Inside the Republic

[Khemia]

His pressed suit wrinkled under the weight of his leg as it hung over his thigh, the red velvet cushion of the chair sinking slightly under his weight. The fingers of his left tapped along the oak desk before him incessantly while the fingers of his right clutched an old handset that rested again his ears. The skin of his face was stained with a few liver spots, but still maintained the same golden glow inherent to his ethnicity.

His brow wrinkled in frustration for a moment, and the voice on the other line grew louder. "Redouble your efforts then," the uniformed man spoke firmly. The voice on the other end continued to protest.

"General Silpajarn. I am acting Commander of the Republican Armed Forces and Head of the Provisional Government. If you cannot handle the mission I have assigned to you, then I will find someone else who can handle the North," General Phiyada did not seem pleased. A quiet rap on the door alerted him, and he grunted to permit entrance. A small girl entered and noticed the General holding his hand over the phone to muffle the voice. She smiled and quickly poured the General some tea before leaving.

The General grabbed his tea and sipped it softly. "You know what your assignment is," he interrupted General Silpajarn, waiting for the door to close behind the girl before continuing. "Military rule in the North is not going to be short term. You knew this when we, together, drafted the plans for the occupation. You knew this when the President was murdered. You need to take your time and ensure that all resistance is eliminated, and that the North will not be a problem for the Republic when the time for integration comes."

"And what of the Communists? the voice on the other end inquired faintly.

General Phiyada paused, unsure how to answer the question. "They're being dealt with. I have the evidence I need to bury the party, I just need to make sure that steps are taken to prevent the more militant members from starting an insurgency."

"What sort of evidence?" Silpajarn insisted.

"The kind of evidence that will allow the Constitutional Courts to permanently ban Communists. The kind of evidence that will cause schools to teach children about the terror of Communism."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Silpajarn asked.

"Reports. Arms shipments, communiques, we even have a lead on the Vangalan attache himself, though it would not shock me if he were found dead, be it by accident or unfortunate circumstance," Phiyada smiled slightly.

"He needs to be alive. If you find him, send him here. As you remember, the NMD is not governed by the same laws as the South. I have some lee-way in... extracting information," Silpajarn allowed the last part to hang.

Phiyada interrupted the pause. "So be it, I'll send the order to capture the Vangalan alive if possible. We'll have DICE perform the interrogation, I do not have my doubts that the military can perform it's duties," Phiyada paused, "but I cannot take the risk that some of your men may have loose tongues or even looser wills."

The voice on the other line seemed to agree, if stubbornly so.

"Also, bring me some prisoners. I need some of the ultranationalists to put before the mob. We need to keep the media's attention away from our raids against the Communists and more focused on our successes in the North." Phiyada finished the conversation by hanging up the phone and clasping the small tea cup, watching the steam rise up slowly. He breathed in the hot air and smelled the taste of the leaves, taking his time to enjoy it.

 

[Khemia]

"Look at us!" the man dressed in a sharp, expensive Frankish suit roared to a crowd of people watching him, banners and slogans tamed and calm. They stood at a serene, picturesque place; the beach at Rama Bay overlooked the fusion of Sinese commerce and nature, a brilliant sun hovered over the glistening water; the concrete and glass jungle juxtaposed the natural beauty of Sinhai. Hundreds of people had gathered to hear the man speak, and he hovered over the podium to continue, both hands clutching at the edge of the small wooden platform.

"Look at how far we have come! We have overcome decades of war, we have pushed past the adversities of insurgency, we have outlived the terrors of our past. Now, only the future lies ahead of us. Like those brave men who struggled to found the Union, now we stand together, looking to create for ourselves a new Republic! Many of you, citizens of Sinhai, might think - the government will do the work for me. The government will continue. No, no more!" The man paused for a moment, the crowd beginning to bustle. "You are the government! A government for the people, of the people. The Sinese Republic has been born, and now is our time to ensure that the future we make here together is the future that Sinhai needs!"

The crowd began to cheer and the man stood back from the podium for a moment, slouching his stance and putting his left hand in his pocket, his right hand extending as if to explain more to the people of the crowd. "Our future, what does that mean?" he asked. "What is our future? We've overcome so much, but what lies ahead of us?" He paused for a moment, the question almost begging the crowd to answer.

"Victory!" some man in the crowd shouted, whether or not the response was staged even Vuthisit did not know. He smiled, combing through his hair with his right hand before looking to the crowd.

"Our nation is beset by problems, have no doubt about it, we are besieged by enemies. From within, we must be ever vigilant against both those that seek to corrupt our new democracy, and those that seek to continue the battles of the past. From without, we must concern ourselves with those that seek to pursue their own agendas, from those who think us weak, and those that doubt us!"

"And while the fires of war have died in the North, we still have a job to finish. Millions of people now live in poverty, their homes and futures destroyed. The future of Sinhai rests on the success of it's people, if we falter in our obligations, our entire country will fail. But where do we begin?" Vuthisit paused, shifting his weight on his feet while the sun shone on his black hair. "Do we begin at our education system, which cannot succeed simply because it serves a tiny fraction of the people? Do we begin with the economy, threatened by burdens in the North and regulations in the South? Do we start with security - after months of war, surely stable peace is too good to be true? Do we begin with social support, with millions of people able to apply for citizenship, how will our government adapt?"

Vuthisit took his hand out of his pocket and leaned forward over the podium. "The answer is simple, my fellow citizens. We begin with everything. This Republic cannot afford to allow one issue to go unattended while another is addressed. The people of this Republic are too important, but what's more, they demand an efficient government that can execute just and comprehensive laws quickly. I promise to work hard for my people to provide answers the every question facing my country. I promise to do everything in my power to serve the people of my country. I promise," he paused for effect, "I will not fail you."

 

[Khemia]

Gunfire in Ahrakor had died down in recent weeks. Much of the PIP resistance was dead - what wasn't dead had fled to the traditional strongholds of the Communists, the mountains. Rumors abounded that the Vangalans had rejuvenated their support for the PIP, and even more rumors circulated that there was evidence to prove it. The police had yet to release the details of two months worth of investigation, raids, and assassinations in Ahrakor. All that was known was that the PIP was, as a political entity, little more than a husk. A few Party members still clung to the hope that the Party might survive the elections - even win a few seats. Indeed, it still might; while the party members had been terrorized into self-exile, many families still survived in the northeast that sincerely believed the Communists were the reason why they still had their lives.

Vuthisits fingers brushed through his thick, black hair; his eyes glanced over a few papers - he always seemed to be doing this at the start of a story. Hm, why did that thought pop into his head. He set down the papers and stood up, trying to break from his routine. His desk was so organized, large wooden doors, lush blue carpet, large glass windows no one in the outside world ever seemed to look through. The stereotypical office. Inside his mind he grew bored, and he slouched while standing, cramming his left hand into his pocket for no real reason. The fingers of his right hand danced on his chin as he thought to himself.

Everything was going well - his major political opponents were nearly dead, UNITY had risen in the polls, and the rest of his opponents were floundering idiots. He only hoped he would not have to form some sort of lunatic coalition and water down his goals, like those bastards in other Republics. He sighed, turning around on his heel to press down on the button that connected him to his secretary.

"Khoon Khiew, would you please bring me a glass of champagne?" he spoke softly into the phone, listening to her soft voice reply.

He felt like he needed something, something to bring life to him. He was tired, bored, and hungry. His eyes turned back out the window, as if to find the building that he'd call home when he was President. He knew the time was close... elections were only a few months away. He had already made the connections with the military, he had already started calling the shots, everyone knew he would be the President.

The door creaked as it opened, the girl hadn't knocked. He liked that, it was new. She hadn't worked for him long, no secretary ever did; they grew boring too quickly. He walked over to her, and she held out the glass before him. He grabbed it and took a sip, flashing a smile at her before tossing the champagne glass at his desk. It shattered, the drink splattering on the pointless window. The girl was startled, and he slid a finger under the strap of her dress.

She started to speak, but he covered her mouth with a finger; his other hand working her dress off her body. She rolled her eyes back into her head, shutting the door with her heel. He buried his head in her neck and slid his hands down her body, grabbing it and picking it up. Within moments his boring desk would serve another purpose; the giant windows served only to excite him even more.