LO IRANT

“Like the trees bows to the wind, and the earth moves for the plow, you are subject to his will.” –The Itara, Ihlandria Voc, 34:12

Chapter 11

It was almost sunset in the town of Roe in Shallow Brook County, Riverlands. Despite the cold, people from all over the county swarmed outside the small brick building to get information as to why the gates to the mines and the chemical plants were closed this morning. Atura Chemical, an Oprian corporation that owned all of the chemical plants and three quarters of the mines in the Province had shut down its entire operation overnight without warning, leaving tens of thousands of Irantis without jobs.

They were waiting for answers. Rumors had spread like wildfire and the mob began to grow restless. So far the row of armed guards positioned in front of the still vacant podium have been enough to stem any violence, but as the sun slowly crept behind the mountains the tensions continued to rise.

Already diminutive Bernard Fint looked even smaller set against the pillars of the town hall as he approached the podium. He was contemplating how he’d gotten himself into this position. As public relations executive, he figured he had landed himself a pretty safe job. Atura Chemical was a well-respected Corporation in Opree. It had been around for almost a century and the operation in the Riverlands of Lo Irant, had been rather successful for over forty years.

He’d gotten the call a week before. The operation would be closing and he was responsible for the PR campaign that would mitigate any negative reactions from the Iranti workers and their families. He thought he had months. He requested a year to set up informational sessions, programs and buyouts. Shutting down the economy of an entire county was a delicate process. If he hadn’t stayed late the night before working on the project he would have never noticed the company loading all of the expensive equipment, paperwork and anything else of value not attached to the foundation into trucks. An official from Corporate left him a folder with a few bullet points of information but nothing else.

There were Empire-born colonists, bankers, shop owners, doctors, and entire families left behind with no way of getting back home. They’d been left in a quagmire of anti Imperial sentiment. Fint was given the job of stopping this firestorm from burning the image of the corporation, at the moment, however, he was worried more about the firestorm burning him.

He nervously approached the crowd packed behind the metal and concrete barriers, crying out for answers. There were thousands now gathered in front of hall and hailing from all over the county. The paper with his talking points was already a crumpled up ball in his hands.

“I know everyone has their concerns and trust me, Atura Chemical has not forgotten you.” With his hand shaking uncontrollably, he took a sip of water in an attempt to calm his nerves, barely managing to avoid spilling water all over himself. Thousands of faces were staring at him, their fate dangling in his unspoken words. Fint had never felt so powerless. He had nothing against Lo Irant. His cousin had married an Iranti-born and she was lovely. In the crowd he saw fathers, just as worried for their families as Fint was for his own. In the eyes of the corporation however, they were commodities, assets that needed to be liquidated. In the eyes of the crowd, he was no longer Bernard Fint, mild-mannered family man who enjoyed collecting stamps and fine wines but Atura Chemical, destroying their lives.

“While Lo Irant has been the home of their chemical and mining operations for over forty years, operations at this plant, as well as the five other plants and seven mines owned by Atura, have been hereby suspended indefinitely.” He paused to allow for the reaction of the crowd to subside, but it didn’t.

“Also…” the crowd was still too loud to speak over. “Also, all company-owned land, property and ventures are to be liquidated. There will be a five-day grace period and the office of relocation services will be able to help those having difficult time finding residences.”

There was a roar from the crowd after they heard that not only did they just lose their jobs, they were also being evicted from their homes. The company had owned the majority of the land in the county, most of the workers’ houses were company housing. Fint stood in horror as civility was torn from the crowd.

“Now, if we can just stay calm.” He protested into the microphone, his voice drowned out by their rage.

A bottle crashed against the wall beside his head. Bodies shoved against the barriers to the point where either the barriers or the people were going to break. The frenzied mob wanted blood, Atura’s blood, Fint’s blood. He crouched behind the podium, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. It was all he could think to do. The training film had no procedure for this. Yanked up from his belt, he was dragged by a pair of Atura’s armed guards through the crowd. They made their way to a waiting transport. He could feel the mass of people coming down on them, squished against the guard’s bulletproof vest.

It was quite a few minutes before they reached the air transport waiting a few blocks away, but Fint swore he didn’t breathe until they were in the air. On that clear winter night, he could see the fires already raging from the riots as they flew overhead. He prayed to his gods for the Empire-born colonists on the ground, for there were no air transports coming for them.

Chapter 12

Dear Governor,

Our families have been in Shallow Brook County for seventeen generations. It was our land before it was confiscated and made into an environmental preserve forty years ago. We were then forced to rent it back from the Atura Chemical Corporation when they took over the mines and built their plants. Two days ago, the plants and the mines were shut down and without warning thirty-seven thousand of us lost our livelihoods. We were told we had five days to vacate our homes.

Most have complied with the order of eviction; however, those of us who remain are challenging the original sale of property stolen from us by the state. We are the families who have no homes to go to, families with small children, elderly Irantis who have dedicated their lives to their communities, veterans with decades of honorable service cast out into the wilderness. These towns that make up Shallow Brook County belong to the people who have invested their lives and the lives of their children, not a foreign entity that saw opportunity for a profit.

We respectfully ask for a stay of the eviction from our homes until we can be granted due process and our case heard before a judge. The Iranti people should never be second-class citizens in their own land.

For Father, for Family, for Flag,

Sincerely,

The People of Shallow Brook County

A dense fog hung on the grass and although there was a chill in the air, it was nothing a heavy sweater or scarf couldn’t keep out. Normally it would have been a beautiful fall day in the small town of Roe, but the silent tension and anticipation overpowered the serenity of nature that morning.

The heavy armored vehicles rolled over the Shallow Brook County lines just before dawn. Roe was the last holdout of former Atura Chemical employees. Their time had run out and it looked as though there would be no government intervention.

A few hundred men, women and children had gathered at the town’s center. All were members of the under castes. The Empire-born colonists had fled in the riots. Over the last few days the rioting had calmed and turned from chaos into a unified defiance. Though armed, they were far from an army. The holdouts comprised mostly of laid-off miners and plant workers, husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, school children, even the local priest. After three days of riots, the last thing the people of Roe wanted was any more trouble, but they were not going to let foreign invaders take their land, land granted to their ancestors by the harvest gods.

Twenty-three year old Evelyn Jacoby was drumming a patriotic beat with her fingers on the butt of her rifle, whistling through the gap where her front tooth used to be, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. She was sure the suspense was worse than the standoff was going to be. The young mother of four small children was tired but resolved. She didn’t work three jobs so her children could be raised in the slums of Core City, living out of those shelters converted from shipping containers the government had offered them. The Empire wished to take the four-bedroom house her father had built and in return they would give her a windowless metal box in between a landfill and a chemical plant. For this, of course, she was supposed to be ever thankful to them.

The transports appeared over the horizon escorted by a small army. They resembled Empire troops, however, they were a part of Atura Chemical Corporation’s Security Division. It wasn’t unusual for an Empire-run corporation like Atura to have their own private military when dealing with the colonies, especially since the Senate had ruled that it was perfectly legal.

“They are armed sir, but they are outnumbered almost five to one. This shouldn’t take long. They just sent someone out to speak with us.” Lieutenant Calis called into corporate headquarters.

“Original orders stand, Lieutenant,” said the voice over the radio.

“But sir, I’m sure if we just…” Lieutenant Calis protested.

“Original orders stand, Lieutenant. Did I make myself clear?” the voice repeated.

“Crystal sir, we will proceed with original orders.” He replied dryly.

He didn’t know why he was in this shit box or why the company would care so much, all he did know was that this under caste mob of peasants were the only thing standing between him and a nice four-day vacation with the wife and kids. He didn’t want to this to drag on all morning.

Twelve minutes into the standoff, neither side had yet to make a move. The residents were used to Atura flexing its muscles, but usually this pageantry was followed by arbitration. Union representative, Brandon Malkner, had helped keep his people calm. In his hand was the list of demands he helped draft the night before. Malkner walked down to hand it to Atura’s eviction enforcers. He was used to the procedure.

There was a strike several years ago that had lasted for months and ended without any serious violence. Atura was his family. They gave him his first house and helped with the funeral costs after his daughter died from well plague. All his life they had been willing to work with him. Once he showed a little bit of strength to show he wasn’t going to cave, he was certain they would come to a peaceful solution.

Gesturing to Atura’s army that he was unarmed, Malkner stood just paces from their guns. Confident, He waited for several tense minutes for them to send out a representative. The silence and Malkner’s faith in Atura was broken by the roar of the transports starting up. Malkner waved the list of demands at them.

“I’m unarmed. Stop! There are women and children here.” He looked back at the crowed of his neighbors, family and friends.

Only some of the holdouts scattered when the transports rolled over Malkner’s bullet ridden body, most stood their ground, firing back at their attackers. The chaos lasted only a few minutes and left three hundred seven people dead, all but six of them Shallow Brook residents, men, women and children.

Lieutenant Calis hopped out of the transport and surveyed the damage; six dead, nine wounded, an acceptable loss. The medical units were already treating his men.

“Get a team on those bodies. I want them dumped in the mine and on fire before noon,” he barked.

The Lieutenant lit a cigarette and leaned against the doors of one of the transports. His eyes focused on a commotion in the distance.

“Help! Help me please!” The shrill cries of a woman broke through the morning air.

Evelyn Jacoby was running up from behind one of the buildings, carrying a small child in her arms.

“My little girl, Nora, she’s shot, please help her.” The woman begged.

The child had been hit in the stomach. She was conscious but in shock.

“Please sir, she is only seven. Save my little girl,” Evelyn pleaded again.

Lieutenant Calis looked at her with pity, this hysterical woman, begging him for mercy for the life of her child. He took a calm breath and gave the woman a reassuring smile, and then he pulled his service pistol from its holster and put two rounds into the little girl, never breaking his gaze with the crystal blue eyes of the horrified mother. He waited a beat to take another drag off of his cigarette and then fired his weapon into the skull of the mother three times.

Walking over to the transport, he radioed into corporate.

“This is Lieutenant Calis. Objective complete.”

***