[Toronto Hilton, 6PM]
Chloe opened the door to Clark and Pete's room, nearly stumbling on a pair of sneakers. Clothes, luggage, a half-eaten bag of potato chips and some spare change littered the floor.
"We've only been here for half an hour, and you managed to turn your suite into frat-boy paradise!" Chloe declared, as she eyed something black on the floor. "Uhh, somebody's missing a sock?"
Pete grabbed it. "Ever hear of knocking? Anyway, we've been stuck on our butts in that bus for like, 12 hours. We're just beat!"
Clark yawned. "Yeah, no kidding. Just our luck to arrive at rush hour, too."
Lana knocked. "You guys decent in here?"
"The guys are," Chloe laughed, "but their room isn't!"
Lana gasped at the mess. "Pete, Clark, c'mon, hurry up! The conference doesn't start until tomorrow, so that means ..."
"... we're taking Toronto by storm!" Chloe declared. "There's the Art Gallery of Ontario, the Hockey Hall of Fame ..."
Clark raised an eyebrow. "Hockey Hall of Fame? We've got to go there. My dad was a big Blackhawks fan! Maybe I can pick him up a souvenir."
"I think we should see a movie," Pete suggested, "there's supposed to be some big Paramount theatre a few blocks from here. And ... it's close to the entertainment district ..."
"A movie sounds like a good idea," Lana stated. She scanned the listings in the Toronto Star. "If we leave now, we can catch 'Execution of Justice' in half an hour."
Clark grasped his spare change and picked up a dollar coin. "Why do they call this thing a loonie?"
Lana pointed at the etching. "Because that's a loon! You know, the bird?"
Pete sifted through his pile of clothes for his wallet. "We can discuss foreign exchange rates on the way, if you catch my drift." He hustled Clark, Chloe and Lana out of the room.
"But ... can we stop by the Queen's Park provincial building first, it's just up University Ave?" Chloe pleaded, to no avail. They raced down Queen Street West to the multiplex.
Clark glanced at the headline at the Toronto Star newsstand. 'PM, G-8 to declare war on the illegal diamond and ivory trade' This conference sounds like it's going to be productive, he thought. Maybe we have nothing to fear from the protesters: a tossed salad of environmentalists, socialists, anti- poverty activists, the anti-globalization movement and the usual collection of anarchists.
On the street corner, a pair of helmeted Metro Toronto motorcycle cops observed the Smallville students carefully. Quebec City demonstrated that there's no such thing as too much vigilance.
[The Docks nightclub, 10:45 PM]
Liesl.
She hated her name. Her mother had named her after the daughter of Captain von Trapp. Yeah, THAT one in 'The Sound of Music'. She was her family's princess, the first born. Why shouldn't she be named after the ideal von Trapp daughter?
It was alternative night at the club. A few shots of vodka and she was ready to dance the night away.
Her father Wolfgang was a senior executive with DaimlerChrysler. She was sent to the best schools. But, like her namesake in the movie, she had a rebellious streak. She smoked with the senior boys. She
spent a weekend with her girlfriends in Berlin when she was 17.
"I have given you all that you need to succeed!" her father had argued, as he drove her back to Stuttgart. "Why must you do these ridiculous stunts!"
Liesl laughed. 'I was 17 going on 18, bored to tears with my life ...' When she went off to study arts at the University of Mannheim a few years later, her parents were ecstatic. Finally, they thought, she has some direction.
She walked into the student lounge one day. The local anarchist league was making a presentation. Raving about the evils of globalization, a corrupted democracy that enriches the elite - at the expense of the poor. She had rolled her eyes, but something in their literature captured her interest. This particular group wasn't
simply going to meekly wave placards at the U.S. embassy.
This anarchist group wanted to act. Within weeks, she had marched with them on a May Day parade. A few of the more radical in their group hurled bricks into a McDonalds and set fire to a Mercedez-Benz. Silly stunts, she had thought. Not so silly when the German riot police pursued them with water cannons and tear gas.
One of their group turned out to be asthmatic. He had forgotten his medication and choked on his own vomit. Their group had their martyr, a student who voiced his opposition to the global culture of
greed. Victimized by a state in bed with the multinationals, the IMF and the World Bank.
She abandoned her studies, never to return to her cosy, upper-class life in Stuttgart. She went to Seattle ... and saw how their rag-tag alliance of protesters forced the G-8 to at least acknowledge their concerns. In Quebec City, the police erected a metal fence. Protesters hurled teddy bears to pacify the security forces. If
there was any goodwill, it evaporated in mists of tear gas - as protested dipped handkerchiefs in vinegar as makeshift gas masks.
The global elites tried to co-opt their protests by sponsoring parallel summits for `legitimate` protesters. That meant media darlings like Amnesty International, Doctors without Borders, or Greenpeace.
Liesl would have none of their empty promises. She went underground with the radicals. They plotted corporate sabotage. Computer viruses to infect the networks of the multinationals. Hijacked press
conferences: unfurling anarchist banners at plant openings. The mainstream media laughed at their juvenile games.
After the accidental U.S. bombing of a wedding party in Afghanistan, their group - now loosely known as Fifth Column - targeted the aerospace industry. They were successful, blowing up a prototype of a jetfighter on the tarmac of a German airfield. Its inventor was a firm associated with the multinational Luthor Corp., led by the American capitalist Lionel Luthor.
A man who was known to have blood on his hands, thanks to his secretive involvement in CIA-led operations in Latin America and the Far East. Luthor was not amused, and convinced the German government to label Fifth Column as a terrorist group.
Anarchist radicals from France, Spain, England, Sweden swarmed into their ranks. Luthor had done more to inflame their cause than any publicity stunt they could do.
Liesl bobbed her head to the throbbing pulse of the music. I have nothing against Canada, she mused. But they have sided with the G-8 against us. Against those people who have no voice. In Africa, Asia ... even here among the homeless. This relief conference is nothing more than a photo op for the leaders: Look at how responsible we are! We`ll think about forgiving the debts of those poor Africans, Latin Americans and Asians. Our voters will love us!
Bastards. All of them.
This city, with skyscraper monuments to its corporate masters, will set an example. The Western world will soon know how wrong it is to adopt globalization as its religion.
Thousands of dignitaries, delegates and observers were to attend the conference tomorrow at the Metro Convention Centre.
Liesl smiled. The penalty for blind faith in the `wisdom` of the G-8 elites -- is death.
Death alone
Chloe opened the door to Clark and Pete's room, nearly stumbling on a pair of sneakers. Clothes, luggage, a half-eaten bag of potato chips and some spare change littered the floor.
"We've only been here for half an hour, and you managed to turn your suite into frat-boy paradise!" Chloe declared, as she eyed something black on the floor. "Uhh, somebody's missing a sock?"
Pete grabbed it. "Ever hear of knocking? Anyway, we've been stuck on our butts in that bus for like, 12 hours. We're just beat!"
Clark yawned. "Yeah, no kidding. Just our luck to arrive at rush hour, too."
Lana knocked. "You guys decent in here?"
"The guys are," Chloe laughed, "but their room isn't!"
Lana gasped at the mess. "Pete, Clark, c'mon, hurry up! The conference doesn't start until tomorrow, so that means ..."
"... we're taking Toronto by storm!" Chloe declared. "There's the Art Gallery of Ontario, the Hockey Hall of Fame ..."
Clark raised an eyebrow. "Hockey Hall of Fame? We've got to go there. My dad was a big Blackhawks fan! Maybe I can pick him up a souvenir."
"I think we should see a movie," Pete suggested, "there's supposed to be some big Paramount theatre a few blocks from here. And ... it's close to the entertainment district ..."
"A movie sounds like a good idea," Lana stated. She scanned the listings in the Toronto Star. "If we leave now, we can catch 'Execution of Justice' in half an hour."
Clark grasped his spare change and picked up a dollar coin. "Why do they call this thing a loonie?"
Lana pointed at the etching. "Because that's a loon! You know, the bird?"
Pete sifted through his pile of clothes for his wallet. "We can discuss foreign exchange rates on the way, if you catch my drift." He hustled Clark, Chloe and Lana out of the room.
"But ... can we stop by the Queen's Park provincial building first, it's just up University Ave?" Chloe pleaded, to no avail. They raced down Queen Street West to the multiplex.
Clark glanced at the headline at the Toronto Star newsstand. 'PM, G-8 to declare war on the illegal diamond and ivory trade' This conference sounds like it's going to be productive, he thought. Maybe we have nothing to fear from the protesters: a tossed salad of environmentalists, socialists, anti- poverty activists, the anti-globalization movement and the usual collection of anarchists.
On the street corner, a pair of helmeted Metro Toronto motorcycle cops observed the Smallville students carefully. Quebec City demonstrated that there's no such thing as too much vigilance.
[The Docks nightclub, 10:45 PM]
Liesl.
She hated her name. Her mother had named her after the daughter of Captain von Trapp. Yeah, THAT one in 'The Sound of Music'. She was her family's princess, the first born. Why shouldn't she be named after the ideal von Trapp daughter?
It was alternative night at the club. A few shots of vodka and she was ready to dance the night away.
Her father Wolfgang was a senior executive with DaimlerChrysler. She was sent to the best schools. But, like her namesake in the movie, she had a rebellious streak. She smoked with the senior boys. She
spent a weekend with her girlfriends in Berlin when she was 17.
"I have given you all that you need to succeed!" her father had argued, as he drove her back to Stuttgart. "Why must you do these ridiculous stunts!"
Liesl laughed. 'I was 17 going on 18, bored to tears with my life ...' When she went off to study arts at the University of Mannheim a few years later, her parents were ecstatic. Finally, they thought, she has some direction.
She walked into the student lounge one day. The local anarchist league was making a presentation. Raving about the evils of globalization, a corrupted democracy that enriches the elite - at the expense of the poor. She had rolled her eyes, but something in their literature captured her interest. This particular group wasn't
simply going to meekly wave placards at the U.S. embassy.
This anarchist group wanted to act. Within weeks, she had marched with them on a May Day parade. A few of the more radical in their group hurled bricks into a McDonalds and set fire to a Mercedez-Benz. Silly stunts, she had thought. Not so silly when the German riot police pursued them with water cannons and tear gas.
One of their group turned out to be asthmatic. He had forgotten his medication and choked on his own vomit. Their group had their martyr, a student who voiced his opposition to the global culture of
greed. Victimized by a state in bed with the multinationals, the IMF and the World Bank.
She abandoned her studies, never to return to her cosy, upper-class life in Stuttgart. She went to Seattle ... and saw how their rag-tag alliance of protesters forced the G-8 to at least acknowledge their concerns. In Quebec City, the police erected a metal fence. Protesters hurled teddy bears to pacify the security forces. If
there was any goodwill, it evaporated in mists of tear gas - as protested dipped handkerchiefs in vinegar as makeshift gas masks.
The global elites tried to co-opt their protests by sponsoring parallel summits for `legitimate` protesters. That meant media darlings like Amnesty International, Doctors without Borders, or Greenpeace.
Liesl would have none of their empty promises. She went underground with the radicals. They plotted corporate sabotage. Computer viruses to infect the networks of the multinationals. Hijacked press
conferences: unfurling anarchist banners at plant openings. The mainstream media laughed at their juvenile games.
After the accidental U.S. bombing of a wedding party in Afghanistan, their group - now loosely known as Fifth Column - targeted the aerospace industry. They were successful, blowing up a prototype of a jetfighter on the tarmac of a German airfield. Its inventor was a firm associated with the multinational Luthor Corp., led by the American capitalist Lionel Luthor.
A man who was known to have blood on his hands, thanks to his secretive involvement in CIA-led operations in Latin America and the Far East. Luthor was not amused, and convinced the German government to label Fifth Column as a terrorist group.
Anarchist radicals from France, Spain, England, Sweden swarmed into their ranks. Luthor had done more to inflame their cause than any publicity stunt they could do.
Liesl bobbed her head to the throbbing pulse of the music. I have nothing against Canada, she mused. But they have sided with the G-8 against us. Against those people who have no voice. In Africa, Asia ... even here among the homeless. This relief conference is nothing more than a photo op for the leaders: Look at how responsible we are! We`ll think about forgiving the debts of those poor Africans, Latin Americans and Asians. Our voters will love us!
Bastards. All of them.
This city, with skyscraper monuments to its corporate masters, will set an example. The Western world will soon know how wrong it is to adopt globalization as its religion.
Thousands of dignitaries, delegates and observers were to attend the conference tomorrow at the Metro Convention Centre.
Liesl smiled. The penalty for blind faith in the `wisdom` of the G-8 elites -- is death.
Death alone