The Violent Society

by M C Rooney

  Take a deep breath, Rez, he now thought. Focus on the men and the political power they carry, not their stupid hats. Unite and rule this country, which was what my birth father wanted.

  “You were very lucky to find that new chapter,” Rez Dean continued.

  “Yes ... yes, lots of things were lost in the old days,” Iggulden lied. “We were blessed by our Lord that a young priest in the state of New South Wales came upon an ancient part of a spacecraft—”

  Oh dear!

  Rez held up his hand in an effort to stop the Grand Master from lying any more. Lies were often told to the public for their own good, but that didn’t mean Rez liked people lying to him.

  “The priests will have their way in Western Australia, Grand Master,” the Governor-General replied. “On that you have my word.”

  “Thank you,” Iggulden replied, continuing to look down his nose at him. “It is good to know that our leader is indeed a man of faith.”

  Oh, yes indeed, I have so much faith, in your ambitions that is.

  Wyndham and Radcliffe seemed to be rubbing their hands together at the money to be made from the new wages.

  “Of course,” Rez replied. “Now if you will excuse me, I do have other matters to attend to.” Get out, Rez thought. Please get out of my sight.

  And after a nod from the Grand Master, the five charlatans in white robes all stood up and slowly walked out.

  “Do you think they believe in any of it?” Toi Reynolds asked after they had all left.

  “Some of them are narrow-minded enough to believe, some are not,” a shriveled-up old man said as he walked into the room via a secret sliding panel. No doubt he had been listening to all of the conversation. “Redman is a nice fellow, though.”

  Jac Filmore was the Governor-General’s spymaster. He had been with him from the days when Rez was just a captain in the Eastern Army and had seen with him the crazy Zombie Civil War of Sydney and the strange Dark Monk from Brisbane. He had arranged for the murder of the previous Governor-General and all of his sycophants through The Hatchet, and he basically was the main man who watched Rez’s back.

  “Any news, Jac?” the Governor-General asked. “Anything I should worry about with the council?”

  “No more than usual,” he said as he looked thoughtfully at the closed door the priests had left through. “Some, like Redman and Sutchence, are genuine in their belief, Redman in a peaceful way, Sutchence in a violent way, but most just love the power, money, and sex that they can receive as the representatives of our Lord, and of course, God himself,” he finished with a grin. Jac was privy to the information in Rez’s father’s orange disk. He knew what rubbish their religion was.

  “And Iggulden?” the Governor-General asked.

  “Oh, yes, he wants your job, but he is not really pro-active. He seems to believe that life will just hand it to him; Maz Wyndham is the pro-active one, but he strangely, only seems to want Iggulden’s job. Only one will be alive come the end of the year, of that there is no doubt,” Filmore replied. “But I have some young women keeping an eye on them for any coming events, if you know what I mean.”

  Yes, he did, but whom did he want as the Grand Master? Iggulden, the man who was after his job, or Wyndham, who thought women were lesser human beings. He normally would have discussed this matter further with Jac, but he had another matter he wished to discuss, something from a bygone era.

  “Have you found out who has been using the McKay website?” he asked the spymaster. “Who the culprit was that hacked into the secret files?”

  Rez had dutifully updated the orange disk over the last fifty-plus years with all the latest information on what was occurring in Australia. He had hopes that other inner council members of the McKay Group, or his other siblings, and especially his birth father, would have contributed some information of what was happening in the world, but it appeared he was the only survivor ... until now.

  “Not yet, my lord,” Filmore replied as he ran his hand over his wrinkled and bald head. “The person who hacked the website a month ago was from Melbourne, that’s all I know at the moment. They haven’t tried since, and we are prepared a bit better in the future should they try again.”

  How can someone in Australia have access to that website? Rez thought.

  “But there has been another successful attempt in recent days, my lord,” Filmore continued.

  “What?” Rez said in surprise.

  “This time it was from Southern Tasmania,” said Filmore.

  “Where?” Reynolds asked.

  “The island to the south,” Filmore replied with a sigh. “It was a founding state of our country, you know.”

  Rez knew, but he had not bothered conquering the island, as it was way down on his list of priorities. He had tried to contact a leader down there through an old radio communication, but first contact he made was some pretentious man by the name of George Abercrombie. He had enjoyed making fun of him for the little time that they spoke. The second contact he made was from some member of a gang; he said that the north of the state was run by some sort of religious cult leader. Rez had kept that information to just himself and Filmore, as he knew that as soon as Iggulden or the religious council found out they had some competition in the world of cults they would head down there in a wave of righteous fury. The spiritual masses were theirs; one religion was their mantra.

  The smaller island to the northwest of Tasmania was a handy destination to send all recalcitrants from his city, though. He had the misfortune to send his mentor, Adam Dean’s, grandson there just recently for so-called heresy. Iggulden, or Wyndham rather, had wanted his head, but Rez had saved him, albeit for how long he didn’t know.

  “So who was the person who hacked into the site this time?” he asked. “Or were you unable to find out again?”

  Filmore pursed his lips. He didn’t like any mystery being unresolved. “Well, this hacking was very interesting, my lord,” he replied. “It was from an original member of McKay.”

  “That’s impossible,” the Governor-General replied. “They must be all dead by now, surely. Who was the original member?” he asked. “Who has come back from the dead?”

  “Well, he would be in his eighties now,” Filmore replied with a grin. He was younger than that ... just. “So he may not have resurrected just yet.”

  “Who was it?” the Governor-General asked in his most official voice. “Tell me now.”

  “McNamara, my lord, or should I say James Miller,” Filmore replied with a respectful bow. “The man who helped design the Towers.”

  McNamara! He was partners with McLaren, and one of the five members who were not assassinated on the day of the plague. “Very interesting,” Rez Dean, the Governor-General and ruler of Australia, replied in a calm voice. “Perhaps it is time to take a look at this island after all.”

  “The south?” Reynolds asked.

  “No,” Rez replied. “First, we need to see what is happening in the north of the state.”

  “With the cults?” Filmore asked.

  “Yes, we need to move over to the main island bit by bit,” Rez replied. “We do not have the numbers to take over the whole state just yet.”

  “Abercrombie, in the east, had two thousand in his army,” Reynolds said.

  “Yes, but they rode horses and only carried swords, bows, and arrows,” Filmore replied with a slight smile.

  Reynolds laughed out loud.

  “But still,” the Governor-General replied in a serious voice. He was always serious when it came to ruling this country. “We need to send spies down there for a few months, to see what we can expect in terms of any obstructions.”

  “I will arrange for that, my lord,” Filmore replied.

  “And if there is any resistance down there?” asked Reynolds.

  “Then we will inform the religious council of the ... cult.” Rez almost smiled at this. “And I will personally ask that the troops be led by Thak Ferguson himself.”

  “Him
!” Reynolds said in shock. “He makes the zealots look mild. Why would you send him, my lord?”

  Thak Ferguson was one of the council’s enforcers, who was titled High Priest. If there were any heathens out there, or atheists, or anybody who showed any sort of independent thought on the hereafter, Ferguson was the man who would put a stop to it. Or kill them.

  “He makes an example,” Rez replied, “and if McNamara is still in the south, he will see that example.”

  “You’re worried about him,” Filmore said in surprise.

  “Yes, I am,” Rez replied. “You may call it a hunch, but anybody who was from The McKay Group and has survived all this time is someone we should be very careful of.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “Open the Holonews for all of Tasmania as soon as possible. I want them to know that the security of our regime is at hand.” And to cause unrest, he thought.

  The Holophones had been open for decades, if anybody could be bothered ringing Tasmania, but the Holonews was the easiest way of communication. With its images and spoken word, it was easy to manipulate the citizens into following the regime’s way of thinking.

  “Yes, my lord,” Filmore replied, and he left the room to do Rez’s bidding.

  Jac Filmore’s orders were taken by others as the Governor-General’s orders. Normally, Rez would be worried at someone having so much power, but Jac was one of the few people he would trust with his life.

  McNamara intrigued the Governor-General and also made him feel a little uneasy. He was looking forward to the challenge.

  Graham Garboni hung up his secret listening device that he used to check up on what the Governor-General was doing. It was so handy for him that all of the government departments were stationed in this massive building, as he could keep an eye on so many departments in one day. He presumed it was also very handy for the Governor-General as well to keep an eye on everyone through his friend Jac Filmore. But Graham thought it was also surprisingly dangerous should anyone wish to start a coup. One well-placed bomb in the building, or if anyone got their hands on the rare and now almost mythical railguns, the whole regime would disappear in a few short minutes. The buildings for the next few kilometres would disappear as well.

  Graham wondered as to the thinking behind this, as Dean was not a stupid man. Perhaps by standing still in one spot he may indeed attract his enemies, but he could also see them coming at him as well. His predecessor didn’t see it coming, though; what a mess that was. The Hatchet, he thought, thank the maker that assassin had retired. Graham noted that the religious council was situated in another building entirely, a catholic church across the road, which had been ransacked and every religious idol replaced with one that suited their dogma. He knew through his informants and spying himself that Imperial Grand Master Iggulden was very keen to become the new Governor-General, although Wyndham was the real force behind that, as he wanted desperately to become the new Grand Master.

  This immediately brought his thoughts to the matter at hand. Thak Ferguson, he thought with a shiver; if that man was let loose on any unsuspecting communities...

  He needed to make a quick call and reached for his Holophone. He used an encryption device, which went under the normal lines of a phone call to stop any eavesdroppers, and rang her number. He was one of the few who knew what deep levels of surveillance the Holophones could actually achieve. The government of the past had really kept a close eye on all of its citizens. He wondered if Rezaul Dean knew. He mustn’t, otherwise Graham would most likely be dead by now.

  “Good afternoon, may The Mother Nature bless you,” a cheery voice answered.

  “So, Annie,” Graham said, “have you been keeping yourself clean?”

  Annie Mondham grimaced. A few days earlier, an elderly man had called her and told her that she smelled, and she seemed to be very grumpy ever since.

  “Yes, I have, Garboni,” she said in a huff. “Now what do you want? I have a bath running right this minute.”

  Was she joking? Graham really wasn’t sure, but as she had an irritated face on and he had to keep the call short, he didn’t ask. “The Governor-General has finally turned his face towards your state,” he said. “Firstly, he is sending spies to scout, and then some troops under the command of the High Priest Ferguson.”

  Mondham had thick blonde hair and pale skin. Now she looked even paler, and so she should. “Why?” she said in fear. “Why us, and why him?”

  “I’m sorry, Annie, I really am,” Graham replied. “It has something to do with a man in the south called McNamara or James Miller.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not sure. But I think he makes the Governor-General uncomfortable, whoever he is.”

  “The south,” Annie murmured, “that’s where the call came from.”

  “What call?”

  “That old fart who said I smelled bad.”

  “Really, Annie?” Graham said, exasperated. “You need to let the call go.”

  “Oh, I have,” she replied with a flick of her hand, “and that bath comment was a joke, by the way.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “But the south had been quiet for years,” she continued thoughtfully “Nobody could contact them, and now they have the phones working.”

  “Do some investigation,” Garboni replied.

  “I will,” Annie replied. “I am a journalist, after all.”

  “And so am I. Even though I have two faces.”

  “I’m sure the mask suits you.” Annie laughed.

  “Oh, gee, thanks,” Graham replied sarcastically. “It covers my fat face.” And belly, he thought with a grimace.

  Annie was shocked that some people on the mainland could be so overweight. She said people down there did not have any luxury food and ate what they could produce from the land. Not the sticky sweet stuff Garboni consumed every day. He sent her some food once, and she said she loved it but had trouble sleeping at night as she couldn’t relax.

  “At least you have a regular Holovision,” Annie replied. “All we have is useless gossip.”

  “That’s all about to change,” Garboni replied. “The Holonews has been authorised.”

  “That will cause unrest,” she replied in shock. She hated the cult, but at least the violence was kept to a minimum, as opposed to the old days.

  “Exactly what he wants,” Garboni murmured to himself.

  Whilst the electricity power had strangely always been on in Launceston, the regime on the mainland never bothered until now to broadcast any news or entertainment as far south as the northern tip of Tasmania.

  “And your broadcasts?” she asked.

  “Farley Bodhe is necessary, and you are part of it,” Graham replied. “The people need to know the truth, and freedom of speech is vital for all of us.”

  “I know, and I will pass on the news to my few trusted friends,” she said.

  “I will keep you posted on what happens.”

  Their calls were always short.

  “Thank you, Graham,” she replied. “And have a good show; at least I will get to see it in a few days.” She smiled and disconnected the line.

  Farley and Bodhe were the names of two Melbourne journalists who dared question the current regime and were killed in a very suspicious car crash. Garboni had known them well and had looked up to them for their integrity and bravery.

  “It’s time, Mr Garboni,” a voice called out from behind the door.

  Graham put his encryption device in his pocket, and the Holophone became a normal phone, so somebody could be watching him right now. He shivered and left the dressing room.

  “What’s the news today?” he asked the cameraman.

  “The usual,” he smiled back. “Victory and all that.”

  Garboni sat behind the news desk, checked his suit and tie, combed his hair, and thought about his life. How did he end up being a newsreader? He had a fat face, but people seemed to like his voice for some unknown reason. If he talked like that in the real world people w
ould think he was simple, but on the Holonews, it was required that you speak in a clear and slow manner.

  “Ok, Gabbo,” the cameraman announced, “you’re on in five seconds, three, two...”

  “Good evening, Citizens of Australia,” he announced in his deep voice. “And on tonight’s news...”

  He didn’t speak like this when he was announcing the real midnight news on Farley Bodhe. He had a white grinning mask on when he spoke on that underground station that ran just below the frequency of the Cykam Holonews, but he talked with real passion about what was happening in Australia. He told people about the massacres, the growing divide between rich and the poor, the decadence and sexual promiscuity of the church, the corruption of the elections, he told them that the Cykam Media vetoed all news that portrayed their regime in a bad light. He told them the truth. Because people needed to be informed about what sort of world they lived in and what sort of people were exploiting it. He didn’t even know if anybody was watching him or that anybody cared, but he felt a real joy in providing the real news anyway. For that was the job of media. And the media had to be free to report on everything or the people themselves would become slaves of the powerful.

  “And the mighty army of Cykam has won yet another battle today in the city of Perth, Western Australia, and soon all its citizens will become one with us under the umbrella of peace and freedom...”

  Watch out, Tasmania, he thought. You are next.