Democratic Colonies
01-08-2006, 23:15
[This refers to Terra Recedentia (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=492701)]
”No colonialism! No to imperialism!”
“Stop the rape of mother Earth! Gaia is our sister!”
The protestors filled Union Square, their massive signs and paper effigies filling the massive plaza in the heart of the nation’s capitol. Located a stone’s throw from the Capitol Spire, the nexus of the federal government, Union Square had seen many protests in its time. On this day, the protesters were the environmentally minded, the defense of nature being their common calling.
As Walter Marshal’s motorcade rolled up and stopped in front of the Capitol Spire, the protestors surged forward against the lines of police officers who kept the angry mass of protesters behind a row of barricades.
Journalists and photographers, cameramen and reporters swarmed the luxury limousine in the middle of the motorcade as Marshal stepped out of his air conditioned passenger compartment and into the tangibly smoggy air of the capitol.
“Mr. Marshal,” asked a reporter, shoving a microphone into the business executive’s face. “What is your response to the accusations that your corporate group has damaged the ecosystem of the – “
“The Marshal Anderson Group has always acted in accordance with the environmental regulations of this nation,” interrupted Marshal as a pair of his bodyguards shouldered the press out of their employer’s path.
“Mr. Marshal, what do you feel that MAG’s ethic responsibilities are in the lawsuit by the Sierra Club regarding your – “
“No comment,” said Marshal, pushing another microphone away from his face. Photographers lifted their cameras high above their heads, snapping photos continuously as Marshal made his way up the massive stairs of the entrance into the Capitol Spire.
“Do you feel that the government grants your corporate group special treatment because of its position as the second largest employer in the nation?” asked a reporter as Marshal walked more quickly, hoping to escape their questions.
“Sir, the new Surgeon General’s report regarding air quality – “
“Claims of irrevocable damage to the outlying wetlands – “
“Allegations that you will strip-mine the natural resources of this new – “
While the questions differed, the answer remained the same.
“No comment.”
*****
Foreign Secretary Jaeger watched as a giant paper version of himself was lit aflame by protesters. Atleast, he thought it was himself – it was a bit hard to tell, since the effigy had been given a monocle and a top hat.
A knock at the door interrupted his idle thoughts.
“Come in,” he said, turning around to greet his guest.
“Sir Jaeger,” said Marshal respectfully, extending a handshake to the Foreign Secretary.
“Please, have a seat, Mr. Marshal,” said Jaeger. “Can we get you something to drink? Tea, coffee?”
“Thank you, I’m quite fine,” said Marshal, sitting down. He set his briefcase on his lap, snapping it open.
“I think you’ll find the Marshal Anderson Group’s plans for Terra Recedentia to be quite superior to those of our competitors” said Marshal, pulling out a thick folder. "I know you've seen most of these already, but a new soil analysis..."
Jaeger watched the business executive, examined him, and ignored the files and folders and reports that he piled onto the massive oak desk.
It had all started some months ago, when Terra Recedentia, the massive continent far from the Democratic Colonies’ borders, caught the attention of the public at large. The massive, relatively untouched continent, competitive with Africa in terms of sheer size, seemed like something out of a storybook for the overcrowded citydwellers of the Colonies. The public thought it was ripe for adventure, for discovery, but even the most starry eyed citizen soon realized the economic potential of Terra Recedentia as well. The Democratic Colonies needed oil, food, natural resources of every description. The only question wasn’t if, or not even when, but who would oversee the harvesting of these newly discovered resources? Only a corporate giant would be able to properly make use of the vast potential of the unexplored lands of Terra Recedentia, the government believed. That much had been decided – what remained, was the question of whether Marshal Anderson was the right corporate giant for the job.
“… our shipping assets should be able to offer frequent transportation to and from Terra Recedentia, with minimal Naval escort,” said Marshal, continuing to speak as Jaeger sized him up.
“Show me on the map,” said Jaeger, pointing at a massive LCD screen that occupied an entire wall of his spacious office. The flatscreen flickered to life as Marshal approached, displaying a map of Terra Recedentia.
“Show me your plan,” said Jaeger. “I’ve read the reports, but I want to hear it from you.”
“We set up a port here ( http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/5045608a.gif),” said Marshal, drawing a box with his finger around a natural bay. It was instantly highlighted as his touch was detected.
“We build a port here, as we already have a deal with the local natives to do,” he continued. “The locals at the end of this major river here are friendly, but less then advanced. No electricity, only some running water, and most critically, under constant assault from the barbarian tribes to the east of them. They’ve held back the barbarian tribesmen with some basic firearms – bolt action rifles, mainly, with large automatic weapons serving as fixed defenses. They recognize, however, that we can provide a better protection for them from the barbarian tribes –“
“Look, you need to stop saying that,” interrupted Jaeger. “Please tell me you don’t say that infront of the press? They’ll eat you alive for that kind of comment.”
“Ofcourse not,” said Marshal, “but that’s what those tribesmen are. I’ve read reports from our friends at the riverside – the tribesmen are violent murderers, rapists, aggressive conquerors.”
“Have you independently confirmed this?” asked Jaeger.
“No,” admitted Marshal, “we haven’t been able to. My people on the ground though, saw the corpses recovered by the Gyndillians – those are the people at the end of the river – my people saw the corpses of a Gyndillian foot patrol that had been ambushed by the tribesmen to the east. They had been mutilated, Sir Jaeger, cut and ripped apart, mutilated beyond any semblance of their former humanity. There are photos of this violence – the tribesmen of the east are savages, barbarian hordes that the Gyndillians want our protection from.”
“Alright, alright,” said Jaeger, noncommitally. “Tell me more about the arrangement with these Gyndillians.”
“MAG prospectors set it up,” said Marshal. “I know that government negotiators working with prospectors from Perim Nealon Regal didn’t get much progress with their negotiations with the tribe at the rivermouth to the south, but we managed to clear a deal with the Gyndillians. They’re ruled by a Council of Elders, who they believe are guided by the spirits of their dead ancestors. This Council of Elders tells us that they’ve been at war with the uncivilized tribes to the east for generations, and that they want our protection and our modern technology - healthcare in paticular. In exchange, we will be able to build a port, they will integrate into the portside town that we intend to build, assist us in construction, and help direct us to local resources.”
“Your report stated that you weren’t clear on what, if any local resources existed,” said Jaeger. “The prospectors from Perim Nealon Regal believe that they’ve already located a vein of iron at the rivermouth south of yours.”
“But they don’t have a settlement deal,” countered Marshal, “And we do. Besides, even if there aren’t any local resources, no oil or steel or natural gasses within a 200 kilometre radius, we already intend to explore downriver anyways. And even ignoring that, the land should be suitable for farming – we have specialists being sent there right now to verify this.”
Jaeger was silent as he considered Marshal’s words.
“You’re not exactly the most popular figure in the Democratic Colonies right now,” said Jaeger simply.
“Federal spin doctors are the best in the business,” replied Marshal. “I’m sure you’d be able to spin me positively.”
Jaeger leaned forwards, putting his hands together on his desk.
“Perim Nealon Regal guaranteed the creation of 20,000 jobs on Terra Recedentia within one year,” Jaeger said. He eyed Marshal expectantly.
“Then I’ll guarantee the creation of 20,000 jobs on Terra Recedentia within three months, not counting the Gyndillians” said Marshal confidently. “I have the local support. I have the manpower. I have the will – all I need is military protection, on the sea from pirates and on the ground from those tribal savages.”
The two men locked eyes as billions of dollars hung in the balance.
“You’ll do it then,” said Jaeger at last, rising from his seat. He walked over to the beaming Walter Marshal, shaking his hand once more.
“I’ll send it back to the Legislative Assembly, it’ll take a few weeks,” said Jaeger.
“That’s fine,” said Marshal. “With your recommendation, they’ll give me the contract. You’re their golden boy – they’ll trust your judgement.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” said Jaeger as Marshal began to collect his papers from the desk.
“Come on,” smiled Marshal. “Have we ever let you down?”
”No colonialism! No to imperialism!”
“Stop the rape of mother Earth! Gaia is our sister!”
The protestors filled Union Square, their massive signs and paper effigies filling the massive plaza in the heart of the nation’s capitol. Located a stone’s throw from the Capitol Spire, the nexus of the federal government, Union Square had seen many protests in its time. On this day, the protesters were the environmentally minded, the defense of nature being their common calling.
As Walter Marshal’s motorcade rolled up and stopped in front of the Capitol Spire, the protestors surged forward against the lines of police officers who kept the angry mass of protesters behind a row of barricades.
Journalists and photographers, cameramen and reporters swarmed the luxury limousine in the middle of the motorcade as Marshal stepped out of his air conditioned passenger compartment and into the tangibly smoggy air of the capitol.
“Mr. Marshal,” asked a reporter, shoving a microphone into the business executive’s face. “What is your response to the accusations that your corporate group has damaged the ecosystem of the – “
“The Marshal Anderson Group has always acted in accordance with the environmental regulations of this nation,” interrupted Marshal as a pair of his bodyguards shouldered the press out of their employer’s path.
“Mr. Marshal, what do you feel that MAG’s ethic responsibilities are in the lawsuit by the Sierra Club regarding your – “
“No comment,” said Marshal, pushing another microphone away from his face. Photographers lifted their cameras high above their heads, snapping photos continuously as Marshal made his way up the massive stairs of the entrance into the Capitol Spire.
“Do you feel that the government grants your corporate group special treatment because of its position as the second largest employer in the nation?” asked a reporter as Marshal walked more quickly, hoping to escape their questions.
“Sir, the new Surgeon General’s report regarding air quality – “
“Claims of irrevocable damage to the outlying wetlands – “
“Allegations that you will strip-mine the natural resources of this new – “
While the questions differed, the answer remained the same.
“No comment.”
*****
Foreign Secretary Jaeger watched as a giant paper version of himself was lit aflame by protesters. Atleast, he thought it was himself – it was a bit hard to tell, since the effigy had been given a monocle and a top hat.
A knock at the door interrupted his idle thoughts.
“Come in,” he said, turning around to greet his guest.
“Sir Jaeger,” said Marshal respectfully, extending a handshake to the Foreign Secretary.
“Please, have a seat, Mr. Marshal,” said Jaeger. “Can we get you something to drink? Tea, coffee?”
“Thank you, I’m quite fine,” said Marshal, sitting down. He set his briefcase on his lap, snapping it open.
“I think you’ll find the Marshal Anderson Group’s plans for Terra Recedentia to be quite superior to those of our competitors” said Marshal, pulling out a thick folder. "I know you've seen most of these already, but a new soil analysis..."
Jaeger watched the business executive, examined him, and ignored the files and folders and reports that he piled onto the massive oak desk.
It had all started some months ago, when Terra Recedentia, the massive continent far from the Democratic Colonies’ borders, caught the attention of the public at large. The massive, relatively untouched continent, competitive with Africa in terms of sheer size, seemed like something out of a storybook for the overcrowded citydwellers of the Colonies. The public thought it was ripe for adventure, for discovery, but even the most starry eyed citizen soon realized the economic potential of Terra Recedentia as well. The Democratic Colonies needed oil, food, natural resources of every description. The only question wasn’t if, or not even when, but who would oversee the harvesting of these newly discovered resources? Only a corporate giant would be able to properly make use of the vast potential of the unexplored lands of Terra Recedentia, the government believed. That much had been decided – what remained, was the question of whether Marshal Anderson was the right corporate giant for the job.
“… our shipping assets should be able to offer frequent transportation to and from Terra Recedentia, with minimal Naval escort,” said Marshal, continuing to speak as Jaeger sized him up.
“Show me on the map,” said Jaeger, pointing at a massive LCD screen that occupied an entire wall of his spacious office. The flatscreen flickered to life as Marshal approached, displaying a map of Terra Recedentia.
“Show me your plan,” said Jaeger. “I’ve read the reports, but I want to hear it from you.”
“We set up a port here ( http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v207/JC_Denton/5045608a.gif),” said Marshal, drawing a box with his finger around a natural bay. It was instantly highlighted as his touch was detected.
“We build a port here, as we already have a deal with the local natives to do,” he continued. “The locals at the end of this major river here are friendly, but less then advanced. No electricity, only some running water, and most critically, under constant assault from the barbarian tribes to the east of them. They’ve held back the barbarian tribesmen with some basic firearms – bolt action rifles, mainly, with large automatic weapons serving as fixed defenses. They recognize, however, that we can provide a better protection for them from the barbarian tribes –“
“Look, you need to stop saying that,” interrupted Jaeger. “Please tell me you don’t say that infront of the press? They’ll eat you alive for that kind of comment.”
“Ofcourse not,” said Marshal, “but that’s what those tribesmen are. I’ve read reports from our friends at the riverside – the tribesmen are violent murderers, rapists, aggressive conquerors.”
“Have you independently confirmed this?” asked Jaeger.
“No,” admitted Marshal, “we haven’t been able to. My people on the ground though, saw the corpses recovered by the Gyndillians – those are the people at the end of the river – my people saw the corpses of a Gyndillian foot patrol that had been ambushed by the tribesmen to the east. They had been mutilated, Sir Jaeger, cut and ripped apart, mutilated beyond any semblance of their former humanity. There are photos of this violence – the tribesmen of the east are savages, barbarian hordes that the Gyndillians want our protection from.”
“Alright, alright,” said Jaeger, noncommitally. “Tell me more about the arrangement with these Gyndillians.”
“MAG prospectors set it up,” said Marshal. “I know that government negotiators working with prospectors from Perim Nealon Regal didn’t get much progress with their negotiations with the tribe at the rivermouth to the south, but we managed to clear a deal with the Gyndillians. They’re ruled by a Council of Elders, who they believe are guided by the spirits of their dead ancestors. This Council of Elders tells us that they’ve been at war with the uncivilized tribes to the east for generations, and that they want our protection and our modern technology - healthcare in paticular. In exchange, we will be able to build a port, they will integrate into the portside town that we intend to build, assist us in construction, and help direct us to local resources.”
“Your report stated that you weren’t clear on what, if any local resources existed,” said Jaeger. “The prospectors from Perim Nealon Regal believe that they’ve already located a vein of iron at the rivermouth south of yours.”
“But they don’t have a settlement deal,” countered Marshal, “And we do. Besides, even if there aren’t any local resources, no oil or steel or natural gasses within a 200 kilometre radius, we already intend to explore downriver anyways. And even ignoring that, the land should be suitable for farming – we have specialists being sent there right now to verify this.”
Jaeger was silent as he considered Marshal’s words.
“You’re not exactly the most popular figure in the Democratic Colonies right now,” said Jaeger simply.
“Federal spin doctors are the best in the business,” replied Marshal. “I’m sure you’d be able to spin me positively.”
Jaeger leaned forwards, putting his hands together on his desk.
“Perim Nealon Regal guaranteed the creation of 20,000 jobs on Terra Recedentia within one year,” Jaeger said. He eyed Marshal expectantly.
“Then I’ll guarantee the creation of 20,000 jobs on Terra Recedentia within three months, not counting the Gyndillians” said Marshal confidently. “I have the local support. I have the manpower. I have the will – all I need is military protection, on the sea from pirates and on the ground from those tribal savages.”
The two men locked eyes as billions of dollars hung in the balance.
“You’ll do it then,” said Jaeger at last, rising from his seat. He walked over to the beaming Walter Marshal, shaking his hand once more.
“I’ll send it back to the Legislative Assembly, it’ll take a few weeks,” said Jaeger.
“That’s fine,” said Marshal. “With your recommendation, they’ll give me the contract. You’re their golden boy – they’ll trust your judgement.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” said Jaeger as Marshal began to collect his papers from the desk.
“Come on,” smiled Marshal. “Have we ever let you down?”