NationStates Jolt Archive

There were half a dozen of them, all bursting with the enthusiasm of a cause in which they truly believed. Swatting aside the vines, hacking at the thick jungle undergrowth, they headed away from the village of Sentani, deep into the green heart of the Loro Sae rain forest.

Hiresh Dhawan might have recognized some of the plant life from his native Gallaga. Although here, there were probably more birds, more orang utans. These trees were well tended, well harvested, but the animal life was left almost entirely undisturbed. Many of the trees were being tapped for rubber; others had clearly been stripped clean of nuts. Here and there, a mahogany tree was garlanded.

"Those trees are holy," Tjut Carmel explained to the former Iansislean Prime Minister. "We don't log them."

Dhawan had come here for a funeral, and delivered a dignified speech in memory of Markus Rumbiak that had done much to win him local friends. It’s unlikely he had expected to be meeting with these young rebels, but he had agreed to meet with them nevertheless.

The group emerged blinking into a forest clearing, decorated in banners bearing the usual anti-colonial slogans. Young men and women were drilling with wooden toy rifles while others relaxed with a book or sat in animated discussion circles. As the newcomers entered the clearing, a hush fell over them all.

One man, perhaps the oldest of the group at 25 or so, strode forward. "Brother, thank you for coming to see us. I am Seth Rumkorem, of the Rumbiak Brigade. You knew Bapak Rumbiak, and you spoke well today. It was his fondest hope that people everywhere know an end to colonialism. And though he is dead, we will still fight for his dream. Tell me, does the heart of the people of Gallaga still yearn for freedom?"

*grumble*

Hearts of mahogany

((I love it! :D))

The Rumbiak Brigade? wondered Dhawan silently as he considered the young man, who was at most half his own age. Obviously some sort of military force - and, just as obviously, not sponsored by the government of Tanah Burung.

He had come here not knowing quite what to suspect. The note and the clandestine method of its deliverance had been a curiosity; this gathering in the woods was a downright enigma.

“Tell me, does the heart of the people of Gallaga still yearn for freedom?” asked Rumkorem suddenly after a few words of fluff. To say that it caught Dhawan off guard would have been an understatement.

As a matter of fact, home and independence had been on his mind recently. Dhawan had spend a score of years on the Shield fighting within the Imperial and Commonwealth Combined Parliaments for the Company’s royal charter to be revoked and Gallaga to be admitted as a self-governing Dominion. Now, his back bowed by years of labor, Dhawan had to say that he was no closer to success than when he started.

All these thoughts flew through his head while he stood silently before Rumkorem for nearly thirty seconds formulating a response.

“I cannot speak for all Gallagans,” Dhawan said at last, “but I know the fire of freedom burns brightly in this one.”

(Fluff? It was the most direct statement ever made by a citizen of Tanah Burung, the land of fluff. :wink: )

Seth had been nervous at first, speaking so bluntly to a former Prime Minister of Iansisle. He susepcted it might be treasonous somewhere, or a duellable offence, but had decided to gamble on directness anyway. While Dhawan stood silent, Seth stood nervously twisting his hands. Not that there was anything that would actually happen, but he would hate to cause offence. Carefully, he made sure his toes were not pointing in Dhawan's direction, that he was leaning forward enough that the other man's height was greater than his, that his arms were tucked in to his side: the body language of politesse.

“I cannot speak for all Gallagans,” Dhawan said after a pause, “but I know the fire of freedom burns brightly in this one.”

Seth was awfully pleased at the response. The lads had been training for action in Colombia, and some were already on their way, but the cause of Gallagan freedom was even dearer to them. They knew almost nothing about Gallaga, of course, but they knew it was a colony, and must therefore be struggling to be free.

He clapped his hands. "Tea for Bapak Dhawan!" A carved wooden chair was brought forward for the visitor. "Sir, we long to aid those who are denied their freedom in Gallaga. We are training to fight for that holy cause alongside your people. Please, we need you to advise us, how can we aid the cause of Gallaga, the cause of the oppressed? Can we travel there without Company scrutiny? Are there those that fight, who we can stand alongside and struggle in solidarity?"

Dhawan sat gladly in the chair. His aging bones didn’t respond as well to exertion such as a trek through the jungle as they once had. He listened to the stream of questions, trying to formulate one coherent response in his head.

“Rest assured, Bapak Rumkorem, that I appreciate anything you and your compatriots may be able to do for my embattled homeland,” he started as the questions at last subsided. Dhawan wasn’t too sure what ‘Bapak’ meant, but Rumkorem seemed to use it as a term of respect. Hadn’t they used to use it on Markus too?

“The Company is powerful, but it isn’t omnipotent,” he continued, “and it certainly isn’t omniscient. There are many ports where one might sneak in and make his way to the interior. Conversely, one might travel to the Maratha Confederacy and cross into Company territory from there. Getting about inside is relatively easy, so long as one avoids the main roads. The Company’s Army cannot be in every village, on every field, and atop every hill at once.

“There are those who fight it, both by peaceful means and by violent ones. But...” He paused. “Long have the Iansisleans exploited the ethnic and religious divisions in my homeland. We Gallagans are far from a unified people. You must be careful, lest you fall into the hands of those who would use you as a tool against their own people rather than our foreign overlords.”

((Oh interesting, very interesting! :) ))

((Oh interesting, very interesting! :) ))

((Yes, it is...however, it is also very, very worrying...how do I know that Gallaga isn't but a test case, and Indonesian military advisors will then tavel over to my own beloved Micronesian Protectorates? Or, even worse, the Jungles on my own continent?!

Nah. That's just paranoid. I need to learn about this ICly, though, so that Robspierre can mock King James.))

Seth giggled as the older Gallagan addressed him as "father."

"Bapak honours me too much," he said with a smile, enjoying as always the efforts of a foreigner to negotiate the complex honorific system of Loro Sae.

"I think we may take a fishing boat to your country, then. It also occurred to me that there was an advertising agency that offered Markus Rumbiak a tour of Gallaga. Maybe someone else from this country could take them up on it. I hear the Potemkim villages are lovely this time of year."

He pondered Dhawan's point about ehtnic divisions. It was a familiar enough story, actually: the Knootian colonialists had used myuch the sme sort of divide-and-rule tactics in ethnically-diverse Tanah Burung. In some ways, they had created the country out of a gaggle of tribes, if only by providing a very handy common enemy. And then there was the development of tetemelayu, the common language... But all that was stuff from the history books. He clapped his hands.

"More tea for our guest!"

The darkness of the Clarcian Gallaga jungle seemed to engulf the two rovers. The logging road dipped down across a creek where several men were standing looking at the contour maps before them. Sweat seemed to litterally rise off their bodies and stain both the cloathing and the map. On a rock, next to the road, sat a large man in white. The barrel shaped figure seemed more at home in the hot climate. He only fanned himself as he drank liberally from a recently refreshed canteen. A huge hulk of a man stood silently behind him, obviously unhappy with the heat and humidity of this new assignment.
(OOC: Tag...I've been wanting to have the FKC interfere in Gallaga...)

#subscribe#
(Not really needed, but I thought I'd let ya know)

A colorful and magnificent bird flew around the lush Burungi jungles before sitting on a strong tree branch. The bird looked around and spotted a group of humans walking by. The feathered creature seemed to stand still and hear what the humans where saying, almost as if it could understand the conversation.....

(#TAG - Very interesting plotline worthy to be followed :D )

((Damn it - I really meant to reply to this thread more in depth today. But now I'm at that point where I'm thinking "..Hmmm...If I fall asleep this moment, I'll get [x] hours of sleep before waking up for work" where [x] < 5. So ... have a crappy post and my apologies ;)))

Dhawan accepted the tea happily. He didn't like the taste too much, but had grown immune to it during his long years on the Shield. Also, the young men seemed far too happy for him to refuse, or show anything less than full gratitude.

"Now," he said after a happy few minutes drinking tea, "would be a good time, I imagine, to discuss a plan."

((Rumbiak-related spam I wrote when internet-less. This thread is as good a thread to post it in as any. I'll move/DEAT it though if you want me to.))

Column - de Volkskrant. “Camping trip”

Earlier this week a suspicious package was found in Heilo. The general terror alert was announced one day later, and it still applies to the provinces of Holland, Knootcap, and Brabant and of course for all those other juicy targets for the Rumbiak Brigade such as local markets, fancy fairs, Order of the Invisible Hand introductory seminars and flower exhibitions.

We shouldn’t cherish any comforting illusions; deep in the Burungi jungle, the ghost of Rumbiak knows exactly what we do in our leisure time. He listens to the ‘Out tips’ on the radio and watches the local television stations where the regional events are highlighted - and he only has to push a button and your friendly halfblooded Burungi neighbour gets out his commie hat, kisses his wife, whispers of a glorious revolution and rides his bike to the provided address.

So even if I were to evacuate to Drenthe - where no emergency has been declared - I should not fool myself and my family with the thought that I am safe. The Rumbiak Brigade could have given AIVD sources false intelligence about security in Middelburg, and when Galadriël sends the anti-terrormobile there the bomb bursts in Beilen.

Even when Galadriël and Hans know where terror is going to strike, even then we are not safe. Last time there was a terror alert they mobilised all men the police and the military police had available and it turned out that nobody had a clue what they were supposed to do. That is probably why Galadriël asked us all to be ‘vigilant’ ourselves.

There goes my holiday. Or should we not take this call for vigilance seriously? With both military action in Tanah Burung and the new parliamentary elections approaching Galadriël will lie more frequently about the looming and horrifying dangers that the green weaklings could never cope with. And Hans- who must be the only SLP minister in history to be liked by the Telegraaf - can again announce new measures to fight the terrorist scourge in our embattled nation.

In The Hague the politicians don’t even dare to think that these threats are being made up so the people don’t go to sleep. After all, the heroic arrest of those Burungi teens is already some time ago and you can’t be collectively vigilant forever.

Sure, you can laugh at all these things, but before you know it you are sitting in a full camping in Bovensmilde at the Canalstreet and a container of propane gas explodes in the caravan next to you in the middle of the night. No damage apart from a small fire, but I’m betting that you will have a feeling of remorse about all those times you joked about Hans and Galadriël.

That is the power of this odd couple. They can keep us in a quasi-worried stranglehold for years with secrets that they cannot divulge to us.

“Say”, someone asked me the other day, “aren’t you going camping in Bovensmilde?” But it is clear by now that I cannot provide intelligence on that. This is not so much for my own security, but because of my responsibility to the thousands of people that may have chosen the same holiday destination. Where there are Knootians, the Rumbiak Brigade lurks. So we shouldn’t all go to sunbathe in the SLAGlands, or visit opera in Lavenrunz or go on a Greenfields safari trip. If your holiday cannot be cancelled anymore then you should at least observe complete silence about it.

I won’t say anything, but in the coming weeks I will be alert - wherever I am - and I expect the same from you.

(1,000 apologies, i forgot all about this one & didn't notice the replies, will try to post to it soon)

((No worries, man: I forgot it for ages too, so you're in good company (well, at least my company ;)).

By the way, Larkinia's apparently been un-ex-nationed! Got a telegram from him this morning. Hooray!))

(happy happy joy joy!)

Abdullah Al-Hajj guided his boat carefully down the reed-filled waters of the narrow canal. The rows of waterways in Ercolanian-controlled Karachi were always filled with numerous small craft, almost none of them motor powered. The people of northern Gallaga were as poor as they were discontent, numbers measurable only by Allah himself. The people of this browbeaten colony did not respect the Ercolani, only their guns and ships of metal.

He hated them with a vicious passion, including his infidel father. Too gladly did he change his name after his visit to Mecca. Tartanello was not something to be proud, his pilgrimage to the holy land was. Not even the recognition that he made the bulk of the trip on-board one of the steel ships that took the natural treasures of his land to the unholy shores of his hated oppressors, could spoil his triumphant return. The rest of the distance from Duqm he walked, purging his bare feet on the hot sands of Arabia.

Hatred was not all he knew however, perhaps more chillingly; he was a part of something big. A brotherhood bigger than anything he had every known, including the entire Ercolanian Garrison at Fort Gianese, that housed his enemy's precious guns.


ooc: Glorified Tag

A plan? Seth blanched. He hadn't, truth be told, ever expected to be talking specifics so soon. This was just supposed to be a lark. Still, when you push on a door and it opens, then go on through. Or so the ancient proverb said.

"Some of us stand ready at any time to embark to your fair and oppressed land," Seth said, trying to sound like he thought real revolutionaries would. Or at least like Prince Dipengoro had on the historical drama he'd seen last year when the cinema players came to his village. "I know that one of the deep sea fishing boats of Loro Sae could make the journey to Gallaga safely, if you could suggest a safe landing spot."

He paused and thought for a moment. "But it's always been a lesson in the Political Mobilization classes not to put all your rice in one bowl. Not to put all ypour eggs in one basket, i guess they'd say in that northern land you tried to make your home. We comrades gathered here, we long to fight phyiscally for freedom. But there are others who choose non-violence. Perhaps they too might travel to Gallaga and help lift it from the darkness of tyranny. Do you think that would be wise?"

This was just supposed to be a lark.

(Wait a sec, I thought I was Lark... :D )

(Wait a sec, I thought I was Lark... :D )

(ooc: yay, Larks back!!! We missed ya man :] )

(ooc: yay, Larks back!!! We missed ya man :] )

(I missed you guys too. So anything major happen while I was gone? ;) Hope you guys had a good summer.)

(I missed you guys too. So anything major happen while I was gone? ;) Hope you guys had a good summer.)

((Nothing too major. :D. I had a pretty good summer; worked out at the Park; erm, that's mostly all I did, though. ;) And you?

Sorry I've no response tonight, TB: had to finish an essay I'd been procrastinating - erm, I mean, writing - and now have to wake up in entirely too soon. On the morrow, I promise you!))

(Wait a sec, I thought I was Lark... :D )

I put that in just in case you were reading. It's lovely that you're back. Hey, let's make this the welcome back Lark thread for a day or 3 eh?

I put that in just in case you were reading. It's lovely that you're back. Hey, let's make this the welcome back Lark thread for a day or 3 eh?

((A subtle hint for me? ;)))

“I should warn you,” said Dhawan, suddenly serious, “that this is no light enterprise you wish to take. The Company has none of - how should I put it? - the modern ethics of Tanah Burung.” He waved a finger. “Nor those of Knootoss, if I may be so blunt. They will not shy away from firing into a crowd if they suspect it of becoming out of control.

“I am sorry if I seem to be fear-mongering. I truly believe that Gallaga, with your capable help, can throw off its shackles. But I do not wish to see innocents, of any nationality, hurt. I might suggest that those of the noble business of peace work their magic from home. There is much one can do. For instance, they might persuade their politicians to turn up the heat on my - pardon, on the Iansislean government. Surely, the Company cannot be toppled that way, but words have a great effect on the Shield and Tanah Burung has a way with words.”

He clapped young Seth on the shoulder. “But enough of that! I know just the landing place - though perhaps it would not be best to speak of such things now? I will surely be missed soon.”

(nah, it was a subtle hint there's no rush... ;)

Seth sobered up quickly. It was true -- he had watched the film footage himself of the recent demonstration in Ukun Rasikan at which Knootian embassy guards had almost -- but not quite -- opened fire on a crowd of unarmed protesters. But then, the Brigade had plans to text the limits of Knootian forebearance. Another band was training for another mission, in the large Knootian colony of Colombia.

"You do well to warn us, Bapak Hiresh," he said. "Your Company already showed its ruthlessness in felling Governor Rumbiak, and just when he seemed poised for election." Seth was not good at reading polls: Rumbiak had never been close to being elected. But polls mean nothing to true believers. "If the Factor Ashtonbury is anything like his comrades, then we shall expect to face a foe without honour and without decency." He paused, forming his fingers into a triangle: a sign for warding off evil.

"Still, you speak wisely, and we shall take your advice and leave the peacemakers behind. I know we shall soon be able to find an overseas source of arms that will not implicate our own government in our actions, so we shall not go defenceless into Gallaga. But you're right, we should take you back to the village. Here: take these mangoes. Should you be questioned, you might say you were gathering fruits."

The words “overseas source of arms” seemed to trigger something in Dhawan’s memory. Vague memories of an anti-colonial action in East Africa formed in the back of his head. At last, he laid his finger on the proper one - and probably blanched slightly.

Such thoughts bordered on treason; if they were made public, his career would be utterly and thoroughly wrecked. And if John Company ever knew that he had suggested it to the revolutionaries who were working against him - that did not bear thinking upon. But Seth was looking at him strangely; Dhawan worked quickly to regain his composure.

“I wonder,” he said carefully, “if you - that is, the Brigade - have ever had dealings with the People’s Commonwealth of Beth Gellert?”

So that was it. No wonder Dhawan hesitated, even to liberate his own fatherland. Seth, if he kept up with his history, might know that more than a decade ago, Iansisle and Beth Gellert had come to blows when the disposed Prince Llewellyn had escaped the mainland to the offshore island of Victoria and started a rival government to the Igovian state that replaced him. Sopworth Igo had threatened invasion of the fledgling constitutional monarchy when a small Iansislean fleet, which had bought land for a naval base on Salvador, arrived along with roughly 4,500 soldiers.

Beth Gellen anti-shipping missiles had taken a heavy toll on the obsolete, coal-fired pre-Dreadnoughts that made up the Iansislean squadron. At the end, more than two thousand Iansisleans died with a further three thousand invalidated. However, the action (a complete failure rescued only by the intervention of a Larkinian hospital ship) drew enough international attention that Sopworth thought it wise not to press the offensive. Of course, Victoria and Salvador later voted for reunification with the mainland and Llewellyn was forced to take refuge on the Shield.

To that day, Iansisle still maintained an embargo against Beth Gellert and shunned any formal diplomatic contact. To even mention the People’s Commonwealth sans “..and that’s how good we’ll lick ‘em in the next fight!” could destroy lives; having business dealings led to the hangman’s noose.

But Dhawan had received word of Beth Gellen weapons - either supplied by the government or by some shadowy organization - showing up in several theaters against colonial forces. And he had not better ideas.

((In case you’re wondering, I’ve stayed friendly and more or less in touch with BG (who is a great guy) since that thread....God, a year or more ago... but haven’t discussed this with him.))

Seth plastered a startled look on his face at the mention of Beth Gellert.

The People's Commonwealth was not inside the charmed circle of nations profiled on TVTB during its weekly cycle of "Lands Beyond the Emerald Seas" or spoken of by travelers returning to the backwoods story-teller circuit. To the extent it showed up on the radar screen of public awareness, Beth Gellert was seen as a brooding and well-armed presence somewhere on the distant horizon. Sufficient unto itself, and certainly not a place you'd want to go for your annual three-week vacation.

"Um, no, i'm not talking about Beth Gellen arms. Actually, it's just a few rifles, but i'm told they are quite good rifles. A friend at one of our embassies abroad organized it."

That narrowed it down to a dozen countries or so. Truth be told, Seth did not know the source of the guns he waited so eagerly for -- that was handled by others. But he desperately wanted to avoid looking like he didn't know.

Dhawan felt his face redden slightly and quickly clamped down, exercising the near perfect facial control he'd been forced to master during his time as a politician on the Shield. He had thought Seth wanted suggestions on where to buy weapons, not that he had them all ready coming and was simply waiting. Besides - no! I must not allow my pride to take control of me! This is not Seth’s fault, no one’s but my own!

At last - at least relatively, the moment of self-reflection couldn’t have lasted more than a second - Dhawan tied down his emotions and embarrassment sufficiently to consider opening his mouth.

“Very well. Before I go, let me ask one last question: when can the brigade be ready to sail for Gallaga? I do not know how long I can extend my stay in Tanah Burung without suspicion.”

A more observant man might have noticed the play of emotions across Hiresh Dhawan's face. Seth Rumkorem was not an observant man. His emotions were all too plain: joy.

"We can leave in a day, or any time after," he said with a grin and a sweeping gesture at the other young revolutionaries gathered about. "As you see, we're ready at a moment's notice to sail for your country. I only have to contact our friends and tell them where to deliver our cargo of rifles."

A cheer went up from the clearing. "Gallaga!"

The cheer lightened Dhawan's mood considerably.

“A week,” decided Dhawan suddenly. “I will leave for Gallaga at once and make things ready for your arrival. I am not without my contacts in Congress. I shall meet you in Nagpur, in the Marathi territory. The governor there is sympathetic to Congress and it will be easy to cross into Company territory. You ought to have no trouble with the Marathi authorities; it’s been the Company’s experience that a good bribe - either money or weapons for their accursed internecine conflicts - will pave the road.”

He bowed to Seth and the other brave members of the Rumbiak Brigade. “And now I fear I must take my leave. In Nagpur - and for Gallaga!”

The cheers grew in volume. "Gallaga! Dhawan!" In fact, had the visitor taken the opporunity to declare himself a candiate for office in one of the many elections going on that week, he could have been sure of election. Of course, he had already held considerably more prestigious office than Wind Power Commissioner of Loro Sae -- and would,Seth pondered, perhaps hold the highest office again in a second country. One day....

With garlands and baskets of mangoes, the group accompanied Dhawan back most of the way to the village where his ship waited. One by one, they melted into the jungle, leaving little trace they had ever been there. Just two remained. Silvana planted a kiss on Dhawan's cheek and Seth saluted, pointing the way for the last hundred metres.

He was very happy. Enough of this fat contented country -- time to make a difference!

The trip aboard Cannae from Loro Sae to Port Laughlin in Iansislean Borneo couldn’t have taken any longer. Dhawan spent most of the time pacing his miniscule cabin and checking his watch - like the hours made that much of distance. But three days, when you have only a week to prepare, was forever!

At last they arrived, and Dhawan was able to catch a flight to Indore, the capital of the Confederacy since Poone had fallen to the Calarcans. He had just enough time while walking Port Laughlin’s crowded streets and withdrawing a substantial amount from his private UBC account to feel sorry for the natives here too trapped under Iansislean rule, but not long enough. He was swept into his mission and nothing could divert him from it.

Like a whirlwind, he blew his way through the last completely native state in Gallaga. If only the Maharaja of Satara could reorganize his state to present a solid, unified front to the invaders! But Iansisle, Calarca, and Ercolana each made sure that the Marathas were kept as a weak, neutral state and the conjunction of their empires. None wanted one of the others to gain dominance over the area, but neither did they want a potential example to the people whom they kept subjugated. The powers of the Peshwa and the regional governors was always kept strong and more than one Maharaja with the potential to become great had been assassinated by a rival to the throne with foreign gold at his back.

Once he arrived in Nagpur, Dhawan set like a whirlwind organizing for the Brigade’s arrival. Though his muslim name did him little good in the overwhelming Hindu area, Iansislean generals were too highly prized for the authorities to simply kick him out, though they might slit his throat at night for his coin purse. Once he’d made contact with the local Congress authorities, however, and communicated his intentions, it was as though he were a new god. Anything for the cause, Dhawan guessed. Possibly the leaders was simply hoping that having a Muslim as prominent as himself among their members would help them convince the League of Congress’ secular intent.

Indore
The Klatchian Intelligence Service, or KIS, had been rudderless for years. The fact that they even had an office in Indore was somewhat strange. In reality most of the people in the Gallaga International Exports were monitoring signal traffic. The one feild officer left in Indore spent most of his time at various horse racing events.

The feild officer, (name deleted for protection) walked back into his 'office' and stopped cold. There was a man in a white suit sitting behind his desk. The officer knew the face immediatly...
"Ah, Marshall Banes...ah what brings you to Indore?" The intel officer swollowed hard. Banes was the represenative of the Klatchian Privy Council in Calarcian Gallaga. In truth he was there to see that no one tried to take advantage of any the internal problems in Calarca here in Gallaga.
"I was here to interview Kerry on his recent work breaking that UE code he came across. However, one does wonder where you have been for the past..." Banes looked at the clock "four hours."

Panic filled the feild officer, there was not many do nothing seats in the Klatchian central government, it was too sparse for many of those postions, and Marshalls were notorius for removing 'problems' the old fashioned way. "Ah had a meeting with a contact..."

"For four hours...?"

"Ah yes, upper level servent of the ruling house around here...seems that there was a fellow from ah...Iansisle Gallaga about the place...famous actually...you know how ah... racist Iansisle can be...this guy actual is a native that made it some distance in postion back in the mother country...seems he wanted something from the Sul...ah the Maharaja here to help...well it looks like with things in Iansisle going so revolutionary that the locals are going to possibly revolt also....perhaps...maybe..."

Banes looked at the man, "I would like a full written report before I leave tommrow morning, understood?"

"Yes, Marshall Banes."

There were a million things to do. The sailing time to the Gallagan Ocean ((yes?)) wasn't short, even on one of the modern new deep-sea fishing boats, but the enthusiasm of the young revolutionaries and their many hands made the work lighter. And the Brigade had deep pockets: even in Tanah Burung's boom economy, they could buy the provisions needed and load them quickly aboard the M.V. Maha Laut, lying at anchor in Kotabaru, second city of Loro Sae. (Soon to be renamed Port Rumbiak, if Ballot Initiative 7,567-H passed by a two-thirds majority city-wide and a simple majority in each ward.)

Soon all was ready, save the Brigade's eagerly awaited guns. At Truk Atoll, another boat was waiting, carrying the precious cargo. The guns were loaded on board to admiring noises, and the Maha Laut was soon under way. Tanah Burung fishing boats had always ranged far afield -- fish was the main source of protein in the Burungi diet -- and so the boat was not an unusual sight in the Indian Ocean. Its nets dragged lazily, their sliced-open bottoms invisible below the water line. Only a thin layer of fish covered the arms.

Night. The short coastline of the Maratha Confederacy formed a low brown line on the horizon. Slowly, engines silent, the boat approached the coordinates designated by Hiresh Dhawan. Seth Rumkorem barely dared to breathe: heart in his mouth, he stared fixedly at the shore.

Dhawan had directed Seth and his compatriots to a small fishing village just south of Surat, on that narrow strip of coastline on the Arabian Sea between the Calarcan and Ercolanian empires. The town’s fleet, most of which looked much smaller and less ocean worthy than the Tanah Burung ship, had all ready been drawn up to the shore.

Although Seth quickly scanned the small group of Marathi troops standing and waiting for them on shore, he couldn’t see Dhawan anywhere.

Among the Biak people, trust was held as the highest of virtues. Trust in one's elders in particular. So although Dhawan was nowhere to be seen, this must be the right place.

On the other hand, those Maratha troops, no doubt bristling with antique armaments, looked like a rather fearsome bunch. And hadn't Dhawan warned them to be careful of the Marathas?

A hasty whispered conference on the deck. Sharp disagreements, a quick show of hands, and the decision was made.

The young revolutionaries lit torches, tossing powder on them to make them each burn a different colour: blue, green, yellow, red. Two boys got out their drums, a girl began to play the flute, and another girl started to sing. A long slow song about the joy of being with friends on an open road, outside the law.

"Friends, we are travelling entertainers," Seth said, nervously checking to make sure that the guns were well covered by fish. They appeared to be.

“Would this traveling band be with ‘Seth Rumkorem,‘ from Tanah Burung?” asked the most decorated man of the lot in halting English. The other four men didn’t seem to understand what was being said but rather stood about casually.

“If so, welcome to the Confederacy. A friend sent me to take you to Nagpur. You are expected.”

The fishing village wasn’t quite the quaint thatched huts seen in adventure magazines back on the Shield, but nor was it anything resembling modern. A single, run-down brick building of perhaps eighteen hundred square feet standing in front of the square and village well appeared to be the central location of the town.

“Our friend was very wise to pick this as a meeting spot,” said the apparent leader. “There is no one but the villagers who ever comes here.”

The Dome of the Privy Council,
Port Olympus, FKC

The woman behind the desk was wearing just a simple blouce and a pair of military pants. The desk reminded the corporal of an aircraft carrier. The dark wood blended in well with the office walls of book cases. Somehow the sight of a tank model pointing strait at his navel from the third shelf on the right was disconcerting. He let his eyes fall on the woman. She was likely in her late thirties but didn't look it at all.

The red hair was back in a poney tail and the green eyes read the report before her. "Alright, executive decision time. Something smells in denmark, or in this case Gallaga."
She looked up at the corporal, "You will go get the Director of Personel from the Marshall's office over to me immediatly. Oh, and since you seem to really want something to do, I'm going to have you put on the team. Yes you Corporal Yosef will be enjoying Gallaga and having to work under Marshall Banes."

The young man bowed and stuttered..."Y...Y...Yes...Land...gra...vin...ene...I ....shall....alll...do...m...my...bes...s..st."

And so they tramped ashore. The older among them might have recalled that this is what fishing viallges in Tanah Burung had looked like, until very recently. And how those preserved by anti-growth ordinances still looked.

"Your Excellency's welcome honours us," Seth said uncertainly. He suddenly felt very far from home. "I am Rumkorem, yes. Tel me, is our friend here?"

“Not here,” said the other man. “I’m Colonel Vaynia, of His Excellency the Governor of Nagpur’s Army. Your friend - that is to say, our mutual friend - waits for us in Nagpur. We must make haste out of here, though; we are close to Satara, and if His Highness’ forces see us, there will be many questions in need of answers."

Colonel Vaynia waved at two large but ancient motor lorries. “These are His Excellency’s. They will take us.”

After all had been loaded and they were on their way down the bumpy, ill-maintained road, Vaynia made his way towards Seth. “You are of the Rumbiak Brigade, yes? I have heard of this Markus Rumbiak; his exploits in Ianapalis on our behalf are legendary.”

Seth smiled, his nervousness melting away. With the others, he climbed into the trucks, hunkering down for a bumpy ride. Was there any other kind?

"Thank you Colonel, you honour us," Seth said, pronouncing the usual polite formula. "The Governor is a friend then? How i long to see Nagpur, it must be a glorious city!" Indeed, his compatriots seemed sexited to be on Gallagan soil, unclear about the exact political permutations of who ruled this area.

He tensed up briefly as the name Rumbiak Brigades was mentioned. His senses screamed to say he was an entertainer. But now he was among friends. Trust, trust, he reminded himself.

"I am of those Brigades, yes," he replied. "Bapak Rumbiak, he inspired us mightily. I know he went to Ianapolis, and though i don't know of his exploits, i am certain he spoke for freedom there. But tell me of the Confederacy. Does the desire for freedom beat here too, despite the native rulers? Does the heart of Gallaga beat for one nation?"

“Nagpur is nice, in its own way,” said the colonel with a shrug. “You must forgive me; I am native to there, and perhaps a little biased.” The lorry hit a particularly large pot hole in the unpaved road and jumped wildly, almost pitching Vaynia from his seat.

“You must forgive these roads,” he said after recovering himself, “The local government is not so well off as His Excellency’s, and must cut some corners.

“His Excellency is awaiting your arrival with keen anticipation,” continued Vaynia, hoping he was using the English idioms correctly. “He has always been in favor of Congress’ message of one Gallaga, as are many of his subjects.

“We live directly under the shadow of the Iansislean Raj and in constant fear of seeing it extended to us. In the last fifty years, Nagpur has been occupied four times by armies from the north. Each time, pressure from Ercolana and Calarca forced them out, but I do not like relying on imperialists to drive other imperialists out. I want to force them all to leave Gallaga.

“Markus Rumbiak, they say, wanted much the same. I hear that he confronted all of Iansisle in their very heart with the issue, at his own risk. I much respect that and hope to continue his great work.” The lorry hit another large pothole. “I want very much to be our own country, like Rumbiak’s.”

"He told me a story once, you know," Seth mused. "The weaver birds had no shelter from the sun, and all lived apart from one another. Then they found a banyan tree, and its spreading branches sheltered them from the sun, and they lived happily as one flock. The banyan tree, he said, that was an independent state. Not a goal for its own sake, but a way to shelter its people adn keep them safe."

Seth lost his balance as the truck hit a pothole, then righted himself.

"You know, i'm fairly sure a united and independent Gallaga could protect its people better than the confederacy on its own." He gulped, and added hastily. "Of course, i'm sure the confederacy has fought bravely for the freedom it has from the Raj."

"Um, no, i'm not talking about Beth Gellen arms. Actually, it's just a few rifles, but i'm told they are quite good rifles. A friend at one of our embassies abroad organized it."

That narrowed it down to a dozen countries or so. Truth be told, Seth did not know the source of the guns he waited so eagerly for -- that was handled by others. But he desperately wanted to avoid looking like he didn't know.

((Way OOC: *Clears throat* I'm shocked, shocked to discover there is an international arms trade going on here! *whistles innocently* ))

((*Hands Lark a wad o’ cash* “Your profits, sir.” ;)))

The story was a little abstract for Vaynia, but Seth’s last statements weren’t. The big Gallagan grinned and clapped Seth on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about offending us, son. The Confederacy isn’t much better than the Ians or the Clerks or the Ercos. Most of the high officials - His Excellency excluded, of course - have their pockets so full of imperialist gold they can hardly stand erect. And what do they spend it on? - not their subjects, certainly.”

They hit another pothole.

“No, they spend it to buy the newest Westerton or a nice wardrobe from the same people who gave it to them!” Vaynia clenched his hand into a fist, then released it.

“But I’m sure that I am - what is the expression? - singing to the priest, friend Seth. It is a long way to Nagpur, especially on these roads. Here, you and your men must be exhausted from the trip: do try and sleep, won’t you?”

((I heard this rumor that some people in this world actually can’t identify/respond to a Casablanca quote inside of two seconds. Poor devils...))

((Way OOC: *Clears throat* I'm shocked, shocked to discover there is an international arms trade going on here! *whistles innocently* ))

Bout time you showed your face in here again....

((*Hands Lark a wad o’ cash* “Your profits, sir.” ;)))

((*ahem* er.. thank you. *starts counting and walks out*))

Bout time you showed your face in here again....

((Awwww, admit it, ya missed me ;) ))

I may have....lol. Glad to see your back.

((I heard this rumor that some people in this world actually can’t identify/respond to a Casablanca quote inside of two seconds. Poor devils...))

((Those poor, poor bastards. We should start a charity for them, we'll have parties and get hammer... er... hold "Casablanca" screenings all over the US (where we will get drunk, etc..) for them.. yeah, that's it ;) ))

Bout time you showed your face in here again....

((Thanks man, I missed y'all too! ))

((Sounds like a plan, though you'll have to do the thinking for both of us - I've come down with a cold and it's all I can do to sit upright and hammer the keys, actual thinking be damned! I've got another essay due, but that's really nothing I'd need to do any thinking about :)

*cough* sleepy time again, methinks. Night, Lark, Imi. Oh yeah, sorry I couldn't be anymore help against Knoot, TB!))

((Oh man, thanks for reminding me I-man, I've got to finish my paper for International Advertising before bed tonight. Can you believe when you actually get close to graduation, they expect you to show up to class? Wazzup wit dat!?!?!? ;) ))

"You know, i'm fairly sure a united and independent Gallaga could protect its people better than the confederacy on its own." He gulped, and added hastily. "Of course, i'm sure the confederacy has fought bravely for the freedom it has from the Raj."

OOC: It is that kind of thinking that will give the Klatchian Parliment pains...

(Yeah, they hadn't considered the Klatchian angle. Silly blunderers! And if they don't start thinking about it, they'll regret it. Maybe not now, maybe not right away, but for the rest of their lives. Or something like that, it's a long time since i saw Casablanca. Lark, advertising? I'm shocked.)

Like little angels, snug in their beds, the Burungis lay down their heads to sleep, dreaming dreams of fluffy cuddly teddy bears with tiny guns chasing away the forces of imperialism, which consisted only of three men with bristly mustaches in pith helmets, four secretaries, a translator and a goat. Little smiles of contentment formed on their tranquil sleeping faces. "Baa, eh wot," said the goat. "Where's me gin'n'tonic?"

(Hm, 'tis worth using the keyword search thing on myself, then! I should like to read-up on this, mhm. But first I should like variously to burn and under-cook some sausages. In the mean-time, hey, we're throwing-out a few old frigates and supersonic bombe... yeah, that's not as funny as I thought it was going to be.)

Lark, advertising? I'm shocked.

((After all of those great ads we ran in the election thread? I think I've finally found my calling (so how is Liberty Lettuce selling in TB?) ;)

*Reads clip on armed teddy bears chasing away imperialists* Only 3 soldiers? Must be an Iansislian group, "We only need a few soldiers, but we'll also need some maids and a few people to serve tea and crumpets, as opposed to tea and stumpets, which might be too much for Iansislian society.." :D ))

((sorry I haven’t put up my next reply to this. I want to make it a good one, but haven’t been able to motivate myself properly yet. Tomorrow, for certain!))

((Tomorrow's a rather relative term, isn't it? I goofed - saw myself as the last poster and thought I'd replied properly. *grumble* and now it's too late tonight!

Ah, well. I'll get a post up promptly, I promise!

In the meantime, please enjoy this (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=7080381&posted=1#post7080381) relevant but long-winded post!))

((Tomorrow's a rather relative term, isn't it? I goofed - saw myself as the last poster and thought I'd replied properly. *grumble* and now it's too late tonight!

Ah, well. I'll get a post up promptly, I promise!

*snip*))

(LOL, yeah yeah yeah, that's what they all say. You RP tease! :D )

((My plan is to keep baiting TB on so long that he just drives down here and kills me. And then I'll haunt him!

Ha! Ha! Ha!

Seriously, though, I am working on that post right now. Really.

...no, really. I promise! ;)))

(LOL, Ok Ok, I'll buy that... maybe... if it's on sale... a big one.. ;) Looking forward to seeing what's next :D ))

((see, I told ya! :P))

“A few too many bumps on the head,” whispered one of Vaynia’s men in Marathi as a Rumbiak Brigade member started mumbling about goats or some such nonsense. “This is a rough ride.”

Of course, it was a fairly accurate description of the Company’s forces in Gallaga. Only seven white regiments (about 15,000 men) of the Royal Iansislean Army Corps, spread between Delhi, Lucknow, Nusheld, and Mandalay, were ‘supported’ by the Company-officered 250,000 sepoys of the Gallagan Army, all holding down an increasingly resistive population of more than two hundred million. The military supports which propped up the Raj were becoming increasingly shaky.

If Seth and his compatriots had known what was going on four thousand miles away in Ianapalis, they might have taken heart for a speedy resolution to the Gallagan affair. Even now, revolutionaries were storming Jameston Place and hoisting the Gull Flag over the capital city of the Empire. Soon enough, they would nationalize the East Gallaga Company, and Iansislean liberals would see no moral choice but to leave Gallaga for Gallagans, right? Right?

Time would tell. Right now, the lorry was bumping its way into Nagpur. They rumbled down the streets, taking corners seemingly at random, before pulling up in front of the rather modern looking Hotel Grande.

“It was constructed by an Iansislean group,” explained Vaynia with a smile if Seth was awake, “and now we use it to plot against them. Our friend is waiting for us; will you see him now, or to-morrow?”

(and then i went out of town for a week. i'll reply, er, tomorrow. ish. more likely a couple of tomorrows away, as i hear several hundred of my citizens were massacred in my absence, and should probably write to that thread first.)

((please forgive TB's tardiness. He has been bissy. Signed, TB's Boss))

Seth was awoken from a peaceful dream by the smell of night soil and the increasing swaying of the van.

His nose wrinkled. Must be Nagpur.

Sticking out like a gleaming sore thumb was their destination, the Hotel Grande. The name made Seth think of the artfully bitter coffee of Loro Sae, over-roasted, sweetened and sold to tourists at Star Schmucks outlets. He felt a little homesick, then gathered his resolve about him.

"Our friend is waiting for us," Vaynia was saying. "Will you see him now, or to-morrow?"

Seth's heart jumped. At last! "As Your Honour feels is best," he replied. "As for me, my heart yearns to see our friend as soon as possible."

The other Brigade members nodded in agreement. Then one of them had a terrible thought. What if the Confederacy was a dry state?

His nose wrinkled. Must be Nagpur.

((Why, did he smell an orange?

GAH! I promised myself that I wouldn't make a single orange-related comment for this entire thread! Oh well...

By the way, *rips up note* I'll excuse you this time, but don't take it as a free pass for further skipping, mister!))

Vaynia nodded. "I shall take you to his room, then. Our friend does not go to sleep for some time." Obviously, the colonel was enjoying the secrent nature of his mission.

Once inside, he led them up several flights of stairs until they came upon a large room, where he knocked thrice - two short, one long - and waited. A few moments later, an exhausted-looking Dhawan opened the door.

"The Rumbiak Brigade, Mr Dhawan," Vaynia announced shortly.

The low-spirited (ba-dum tish!) Brigade member shouldn't have been concerned. The hotel's cellar wasn't well stocked, but there ought to be something that he would enjoy. Of course, one would have an easier time finding a cut of beef in Hell Bovines.

(this time, the other children shall not shout that dread taunt: Tardy! Tardy!)

Seth half-expected to hear trumpets as Vaynia announced them with such a flourish. The hotel, it seemed to him, mixed decayed grandeur so well with shabbiness, that trumpets would be in order. Yes, definitely trumpets.

He snapped out of his mental meandering and offered a crisp salute to Hiresh Dhawan, hoping to look professional rather than giddy with excitement -- which is how he felt.

"Reporting for revolution," he said. A grin spread across his face.

“Good to see the enthusiasm is up,” smiled Dhawan wearily. “I’m afraid mine has been buried under a pile of paper. But please! Come in, come in.”

“If you’ll not be needing me,” said Vaynia after a very brief salute, “I will be going.” Dhawan nodded and the other left.

“I trust your voyage was not overly difficult?” asked Dhawan. Meanwhile, he was silently counting noses and hoping that his small icebox could cover all the thirsty mouths.

"Joyful, sir: the open sea, the salt air." Seth spoke with some fervour, still. "The thirst for, er, justice." He looked at the icebox, then at his group, then at the icebox again. He did some quick mental arithmetic. No, it was not going to add up, not at all. Now, what was the most egalitarian solution?

"May we toast the success of this endeavour in the pure water of Gallaga?" he asked. "And may i ask, how fares the struggle?"

“Too much talk like that,” Dhawan joked as he poured glasses of water, “and people will start to think you’re a Shieldian.” Slowly, the cups were filled until everyone had one.

“To Markus,” offered Dhawan, holding his glass aloft.

After they had all had plenty of time both to drink and wonder about Nagpur’s water purification center, Dhawan brought the conversation back to business.

“The struggled goes slowly for now,” he said. “There was a small mutiny in Delhi a week or so ago, but the Shieldians put it down quickly. We weren’t directly involved, but the new viceroy in Nusheld seems to think we were.

“Aside from that, I have been mostly writing letters to various independence movement leaders throughout Gallaga, trying to unite them.” He smiled faintly. “Would that I could say I have been successful! - but alas, I fear too many cling to antiquated intolerances for their fellow Gallagans. Tell, me, friend, how did the people of Tanah Burung manage to unite against the Knootians?”