The Storm and the Dead

[Khemia]

The hallway was adorned with elaborate gold-embroidered bamboo, the architectural style was vast and imposing, distinctly Eastern. White walls ran down the hallways, the wooden floors made from the bottom of bamboo shoots matched the ceiling, which raised into dramatic curved arches above. A warm glow emanated from the lamps which hung from the wall gracefully.

The sound of footfall echoed through the hallway, and the lights cast dozens of feint shadows. The shining black boots were worn by a man with a crisp, clean black military uniform, shining gold aglets - he was definitely an man of means. He arrived at the end of the hallway, his gloved hand rapped on the door four times before falling once more to his side.

Behind the bamboo doors a man could be heard scurrying about, scrambling to put things back into place before permitting the warrior outside in. It took several moments, and the man raised his gloved hand once again to knock, but the door opened and a disshevelled man, his tie draped loosely around his neck, gaped at the man in uniform. His jaw dropped, and he struggled to speak.

"Comrade-General..." he managed to mutter.

"Traitor," General Sunan announced, inviting himself into the room with an abrupt shove to the pathetic wretch before him. "You have betrayed Socialism."

"But, but... I only want what's best for Thaesan..."

"Thaesan is NOTHING without Socialism," the General retorted. "What do you have?! Your pathetic traditions? Your superstitions? Your culture? They blind you, fool."

"But Thaesan can become strong, if we grow rich, we can build our military. We can strike at Keida... we can retake lost lands..."

"Lost lands mean nothing. You are operating in the past, and now you have sold us out to the pigs," Sunan Lampoon was nothing if not hideous when angry. "Military might is not a machination of wealth! Truly, you are not saying that the might of money can overcome the strength of Socialism?"

"You can't honestly think that we can have a modernized military without money, can you?" the wretch inquired. He realized the moment his sentence ended that he had too. "Comrade-General, I didn't mean to suggest--"

"But you did," the General nodded slowly, looking down to the floor as he stepped towards the bureaucrat. "Comrade, have you forgotten why the Revolution began?"

"Of course not," he replied, cringing as the Comrade-Generals arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer. "The Revolution happened because the people needed to truly be represented. Because the yoke of the oppressor had chained them into a life of slavery."

"I see you have at least been indoctrinated," Sunan forced a smile. His right arm pulled the man closer, and his left arm appeared from his waist holding his trusty .357 from it's holster and pressing it to the man's face. "Tell me, do you think that our glorious leader would have wanted our great nation to abandon Socialism?" the trick question was multifaceted, the answer elusive.

"Of course not," the man muttered, lying because he knew Sunan wanted to hear this answer. "He would never allow Thaesan to abandon Socialism!"

The gunshot launched bits of brain, blood, and bone across the room; leaving a nasty ringing noise in the Comrade-General's ear. He let the body drop, holstering his pistol before wiping the grey and red brain matter from his sleeve, popping his jaw to stop the ringing.

"You didn't know the Leader well enough then. Of course he'd have led our country from Socialism," he talked to the lifeless carcass that lay on the floor. "That's why I killed him."

 

[Khemia]

It had only taken him minutes to kill the Comrade Minister of State, the treacherous bastard had consorted with the vile Cantigny to make some sort of lucrative economic deals. Horseshit, that's what it really was. Just a ploy by those that lacked the integrity to be true Socialists to line their pockets with dirty money. Now, two hours later, wearing a new jacket, he had convened the High Council of War.

He sat before them at a long, oval table, the head of which was supposed to be vacant, but he knew that he would be the Commander of the Armed Forces in a matter of days, so he had taken the liberty to assume his rightful place. It was fitting that the country would be led by a man with the conviction to see his ideals through. Sunan Lampoon was that man.

He scowled around the table, looking at the others, none of them would question him. At least, not to his face - he commanded much respect, both within the military and the entire Party. He had fought Keida, he had trained guerrilla's in Kayah Tanah, and he had personally executed nearly a hundred traitors. His credentials were impeccable.

"It's time we move to ensure that Socialism continues in Thaesan," he began cautiously, looking around to see those who would oppose him. "I have no doubt the exigency session is corrupt, and that they will choose a corrupt leader. First, I need your immediate approval of my promotion to Commander, to ensure that this process succeeds."

He looked around, and he could see some General's quietly acknowledging their dreams of assuming the position as Commander were now dead. One by one they nodded their heads and swore their loyalty. He smiled as the last General agreed.

"Now that I have your assent, if you do not have the stomach for what's to come, please leave," he looked around. Some of the General's seemed taken aback, not sure whether he'd have them executed for leaving. Truth be told, he wanted to spare the lives of the men he had worked with for so long. None of them left, however.

"So, in order to ensure that Thaesan remains truly Socialist, we will need to move on critical installations throughout the country and ensure they do not remain in the hands of the traitors. And believe me, there are many traitors," he gestured to over several dozen dossier's which recorded the flaws of numerous high level officials throughout the government. One of the General's, Sudarak Van, picked up a dossier and peered over his glasses as he reviewed one of the files. Sunan waited for a comment, but none came, so he decided to continue.

"First, we need to ensure that State TV and Radio are secured. We need a peaceful, quiet transition here. Station a garrison outside the sites and inform the worker's that there is a plot against the State underway. Once the media is under our control, we can move on other locations: the port, airport, Central Security Service, and finally the government offices itself. We'll need to take down several key members of the Central Committee," he paused, looking around. "This will not be an easy task. We will need to show them that members among them are not as committed, and hold them accountable before the people. The fear of reprisal will smoke the guilty out, and we can catch them all."

"What will happen to the government, the order, the law, while all of this transpires?" General Sudarak asked.

"Martial law will be imposed until a Socialist civilian government can be restored."

Some of the General's were noticeably apprehensive. General Sudarak insisted, however, and Sunan knew if his plan were to succeed he would need Sudarak's support. Of all the General's, Sudarak held the most sway with the soldiers; he was a man of the people, and well liked. "There is a reason that the military should not replace a police force," Sudarak protested, looking at Sunan directly. "The military is responsible for combating enemies of the state. The police are responsible for maintaining the order of law. The second that the military maintains the order of law is the second that the people become the enemies of the state. Martial law is a slippery slope, the ramifications of which we cannot begin to fathom..."

"It is the only way," Sunan retorted. "We can not trust a civilian police force to ensure a safe transition. You know this."

The other General nodded slightly, but Sunan could see he would have to do more convincing. "Then perhaps you would be best suited to ensuring the people are not harmed by the application of military rule?"

Sudarak seemed to ponder the thought for a moment. He knew it was a trap, that if he failed his career was over. "I can handle this," he nodded hesitantly.

"Excellent," General Sunan smiled. "Comrade-General Voranai, it will be your place to move on the media establishment. Comrade-General Petch, you will ensure that the police do not interfere. Once these two steps have been completed, we can move forward. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the room replied at once, though lacking the same gusto and spirit that he had hoped for. He knew they'd listen, at least.

 

[Khemia]

Jure Matek looked at the strange green ooze as it spilled onto the crepe pan with no small amount of curiosity. He'd heard good things about rote sai mai, but he wasn't quite sure he was ready for a science fiction experience yet. The Eastern streets foods never quite sat right with his Carentanian appetite, and he'd grown accustomed to the nagging voice in the back of his head that warned him of the bowel movements that would follow. But, just this one time, he had to lock the voice back inside the mental closet. Afterall, you only ever had one chance in your life to visit Thaesan, much less eat the food they really eat, and not the commercial garbage expatriates sell out of Western take out shops.

The old lady waved away a fly that buzzed around the ooze as it cooked, and Jure was sure he didn't want to look anymore, so he turned his gaze to the bazaar around him. He stuck out like a sore, white thumb lost in a sea of yellow people, strange fish on stick food, barking dogs and clucking chickens. He tried to keep a low profile, but wearing local clothing only showed off his bare, glaringly pale legs. The backpack on his back didn't help, either - but everything he needed was in there. He'd been trying to avoid the "tourist" areas, if any such thing existed in the secretive state of Thaesan, and stick to the rural areas. Afterall, where else did Thaesan's communism strike its first cord? Surely, not with the bureaucrats and scammers in downtown Siraama. The bazaar was a strange amalgam of traditional cooking, hand-me-down items, local medicine, all nestled within the cramped plaza of a favella-style village, houses stacked upon each other and only built with modestly more expensive materials than tin and aluminum. The lady tried to get his attention in her native tongue, but Jure didn't speak a damned word. Still, she did have a rather nasty poke. Her face glared at him, and she stuck out her hand for money.

In Carentania, this would have been unusual for him. But in Thaesan, it had been explained to him, money was still used because the product of a worker's labor needed value. "Socialism comes in wages, not in prices," someone had put it bluntly, but he forgot who. He fumbled for the right change and handed it to the woman before staring at his next meal hesitantly. It looked like fine, pale hair had been stuffed inside a green taco. It wasn't the worst he'd seen, though. His travels to Wing Sing had introduced him to the unsightly preserved egg they sold there, and that hadn't tasted nearly as bad as it looked. He shuddered at the thought and, in comparison, the rote sai mai was nothing more than a discolored taco. Jure shrugged and took a bite, and instantly his mouth exploded with the delicious flavor of... cotton candy?

Before he knew it, the rote crepe was gone, and he had become sad. He grabbed his camera from his backpack and started to film the old woman cooking another rote, but noticed some political officers at the side of the bazaar were strangely active. Technically, he should have left the country Monday, but he wasn't done with his vacation, and he was sure a little more time wouldn't kill him. He filmed the woman toying with the green ooze some more before ducking behind a family headed back to the housing area. They seemed bothered by him, but didn't make a fuss, and he smiled at them. The girl looked back at the bazaar and noticed the officers as well, immediately understanding.

"Ma ni," she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the house her family had crept inside. Her family immediately started protesting, but she glared back at them. "Phuak khao cha kha khao duai!" she shouted, and the family immediately became quiet.

Jure wished he had his phrase book with him, he was sure he was missing some important details as this family yelled. Then again, Saan was not an easy language to pick up verbally - the individual 'words' seemed mashed together into a giant, multi-syllable construct, it was hard to tell where one word ended and the other began. Phrase books would be useless unless one of the natives decided to talk very slow and disparagingly to him.

The girl looked to him and said a few more words he didn't understand, and he couldn't help but shrug. "Khon ngo," she muttered frustratingly, and the family seemed to laugh as they put their foodstuffs into the crummy excuse for a pantry. "Not safe here. This place not nice for you."

He raised an eyebrow as her broken German caught his attention. "What? No, it's fine, I've been here for a few days and haven't had any problems..."

"No. You not see? See what happened to others?"

"Others? What others?"

"Farang of course."

He knew the word was a derogatory term for foreigners, but still it conveyed the message quite well. How many other foreigners could really have been at this part of town. He was sure not much, but whatever rumors this girl had heard were good enough reason for her to drag him into her families house. "What happened to them?"

"They die. The bad Commissars come with rifles and shoot. You see Commissars out there," she pointed to the door, obviously talking about the political officers. He nodded the affirmative. "Someone told them about you. They know you here. You must hide." The old man of the family snarled at him in protest, the grouchy growl was put down by the older woman who smacked him on the head with her shoe.

"Pha khao pai yang hong non," the old woman gestured to the back of the small house. "Khao cha plot phai thi nan." She glared at the old man before the girl grabbed Jure and took him to the master bedroom, rifling around where the bed was. It sat atop a wooden box, it was obviously hollow and would be one of the first places searched if the Commissars were to do any sort of search, but the girl didn't seem to care. She opened the sliding wooden door and took out some used sandals. He knew his new hideout was going to smell like feet.

"Hey, wait. Before you lock me down there, what's your name?" he questioned her.

"Yen," she seemed to smile, but the faint gesture of friendliness disappeared when she pointed to the narrow 'hiding place' under the main bed. He wanted to backpack across Thaesan and experience peasant life, he grumbled to himself. Here he was, experiencing peasant life as he crawled into his new, personal bedchamber.

 

[Khemia]

He wasn't sure how many hours had passed, he had stopped counting the minutes a while ago. The cramped space was not comfortable enough to sleep in, and the box creaked as the wood above him strained to support the weight of the mattress above. Someone, probably the older folk, were crawling into bed now. It had to be after dark. They were chatting amongst themselves, he could hear them, as if they'd forgotten he was there. Then, suddenly, the wooden door slid open and the older lady smiled at the cramped Carentanian hidden under her bed. She handed him a plate with a ordinary looking sandwich and told him something which he could only understand as 'eat' or 'you're safe here'. He smiled back but in the back of his mind he wondered whether this was even necessary. The old woman closed the door again, and he quietly ate his sandwich. Hopefully morning would come fast.

A few more hours probably passed, he'd finally fallen asleep, when a loud knocking sound echoed throughout the house. The mattress above him creaked instantly, and he could hear the older woman talking quickly and hurriedly. Outside, he could hear the girl, Yen, telling someone something, and the loud knocking came again.

In the back of his mind he knew it was the Commissar, but he tried to deny it. He knew they'd find him where he was. The old woman outside quickly snapped at Yen, then hurried herself back in bed. He could hear some shuffling as the two did something above, but he couldn't see. All he could do was close his eyes and wish himself back to sleep. Outside, Yen shouted something, and he heard a crashing noise as someone pushed her aside and the door slammed open.

"Doi Ratsadon Khana mi amnat khong bukkhon thi rao kamlang khon ha sap sin khong than! Kabot phuea Sangkhom Niyom cha son tua yu nai mueang lae rao tong kan khwam chuai luea khong khun!" a man shouted, and he could hear men quickly storming into the small house, and within moments he knew one was standing before his hiding place. His heart pounded, and above him the mattress creaked as the old woman hissed, protesting loudly. The man he knew was in front of him began to talk quickly with the older woman, all the while things crashed and broke outside. A boot kicked the door in front of him, and the man seemed to be asking what was inside. He closed his eyes and tried to scoot back further into the hiding place, but the twin sized bed would afford him no such luxury. He knew he was dead. The door before him slid open a bit, but stopped halfway. The man in front of him didn't bother stooping to look, instead a voice had come over the radio and seemed to be informing him of something.

"Phom tong kho thot sam rap khwam mai saduak. Tha khwam sia hai thi koet khuen khun samat rai ngan kan riak rong khong khun pai yang Krom Phakdi." And with that, his nightmare was over. His heart seemed to stop, and as the man before him left, he dared to peak out from his hiding place. Before the man turned the corner to leave, he could see the barrel of the rifle that was slung over his shoulder. The door slammed hard, and a few minutes later a teary eyed Yen stood in the doorway, looking down at Jure with sympathetic eyes, glad to see that he was still alive.