The O.D.

by Chris James

  “Lonnie,” Lavery screamed. But there was no response. “LONNIE.”

  Pilot could see her mouth moving, but he pointed to his ears and shook his head to indicate he couldn’t hear. Then he rushed over to the body on the floor and saw immediately that Ali Jeckyll was dead.

  Alistair Bremner Jeckyll had grown up in the Gorbals of Glasgow and seemed dim to those unwilling to look deeper. Rather, he was just verbally challenged. Ruth Vaalon and the Director of the Glasgow chapter of Scholasticorps had recognised Jeckyll’s hidden depths and latent brilliance when the boy was 15. Had Mr. and Mrs. Vaalon not plucked him from the stairwells of the Languthrie Estate, circumstances would eventually have suffocated the man. Conversely, had the Vaalons not plucked him from the stairwells of the Languthrie Estate, Ali Jeckyll could still be alive.

  Jack Highbell and several of the others were hurling abuse at their guards in the far corner of the mess room. One of the shepherdesses snatched from Bimbo’s Kraal was wailing beside Jeckyll’s body, and Macushla Mara was kneeling at his head, tears running down her cheeks. Pilot bent down between the two women and lowered the lids on the man’s dead eyes.

  “Leave this to me, Lonnie,” Bradingbrooke mouthed slowly as he pulled Pilot away. He faced Mara, whose hearing was beginning to return. “Take him away, Macushla. Lonnie Pilot is supposed to be on his way to Paris, so we need to keep this one out of sight.” Calm was beginning to replace distress, but it was the calm of shock, not respite. A French medic appeared, squatted by the body and realized there was nothing to be done.

  Bradingbrooke, meanwhile, had found the commanding officer and was looking him square in the face. “Quoi est arrivé?” he demanded.

  The Colonel shrugged. “Je ne sais pas,” he said. “We are very sorry for this.”

  “Pourquoi votre soldat tiré?”

  “En auto-défense.”

  “SELF DEFENCE? BASTARDS.”

  “Asseyez vous. SIT DOWN.” With that, the Colonel turned on his heel and directed his men to remove the body.

  Outside in the journalists’ colony, there was much speculation about the gunfire. Although no more shots had been heard, an explanation was being demanded of the soldiers posted at the entrance to the convoy, but they refused to be drawn.

  Inside, Pilot, Bradingbrooke, Lavery, Mara and Josiah Billy were holding a post mortem. Billy had been sitting across from Jeckyll when he was shot.

  “What happened, Josiah?” Pilot asked, hearing his own words as if through water.

  “It’s the way Ali was looking at him,” Billy said. “I can’t explain it. It was like some primeval animal stare… burning… accusing… threatening. He didn’t divert his eyes from the soldier for a second, and I could see the guy begin to squirm and the red mist fall across his face. There’s no excuse for what happened, but even I felt uncomfortable. This went on for five minutes. I never even saw Ali blink. If I’d known the soldier was going to crack, I’d have done something.”

  “It’s not your fault, Josiah,” Mara said. Pilot remained silent, composing a statement to be issued the moment they escaped their current predicament. For the moment, they could only sit and sweat it out.

  In the outside world, information had been scarce until the ever-thickening layers of reporting, mostly internet-driven, forced the British and French governments to admit to the settlers’ presence on the island. The snowball in favour of Lonnie Pilot’s Eydos was rolling, but there was still the chance it would melt in the heat. There were many behind-the-scenes goings-on that were not yet, and probably never would be, public knowledge. The British Prime Minister had ordered an expeditionary force onto the island within two hours of its appearance. However, in light of the claims made at the United Nations, at Westminster by Gramercy and in Dublin, the PM had been advised to postpone the landing.

  On learning that the French had occupied the island, Britain reacted strongly. Exhibiting the hypocrisy of all governments, they called it a ‘unilateral, imperialist act’ tantamount to ‘piracy on the high seas’. They demanded immediate French withdrawal until the matter of sovereignty could be resolved multilaterally. The British Ambassador to the United Nations called for a special meeting of the General Assembly to condemn France’s hasty and heavy-handed occupation, unaware that the Icelandic Ambassador had already done so.

  Before this meeting convened, however, the French Government made a fatal miscalculation. News of the killing of one of the prisoners had just reached them, although it had not yet been made public. Panicking under this, and the realisation that perhaps they were acting unlawfully, their top tactical brains decided to pressure their prisoner, Lonnie Pilot, into making a statement admitting that the landing had been a fortuitous accident which had then been manipulated by the castaways themselves. A video press conference to that end was convened in which Jackson played the role of proud resistance followed by reluctant acquiescence. His ‘confession’ was shown throughout the world, but of course it only required one look at the photograph of the real Lonnie Pilot, on file at the Passport Office, to show that, although there was a clear resemblance, the man in French custody was in fact an imposter. A government-sanctioned ‘leak’ from London ensured that the photograph of the real Lonnie Pilot was worldwide within hours. Condemnation of France was global; her embarrassment acute. ‘Where did law, justice and liberty originate from, if not from La Belle France?’ one British paper proclaimed. In another fatal error, the French Prime Minister ordered that news of the killing be kept secret until their international standing had improved.

  The healthiest climate for Eydos was in the Republic of Ireland. A prominent Irish intellectual had staked their claim in the Dáil, the members of which had shown much interest. The entire event had appealed enormously to the Irish national character. There was no love lost between Dublin and her near neighbours in London and Paris, although in the highest circles this fact wasn’t often admitted. Eire was therefore committed from the outset to keeping both Britain’s and France’s hands off Eydos.

  Pilot’s advocate in Spain, a descendant of Cervantes and a personal friend of the Spanish Prime Minister, had timed his intervention to perfection, although luck played an important role. He had invited the Prime Minister to his home for dinner, along with three high-ranking ministers and a Cardinal, on the evening Eydos had surfaced. In the middle of cocktails his pager went off, much to his surprise and relief. He had immediately raised his glass in a toast to the settlers of the newly risen island of Eydos and proceeded to make the speech prepared for him by his friend Forrest Vaalon, but with a few embellishments of his own. His stunned guests had thought him mad and quixotic of course.

  The following morning, with the first official reports from Spanish television of the island’s emergence, at least a small measure of credence was being shown by his guests of the previous evening, none more so than Cardinal Peña. Noticing the Godless tone of Pilot’s declaration, which was now public, the Cardinal had already begun formulating plans to send one of his deputies on a mission to export Roman Catholicism to the colony.

  Vaalon’s appointee in Paris had failed them at the last moment, fearful that support of Lonnie Pilot against the interests of France would poison his reputation− a reputation already dead as far as Forrest Vaalon was concerned.

  Three and a half thousand miles away in New York City, the emergency session of the UN was just coming to order. The French Ambassador, whose tour of duty had so far been routine and undemanding, suddenly found himself centre stage with his trousers down and had been up since midnight trying to think of a way of maintaining French honour in the affair. The Kerry Jackson incident had multiplied his problems a hundred-fold. He couldn’t believe that the incompetence of his colleagues back in Paris could have risen to such damaging heights.

  As Eydos had no seat at the UN, Iceland demanded that the French forces retire at once and that diplomatic relations be established with the settlers. The French Ambassador thought this provocative, not to mentio
n impudent, implying as it did that the settlers had a valid claim on the island. He would have done better to agree, though, because his reply was greeted with derision and disgust by all but France’s closest allies.

  Under pressure, he had agreed to move the troops a thousand metres away from what he called the ‘alien settlement’, but under no circumstances would they leave Ile de Bonne Fortune. He added that his government was prepared to grant temporary resident status to the settlers until their removal. The island was a natural extension of France, he insisted, and its fate could not be decided on the accidental presence over the surfacing shelf of a fleet of ‘Gypsy barges’. France’s official policy towards ‘travelers’ wasn’t unfair, he went on, digging himself even deeper into his hole, and the so-called settlers would be removed to the destination of their choice at the government’s expense as soon as it was convenient. In conclusion, he explained that the impersonation of Lonnie Pilot had been a ruse of the trespassers and not of the French government, which had only been trying to clarify matters.

  The question was then passed to the member nations to decide. As one of the five members of the Security Council, it was France’s right to veto any resolution passed by the General Assembly. When the latter duly called for France’s complete withdrawal from the island until the matter could be resolved by the international community as a whole, France invoked her veto.

  Back on board Ptolemy, the French forces were preparing for their third night in occupation. They had been unable to set up their tents the previous two nights, owing to the fact that tent pegs weren’t designed to penetrate solid rock, so they had slept fitfully in their helicopters instead. Pilot and his crew had been forced to sleep under guard in the mess room, access to their cabins having been forbidden. Every chair, tabletop and available stretch of floor had a body on it.

  At 10pm that night, however, as the same process was about to be repeated, the French Colonel received a general order from Paris to withdraw immediately to a line one thousand metres from the convoy in compliance with their agreed undertaking.

  As the last commando grudgingly left Ptolemy shortly before midnight, Pilot noted that it was 60 hours since they had first stormed the convoy. Exhausted and relieved, he pulled his sleeve down over his #60 and followed the others to their cabins.

  X

  Pilot’s statement on the shooting of Ali Jeckyll reached the iPatch satellite just two hours after the 1,000 metre withdrawal of the ‘Commandos Marine’. It was short and to the point:

  From the barge, Ptolemy. Eydos. 0210 hrs. 8/8

  On August 5th at 1530 hrs, one of our people was shot dead by a trooper of the French platoon occupying our flotilla. Alistair Jeckyll was 33 and from Glasgow. He was unarmed, as are we all.

  We understand that the perpetrator had mental issues and that the French command was not complicit in the killing. Through their swift action in restraining the gunman, they may have prevented further deaths and for that, we thank them. However, the French Commander’s claim that the soldier fired in self-defense after being attacked is a fabrication − a gross defamation of a good and gentle man’s character. Such dishonesty pollutes the integrity of this island and will not be tolerated. We demand the total withdrawal of French forces from Eydos forthwith.

  Within minutes, the statement had travelled from the iPatch satellite into the dishes of the world’s hungry news media, and from there back into space and down to a dozen smart phones in the news village outside the convoy. The Ali Jeckyll killing played out exactly as Pilot thought it would: The journalists had beaten a path to the French commander’s helicopter, demanding either confirmation or denial of Pilot’s claim and reminding him that the shots they heard had occurred at the exact time of Jeckyll’s alleged killing. The French Colonel had played dumb until international pressure had forced his superiors in Paris to issue their own statement three hours later, which Pilot pulled up online.

  Oui, il y a eu une fusillade sur l’Ile de Bonne Fortune. Un de nos soldats a été attaqué par les intrus et a tire en auto-defense. Notre revendication était juste et vraie. L’ordre a été rétabli et nous faisons le nécessaire pour la répatriation du corps du défunt et le retour a la famille.

  “What does it say, Odile?”

  “That one of their soldiers was attacked by the interlopers and discharged his firearm in self defense. That their claim of self-defense was not a lie. That order has now been restored and arrangements being made to repatriate the corpse of the deceased to his family.”

  Whether the world would ever learn the truth, Pilot doubted, but he had planted enough of a seed of veracity to keep France firmly in the hot seat of suspicion.

  “Should we invent something new, or use an existing model?” Pilot said, opening the discussion on devising a system of government for the island. There was an air of excitement and apprehension in the messroom. No one knew where this was going to go.

  “Why reinvent the wheel?” Jane Lavery said.

  “Because the wheel has fallen off the wagon.”

  “Not our wagon,” said Mara. “We’ve never had a wheel before. There’s nothing to say that Marxism or some other system wouldn’t work here.”

  Pilot stood up. “Does everybody agree with Macushla? That we construct a wheel using all the broken pieces out there?”

  “Just as long as it gets us where we want to go, that’s good enough,” Lavery said.

  “Okay. As a starting point, who thinks Eydos should be Marxist? Show of hands. Let’s make this quick.” Pilot looked around the room and counted just three raised hands. Mara’s wasn’t one of them.

  “Who thinks we should be a democracy?”

  “Majoritarian or Consensual?” Aaron Serman said. “Who do we want to rule us, the majority of the people or as many people as possible?”

  “Everyone on this island should have a say in how it’s run and how our political agenda is determined,” Pilot said without hesitation. “Our government needs to be equitable, transparent and accountable.”

  The pros and cons of democracy were discussed for half an hour, with several alternative systems suggested, voted on and rejected. In the end, they settled on consensual democracy, with 80% consensus required to carry a motion. The vote itself had been 100% in favour.

  “Right, then. Nominations for leader,” Pilot said, proceeding to the next item on the agenda.

  “Vaalon told us you were in charge,” someone said.

  “For the moment. We needed a leader at the beginning and he chose me. But his work is done and he’s out of the picture now. It’s one thing to have Forrest Vaalon’s backing, but I need the support of all of you if I’m to carry on as head.”

  “Then I nominate Lonnie Pilot,” Serman said.

  “Seconded,” a number of voices echoed around the room.

  Pilot scanned the assembly twice. “Come on. Doesn’t anybody else want to run?”

  “I nominate Jane Lavery,” Mara said. “It wouldn’t be an election otherwise.”

  “Seconded.”

  “Can I nominate myself?” Bradingbrooke asked. Everyone laughed.

  Pilot thought for a minute. “We don’t have a rule yet that says you can’t. I’ll second you.”

  As there were no further takers, a polling booth consisting of a table and chair surrounded by curtains made of sheets was constructed. Aaron Serman, the island’s resident IT expert, placed a laptop containing the Fingerprint Voting Program on the table and booted up. He’d been looking forward to using FVP and explained to the crew how it worked. “First of all, we register our prints. Place your left thumb in the box on screen, press Scan and, when prompted, type your information in the required fields. Once everyone is registered, I’ll enter the three candidates into the program. Each will have a box below their name. Place your left thumb in the box of your choice and press Enter. It’s simple, fast and tamper proof.”

  “What percentage of support is required for a candidate to be elected leader?” someone as
ked. “I suggest the standard consensus of 80%.”

  “All in favour?” Pilot said. Seventy-nine hands went up.

  After the prints were registered, voting commenced. When the last thumb was cast, Serman sat down at the laptop and clicked Result. No one was holding their breath. “Lonnie Pilot has been duly elected Leader of Eydos. Seventy-six in favour, zero against.” The three candidates had all abstained.

  “What about checks and balances?” Bradingbrooke asked.

  “Because of our size, checks and balances won’t be a problem,” Pilot said. “A group of four or five elected people under the leader could provide the first level. The remainder of the population, with the power to vote a leader out, would provide a second.”

  “How would that work?” Mara asked.

  “Every four or five years, or at any time a consensus demands it, a vote of confidence in the leader could be taken. If they lose, then an election for a new leader should be held.”

  Everyone seemed happy with that, so an election was held for the five members of ‘The Pentad’, a name suggested by Macushla Mara for Eydos’ first level of checks on the leader. From the twelve candidates, Bradingbrooke, Serman, Mara, Lavery and Josiah Billy were elected. A natural hierarchy had already begun to establish itself on the island. The rest of the day and half the next was spent defining the powers and responsibilities of the Leader and The Pentad, structuring their consensual democracy and writing a constitution that included 10% minority veto power and the right of anyone to call for a referendum on any issue at any time.

  Just before the lunch break, the question of what to do with those who didn’t follow the ‘Eydos line’ was discussed. It was decided that no-one would ever be forced to support ideas they didn’t believe in. Nor would they be forced to stay on the island. They called it the ‘There’s the Door’ option.