Slash and Burn

ordnance,” said Civilai.
    “A common misapprehension,” said Vogal without missing a beat. “But with all due respect, Mr. Civilai, you can’t honestly believe your own propaganda machine.”
    “Then let’s look at the statistics. Perhaps we can believe the US embassy budget release for the fiscal year 1970, just as an example. I have a copy in my room if you’d care to see it.”
    “How could…?”
    “Your total expenditure in Laos for that year was $284 million….”
    “It—”
    “… $162 million of which was tagged as military assistance. Only $50 million—which a cursory calculation tells me is around eighteen per cent of your total budget—was assigned to aid.”
    The senator cast a desultory gaze at Ethel Chin who returned to her novel.
    “That’s still a considerable humanitarian effort in anybody’s book, sir,” he said.
    “Except in your book,” Civilai continued. “Humanitarian aid included feeding the Royal Lao Army and several thousand irregulars. What little remained was pumped into a refugee program that wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t bombed a third of the population out of their homes.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. The refugees in Laos were fleeing communism. They were escaping the atrocities that you people inflicted upon them.”
    “There are members of the US senate who’d disagree with that view.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “In 1969, the findings of a US subcommittee headed by Senator Edward Kennedy were that some four-hundred-thousand refugees in Laos were dispossessed as a direct result of US bombing.”
    “Sir, Kennedy is a Democrat with undisguised communist leanings. He couldn’t … and besides….” The senator had found himself backed into a broom closet of an argument but he didn’t get where he was today by conceding defeat. “Look, my wound is causing me some concern here,” he said with a wince. “I need to take my medication and get some sleep. I do honestly hope we have an opportunity to continue this fascinating discussion at some future date. It’s been a delight, sir, an absolute delight.”
    “You were amazing,” said Peach.
    “Yes, I get that a lot,” Civilai replied. They were walking along the corridor in the direction of the dining room. One of the new guards from in front of Vogal’s door was marching along behind them.
    “How do you remember all those facts and figures?”
    “I don’t.”
    “But you … you made them up?”
    “I think I hit the general ballpark, as you folks say. But the nice thing about facts is that you can toss them in here and there merely to win arguments. It doesn’t matter if they’re accurate. Just look confident and hope your opponent doesn’t have a photographic memory for figures. I didn’t lie exactly. The Kennedy thing was true.”
    “See why I want to be on your side?”
    “Even in our information cocoon?”
    “Sure. It feels a lot warmer in here.”

19
    SUPER NAPALM
    You could taste the soot. It was so thick in the air it was like waking up in a house fire—a bitterly cold house fire. Siri sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, wheezing for breath. The room was blacker than the soot it contained, as black as the inside of a sarcophagus. And all felt odd. His instincts told him that everything was in the wrong place—a mirror image of his actual room. The window was open but he was certain they’d shut it before retiring. There was no breeze or light through the loosely pulled curtains, just a mellower shade of black that showed the general shape of the window and drew very faint outlines here and there around the room. He kicked something with his heel. Between his legs an object protruded from beneath the bed. He reached down. A crate.
    His heart raced. He looked behind him at the figure sleeping there. A black shape, of course. Not Madame Daeng, of course. Not his own rightful place or dimension—of course. Why, in his own dimension, would he be sharing a bed with a dead major?
    And there was another shadow almost as out-of-focus as himself. On its hands and knees it was, searching for something across the room. All Siri got was a grand view of its backside, or perhaps a front view of its headless shoulders. Black against black. How could he know for sure? His heart gently fluttered back to its rightful place as he recognized his role in another nightmare. It had been a while. He knew whatever happened here would not affect his physical being.