Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch.”
The delegate shook his hand, his grip strong but not overly aggressive. “See you soon,” he said, turning to rejoin the crowd.
As the delegate walked away, Daman took a deep breath, knowing that the next few hours would be crucial. It was all part of the game. And in this game, every move counted. He couldn’t afford any missteps. Not with so much at stake. The first speech was about to begin, and he knew that the outcome of this convention would change everything.
Daman watched the delegate disappear into the crowd, his confident smile masking the turmoil brewing inside him. He knew that securing Inska’s support was vital, but the mention of backstabbing and shifting loyalties left a lingering sense of unease. The stakes were high, and the slightest misstep could tip the balance in Gallai’s favor. He took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and turned back toward the bustling convention floor.
Akana approached with a clipboard in hand, his face etched with concern. “Did you get what you needed?” he asked, keeping his voice low to avoid attracting attention.
“Enough for now,” Daman replied, his eyes scanning the crowd. “But we need to be cautious. Inska’s camp isn’t easy to read. We have to keep our cards close to the vest.”
Akana nodded, jotting down notes on his clipboard. “Understood. The first speech is about to start. You’re scheduled to speak in an hour. Make sure you’re ready to address the crowd. Lukian’s watching, and you know he’s expecting nothing but the best.”
Daman grunted in acknowledgment. His father, Lukian Kullan, had a reputation for being exacting and ruthless when it came to party politics. The pressure to meet his father’s expectations weighed heavily on Daman’s shoulders. He could already hear the murmurs in the crowd, the whispers about Gallai’s growing influence and the threat he posed to the party’s unity.
As Daman made his way through the convention center, he caught snippets of conversations. Some delegates were excited, sharing optimistic outlooks for the party’s future. Others seemed more cautious, whispering about the protests outside and the potential for more violence. Gallai’s supporters were growing more vocal, and the security presence was only a reminder that unrest could erupt at any moment.
The main auditorium was filled with delegates and party officials, all awaiting the speeches that would set the tone for the convention. Daman entered through a side door, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. He saw Isik Tib Iskan, the convention chairman, pacing nervously near the stage. The security guards stationed at the exits kept a watchful eye on the crowd.
“Everything set for my speech?” Daman asked as he approached Iskan.
Iskan nodded, but his eyes darted toward the entrance, where security was dealing with a small commotion. “Yeah, but we’ve got a problem outside. Gallai’s supporters are getting rowdy, and there’s talk of them trying to storm the convention center.”
“Are you kidding me?” Daman muttered, his frustration evident. “We can’t have that. Do what you need to do to keep things under control. We can’t afford any disruptions during the speeches.”
Iskan nodded, signaling to a security guard. “I’ll take care of it. You just focus on your speech. Lukian said it’s crucial you hit all the right notes. You need to show strength and stability. We can’t let Gallai’s chaos spill into the party.”
Daman felt the pressure mounting. He knew his speech could make or break his chances of securing the nomination. As he walked toward the stage, he could hear the distant chants from the protesters outside. The tension was growing, and he had to find a way to quell it without escalating the situation.
He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and stepped onto the stage. The lights were bright, and the auditorium was filled with expectant faces. This was his moment to prove himself, to demonstrate that he was the leader the party needed. The future of the KM party—and perhaps Mitallduk itself—rested on his shoulders.