The Lotus Eaters

Presidential Palace, Santa Fe, Santander, Terra Nova

Fountains splashed peacefully into long reflecting pools framing the paved walkway from street to palace. The walkway led to a classical revival front, four sets of double Corinthian columns—though the leaves were styled after the native tranzitree, not the acanthus—holding up an entablature, itself surmounted by a low, triangular tympanum. Long wings led out to either side of the entrance. In one wing, in one room, slept the president of the Republic of Santander.

The aide hesitated before waking his sleeping chief. Still, the news was so frightful . . .

"Señor Presidente, please, you must rise."

The President of Santander rolled over and sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What is it, Rivera?"

"Señor, our cities in the east are being attacked."

The president was wide awake instantly. "Who? What? Where? How many? Maracaibo? The FNLS?"

"No, Señor," Rivera answered, as his president pulled on shirt and trousers. "Not Maracaibo and certainly not the Frente. Beyond that, we don't know who, not for certain. We do know that four air attacks were launched against places in Belalcázar, and five more against Santiago. There are estates burning all over the suburbs. Buenaventura was hit with one or two; reports are confused. And Florencia, also. There are reports of attacks on the ground in some of the same places."

The President started added up two and two and came up with, "Those gringo bastards."

"Si, Señor, probably the gringos," Rivera agreed. "And probably going after the cartels.

"Bastards," the president repeated, then thought, But what do I do? They are a friendly nation, sort of. And if they are going after the Cartels, as Rivera says, they are doing me a favor, in the short and medium term, at least. He bent his head down over his desk, deeply worried. In the immediate term, however, they have violated Santander's sovereignty, which I am sworn to uphold. In the long term, I can't just ignore this or come next election, I will pay for it.

"Rivera, get me the Chief of the Air Force."

There was a delay while the aide dialed the nearest air base, on the outskirts of Santa Fe, which was also the headquarters for the national air force. The Air Force Chief of Staff came on line, sounding half asleep.

"Villareal speaking."

"General, this is the President. I want you to get some fighters in the air and send them east. There are forces attacking several of our cities. I want you to force some of them, at least, to the ground where they can be arrested."

Villarreal's voice was replete with exasperation, but none of it seemed directed at the President. "Señor Presidente," he said, "I have just been made aware of this. These people have attacked the base and airport at Santiago, as well as others. The runway and taxiways are shut down with mines. The radar is out, all of it. We have no effective coverage of the eastern part of the country. I am trying now to get two fighters from here into the air. I have also tried to call the airship the Federated States keeps off our east coast. Maybe they'll tell our planes where to look once they in the air."

The President sighed. Soldiers could be so stupid sometimes. "Villareal, who do you think is attacking us? The trixies of the mountains? The UEPF? Balboa, perhaps?"

"Oh . . . I see, Señor. Well, then you must realize that any pilots I send up I am sending to their deaths. We have good boys, but we can't match the planes or the ordnance of the Federated States Air Force."

"I know, General. But we have to try, for dignity's sake, if nothing else."

"Yes, señor. I will have two fighters in the air within thirty minutes. They are fueled but they must be armed."