[ WP ] The president is a three year old . You are the vice president .

President-Regent Langley was due to meet with Chinese President Ha Jin today at noon, in the White House Blue Room. Press and other observers from both sides of the Pacific crowded the Rose Garden and the lobby, jockeying for entry. What the President-Regent did today -- how he conducted himself -- would determine the course of the current hostilities. 
 
 The two statesmen danced the usual Kabuki act of formality: handshakes, mutual bows, an invitation to have a seat, smiles for the cameras. Their discussion in the Blue Room was not ever meant to be substantive, but just look good for the PR machine. The real discussions were happening, and would continue to happen, behind closed doors, in embassies and conference rooms, and they would involve not just the two heads of state but whole retinues of career diplomats working tirelessly, around the clock, to avert nuclear war. 
 
 `` It's an honor to have you here today,'' President-Regent Langley said to President Ha Jin, once the two men had settled themselves in the plush leather chairs that angled toward one another. 
 
 `` It is an honor to be here,'' President Ha Jin said in fluent English -- hardly an accent. 
 
 `` Well,'' President-Regent Langley said, `` let's see how you feel after you've had some of my wife's cooking.'' 
 
 Laughter from the press corps, flashbulbs popping. 
 
 President Ha Jin arched his eyebrows, playing confused. `` Interesting custom,'' he intoned. `` Should not Cynthia Hannigan be cooking tonight's meal? She is, after all, the true First Lady.'' 
 
 President-Regent Langley pretended to flick some lint off the knee of he pleated trousers. He wished he could reach across the small square table separating him from President Ha Jin and throttle him unconscious. Instead he plastered a pained smile across his face and said: `` Cynthia has been through a lot these past few months, as you're well aware. She is n't making public appearances just yet.'' 
 
 He patted President Ha Jin on the shoulder and satisfied himself with the fantasy that he was doing much more violence to the man. `` Besides,'' he continued, `` young John is a mama's boy through and through, but Cynthia is hardly the First Lady. She is the President Mother. And on that note --'' he flashed a toothier, more winning smile to the contingent of reporters -- `` I look forward to the day, hopefully soon, that our young President can have a real First Lady living by his side at the White House.'' 
 
 `` Mm,'' President Ha Jin grunted. `` Then let us dispense with these niceties. Shall we sign the treaty?'' 
 
 State department officials came in through the side door, bearing a small podium and a scroll with the treaty's text written upon it in a regal faux script. The terms were already set and approved by both nations' congresses -- this signing, too, was a nicety of its own kind. In exchange for the Chinese withdrawing its missile silos from the irradiated ruins of Hokkaido and its armies from beleaguered Honshu, allowing the Japanese people a self-determining government; the US had agreed to surrender the Beijing Five to Chinese custody, release control of its Pacific protectorates, and link the two nations' dynasties by marriage. 
 
 The two statesmen each took a fountain pen. President Ha Jin stood and stooped over the podium to sign his name in Mandarin. He stepped aside and President-Regent Langley took his place. But before Langley could sign, Ha Jin stopped him. 
 
 `` I do not believe,'' President Ha Jin said, `` according to your fine nation's constitution, that the Vice President has the power to sign any bills or treaties into law.'' 
 
 President-Regent Langley's false smile dropped from his face. He allowed himself to appear angered -- projecting strength with regards to his claim on the Presidency was paramount. `` Do n't be silly, now,'' he said. `` I am the acting President. Our constitution is very clear on this. I may sign bills into law.'' 
 
 `` Nonetheless, I would rather John Hannigan sign the treaty, assuming he is literate. And I would like to see him, anyway. I was quite fond of his father, you will recall -- and since the young boy is soon to marry my daughter, I want to make his acquaintance.'' 
 
 President-Regent Langley stopped himself from grimacing. This was a power play, naked and unashamed. He could buck back, join into a pissing contest -- assert firmly the legitimacy of his signature on the treaty. He wanted to, if only for his personal sense of pride. But more paramount than his claim on the Oval Office was that this treaty be successful. He would allow the Chinese no grounds on which to later dispute its terms. 
 
 `` Have it your way,'' he said, cordially. `` President Hannigan just recently learned to sign his name and I think he would be proud to show everyone how precocious he is.'' Langley turned and said to an aid: `` please, go fetch John.'' 
 
 President Ha Jin grinned smugly, but Langley had his own way of saving face in front of the world's eyes: `` since we are involving the young President,'' he said, `` why do n't you fetch Qingxiang? They'll be husband and wife soon enough -- they should meet, do n't you agree?'' 
 
 President Ha Jin's ruddy complexion went slightly paler. But with reporters excitedly snapping photos and filming, he had no justification for refusing this ostensibly friendly request. In Mandarin, he asked his own aide to go get Qingxiang. 
 
 Some moments later, little John Hannigan III, 56th President of the United States and Outlaying Territories and Protectorates, Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, Head of State and Government, and Defender of Liberty, toddled into the room. He could hardly yet walk, but wore a dapper dark black fitted suit, a gray silk shirt with matching blue silk tie, pointed loafers and pressed trousers. He was, as the papers loved to say time and again, the spitting image of his recently late father. 
 
 President-Regent Langley knelt, the joints in his knees crackling. `` John,'' he said, `` we need you to sign your name.'' 
 
 `` Sign my name!'' he said. `` Sign my name!'' He hopped up and down a couple times. 
 
 `` That's right, John. Can you do that for us?'' 
 
 `` Uh-huh!'' 
 
 John's personal aides offered to get a hassock for him to stand upon so he could reach the podium to sign, but President-Regent Langley waved them off. Instead, he held John under the armpits and hoisted him up to the proper height. The press loved it, American and Chinese alike. John chewed on his tongue, trying his darnedest to sign neatly, just like he had been taught, though the result was still a splotchy chicken scratch that scrawled across the page. Langley beamed proudly while he held the young President. President Ha Jin blanched. 
 
 Only someone like Langley could turn public humiliation at the hands of the Chinese into such a PR coup. That was why he was regent, after all. 
 
 Soon after the signing was completed, President-Regent Langley suggested that the two signatories should finalize the treaty with a handshake. He relished the image of President Ha Jin bending forward to shake the hand of a toddler. *You wanted to do your diplomacy with a child -- you got it*, he thought bitterly. 
 
 President Ha Jin's aides returned to the Blue Room with Qingxiang Jin in tow. She was two years older than John, and tall even for her age, so that side-by-side she seemed to tower over him. Her face was pale, and almost gaunt, her long raven hair often concealing her eyes. 
 
 `` Hi,'' John said to his fiancee, `` I'm President Hannigan!'' 
 
 `` I -- am -- Qingxiang,'' the girl said, struggling with what pieces of English she knew. 
 
 Without prompting, the young President waddled forward and wrapped his arms around the girl he would soon wed. The girl went stiff, not sure how to respond, but with all eyes upon her she decided it would be best to hug him back. The press could not resist letting forth a chorus of awws and other heartwarmed cooing. President-Regent Langley felt like vomiting. 
 
 But then Langley felt something else stirring inside him, as he watched the tiny girl. She did n't know what to do -- she kept glancing back at her father, who would give her no guidance, not even a simple nod or a shake of the head. President-Regent Langley considered the grim life that lay ahead of this girl. Yes, John liked her now, in his youthful naivety. But he would be raised to despise her. And thenceforth she would be a virtual prisoner in this foreign country, cut off from her family and all possibility of friends. She would be excluded from all government functions and distrusted by the people of both nations. Perhaps once or twice, when the couple came of age, John would joylessly rut inside of her and thereby produce the heirs that were the chief project of this marriage. And beyond this, her life would have no meaning. 
 
 `` Let's hang out,'' John said, pulling back from the hug. `` We can play blocks!'' 
 
 `` Blocks...'' Qingxiang said. 
 
 `` Or dinosaurs! Do you like dinosaurs too?'' 
 
 Qingxiang, startled and baffled, once more cast a glance back at her father, and once more received no help. She looked back at the young President. `` Yes,'' she said. `` I also like dinosaurs.'' 
 
 `` What's your favorite?'' 
 
 `` Erm -- Triceratops, I think.'' 
 
 `` I like that one too,'' John said, nodding sagely. `` But T-Rex is my favorite. I have both, though. We can play them together!'' 
 
 `` Hmm, that sounds fun.'' 
 
 Langley did not like this. Neither did Ha Jin. But it was happening in public, and who were they to deny the two young lovebirds a play date? That would be a public relations disaster. For the first time, neither man felt like they had a real grip on power after all. 

