11-23-2020, 07:41 PM
“We have confirmation that the group occupying the Butterfly Island government offices are part of the subgroup Warriors of Our Earth. How would you like to proceed, Prime Minister?”
The question was asked so calmly, but Josephine Alvarez knew that much depended on her answer. If she ordered the assault, and classified the Warriors as a terrorist organisation (one could not do one without the other, under existing Lauchenoirian law) then there would be accusations of attacks on free speech; of suppressing dissent. If she allowed them to broadcast their messages to the world, it would threaten the peace and stability of Lauchenoiria that they’d tried so, so hard to ensure.
“Prime Minister?”
“I…” Alvarez didn’t know what to do. It was one of these moments when a decision must be made, where two roads diverge completely and there is no turning back.
“Ma’am? I found the images you were looking for,” a woman poked her head around the door, waving a red folder. The Prime Minister hurried over to the woman, taking the folder and flicking through the photographs inside. It had taken much work to get these from Xiomera; images of what had happened on Manauia Island. Sandra Pavia, who was seated next to Alvarez, took some of the pictures and flicked through them.
“These are bad, Josephine,” she said, holding up an image of the aftermath of an explosion to the Prime Minister. “We have to go through with it; they’re terrorists, and there’s only so long our people can keep blocking the transmissions from the building and claiming they found asbestos and evacuated it.”
“I don’t know, Sandra,” Alvarez groaned, turning away from the images. “If we do this now, it will act like we’re just copying Shuell and Xiomera - autocratic regimes.”
“They attacked us; we’re acting in response to evidence.”
“It’ll come out that we’ve been covering this up for a week.”
“For reasons of national security. We couldn’t act against them as we feared for the safety of possible minors involved. I mean, have you seen the images? One of those kids looks about fourteen. If it had been broadcast, it could have led to vigilante actions and endangered the local population.”
Alvarez closed her eyes, groaning and thinking over her options. It was true; they were being classified as terrorists by authoritarian governments but she wasn’t going to go as far as them, if she did this. It was a risk; but a bigger risk was allowing the group holed up inside the building to continue as they were and risk peace. She turned to the General.
“I’m going to make the announcement. Begin preparing for an assault on the building.”
*
Seahaven, Butterfly Island
One hour later
Anca had just turned eighteen. She’d joined WOE after meeting one of their members at a school climate protest. It had irritated Anca immensely that she’d had to sit through the war in the heartlands of Chaher territory doing nothing. But every time she’d gone to people involved in the war she’d been told she was too young. Now, she was extremely grateful to all those who had told her that: Anca knew she wouldn’t have coped in a war.
She played the video again on her phone. Alvarez didn’t look happy to be delivering the news, there was a grimness to her expression, yet the words were clear. In light of these events, we have no choice but to classify the Warriors of Our Earth as a terrorist organisation. In the eyes of the law, Anca was now a terrorist.
This hadn’t been the plan. She had only recently got involved with the Warriors, when they were planning this occupation. Now she was locked inside a building surrounded on all sides by Lauchenoirian special forces and she knew that when they left or were dragged out, she’d be arrested and sent to prison. Arrest she’d been prepared for, but they’d all anticipated fines; now they were looking at potentially years of imprisonment.
Anca abruptly stood up from the staircase on which she was seated and glanced around her, then hurried down a corridor until she came to a supply cupboard, opened the door and went inside, barricading the door behind her so none of the others would come inside. Then, she sat down in the corner and began to weep, sobbing in fear of what would happen and regretting the life choices which brought her to where she was.
The question was asked so calmly, but Josephine Alvarez knew that much depended on her answer. If she ordered the assault, and classified the Warriors as a terrorist organisation (one could not do one without the other, under existing Lauchenoirian law) then there would be accusations of attacks on free speech; of suppressing dissent. If she allowed them to broadcast their messages to the world, it would threaten the peace and stability of Lauchenoiria that they’d tried so, so hard to ensure.
“Prime Minister?”
“I…” Alvarez didn’t know what to do. It was one of these moments when a decision must be made, where two roads diverge completely and there is no turning back.
“Ma’am? I found the images you were looking for,” a woman poked her head around the door, waving a red folder. The Prime Minister hurried over to the woman, taking the folder and flicking through the photographs inside. It had taken much work to get these from Xiomera; images of what had happened on Manauia Island. Sandra Pavia, who was seated next to Alvarez, took some of the pictures and flicked through them.
“These are bad, Josephine,” she said, holding up an image of the aftermath of an explosion to the Prime Minister. “We have to go through with it; they’re terrorists, and there’s only so long our people can keep blocking the transmissions from the building and claiming they found asbestos and evacuated it.”
“I don’t know, Sandra,” Alvarez groaned, turning away from the images. “If we do this now, it will act like we’re just copying Shuell and Xiomera - autocratic regimes.”
“They attacked us; we’re acting in response to evidence.”
“It’ll come out that we’ve been covering this up for a week.”
“For reasons of national security. We couldn’t act against them as we feared for the safety of possible minors involved. I mean, have you seen the images? One of those kids looks about fourteen. If it had been broadcast, it could have led to vigilante actions and endangered the local population.”
Alvarez closed her eyes, groaning and thinking over her options. It was true; they were being classified as terrorists by authoritarian governments but she wasn’t going to go as far as them, if she did this. It was a risk; but a bigger risk was allowing the group holed up inside the building to continue as they were and risk peace. She turned to the General.
“I’m going to make the announcement. Begin preparing for an assault on the building.”
*
Seahaven, Butterfly Island
One hour later
Anca had just turned eighteen. She’d joined WOE after meeting one of their members at a school climate protest. It had irritated Anca immensely that she’d had to sit through the war in the heartlands of Chaher territory doing nothing. But every time she’d gone to people involved in the war she’d been told she was too young. Now, she was extremely grateful to all those who had told her that: Anca knew she wouldn’t have coped in a war.
She played the video again on her phone. Alvarez didn’t look happy to be delivering the news, there was a grimness to her expression, yet the words were clear. In light of these events, we have no choice but to classify the Warriors of Our Earth as a terrorist organisation. In the eyes of the law, Anca was now a terrorist.
This hadn’t been the plan. She had only recently got involved with the Warriors, when they were planning this occupation. Now she was locked inside a building surrounded on all sides by Lauchenoirian special forces and she knew that when they left or were dragged out, she’d be arrested and sent to prison. Arrest she’d been prepared for, but they’d all anticipated fines; now they were looking at potentially years of imprisonment.
Anca abruptly stood up from the staircase on which she was seated and glanced around her, then hurried down a corridor until she came to a supply cupboard, opened the door and went inside, barricading the door behind her so none of the others would come inside. Then, she sat down in the corner and began to weep, sobbing in fear of what would happen and regretting the life choices which brought her to where she was.
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