Urena, Venezuela, January, 2078, Saturday…

The parade grounds were hung with banners that contained the red, blue, and gold colors of the Venezuelan flag. These were also the colors of the Colombian flag, an irony that did not escape Hugo Mora. It had been Bolivar's dream that Colombia (which, at the time, contained Panama), Venezuela, Ecuador, Bolivia, and Peru would be one huge, powerful country spanning two coasts and containing immense riches. Hence many of the flags were similar.

Maybe I can at least bring part of Colombia back into the fold. Not for Bolivar's reasons, of course. The stupid old bastard didn't know how to control the masses. I do. And I'll have that asshole Palacios shining my boots yet. A few platoons of the army went past his reviewing stand. About three thousand strong, most were goose-stepping in their flashy Chinese-made uniforms. They carried Russian-made rifles on their shoulders and saluted the President with their right arm extended towards him. The palms were vertical, though, not horizontal. Mora would have none of that ancient Nazi salute. His army was a modern one.

The remainder of the soldiers passed by in shiny jeeps, trucks, tanks, missile launchers, and artillery batteries. Some of the weaponry was Venezuelan made. The Venezuelan economy actually exported weapons to over fifty different nations. It tended to be small stuff, though, since they focused on rocket-propelled grenades, personal anti-air missile launchers, and small artillery units. The bigger stuff was imported from France, Russia, England, Brazil, and, yes, even the US. The fact that the US government didn't like Mora much didn't keep their businessmen from selling him arms. Such was the way of the world. Being ex-military, Mora liked it that way.

Cameras were rolling, capturing all the color and fanfare. Mora had made sure they also focused a lot on him. He had primped a long time to get just the right look. To play down his military past, he was dressed in traditional black pants and a dinner jacket, all exquisitely tailored from light material to beat the heat. The presidential tri-color sash crossed just right over his chest. Every time one of the cameras focused on him he made sure he sucked his gut in, trying his hardest to look presidential.

That's one thing I'll give Luis German. He always carries himself with elegance. But I got more girls at Princeton. Go figure. After the parade, which would be broadcast over many newsnets across the world, Hugo Mora descended from the podium, accompanied by three of his bodyguards. Waiting at his limo were five others. Back to the hotel he would go, his car led by one car of bodyguards and followed by another. His chief of staff had promised him a treat that night. Mora suspected that some local politico had offered up his teenage daughter as a means to court favors.