Zambistan
09-03-2007, 22:42
Xem Foulmurder smoked a cheap cigarette, his leather gloves adapting to the brass knuckles he had on his smoking hand. After a long drag he looked to the east. Out there lay the City of the Dead, and from there over the fertile mud filled flats lay Gomorrah, and from there and past the swampy bayou country near Port 2 lay the tropical island of Arranas. Zambistan, a wondrous environmental paradise, with four-star hotels and the best big game in Medderterranica.
Ha!
Xem knew better. Zambistan had been the shithole of Medderterranica since the first explorers had came, since it was made into a “Native Reservation,” since the pirates had been jailed here, since all the freed slaves had been sent here, since the jews of the island were expelled here, since the gypsies were driven here, and since Zambistan as a state had been formed.
But they had survived. Personally Xem liked the place. A man was free to do as he wished, lived like he wanted, and only have to worry about survival. Sure, you were conscripted, but you were allowed to plunder whatever your unit came across! Xem, just 32 years old, had a family now, his own farm in the mudlands, and was living pretty good.
But not everybody was enjoying themselves.
Some just couldn’t take life in Zambistan, and wanted to get out. The government didn’t like people leaving, and people who tended to get caught were usually found in one of Zambistan’s fine prisons, where slave labor was alive and well. Still, some were willing to take the chance in hopes for a better life.
There were always three places to go. Yallak was by far the best. Rich, big, and with plenty of freedom, Zambis could disappear and live a good life. Problem was, people all over the island were thinking the same thing, so you would probably just rot away in some ghetto. Next there was Gataway. Another empire, it wasn’t as rich and it wasn’t as big, but it was still nice. But, recently the Zambi government had made it clear that Gataway should report any immigrants leaving the country, and the Gatawayians were all to happy to comply. Not only that, but you ran a good chance of dying trying to get there, because the terrain was so inhospitable. The “easiest” way was to go over the mountains, where several volcanoes lay in wait. Finally there was Nuevo Italia.
The Italians had agreed to report any “important” immigrants with scientific or military background, but frankly invited lesser off Zambis into the country. The Italian companies needed the cheap labor, and the army could always use a few more infantrymen. But, the only way to get there was by sea…and that meant pirates. Tons of them, scores of them, so many they were used as target practice for the navy. No ship was safe from the dregs of Arranas.
And that’s why Xem was armed. Tonight they had killed about 20 pirates, and were now about to land on Nuevo Italia. Not only did they have 50 immigrants on board, but around 30 kilos of coke. Xem and his gang of 20 were not going to allow any coast guard to stand in the way of their profit, even if they had to fill the seas with blood.
He loaded another clip into his AR-407 as the landed on one of Nuevo Italia’s many islands. It was dark, around 3:00 at night, and they were surrounded by woods. Xem gave the signal and the immigrants leaped off the boat with their possessions as if escaping a fire. Xem now waited for a “contact” to come and pick up the coke.
Ha!
Xem knew better. Zambistan had been the shithole of Medderterranica since the first explorers had came, since it was made into a “Native Reservation,” since the pirates had been jailed here, since all the freed slaves had been sent here, since the jews of the island were expelled here, since the gypsies were driven here, and since Zambistan as a state had been formed.
But they had survived. Personally Xem liked the place. A man was free to do as he wished, lived like he wanted, and only have to worry about survival. Sure, you were conscripted, but you were allowed to plunder whatever your unit came across! Xem, just 32 years old, had a family now, his own farm in the mudlands, and was living pretty good.
But not everybody was enjoying themselves.
Some just couldn’t take life in Zambistan, and wanted to get out. The government didn’t like people leaving, and people who tended to get caught were usually found in one of Zambistan’s fine prisons, where slave labor was alive and well. Still, some were willing to take the chance in hopes for a better life.
There were always three places to go. Yallak was by far the best. Rich, big, and with plenty of freedom, Zambis could disappear and live a good life. Problem was, people all over the island were thinking the same thing, so you would probably just rot away in some ghetto. Next there was Gataway. Another empire, it wasn’t as rich and it wasn’t as big, but it was still nice. But, recently the Zambi government had made it clear that Gataway should report any immigrants leaving the country, and the Gatawayians were all to happy to comply. Not only that, but you ran a good chance of dying trying to get there, because the terrain was so inhospitable. The “easiest” way was to go over the mountains, where several volcanoes lay in wait. Finally there was Nuevo Italia.
The Italians had agreed to report any “important” immigrants with scientific or military background, but frankly invited lesser off Zambis into the country. The Italian companies needed the cheap labor, and the army could always use a few more infantrymen. But, the only way to get there was by sea…and that meant pirates. Tons of them, scores of them, so many they were used as target practice for the navy. No ship was safe from the dregs of Arranas.
And that’s why Xem was armed. Tonight they had killed about 20 pirates, and were now about to land on Nuevo Italia. Not only did they have 50 immigrants on board, but around 30 kilos of coke. Xem and his gang of 20 were not going to allow any coast guard to stand in the way of their profit, even if they had to fill the seas with blood.
He loaded another clip into his AR-407 as the landed on one of Nuevo Italia’s many islands. It was dark, around 3:00 at night, and they were surrounded by woods. Xem gave the signal and the immigrants leaped off the boat with their possessions as if escaping a fire. Xem now waited for a “contact” to come and pick up the coke.