by M.A. Harris
Incompatible Ideals
The flames burnt in the background as the tousled but photogenic reporter spoke to the TV camera. “This is Victor Che deep in the mountains of what used to be the island of West Sunatra, now Palalo Sadong. Behind me is what remains of a refugee camp that until a few…” shots rang out and then a staccato series of explosions were heard. The reporter flinched, then ducked, for a moment the camera followed his scuttle for safety, then the cameraman’s survival instincts kicked in and the image flicked across flame lit clouds, jungle, ground before the picture went black.
A wide-eyed anchorwoman came into view; “This is Cindy Danford at News Network headquarters, as we said a few moments ago that report was to come from Victor Che on the island of Palalo Sadong. A war ravaged island nation that had appeared to be on the mend but has suddenly fallen into new civil unrest, ethnic cleansing, and military repression on top of the first famine in recorded history on the island…” She lifted a well manicured hand to her ear, “We have reestablished satellite communication with Victor, Victor over to you.”
Che’s face appeared on the screen, first from an old still then in real life. Crouched down next to a waist high field stone wall he was looking frightened, his voice a whisper, “Thanks Cindy, as you heard this battle is still going on. A week ago I was able to get to this island without a police escort and have been investigating the situation here ever since. From the first months of the new regime there have been rumors of ethnic cleansing, expropriation of village lands held by the indigenous and Indian minorities. For some time these rumors had seemed to be unfounded or the events sporadic but in the last six months there has been a flood of horror stories. I am sorry to say that the rumors are very true. As I was getting ready to leave this refugee hideout a few hours ago a strike by the Army, or more likely the paramilitary thugs the military supports trapped me here. Many people are dead, many more are once again homeless and without food, clean water or medicine, many will die in the next few weeks unless they can get help.”
Shots, another explosion that lit up the reporters clenched face stopped his words for a moment, “Sorry, ah, uhm. Well, on top of this local tragedy is the wider tragedy that there are hundreds of thousands starving on this island because of the expropriation of villages and farmland by the government to house the government supporters from the sprawling shantytowns around the main cities. The city dwellers have been unable to sustain the farming so there is now a major famine in this land of plenty, what should be a near paradise.”
The reporter seemed to hear something he rose up to look over the wall for an instant then dropped back, looking sick, “From what I and a few other investigators can tell, the government has systematically dismantled much of the local economy. Looting and blackmail of local businesses is now common, smaller, more vulnerable foreign businesses, particularly outside the cities are now fair game as well. Several large multi-national firms appea…”
Victor Che stopped for a moment then seemed to see something above and behind the cameraman; the shadows around him flickered and shifted strangely. The reporter’s eyes and mouth opened wide as if to scream and the picture dissolved in white light then snapped to black.
“Victor!” The anchorwoman’s cry of horror echoed across the airwaves. The deathly silence of a dropped digital feed was the only response she ever got.
-o-
The screen blanked, “Well that appears to have been well timed Conrad?” Benjamin Van Bunt’s sarcastic comment came out without prior thought and he tensed as he looked over at Howard Conrad
The slim shoulders shrugged, “You should never switch on a civilian transmitter in the middle of a battlefield, you’re asking for a quick trip to hell.” The thin lips curved faintly, Howard Conrad obviously thought he was being funny.
Ben’s stomach churned, “You’re saying someone had a radio locator operating.” A cold finger of dread made his stomach even worse, “They were listening weren’t they, our people, your people, your mercenaries. Were listening, as long as he just talked about the normal civil war, government repression thing he was OK. When he started talking about business he…he was dead.”
Again the shrug and the faint curve of the lips, “Che and his camera girl were dead anyway, they just hadn’t started cooling down yet. Trackers almost snagged them just before they made it into the camp. He’d seen too many things, talked to too many of the wrong people, taken pictures of the wrong things. We’re lucky he was a freelancer, instead of reporting back every day or so he was saving it all for a big splash. Which he got, though perhaps not quite in the way he had hoped.”
Ben realized his hands were shaking and cold, he rubbed them together, he forced the last moment on earth of the young reporter from his mind, “What a mess, but if he had started naming names we could have been in trouble. We need the revenue from your damned gold mine but damn it did those butchers have to kill the manager and his family to force the company to sell out?”
Howard grimaced, “I wouldn’t have thought so, but it was not something we had anything to do with. I do not agree with the Admiral General’s conduct Ben, I would have preferred that he simply do what any good Premier does, try and rule his new nation effectively and as peacefully as possible.” The familiar shrug, “Unfortunately he and his advisors see things differently. We on the other hand need the revenue from the mine, and other ventures that the Admiral General supports, and in the longer term we need a secure base on Earth.”
Now it was Ben’s turn to shrug. He was torn as always, the company needed the money to do what was wanted, he was almost proud of the system he had set up to sell the gold from that mine and launder the proceeds without it ever appearing anywhere in the ‘official books’ but the methods Conrad used were horrible, “Damn it Howard we need that damned money because your little adventure is draining us dry at a staggering rate.”
“It’s not a little adventure Ben; it’s the greatest adventure in the world.” Howard’s voice went flat, “For many reasons.” He was silent for a moment, “and the reason we are spending so fast is because we are making staggering progress. Never underestimate the power of a vision. And these…ah…lunatics have a vision and finally the technology to make it real. It is hard to believe but the first part of the base is almost habitable. I plan on going up for a visit in another month or so.”
Ben wanted to say that he hoped the Englishman never came back.