The Lotus Eaters

Old Presidential Palace, Balboa City, Terra Nova

The President leaned back in his chair while camera makeup was applied to his face. His mental rehearsal of his coming speech was interrupted by an aide.

"Mr. President, we have received a report of shooting, a lot of shooting, over by the Channel Seven studio."

Without moving from his position the President asked "Did you investigate."

"Yes, sir. I tried calling the studio but the phones were out. Over the satellite link, when I was able to use that, they said some drunken soldiers were firing their guns into the air in celebration. The person I spoke to seemed very nervous though."

"Well, send someone to investigate."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Make up job finished, the President turned to face into the waiting camera's. Television workers huddled over monitors behind the cameras. He began to speak:

"Citizens, countrymen, it is my sad duty to . . ."

"What the hell?" shouted the man who was overseeing Channel Seven's monitor. He pushed his chair back as if struck. The President's eyes opened wide to see Lourdes' face on the screen. She looked very sad.

Forgetting where he was, the President shouted "Get that damned bitch off the air." The man leaning back in his chair just shook his head helplessly. "No way," he answered. "It's originating at the Channel Seven studio. I can't control it from here."

The President turned to the Seventh Legion Commander. "Then shut the studio down."

"Too late, I think," answered Pigna.

"Not too late to limit the damage," Rocaberti insisted. "Send a full regiment, if that's what it takes."

Nodding, Pigna left to issue the necessary orders.

* * *

Looking into the camera, Lourdes began to speak:

"Most of you won't know me. I'm Lourdes Carrera, Duque Carrera's wife. I've come to talk to you today about two men. One of these I love like a father. The other is my husband, Patricio Carrera."

"As much as I love them, I must tell you I know these men love all of you more than they love me. How do I know this? I know the heart of the man I share my bed with. I know how much time my husband gives to me . . . and how much he gives to you.

"You know too, in your hearts. Think back a dozen or so years. Where were we? Our economy was bankrupt by a hostile foreign power. Our unemployment was almost universal. Our cities were in ruin and chaos. Crime and the Federated States ruled our streets. Many . . . too, too many, of our best young men were killed or crippled by an unprovoked invasion.

"And who caused that invasion? Don't bother to blame the Federated States; they acted in their own interest, as they always do. Do not blame the shark for being a shark, he knows no other way. Blame instead the man who would speak to you on the other channels. Blame too those selfish, immoral advisors and helpers who abetted him in his scheme to reintroduce colonialism to Balboa.

"Now, of course, the scars of that time are healed. Crime is almost gone from our country. Our people are back to work. More fine young men have risen to take the place of those fallen in battle. Our cities are clean and safe. The future has never looked brighter for us.

"Despite troubles, you are happier than you have ever been. At least, those of you who have always been shut out by the oligarchs are happier. Plainly, the oligarchs themselves were displeased with your new prosperity. They feared that if you weren't starving, you might be thinking . . . thinking of them and the stranglehold they wish to have over your lives.

"How many of you have jobs now better than any you ever dreamed of? Better places to live? How many have children in free schools? How many of your children have been treated in clinics without charge? How many have sons and daughters being trained even now for the bright future ahead? Even for those who don't have these things yet, you have at the least the hope of them . . . a hope you never had before.

"And who gave you back these things? Do not look to Rocaberti or his co-conspirators. They would have you all groveling in the dirt—you, your children, your children's children—through eternity if they could.

"Only two men had the vision and the love to help you to these things: Raul Parilla and Patricio Carrera, my husband. Please join me in prayer for them, wherever they are, if they are even still alive. For, you see, last night evil, wicked men came and took them away from you. I, myself, barely escaped with my children, mine and Patricio's, and my life."

Lourdes paused to shed a tear. "I . . . I had to kill a man to bring you this word."

"But do not just take my word for what these two great men have done for you. Look for yourselves."

Lourdes' voice continued, but her face was replaced with a series of shots of newly built schools, clinics treating children, and factories full of busy, smiling, often sweating, workers.

From outside the studio came the sounds of more heavy gunfire as the Presidentially ordered 'investigation' reached the Volgans' perimeter. On screen, before a nation, Lourdes visibly shuddered, but continued even so "They accuse my husband and General Parilla of running drugs. I know, and you know, that could not be the case. Yes, they take money from the Santanderns, a lot of money, all of which they use for your good. But the operative word is take. They give us money because they're afraid of Presidente Parilla and my husband. No one in the world has fought harder against the drug lords than has Patricio Carrera. Listen to the words of this foreign born officer. Foreign born he may be, but he is Balboan by blood given if not by blood received." The Camera panned to show Menshikov sitting next to Lourdes.

Still speaking, she asked "Tribune Menshikov, would you please tell the people where you were and what you were doing on the first night you were in battle with Duque Carrera?"

"Why, we were in Santander, Mrs. Carrera," Menshikov said, "fighting to put an end to the terror the Santandern drug chiefs had inflicted on Balboa . . ."

* * *

As Lourdes and then Menshikov spoke, all over the city units of the Seventh Legion began turning themselves, and command of themselves, over to local forces, even as those local forces grew with reservists and militiamen showing up armed and accoutered for battle. Before noon, the first elements of Third Legion were crossing the demarcation line that had separated out Rocaberti's Old City from the rest of Balboa, killing all who resisted and stood in their path.