NationStates Jolt Archive

Scott C. Hudson ; The Northern Passage
Off Cape Jackson ; between the Great Shield and Sentry Island

For once in as long as any old sea dog could remember, the Pacific Ocean seemed to be living up to its name. The normally wind-whipped waters to the west of Iansisle were calm, defying their volatile reputation. That was perfectly fine with the twenty seven man crew of the new iron ore freighter Scott C. Hudson, making just her fifteenth run in the employ of the Hudson Steel and Minerals Company.

Samuel Erickson, the master of theHudson, nodded back into the wheelhouse, squinting his face against the brisk, salty wind as the Hudson plied its way through the northern passage at a brisk fifteen knots. Despite the perfect weather, he couldn't help but be nervous. The Hudson was hauling eighteen thousand tons of iron ore, a big load even for the gigantic modern freighter. It was also only mid October, well out of the typical Noropian monsoon season, but not nearly out of the extreme case scenarios.

Still, if the Hudson had delayed even one more week in Delton, HS&M may have ceased to exist as a company. As it was, their profit margin was razor thin - the interest which provided the capital for buying the Hudson, buying exploitation rights on the new iron ore field in mid-Gadsan Mr. Hudson had discovered, and building the railroad to carry coal from Mr. Hudson's Noropia mines to their mill at Rorie Landing was proving only slightly less than the profit involved in selling well below Royal Mining and Manufacturing's price.

Royal Mining and Manufacturing. There, along with the Noropian monsoons, was a point Erickson didn't want to think about. For nearly one hundred years, they had been the major - nay, the only - producer of coal, iron ore, and steel in the Commonwealth. All that had changed when Scott C. Hudson, a minor landowner who happened to graze his sheep on one of the richest coal fields in Noropia, stumbled onto the richest strike of iron ore in Iansislean history. Using his modest personal fortune, Hudson had quickly secured it, then concocted the elaborate scheme and secured the funding to transport his coal to meet his iron ore, and thrust his way into the forefront of the Iansislean industrial scene.

However, RM&M didn't tolerate competition. Eight times in the twelve months after Hudson's plan proved successful, they had offered to buy him out, each time with a more tempting offer. Eight times, Hudson had turned them down, showing his back to an undreamed of fortune to continue to scrape out a living. Eight times, the Lord Whitman and his minions had made an increasingly less vague threat. Alas for them, Hudson's story had been picked up by Iansislean news agencies and wire services as the tale of a true entrepreneur. RM&M found its hands tied by a scrappy little man, determined to be the David to their Goliath.

The wind picked up again as the Hudson rounded Cape Jackson, coming about slowly to starboard.

(Just so anyone who is reading this knows, here's a map of the "Horn of Iansisle", the geographical area where all the action will be taking place. Geographical features are marked in ALL CAPS, cities in red and city names in normal text, and political subdivisions are in white italics. Sorry if any text is hard to read; ask me for a clarification, and I'll give one.

http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-9/390074/westshield.jpg)

*tag and bump, those wascally RM&M goons... :P*

(What he said!)

Tag, looking good.

(d'oh! Double post!)

(hey, thanks everyone. I'm not sure how fast this will be updated, and there isn't really any RPability until later, when you'll all be welcome to join!)

HSMS Scott C. Hudson - Between Cape Jackson and Turnish Harbor
Off Iansisle, the Commonwealth

"Captain Erickson?" asked Roger Campbell, the Hudson's slight Shieldian navigator. He looked worried as he climbed the last few steps to stand next to the taller, bulkier Erickson.

"Yes, Roger?" asked the captain, not taking his eyes of the clear skies and clean seas that lay in front of his six hundred and fifty foot iron ship. "Nothing's wrong, I trust?"

"Well, skip, I'm afraid so. My navigational radranger's on the fritz - I think we ought to put into harbor and fix it before we continue to Rorie Landing."

Erickson frowned at that. "I don't believe Mr. Hudson would appreciate our doing that very much. This shipment of ore is needed up there desperately, or we may lose the whole enterprise. And Turnish is the primary Royal Mining and Manufacturing port on the west Shieldian coast." The captain shook his head. "Sorry, Rog - people were able to find their own way long before the radranger was invented. We'll have to navigate the Cape without it."

However, the slender navigator was insistent. "Sam, I really must protest. We're already three days ahead of schedule because of the favorable wind; I think that a brief layover in Turnish wouldn't push us too far behind, if any at all. And, if we run into anything unusual up there -" he indicated north "- I'd like to have the radranger online."

"Yes," sighed Erickson. Campbell's arguments made perfect sense. There was no point in risking the Hudson, her crew, and the eighteen thousand tons of high-grade iron ore she was carrying over a matter of pride. He'd just have to grit his teeth and accept a layover in the hotbed of RM&M activity. "Make the proper calculations to arrive in Turnish, Rog. We can afford to delay a few days."

Far to the north of Cape Deliverance
The Pacific Ocean

The tiny freighter EGS Bohamapur knew it was in trouble. She was on her way back from Vancouver with a load of copper bound for Fort Jackson, just another typical run since she had been loaned from the East Gallaga Company to the Royal Merchant Marine. On her last run, however, the Bohamapur had cut far to the south of Tilsitia, to avoid the dangerous north Effitian and Noropian coasts in the late summer. On this run, her captain had decided that the threat of a monsoon was over and was bringing her to the north of Tilsitia.

And now they were all going to pay for that choice. The three-thousand ton ship was rolling in the heaviest seas any onboard had ever seen. As the Bohamapur rode down another impossibly high wave, her captain decided it was time to play one last, desperate card. He himself picked up the wireless unit, and tried to hail into the storm as his command was tossed about by an extremely late Noropian monsoon.

One that was driving directly in on Cape Deliverance.

The leading edge of the storm
Well north of Cape Deliverance

You couldn't outrun nature forever. Captain Harold Blake of RMMS Amalthea knew that only too well. Still, he had to try, and maybe he'd even make it to port one more time. However, the water looked mighty grim back there.

"Skipper, I've got a message coming in," half-whispered Buxley, the man on Amalthea's wireless set. The crew of the hauler knew what was behind them, and their respect for nature's wrath kept voices down all over the ship, as not to offend some long-forgotten pagan god. "It's really broken, skip," Buxley apologized, "they must be right out in the thick of it."

"That's quite all right, man," Blake replied, listening to the set. There was indeed a lot of background noise, both from the static and from the crashing of thunder and the roar of waves.

"...ohamap *kkhhtt* heavy *kkhhtt* taking on water *kkhhtt* not long... *kkhhtt*..."

The wireless operator shrugged at Blake. "I've lost him, skip - the signal just stopped." After a moment's pause, he continued. "Should I report this to Turnish?"

Blake just considered him for a moment. "Are you kidding, Mr. Buxley?"

HSMS Scott C. Hudson
Turnish, Noropia, the Commonwealth

Captain Erickson felt most unusual piloting his ship into a nest of RM&M activity. However, the Hudson was much larger than the assortment of Lord Whitman's ships, and her brilliant white paint contrasted beautifully with the dark green water and RM&M's black hulls. In some ways, Captain Erickson felt like he had just arrived at the kindergarden playground with the largest toy. A childish smile spread across his face.

"Mr. Avon," he instructed the helmsman after receiving his docking orders, "All ahead stop. Lines, make ready for tugs."

Blissfully unaware of the oncoming storm, the Hudson was towed into a slip, where she would look into replacing her damaged radranger gear.

#14 East Dundlee Street
Intution, Gadsan, the Commonwealth

The house was, by Iansislean commoner's standards, a very nice one. Sarah Erickson sat out on the porch today, watching ships as they rolled down through the Jaizar Delta and out to the Bay, or else steamed back up to Delton to take on another load. Samuel Jr. sat cuddled in her arms, her body protecting him from the cold wind blowing off the bay while he suckled.

Inside, the telephone rang. She sighed. Couldn't they ever leave her along? Probably just another 'distant relative' eager to cash in on the success Mr. Hudson and his company had brought to her and Sam. Sarah heard Gabriella, the young Tharian girl Mr. Hudson had hired to help them out, pick it up and speak briefly. Whoever it was, Gabriella would take care of them. Sarah instead pointed to a particularly fine ketch that happened to be sailing down the Delta at that moment, probably belonging to some banking magnate out of Lakeriverwood.

Behind her, the screen door swished open, and Gabriella stepped out to the porch. Sarah looked back with an arched eyebrow - Gabriella knew better than to interrupt her while she was feeding Sammy!

"Mistress Sarah," the short, olive-skinned woman whispered. "It's for you - and it's Master Samuel!"

Now that took her by shock! What on Earth was Sam doing calling her now, when he was supposed to be halfway to Rorie's Landing in Noropia?

"Thank you very much, Gabriella," she said, rising up with Sammy still clutching to her, "I'll take it inside."

"Yes, Mistress Sarah," replied the Tharian, taking Sammy gently away from his mother and hushing his cries. "There, there, brave boy!"

There sat the receiver. Sarah hardly dared pick it up, for fear that Gabriella may have been lying to her for some unknown reason. At last, she did, with her curiosity winning out over her fear. "H...hello? Sam?"

"Hi, honey," came her husband's voice. It sounded not only distant, but also tinny and more than a little tired. "How are things going at home?"

"Just fine," replied Sarah without thinking. "Sam - is everything all right? Mr. Hudson said he wasn't expecting you in Rorie's Landing for almost another week!"

"Yeah, I'm fine, honey," came his response, delayed half a heartbeat. "I'm in Turnish. There's something wrong with our radranger - Rog wants to get some replacement parts for it before..."

IanCorp local switching station
Turnish, Noropia, the Commonwealth

"Bingo," smiled a dashing young Shieldian in the uniform of an IanCorp technician, snapping his fingers and setting down the earpiece.

"Got it?" asked a nervous young Noropian IanCorp administrator, looking about the empty room.

"Yessir!" grinned the other, standing to walk out of the office. "Thanks a million, Larry. I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you!"

"Don't mention it," answered Larry, completing the last step in a well-rehearsed and intricate dance. The other man - whose name Larry didn't know - grinned broadly, winked, and left the room.

That evening, Larry found a neat package on his doorstep, and opened it to find the technician's uniform he had loaned out to that man earlier. Pinned to the front of the shirt was a quick note:

"I always remember those who help me.

-W"

Inside the front pocket of the trousers were 1,000 Gnls in freshly minted 100 piece coins.