Bjornoya
14-09-2006, 08:52
Herrgott Sedaht Rand sat alone in his lavish library piecing the last bits together. Ruling was not as fun as overthrowing, but he knew when a job was finished. For the past decade Bjornoya silently thrived; dollar by dollar, brick by brick, bullet by bullet. The bloodshed that had engulfed the early years of the Federation seemed a distant memory. It had been nearly 4 years since the collapse of the evil empire and 3 years had past since Bjornoya solidified its African claims and helped form TATO.
Politics were dull, the fiery tempers that sparked during the assimilation had since simmered. Debates over moral imperialism, regional freedom, and economic determinism seemed to bore not only the employees but the leaders as well. Political thought withered, the most recent Patriarchal Decree against the ‘Give-a-Penny-Take-a-Penny’ system was hardly controversial yet alone necessary. “Such systems devaluate and trivialize the power of the Bjornoyan dollar, creating an atmosphere of irresponsible monetary behaviors…” oh bullshit, was there really nothing better for him to do now? Was this pitiful mediocrity the end of the life he had led so far? Decrees, bills, budgets, press conferences, constant flattery and criticisms from people he had never met and couldn’t give a damn about. Sedaht knew his tyranny would not breed from having too much power, but from having nothing to do with the power he had acquired.
What had happened? He knew his actions in the early years sealed the fate of his country and people and in ways shook the very foundations of the world. But now the system had stabilized to the point where everyone seemed expendable. Even if he and the other Herrgotts simply disappeared the people would go about their daily lives blindly following the customs and habits that he had instilled within them over so many years. In a way the Patriarch felt immortal. In a way the Patriarch felt dead.
He looked disdainfully at the puzzle that lay before him; an abstract fruit basket by some dreary Bjornoyan contemporary. The lost piece bothered him. Something was missing, something was lost. He could feel it and he was not quite sure what. The Patriarch abandoned his project, stretched his arms and prepared for rest.
Fraugott Lucy Rand stood watching the first day of class for the students of Ivory Middle School in Lakitu, Bjornoyan Zanzibar. The educational program, or re-educational program was nearly complete. In Bjornoyan Africa as in the rest of the Federation individual freedoms had been compromised for the sake of economic efficiency. For the first time in centuries African children would live in peaceful suburbs, listen to radios, eat Häagen-Dazs, use computers. For the first time they would have the chance to become scientists, statesmen, lawyers, or artists. For the first time ever African children would be told or in the Corporation’s terms ‘guided’ into appropriate professions that would better serve the needs of the expanding community.
Lucy looked at the blissfully optimistic faces of the energetic youth, unaware of the forces that were controlling them. Perhaps this is where they had failed at achieving happiness. They were obviously happier than their elders who knew their masters. Ignorance was bliss. For a moment she wondered if perhaps her time spent with the masses had done more harm than good. The thought died as soon as she saw the smiles on their faces.
Still, something was wrong. For years Lucy had traveled to all corners of the Federation trying to better understand her people. She knew what they loved, what they hated, what they held dear, what their priorities were, and how they went about the trivial concerns of their days. Yet even now the Bjornoyan mainlanders and Africans seemed as distant as ever. The Federation might have acquired vast lands and great riches but it would never be complete until its people were one.
Lucy flipped through a dull Bjornoyan textbook displaying dates of events, important people, and various accomplishments. Her own entry seemed obscure as if no-one was quite sure what it was the Fraugott did for her state. Ever since the revolution Lucy had made it a personal quest to try and understand her people and how to make them better. She had to bear the burdens of communicating the Patriarch’s will to the masses, and echo the response of millions back. Was she nothing but an intermediate, an upgradeable and replaceable component of an overburdened bureaucracy? Was that all?
Lucy sighed. Something was missing and the Heart of State was not sure what.
Herrgott Jacksehn Hegel stared silently at his newest toys. Power was knowledge, or so he was told. Therefore lack of knowledge was weakness. It was impressive to look at if you knew what to be looking for. He looked to the sky and did not see stars, but he saw a network of hundreds of Federal Bjornoyan satellites looking back at him. He looked to the sea and did not hear the waves, but he heard the pulse of the extensive defensive matrices shielding his homeland. As he walked he did not feel the earth beneath his feet, he felt an uncertain terror and joy like a child at play.
Running the Bjornoyan Federal defenses was boring, almost as dull as being a Bjornoyan politician. With the absolute domination by the Corporation over daily lives Federal policing consisted of parking tickets, speeding violations, and maintaining curfew hours, firemen saved cats from trees, and paramedics made presentations about the dangers of aspartame or some other insignificant subject to local schools and corporate dwelling places. The only real action was down in Africa, and even that was being monopolized by Visara.
The absolute tediousness of the day-to-day activities gnawed at the soldier’s mind. Without violence he could make no peace. Where there was no conflict he had no use. Where there were no victims there could be no heroes. The lackadaisical attitude, the care-free and want-free society he lived in sickened him. The lack of responsibility, the lack of pain and suffering present in the country left the citizens pitifully weak. A thousand complaints if a television program was not shown the proper hour, God knows what these spoiled brats would do if the power went out.
About the only thing keeping him interested in his job were the newest technological advances and his collection of foreign weapons of mass destruction. Antiquated New Jyrian atomic devices, biochemicals from the Ninjinian Empire, nukes from Chronosia and the Reich.
They were missing something, the others and the Left Hand of State knew what it was, he just didn’t know its place.
Herrgott Wilhelm Kaufmann smoked heavily as he looked over the quarterly review. Visaran stocks were leveling off after a brief drop. Profits were up, raises for everyone, the Panthean ordeal was nearly over and the last refugees were being sent home. Lithuania had stabilized, the weapons had been recovered. And Africa…Wilhelm day dreamed as the Gamma prattled on in front of him.
The continent was progressing rapidly. Assimilating the populace was difficult, but doable. The trick was to make the transformation a willing decision, but as always not make the user fully aware of what they were getting themselves into. Learning the language was not viewed as a requirement, but as an accomplishment. By learning the language, laws, and customs the Africans gained a sense of self-worth lacking in their previous environment. For those crucial years of re-education it also made them individuals again. Separated from their obsolete society in so many ways as they were ‘educated’ to the complexities of the system they desperately tried to grasp something safe and predictable as they watched their old world slip away. The corporation gladly reached out…
Still, that whole cleansing had not worked out as well as it could have. Rumors of the ‘Castrati,’ an organization of those who were ‘cured’ started to circulate amongst the higher-ups in the corporation. Wilhelm knew he would burn in hell for what he had instigated. Countless millions had shown up in that fateful September so hopeful that all the pain and death would go away. The only thing that was taken away was their lust for power, but not their lust for vengeance… Their hatred he could feel even from half a world away. The shallow rationales and rhetoric could only sooth his soul so much.
Power… Wilhelm had been drunk with it for ages yet not in the typical sense. Wilhelm was not an angry drunk. The wealth, women, and power left him with nothing but a deep sense of loss. Something primordial, something infantile had been left undisturbed for years deep within. Something was missing. Wilhelm had found the void, but did not know how to smother it.
Politics were dull, the fiery tempers that sparked during the assimilation had since simmered. Debates over moral imperialism, regional freedom, and economic determinism seemed to bore not only the employees but the leaders as well. Political thought withered, the most recent Patriarchal Decree against the ‘Give-a-Penny-Take-a-Penny’ system was hardly controversial yet alone necessary. “Such systems devaluate and trivialize the power of the Bjornoyan dollar, creating an atmosphere of irresponsible monetary behaviors…” oh bullshit, was there really nothing better for him to do now? Was this pitiful mediocrity the end of the life he had led so far? Decrees, bills, budgets, press conferences, constant flattery and criticisms from people he had never met and couldn’t give a damn about. Sedaht knew his tyranny would not breed from having too much power, but from having nothing to do with the power he had acquired.
What had happened? He knew his actions in the early years sealed the fate of his country and people and in ways shook the very foundations of the world. But now the system had stabilized to the point where everyone seemed expendable. Even if he and the other Herrgotts simply disappeared the people would go about their daily lives blindly following the customs and habits that he had instilled within them over so many years. In a way the Patriarch felt immortal. In a way the Patriarch felt dead.
He looked disdainfully at the puzzle that lay before him; an abstract fruit basket by some dreary Bjornoyan contemporary. The lost piece bothered him. Something was missing, something was lost. He could feel it and he was not quite sure what. The Patriarch abandoned his project, stretched his arms and prepared for rest.
Fraugott Lucy Rand stood watching the first day of class for the students of Ivory Middle School in Lakitu, Bjornoyan Zanzibar. The educational program, or re-educational program was nearly complete. In Bjornoyan Africa as in the rest of the Federation individual freedoms had been compromised for the sake of economic efficiency. For the first time in centuries African children would live in peaceful suburbs, listen to radios, eat Häagen-Dazs, use computers. For the first time they would have the chance to become scientists, statesmen, lawyers, or artists. For the first time ever African children would be told or in the Corporation’s terms ‘guided’ into appropriate professions that would better serve the needs of the expanding community.
Lucy looked at the blissfully optimistic faces of the energetic youth, unaware of the forces that were controlling them. Perhaps this is where they had failed at achieving happiness. They were obviously happier than their elders who knew their masters. Ignorance was bliss. For a moment she wondered if perhaps her time spent with the masses had done more harm than good. The thought died as soon as she saw the smiles on their faces.
Still, something was wrong. For years Lucy had traveled to all corners of the Federation trying to better understand her people. She knew what they loved, what they hated, what they held dear, what their priorities were, and how they went about the trivial concerns of their days. Yet even now the Bjornoyan mainlanders and Africans seemed as distant as ever. The Federation might have acquired vast lands and great riches but it would never be complete until its people were one.
Lucy flipped through a dull Bjornoyan textbook displaying dates of events, important people, and various accomplishments. Her own entry seemed obscure as if no-one was quite sure what it was the Fraugott did for her state. Ever since the revolution Lucy had made it a personal quest to try and understand her people and how to make them better. She had to bear the burdens of communicating the Patriarch’s will to the masses, and echo the response of millions back. Was she nothing but an intermediate, an upgradeable and replaceable component of an overburdened bureaucracy? Was that all?
Lucy sighed. Something was missing and the Heart of State was not sure what.
Herrgott Jacksehn Hegel stared silently at his newest toys. Power was knowledge, or so he was told. Therefore lack of knowledge was weakness. It was impressive to look at if you knew what to be looking for. He looked to the sky and did not see stars, but he saw a network of hundreds of Federal Bjornoyan satellites looking back at him. He looked to the sea and did not hear the waves, but he heard the pulse of the extensive defensive matrices shielding his homeland. As he walked he did not feel the earth beneath his feet, he felt an uncertain terror and joy like a child at play.
Running the Bjornoyan Federal defenses was boring, almost as dull as being a Bjornoyan politician. With the absolute domination by the Corporation over daily lives Federal policing consisted of parking tickets, speeding violations, and maintaining curfew hours, firemen saved cats from trees, and paramedics made presentations about the dangers of aspartame or some other insignificant subject to local schools and corporate dwelling places. The only real action was down in Africa, and even that was being monopolized by Visara.
The absolute tediousness of the day-to-day activities gnawed at the soldier’s mind. Without violence he could make no peace. Where there was no conflict he had no use. Where there were no victims there could be no heroes. The lackadaisical attitude, the care-free and want-free society he lived in sickened him. The lack of responsibility, the lack of pain and suffering present in the country left the citizens pitifully weak. A thousand complaints if a television program was not shown the proper hour, God knows what these spoiled brats would do if the power went out.
About the only thing keeping him interested in his job were the newest technological advances and his collection of foreign weapons of mass destruction. Antiquated New Jyrian atomic devices, biochemicals from the Ninjinian Empire, nukes from Chronosia and the Reich.
They were missing something, the others and the Left Hand of State knew what it was, he just didn’t know its place.
Herrgott Wilhelm Kaufmann smoked heavily as he looked over the quarterly review. Visaran stocks were leveling off after a brief drop. Profits were up, raises for everyone, the Panthean ordeal was nearly over and the last refugees were being sent home. Lithuania had stabilized, the weapons had been recovered. And Africa…Wilhelm day dreamed as the Gamma prattled on in front of him.
The continent was progressing rapidly. Assimilating the populace was difficult, but doable. The trick was to make the transformation a willing decision, but as always not make the user fully aware of what they were getting themselves into. Learning the language was not viewed as a requirement, but as an accomplishment. By learning the language, laws, and customs the Africans gained a sense of self-worth lacking in their previous environment. For those crucial years of re-education it also made them individuals again. Separated from their obsolete society in so many ways as they were ‘educated’ to the complexities of the system they desperately tried to grasp something safe and predictable as they watched their old world slip away. The corporation gladly reached out…
Still, that whole cleansing had not worked out as well as it could have. Rumors of the ‘Castrati,’ an organization of those who were ‘cured’ started to circulate amongst the higher-ups in the corporation. Wilhelm knew he would burn in hell for what he had instigated. Countless millions had shown up in that fateful September so hopeful that all the pain and death would go away. The only thing that was taken away was their lust for power, but not their lust for vengeance… Their hatred he could feel even from half a world away. The shallow rationales and rhetoric could only sooth his soul so much.
Power… Wilhelm had been drunk with it for ages yet not in the typical sense. Wilhelm was not an angry drunk. The wealth, women, and power left him with nothing but a deep sense of loss. Something primordial, something infantile had been left undisturbed for years deep within. Something was missing. Wilhelm had found the void, but did not know how to smother it.