Vox Populi
Glendyl sat in her office, kneading her eyes as she tried to will the exhaustion away. 'Who thought that being a politician could be so tiring?' It was a good thing, she supposed, that she hadn't tried to become a comedian; even inside the safe space of her own mind she'd failed to find a receptive audience. And even worse, now she had reminded herself of her previous job as a school teacher, and the curriculum she had been working on before the bombs dropped, and, and...
Grasping her hands tightly to stop them from shaking so badly. She had new charges now, even if they were much older then her previous ones. They deserved her at her best, just as her previous ones had. There was no point in dwelling, not now, she had work to do. And speaking of work, someone knocked on her door. Quickly wiping at her face and clearing her throat, she yelled out "Come in!". Yes, work would be good for her right now. Her previous posting in one of the 'labour brigades' raised during the early months after the disastrous nuclear exchange. It had been back breaking work, unfortunately literally at times, but the physical exhaustion had at least helped keep her from dwelling too much.
Deasach opened the door, moving with the same urgency that everyone still alive had developed over the last couple years. "Councilor, a letter has arrived from you!" Glendyn winced a little at his loud voice. The poor man, if he could even be called that as he had barely turned 20 years old, had developed a significant hearing disability working at one of those awful factories, before she managed to snap him up and add him to her 'staff' as it were. Hopefully he'd recover from it eventually.
"Thank you Deasach, and as I told you before there's no need for the formality." She took the letter out of his hand and opened it. Absentmindedly she asked, "Who is it from?"
"I'm not sure", he admitted; "one of the guys working at the harbour handed it to me, telling me to give it to you. I asked why, but he just said that the captain of one of the supply ships had handed it to him and to get this letter to you." Glendyl frowned at that, reminded of the troubles she'd heard about from the northern regions. Her own worries grew as she read the letter. Her hands started to shake again as a horrible mix of fear, anger and clarity of purpose filled her mind. Those fools, how could they? They had promised things would be different, that there would be a better future for all, that somehow it'd all be worth it. And now they were doing this? Someone had to do something, and they would; she knew they would.
The thought only made her feel queasy, as she could easily imagine how the regime would react.
Deasach jolted her out of her own mind with a concerned "Councilor?", and she waved away his concerns, not trusting her own voice. Staring down at her desk while clutching at the letter, her mind churned on. After sitting like this for a minute or two, she finally opened her mouth and asked,
"Deasach, you didn't... accept any extra rations in-"
He cut her off, "To spy on you? Nah, I think someone tried to recruit me that way, not too long after you dragged me out of the factory. You feed me well enough though, so I figured I'd let someone else suckle on the teat of the CSS."
Amazingly, the question had somehow removed the worry on his face, replaced by a cheeky grin. Glendyl wanted to shake her head at him, reminded of all the times he'd been at her office all those years back. Even as a 4 year old he had been headstrong, which combined with his lack of filter had resulted in a lot of fistfights in the schoolyard that inevitably got him sent to her. She wanted to smile at the memory, and then she wanted to cry. She shook her head a little to clear it up.
"Good, good..." she let out a nervous giggle, "because they won't like what I'm about to do I imagine."
That wiped the grin of his face, replaced instead by a mask of determination.
"What do you need me to do?"
The bravery on display shocked her, the trust as well. Still, it only reinforced her own fears. Someone would do something, and... and they might go to far. Invite a crackdown. It'd all spiral, and it's not like there was any place to run here in Tir Na Nog, the centre of power for the regime. She couldn't stop people from do something though, that's not how that works. What she could do, perhaps, was to direct it. It would have to do, she'd have to thread the needle and hope to avoid the worst of the crackdowns. Or if it came down to it, perhaps they would only grab her. The thought filled her with fear, but it didn't matter.
Somebody had to do something, and that somebody would need to be her.
"I'll need you to deliver a couple of letters, I'll tell you afterwards as I'm still mulling over who I should involve in this. Then... you know people at the factory, right?" He nodded. "Then I'll need you to speak to them, ask around if they'd be willing to join in on a march on short notice." His face remained stoic, yet she still felt the need to explain herself. "We're just gonna get in view of the old foreign ministry building. No slogans, nothing big or anything." She felt the desire to slap herself over the head as she began babbling, but the words just started to stream out; "It's just... it's, they're... they're killing people out there! In the north! It's not right, it's not how it's supposed to be! The war's over, they said so themselves! How could they, how, how could-"
"Councilor, ma'am. It's fine. I'm in." Deasach gave her a small smile. "You don't need to worry about me. Also, I know some people who would be up for it. Hell, with the conditions at the factory I know a lot of people are pretty much just waiting for the opportunity to protest something. It sounds like you got a good cause lined up."
She nodded, and calmed her breathing. Grabbing her pen and some paper, for some absurd reason she felt a shot of vindication go through her mind as she'd always argued that writing was a skill that should be developed at school, no matter how much the new devices took over in the day to day life; and she started writing.
---
It was a day like any other, as the soldiers guarding the old foreign ministry building stood around, smoking and chatting with each other. That was until all their radios crackled to life at the same time, all of them receiving the same message. Something was up, and they had to prepare. Prepare for what? And then it was upon them. A person rounded the corner, a woman. Her back was stiff as a board, her hands clenched tightly and her face taut and pale. Despite this she marched forward with determination, each step following the other. Following behind her the rest came. 5 men abroad, the first line of people, men and women, held a banner. At this distance the soldiers couldn't make out what was written on it; "The War Is Over! Cease The Butchery!" One of the junior officers instead tried to count how many people there were. About fifty, or a reinforced platoon's worth. Not a threat, not immediately at least. Everyone gripped their rifles tighter as the group marched closer in silence, said silence broken by the sound of an IFV rushing on to the scene, more soldiers piling out of the back and... halting at the sight in front of them.
The group of unarmed civilians didn't react and kept marching closer and closer. Tensions grew, and the captain on scene tried to mentally prepare himself as he stepped forward to act- when suddenly the woman in front turned 90 degrees, now marching perpendicular to the old ministry building. The group followed in her footsteps, and the soldiers quietly watched the silent spectacle. In the end, nothing happened as they simply marched out of sight and dispersed, returning to their workplaces or barracks or wherever else they were headed. And tomorrow they came again, more people this time. Not a lot more, maybe a bit under a hundred. The guards were ready for them this time, and had turned out in more numbers. It didn't particularly matter, as things played out pretty much the same as they had yesterday. And so it went, as a slowly growing protest continued to march in front of the old foreign ministry building. Not every day, and only once per day, yet they kept at it. Production of the ever vital industrial goods wasn't affected, nothing was ever broken, not even any angry shouting took place.
It sent a message all the same.
