NationStates Jolt Archive

ooc: For the ooc thread, look here.

Private Vessel Mary Jane
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

Professor Daniel Jackson pondered the hieroglyphs in his field journal. He had copied them during his last investigation of some recently recovered artifacts from the 23rd Dynasty period. With several unknowns continuing to circle about two of the four pharaohs, the small writings could shed some light on the times after the reign of Tutankhamen. But as his mind began to wrap around a familiar phrase he felt a tingle in his face and pulled away from the table reflexively to shield his spiral bound book from his sneeze. Allergies.

Above deck, Arne Lidle breathed a sigh of relief, his tiny vessel had survived the storms and was continuing eastward on its trek to the Middle East. The Mary Jane didn’t afford him any lavish comforts, just a larger cot than the crew and a room all to himself. But it also seated a few passengers for some money, and so this archaeologist had given him the hundred or so Commonwealth Credits Lidle had asked for in return to a maritime voyage to Egypt. However, as Lidle looked at his GPS system, he didn’t know where the hell he was at. During the storm, one of the larger waves must have knocked off the GPS antenna; Lidle could still radio for assistance, but he was sailing blind until he could dig up some old maps, but then again, that was the bloody navigator’s job. Let old Yuri do that in the morning.

Lidle continued to guide the ship by what few stars he could remember in his old-age, and he was pretty sure he was heading west. He hummed some songs for an hour or so until he saw a strange light on the distant horizon. Lidle knocked on the mess door to have a cup of coffee brought out to him, he had the feeling it was going to be a long night… because how often did one get to do some investigation. Lidle took a long sip before turning the wheel until the bow pointed towards the distant light. Digging for his binoculars, he cursed the poor lighting as he could make out only the faint outline of a ship… something along the lines of a fishing trawler or… but that sure as hell was funny… it was of no design Lidle had ever seen before. The light was dim, but he could make out four smokestacks atop a rather crude box-like superstructure. And some sort of fishing gear at the back… and what appeared to be…

The droplets of coffee sailed majestically through the air as the kinetic energy from their fall was transferred back into an upward motion. If Lidle had been paying attention he could have observed the natural beauty of Newton’s Laws and gravity. Instead he gasped at the sight of a cannon on the foreword deck of a foreign ship that he could not identify. He quietly pressed the alarm button, sending not so quiet klaxons off throughout the hold and the quarters. In a few short minutes the whole ten man crew stood around the bridge, joined by Daniel Jackson – no one noticing the spilt coffee. Lidle turned his lined and sagging face to the scruffy-looking crew and the clean-shaven Jackson who clung tightly to his leather notebook. “Well, men, it looks like there be a pirate out there. Off our bow. I can’t make heads or tails of who the bloody hell it may be, and well… that’s not a good place to be. We gonna’ be radioin’ ‘em and settin’ ev’rythin’ right. Mr. Scientist, why don’t you just mosey on back down to the hold and stay put ‘till we all make this right.”

Jackson merely nodded, in a slight shock that there could be pirates still sailing the seas. That was a more ancient form of combat, and to be found today in present-day Indian Ocean… not far from the Commonwealth… well… he certainly didn’t want to be shot at.

Lidle nodded to Henry James, his resident expert on radios. “Send ‘em a message, Henry. We come in peace or somethin’ like that.” Lidle found his binoculars again and just looked dead ahead at the weapons that could tear this small passenger ship to pieces, he had no weapons and was surely far enough away from the home islands that the Royal Navy could do nothing in time to save his ship and his life.

“Uh, cap’in… I ain’t getting anything other than some old-fashioned dots and dashes… real old school… Morse Code I’d reckon… but I ain’t all that good with that kinda stuff.” Lidle nodded, not speaking for yet again, another little surprise… one would think that pirates could figure out how the bloody hell radios worked. Lidle gave James the wheel and headed back towards his cabin, scrounging for a piece of his father’s history.

His old man had been a telegraph operator in one of the real old wars in the Commonwealth’s history. The story was that he had saved his ship by doing some old-fashioned Morse code signaling to his enemy and ever since then he had kept - on his old man’s advice - a small pocket-sized book on Morse code. He returned to the bridge to see James still at the wheel, with dots and dashes screeching through the small cramped compartment. “Henry, keep the wheel, I’ma goin’ up to the light house… try reachin’ ‘em with old-fashioned Morse code.”

The small passenger ship had been retrofitted many times in her long career, and yet for some reason still maintained the small light house atop the superstructure. From there, Lidle intended on signaling the distant ship, attempting to gain their attention, and to get on their friendly side. He flipped the switch and opened the tiny book, familiarizing himself with all the letters before he opened the blinds.

Unidentified Ship, this is the Mary Jane of the Commonwealth of Azazia. Are lost en route to Egypt. State intentions.

MARYJANE MARYJANE THIS IS JACKSONIAN ARMORED FISHING VESSEL RUTHTWO RUTHTWO STOP PLEASE STATE PORT OF DEPARTURE STOP PLEASE STATE WHEREABOUTS OF ESCORT STOP OWN INTENTIONS ARE NOT HOSTILE NOT HOSTILE STOP

Captain Bertrum Swansen handed the scrap of paper with the hastily jotted message to his wireless telegraph operator, then leaned forward into the high-powered binoculars fixed to the bridge’s observation platform. “Send that out directly. I can’t imagine what the devil they think they’re playing at. Egypt? Ridiculous! They won’t survive in the open water, not with krakens about. And they can’t have hardly any bunkerage unless they’re a collier, but no one would put that on a collier… who the devil designed that thing? No weapons as far as I can see… if there’s any armor at all, I will be damned…”

The bridge crew waited patiently for their captain to wind down. Silence reigned for a moment, interrupted only by the tapping of the telegraph key. Finally, the first lieutenant spoke up, “What are you planning, Bertie? It’s true; s’like nothing lI’ve ever seen before. There's hardly even any smoke. Do you think this could be an… an Ivangradnik ploy to seize our ship?”

Ever since the Mensheviks had wrested control of Ivangrand from the Imperial Governor back in 1946, they had been trying to steal technology from the other three city states. While Jacksonton and Saxburg, and even Porte aux Paul were highly developed with extencive rail and telephone networks, most of Ivangrad still languished without electricity. They were still using refitted ironclads for fishing, and the chance to capture a modern steel fishing vessel wasn’t something Ivangrad would pass up gladly… but still…

“Not likely, Algy.” Swansen mused. “The Ruskis don’t have enough ships to risk them like this, not even to capture the old Ruthy. And if anything, she looks more Pauline than Ivangradnik. But it can’t be them. The Paulines are brave, but not suicidal, and anyone who sails in that thing is going to be squid-bait. And no, it’s not a Saxburger either. They’ve got all their effort tied up in domesticating that new island they’ve taken. No reason for them to get frisky now.” He ran a finger along his eyebrow. “Even so… no, no. Gentlemen, I don’t think we can have these fool’s deaths on our consciences, whoever they are. Helm, put them a point off our starboard bow, all ahead full. Acoustics, be a brick and keep an ear out for any uninvited visitors. And guns, keep them covered with A-Turret.”

The first lieutenant nodded. “You heard the captain.” Hesitantly, he walked up beside the captain and gazed through the binoculars. “You know, Bertie, that was a very convincing bit of deduction.”

“Thank you Algy, I thought it was rather good.”

“The thing is, we know it’s not ours, right?”

“That’s right. We would have been briefed.”

“And it can’t be the Paulines because it’s too risky.”

“Quite”

“And it’s not the Saxburgers because they’re far too busy.”

“As I said, their new island is taking all their resources to domesticate.”

“And it’s not the Ivangradniks because they simply don’t have the ships.”

“You seem to have caught the gist of my argument perfectly.”

“Well, if it’s not us, and it’s not the French or the Germans or the Russians… who is it?”

Swansen smiled sourly. “Algy, you’ve put your finger on it. Precisely on it, in fact. I don’t know”

They stood together in silence until the telegraph started chattering again.

Private Vessel Mary Jane
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

Lidle stared at the small flashing blips of light, scribbling furiously the alpha-numeric translation. When it finished with STOP, he glanced down at the note he had transcribed. Interesting, but still somewhat frightening. Lidle merely folded the paper and stuffed it in the pocket of his red, patterned flannel shirt before climbing back down the ladder into the bridge. “Well men that ship out there ain’t any pirate ship. Nope, we got ourselves an armoured fishing vessel. And they’re asking us for some information, like our port o departure… and well, given the fact they have a bloody cannon on their foredeck well I’m inclined to give it to ‘em. But that’s where we stand, they say they have no hostile intentions… and I guess the only thing we can do is trust ‘em… but Henry, figure out where the hell we are and radio our coordinates back to our office, I’m sure they’ll tell the boys in the Royal Navy. Anyways, I need to get back to flashing lightbulbs at ‘em.”

Lidle climbed to the lighthouse and went to work flashing a new message at the ship on the horizon, which was closing in distance as the Mary Jane headed straight towards it, but still far enough away that his ship was still out of that gun’s range… at least he hoped she was. He found his little book where he left it, and prepared mentally the message he was about to send.

Ruthtwo Ruthtwo, Port of departure was Archangel, Commonwealth of Azazia Stop No escorts this is civilian passenger ship Stop What and where is Jacksonia Stop

Lidle prepared a pen for the response when he felt the Mary Jane slam to her starboard. He picked up his small phone, linked by cord down to the bridge, “Henry, what the hell was that?”

“Uh, cap’in, Marty here… Henry’s down sir, hit his head real hard with that hit… Our sonar seems on the fritz, musta been the storm or something, when we hit that debris field… but –“ another hit, more solid, more powerful struck the ship, interrupting Lidle’s chief engineer, “but Jesus H. Christ, sir… we can’t take many hits like that.” Lidle voiced his opinion in the affirmative and looked towards the aft of the ship, watching in awe as a giant… tentacle? He watched as what could only be described as a giant tentacle swung over the aft of his ship.

“Holy shit…”

Tag

Jacksonian Armored Fishing Vessel Ruth II
“Archangel? Commonwealth of Azazia? What the hell… Algy, I do believe they’re from Outside!”

Silence

“Well, it’s about bloody time!” Algy looked aggrieved. The bridge erupted into a flurry of cheers, backslapping, and general chaos. “You’d think someone would find us in a hundred years, but no, nary a murmur. Bloody krakens…”

On cue, the acoustics operator sang out “Contact! Kraken, two points off the starboard bow. Range… about 1500 meters. Sorry I didn’t get him sooner, captain, but the engine noise of the Mary Jane…”

“All hands to action stations. Major Wilberforce, beat to quarters if you please.”

The hilarity of just a moment before was forgotten as the crew reacted to the orders. At Major Wilberforce’s gesture, two marines began beating a tattoo on their drums. The sound sent sailors and marines scrambling to their stations. Marines crouched in firing positions on top of the superstructure with tomahawks by their sides. Sailors rushed to their machineguns and pom-poms, while the Black Crew began shoveling more coal into the furnace. A meal was shoved off a table to the floor as the ship’s surgeon laid out his knives and saws and anti-venom.

“Deck, Masthead. The Mary Jane’s been buffeted!” cried a lookout peering from the top of the communications mast.

“All ahead flank, bring us alongside her, 200m distant.”

The lookout called again, “Deck, Masthead. The kraken is grappling.”

“Mr. Bassington, is the ship cleared for action?”

“The ship is cleared for action, sir,” replied Algy formally.

“Orders to gunners: fire as you bear, but the Mary Jane is not to be harmed. Helm, bring us broadside to the Mary Jane.”

“Aye captain, rudder hard a-port.”

The bow 75mm fired for the first time with a sharp crack, raising a waterspout 10m from the Mary Jane. It fired again, and again, always missing the Mary Jane by a dozen meters or so but sending powerful concussive waves through the water. Then the machineguns opened up, stitching the water and hull of the Mary Jane with 10mm bullets. The tentacle jerked three or four times and withdrew, but two more rose out of the water, hovering high above the deck for a moment before slamming down onto it. The tentacles encircled the ship, preventing it from escaping even though the propellers were thrashing wildly.

By now, the marine marksmen had opened up with their heavy rifles. One of the large bullets opened a vein in a tentacle and it thrashed around wildly, spraying dark liquid across the deck before falling limp. The other one tightened it’s grip, and the Mary Jane groaned as it squeezed. From the Mary Jane’s bridge, someone fired a pistol repeatedly at the tentacle. One bullet must have hit, because it stopped squeezing, and smashed into the side of the bridge. More machinegun rounds hit it and it twitched back into the water as well.

The Mary Jane lurched as the kraken slammed into it’s hull. Having determined that it’s prey was too dangerous to crush, the kraken had settled for beating it into submission. But now the second 75mm had opened up, and the combined concussions were too great for the squid. It broke off it’s attack, deploying an inky cloud that had saved it in the past.

“It’s scarpering! Acoustics, give me a bearing.”

“Red 23, range 100 meters sir Depth… 50m.”

“Give me a depth charge pattern, centered on that spot! Helm, hard a starboard. But not too hard if you please. We don’t want to ram the Mary Jane after all that work.”

All five of the port depth charge projectors fired, deploying a diamond shaped pattern 100m from the Ruth II. All was quiet for about 10 seconds, then there was a sound like an enormous burp.

“Acoustics, any sign of him?” Swansen demanded.

“No sir, lost contact when the charges went off.”

“Hmm… maybe he…” Algy began, but was cut off by the lookout.

“Deck, Masthead. I seen him. Red 50, 75m, onna surface.” It was true, the massive squid was floating quietly on the surface, bleeding from the eyes and ear holes. It was limp, but a few heavy bullets in one of it’s dinnerplate eyes made sure it was dead.

Swansen smirked slightly and turned to the Master of the Hunt. “Master Sheppard, get to work on retrieving that carcass. Can't have it lying about attracting other preditors. Major Wilberforce, try to keep scavengers off the kraken and Master Sheppard’s men.” Confident those two worthies could handle the task, he asked the telegraph operator, “Any signals from the Mary Jane?”

“Why, yes sir… but… I’m afraid it’s a bit profane.”

“Well, let us have it! We are all men of the world, are we not, Algy?”

“Quite right as always, Bertie.”

The telegraph operator handed them the message.

What the XXXX was that stop why in XXXX’s name didn’t you XXXX well warn us Stop What kind of XXXX insane place is this Stop Like a XXXX horror movie Stop Who the XXXX are you and what is XXXX Jacksonia Stop

Swansen looked reprovingly at the telegraph operator who merely folded his hands prissily.

“Well, Bertie, they seem a touch agitated. How will you assuage their shattered nerves?”

Swansen grinned, and jotted down another message.

Tut tut such language stop Have you any wounded stop What say we meet on Ruthtwo for dinner drinks and explanation say at 1800 hours stop We have tea or something stronger stop

The response came back quickly.

No wounded we unable to handle stop Dinner fine at 1800 but explanations and strong drink now XXXX Stop Come over when ready stop

“Might they not trust us yet old bean?”

“Entirely likely, Bertrum. You ready the steam launch, I’ll fish out a bottle of Psmyth’s Reserve. Oh, I say, Wilberforce, would you mind lending us some marines to make sure nothing untoward happens when we toddle off to the Mary Jane? Six would be sufficient, I should think. Thank you very much, sir.”

Private Vessel Mary Jane
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

Lidle had watched the squid-like creature attack and systematically tear off several antennae. Apparently his engineer had even managed a few shots with his lousy pistol. But thanks – a limited thanks – to the blokes aboard the Mary Jane. However, they could have at least warned ‘em. Bloody hell, the ship was all banged up now. He finally scrambled down the ladder and back into the bridge, which had apparently been beat up just as well. He glanced in and found a shell-shocked crew. “Our cargo?”

James pointed to the hold, “He’s safe, cap’n.” Lidle nodded, pleased with the news, he didn’t want to risk losing his income.

“Everyone else okay?”

“Yep.” Lidle fumed, the bastards hadn’t warned them and, well he was certain to have a word with them.

Daniel Jackson pushed his small frames further up his face and shoved aside a strand of the hair in his face. The engineer had shoved him down here when that squid thing had started to attack them. But that was odd, the report on that distant ship made it seem as if it were one not from this time period. Most nations had ships that were more designed for smooth aerodynamic flow over the superstructure; this was boxy and had an unnecessary four smokestacks… perhaps an inefficient fuel system utilizing coal or something. Either way, with a meeting sure to occur it could prove most valuable to the annals of history. His reverie of fantastic discoveries was rudely interrupted by the harsh, cold knocking by Lidle. “Jackson, we’re getting some visitors onboard. I suppose you’ll want to meet them.”

Jackson stood next to Lidle as they watched a small launch head their way, Jackson took out his pencil and scribbled some notes, and a quick sketch while Lidle paced nervously, having spotted the marines onboard. Lidle quickly took the ship’s only side-arm, the 9mm pistol, and stashed it in a pocket hoping he wouldn’t need it.

The launch slowly drifted alongside the Mary Jane. Jackson pulled out his small PDA and began making notes, smiling at the men while the foreign crew climbed aboard, and the two senior crew members shaking hands.

Private Vessel Mary Jane
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

Lidle shook his counterpart’s hand. “Welcome aboard theMary Jane, captain. You’ll have to excuse the mess,” Lidle waved his hand towards the debris-strewn deck. “Let me introduce you to my first mate, Marty Leavins. Now if you’ll foll—“

Jackson then stepped forward and quite excitedly interjected himself into the conversation, “And I’m Daniel Jackson, uh… I’m an archaeologist.” Jackson looked down at his PDA and pressed a few buttons before putting it back in his pocket. “And I’d be most interested in talking to you and learning about your history, your culture, your people…” his speech slowed as he noticed that the foreign captain had stopped paying attention to him and more to the small computerized device in the pocket of his long overcoat. “This,” he asked pulling out the device, “this is uh… a miniature computer… it let’s me write memos and store important little facts, dates, anything like that.”

When Jackson saw that the man still had no idea what was going on, he let out a nervous laugh, to which he saw the man scour. “I’m sorry,” Jackson’s excited eyes dropped in his own nervousness not wanting to lose his chance to study these people’s culture. “It’s just, uh… these are quite common, actually antiquated devices from my country. A computer, it’s like… like an electronic mind… not that you would know what electronics are… it’s like a uh… mind, powered by… electricity. It helps us store information.” Jackson glanced at Lidle, who merely was shaking his head at Jackson’s inept ability to charm foreigners. “Uh, Captain Lidle, maybe you could explain how you use computers?”

Lidle nodded, “Well, captain. For starters, I don’t have many onboard, this ship – sad to say – is rather obsolete from a technological standpoint. But we use computers to do our basic navigation, communication, and radar and sonar work. Although my ship doesn’t come with much, it’s a cheap civilian ship. I think you’d be might impressed by our huge-ass aircraft carriers.” Lidle watched another puzzled look come across his counterpart’s face. Lidle was shocked, did these people not have any knowledge of aircraft carriers… now he had to admit, he was shocked that such a people could still be found, not to mention survive in this world.

Jackson interjected himself once again, “Well, it seems that you have a lot to learn about the past… few decades. I think we’ll have a most fascinating dinner conversation.” He was about to continue when he saw one of Lidle’s men whisper something in Lidle’s ear. Lidle’s face dropped.

“And perhaps you could help us with some repairs. That bloody squid managed to tear a hole in my hull. She’ll hold for a short while, but I don’t have the parts onboard to effect a full repair, which I’ll need if I am ever going to either get to Egypt to drop off Jackson or home to drop my men back off. But for now,” Lidle motioned with his hand, “if you will all follow me to our mess. It ain’t five-star cuisine, but we got some canned goods on hand.”

Lidle escorted all the men to the mess, while Jackson who followed behind everybody watched as the foreigners, whose name they still didn’t know, marveled at the little things like the TV and his own laptop in the lounge, less so to the diesel engine when the engineer took the slight detour, but along the way Lidle displayed some of the technological marvels of this small vessel. When the group assembled in the cramped mess he motioned for his counterpart to take their choice of seats.

“Well, I guess I should finally introduce myself, Arne Lidle. Captain of this ship, she’s a tough sturdy girl. But we hail from the Commonwealth of Azazia, if you’re familiar with the Pacific Ocean the home islands lay around mid-latitudes around dead center of the Pacific. Of course, we couldn’t sail from Archangel all the way here without fuel, luckily the Commonwealth has a colony established not far from here in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands where there is a… I’d say moderate military presence. We radioed our home base, so I’d say in a day or two the Royal Navy will hear of our situation and dispatch a frigate or long-range patrol craft to find us. And then you can meet an official representative of our government. As for me, I’m a mere sailor as I take it you are.”

Archangel, Commonwealth Republic of Nova Russka

Stephanie Lacon held the position of secretary for her brother’s passenger service. Unfortunately for Arne, the business was suffering from a lack of required maritime transit. Nowadays, most people used the cheaper civilian aircraft companies or the monorail system, which was being designed to link – at least initially – the developed islands. Consequently, older diesel ships like Arne’s Mary Jane were becoming entirely obsolete. She was secretly glad her husband was finishing up at law school, soon she’d be set for life.

But first she’d need to answer Arne’s little radio messages – apparently something about pirates out in the Indian Ocean, wanting the Royal Navy to do something. She flipped through the list of contacts he had given her when she started here. Apparently Arne had a friend in the Royal Navy, and he was to call him if there were ever any problems. She regretted not being able to watch the rest of her soap opera as she began to dial the number.

HMS Victory
Southeast Indian Ocean

Commodore William Bedford ran his hand over his balding head. It was true he was only in his late forties, but his family was cursed with it. And now he was cursed with a new mission. Pirate patrols. The Admiralty had received reports of pirates operating in the Indian Ocean and he had rough coordinates, that and reports of some weird creatures from the sea that had almost sunk the damn ship that reported it.

But then again, the ship’s captain was probably drunk.

Either way, he had his orders. “Communications officer, get me the commander of the frigate Andersen. No need for secure transmission, if the pirates can hear us all the better.” Bedford strode into the spacious communications room, spacious since it was probably the most important room to the entire battle group. He waited until the tele-screen became active and saw the familiar face of Commander Danielle Peterson. “Commander, good day, hope all is well.”

“Indeed, Commodore, what can I do for you?”

“We are receiving reports of pirate activity here in the Indian Ocean; that and a report of a damaged civilian passenger ship registered in Archangel. I want you to take your ship out that way and investigate, try and make contact with the ship named Mary Jane and apparently some group of locals that I have little info about other than that they are armed with a cannon, machine guns, and depth charges so exercise caution.”

Peterson smiled, “Yes, sir. Andersen out.”

HMS Andersen
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

Danielle Peterson was a young officer and despite her short-cut hair and the modest naval uniforms she was extremely attractive, thin with brown hair and blue eyes and standing at around 5’5”. Unfortunately for herself she was blessed with what the men considered extremely attractive chest, and she had fought for years against sexual harassment issues. But despite all the prejudices against her she was commanding a frigate in the Royal Navy. She was glad she made it this far, though was itching for combat. The conflict in Lindim was over, and the Lindimese admiral had surrendered before the Victory group could close in on the kill. So now she headed in the direction of the Mary Jane’s last known coordinates.

It was several hours later when she again stepped into the control room. And all was going well, nothing on surface search or passive sonar – at least no rogue submarines.

“Commander, I’m picking up some weird seismic activity.

Peterson groaned, “Specialist, do you realize we are near the boundary of two tectonic plates, the Indian-Australian and the Antarctic. Of course you’re going to hear seismic activity.”

“Right, ma’am, but this is weird, it’s moving. Circular pattern, I’d say similar to a rudimentary search pattern. But it’s seismic, ma’am. Earthquakes don’t move like that. Least not that I’m aware of.”

Peterson cut him off, “I understand, specialist. Thank you.” Peterson mulled it over in her head, the specialist was right – despite his tendency to overanalyze and blather on incessantly. Still, if it was searching, she could attempt to throw it off course. “Helm, new course 1-8-0 degrees. Increase speed to thirty knots. Short sprint.”

“New coure, 1-8-0 degrees, aye. Increasing speed to thirty knots, aye.” The deck heaved slightly as the ship increased its speed from 18 to 30 knots. Peterson glanced down at the map, in the open ocean it didn’t particularly matter where she was headed, but she wanted to make sure there were no reefs of obstacles, fortunately, the immediate area was clear.

“Commander,” the sonar specialist called out, “the contact is moving off its previous pattern, following, at a slower speed. It’s definitely tracking us, sir. Now approaching passive array… Ma’am, passive towed array is down.”

Peterson sat in her command seat, whatever it was had managed to take out their first line of detection. “Helm, adjust course to original bearing then cut engines for drift. Weapons officer, prepare sensor drone for launch from aft-starboard torpedo tube.” She listened faintly as her officers followed her orders to the letter, if nothing else her ship was well-oiled, their training was superb. Now she waited for the sensor drone to report its findings or the lateral arrays on her hull, which now faced the submerged contact, albeit at an angle. “Sonar, updates on our contact. Now.”

“Nothing yet, ma’am. Sensor drone will be in range in 45 seconds. Lateral arrays picking up distant contact, but still too much interference from the wake of our screws.”

“Weapons officer, load starboard torpedo tubes and reset targeting information. Reset values for seismic events, specifically this… whatever.”

“Commander, drone has acquired. It looks as if it’s charging us at 40 knots, not reading on thermals or EM detectors. Time to impact, 45 seconds.

“Sound Battle Stations! Helm bring us about, course 90 degrees, full speed, 35 knots. Weapons officer, prepare to launch two SUBROCs, bracket the space ahead of the thing. Shield our hull.” Peterson barely heard the orders being confirmed, already planning damage control on a torpedo or missile strike. She heard the whoosh of the canisters releasing their payload and they rocketed off to a point ahead of the object’s path. They fell into the sea and detonated sending violent concussion waves in the path of the object.

The sonar specialist looked back at Peterson, “Ma’am, sensor drone has it moving away, circling us once again. The charges must have scared away its commander.”

“Weapons officer, prepare port-side torpedoes for the same target. Helm, take sonar’s position reports and charge at the sub at an angle slightly off to its port.” Peterson felt the ship veer sharply off her prior course, at 35 knots the ship was burning fuel but running hard, almost at the same speed of the submerged object. So the pirates were using nearly undetectable submarines. That certainly didn’t seem good for the Victory. “Communications, send off a priority message to Commodore Bedford, inform him we are engaging the enemy, extremely fast submersible that doesn’t read on thermals or EM spectrums. Will report outcome. Weapons, do we have a lock on the bastards?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Weapons, fire port-side torpedoes! Helm, prepare to bring us about. Cross its path.” The weapons roared out of their hull-based tubes and raced into the waters at speeds that thankfully exceeded this sub. Peterson drummed her fingers on the armrest. Waiting for the next report.

“Commander, Sonar, target is now breaking away from us, to our port side.”

“Helm, hard full to port.” The ship lurched at a sickening angle as the narrow frigate struggled to keep its center of gravity above the level. The outside propeller revved up to its maximum while the inside went into emergency reverse. The chief engineer would curse her out later for the unnecessary strain on the shaft and bearings, but at least he’d live. The rest of the boat quickly turned as dockyard maneuvering thrusters kicked in to add a slight bit quicker turn. She looked at the display screen and saw her starboard side present itself to the rear of the sub. “Weapons, fire starboard-side torpedoes. Reload port-side tubes. Fire SUBROCs to position ahead of sub’s path.”

Peterson’s ‘small’ frigate wasn’t small by any stretch, it measured a near 135 meters in length and had a small, squat superstructure to lower the center of gravity for exactly these conditions, hard and tight turns. The forward VLS cells threw open their hatches and rocket-assisted torpedoes raced out ahead of the Andersen and the enemy sub while the starboard torpedoes splashed into the waters and kicked off their motors racing at excess of 50 knots towards the sub.

The sonar specialist turned away from his screen, “Commander, SUBROCs have detonated, target is backing turning into our torpedoes’ path. I have, one torpedo detonation. Second… detonation. Repositioning sensor drone. Give me a second.”

Peterson didn’t want to wait, “Helm, hard to starboard, Weapons, prepare to launch port-side torpedoes.”

Until this point, the ship’s gunnery officer hadn’t said a word, he had no real place during submarine warfare, but he manned the fine-detail firing radar, set to find periscopes within close proximity to the frigate. “Commander, I’m picking something up on radar. Object is in same approximate position as sub, dead on the surface. Approximately 100 meters in length, shall I fire rounds?”

“Negative, communications, get me ship speakers.” Peterson took the small blue microphone device off the ceiling, “Enemy vessel, this is the HMS Andersen, surrender. Your vessel is dead in the water. My forward gun and anti-ship missiles have locked.” Peterson snapped her fingers to the gunnery officer, who relayed a message to get his lookout on the actual bridge to report. He listened into his headphones and let his eyes show his surprise.

“Ma’am. We just killed a giant squid.”

Peterson shook her head, all that for a damn squid. But hell, it was big, probably would have knocked quite a dent in the hull. “Secure the ship from general quarters. Weapons stand down active torpedoes. Prepare a launch to see what the hell thing is, bring along Traver, she’s a science head. Bring me the report in half an hour.”

Half an hour later, Peterson finished her report to Commodore Bedford, noting the aggressive behavior by the squid. Except, according to Traver it was like no squid that she was familiar with. Cold blooded, incredible speed, and upon brief inspection it appeared that parts of the beast were heavily coated by some sort of exoskeleton armour. Apparently that drunken sailor’s report had some merit. But now they had to find the ship, or whatever was left of it. Her new orders were to continue to proceed to the ship’s last known coordinates. After she rendezvoused with the fleet oiler for refueling.

HMS Victory
South-East Indian Ocean

The briefing room was maintained in a formal setting per the orders of the Admiralty, which attempted at all times to maintain an intimidating if not awe-inspiring presence of the most illustrious branch of the Commonwealth’s armed forces. The walls lined with the former bearers of the name Victory from Nelson’s ship at Trafalgar to the Commonwealth’s own like Garner’s ship off the coast of New Britain, and the other less-distinguished ships in the history, and at the center of the mahogany table was a model of this Victory, a light carrier tasked with operation in the Indian Ocean. On this day, the table witnessed several new decorations scattered among it much like it had in the past. Although these decorations, unlike itself and those on the wall were transient, they bore their own decorations of course, but they bore worse than itself the marks of aging. Lines grew on their surface features, their colors changed after years. And as these decorations faded into dust they felt superior to this mahogany table. While dozens, hundreds of men passed before it, it continued to exist.

Bedford pulled his chair into the table, where he had gathered his chief officers. “Gentlemen, ladies, we have received the report from the Andersen. Weapons expenditures are as follows: four anti-submarine rocket torpedoes of the Mk-12 variety and four torpedoes of the Mk-80 variety. Needless to say, that leaves the Andersen with only four torpedoes left for anti-submarine warfare duty. Currently she is meeting with the Angel, our oiler where we also have crammed several small caches of weapons. I intend on authorizing the rearming of the Andersen with the intent of hunting down these pirates and finding the Mary Jane, which we still have not heard word of since her report of armed fishing trawlers and giant squids. Given the notice of the giant squids, we can presume that there must be a species of such, and I am also intending on sending the report on the Andersen’s sonar data and combat report to each of the ship’s in this command. I don’t want to tell you how embarrassing it will be to report to Breningrad the loss of a ship because of a bloody squid, that and the state of our Royal Navy after our little bloodying at Lindim. We recently have lost 1500 comrades, and several ships. We can’t afford anymore.”

“Therefore, standing orders are to proceed into the Andersen’s operating area and begin to search for these pirates, and mind for these squids. The report indicated the propensity for stalking and then striking naval vessels. With the data Commander Peterson has sent us, we shall program the ships’ inventories with this… creature as a ‘biologic – hostile’. Destroy on contact, of course when we reach home the environmentalists will be pissed as hell, but that’s tough on them. So we all know our new course, and new standing orders regarding the enemy. Does anyone have any questions?”

The officers shook their heads in a collective no, although they were still puzzled about the squids. But, Bedford was a decorated officer of the line, he had served in these approximate waters back during the initial operations in claiming the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and many years later his assignments had brought him home. These men and women trusted Bedford’s judgment, he was a fine commanding officer.

[b]Mainstreet, Jacksonton, Verdant Archipelago

Bertram was still a little shell-shocked as he walked up Main Street from the docks towards the governor’s mansion. He absently jostled people as he walked. An electric tram screatched to a halt as he wandered out in front of it. Not even the jingle of gold in his pocket could rouse him from his reverie, and there was quite a bit of gold. They had a good catch up till when they met the Mary Jane, and the kraken they killed put a sovereign in every sailor’s pocket. There was a bounty on Kraken, and the flesh was considered a delicacy.

Truth be told, Bertram was terrified. Terrified and exultant. He had made first contact with outlanders. And so, on him would lie a great deal of the responsibility for what happened next. There was no doubt in his mind that they were outlanders. Even without the enslaved minds they kept captive in small boxes and the bizarre lines of their ship, the outlanders… Azazians… reactions to the kraken attack couldn’t have been faked. Neither could their incomprehension at the extensive defenses at the entrance to the harbor, nor their bemusement at the brand new trolleys running through the street. A hot flash of shame and anger ran through him as he remembered one of the foreigner’s giggle when Algy proudly pointed them out. It was almost as bad as when the archeologist… Jackson, wasn’t it? had demonstrated his ‘antiquited’ device.

But they aren’t supermen. The thought slowed his pulse. For all their magical technology and electric minds, they couldn’t have fended off that Kraken. They hadn’t any comprehension of the dangers here in the archipelago.

He wandered further up the street, passing shops and street vendors. He paused to buy a bun from a stall, then continued up the street. Unusually, Algy wasn’t with him; he was busy refitting Ruth II and keeping an eye on the Mary Jane’s crew, who had elected to stay onboard ship.. Bertram had looked over the damage to the Mary Jane. It was extensive, but not very serious, and the dockyards could have it patched up in a day or two. Of course, he hadn’t told the Azazians that. The misconceptions the foreigners had about Jacksonton proved useful, and Bertie was able to convince them that welding a few sheets of iron onto the Mary Jane was going to be a long and involved process. He had a feeling that the Viceroy would want to hang onto them for as long as possible.

The shops had gradually given way to large, pleasant buildings with walled, flat roofs and towers: the homes of the rich. Bertie smiled to himself; he had also convinced the Azazians that he, like they, was a simple sailor. Nothing could be further from the case. Jacksonton did not simply give their most valuable fishing vessels to simple sailors, no matter how experienced. Bertie was the youngest son of Fitzwilliam Swansen, who owned a controlling share of the main small-arms producing company in Jacksonton, which meant he was a member of the aristocracy.

It was for this reason that he approached the Viceroy’s Mansion with trepidation, but not gibbering terror, for it was ringed by Needle Shrubs; a short plant that, when vibrations were detected nearby, would throw a volley of poisoned needles. Bertie remembered from previous visits that the air sacks used to propel the needles had been removed in all the plants, but it was still nerve-racking to see the deadly little plants twitch convulsively as they tried to kill him.

The door of the three story whitewashed building opened before he had a chance to ring. A liveried servant opened the door. “Good afternoon Captain Swansen. The Viceroy will see you in his study. The servant lead Bertie through a bewildering series of hallways, until they came to a simple, unadorned door. Bertie brushed off his coat, straightened his wig, and adjusted his ceremonial kukri.. He nodded to the servent, who opened the door and announced “Captain Swansen of the Ruth II, your grace.”

“Ah, good, good, come in m’boy, have a seat. You’ll take some port, of course. Appleby, fetch some port!”

Bertie gingerly sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, and glanced about. In contrast to the bright colors of the rest of the house, this room was done in dark Murderous Mahogany. It was lined on all sides with massive shelves of books. Across from Bertie sat five men. The large, florid faced man in the sitting in the largest, most comfortable chair grinned at Bertie. “How are you Bertie? Wait, before you answer that, some introductions are in order. Here on my left is General Frederic Carstairs, head of the Jacksonton Militia, though I’m sure you’ve seen him before. Next to him is Dean Bassington-Bassington. I know you’ve met; he had some interesting stories to tell me about your time at university, but no matter, no matter. We all do damnfool things when we’re young, eh Dean? On my right here is Bishop Brent, who you’ve seen at mass. And further right is ah complete stranger, of course. Your father! Hah hah! Have some port! Now what was this about outlanders? The dockyards are in an uproar, and your telegrams in were hardly illuminating.”

Bertie paused for a moment, to unjumble the Viceroy’s words. “Well, your grace, we were ten days out at sea, when we were hit by a rather large storm. We weathered it well, though we lost one of our longboats, but when we came out of it, one of my lookouts saw a bizarre ship. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen, We made wireless contact with them, and were approaching, when they were attacked by a kraken that had been hiding amongst their engine-wash. It was only a juvenile, and we dispatched it quickly, but the frantic communications from the foreign ship, the Mary Jane, indicated that they had never seen anything like it before. As they had taken some damage in the engagement with the kraken, we escorted them in to harbor. The have apparently contacted one of their naval bases which is sending a ship over to investigate. At first we tried to convince them it was too dangerous, but seeing their technology, we decided that we may as well test their capabilities by seeing if they get into harbor alright.”

The Dean leaned forward, interested. “What kind of technology?”

“Well, sir, they had a magazine handgun that was amazingly light. They can send voice messages through the ether like wireless telegraphs. The have minds that they have trapped in electric machines… thinking machines they call them, but machines can’t think! They have flying vehicles that go faster than sound itself, and ships large enough to carry them… locomotive torpedos that are even faster and can go two-score nautical miles before running out of fuel, they have rockets that seek out enemies and can go hundreds of kilometers. Their ships apparently can go twice as fast as ours, and have ten or twenty times the displacement. They have objects that aid communication orbiting around the earth like the moon, and some countries have actually landed on the moon and sent men far across the solar system…”

The room was silent.

The dean was the first to recover. His breath huffed out as he sat back in his chair, looking unusually drained. “We had theories, but I never thought…”

“Minds in mechanical bodies?” the bishop exploded. “Sacrilege and heresy! The mind cannot exist without a soul, and no mechanical device can have a soul!”

“”Now Bishop,” replied the Dean, with a cold expression on his face. “We have done experiments with steam-powered mechanical adding machines at the university, and the Saxburgers are even further ahead of us in that field. And if you think of the way we can turn words into dots and dashes and send them through the air… is it so difficult to imagine that you could turn language into numbers and use them in an adding machine?” Everyone looked at him blankly. “I see I’ll have to talk with these people… what an opportunity…”

“Not only scientific opportunities, Dean,” interjected General Carstairs. “And not only for us, unless we’re careful These people have technology beyond anything we can comprehend… we need to seriously consider the possibility that they are going to try to subjugate us. We need to be extremely careful about any concessions we make to these Azazians. Remember the treaties the British rammed down the throats of the Native Americans. We are the direct descendants of those colonial imperialists, and that’s an irony I imagine the Azazians will appreciate. Conversely, if the Azazians are altruistic, this is going to seriously unbalance the distribution of power within the archipelago. We will be in a position to exert more influence over the other countries than ever.”

“On the other hand if the Saxburgers get their hands on these things,” muttered Fitzwilliam Swansen, “we’ll be in a bit of trouble. Is there any way to conceal the existence of the other cities?”

All eyes turned back to Bertie. He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not sure. They have flying machines, so I guess it’s likely they’ll see evidence of the others.”

“Impossible,” snorted General Carstairs. “It would be impossible to see anything from that height and speed.”

Dean Bassington-Bassington pursed his lips, lost in thought, but didn’t contradict the general.

“At any rate,” continued Bertie. “Given that everyone in harbor as seen the ship, and knowing the rumor mill, I can’t believe that the others won’t find out about this and try to make contact themselves.”

“But even a small head start would give us an advanta…” began Fitzwilliam, but he was cut off by a discrete knock at the door. A servant came in with an envelope on a small tray. Irritably, the Viceroy opened it and read it. He looked up, and his lips quirked wryly.

“Moment of truth gentlemen. Apparently, a picket just detected another odd ship. This one’s armed, though… alright, here’s what we’ll do. Instruct the harbormaster to clear them a berth, and telegram them docking instructions. We will make no mention of the other nations, but if pressed will reveal the truth. We’re going to milk whatever arrangement we get for as long as possible… Bertie… you’ve met the people. You know how they think. You’re going to be on the welcoming committee.”

Jacksonton Harbor Patrol to Unidentified Azazian vessel stop Glad to see you stop Mary Jane in dock for repairs after contact with kraken no serious casualties stop A berthi has been cleared for you stop Follow the patrol craft in these waters are mined over.

HMS Andersen
Outside Jacksonton Harbor

The sharply angled clipper bow of the HMS Andersen sliced the warm tropical oceans in the wake of the much smaller escort vessel. Commander Peterson looked down from the open air bridge at the smaller vessel and its comparatively tiny guns. Of course, they could knock this ship around at close range, but one quick shot from her own deck gun, or an anti-ship missile would blow it to pieces. However, they might also have some information on the nature of this species of squid that seemed to be naturally hostile to floating ships and given that nature of possible friendship, she saw no reason to man her deck gun. Instead the Andersen was decked out in full royal colors. The naval ensign, a derivative of old England’s naval ensign, was flying proudly from the top aerial mast in hope that these former English colonists would recognize their related progeny – at least that was Bedford’s hope, he was due to arrive shortly after docking on the aft flight deck. First, however, Peterson was to dock the ship and not let its massive size or modern looks intimidate the locals before a probably inconceivable machine that could fly would bring human beings from within its hull.

As the escort led the frigate through the narrow channel, the small squat town became visible in the bright crystal clear skies. Puffs of white clouds cast shadows on the sparkling water and snake-like creatures. Ever so slowly, as the native vessel seemed incapable of high-speed transit, the Andersen passed through the rocky outcrops guarding the harbor, she noticed several heavily armed positions fortifying those outcrops. Peterson began to smile, hoping that she and her crew would be impressive as the official welcoming party of the Commonwealth. While she appreciated the work of the fishing crew, who had made first contact, they were quite ill-equipped to represent the best of the Commonwealth – not that the Andersen was the best-equipped, but certainly far more so than an old and greatly out-dated converted fishing vessel.

Between the rocky outcrops, between the mines, now trailing the escort vessel at a good distance the Andersen appeared as more than a distant aerial array to the people lining the docks. The sharp bow swept back into the main freeboard of the ship, a freeboard comparatively low to the waterline. A compact, angled-back gun sat at the front of the bow, from the docks nobody could see the hatches containing the vertically stowed missiles, there was just an empty distance between the gun and an angled incline leading to a raised platform where a small dome-capped triple barrel pointed towards the bow. The lines of the ship swept further up, behind the defence system up a surface at that same angle to a near-perpendicular outcropping that saw the few windows onboard the superstructure. In front of this was a railing and platform barely visible. Behind a spherical dome sat a matte-black board that rotated slowly. Raised above the radar system was a high pyramid with small pylons extending from the port and starboard side, each holding their own radomes. Nestled near the deck, behind the primary mast pyramid sat two funnels angled outwards, adjacent to each sitting two launches looking extraordinarily small. Then, the side of the hull rose up again, the small truncated pyramid boasting its own smaller set of radomes and aerial masts and two more dome-capped guns on its starboard and port side. Immediately aft sat a large empty deck and at the very stern flew the Commonwealth’s Naval Ensign. Peterson had ordered one further display as well, along the exposed deck which was relatively small she had sailors in their dress uniforms lining the edges of the ship, as if the Andersen were returning home to Port Blair.

HMS Victory
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

The SH-22 Heron helicopter was designed as a medium range transport, and although it would never be completely undetectable the structure was coated in radar absorbent material and was angled in such a way to reduce RCS. The Heron could operate with a range of nearly 600 kilometers without armaments attached, and since that was to be its mission on this day, with rain lashing the deck from a squall, it would serve its needs quite adequately.

Bedford knew that any pirates in the area wouldn’t be likely to detect the Heron with their air search and track radars, which would give it its reason for no torpedoes on its outer pylons. In fact the pylons would be retracted leaving less drag and even less RCS signature. This mission was to be diplomatic in nature, and unfortunately, the Admiralty had requested his attendance at this meeting, which left the Victory and her battle group in the command of Captain John Talbert. It wasn’t so much that Talbert was unfit for command, but more that Bedford was unsure of the capabilities of these pirates and the hostile squids in the area. But on the other hand, Bedford would be able to pilot the Heron if he wanted since he had limited training on the helicopter.

The 170m flight deck found itself pelted with drops of warm equatorial precipitation, and Bedford found his officer’s cap slightly wet despite the jacket he used as an umbrella. Bedford climbed into the co-pilot’s seat and nodded to the pilot, whose name he didn’t know. He placed the headphones on, “Flight Control, this is Victory Actual, ready to depart.”

“Victory Actual, Flight Control, watch out for the weather. Radar reports clear skies all the way to the destination. Have a safe flight.”

Slowly, the SH-22 rotors increased to a speed where their force of lift pulled the metal, flesh, and bone and the other constituent parts of its 6200kg weight into the air. The pilot eased the nose down slightly, and as the rotors continued to increase their rate of rotation, the 16m long flying machine sped off at a cruising speed of 260km/hr. The chopper would thus be on target in approximately one hour, and until that time Bedford read the reports of Commander Peterson, a civilization that had lost contact with the outside for many decades, and was considerably less-developed than the Commonwealth. The orders had come down from on-high to establish friendly contacts, satellite reconnaissance put the islands at a strategic location in the Indian Ocean, roughly in the center, which would provide the Commonwealth excellent bases from which to cover the whole of the Indian Ocean from the African coast to the Pacific Islands.

Ministry of Foreign Affairs
Imperium, Commonwealth Republic of New Britain

Ivan Valovich calmly sipped his tea, the sun was shining and the breeze was blowing in cooling the surface air temperatures – not that it mattered in his air-conditioned office. In the past few months he had become abnormally busy, negotiating numerous treaties for the cessation of hostilities, the acquisition of territories, procurement of arms, and many such similar programs. The Commonwealth, thiny veiled as it was, managed to be expanding its empire further to the west and south with two full-fledged colonies, that of Juristan and Victoria. Combined with the long-held territories of the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, the control of this empire was growing, and while it had been slow before, the rapid accumulation of Juristan and Victoria and now with potentially these uncivilized lands being assimilated as well, there was even more power for the empire.

But first, he would need to negotiate with this Jacksonton for the ability to develop the port for large scale commercial and military traffic, and he doubted that the locals would have the requisite materials and equipment to finish the task. He stared at the plastic computer screen in front of him, drafting small notes in his personal shorthand. The ultimate goal of empire was the expansion of economic gain, which in this case would rely on at first harvesting natural resources. Potentially oil and natural gas, potentially minerals such as uranium, aluminum, titanium. At this state, he wrote, Commonwealth industrial capacity outstrips Jacksonton by excessive amounts and so without proper internal tariffs, Jacksonton’s own economy would soon collapse with a flood of pre-made commercial goods cheaper than if Jacksonton were to develop them on their own… but that would interfere directly with anti-tariff laws in the Commonwealth’s economic regulations. Much more work would need to be done, it was sure. Valovich picked up his phone, flipped through his organizer and found the correct number. He punched it in, “Geoffrey, it’s Ivan, how are you? … Glad to hear it. Listen, I’ve got an assignment for you…”

Royal Air Force Station McKenzie
Crown Colony of Victoria

The Tilbitsen Model 400 aircraft was an older-generation civilian aircraft purchased by the government to provide long-range transport to government officials. In this case it was to transport Geoffrey Holt, the Valovich’s official envoy to Jacksonton, to RAF McKenzie where he would be taken by naval aviation to the Victory and then to the city-state. Holt was in his mid-fifties, sporting an angular face with sunken cheeks and thin lines across his forehead. His arm was also speckled with many little holes from all the vaccination shots he had received before his mission, just as a standard precaution – for both his sake and those that he visited.

His layover here in Victoria would be brief, an hour or at most, then he would fly to the HMS Victory and be transported by helicopter to Jacksonton. While there he was to meet, Holt looked back at his brief, a Commodore Bedford who would brief on the initial discussions about military rights in these islands, and after that, commercial ships could bring in equipment and begin helping the Jacksontons. His mission was simple, begin official diplomatic relations and begin trade negotiations. Holt sighed, but it would require moving to a jungle – and he wasn’t too fond of those. He watched as the plane’s crew transferred Holt’s luggage and equipment, and he followed it with a nod. Promptly he sat down and within minutes felt the familiar jolt of an aircraft taking off into the sky.

HMS Andersen
Port of Jacksonton

Peterson arrived at the port in the standard tropical dress uniform, white blouse and khakis with a small blue officer’s cap. Peterson’s blouse was adorned with several medals and ribbons showing her exemplarily service – the reasons she was in command of a Royal Navy frigate. The dock was crowded with people gazing at the first large vessel to return from what the Jacksontons called the “Outside”. Peterson had breezed through the report while en route, and indeed, the place seemed like a ship in a bottle, she laughed at the irony in that thought and she walked back into the bridge. She gazed at the compact waterfront, littered with docks, steamships, factories and church towers. She smiled for it was a scene from a history book – it was as if she was reliving her nation’s history; the first ships to what was then called New Britain sailed down the Thames from little wharfs and docks like this. Yet this history was surreal, for she stood on a sleek, somewhat undetectable frigate – one several generations ahead of what these people could attempt to either operate not to mention build. She picked up the ship’s communicator, and toggled the switch to outboard speakers, “Lieutenant Philips, extend the walkway.”

From the port side of the hull, a hatch slid open revealing the inner compartmentalization of the frigate. When the door was fully retracted and secured a walkway extended from inside the hull and landed on the Jacksonton docks. She toggled the switch to the onboard speakers. On the adjacent control panel she selected the wardroom for the small complement of Marines. “Corporal Harbough, discreetly deploy your men to protect the corridor leading to the walkway, I want no foreigners to step onboard. You are to issue rifles and sidearms.”

A small team of Marines numbering four individuals opened their small-arms armoury and selected their pulse rifles. Personally, Harbough did not care for it – he preferred the older gas-operated rifles with their higher rates of fire. However, this new rifle – though expensive and requiring more maintenance – had a greater stopping power, it would tear through Kevlar body armour and once inside the body would come apart and wreak havoc on the internal organs. Harbough smiled; at least he wasn’t on the receiving end of this fire power. Once four of his privates had gathered their rifles, he led them to the walkway, where they took up standard defensive positions behind firing shields.

Peterson walked down the plank and saluted the welcoming committee. She perked her ears at the sound of Rule Britannia, a tune she hadn’t heard in a long time. In a way it was surreal, they were treating her almost as if she was a dignitary from Great Britain, it made sense, both the Commonwealth and this land were founded by Britain. She saw the person whose image she had been briefed about, one Bertrum Swansen who was the first contact between the Commonwealth and Jacksonton. “Good day, captain. I am Commander Danielle Peterson of the Commonwealth Royal Navy, commanding officer of the frigate HMS Andersen. I am pleased to meet you, and your people as the first official representative of the Commonwealth. Shortly, my immediate superior officer will be arriving via helicopter, and he will be better prepared to deal with your questions and formalities.” She smiled, flashing her pearly white teeth. In the meantime I invite you and the rest of your party aboard the Andersen for a tour of the ship.”

When she had the consent of the welcoming party, she led them back up the walkway and into the wider-than-average corridor. An ensign on duty with the Marine guards straightened himself and saluted, “Commander.”

Peterson nodded, “As you can see, we have attempted to maintain some of the traditions of the British Royal Navy – among those traditions are strict regulations on saluting officers onboard ships and pristine dress codes. These men here,” Peterson pointed to the men in their black body armour and their black matte-finished rifles, “are members of the Commonwealth Royal Marines. This is Corporal Harbough, in charge of the small detachment onboard.” She paused to let Harbough speak, because she had no idea what she was supposed to be doing until Bedford arrived.

Harbough, who as a member of the Royal Marines did not have to follow the strict rules of the Royal Navy, had forgotten to shave and had a scruffy face and piercing blue eyes, his hair invisible underneath the black helmet. “Welcome aboard, gentlemen. As the Commander informed you, I am Corporal Harbough of the Commonwealth Royal Marines. Each battlegroup in the navy has attached several hundred Marine soldiers, and this being a frigate, there are only a few of us – although we are a heavily armed few. This here,” Harbough safed his rifle and flipped it over for Swansen’s inspection, “is the Lavarov-Arsenfield AR-28 MkII pulse rifle. It operates by… you’re familiar with electricity, correct?” Harbough saw Swansen nod and continued, “well, basically it uses a high voltage battery to charge a capacitor which stores a high charge. Upon pulling the trigger, this stored charge is released along the length of the barrel to propel a tiny projectile at speeds higher than a traditional gas-operated rifle. In effect, one shot from this rifle is enough to stop a moderately armoured man like myself. It should knock him down, and usually is enough to kill them – dependent of course on the location of the shot. It’s the most advanced rifle in the Commonwealth small-arms registry. Outside of that, we are equipped with your standard gas-operated semi-automatic 9mm pistols. These, however,” as he un-holstered his small side-arm, “are too small for the large heavy batteries in that rifle. It would still hurt if you shoot someone, but it takes a bit more to stop a soldier armoured like me. Of course, this is all special-issue. Most Marines and soldiers in the army aren’t issued side-arms, onboard a ship, however, we have several types of weapons and always carry a sidearm.”

Peterson interrupted the corporal, who apparently seemed all to glad to go on about his area of specialty. She knew that these men were interested in their weaponry – who wouldn’t be – but right now she was trying to get them to be less-fearful of the Commonwealth. Bedford would be along shortly and would start negotiations about arms deals. “Thank you, Corporal Harbough, that will do.” She waved the welcoming party further down the corridor, “now if you will kindly follow me I will take you to the Combat Information Center where we direct most of the operations of the ship. It used to be that warships fought battles by eyesight, and so the bridge was the command center. The captain – or in my case, commander” she joked, “would be on the bridge commanding the firing crew, the gun crews, et cetera. However, with the advent of radar – which allows a ship to detect and accurately plot the location of vessels at long-range – it became less imperative to watch a shell fall and manually readjust the aim of the gun. We do that all by computers now, letting the radar adjust for all the minute computations that allow us to land shell after shell directly on target. However, there have also been the inventions of missiles,” Peterson motioned for the men to enter the CIC, “which allow us to fire at targets even five hundred kilometers distant. And it is from this room, “ Peterson motioned to all the LCD screens displaying the location of the Andersen in accordance to the positions and locations of all the large islands detected by satellite. On closer inspection, the welcoming committee could see the locations of their other deployed patrols and fishing vessels as little red dots arrayed on the screen, and dots of ships whose origin were surely from the other city-states. “It is from this room that we can watch and observe all the going-ons in the immediate area. For example, with our observation satellites, we can pinpoint the locations of your fishing vessels throughout this whole archipelago. Although it is curious, we have detected patterns that establish certain vessels only travel in certain areas, and there are some ships, like this one here,” Peterson walked over to a large table-top display and with her fingers tapped on several items which resulted in a satellite aerial view of a large battleship armed with several heavy guns, “which seem to indicate that your nation has a greater military capacity than we were led to believe. But that is really immaterial, I’m sure we’ll all learn a great deal more when Commodore Bedford arrives. In fact, we should be able to see his helicopter on our radar.”

Peterson walked to another corner of the room, tapped some more buttons in rapid sequence and on the table in front of the welcoming party the battleship disappeared and a blue flashing star with text adjacent continued moving in a path towards the Andersen. She pressed some more and a small computer graphic of the general design of the helicopter appeared. “This is a helicopter, and flies relatively short distances, but is capable of taking off and landing vertically. It requires no horizontal movement to create lift. The large flat deck at the aft of the ship which I’m sure you were wondering about since it had no weapons… well that is where these craft land. Often times we use such helicopters to work against targets submerged beneath the surface. They deploy… well little balls that act as underwater sensors. They detect sounds with passive sonar systems, as well as actively ping, detect thermal signatures, scan for EM signatures. We call these things sonobouys, and they allow us to expand the detection range of the ship by hundreds of kilometers. We place them in a search pattern that covers all the approaches to the ship, allowing us to fire on an enemy long before they come within range of my ship. You see, this ship is not particularly powerful in comparison to the rest of the fleet. This ship is dedicated to working against targets operating under the surface. For example, we were attacked recently by some freakish squid thing. After it refused to back off, we blew it out of the water with our rocket-launched torpedoes.” Peterson watched the expressions of the welcoming party. Apparently, something had struck a chord. It was almost as if they were surprised that she had encountered the squid, or maybe that she had destroyed it with relative ease. She would find out soon enough, when she went to the meeting at the Viceroy’s mansion.

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the flight deck, where we’ll greet Commodore Bedford and I’ll even show you the weapons we used to kill the squid.” Peterson led them through the aft hull and brought them up through the helicopter hangar, where she showed them the ASW bird, explaining the sensors, weaponry, and basic science behind it. She pointed out the sonobouys she had mentioned earlier, and then walked them to a side hatch. She opened it and led them to a small section of the ship where there were eight little hatches alongside the outside of the superstructure. She reached inside the hatch, opened a box, pressed in a code sequence, and the hatches all opened revealing pointed missiles inside. “These, gentlemen, are slightly different than what we used to kill the squid. These are designed to shoot down missiles targeting my ship. The science is really complex behind the warhead’s purpose, however, we use our torpedoes in a similar fashion. We attach them to a rocket engine and launch them from these canisters. At high speeds they reach the targets far faster than any regular torpedo can and give us a range of hundreds of kilometers in which we can engage the enemy.” In the midst of Peterson’s explanation, the crowd began to hear what to the sailors onboard was the all-too-familiar waves of compression of a distant heavy helicopter engine. Peterson looked at her watch, the timing was good, Bedford was on schedule. She saw some of the confused looks on a few of the welcoming party. Not to worry, it will get noisy and windy, but the helicopter is completely harmless. She led them back to the hangar and held them off of the flight deck. They watched as a small grey… thing grew in the sky. The throbbing noise grew louder and louder. The welcoming committee watched the helicopter hover above the aft flight deck, and they felt the strong downdrafts of the rotors forcing them back into the hangar. Those that didn’t retreat saw the massive metal machine land softly on the deck. The door flung open and Peterson took her cap beneath her arm and raced over to the door, “Commodore, welcome aboard. If you’ll come this way, I have the welcoming party onboard. I’ve been giving a tour of the ship.”

Bedford nodded and shielded his eyes from the slowly weakening wind as the rotors began to slow. The two walked back to the amazed crowd. Peterson held back and allowed Bedford to take the front of the two. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am Commodore William Bedford of the Commonwealth Royal Navy, commanding officer of the HMS Victory and her accompanying battlegroup. If you would like, I am ready to begin the meeting right away.” The whole party walked back off the Andersen and onto the dockyards, where the brass band continued to play tunes that Bedford remembered from his studying of the Commonwealth’s English history. He found the idea of a long-lost English colony quite fascinating. Hopefully that would give him some leverage in the negotiations. But in the meantime, he smiled hiding his amusement that the locals considered trams powered by steams modern technology. Nonetheless, an isolated society that had managed to develop steam-powered modes of transportation surely had to have access to fossil fuels, a resource the Commonwealth would be most interested in obtaining. That and who knew how many other hidden resources in the thickly forested islands. He wondered why the locals hadn’t cleared the large forests on the island. It would have made sense in terms of expanding mining operations, alas, he would merely have to find out in the meetings set to occur. In several days the official ambassador to Jacksonton would arrive, however, until such time he was the official envoy, and Peterson his aide. Bedford, in the interim enjoyed the preferential treatment he was receiving. He was occasionally treated well as a foreign commanding officer in foreign ports of call, however, rarely was he treated like such a dignitary. Perhaps the Central Directorate had underestimated the appreciation of the locals when they were discovered by an outside nation, let alone one that shared a similar history. He enjoyed the light atmosphere of this place, found it far less-stressful than the far busier ports of Breningrad and Artega. And being in the tropics, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to eventually retire here, especially if it did become a colony or protectorate.

As the ceremonies proceeded, Bedford and Peterson – as well as a few lieutenants carrying official documents and draft treaties – made their way to the viceroy’s mansion, all the while taking in the beauty of a living place of history.

Jacksonton
Bertrum lead them up from the steam powered auto-carriages to the Viceroy’s mansion. The entire household was turned out on the front lawn along with twenty dark skinned soldiers in full regimentals. A unit of Gurkhas had been part of the military force assigned to the colony and their tradition of close combat and hostile terrain had paid off. Their decedents were now the resident experts on dealing with the jungle.

“If you would come this way, gentlemen, ladies.” Ladies. He was having a hard time reconciling the concept of female soldiers. Of course women could fight, all women in Jacksonton carried kukris or bush knives and pistols in case something unpleasant from the Jungle snuck in, but they were exempt from standing guard. Birth rates were too low and mortality rates among mothers too high to allow women to risk their lives in direct combat. The idea was almost as amazing as that ship, and the flying machine. Da Vinci had postulated about the machines, and the Dean had the most horrible look of longing on his face when it landed. General Carstairs had looked torn between delighted and dyspeptic; those machines could mean thousands of lives saved in the fight against Jungle, but he also had to recognize how the Commonwealth could crush Jacksonton like a bug.

Or could they? They had no experience with the Jungle, which was far deadlier than it had been even ten years before…

They were lead by a majordomo into a large dining hall. Bertie blinked in surprise. The last time he had dined here, it had been filled with imported oddities from before contact was severed with the Outside. Now it was filled with trophies from the archipelago… even the table had been replaced with the matted root-structure of the extremely dangerous ambulatory mangroves. The table was covered with cloth woven from spider silk – the cost must have been incredible – and the chairs were bonsaied vines. The ceiling was hung with enormous cobwebs misted with water, and the light from the hanging lanterns glittered in it like gold. At the far end of the table sat the viceroy, dressed improbably in khakis, a pith helmet, and a monocle clenched in his left eye. He lurched to his feet and lumbered forward, arms outstretched.

“Ah, our honored guests, welcome, welcome! Admiral Bedford, isn’t it? And your staff! Ah the lovely Commander Peterson too, charmed. Please, sit, all of you, sit down, make yourselves comfortable. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” A servant helped him back in his chair and tied a gold embroidered napkin about his neck.

How the Devil did he know their names? They just arrived! Is it impossible to surprise the man?

Slightly stunned, the Azazian officers and Jacksonian officials sat in the seats. Responding to an unseen signal, a procession of servants entered, placing large platters of food and lightly colored wooden pitchers of wine on the table.

Commander Peterson, in an attempt to rally from the repeated shocks, gestured to a large sautéed piece of seafood that had been deposited on her plate. “My, this looks delicious, but I can’t recall having ever seen it before. What kind of fish is this?”

The Viceroy shot a glance at Bertie, who smiled a little grimly and replied “That’s a bit of the Calamari we shot off the Mary Jane. Do take care, the chefs claim to have removed all the shell splinters, but they have been known to make mistakes.

“And on that note,” murmured the Viceroy, “shall we begin speaking of business?”

Viceroy’s Mansion, Jacksonton

“Why thank you, Viceroy, but I am merely a commodore in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.” With that Bedford smiled, secretly wishing that in the future this assignment would provide the impetus needed for a promotion to the rank of admiral – but that was far off from now. “But, as you wish, we can get down to the business of the matter.” Bedford snapped his fingers and a young clean-shaven lieutenant took a step forward from the rear of the room handing a black leather-bound folder embroidered with the golden seal of the Royal Navy to his commander. Bedford nodded his appreciation and turned to face the Viceroy.

“As I am sure you’re aware from the arrival of myself and Commander Peterson, the world has progressed leaps and bounds beyond what it seems you have currently developed in isolation. By that I mean no offense, however. Given your relative isolation your development without the resources of the usual large-nation economy is quite amazing. I have read some of the initial reports from the Mary Jane and their account of your military capabilities are remarkable for a long-lost English colony. However, as I noted, the rest of the world has gone sailing ever onward into the future. For example, I assume you use coal or other hydrocarbon molecules to power your steam engines, am I correct.”

“Indeed, Commodore. The tram cars you rode in on are some of the most advanced designs we’ve developed.”

“And we were mighty impressed with them, your honour. However, imagine a small…” Bedford pulled his hand into a tight fist, “imagine a small mass of material about this size, providing all the power for these islands and more. If you’re familiar with the concept of the atom, you take one of the heavier elements and forcibly split it apart. The release in energy is tremendous in comparison to the amount provided by hydrocarbons, and lasts a great deal longer. For example, some of our ships are powered by these reactors and sail for decades without needing to be refueled. Yet many of our ships still sail under power from hydrocarbons which – as the decades have passed – have become increasingly rare in this world. Some nations located in hostile deserts have become the richest on the planet from the mere hydrocarbon resources their deserts contain.”

“Which brings us to what is the first order of business; the Commonwealth government has given me explicit instructions to assist you in determining the potential untapped resources laying underneath your mostly forested islands. In exchange for these resources the Commonwealth would consent to assistance – economic, technological, and military. In fact, I should let you know that the Royal Navy is preparing an amphibious assault ship to enter the region, onboard would be nearly 3500 Royal Marines; however, it would be in part escorted by several of our – at least what we consider – antiquated patrol boats and one more advanced ex-cruiser, which would supplement your current naval forces for dealing with these dangerous squid creatures – which, by the way are very-well prepared.”

Bedford handed a small paper to his aide, who carried it down to the Viceroy. Bedford waited until the official could see the paper in his hands before continuing his mini-speech. “The Pike class patrol boat is a fast, lightly armed vessel that we designed for littoral operations. She’s equipped with a 76mm gun for dealing with – in our waters – drug runners and other illicit maritime acts. What you may find useful, however, is the advanced sonar unit in the bow. If you’ll excuse my saying so, it’s far more advanced than the versions you are probably using. However, I know from Commander Peterson’s reports of the sub-surface threat posed by these creatures; and so given that unique threat I am to assure you that these vessels could be refitted on arrival to operate depth charges and perhaps homing torpedoes.” Bedford paused realizing that they might not know what torpedoes are. “Homing torpedoes are small tubes packed with explosives that can reach speeds of up to 55 or more knots. They use either active sonar or the more advanced types can be guided from their launching platform – although the Pike is totally unable to launch those advanced types. However, the ex-cruiser would be capable of such weapons capability. Which brings me to the Excelsior class guided missile cruiser.” Bedford again passed a page of schematics and brief statistics down towards the Viceroy. “The Excelsior is very old, but some still are quite seaworthy – and those are the ones we have mothballed and ready for your procurement. She was designed to launch our first guided missiles, which is something I honestly do not believe your people are capable of understanding or using just yet in your technological development. Basically, you can use guided missiles to hit a target hundreds of kilometers distant from your ship. Say, those strange battleships you have floating around some of your more distant islands become possible threats…” Bedford was taking a chance with that statement. He knew of the distant threat, and given the lack of evidence at such comparatively large vessels in the area of Jacksonton it was possible that there existed other competing cities to Jacksonton, perhaps he could goad the Viceroy into telling him the truth of the political nature of these long-lost islands. “Well, those battleships could be taken out, well basically from here. Or at least from the open oceans near Jacksonton – it gets very complicated, but in simplicity it is possible. So, if we were to lease you a cruiser, the ex-HMS Elation, Royal Navy sailors would man the ship and run it for your city-state until such a time when your sailors can be trained in the operations of the massive ships. Which brings me to one critical factor. The ships are man-intensive. The Pike requires 61 able-bodied sailors and the ex-HMS Elation would require 368 sailors. That, and the ex-HMS Elation would come with a helicopter for long-range ASW work… excuse me, ASW simply means anti-submarine work… a submarine being a submerged combat vessel. In your case the helo could be used to detect, track, and with limited weapons, potentially engage these sub-surface creatures. Easily extending the safe operation range of your fishing trawlers by hundreds of kilometers.”

Bedford paused to take a sip from the glass of water the waiters had prepared, “Of course there are other benefits to this agreement for you. We can begin an institution to train your men and women in the more advanced sciences and attempt to leap you forward by several years. We can train you not only in operating those vessels to increase the productivity of your livelihood, but in more domestic issues – for example improving these harbors, your roads, industrial production, communications. There are many things you can learn. And now you may ask what do we want? Well, that is quite simple, we need your natural resources for our strategic long-term security. Our geologists have predicted that there might be significant veins and lodes of precious metals tied up in your hills, and oil and gas fields underneath your jungles and continental shelves. We want access to these resources – but that entails several other things. We would require a dedicated naval base from which the Commonwealth would conduct operations to protect convoys carrying out these resources from the squid creatures. In addition, we would need access to small cleared out sections of your jungle for the construction of airbases from which we would land very large aircraft – much larger than my helicopter – that would transport both men and materials for both our purposes, and yours. I am sure that many citizens of the Commonwealth would love to visit these islands for tourism, which would surely introduce a new industry and new source of income into your city-state.”

“And of course, there is the issue of your political status.” This is where Bedford knew he would face the most resistance – and hence it was the last main topic he wished to address right now. “You were a colony of England, as was the Commonwealth. However, the Commonwealth has succeeded England with regard to many colonies in the Pacific Ocean, and as such stands in a position to succeed England in context to your own political establishment by absorbing Jacksonton as a Royal Crown Colony of the Commonwealth. In doing so, we would naturally assume control of your foreign relations and your defence as well as a certain amount of taxation – though the Emperor has assured me that this would be negated for a yet-to-be-determined number of years until your economy has grown to a point where there is excess capital being generated by your local industries. You would be allowed to retain all local customs and laws so long as they do not interfere with the Commonwealth Constitution. Now I know that you are quite used to independence since you lost contact with England, however, in time nations other than the Commonwealth will learn of your existence and attempt to claim and confiscate your lands for their own empire. The Commonwealth feels it in your best interest to join the Commonwealth since you are in no condition to realistically defend yourselves against the modern armies, navies, and airforces of the entire world. However, we understand your reluctance and are willing to negotiate with you on your becoming a Royal Crown Colony.”

“I think I have covered all the basic points of interest His Majesty wished me to bring forth today. Now, if you would care to address these and other concerns, please, go ahead, Viceroy.”

The Viceroy steepled his pudgy hands and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm… a very interesting proposal. Lets start with the economic issues, shall we? Swansen?”

Swansen stood up and passed around a sheaf of papers. “With your technology being as advanced as it is, we feel that it would be prudent to impose some checks and balances on foreign investment. While we understand that investment is necessary for development, it can easily lead to… ah.. unequal reallocation of resources. To be frank, you could destroy our economy with imports. We have no wish to become Azazia’s India or Jamaica. To that end, we have drawn up several plans alleviate this problem. Either foreign businesses can invest in domestic companies and help them retool and upgrade or, should they can form a subsidiary company that must be 40% owned by Jacksonian residents. Practically, about 20% will be purchased by the government and held in trust for the citizens of Jacksonton… they will not have the advantages the government has when it comes to information gathering about the business. The other 30% will be owned by residents. Any Azazian who wants more control of the subsidiary can move here, or domestic businesses and citizens will snap up the stock options.

As for infrastructure… we simply don’t have the facilities to begin upgrading to your technological level imidietly. We have a single coal fired electrical generator that supplies much of the city with power, and we have telegraph lines… but none of these ‘telephones’. No ‘gas mains’. Our electrical wiring carries a much smaller voltage than yours. While our harbor can accept large ships… we have no way of unloading them.”

“Dean? Please elaborate on the education situation.”

“Well, most of our citizens are literate, thanks to co-church/government run schools. We also have two fairly exclusive public schools and one university. While all of them are extremely modern by our standards… I fear that they would seem somewhat quaint to you. We need teachers trained in your new sciences. Desperately. And textbooks. Thousands of them. And calculators and, soon, computers. Please…”

“All the same,” interrupted General Carstairs, “We managed before and should you leave, we can bloody well manage again. And I shouldn’t think about attempting to impose a military governor on us. These islands and waters are far more dangerous than you know, and should you decide to take over, you’ll have a warm tim…”

“Thank you general. I was just about to ask you to describe the strategic situation and feasibility of leasing a port and.. airfields? to our new allies.”

The General blinked for a moment, then continued more calmly. “A good harbor. I’m sure we can find you a military harbor… actually, not one hundred kilometers away is very good natural harbor. Better than this one, in truth. It’s deep, large, sheltered… think an undeveloped Halifax. We will lease you the harbor for 100 years, with the possibility of renewal and provide labor for developing it in exchange for the warships you described for us... and the temporary use of the crews. We will also lease you the land for the airfields for 100 years… in exchange for textbooks, teachers, scholarships at your universities, technicians, and… computers? Isn’t that right Dean? We will need to negotiate some kind of deal for the fuel, as we don’t have any… diesel refineries here in Jacksonton. Also, we will require spaces to be held open for Jacksonians in your military academies. I was actually thinking about force exchanging, you sending some of your boys over here to learn about the islands while we send some of ours over to you to learn about… pulse rifles. You really must use something else here though, those pellets will simply punch through a honeysuckle and you need to blow the dam…”

“The strategic situation, general.”

“Ah, yes. You see, we aren’t the only ones on this bedamned archipelago. There were three other colonies set up. The French were the first, damn Frogs following us everywhere. Things got a little heated in 1892, and again in 1930, but we haven’t bothered each other since, not since they got that ridiculous government of theirs… ah yes, where was I? The Prussians were next. They were on our side in 1930 but have gone to bedlam since. Damn good fighting men though, and they have bloody great ships for bombarding the Jungle. Haven’t had any trouble from them since the 1970s… they’ve been busy trying to expand against the jungle since then. Nietzsche is all very well, but they’ve taken it in their heads that only by conquering the jungle can they conquer themselves… bedlam. Then there are the Ruskis. They were the reason for the 1930 war, damned Mensheviks trying to export their poison...”

“Thank you general.”

“Quite right, your grace.”

"Now the political. While joining your commonwealth seems like a rather intriguing idea, we would prefer to remain at least nominally independant until we have a better feel for each other. Of course you will remain our conduit to the Outside, but it really is too soon to begin considering joining something as binding as a commonwealth. I'm sure you understand."

Bedford nodded, trying to take in the different sets of data. It reminded him of a situation he had faced in a simulator – a multiple pronged assault by the enemy forces against his tiny escort force. The Prime Minister and Minister of Defence had both given him their personal approval to start initial negotiations – however, he was wholly unqualified for all this diplomatic duty. Yet, it was all for the glory of the expanding Commonwealth. Bedford opened another leather-bound folder, where he scribbled on the contained legal pad a few little notes – so that he would remember the track of the conversation.

He finally looked up at the Viceroy and Swansen, and a careful glance at the general – who didn’t seem to appreciate the utter power of those who subscribed to what he called the Russian poison. In time, though, in time they would all learn how the world had changed. Slowly he picked up the glass of water and took a long cool sip, privately rejoicing in the cold liquid moving down the center of his chest.

“Mr. Swansen, I understand your concerns for your economic independence and security and I will certainly relay these concerns to the envoy en route, however, you’ll have to forgive me for not being totally sound on matters of economic theory. In theory, however, the Commonwealth has no objection to your concerns and implementing some legislation to prevent such inundation – however that could conceivably interfere with the forces of a free-market economy and I’m not quite sure how the government would take to that. Of course, any economic development hinges on a properly developed infrastructure.

“With that said, I can guarantee you that in short order that coal-fired plant will become obsolete – power demands come with industrial development. In that regard, we would be willing to assist in the construction of either a more efficient coal-fired plant or a new plant fueled with your as-of-yet untapped oil and natural gas resources. In time, your city’s ability to develop the oil and gas reserves combined with the capacity to ship it out, will yield great economic results. However, that too demands certain infrastructure developments. I think that the first would be the construction of docks sufficient in size to unload large tonnage cargo vessels.

“That, general, is where the leases become extremely important. As I’m sure all of you are aware, the continued relations and development of Jacksonton is most certainly a risk for the Commonwealth – and despite all our common ancestry and humanitarian concerns, the Commonwealth is not willing to enter into an agreement that yields anything but a gain for her people. As such, I have a few specific requirements from the Emperor and Prime Minister themselves. First, the lease for this harbour would have to be of the indefinite type – or perhaps an outright purchase – and consist of an adjacent one thousand square kilometers of land. In return, we are willing to consider several forms of payment; one is the outright purchase of this land for one billion Commonwealth Credits. If you can agree to this, we would be willing to sign treaties restricting the types of activities held upon this piece of Commonwealth extraterritoriality. The ultimate goal is to create a Commonwealth colony-city that will serve as the civilian and military headquarters for all units of the armed forces and agents of the government stationed in this island chain.

“You may have some objections to this; however, the fact is that the Commonwealth cannot operate out of ships based in harbours and quite frankly, Viceroy, as Mr. Swansen said, your infrastructure is not capable of meeting the demands of the Commonwealth. As such, the current plans I’m looking at call for this colony city to be the site for many of the high-maintenance Commonwealth built and maintained facilities for the city of Jacksonton. This includes, but is not limited to coal-fired power plants, satellite communications towers, high-capacity deep-water ports, high-capacity military airlift strips, advanced regional command and communications centers. Of course, these also require a number of technical experts that your people don’t have. In short, this is a basic requirement for any development of Jacksonton.

“We offer, as I said, one billion Commonwealth Credits, in exchange for this land and a treaty guaranteeing extra-territoriality. Furthermore, the construction of the less-advanced structures including roads the actual airfields, warehouses, et cetera could be contracted out to local firms and companies. You may be concerned that your local fishing industry could be harmed, however, your workers will be fairly compensated and their income can be used to purchase inbound foodstuffs that will be shipped by both air and sea routes, in addition to other consumer goods. This will also allow Commonwealth companies to invest their capital at a far closer distance to your people, perhaps in time with training and education, your people can even fill the more advanced, higher-paying positions in some of these companies.

“Which brings me to the education system, I also have preliminary plans for a branch system of the Commonwealth University system. Initially, again due to the infrastructure requirements, we would build a small campus in our colony-city that would train your own citizens. In time, with the development of your own infrastructure another campus could be built in Jacksonton, by which point your people would be able to begin to disseminate their learned information on to their fellow Jacksontonians. Now, the way the Commonwealth University branch system works: all students from Jacksonton would begin by attending this branch campus – no one would have the basic knowledge required to do well back in the Commonwealth. However, concurrently, we could bring teachers and textbooks to assist in your youth education. In time, some of them would be able to apply directly to the Commonwealth University Main Campuses. And the same goes for those attending the branches, after two years – if they prove sufficient proficiency in their desired major – they can apply for a transfer to one of the Main Campuses. However, your request for computers requires itself a great deal of complicated infrastructure that we can readily build in the colony-city and then expand into Jacksonton – so that may take several months to a year. Calculators are doable, they require only small batteries which we can ship in large quantities.

“As to your concerns General Carstairs, the Commonwealth consists of now nearly two billion individuals. The Commonwealth can send people to live in the far harsher reality of cold space. Should you choose to attempt to harm us, I assure you the Commonwealth stands more than ready to engage any and all forces. In the same vein, we have enough firepower to erase these forests from the surface and kill all the creatures in the sea. However, since we are to be allies as the Viceroy said, I doubt that we need to worry about any sort of military confrontations. However, in addition to the one billion for this land there are further requirements for both yours and our security. Airfields are long strips of durable materials that allow flying machines to reach great speeds and take off into the air. We will of course need several of these in addition to a main airfield at the colony-city. For these airbases simple renewable 100-year leases would suffice, for after a few decades or so the goal would be to have assisted you in forming an airforce that would be capable of operating from these very same bases either alone or in joint air commands. And as for officer exchanges, I think we could work something out, although most important right now would be simple training schools and leases or sales of our mothballed equipment to your armed forces.

“And of course you will have your concerns about joining the Commonwealth, completely understandable. However, I must ask you to look into joining some sort of at least dependency relationship with the Commonwealth for the time being. Your nation is extremely vulnerable. However, should you choose not to accept any of this, I understand. At which point I’m sure the Emperor and Prime Minister will permit me to travel to the other city-states and make similar offers. So how does this sound to you, Viceroy?

OOC: SInce I can't get you on AIM... A friend of mine, Praetonia, wants to join in. Perhaps having intercepted some communicaitons traffic, tehy decide they want a peice of this. Either they make contact with another one of the cities, or they land on their own and get eaten by plants. But if they decide to go after the... germans, say, it could be a nice setup for a proxywar.

Also, I'd suggest installing a biomass power plant in Jacksonton. We have LOTS of biomass, and this is a good way to get rid oif it (and save the valuable oil for export).

And wouldn't it make moire sence to expand on the facilities we have than build a whole new city? you underestimate the problems of building in tihe jungle.

And we aren't as far behind you as you think. OUr art's programs are very good... anyone who's gone through the government school system is fluent in at least two languages... if you've gone through the public system you should be fluent in english, latin, greek, and one or two more. While we lag behind in esoteric math, we do know calculous... the lack of calculators also means many of us are brilliant mental mathematicians.

“Oh good lord no, we have no intention of limiting free trade! The Empire was founded on the principles of trade, and we would never consider attempting to limit profit making opportunities.” The viceroy glanced from side to side at his fellow Jacksonians, who were all smirking. “I can safely say that ever person in this room owes their position and wealth to shrewd investments. But as successful businessmen, you must understand we wish to protect our investments. Our proposal was merely one that would allow for protection of our workers… and our investments. If you were willing to instead fix the exchange value of our currency at a level that would allow equitable trading, that would be acceptable too. And while we greatly desire the improvements to our city, particularly in power generation, this is definitely is a area where the government of Jacksonton must have a considerable degree of control. If actors who did not have our best interests at heart were to purchase the powerplant, it could lead to difficulties. The same situation exists for many other industries… we simply must have some input. Perhaps heavy investment either by the government or by certain influential individuals would succeed in assuaging our fears?”

“Improving our dockyards is of course an important improvement that must be made with all haste, however in the meantime perhaps you could anchor your merchantmen in the middle harbor and unload them via lighters and barges? Or that magnificent flying machine you demonstrated?”

The viceroy hesitated for a moment, and then continued. “It… is also possible we may not need to ship in oil all the way from Azazia. Though Jacksonton does not have a refinery, certain other powers in the area have oil refineries, as well as petrol and diesel. The lack of easily accessible onland oil wells near Jacksonton has retarded our research in internal combustion engines regrettably, but the others… They can only supply oil in small quantities of course, but this may be cheaper if you can convince them to participate?”

“For the harbor, we can negotiate a permanently renewable lease or outright sale, but first we must have some idea of the exchange rates… one billion certainly is an impressive sum, but it is meaningless unless we know with what it is backed? Gold? Gems? Platinum? As it happens, there may be a perfect location for your base… we are an archipelago of course, we could simply sell you an island, or two, or even five!”

“We do have a relatively large labor base, I doubt that your construction requirements will detract significantly from our necessary industries, and we would be able to free up even more should you send some soldiers armed with your fantastical weaponry to aid us in keeping back the jungle. We will of course, send advisors in dealing with the local flora and fauna too. Dean, do you have any people you can spare? Good.”

“However, I fail to see the advantages of setting up a campus on an isolated military base on an island that needs to still be cleared… a much more involved process than you believe, Commodore. We require technologists and teachers now if we are to aid you and progress. As for not having sufficient knowledge to do well in a Commonwealth school… that attitude exhibits the precise kind of arrogance we wish to avoid in our relationship. Every graduate of our school system speaks at least three languages. We have extensively studied the classics and more modern literature. Our knowledge of the sciences, though incomplete in specialized fields, no doubt is sufficient at a macro level for introductory courses. Many of our students can perform complicated mathematics in their heads without the aid of a slide-rule. Further, the fastest and best way for our people to become acclimatized to your technology and culture is for us to experience it firsthand. Surely an a student in foreign languages would not need to use your computers initially? And while we may be ignorant in comparison to you, we are not stupid people. We have survived in an environment more deadly than any discovered by the English, and therefore anyone, for one hundred years without any outside contact. While your thinly veiled threats of military intervention make it clear we would not stand up for a minute against Commonwealth forces in a conventional battle, please understand this. We would make you bleed. Is that quite understood, Commodore, or do you have more insults to deliver to me in my own house?”

Bedford smiled from the left hand corner of his mouth and with his left hand rubbed the tip of his nose. “Viceroy, I never intended any insult - if you misconstrued any of my statements to be such, it is simply that. A misunderstanding. I do not doubt the strength of your culture and the importance of that strength in your own independent evolution apart from the rest of the world. I daresay that your development is impressive, and I don’t doubt your military capacity to inflict, well as you would put it, a flesh wound, upon my vaunted Commonwealth. However, until you brought such thoughts into this discussion, no such thoughts were in the minds of this delegation. We intend merely to advance the national aims, goals, and security of both the Commonwealth of Azazia and the state of Jacksonton.

“So,” Bedford continued his sly smile becoming a much more serious straight line on his face, “that being settled, I would advise we continue along with out discussions, which I had hoped were at least becoming somewhat productive. Unless you feel otherwise and wish to end these discussions.”

Bedford paused, trying to gather his thoughts. Damn Jacksontonians, so smug and self-righteous. Didn’t they realize that the Commonwealth was their only means of continued survival? Foreign powers were surely learning slowly of the ongoing operations in the Indian Ocean, the Royal Navy couldn’t hide the presence of its carriers and assault ships forever. Not to mention the apparent leaks back home - word had come down that the press had gained word of the discovery of the archipelago and were already making claims on the Commonwealth furthering its imperial ambitions. Sooner rather than later, the world was going to come to Jacksonton, and more than likely they would simply roll over these lands - or at least try to - with conventional military forces far superior to those operated by Jacksonton. They had to see their relationship with the Commonwealth as necessary.

“Now, you mentioned the purchase of a few islands. And your concerns about the Commonwealth Credit. Let me see if I can address these outright. The Commonwealth Credit, first of all, is not linked to any precious metal whatsoever, although this does not preclude the Royal Treasury from maintaining a supply of such materials in case of any emergencies requiring their use. Now, if I am not mistaken, you have been isolated from the world since the late nineteenth century. And since then, well many changes in economic theory have come about. I will attempt to explain the best I can, I did take some courses in economics back in the Royal Academy but I am no practicing economist, so please bear with me.

“The world, for the most part, now operates under radically different economic policies as compared to that of the nineteenth century. The world, at least the great majority of it, operates under the guiding principles and directive of the free market - the same one both our nations hold in high regard. That said, currencies have evolved to a point where they are no longer backed by precious metals or other valuable commodities. Exchanges are governed by demands in foreign states. Currently, the world operates with various currencies - if I am not mistaken there is a single currency called the… Nationstates Dollar which operates as the fundamental base off which all others are valued. Currently, one Commonwealth Credit is rated anywhere between 2.5 to 1.5 of these Nationstates Dollars. Of course I don’t know anything about your economy or currency so I can’t even imagine how much your currency would find itself valued. Yet, I might even consider purchasing some of your currency eventually should you enter into such a free-market fiat system, because the Commonwealth’s investment in your nation would logically lead to nothing but a healthy, diverse, advanced modern economy. And I do remember this, buy low, sell high. Back to national matters, I think it would be safe to say that should you adapt your economic system to the international system, one billion Commonwealth Credits would be in the range of 2-4 billion of your own currency, pounds I presume? It doesn’t really matter, but that’s the basic idea. Hopefully that makes some sense.

“Now about the purchase of islands, that would be an ideal solution to the Commonwealth. We understand your concerns about the reduction of unwanted flora on these islands, however, I assure you that with your support through techniques and technologies, and our advanced and developed resources in addition to advanced technology, the Commonwealth will be able to effectively clear enough space for the development for a viable Commonwealth Overseas Territory.

“I realize that you need immediate assistance, and to that end educators should be able to arrive within the coming weeks. We will need to arrange for long-term housing and travel accommodations for these individuals. In addition, we should be able to send engineers to assist you in increasing the efficiency of your coal-fired plant, something that will become increasingly necessary as you further develop your infrastructure - especially the labs that will be required our professionals and instructors. To that end, of course these individuals are going to have concerns - just as well as you have concerns for your own national security. To that end, perhaps a joint power regulator could be negotiated. Say, for instance, we create an agency to oversee power generation and power generation facilities in Jacksonton that would be a 50-50 split in terms of responsibilities and profit sharing. The Commonwealth would provide the engineers and instructors necessary for plant upgrades and would instruct the Jacksontonians employed in the techniques and sciences required to run the upgraded equipment. This partnership would last until that plant shuts down its operations. It is my hope, and that of the Commonwealth, that by the time that plant ceases to be safe to operate, your people will have become educated enough to build newer advanced plants that will run by your own companies and people - unless they specifically ask the Commonwealth Ambassador for assistance. And in that case the same joint partnership would be fully applicable.

“Of course one important means of power generation is through refined crude oil. You say that other city-states maintain limited access to such resources. You also suggest the Commonwealth potentially intervene and open this oil to Jacksonton. Given appropriate reimbursements, there would be no significant opposition to this back home, oil is perhaps one of the most valuable commodities on the planet as you’ll come to know very well. There are several ways in which we can do this. Firstly, most obvious is the military conquest of all fields and their facilities. This, however, has many complex ramifications - a war this far from home is not something we are exactly looking for. But there are other options. Long term, perhaps it would be possible to establish a confederation of your city-states that combine resources for the common good. That is actually the model that the Commonwealth has adopted, in principle. Then there is the possibility of direct sale of oil to Jacksonton. This would require a great deal of monetary resources I imagine, however, given the leverage of the economic might of the Commonwealth I am sure that we could broker some deal that you provide us with some services or goods and we will supply the funds necessary to procure this oil for you. And deficieny in the required balance I’m sure the Commonwealth would be able to supply you with. Our western portions contain vast offshore oil fields.

Bedford paused, he didn’t think he was forgetting anything. And he certainly hoped the viceroy didn’t misunderstand anything further. “I think that about covers your complaints and concerns.”

The Viceroy looked steadily at Bedford for a moment. “I am sure you find our defensiveness amusing, Commodore. And since you are merely a military man and not an actual diplomat, I shan’t concern myself with your continued rudeness. But it would be good if a trained diplomat were sent, and quickly. Still, have you forgotten the lessons of Baklava? Of Kabul? The fate of General Gordon? What’s more, even if your study of history has been lax enough to ignore these incidents, your lack of common manners is absolutely appalling. Had you behaved in this manner in Saxburg, you would not have left the room alive. This is not idle boasting.. we have no love for the Saxburgers… absolute savages, all of them. I merely hope you reconsider your preconceptions. Perhaps we could arrange for a hike through the jungle for you? With guides and an armed escort, of course. And I do hope you are present when your men begin to clear the islands.”

The Viceroy blinked, and suddenly returned to his former jovial self, grabbing for a basket of buns. “In any case! Your currency is not based on anything solid? Remarkable, that, though it must be a bloody headache, eh Swansen?… there was an experiment like that in a French colony once, but they buggered it all up. Can’t get anything right, eh? Well, four billion pounds, that’s quite a little bundle, but lets get an analyst to look at the figures before we agree to an hard numbers. After all, it is perfectly possible for a bachelor to live in style on 1000 pounds a year.”

“As for housing, for your people, that is one thing we can provide fairly easily. There is an abundance of building materials, and we should be able to have a set of comfortable buildings up in no more than a month. Your ‘energy board’ sounds like a perfectly workable idea until we can get an alternative source of power. As for the others… conquest shouldn’t be necessary. In fact, we would rather frown upon it. They would be foolish not to trade for technology too. And we would actually prefer closer relations with them… but the dangers of travel have restricted trade and communications rather brutally. Still… you understand if we request you not traffic with them in… certain goods. Warships, for example. Or your rifles… both are unacceptable.”

[OOC: Are you trying to have Bedford antagonize him? =) Smirking at a leader’s threats is NOT polite. Ah well. Whatsay we end this part of the negotiations with your next post, draft up a treaty with Jacksonton and the others, then I can start a little infighting and you can beign fighting your new island? Unless you want Bedford to go for his education hike through some of the less dangerous, recently cleared areas =)]

Bedford nodded, noting that without a doubt the viceroy was far better at diplomacy than himself. However, the Commonwealth needed someone on the ground immediately and without an official from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Bedford was the most senior officer and representative of the government. Now he just hoped that the dispatched envoy would arrive today, and not two days from now.

Then again, Bedford was growing more and more tiresome of this impetuous viceroy. He didn’t doubt that these jungles were a difficult environment – otherwise the city-states would have consumed the whole of the territory. However, the Commonwealth had a far greater pool of resources to draw upon and Bedford knew that the Commonwealth could accomplish its aims of forging new commercial colonies.

“We understand your concerns about an arms trade quite well. Believe me; Jacksonton is considered a long-lost little brother who we’ve just found once again. We have no intention of placing your security in jeopardy by advancing these other colony city-states. Consequently we’ll sell weapons only to your state. We do, however, concur that opening peaceful relations with your neighbors would be in everyone’s best interests.

“Outside of that it seems as if we have everything else in order and I’m ready to return to my ship and start drafting the official treaty. In addition, when it is completed there will be an official civilian envoy with whom you can conduct your business. I shall return to being the senior military officer on station in the Victory.

“So if that shall be all, gentlemen.” And with that Bedford rose from the table, saluted the foreign dignitaries though he by now despised them, and placed his cap back on and exited the room, followed by the rest of his naval entourage.

Jacksonton, Verdant Archipelago

Geoffrey Holt had finally arrived in the sleepy port city of Jacksonton. While the town was certainly busy for its size, its size was trivial in comparison to the larger ports back in the Commonwealth. Of course, this was as far from the Commonwealth and the realm of the real world as one could get; taking that for what it was worth, the city of Jacksonton was itself an impressive accomplishment.

Though still pale to the great ports of the Commonwealth.

In the past weeks, Bedford had made his rounds in the archipelago, exploring the island chain’s geography and attempting to get accurate surveys of the ocean floor. With the assistance of some Jacksontonians they made contact with the other city-states on the islands: the Germans, French, and Russians – all of them abandoned by their mother countries centuries before.

In his hands at the small outdoor café where Holt sat was a report on the outcome of the meetings with several of the representatives of the various cities – compiled of course by the Royal Navy. In due turn, Holt would become ambassador solely to Jacksonton, although with limited staff in the Indian Ocean he currently held the post of ambassador to all the independent states, which he did not relish in only because of the dangers of traveling to the distant cities. Sipping from a glass of water, he propped one leg up against his chair and with his back against the wall, began to read through the report.

Report on the Talks in Saxburg

The team was greeted at the German port, where we were allowed to see what our hosts called the most powerful ships in the archipelago. To me, they looked merely like World War I era cruisers and such, but compared to what we saw over in Jacksonton, the case could be made that they really are the most powerful ships – outside our own. Either way, large guns are still large guns, and they can rip holes through little patrol boats. Something to make note of.

In the palace or whatever the building was called were German bodyguards in the damnedest form of armour I’ve ever seen. They looked like walking bugs almost. When one of the ensigns with us asked our host, he responded about them being insect carapaces from creatures living out in the jungles. Pretty interesting stuff, makes me wonder how effective they are in actual combat, though I doubt these Germans would be familiar with the nuances of modern-day combat.

When we met their leader, I was impressed by the austerity of the entire court culture. Very professional and militaristic. Almost like stepping into a history book with the page turned to Prussian militarism. The talks were short and quick, a noticeable difference from our comrades over in Jacksonton. They want modern crops and the requisite accessories, chemical pesticides, et cetera. They also made not so subtle hints about acquiring Commonwealth weaponry. To that I gave the not so subtle hint that it would not be allowed at this time, perhaps in the future. They also wanted heavy machinery, bulldozers and the like. Very similar to the needs of Jacksonton. It’s as if our arrival has greatly altered the balance of power, or at least made it seem to the natives as if we’ve altered their balance of power. I wouldn’t be surprised, given the German concerns over our, what they considered overt signs of alliance with Jacksonton, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the Germans start some trouble. They have the ships and the technology, they have many of the advantages.

After a large feast in our honour, featuring native twists to German dishes, we began the long process of negotiating actual treaties. I’ve arranged for a similar deal to that of the Jacksontonians; the Germans will get their modern crops and pesticides, though I’m holding off on their access to advanced technologies in order to try and re-establish some sort of equity between the powers that be.

The remainder of Bedford’s actual notes on the meetings summarized commentary given and sights seen during tours of the German city of Saxburg. The only other serious point of interest was a single German civilian being caught attempting to sneak onboard the HMS Andersen while she was docked. Bedford seemed upset and worried about the incident, even going so far as to claim he doubted German assurances that it was a mere civilian.

The next stop on their tour was the Russian city of Veragrad. Holt flipped the page over and found Bedford’s notes on the Russian part of his journey.

Report on the Talks in Veragrad

Commies have got something going right. From everything we were led to believe by all parties previously encountered, we were expecting a backwards society that would be quite resistant to adopting modern technology. Instead, the Russian city was the most open to our arrival, throwing a large celebration. Of course, their leaders made note of the possibilities of increased trade, which was too blatant to be read any other way than “sell us your technology.” However, they did seem genuinely interested in merely closing the technological gap, as they are apparently the furthest behind.

To that end, we quickly negotiated the dispatch of instructors in engineering, the maths and sciences, and many other areas to help the Russians catch up. In my estimation, the German city, with already several other colonies on nearby islands, is concerned with expanding German influence – perhaps through physical invasion of the remaining city-states. It is to that end that I negotiated the sale of several old gun boats to Veragrad. Our older littoral gunboats with heavy machine guns and searchlights – nothing fancy, but they’re faster than what they have now, and they should be able to do circles around anything the Germans might decide to throw at ‘em. Furthermore, we laid the groundwork to send further teams to negotiate for advice in designing coastal batteries to defend against any German heavy ships that might try and take advantage of the Russian weakness.

Holt closed the file and picked up his glass of water, now nearing empty. He signaled the waitress, an attractive young woman whose flirting was likely less of interest in the single diplomat than in getting a handsome tip from the strange, and likely wealthy, foreigner. Either way, he smiled when she returned with the glass. Holt dabbed a piece of cloth he kept in his pocket and ran it around the side of the glass, covered in condensation. He used the soaking cloth to cleanse his forehead from the beads of perspiration that had begun to form. There were certainly drawbacks from a posting in the tropics. The high heat and high humidity were tops amongst them.

Opening the file once more, he continued on to the last city with whom the Commonwealth had contacted, the French city of Porte-au-Duc.

Report on the Talks in Porte-au-Duc

It’s good to see the Frenchies haven’t forgotten about artwork. The Germans were too austere, and the Russians to far behind, and the Jacksontonians to concerned with money. The French have, at least, a city that looks like a capital. Even if it is a capital of nothing. The French city is well laid out and well kept, given the circumstances of course. And they were certainly very formal and diplomatic in greeting myself and my entourage as we arrived on the Andersen.

Their tour of the city convinced me that above all, the French are the most… if not educated, most diplomatic of the lot. The coming conflict I keep talking about, the French could play an important role in mediating the conflict should they wish to keep it amongst themselves. At least, those are my impressions so far.

Our actual meeting, and the obligatory meal – quite sumptuous of course, given the French’s skill in cooking – was quite successful. We agreed upon the transfer of crops and such, in addition to heavy machinery that will assist them in further expanding their city. They probably seemed the least hostile to the fact that we are here to stay, and have agreed to open up to us in trade, although to a much lesser degree than that of Jacksonton – who after this meeting seems to be the commercial heavyweight in the islands.

Instructors will also be sent to Porte-au-Duc in an attempt to bring them up to speed on everything that’s been going on around the world. And they seemed receptive to one of my suggestions at forming a more cooperative arrangement between the four powers. I mentioned this as this meeting was the conclusion to our tour, and having not seen any real military counterweight to the Germans, perhaps peace could still reign through diplomacy.

The remainder of Bedford’s reports, although upon his inspection they seemed less like polished reports and more like quickly written post-factum notes on the meetings, contained elaborations on the ceremonies and other fluff material. The problem was that the arrival of the Commonwealth had seriously endangered a fragile peace between the four sides. On one side lay permanent peace and growth that would lead to a wildly prosperous Verdant Archipelago. On the other side lay a bitter protracted war that would only to continue to keep all sides far below their potential. Either way, it seemed that he would have his hands full trying to keep all sides from thinking that the Commonwealth favoured one side more than the other – although Holt knew well that in reality Tetley and the government preferred a Jacksontonian hegemony on the islands. But this was all a moot point for now, the treaties had been signed and in the coming weeks the first instructors, textbooks, grains, and other foodstuffs would begin to arrive in the cities. The first real tangible influence and mark on each society brought by the Commonwealth. For sure, Imperium would now own a special place in the history of the islands – the clash of the two peoples at sea would forever on be considered a turning point.

And as he watched the slender waitress approach him once more, he smiled. Perhaps in the end, they wouldn’t be so hostile towards their big brothers. Perhaps they could all become close friends. And as the waitress returned his smile Holt couldn’t help but to add, with benefits. Friends with benefits.