a message for
president gaston:
LET
MY PEOPLE
GO!
a question for
president gaston:
WHAT’S SO PRECIOUS
ABOUT A STRETCH OF
DESERT FOUR THOUSAND
CLICKS FROM THE
NEAREST
SETTLEMENT?
And finally, a poster on a background of dazzling red, on which the camera seemed to hold for an interminable length of time.
LAND = FREEDOM
FREEDOM = LIFE
RESERVES = PRISON
NO FREEDOM, NO LIFE
PRESIDENT GASTON = ? ? ?
Part of him reluctantly admired the tactics. The whole Long March thing, the silent protest, the posters, the carefully orchestrated tube coverage. This faceless group had succeeded in making the whole issue a personal one between the Elokoi and him, with the media watching every move, recording every word, every expression, and the whole world of voters looking on.
Damn them!
The intercom bleated, and his secretary’s face appeared in the corner of the tube-screen. ‘Sir, some reporter from Internet is online. She wants some comments from you.’
‘I told you to tell them I’m busy.’
The young woman looked nervous. ‘I told her that, sir. But she says she has some information you might like to comment on before she goes to air with it this evening. She says it’s entirely up to you.’
A slight tremor of premonition ran up his neck. Internet was the one comm-linked network that was not controlled, directly or indirectly, by the DMC. They had backed Johannsen’s PC party, and had been the only network to run stories commenting on the surprising disparity between the private polling and the final election result.
Luckily, they were not as influential as the larger networks, but if they broke a story that had ‘legs’, the other networks would run with it, all the same. It was the nature of the beast. And there was little that he or the DMC would be able to do to halt the momentum.
‘You’d better put her on.’
The screen dissolved into a random pattern for half a second, while the tube-news gave way to the private comm-link. Then he was facing a woman of about thirty-five, who looked at him with steel in her gaze.
Amanda Kostas. Damn!
The situation was getting worse by the minute. This was not some hack newshound sniffing around. This was the network’s top gun. Amanda Kostas never asked a question to which she didn’t already know the answer.
He plastered on a professional smile. ‘Amanda. Long time no see.’
The return smile was perfunctory, and the reporter was in no mood to waste time on meaningless pleasantries. Her silence was ominous.
He continued, ‘You know the rules, Amanda. Nothing live-to-air. We start out off the record, until I find out what this is all about.’
‘Of course, Dimitri.’ The woman’s smile grew even colder.
‘Okay, then. What can I do for you?’
‘It has come to our attention that . . .’ She consulted her notes, but he was convinced it was for effect – to let him know she had them . . . ‘on the second of this month, you had a meeting with three representatives of the Elokoi right here in New G. Is this true?’
‘Of course it is.’ There was no point in denying it. They had too many ways of checking up. ‘You don’t expect me to break confidence and tell you what we discussed, do you?’
‘Oh, we already know that, Mr President. We just need your comments as to the accuracy of our information.’
He could feel her herding him in a direction he didn’t want to go, but there was no way to stop her. For now. ‘You seem pretty well informed. Fire away.’
‘Is it true that these Elokoi met with you to inform you of their intention – the intention of the whole Elokoi people – to leave the Reserves and make a’ – the notes again – ‘make a Trek across the Great Central Desert to the coast of the inland sea, and to settle there on their traditional lands?’
He thought for a moment. ‘I’m afraid I can’t comment on that without the permission of the other parties to the—’
‘Oh, come on, Dimitri!’ Amanda Kostas interrupted him curtly. ‘Where do you think we got the information from? They’ve been giving interviews for the last half-hour. Now, what is your comment?’
Outmanoeuvred, he conceded. ‘Yes. It was discussed.’
‘And what was your position?’
‘The only position I could take. The only lands to which they have any entitlement under the Native Species Protection Act are the Reserves.’
‘So the posters are true, then? The Reserves are, in effect, “prisons”.’
‘Don’t start twisting my words. The Elokoi are free to come and go as they please—’
‘But not to settle?’
‘But not to settle. Look, Amanda, I didn’t make the rules—’
‘No. They were decided by the Ruling Council. How many Elokoi were on the Ruling Council at the time?’
‘Unfair, Amanda. Can we get back to the subject at hand?’
The woman nodded. ‘I’ll repeat the question. Did the Elokoi discuss where they intended to go?’
‘They did. They proposed to walk across the Central Desert and settle along the coast of the inland sea.’
‘Where their race originated.’
‘Yes. But where they haven’t lived for over ten thousand years. I couldn’t let them risk their lives on a journey like that, only to try and survive in desert conditions at the end of it.’
‘You couldn’t let them? Are they not free to decide whether they can or cannot exist in any area of their own planet?’
‘You know what I mean.’ Gaston searched his mind for a way to divert the line of questioning. ‘Besides, what I think is irrelevant. You see, the permission was not mine to give. That land belongs to the DMC. They have mining leases on it for—’
‘I know. For two hundred years. Also voted by the Ruling Council, on which, I believe, they had . . . twenty-one representatives. Do you happen to know how much of the land area of Deucalion the Corporation has leases over?’
‘How do you expect me to—’
She was closing in for the kill. ‘Would it surprise you to learn that they have leases or option agreements covering almost two-thirds of the whole land area?’
The words hung in the air like a raised sword.
Two thirds? The figure was staggering. No wonder they were so reluctant to lose control of the colony.
She continued, the cold smile fading. ‘Don’t you think that a democratically elected government could afford to overturn the decrees of the old appointed Ruling Council at least to the extent of granting the traditional lands to the original inhabitants of the planet?’
Before he could frame an answer, she pounced. ‘Do you have any comment on the implied accusations that have appeared on posters around the city in the last few days, to the effect that the election was rigged, and that you have accepted money from the DMC?’
For this, at least, he was ready. ‘Obviously, lies made up by our disappointed opponents. If there was any evidence—’
Again she cut in. ‘Do you know a man called Matthias DeGroot? Also known as . . . Stefan Kesslar?’
Gaston’s heart lurched. The room swam, and Amanda Kostas’s face became suddenly blurred.
‘I’ve . . . never heard the name.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure.’
‘So you would not be aware of any rumours linking you with his activities?’
Defiantly, he
held her gaze, then he looked away, lost for words.
‘Your response, Mr President?’
Gaston’s response was to terminate the interview with a blow of his fist on the control-console.
Gaston looked across the desk at Kennedy, choosing his words carefully. They were fighting on too many fronts; he had to get rid of the immediate problems and concentrate on survival.
‘What can we do to get rid of these damned Elokoi?’
‘Short of giving them what they want, you mean?’ As usual, Kennedy was a step behind the game.
‘Damn it, Kennedy, we have to give them what they want. We don’t have time to fight them. Someone is feeding information to Internet. Stuff that only you and I are supposed to know.’
His ‘executive assistant’ went pale. ‘You don’t think that I . . .’
‘Of course not, you idiot. If I go down, you go with me. But somebody knows. We’ve got to get rid of this Elokoi mess so that we can concentrate on mending fences. Organise a meeting with the damned ferrets, asap. We might still be able to turn this to our advantage. After all, by the time the DMC gets around to looking at mining that area, you and I will probably be dead and the legal hassles will be someone else’s problem.
‘We’ll wait a day or so, to find out how much they know, and if things get too hot, we can always destroy the evidence. Start off now by shredding any hard-copies. I want to be able to get rid of everything with less than five minutes’ notice.’
Carmody Island
Inland Sea (Eastern Region)
29/14/101 Standard
JANE
I’d never seen Denny look so excited.
‘It was just so easy, Jane. Everything worked out to perfection. The group mobilised maybe five or six hundred people in less than two days, and they marched with the Elokoi, carrying placards and chanting the slogans. And the people all along the route were amazing. There weren’t more than a few jeers, and they were shut up as quickly as they started. Ricky was right.’
‘What did he say?’ I threw in the question to keep him talking. I loved to see him like this.
‘“Trust the people,” he said. “Most of them don’t hate without a reason. They may surprise you.”’
I smiled. ‘He was right.’
‘You should have seen Gaston, the oily toad. Turning the whole thing into a political stunt.’
I cut in, stirring lightheartedly. ‘I thought that was what it was supposed to be. A political stunt.’
‘Yes. But for us. He stood there and tried to convince everyone that he’d spent the last month working out plans to cede the whole of the inland sea coastal region to the Elokoi – as their own independent state. It’s better than we ever dreamed of. If it goes through, they’re free. Forever.’
‘What was the reaction in New G?’ I asked the question, but I could guess the answer by the expression of sheer joy on his face.
‘Better than positive. The coverage of the Long March was exactly what we needed to break down the barriers. No one cares about a few million square k’s of desert, but everybody cares about the Elokoi and their cubs. When did people change, Jane? All the stories. All the massacres. How could everything suddenly be so different?’
I thought for a moment.
‘History, Den. We aren’t a frontier any more. We haven’t been for decades. Except out on the Fringes. Trouble is, nobody bothered to change the rules that applied before. Hell, we only had our first election this year.’
‘Yeah!’ He sounded a note of irony. ‘We really handled that well.’
‘How are things on that front?’
The expression on his face answered my question before he spoke. ‘Even better. I’ve convinced Amanda Kostas to hold fire until tomorrow, then we trigger Stage Two. Both barrels!’
I blew a kiss at the vid-screen. ‘I can hardly wait.’
31
MORNING NEWS
Presidential Complex
New Geneva (City Central)
30/14/101 Standard
GASTON
Kennedy watched his boss beginning to relax. They had monitored every news broadcast the evening before, and nothing had come up to trouble them. In fact, the coverage of the Elokoi situation had shown him in a positive light. He was almost crowing with relief as the opening titles dissolved and the morning news began.
But then the mood changed.
Instead of the usual ‘talking head’, the face that greeted them was Amanda Kostas herself, and her opening line stopped their breathing.
‘This edition of the Internet morning news will not follow our normal pattern. But I think, once you see the reason, you will understand why we have chosen to ignore, for the present, all other stories, including the aftermath of yesterday’s momentous developments.
‘We have with us in the studio this morning, a man whose name many of you will remember for his brief brush with fame about seven months ago. Daryl Newman was a Security operative on the ill-fated flyer which crashed in the Roosevelt Ranges, killing Councillor Karl Johannsen and everyone on board – with the exception of Mr Newman and a young girl known only as Elena.
‘As you may remember, Mr Newman walked out of the Ranges with the little girl, and would probably have been given a hero’s welcome, except for the fact that the same evening both of them disappeared. Until he came to see me yesterday, no one had heard a word from either of them since that time.’
The camera panned to the face of the man sitting in the chair opposite her.
‘The first thing everyone would like to know, Daryl, is where you have been for the past months, and why you chose to disappear in the first place.’
Daryl appeared confident as he looked straight into the camera. ‘The “where” will have to remain a secret for now, Amanda. But the “why” is one of the reasons I came back.’
Gaston sat rigid in his seat. Kennedy covered his mouth, holding back the bile he could feel building up inside him.
On screen, Daryl continued. ‘I . . . we ran away because we were in danger of being murdered. By the same man who destroyed the flyer.’
‘Do you mean that you can confirm what many have suspected – that it was indeed sabotage?’ Amanda Kostas fed him the pre-arranged questions.
‘It was. And I can name the man who damaged the field-generator, disabled the flight computer and planted the bomb, so that the flyer would be destroyed, along with everyone on it, and the wreckage might not be found for years. I can also name the person who paid him to do it.’
In front of the screen, both men were staring, waiting for the horror to unfold. But Amanda Kostas cut in. ‘Before you name names, Daryl, I must warn you that without evidence to back up your claims, you risk serious criminal charges, and the network must dissociate itself from anything you might claim to know.’ With the camera turned back on him, Daryl caught the wink. Amanda had arranged the statement more as theatre than insurance.
‘There is evidence, Amanda. I can guarantee evidence on that and a number of other things.’
‘Such as?’ The reporter was really enjoying her ‘scoop of a lifetime’, and Daryl paused theatrically to heighten the suspense. ‘Secret political pay-offs, conspiracy . . . and the fact that the whole of the recent election was a hoax. That the votes counted by the electoral computer were programmed before the poll ever took place, by someone in the pay of the Deucalion Mining Corporation and others whose interests are not those of this community.’ Again, he paused. He had reached the end of the rehearsed lines. Now came the ad lib.
‘The name of the assassin is Matthias DeGroot. He was hired by the now President, Dimitri Gaston, through his assistant, a man called Kennedy. The payments were made through secret accounts funded by the DMC and other Earthside interests, who also arranged for a secret override program to be installed into the electoral computer while it was being
prepared two years ago back on Earth.
‘I have the codes and passwords to access every secret file on the Central Presidential mainframe, and Security can get the evidence within the hour.’
‘Why do it this way? Why not go straight to Security?’ Amanda Kostas leaned forward in her chair. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t surprising that her customary cool had almost deserted her.
‘Isn’t it obvious? How would I know who to trust? I might be dead before anything was proven. This way, I am safe here in the studio, in the public eye. And if they do get me, at least the world knows.’
The rest of the speech was lost as Gaston vaulted from the chair, running for the mainframe console. His fingers flashed over the keys, deleting files and information. Finally he collapsed with relief. ‘Look all you like,’ he whispered, a hysterical edge to his voice. ‘You’ll find nothing.’ His secret fortune was gone, lost in the virtual vacuum of cyberspace, but at least he was safe. There was nothing to support the accusations. They would die away with time, even if some of the dirt stuck.
He turned to Kennedy, but his words of encouragement died on his lips. Dimitri Gaston watched his assistant’s face crumble as he stared, terrified, at the screen.
Stomach turning, he moved across to where he could see the tube. And he knew it was finally over. For scrolling across the screen to the accompaniment of a voice-over commentary was every byte of the information he had so recently deleted.
He would never know it, but on an island somewhere off the eastern coast of the inland sea, at that very moment, a young man was watching the same scene on an ether-linkup, and congratulating himself on his extreme cleverness.
‘I told you you’d really like it,’ Pete Tang said, to no one in particular.
32
ECHOES
Gaita’s Reach
Vaana (Northern Coastal Region)
28/14/149
DARYL
Cael died last week, just a little over a month before the big celebration. I’m sure it wouldn’t have worried him to travel Beyond and miss it. He never was one for celebrations.
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