NationStates Jolt Archive

(Tears. Great tears. Backspace chose arbitrarily on its umpteenth push of the paragraph to destroy my post mere characters away from its completion. How much has my sieve like memory failed to recall? Oh the pain, the pain of it all!)

"'I very much doubt, Mr.Arnold, could hot-air lift a man from the ground, that you should be standing before so much as above us, to speak of the fact!’
“That, Mr.Mayor, is what your five-degrees predecessor said to my grandfather just moments before the latter rose apart from terra-firma in this very tethered basket!”

The crowd of perhaps ten score in number was growing restless. Charlton Arnold had been proudly and excitedly lecturing them from above, on various aspects of “scientific physics” like there was some other sort of physics to which they’d all previously been studious.

“This day I pick the very same spot as did my grandfather in his day, to announce the next great wonder of this fantastical age! Just as he demonstrated heated air’s ability to give man the wings of a flighted bird, I shall demonstrate heated water’s ability to give man the legs of a running bird!”

“Get on with it!”

Only slightly put off-stride, Arnold continued, all the while beaming like the day’s Pacific sun. Reaching precariously over the side of his basket, a pair of sheers in his grasp. Struggling, he cut the line which held-down a second, smaller balloon. The result was in the lifting of a large sheet from what was reviled to be a..big barrel on wheels? Well that certainly explained the wooden track lengths that had been seen protruding far ahead of the sheet. Didn’t it?

The crowd was hushed, as much from the fact that none amongst them had prepared a joke about a keg-on-rollers as from genuine awe.

Arnold smiled from the corner of his mouth as he descended from basket to platform, and down again to engine. Moments later a good fire was going and steam rose from his ungainly contraption.

With a series of jolts, the barrel heaved forward, clattering along the lengths of wooden rail. Eventually it must have made six? Seven? Miles per hour, before grinding to a halt a few dozen yards from its start point.

Wide-eyed and silent until several seconds after the machine halted its noisy convulsions, the crowd erupted with cheers.

New Eastgaters thanked the Lord for the continuance of their Fantastical Age, made all the sweeter by the certainty that their Papaly-challenged cousins half the world away –if indeed they still existed- couldn’t hope to have achieved such wonders.

Arnold was at the end of his tether. Everyone had wanted to see his engine, the Thunder Barrel, but no one wanted to fork out the capital for unproven practical applications.

Charlton had visions in which his engines sent miners down to unprecidented riches, lifted building bricks to dizzying new heights, carried people and goods safely across the little travelled wild eastern plains, and savage northern highlands. He'd dreamt one night of playing amongst the birds in a winged barrel, and the next day set to sketching outlandish engine/balloon combinations.

Sigh.
I'd be better off joining a horse-gang and robbing these penny-pinching would-be investors.

Charlton Arnold went back to the drawing-board in search of something so painfully safe and practical that he'd be sure to find someone willing to let him prove wrong every other sod in the federation!

"Hell fire, that better prove worth it. That man is impossible! Bah! He's got me talking to myself!"

Arnold had hit upon an idea, and was returning from an audience with the king himself. The Democratic States, many thought, were no place for a monarch, and only three of the five populated states actually recognised his official position. Still, the man was the most pompous creation on the continent..even the most insolent native chieftains couldn't match him.

Both of these factors in the regent -both his propensity for pomposity and his ever shrinking popularity- had seemed to work in Mr.Arnold's favour, however.

The inventor was about to go from struggling and frustrated to either stupendously wealthy and nationally revered, or else desolate and nationally ridiculed.

The king was to host (that means fund!) a national gala celebrating the strength and progress of the federation. Arnold was going to be a key figurehead (that means potential scapegoat!) at the event, and would showcase his finest inventions!

The event would be called The Union Crown Gala, and would be held under and about a specially constructed market of glass and iron which was even now being raised in Port Gavin.

Word was spread. Inventors to your drawing rooms! Artists to your... medium of choice! Traders to your boats! There must be someone else left out there! Bring them that they may see progress in the new world!

http://www.victorianstation.com/images/truss4n.jpg
The Union Crown Gala Hall grows finer day by day!

(I'm almost positive I should be responding to this...just how is a bit more difficult to think of, though ;))

(Heh. Guess how WoS decided to get around the to-advance-or-not-to-advance question! ;) Black-sheep cousins, woo! Novel!)

The Union Crown Gala Hall was coming along nicely. Only two fatalities, excepting for that nasty strike incident, and the King's Milita had broken that up nicely.

More importantly, the facts that he'd gone to the expense of raising his militia, hiring so much labour, and ordering so much iron, had convinced King Paul IV that he was in this for better or worse. Funds for Arnold's ambitious "wooden highway" might just be sufficient for said to skirt their way around the entire Gala grounds in a complete loop. That trip would make an impression! He was sure of it!



http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/history/voices/images/voices5_soldiers280.jpg
Apparently the King's Militia had proved itself horribly out of date and vulnerable. Arnold didn't care; they'd got work moving again.

http://www.nhc.rtp.nc.us:8080/images/helsing2.jpg
The Union Crown Gala Hall nears completion, and (crown appointed artists would have it that) crowds gather already to see the wonder that it is

http://www.eaton.demon.co.uk/navvies.gif
Arnold's wooden rails make their way around the Gala grounds (this, the first photograph to be put on public display in New Eastgate!)

(Not quite 100% appropriate to the thread, but useful to know for those who just and so happen to care)

Geography et cetera-

Five populated (by Eastgaters rather than native Polynesians) states, three* recognise the king (Paul IV)

The Federation of States-

Goston-*
Capital- Sudbury
Ports- Port Gavin
Other Major Towns-Larton
Notes- 2nd most populace and wealthy state. Sudbury is the seat of the monarchy, and capital of the federation.

Baston-
Capital- Hexton
Ports-Toluaa (minor harbour)
Other Major Towns- Two listed towns gradually sprawling across entirety of Baston Island.
Notes- Wealthiest and most densely populated state. Population primarily sited on Baston Island. Home to 2nd largest river in the federation (the Pollice).

Gregoria-*
Capital- Raysee
Ports- Landlocked.
Other Major Towns- A land of villages, private farms, and church properties.
Notes- Spiritual centre for Eastgate Catholic faith. 2nd home of the monarchy. Heavily farmed low rolling hills dominate the state.

Waylu-
Capital- Tupu City
Ports- Tupu City
Other Major Towns- Mostly 'virgin land' (native populations only recently repulsed)
Notes- Home to one of the four great rivers (Waylu). Scene of many disputes with displaced Polynesian natives. Timber and fishing industries dominate the economy.

Great Hoode-* (hotly debated- non/recognition of the crown is a frequent cause of trouble)
Capital- Fort Ludele
Ports- Fintoria (mainly fishing port- possible launch-pad for eastward expansion)
Other Major Towns- Rural population.
Notes- Relatively poor state. Cold winters. Scene of many early battles between settlers and natives.

Clades Mountains- These almost wholly unexplored peaks dominate the north except for a strip of potentially bountiful forest (the Arcanus) on the east coast. Mount Caligo rises, it is estimated, over 20,000 feet.The Gran Desavi river is the largest in the land and could accommodate sizeable vessels. The Great Efferus Flats extend well over 1,500 miles east from any half serious Eastgater settlement, and prospectors believe that the native “infested” lands possess considerable mineral, animal and arable resources.

http://img.villagephotos.com/p/2003-9/394362/NewEastgateMap.jpg

New Eastgate

OOC: What time period are you? I have a 1400 AD account I just got, so if your're around that time..

OOC:
Industrial Revolution, that means 1700s - 1800s.

ooc:None specific time-frame. The nation will interact to at least some degree with any reasonably well played other. New Eastgate.. is a bit off a mess. The native population is stone age (though wood is their usual material of choice), while the different states display communities that in some places would fit into the dark ages, while in others they could be Victorian England or the US east coast at the time. Then we have our own wild ..er..east.

One thing- the nation is going to advance fairly slowly, and will stop somewhere in the earlyish C20th tech wise. We're not going modern, but will interact with modern nations if they wish..

Soon enough there should be floods of explorers, adventurers, and prospecters heading east to the native-dominated plains, north to the mysterious and forbidding mountains, and so on. Other nations may be able to join in with that. Perhaps some of your C14th folk, Ell, will end up as privateers or highwaymen in the frontier towns? ;)

For now, I suppose foreigners may come to trade/explor/whatever a little in the west, since we've been cut off out in the Pacific for a long time. I am in two minds about inviting other players to exhibit technologies at the Gala when it begins.. I don't want anyone advancing us too far. I suppose if anyone wants to bring a wacky inventor along with a glider or..watch or something, that would be okay. Just don't try to sell us jet engines, or set up a nuclear power station to sell us the electricity we don't need :)

Union Crown Gala Hall opens to great fanfare!

Port Gavin's population has swelled by thousands as people from all over the states gather to sate their curiosity.

Peacocks scatter before what is hoped to be one of the main attractions.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/timelines/wales/images/steam_engine.jpg

Moving at..well, at several miles per hour, Arnold's barrel steams into view.

Charlton Arnold himself calls out from on his contraption- he is to offer rides to anyone intrepid enough to trust him and his "railer".

As excited crowds gather around and ahead of the still advancing engine, Goston politician Mr.Hedbury-Jones reaches out to touch the railer as it clatters by. His arm was an instant later pushed forward by the descending piston, and trapped against the revolving front wheel. Hedbury-Jones stumbed along with the railer for a few yards, before falling to the ground, his arm badly broken.

No one rode the railer with Arnold and his assistant until late in the afternoon. Of course many wanted the monsterous device shut down, broken up, even, but who on earth was going to see that through? This was a classy affiar, and the King's Militia would see no mob-rule, though they themselves were on hand only for protection of royal interests, and not for police duties- where did they think this was, Baston Island?

Arnold also demonstrated a steam-driven pump, which drew gallons of water up a slope on the north west side of the Gala grounds. This was of great interest to several entrepreneurs, once Arnold revieled that it could be powered by the plentiful soft-rocks he called "coal". Great Hoode is covered in the stuff, and there's said to be even more in the rugged north and savage east.

Trouble ahead?

Even as talk of its "coal deposits" began to remind gala-goers that Great Hoode still existed ("Ohh, yes of course, southerners! Woodsmen, fisheries, that sort of thing, what?") rumour reached the "western states" (including Goston and its gala) of "ungodly unions in the peripheries".

It seemed that out in the relative wilderness good Christian civilisation had collapsed. Rural churches were marrying man to man, and woman to woman. Unions were forming, and labourers were placing demands on western companies- big enterprises were struggling as individual prospectors over-ran land meant to be mined by Goston and Baston based companies!

As the days went by, and further fantastic contraptions and goods were show-cased at the gala (new clocks.. musical instruments.. tonics.. beverages.. chemicals.. weapons (including a musket which did not even load via the muzzle!)..carriage suspensions..) more and more reports came in of trouble in Great Hoode. Early attempts to purchase land for coal-mining had been rebuffed by militant settlers, rumour of those "ungodly unions" had been confirmed, and highwaymen were laying waste to whole caravans.

Worse yet, Waylu seemed to be following suit! The western states were becoming surrounded by ruffian woodsmen who seemed to be adopting the ways of the savage natives! People began to fear that their influence would continue to spread, and that the west would be corrupted too!

The Union Crown Gala became ever more popular, and the king declared that it would remain open past the previously agreed time. People in the west had begun to see the new ideas presented as what seperated them from the Godless savages and the corrupted Waylu and Hoode folk. It appeared that Great Hoode might finally finish with its contested recognition of the king, while Baston was being drawn ever closer to his semingly progressive sense of Christian order.

Great Hoode renounces King! Baston restores recognition!

King Paul IV was feeling renewed. The Gala was a resounding success, and Charlton Arnold was to be knighted for his part in the affair. Few had recently been excited to receive a royal honour, but now all that was changing.. except in the "Barrier States" of Waylu and Great Hoode were degenerating into savagery.

A detachment of The King's Militia had six days since been sent into Great Hoode in order to secure a brand new coalmine which had been over-run by striking miners, apparently unhappy about the brutal conditions and high death rate.

In less than a week following the arrival of the militia over a hundred and twenty people had been killed, and Great Hoode had cut its ties with the Goston-based monarch. Baston's response had been clear- they had restored their recognition of the New Eastgateion crown.

It looked like more violence would follow, and some whispered of war in the union...

[Just a bump incase there's any other backwards states out there I've failed to notice ;) I should stop posting updates when no-one outside India is awake..]

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Port Gavin's unusually high level of excitement and activity increased further with the arrival of foreigners.

"Mr.Bansgate! Your Honour! Foreigners! I don't know if English is their first language, but their emperor has apparently issued the confederation with 'a challange.'"

Mayor Bansgate blinked. "Foreigners? Challenge? You're sure?" The lad seemed sure. They didn't have recognisable accents anyway, and were not dressed in accordance with the latest fashions, yet could afford good horses, and were certainly not natives.

"They're not bloody Walmers, are they?"
"I don't think so sir..your honour..Mr.Bansgate.." Bansgate's position was a new one, and no one in New Eastgate was quite sure how to refer to the newly landed gentry in its mayoral capacity.

"Erm.." The mayor considered "Well.. offer to put them up in a hotel..a nice one.. and send to the king about this.. best alert the militia.. and be sure they don't give our guests any trouble. Oh, inform the State Consulate in Sudbury, too. Hop to it boy!"

Presently young Mr.Young approached the strangers, offering them accomodation in the outskirts of Port Gavin at The Avery Inn, which he insisted was a reputable establishment. He said that they could probably proceed straight to the mayor's office if they wished, and that regional government would probably arrive before nightfall.

Meanwhile word was spreading fast, and both locals and tourists alike were excitedly on the lookout for foreigners. Several expeditions were hastily put together in the hope of sailing back out in search of more nations.

(ooc:since New Eastgate has no electronic communications systems, I am assuming that you would need to have someone turn up in person to make contact)

*Sir, there is a old of date nation that even still use halbreds! It would be wise to expend our empire and rise moral of our people*

OOC: Expend your empire? Be my guest. :)

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A long-range cutter of the ISAN Eastern Fleet slices through the Pacific at a good 34 knots. NEC-17 carried FBCo.plc board members and government officials, reacting to satellite and later intelligence gleaned by the para-dropping of special forces into the sparsely inhabited lands east of the New Eastgate states.
It appeared that the virgin lands contained considerable resources, many of which were seemingly ill understood by the locals. FBCo.plc could well exploit this with lucrative contracts- the most powerful people on the continent(?) appeared, in President Brown's estimation, to be good capitalists. They would surely be open to doing business.
Non-interference with their backwards industry might dent productivity, but it could be balanced out, perhaps, by the likelyhood that the locals would expect puny wages, in modern terms at least.

On spotting ships of sale around Eastgate's waters, the cutter slowed to a less alarming six knots as she drifted into dock at Port Gavin.

A small contingent of Nicobarese businessmen alighted with a quartet of marine guards. The head of the detachment, the famous Mr.Giles, lead the party into the city, intent on striking some business deals.

A New Chelsean vessel at anchor did not go unnoticed, and its presence was reported to Liberation, back on Great Nicobar.

"How perfectly improper!" Mayor Bansgate blustered as he read the communiqué from the New Chelsean ambassador -who incidentally would not be granted an embassy nor diplomatic immunity- issuing his government's proposterous demand.

Bansgate rang a bell which hung behind his desk, and seconds later two lavishly uniformed men entered, each with a saber on one hip, flintlock pistol on the other, and bayonet-bearing musket in his hands.

"Captain!" The Mayor started "Dispatch a squad to The Avery Inn, escort the New Chelsean ambassador to his vessel! Don't let him give you any trouble!"

With a firm "Sir!" and a slight bow, the pair departed. Within fifteen minutes the Captain was leading four more men into the hotel at which the New Chelsean/s was/were bunked.

"It is my duty to inform you, sir, that your nation has been refused full diplomatic relations with The Democratic States of New Eastgate. I am to escort you.." the captain mechanicaly and firmly stated "..to your vessel at once. You will be sailing before sun-down."

By this time Bansgate was once more being disturbed, and this time he responded with a sneezing fit after being startled mid-snuff.

"Mr.Your Honour Bansgate Sir! More foreigners have entered the city! Some of them appear to be darkies, they're drawing quite a crowd!"

"Confound it all, Young! Why can't they bother someone else's city?"
"Port Gavin's the nation's major port city, s.."
"Yes yes, see them to The Av.." The Mayor checked himself- already likely to be a scene there.. "Oh very well, invite them right along. I'll see them at once. ..Tell the full guard to hang on this evening."

Bansgate reclined in his seat, and began to wonder just what cruel Gods had chosen his first week on the job for international lets-hassle-Eastgate week.

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#3 Jameston Place - Minister of Foreign Affairs' Office
Ianapalis, Iansisle, the Commonwealth

"...and so, you see, m'Lord, RM&M and IanCorp have already sent advance representatives to, ah..." Subminister for Foreign Affairs Edwards checked his notes, "...'New Eastgate'."

Of course, however, the Lord MacIntyre had many better things to do than listen to Edwards' long and boring intercourse on some new state, supposedly within their sphere of influence. In the meantime, he was busy watching the Gulls game, sound off, of course, on a moving picture box out of Edwards' line of sight. After a few minutes, he realized that the man had stopped talking to him, and a response might be appropriate.

"Eh, yes, of course. Get an ambassador lined up, and dispatch him in a Bankfield at once." He hoped that was the right thing to say. Given Edwards' look, apparently not.

"Ah, sir, you'll remember that they apparently don't have the ... ability to dock a flyer the size of a Bankfield. I was going to recommend using an RIN ship, to impress the natives."

If the Lord MacIntyre was embarrassed, he did a good job of hiding it. "Very well. You know what to do, Edwards."

The other man sighed and stood up. "Yes, m'Lord."

HIMS Odysseus
Turnish, Noropia, the Commonwealth

Captain John Northrupt was the half-forgotten third hero of Salvador. Commodore Thomas Gurney had been granted Ian's Cross, First Grade posthumously, and had a monument in Unity Square and a series of space exploratory vehicles named after him. Commander Kennith Jones had been knighted, and granted command - first of the now-famous Antilochus, and now of the top-of-the-line destroyer HIMS Arabian Oryx. He had been knighted as well, but it seemed that no one remembered him. Even when HIMS Salvador had been launched, her plaque bore the images of Gurney and Jones, but not him.

How he remembered, though, when the Hector had first received his wireless message, and come upon the drifting Odysseus, only Iansislean warship to survive the battle. The whole Iansislean world had known his name, if only for fifteen minutes.

And now, look at him. Ferrying some third-rate diplomatic hack to some third-world hellhole aboard a ancient destroyer, her new refits doing little to hide the Odysseus's age. Still, orders were orders, he reflected, as his ship slipped Turnish harbor, and swung about towards New Eastgate.

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Liberation, Great Nicobar, ISAN..

President Brown has appeared on TV to inform New Chelsea of the pressing need to re-think their position on New Eastgate.

He warned that the unprovoked invasion of the nearly defenceless democratic states was not only a criminal act, but a barrier to free trade and attack on FBCo.plc interests, and as such an afront to the Incorporated States of Andaman and Nicobar.

The president asserted that New Chelsea's puny invasion force would be exterminated, likely by an ISAN-lead coalition, if it did not turn back at once.

This -the notion of New Chelsea wiping out an innocent nation simply because it seems easy- was no laughing matter, and the ISAN was quite serious in its intention to defend the vulnerable capitalist democracy at this time.

ISAN observation satellites meanwhile were re-positioning over New Chelsea and its little fleet, and the ISAN armed forces, already on alert thanks to the Dunyabi crisis, was stepping up its mobilisation.

The New Chelsean army reaches the beaches. 3 B-1B Lancers and a squad of fighters escort the invading army as they race for the enemy capital.

ooc:Em, no it doesn't. For one they're out in the middle of the pacific and another have not had chance to respond to the begining of the operation as yet. Do you ever get the feeling that you might be out of your RPing depth?

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The Nicobarese were explaining to the Chelseaites the finer details of a world in which one has offended their powerful nation's trade prospects, the Bishop of Raysee was en route to a major international Catholic convention, and new foreign ships were rumoured to be bound for Eastgate.

The brave new world was proving quite the grand show, but this did little to distract from the federation's internal problems. Opinion in Great Hoode was becoming ever more opposed to the western states and even to the continuation of the union. Waylu was begining to see strikes on the Hoodeish scale.

The King's Militia are by now on a veritable rampage, embarking on any number of wild-goose-chases after strikers, bandits, rebels- any number of bogie-men apparently exist. The heavy-handed approach of King Paul IV's men is unsurprisingly refining Hoodeish anger. The State Army was beginning to stir.

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(Since I don't want to clog-up this thread which isn't really about NC or ISAN: http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?p=1941228#1941228 )

(ooc:Ahh, I just noticed that company people had apparently gone ahead of the Iansisle government rep..I suppose they could well be arriving by now.. I'll hope the company men too have realised the absence of airports)

Waylu state was relatively quiet. Goston had its Gala (which would surely wind down soon.. wouldn't it? How much was that costing? Damn westerners!) and its avalanch of visitors. Baston's exchanges were exploding with investment in new lunatic inventions, Great Hoode was quite literally on fire, and Gregoria.. um, well they were probably having communion, burning witches, or something.

There was a miner's strike just east of Tupu City, a couple of natives lynched on the east bank of the Waylu river, but nothing much more than that was to be observed with anything more than casual interest.

Except.. what was that? A vessel approaching from the north.. seemed to be a smokie. Almost no one in Waylu had seen one before. Perhaps a few little launches on the river- the westerners loved those little things.. but nothing that big.. nothing ocean-going.

The waters near the coast were swarming with fishing vessels, quite a few sharkers out to-day, doing good sport, too. One had just come in to port, and the skipper, while his crew hoisted a near seven foot shark onto the pier, said that he thought he'd seen St.Paddy's cross over the unknown ship.

That was promising, at least. Maybe they'll be more civilised than the Protestant New Chelsea barbarians.

A vessel approaching Waylu state from the north would probably note most traffic headed around to the south of the peninsula. The north and west was dotted with tiny fishing villiages, but not much else. It wasn't until Tupu City that much substantial habitation was to be observed.

On this day a couple of isolated fisherman's cottages along the way were still smoking after native attacks.

Massacre at Fort Ludele! King's Militia routed!

So read the headlines back west. All around the foreigners -the Nicobarese negotiating assorted diplomatic and economic measures between the two nations- Eastgaters dashed about with something approaching war fever. Some 250 men of the King's Militia had been killed at Fort Ludele in Great Hoode, when what was apparently a citizen militia of some manner over-ran their camp.

The State Senates in Goston, Baston, and Gregoria had all condemned Great Hoode for its percieved lawlessness, and the state's unwillingness to conform to civilised norms and now even the rule of law.

Great Hoode finally responded when their own Senator Kindsley spoke up.

"The contempt with which the western states regard the peripheries grows stronger by the day, though I had not thought it possible. Even as the abused people of Great Hoode begin to lash out in despairing and deadly force against them, the westerners fail to realise that their domination of our industries and freedoms is unwanted. Unwanted by the state itself."

Kindsley's assertions were met largely with concurrence in the State Senate, only a few voices dissenting. Those were largely possessed by Great Hoode's better-off citizens, who had significant links with the west, and likely only lived part-time in the state to be close to raw material interests.

That settled it, anyway. Great Hoode's civilised governmental systems had broken down, and it was time to restore them. State Militias were raised in the three western states, and the Baston State Fleet lifted anchor, unfurled its sails, and looked east.

RMMS Nomad certainly wasn't the mining conglomorate's largest ship - nowhere near it, in fact. The Nomad was an ancient, coal-fired, iron-plated, 450 ton courier ship, which had the dubious honor of being (along with the King's personal transport, HIMS Regal) one of only two ships active in the Commonwealth with sail backups. She had been dispatched with one of Royal Mining and Manufacturing's young negotiators to New Eastgate, in order to try and secure exploitation rights over portions of New Eastgate's (apparently substantial) coal reserves, as well as a geological team to search for petroleum and iron ore.

Lord Samuel Archibald-Hayes, the first son of the Viscount Clyfton-on-Daldon, stood alongside Horace Webster, the Nomad's skipper as his ship approached harbor in Port Gavin. However, there was something unusual. The port itself was just how he had been told - like something from pre-Jamesian Iansisle - but in that mess of outdated technology was a modern-looking ship that was just dropping a boat over the side.

A ship that had the markings of the Iansislean International Telegraph Corporation. Despite himself, Archibald-Hayes grimiced. Heads were going to roll in Thorntree when word of this got back, and he would have to hope beyond reason that his would not be one of them.

Quite a number of Gostonians had come out to the main harbour at Port Gavin, having heard that a couple of big smokies were coming in. Some said that they were iron, but well that was just silly now, because iron wouldn't float. They must be copper-bottoms or something.

It had been widely assumed that these were the latest Eastgate vessels, and since no one in Port Gavin could remember building them (and it hardly seemed the sort of thing to forget), everyone supposed that Baston had sent them. ..Possibly to scare the Waylu into rethinking their support of Great Hoode.

"Why the dev.." Mayor Bansgate stopped himself from openly declaring his ignorance of what Baston was up to- it was highly likely that any letter sent him about new ships was well and truely lost. On his way out of the office Bansgate's roving eyes sought out someone to blame in the event of that eventuality playing-out.

Down by the harbour towards which Bansgate waddled, several dozen members of the local population had begun to bring out flags, variously those white and blues of the federation, and the diagonal red cross that had increasingly come to signify the western states' moral supremacy over the heathen peripheries.

"Hurrah for the smokies!"

ICS Civilization

"Hey, Mark, looks like the Consortium is here too," announced Peter Wrindhorn, a member of IanCorp's negotiation team, which was in town to scope out the local natives and look into setting up a trading station. Personally, Wrindhorn wasn't really sure what IanCorp was up to - traditionally, this sort of business was the domain of the East Gallaga Company and Royal Mining and Manufacturing, but the powers that be had insisted.

"They're already putting a boat over," remarked his companion, Mark Covers, watching the smokey old RM&M ship put her tender in the water.

"Making good time about it, too," nodded the captain of ICS Civilization, IanCorp's first modern ship of any size. The three men stood about watching the RM&M crew for some time, the haste required of their mission not really all that apparent. After a moment, Mark noticed the Eastgaters crowding on the shore, and that distracted them for a bit.

RMMS Nomad

"What in BLAZES are they doing?!" asked Archibald-Hayes, watching the IanCorp party do...nothing. Only after his party had been rowing for a minute and a half did the IanCorp delegates slip into their boat...wouldn't it figure, they had a motor launch!

However, once again, the buffoons seemed to throw away their advantages, pulling alongside the RM&M boat, as if to mock them.

"Ahoy!" shouted one, who looked like he'd be much more at home in the International Tower than on a watercraft of any sort. "It's good to see a familiar ship in distant ports!" the man continued.

Aboard the Nomad's shoreboat, the veteran RM&M sailors looked at each other in disbelief, then back at the IanCorp men.

On Civilization's launch, Peter looked back at Mark and shrugged. "Not very friendly sorts, are they?"

"Oh, well," replied Mark with a shrug of his own. "They seem to be waiting for us ashore. We may as well go introduce ourselves."

"Good idea," said Peter, twisting the handle on the boat's outboard engine and roaring off towards where Mayor Bansgate was standing. After rolling up their trousers and dragging the small craft out of the water, Peter approached Mayor Bansgate, his hand extended. "Good day, sir! I'm Peter Wrindhorn, an employee of the Iansislean International Telegraph Corporation. I assume you're the leader of this fine community? I could tell by the authority that radiates from you!"

Out in the bay, the RM&M crew rowed furiously to try and catch up.

Out at sea, perhaps a day behind the Nomad, HIMS Odysseus labored to make New Eastgate, her captain still in the clutches of a depression.

Bansgate's.. radiation, of some sort, must have increased somewhat as he began to visibly glow on hearing Wrindhorn's assesment of him.

"Why yes, yes, I am the Mayor of industrious Port Gavin; Bansgate's the name." He said, taking the newcomer's hand and shaking it quite firmly.

His next words were "Iansislian..International?" Delivered with a thoughtfull look as the tubby mayor fondled a rather huge Tenley-of-Larton chronometer and tried with all his worth to figure out what a "Telegraph" might be. Or do.

"Not.. not from Baston then?" Bansgate hoped not. He wasn't turning out to be a terribly good political figurehead, and frankly Baston scared him. It was big, crowded, and complicated enough that he just might have forgotten an "Iansisle" company or street or some such.

Those Eastgaters gathered around were begining to show slightly confused faces. Voices were raised in the crowd. "More foreigners?" "Are they?" "Did he say the foreigners are back?" "New Chelseans?"

The Mayor thought it best to carry on and to find out as much as possible before someone started a riot. "Ah..Welcome to Goston.. Friends of yours?" Bansgate's sentence ended with a nod towards the RM&M rowers headed for shore.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mayor Bansgate," smiled Wrindhorn, mentally noting the mayor's response to flattery. "You may be noticing that we're from out of your charming state," he continued in a very smooth manner. "Fact is, we're actually from the Commonwealth of Iansisle, a federation of independent states to your north. Now, I represent a collection of business interests - the Iansislean International Telegraph Corporation I mentioned - from that Commonwealth. We run a telecommunication firm..." Wrindhorn paused as the unfamiliar term washed over Bansgate.

"Oh, pardon me! What I mean is that we publish books, newspapers, and the like. At any rate, word of your illustrious nation just recently reached our front offices. And it turns out that the people are just in love with your nation! So my bosses have sent me out here to do some reporting, that sort of thing, and set up a field office. That is, of course, if it would be quite all right with you?"

At the question, Wrindhorn turned back to the sea. "I suppose you could say so; they're countrymen of mine at any rate. And, unless I've very much missed my guess, they're from the Royal Mining and Manufacturing Consortium." He leaned in closer to Bansgate as the RM&M boat was pulled ashore and a hasty delegation walked up the beach. "I'd watch out if I were you, mayor: RM&M doesn't have a reputation for being particularly honest, if you catch my drift."

Just then, a junior ranking RM&M herald stepped in front of the main group: "Announcing the Honorable Lord Samuel Archibald-Hayes!" The youthful-looking aristocrat swept around his servant, bowing deeply to Bansgate.

"Am I to presume that I have the honor of addressing the most honorable ruler of this fine city?" he asked, his voice dripping with honey. Despite the fact that he had just done the same thing, Wrindhorn rolled his eyes at Archibald-Hayes' display.

Bansgate again began to look interested again after a slight disappointment at not receiving a visit from allied smokies.

"North you say? We shall have to send a vessel of our own once this business with the peripheries is over." The Mayor's confidence in the western states' impending swift defeat of the peripheries was not accompanied by an explanation of what "this business" was, nor what the peripheries themselves were.

"Office, certainly!" He went on, paying no attention to the men by now heading up from the beach. "Mister..erm" He began to call, before realising that he had no idea who he was after.. non the less a little man in lower middle class garb motioned his presence, and the quite recently appointed Mayor supposed that to be one of his staff. "I hope you're making note of our visitors' intentions, sir." He directed to the obviously scribbling civil servant.

"There are new developments all over the city.. since the Gala." Bansgate explained "I shouldn't think fitting property will be hard to find."

Now hearing the title of a gentleman announced, Bansgate suddenly became interested in the second Iansislian party. Until recently he might well have been heard grumbling about the landed classes and how they were good for nothing, but the building hype around the "civilised western states vs. Godless peripheries" situation had affected an over-night change on the Mayor of one of the west's most important cities.

Bansgate gave a very slight bow between a couple of nods as Archibald-Hayes spoke, and then introduced himself and his office in a long-winded fashion during which he managed to use words like "civilised", "industrious", and "humble".

The Mayor was finally interrupted as crowds began to part to the ringing of a bell, and a good half dozen Gostonians struggled to drag a large wooden cart bearing a steel drum along the newly cobbled harbour road.

A quick glance over the crowd towards the town would quickly reveal the cause of this rather noisy escapade. Black smoke obscured the low skyline- one of the new mechanically aided mills was alight. The experimental steam-powered pump should get the situation under control soon enough, and perhaps the most note-worthy feature of the affair would be the Eastgaters' apparent disregard for their well-being, as people gathered around the scene of the fire, hoping to see the new pump in action. It wouldn't even be considered a newsworthy disaster if less than a few dozen were killed.

The thought of a Eastgater ship in busy Adien bay, or any other Iansislean port of call, was enough to make Wrindhorn smile. However, he quickly masked it, and simply nodded along with the mayor. "I'm sure we both look forward to close relations between our countries - and companies." The left side of his mouth twitched in displeasure as the RM&M officer was announced, then he grinned at the flattery again heaped on the mayor.

Wrindhorn and Archibald-Hayes tried several times to interrupt the mayor's lengthy discourse - without being rude, of course! - but to no avail. He was just starting to despair and believe that the mayor would continue talking until the sun burned out when the crowd simply started shifting. Wrindhorn smiled at his opposite number, but the slender RM&M man glared back. IanCorp has a lot to learn, thought Wrindhorn as he shook his head and made to follow the Gostonians.

"Doesn't seem very safe, does it Pete?" asked Mark quietly, observing the goings-on. Archibald-Hayes certainly didn't think so; he took the mayor aside, well away from the pump.

"Mayor Bansgate," smiled Archibald-Hayes, "I know I wasn't party to your discussion with those men -" he nodded and Wrindhorn and his small party "- but am I right to assume they said some, shall I say, less than encouraging things about myself and the Royal Mining and Manufacturing Consortium?"

-----

HIMS Odysseus

"Captain?" came Lieutenant Commander Ernest Chella's voice, and there was a light rap on the bulkhead beside his cabin's open hatch. Northrupt looked up from a pile of paperwork in minor annoyance.

"Yes, exec? What is it?"

"Captain, I just wanted to have some words with you."

"Well, Mr. Chella, have them, then." Northrupt was grumpy; he didn't like being interrupted while working on the seemingly endless supply of paperwork that spewed from their Lordships' desks back in Ianapalis.

"In private, sir?" The captain narrowed his eyes. There was something wrong with Chella's expression.

"Very well, commander. Please have a seat." Northrupt indicated the bare-boned wooden chair in front of his cramped desk. "Now, what's on your mind?"

"Captain," started Chella uncertainly, "I know I've only been aboard Odysseus for a couple of weeks now, but -" He paused. To be honest, Chella was terrified. Here he was, a mere lieutenant commander, on his first blue water duty after serving on and commanding rivine patrol boats for several years, and he was about to criticize a Hero of Salvador! It was madness, but he had to get this done.

"Yes, Commander?" prompted Northrupt, tapping a Walmingtonish-made fountain pen against the top of his desk and keeping his gaze fixed on his young executive officer.

"Well, sir, ever since we received our sailing orders, ah, some of the officers have noticed that you seem..." Chella paused and fumbled for words, "Erm, at less than peak performance."

"Indeed?" asked Northrupt coldly. "Please, commander, go on.

"Well, sir," Chella bumbled on, "To be honest, you seem downright depressed about something, and I'm afraid that you may be letting your own personal feelings interfere with your responsibility to this ship and its crew. As first officer of the Odysseus, sir I feel that it is my duty to inform you of this." The slight commander's voice grew stronger as each word came out.

Captain Northrupt set down his pen and continued to stare at his executive officer, who grew more and more uncomfortable. However, he was simply thinking over what the commander had said; perhaps he was letting the personal slights given him by the Admiralty get to him too much. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, commander," he nodded solemnly, then rose. Commander Chella stood up as well and saluted.

"Sir, if you'll pardon me, I need to return to the bridge. We should be sighting New Eastgate's coast within an hour, and I don't want to interrupt your work any more than needed."

"Dismissed, commander," agreed Northrupt. He stood watching the officer walk out close the hatch behind him, then sat back in his chair and picked up the pen again. However, he was too deep in thought for the Admiralty's busy work, and hadn't finished any more work when Chella returned to report that they'd spotted the extreme eastern horn of Waylu.

As a few intrepid Eastgaters took up axes and similar items with which to smash their way into the burning mill others assembled cheered them on in their quite suicidal pursuits. Bansgate meanwhile paid attention to Archibald-Hayes.

The Mayor was a little unsure of Windhorn and his party- They seemed civilised at a glance, and had some impressive technology, but didn't appear terribly respectful of the proper social order, and the talk of tele-whatsits having confused him was plenty to put Bansgate on the defensive.

But he was unsure, and not certain of the political waters in which he waded, so offered a non-commital "Wellll.. " and offered to provide accomodation at the city's hospitality for the duration of the visit.

"Do you have specific aims attached to your much welcome ah introductory visit?" Bansgate inquired, before offering the possibility of his arranging meetings with the state governor? Perhaps company heads? Other figures of national celebrity? Inventors even?

Meanwhile- (star-wipe)

Bishop Edgar Hampshand of Raysee returned to Port Gavin aboard his sloop, having snuck out of a hot-headed conference of Catholic nations abroad. He was bound for Gregoria, of course, and as hard as it was for even he himself to believe his mind played host to thoughts of a self-imposed excommunication for Eastgate. The Catholic Church had changed since Eastgate’s last contact with Rome, and he had found himself almost totally alone in wishing to forcibly spread the faith to the heathen masses of earth.

If Eastgate couldn’t find some sort of Catholic resistance to the weakening main-stream she would have to stand alone like.. like some Protestant Church of one nation or another. Like England, Walmington, or such.

He took advantage of his time in an unusually alert and interested Port Gavin to deliver a few impassioned sermons, and to employ local clergy in conveying the tradgedy of the Church's demise outside Eastgate. Street corners hosted collar-bearing young men asserting the importance of civilising the peripheries and the natives beyond, and declaring the dangers of corrupt foreigners who might dilute the faith of locals.

"Do you know" One asked "..that their are polygamists in the peripheries, and that those in the old world would scarecely care?!"

Even as the Iansislians enjoyed Goston's hospitality, and Nicobarese surveyors came across assorted mineral deposits on the edge of western states territory the bubbling civil conflict boiled over.

http://www.battleships-cruisers.co.uk/images/hmsvictoria.jpg
The Bastonian fleet approaches Great Hoode

Five fighting line gunships and two heavy transport vessels from Baston state had finally arrived off the Hoodeish coast at Fort Ludele. A fireship was sent against them, but the inexperience of the defenders meant that it sailed under unfavourable conditions, and was easily avoided- though the Bastonians broke formation there was nothing with which the periphery state militiamen could capitalise. In the end the fervent and disdainful westerners used the fireship for nothing more than gunnery practice- though the rate and volume of fire, and degree of cheering that met the boat's final sinking suggested that the crew saw more significance in the action.

Indeed, it was begining to look as if this conflict might easily become quite exceptionally brutal.

"Aye, they'll regret what they did to the King's Militia." Said a confident Lord Millard, commander of the fleet as he watched the ships turn their flanks on the town..

As the long simmering civil war (http://www.nationstates.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=96405&highlight=) became such a thing in all but official name, the western states continued their relentless progress without regard.

Charlton Arnold had for a moment faced ruin as a rival sought to copywrite key components of his best steam engine! Now, after a heart-in-mouth moment, the inventor was on the brink of making his fortune.

The western state governments (well, those of Goston and Baston at least) had agreed to construct a railway linking Port Gavin to Hexton, on Baston island- this line would meet near Raysee in mid-eastern Gregoria!

This was a daunting prospect- with scarcely two score miles of track laid in the whole of Eastgate prior to this notion, the plan called for a possible thousand plus miles of rail! Worse yet, the river Pollice and the Baston channel stood in the path of any project.

It had to be done. Arnold's engines were now pulling major loads at more than seven miles per hour. If this project went well, then lines would be struck out across the peripheries, bringing all manner of new resources into range for the western states.. and then the Flats.

Of course Arnold with his know-how and patents would do jolly well out of it all, as did the other entrepreneurs of Baston and Goston.

Gregoria, Waylu, Great Hoode, and the native populations?

-shrug-