Chrisstan
15-06-2005, 12:21
The helicopter flared slightly as it settled itself on the helipad of the Presidential Mansion. The motor of the aircraft whined down as the rotors slowed to idle throttle, beating down wind at the waving heat of the building’s roof, and a soldier ran forward and opened the side of the helicopter, shielding his face from the wind.
The man stepped out of the compartment, adjusted his sunglasses and nodded his thanks to the soldier. He stepped onto the concrete, glancing in either direction before walking across the expanse towards the Minister for Internal Affairs. Michael likewise stepped forward and reached out in greeting. The two men shook hands briefly.
They were escorted down into the building and along a corridor by a contingent of infantry. The new arrival glanced at the soldiers, slightly disconcerted, but said nothing. Michael guessed.
“Sorry about this,” he said aloud as they walked out into the main entrance hall and continued across the landing of the lavishly decorated hall to the left. “My brother likes to show people who’s in charge.”
The man nodded. They continued along the walkway, through several opulent outer offices where several officials and typists worked, and paused outside the large pair of doors. Michael reached for the buzzer just below the sign that read; ‘President.’ The alerter sounded. A second later, the lock clicked and Michael pushed the door open and stepped in.
The two men and one woman were stood around the desk at the other end of the table. The woman and the man wore military uniforms, green and blue respectively. The man behind the desk wore a leather jacket and jeans. At first, the newcomer thought this might be a puppet President controlled by the military. As Michael introduced him as Mr. Conrad Reagal, the man’s easy smile and lazy movement in taking his legs off the desktop and extending to take his hand made Conrad smile. Another figurehead.
The man behind the desk asked Conrad to excuse him one moment, and he looked back at the woman in military green. “As I was saying,” he said pleasantly, easing back on his high-back chair once more. “I want enough to be able to maintain constant use throughout an extended operation.”
The woman nodded, pointing to several figures. “We are quite ahead of schedule with manufacture, the problem is a lack of canisters.” She looked up at the President. “State Arms is lagging behind.”
The President smiled at her. “You better let the Chairman know that State Arms needs to pull its finger out, hadn’t it?” He said in a paternal tone. The woman nodded. Conrad frowned a little as to why an Englishman – three Englishmen – were controlling a nation in the Far East. The military officers saluted and left.
The President then turned in his chair. “Now, Mister Reagal,” he began.
Conrad nodded. “Mr. President,” he acknowledged, nodding in a sort of polite bow. The President held both hands up.
“Call me Jake, please.” He smiled. Conrad nearly laughed.
The President glanced at Michael. “My brother says you’re one of the best in the business,” he said after a moment.
Conrad nodded. “Yes sir, I am.” He leant against the desk and glanced momentarily out the window. Smoke curled up from the factories of the city into the dusky husk of the skyline. The President raised his eyebrows.
“You’re direct.” He smiled. “I like that.” Jake leaned forward and pulled out a decanter and a bottle of Gin, pouring himself a glass. “It seems I have a problem,” Jake said. He looked up at the man and sipped his glass of drink. “Do you know what it is?”
Conrad took a moment’s pause, before inhaling. “Mr. President, you have been economically successful,” he started with tact. He wasn’t too sure how the man would accept criticism just yet. “You’ve taken a run-down fourth hand nation and turned it into a thriving economy.” Conrad glanced again out the window at the industrialisation that was evident in Vientiane. “You have a GDP of 1.1 Trillion Dollars and over a Billion in Exported goods and services. You have created an economically powerful military state.” He took another breath. “Your problem, Sir, it that the people hate you.”
The ensuing silence lasted several long moments. The only sounds were the ticking of the Grandfather clock against one wall and the far-off sounds of cars in the roads beyond. Michael shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Presently, Jake smiled.
“Yes, I like you.” Jake downed the rest of the Gin, screwing up his face and exhaling as the warmth hit him in his throat. He then got up and turned to the wall-length window, clasping his hands behind his back and sighing, looking out at the city as it glowed against the red husk of the evening sky.
“The people want freedom,” he said after a moment. Then he looked over his shoulder. “I and my two brothers came into this country as people who bought the nation using mercenaries.” Jake smiled grimly, and turned back to the window. “Machiavelli would have disapproved.”
Conrad licked his lips and smiled. “I take it, Sir, that you are not a man who gives freedom easily.”
Jake laughed, raising his chin a little and then lowering it. “You take it correctly, Mister Reagal.” He sighed, and twitched involuntarily. “I am a man who likes power.” He sniffed. “Absolute power.”
Jake turned and indicated at some of the papers on his table. “Military reports,” he explained. “There have been several protests and three full-scale fire fights in the last week between the Army and these…Liberationists.” He had paused momentarily to think of the correct word. “And it’s spreading.” He indicated a map on the wall. “Last week, we almost lost an entire town.” Jake indicated a black dot representing a village on the main road into Vientiane. “Rebels captured the town hall and the entire population revolted.”
Conrad studied the map, and frowned. “Mister President,” he began. “My helicopter came in from that direction.” He shrugged. “I didn’t see any village there.”
“Not anymore,” Michael said quietly behind them. Conrad turned and looked at him with a questioning gaze. The Minister just smiled.
Jake turned to Conrad. “Which is why you are here,” he said. The President walked back over to his desk and took a paper out of one of the drawers, picking up a pen and signing it. “This document, effective immediately, makes you Special Political Advisor to the President.” He handed the document to Conrad, who studied it. Jake smiled. “It allows you full immunity from the laws of Chrisstan, three hundred and seventy eight thousand Chrisstanian Dollars a year, and your own Mansion on the outskirts of the city.”
He smiled, and Conrad blinked. There was suddenly some slight change that made him very uneasy, something that made this smile different. “So you better give me your money’s worth.” The eyes; that was where the change was.
Conrad cleared his throat. “Sir, there are many ways to suppress Liberationists.” He held a hand up in the air. “You could kill them, you could make the criminals and you could ban them.” He smiled. “The problem is, those never work.” He glanced out the window. “Where one is killed, a dozen more rise to take their place in growing hate at the government.” Conrad shrugged his shoulders. “Hate is good, so long as they fear you.” He turned to the President. “They don’t, Sir.”
Jake licked his lower lip thoughtfully, listening to the information. A siren sounded in the distance as one of the factories signalled an end to the working shift. An F-8II roared low across the cityscape and turned towards the Vientiane Air Force Base.
“So what do we need to do?” The President then asked.
Conrad sighed and turned to the man. “That depends on how ambitious your plans for Chrisstan are, Sir.”
Jake glanced at Michael, who turned and made sure the door was closed. Conrad glanced between the two men, wondering if he had said something wrong. A slight uneasiness formed in his stomach.
Jake took a key from his pocket and unlocked a desk drawer. He pulled out a sheet of paper displaying a map of South East Asia. Some hasty shading had been added to the picture.
Conrad leant over and looked at the map. Silence ensued. The clock ticked. Conrad pursed his lips.
“Well then, we have work to do,” he said finally, standing up straight.
Jake nodded, putting the document away and locking the desk again. “So, what should we do?”
Conrad took a moment to think. “If we can’t make all the people fear you,” he said slowly. “Then we need to make the people love you, and hate those who seek to destroy you.”
Jake leant back, putting his feet on the table. “I’m listening.”
Conrad smiled and leant against the desk. Michael walked across at sat on the edge; listening with his brother as there new Political Advisor laid out his idea…
OOC: This is the start of an ongoing storyline I am to write, involving Jake truly securing his position as a Dictator and an Imperialist. Comments IC and OOC welcome, although the IC obviously needs to wait until what I have planned happens. I may need a few people to help later on, so stay tuned))
The man stepped out of the compartment, adjusted his sunglasses and nodded his thanks to the soldier. He stepped onto the concrete, glancing in either direction before walking across the expanse towards the Minister for Internal Affairs. Michael likewise stepped forward and reached out in greeting. The two men shook hands briefly.
They were escorted down into the building and along a corridor by a contingent of infantry. The new arrival glanced at the soldiers, slightly disconcerted, but said nothing. Michael guessed.
“Sorry about this,” he said aloud as they walked out into the main entrance hall and continued across the landing of the lavishly decorated hall to the left. “My brother likes to show people who’s in charge.”
The man nodded. They continued along the walkway, through several opulent outer offices where several officials and typists worked, and paused outside the large pair of doors. Michael reached for the buzzer just below the sign that read; ‘President.’ The alerter sounded. A second later, the lock clicked and Michael pushed the door open and stepped in.
The two men and one woman were stood around the desk at the other end of the table. The woman and the man wore military uniforms, green and blue respectively. The man behind the desk wore a leather jacket and jeans. At first, the newcomer thought this might be a puppet President controlled by the military. As Michael introduced him as Mr. Conrad Reagal, the man’s easy smile and lazy movement in taking his legs off the desktop and extending to take his hand made Conrad smile. Another figurehead.
The man behind the desk asked Conrad to excuse him one moment, and he looked back at the woman in military green. “As I was saying,” he said pleasantly, easing back on his high-back chair once more. “I want enough to be able to maintain constant use throughout an extended operation.”
The woman nodded, pointing to several figures. “We are quite ahead of schedule with manufacture, the problem is a lack of canisters.” She looked up at the President. “State Arms is lagging behind.”
The President smiled at her. “You better let the Chairman know that State Arms needs to pull its finger out, hadn’t it?” He said in a paternal tone. The woman nodded. Conrad frowned a little as to why an Englishman – three Englishmen – were controlling a nation in the Far East. The military officers saluted and left.
The President then turned in his chair. “Now, Mister Reagal,” he began.
Conrad nodded. “Mr. President,” he acknowledged, nodding in a sort of polite bow. The President held both hands up.
“Call me Jake, please.” He smiled. Conrad nearly laughed.
The President glanced at Michael. “My brother says you’re one of the best in the business,” he said after a moment.
Conrad nodded. “Yes sir, I am.” He leant against the desk and glanced momentarily out the window. Smoke curled up from the factories of the city into the dusky husk of the skyline. The President raised his eyebrows.
“You’re direct.” He smiled. “I like that.” Jake leaned forward and pulled out a decanter and a bottle of Gin, pouring himself a glass. “It seems I have a problem,” Jake said. He looked up at the man and sipped his glass of drink. “Do you know what it is?”
Conrad took a moment’s pause, before inhaling. “Mr. President, you have been economically successful,” he started with tact. He wasn’t too sure how the man would accept criticism just yet. “You’ve taken a run-down fourth hand nation and turned it into a thriving economy.” Conrad glanced again out the window at the industrialisation that was evident in Vientiane. “You have a GDP of 1.1 Trillion Dollars and over a Billion in Exported goods and services. You have created an economically powerful military state.” He took another breath. “Your problem, Sir, it that the people hate you.”
The ensuing silence lasted several long moments. The only sounds were the ticking of the Grandfather clock against one wall and the far-off sounds of cars in the roads beyond. Michael shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. Presently, Jake smiled.
“Yes, I like you.” Jake downed the rest of the Gin, screwing up his face and exhaling as the warmth hit him in his throat. He then got up and turned to the wall-length window, clasping his hands behind his back and sighing, looking out at the city as it glowed against the red husk of the evening sky.
“The people want freedom,” he said after a moment. Then he looked over his shoulder. “I and my two brothers came into this country as people who bought the nation using mercenaries.” Jake smiled grimly, and turned back to the window. “Machiavelli would have disapproved.”
Conrad licked his lips and smiled. “I take it, Sir, that you are not a man who gives freedom easily.”
Jake laughed, raising his chin a little and then lowering it. “You take it correctly, Mister Reagal.” He sighed, and twitched involuntarily. “I am a man who likes power.” He sniffed. “Absolute power.”
Jake turned and indicated at some of the papers on his table. “Military reports,” he explained. “There have been several protests and three full-scale fire fights in the last week between the Army and these…Liberationists.” He had paused momentarily to think of the correct word. “And it’s spreading.” He indicated a map on the wall. “Last week, we almost lost an entire town.” Jake indicated a black dot representing a village on the main road into Vientiane. “Rebels captured the town hall and the entire population revolted.”
Conrad studied the map, and frowned. “Mister President,” he began. “My helicopter came in from that direction.” He shrugged. “I didn’t see any village there.”
“Not anymore,” Michael said quietly behind them. Conrad turned and looked at him with a questioning gaze. The Minister just smiled.
Jake turned to Conrad. “Which is why you are here,” he said. The President walked back over to his desk and took a paper out of one of the drawers, picking up a pen and signing it. “This document, effective immediately, makes you Special Political Advisor to the President.” He handed the document to Conrad, who studied it. Jake smiled. “It allows you full immunity from the laws of Chrisstan, three hundred and seventy eight thousand Chrisstanian Dollars a year, and your own Mansion on the outskirts of the city.”
He smiled, and Conrad blinked. There was suddenly some slight change that made him very uneasy, something that made this smile different. “So you better give me your money’s worth.” The eyes; that was where the change was.
Conrad cleared his throat. “Sir, there are many ways to suppress Liberationists.” He held a hand up in the air. “You could kill them, you could make the criminals and you could ban them.” He smiled. “The problem is, those never work.” He glanced out the window. “Where one is killed, a dozen more rise to take their place in growing hate at the government.” Conrad shrugged his shoulders. “Hate is good, so long as they fear you.” He turned to the President. “They don’t, Sir.”
Jake licked his lower lip thoughtfully, listening to the information. A siren sounded in the distance as one of the factories signalled an end to the working shift. An F-8II roared low across the cityscape and turned towards the Vientiane Air Force Base.
“So what do we need to do?” The President then asked.
Conrad sighed and turned to the man. “That depends on how ambitious your plans for Chrisstan are, Sir.”
Jake glanced at Michael, who turned and made sure the door was closed. Conrad glanced between the two men, wondering if he had said something wrong. A slight uneasiness formed in his stomach.
Jake took a key from his pocket and unlocked a desk drawer. He pulled out a sheet of paper displaying a map of South East Asia. Some hasty shading had been added to the picture.
Conrad leant over and looked at the map. Silence ensued. The clock ticked. Conrad pursed his lips.
“Well then, we have work to do,” he said finally, standing up straight.
Jake nodded, putting the document away and locking the desk again. “So, what should we do?”
Conrad took a moment to think. “If we can’t make all the people fear you,” he said slowly. “Then we need to make the people love you, and hate those who seek to destroy you.”
Jake leant back, putting his feet on the table. “I’m listening.”
Conrad smiled and leant against the desk. Michael walked across at sat on the edge; listening with his brother as there new Political Advisor laid out his idea…
OOC: This is the start of an ongoing storyline I am to write, involving Jake truly securing his position as a Dictator and an Imperialist. Comments IC and OOC welcome, although the IC obviously needs to wait until what I have planned happens. I may need a few people to help later on, so stay tuned))