NationStates Jolt Archive


Terra Recedentia: A Partnership Forged

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?”
Democratic Colonies
03-08-2006, 01:31
Six Weeks Later

The modest flotilla was holding a position off the coast from the DC settlement on the mainland, as the port, while under construction, was still far from finished. While the force would be considered small by any modern maritime power, it was a far cry from the sights normally witnessed by the native Gyndillians of the settlement, who watched the vessels with curiousity in thier eyes.

On one of the vessels, unknown to the Gyndillians however, Foreign Under Secretary Westinghouse looked back upon the mainland with a look of curiousity on her face that mirrored those of the natives that gazed upon her vessel.

Westinghouse was standing against the railings of a crusier's open deck, dressed in a conservative grey pantsuit that she was already too hot in. While the Gyndillians had much to learn of how the world of the 21st century worked, Westinghouse recognized that she too had much to learn of how life worked in the developing areas of wilderness that were the seasonal rainforests of Terra Recedentia.

The DC settlement, named Gyndillia by the natives, would be the home of Under Secretary Westinghouse for atleast half a year as the settlement got on its feet. Secretary Jaeger had agreed when Westinghouse said that Gyndillia needed a senior diplomat to oversee its development, but had been as suprised as the rest of the government when the 36 year old Under Secretary had requested the placement herself.

"How this develops is going to critically impact the Federated Union for the next century," she remembered telling Jaeger.

"You need me there. There's too much at stake."

She smiled as she thought of the look of shock on Jaeger's face as she told her older friend of her wishes.

"Lady Westinghouse," came a voice from behind her, interupting her thoughts.

"Commander McCain," said Westinghouse pleasantly, recognizing the accent of the Irish naval officer. "Come, stand by me."

"My Lady," said the Commander as he took a position beside the Under Secretary. He placed his hands on the railing.

"They are prepared for your reception on Gyndillia, my Lady," said McCain. "Our helicopter is ready and waiting to take you to the settlement."

"I take it you won't be joining us on the settlement, since you're not in your dress uniform," said Westinghouse, noting the Commander's khaki duty uniform.

"No, my Lady," said McCain. "Colonel Auckland will be assigning you a new military liason officer on the mainland."

"Well then, I wish you well," said Westinghouse, extending a slender, manicured hand to the Commander. "You have performed your role excellently, and it was a pleasure working with you."

"Thank you, my Lady," said McCain proudly as he shook her hand gingerly.

"I had better get on my way," said Westinghouse after a pause. "I don't want to keep the Elders of Gyndillia waiting long."

*****

The doors of the Blackhawk helicopter slid open, prompting the flashes of cameras as the Under Secretary planted her high heeled feet onto the recently paved surface of Terra Recedentia.

"ATTEN-TION!" shouted an FUDC soldier, his voice loud enough to carry over the dying of the Blackhawks engines. The response was palpable as the two long rows of uniformed personnel stiffened before her.

The FUDC forces stood in a row to Westinghouse's right, thier maroon red jackets and shining steel shoulder pauldrons set on thier right shoulders making them instantly recognizable in thier dress uniforms. DCR-6 (http://z13.invisionfree.com/The_NS_Draftroom/index.php?showtopic=1296&st=0&hl=) rifles were held in parade position, thier attached bayonets gleaming in the bright sunlight. Ceremonial sabres, a throwback to battles long past, hung at the ready in metallic sheaths. Berets of various colours signified thier services, acting as the only differentiating factor of thier uniforms.

The men and occasional woman on Westinghouses left took a moment for her to identify as the corporate security forces of the Marshal Anderson Group - MagSec, they were commonly refered to - standing shoulder to shoulder with members of the Gyndillian militia. The MagSec employees held onto German designed G-36 rifles stiffly, while the Gyndillian milita held bolt action rifles in thier grasps.

Both rows of men and women stood as still as rocks as the national anthem of the Democratic Colonies was played by a military band, and remained as statues as the band finished, the press snapping photos the entire way.

Westinghouse walked in a straight line between the two rows of uniformed personnel, until she reached a number of important people who had been assembled to greet her.

"Lady Westinghouse," said one middle aged man, dressed in a suit and tie. A small amount of sweat was visible on his face as he shook hands with the Under Secretary. "My name is Brandon Bonaduce, corporate site manager from Marshal Anderson. Welcome to Terra Recedentia."

"My Lady, can we get a photo of you and Mr. Bonaduce shaking hands and looking this way?" asked a photographer, prompting the two to pose for a sudden storm of flashbulbs.

"My Lady, I'm Colonel Auckland, Army," said a man as Westinghouse moved to shake his hand. The green beret on his head served as a reminder of his service.

"And this is Major Sykes," continued Auckland, introducing a petite blond woman with a blue beret on her head. "She is the highest ranking officer of Peacekeeper Command in Terra Recedentia, and so is serving as my executive officer in our joint Peacekeeper-Army mission."

"Pleased to meet both of you," said Westinghouse as the cameras continued to capture the moment.

"My Lady," began an elderly man, his little remaining hair a shock of pure white. He spoke in halting, sometimes broken English.

"I am Jo'Han-Sown," he said slowly, "and I wel... welcome you on behalf of Gyndillian Elders, of I am... head."

"I am honored to accept your welcome," said Westinghouse slowly as she shook the hand of the frail old man.

"We shall have peace, we have made peace," said the old man again, as a flurry of camera flashes reflected on his wrinkled skin.

"Yes, Jo'Han-Sown, we have made peace," nodded Westinghouse warmly.

The photo of the elderly, frail tribal leader taking with both hands the handshake of the youthful, attractive FUDC official was on the front page of every major newspaper in the Democratic Colonies the next morning, commonly seen as a photo not only of two people shaking hands, but of the very nature of the relationship with the Gyndillians.