Short story

( Set in a world after World war 3, Italics =speech )

It was a state secret that she had blue eyes. Though  she commanded armies and sat in attendance at meetings where the secrets of fusion, laser propulsion and scramjets were discussed. Though she was mistress of nearly 100 million people. President of the Confederation , Deputy president of the Alliance, She even sat on the council of the IRB... all this mattered naught  as 90 percent of the people here have brown eyes, she had to look like one of the voters. They had to feel that connection to her. They had to know, deep down she was one of them

She would complain so much, but no one could get her a pair of lenses that did not hurt. Kids wore lenses that were advertised as being pain free

Children don't have access to space based weapons, via there lenses, either mentioned her secretary.
She had thought about replying that

She swore as she slid her lenses, on. The makeup artists applied the last of the rouge to her face. She smiled at the girl, A snub nosed Euro.. Katyn, and asked about her daughter and their plans for the weekend. Even with the cams, recording everything, even with the enhancements. She would still need a makeup, some things you could not fake, even with nano cameras. One thing that mattered was how the individual you were talking to, reacted to you, in the room right now.

It gave her time to think anyway. The Euro finished and went on her way. They were going to see the Penguins, at Aedile land, her and her daughter…

What do we grow up again for ?

Yet another Pretender, someone new claiming the Presidency. There had been three this past decade.

This time, she would have to make a point of it. The World would have to know why they didn’t want anything to do with them.

It was one of the messages, she had to keep repeating. Like not to spit.

The might even make a jingle. Something to amuse the pre schoolers, as they learned there 1-2 -3's.
 A million people would have favourited and recommended the clip by the time breakfast was done. The satellite networks running the cars would move a everyone minute slower so as many as possible could see the clip before work.

She authorised credit to vending machine companies, and coffee stores, she wanted people to be talking, and spending

The lenses, flashed up, a countdown. 5-4-3-2-1 They were now live

The numbers watching across the various media platforms were very good, not just across the confederation, or even Brazil. There were several million hits in Asia, and a few thousand insomniacs, in Perth

The audience room, had been decked out for formal occasions, there was a flag of the confederation just off where the viewer’s eyes would be. Enough to get the message across that she was speaking for the nation, but not enough to be intrusive. The Confederation, had been the skilful rider on the mighty Brazilian stallion. Unlike a Frenchmen the Latin’s could ride.

Her left eye flashed up every few seconds, an image of her surroundings, as relayed on the Namo cams. She was pleased with appearance. Her dress was modest, deep dark shade of purple, from a respected house, in Florianopolis, who had employed a new designer from Botswana. The two hours to tie her hair back, had been time and money spent well it seemed.  A dark cardigan, completed the look. A Roman empress, about to give an eulogy.

That was quite apt, except this Empire was long dead.

The wardrobe department had insisted she wear her Sarko’s. She had always meant to look up the name, they made her look taller. Normally that was not a problem, the vidcast, was performed sitting down, on a couch, if she was talking to mothers about education or taxes, there were even carefully scripted outtakes, a link to a toddler spilling milk over her. An uncut comment about a stupid chief of police in La Paz. There was even a unofficial video clip, aimed at teenage boys, of her changing a blouse, just before a vidconference

``My friends, and fellow citizens, I am pleased you gave us a moment of your time. I am here, to meet with a leader from of the Norte.`` I know this may surprise you. But let us be patient. No one must say, we did not listen’’

That was the key word. Listen Across the media nexus a program began to bring carefully selected links, to people’s personal pads,, a brief message would flick across the screen or lenses of anyone trying to access the cloud. On a thousand multi player game platforms people were treated to a power up and a split second treatment of the message

The pretender was there, in front of her. He was tall, over 6ft. He’d been playing soldiers for most of his life. was wearing some kind of uniform. They always did in the Norte. Not that her soldiers needed to wear camouflage now. Holographic motorised armour and drones had left camo pants an anachronism. Oh, and there it was, the illegal firearm, well strictly speaking the Norte had been given a safe conduct. However the security people had signed off, on the matter. It would allow for one piece of theatre. Besides the pysch profiles, had said, he was not that stupid, and if he was, his homeland would burn again for the second time in a century

They were not alone. Beside the millions watching them now, and for the rest of time On each side of the room, were two constabulary officers. Two of the Andes, the name of the national constabulary force. the backbone, the rock, the wealth and fame of the Confederation. One was a dark Indio, he had saved a little girl from drowning, while off duty. The other was a girl from up the road, las olivios , she had a lot of Asian blood inside her. Apparently her grandparents had run a Chinese restaurant in Lima, just before the Northern war. There was a picture of Grandad in the café watching a soccer game, or something, and her grandfather next to him, the World cup in 2016, they last summer of peace. The short order chef’s grandchild was now cryptography officer, a good one. She had broken a child porn ring. Despicable things done to children and disseminated on secret file shares services, in the bad lands of the Norte, and the data slums of India.

Millions of people where now reading their bios, and watching minidocs about their achievements.

Her two guardians stood as silent as the sphinx. They stood splendid  in their green uniforms. The boots polished, there rifles blackened. In the field, the Constublarios never carried rifles. The two weapons her guards were carrying were antiques.

Working antiques though

Upon each wall, there was a painted scene, wallpaper. One was of the last stand of the Italian Cabarini somewhere in the South of Italy, holding the roads to the North, the other a Canadian Mountie, who had defused a bomb leftover from the northern war, The King of Canada, and the British dominions across the sea, would be visiting next week. . In the afternoon, the murals would be of something else, oh yes, pictures by school children, from the new Bathsheba kibbutz in Patagonia

The Norte, was talking about their ancient constitution, about the past, and how they had to move on. ... He mentioned putting the past behind them, as they did after Apotomaxxix? Someone had worked with this man. Someone had sat down with the would be warlord and given him a script.

The Saints?

Provo had escaped the fighting In the north. The faithful there, had held on, worked hard and prayed harder. Good people, she had offered them, Patagonia, they would not leave. They sat in vigil, in the wilderness, while bigmen, fought over their ``Founders'' Arguing in English and Spanish, over a corpse,

If it was the saints who had schooled this kid, they had not done a bad job. He was speaking about how change needs to be brought about from outside, how sometimes, firm action, firm decisive action, can get things done. There was even one or two links,

They had not done a bad job those saints

For a moment she softened. Than the fool decided to throw someone’s hard work, away.

Maybe it wasn’t him, but someone wrote that speech…and he repeated it...

In another room, actually a few thousand miles away in Conception, one of the foreign ministries super computers had caught a reference, an obscure line from the Fountainhead.

``NO’’

The media director like a maestro was working on the situation. White noise, was being added at particular cadences. A series of links and vids, were being prepared. The lighting in the room, was being adapted, Multi player game networks, slowed down ever so slightly, and drew the players towards neutral areas. Credit was sent to businesses, to pay for their employees inattention for a few minutes. The Education computer programs the Alliance, school systems used, began to save their pupils work, and prepare them for a short distraction


``NO’’

My friends and citizens know what you have said. We have heard it, and seen it with our eyes. Actually through a wall, which worked as a camera lens? But that was not the point

``I listened, you listened, we listened. We listened, in She left a beat, the place would be selected and mentioned, from a list of candidates, people like Pilar Gomez listened. A biological engineering grad student doing sterling work, with anti-prions, on top of that whom had just got engaged to Brazilian police officer. ( I wonder if she is interested in politics)

We listened.

You told us the same story. You told us about Rand, about the horrors of your civil war, of the gunmen and the murder. We have not forgotten, the links were sent, the bandwidth prepared, the lesson schedule for the morning prepared. The posters ready, for schools and highways

The Pretender knew his cause was lost, and started to be defiant. That was good, let them see it. He had begun to pace about the room, as he turned around, one of the constbularios, the cryptographer, grabbed his sidearm, he had in pocket

The Indio, had a his rifle at his head…

We will not help, the followers of rand, we will not see the sud, desteroyed as the north was. We will stand together, we listened to our neighbour and our friends, we stand together. We stand for unity and peace, for order and progress,

Get out estadio roja Go

The camera focussed on the Indio, a study in determination. The Norte, was out of  Alliance airspace, before she had finished her debrief and coffee. After an hour’s cardio, the reactions would come in. The hits were really good. There was a lot of feedback already.. The kids, playing the MPORGs would all get to the next level tonight…She had been linked too, by the Japanese, the commonwealth leaders…

Cool, the Nortes were being especially rude…