Deucalion (21 page)

30

BETTER THAN POSITIVE

Presidential Complex

New Geneva (City Central)

29/14/101 Standard

GASTON

The nine streets radiating from the Presidential Complex were choked. In the blocks immediately surrounding the tall, cylindrical structure, all the 90,000 members of the twenty-nine remaining Clans of the Elokoi sat, quietly but obstinately, in the roadways and on the footpaths, their arms and legs tied together with short lengths of rope made from the supple, but almost unbreakable root-fibres of the Capyjou. They formed a silver-grey and mottled-brown ring, at least a hundred bodies deep, twice that and more in some places, cramming the available space, surrounding the object of their protest – who looked down from the window of his office in impotent disbelief.

For the twentieth time, Gaston called the head of Urban Security for a status-report, but the news was the same.

‘What do you
want
us to do, sir? They aren't hurting anyone, they aren't destroying property. And there's a tube-news crew on every corner. We can't even go in and haul them away, because they're all tied together. And they're not alone.'

‘What do you mean, “not alone”?'

‘They have supporters. Human supporters. Lots of them. I just don't have enough men to risk a confrontation.'

Gaston punched the termination button, and moved into the next room, where the tube was showing live-action coverage.

The talking head was giving a rundown of the day's events, and the director kept cutting to file-footage of the Long March, which was already being talked of with capital letters. For the first time in a hundred years, the Elokoi had done something that was ‘news', and the networks were lapping it up.

Gaston watched as the image cut to the already familiar shot of an Elokoi male holding a small cub against his chest as he walked. As the camera held the shot, the cub turned and stared directly into the lens, its face filling the screen, its eyes looking straight into the soul of the viewer. Even Gaston felt a stirring of empathy. It was award-winning stuff, and it did more for the Elokoi cause than a thousand interviews.

Not a dry eye in the bloody house . . .

He turned away, but the newsreader's
voice drew him back. ‘Early this morning, before the procession made its way into the city proper, residents of New G awoke to find these posters attached to the walls and trees of almost every neighbourhood.'

Cut to slides of two coloured posters. Gaston sat down, suddenly cold. The messages were different, but the designs were sickeningly familiar.

And finally, a poster on a background of dazzling red, on which the camera seemed to hold for an interminable length of time.

Part of him reluctantly admired the tactics. The whole Long March thing, the silent protest, the posters, the carefully orchestrated tube coverage. This faceless group had succeeded in making the whole issue a personal one between the Elokoi and him, with the media watching every move, recording every word, every expression, and the whole world of voters looking on.

Damn them!

The intercom bleated, and his secretary's face appeared in the corner of the tube-screen. ‘Sir, some reporter from Internet is online. She wants some comments from you.'

‘I told you to tell them I'm busy.'

The young woman looked nervous. ‘I told her that, sir. But she says she has some information you might like to comment on before she goes to air with it this evening. She says it's entirely up to you.'

A slight tremor of premonition ran up his neck. Internet was the one comm-linked network that was not controlled, directly or indirectly, by the DMC. They had backed Johannsen's PC party, and had been the only network to run stories commenting on the surprising disparity between the private polling and the final election result.

Luckily, they were not as influential as the larger networks, but if they broke a story that had ‘legs', the other networks would run with it, all the same. It was the nature of the beast. And there was little that he or the DMC would be able to do to halt the momentum.

‘You'd better put her on.'

The screen dissolved into a random pattern for half a second, while the tube-news gave way to the private comm-link. Then he was facing a woman of about thirty-five, who looked at him with steel in her gaze.

Amanda Kostas. Damn!

The situation was getting worse by the minute. This was not some hack newshound sniffing around. This was the network's top gun. Amanda Kostas never asked a question to which she didn't already know the answer.

He plastered on a professional smile. ‘Amanda. Long time no see.'

The return smile was perfunctory, and the reporter was in no mood to waste time on meaningless pleasantries. Her silence was ominous.

He continued, ‘You know the rules, Amanda. Nothing live-to-air. We start out off the record, until I find out what this is all about.'

‘Of course, Dimitri.' The woman's smile grew even colder.

‘Okay, then. What can I do for you?'

‘It has come to our attention that . . .' She consulted her notes, but he was convinced it was for effect – to let him know she had them . . . ‘on the second of this month, you had a meeting with three representatives of the Elokoi right here in New G. Is this true?'

‘Of course it is.' There was no point in denying it. They had too many ways of checking up. ‘You don't expect me to break confidence and tell you what we discussed, do you?'

‘Oh, we already know that, Mr President. We just need your comments as to the accuracy of our information.'

He could feel her herding him in a direction he didn't want to go, but there was no way to stop her. For now. ‘You seem pretty well informed. Fire away.'

‘Is it true that these Elokoi met with you to inform you of their intention – the intention of the whole Elokoi people – to leave the Reserves and make a' – the notes again – ‘make a Trek across the Great Central Desert to the coast of the inland sea, and to settle there on their traditional lands?'

He thought for a moment. ‘I'm afraid I can't comment on that without the permission of the other parties to the—'

‘Oh, come on, Dimitri!' Amanda Kostas interrupted him curtly. ‘Where do you think we got the information from? They've been giving interviews for the last half-hour. Now, what is your comment?'

Outmanoeuvred, he conceded. ‘Yes. It was discussed.'

‘And what was your position?'

‘The only position I could take. The only lands to which they have any entitlement under the Native Species Protection Act are the Reserves.'

‘So the posters are true, then? The Reserves are, in effect, “prisons”.'

‘Don't start twisting my words. The Elokoi are free to come and go as they please—'

‘But not to settle?'

‘But not to settle. Look, Amanda, I didn't make the rules—'

‘No. They were decided by the Ruling Council. How many Elokoi were on the Ruling Council at the time?'

‘Unfair, Amanda. Can we get back to the subject at hand?'

The woman nodded. ‘I'll repeat the question. Did the Elokoi discuss where they intended to go?'

‘They did. They proposed to walk across the Central Desert and settle along the coast of the inland sea.'

‘Where their race originated.'

‘Yes. But where they haven't lived for over ten thousand years. I couldn't let them risk their lives on a journey like that, only to try and survive in desert conditions at the end of it.'

‘You
couldn't let them? Are they not free to decide whether they can or cannot exist in any area of their own planet?'

‘You know what I mean.' Gaston searched his mind for a way to divert the line of questioning. ‘Besides, what
I
think is irrelevant. You see, the permission was not mine to give. That land belongs to the DMC. They have mining leases on it for—'

‘I know. For two hundred years. Also voted by the Ruling Council, on which, I believe, they had . . . twenty-one representatives. Do you happen to know how much of the land area of Deucalion the Corporation has leases over?'

‘How do you expect me to—'

She was closing in for the kill. ‘Would it surprise you to learn that they have leases or option agreements covering almost two-thirds of the whole land area?'

The words hung in the air like a raised sword.

Two thirds?
The figure was staggering. No wonder they were so reluctant to lose control of the colony.

She continued, the cold smile fading. ‘Don't you think that a democratically elected government could afford to overturn the decrees of the old
appointed
Ruling Council at least to the extent of granting the traditional lands to the original inhabitants of the planet?'

Before he could frame an answer, she pounced. ‘Do you have any comment on the implied accusations that have appeared on posters around the city in the last few days, to the effect that the election was rigged, and that you have accepted money from the DMC?'

For this, at least, he was ready. ‘Obviously, lies made up by our disappointed opponents. If there was any evidence—'

Again she cut in. ‘Do you know a man called Matthias DeGroot? Also known as . . . Stefan Kesslar?'

Gaston's heart lurched. The room swam, and Amanda Kostas's face became suddenly blurred.

‘I've . . . never heard the name.'

‘You're sure?'

‘Of course I'm sure.'

‘So you would not be aware of any rumours linking you with his activities?'

Defiantly, he held her gaze, then he looked away, lost for words.

‘Your response, Mr President?'

Gaston's response was to terminate the interview with a blow of his fist on the control-console.

Gaston looked across the desk at Kennedy, choosing his words carefully. They were fighting on too many fronts; he had to get rid of the immediate problems and concentrate on survival.

‘What can we do to get rid of these damned Elokoi?'

‘Short of giving them what they want, you mean?' As usual, Kennedy was a step behind the game.

‘Damn it, Kennedy, we
have
to give them what they want. We don't have time to fight them. Someone is feeding information to Internet. Stuff that only you and I are supposed to know.'

His ‘executive assistant' went pale. ‘You don't think that
I . . .'

‘Of course not, you idiot. If I go down, you go with me. But somebody knows. We've got to get rid of this Elokoi mess so that we can concentrate on mending fences. Organise a meeting with the damned ferrets, asap. We might still be able to turn this to our advantage. After all, by the time the DMC gets around to looking at mining that area, you and I will probably be dead and the legal hassles will be someone else's problem.

‘We'll wait a day or so, to find out how much they know, and if things get too hot, we can always destroy the evidence. Start off now by shredding any hard-copies. I want to be able to get rid of everything with less than five minutes' notice.'

Carmody Island

Inland Sea (Eastern Region)

29/14/101 Standard

JANE

I'd never seen Denny look so excited.

‘It was just so easy, Jane. Everything worked out to perfection. The group mobilised maybe five or six hundred people in less than two days, and they marched with the Elokoi, carrying placards and chanting the slogans. And the people all along the route were amazing. There weren't more than a few jeers, and they were shut up as quickly as they started. Ricky was right.'

‘What did he say?' I threw in the question to keep him talking. I loved to see him like this.

‘“Trust the people,” he said. “Most of them don't hate without a reason. They may surprise you.”'

I smiled. ‘He was right.'

‘You should have seen Gaston, the oily toad. Turning the whole thing into a political stunt.'

I cut in, stirring lightheartedly. ‘I thought that was what it was supposed to be. A political stunt.'

‘Yes. But for
us
.
He stood there and tried to convince everyone that he'd spent the last month working out plans to cede the whole of the inland sea coastal region to the Elokoi – as their own independent state. It's better than we ever dreamed of. If it goes through, they're free. Forever.'

‘What was the reaction in New G?' I asked the question, but I could guess the answer by the expression of sheer joy on his face.

‘Better than positive. The coverage of the Long March was exactly what we needed to break down the barriers. No one cares about a few million square k's of desert, but everybody cares about the Elokoi and their cubs. When did people change, Jane? All the stories. All the massacres. How could everything suddenly be so different?'

I thought for a moment.

‘History, Den. We aren't a frontier any more. We haven't been for decades. Except out on the Fringes. Trouble is, nobody bothered to change the rules that applied before. Hell, we only had our first election this year.'