Azazia
22-12-2006, 16:53
Founded in the 18th century by British immigrants, primarily from South West England, the city of Devonport grew to importance as the chief British rival of the nearby American colonial port city of Philadelphia, named after its own settlers’ hometown. While Philadelphia offered the larger and deeper harbour, Devonport remained critical as a gateway to the British colonies on the south shores of Bennington. This all changed, however, in the 19th century when the British came to govern the American colony, and when the potential of a great port in Philadelphia came to surpass that great port already built in Devon. And so, over the decades, the ships had begun to leave Devonport for Philadelphia leaving the smaller port city, smaller but still large at near 18 million, to handle overflow and maritime construction.
It was in the latter that Vickers had come to be a fixture in the Devonport community. For just over a century it had been building commercial and military ships first from wood and then from steel and now aluminium and titanium. Its larger facilities were now operated in Philadelphia but for publicity and community relations, the company continued to operate small docks in Devonport as well as maintained its corporate headquarters in the city.
The headquarters, a modestly large—but environmentally friendly—steel skeleton sheathed in blue-green glass, was where Geoffrey Covington spent the majority of his time as executive director of the company. He had steered the firm into becoming the second largest manufacturer of ships after Breningrad Shipyards—although Vickers still focused heavily on civilian ships such as tankers and freighters, with only occasional forays into small displacement warships. His office was on the 85th floor, overlooking the Pacific and the white cumulus clouds drifting lazily southward deeper and further into the Pacific.
Yet his mind was elsewhere, a nation small compared to the United Kingdom, but one where his company could make a potentially profitable investment if he played his cards just right. Indeed, on his wall-mounted flat screen, a map of a distant land was displayed in vivid—therefore colour enhanced—satellite detail. Along the coast, a box highlighted a small port city, similar to Devonport in all likelihood, and similar in holding assets of Garibaldi and Emanuelle Military Industries, a firm based in Nueve Italia that had recently expanded into a new field of naval construction that interested Covington and the senior-most members of the board: that of small, personal submersible vehicles—billed as underwater fighters by GEMI.
Finally, he heard what he wanted, a knock on the heavy wooden doors to his office—the wood taken from the remains of a frigate built by Vickers many years ago. “Come in, Reginald,” Covington replied evenly. He watched the door open, and his slight-of-build with hair of a distinguished grey colour, walk into the office, his brown eyes quickly settling on the executive director and letting his small lips form a polite smile.
“Good afternoon, Geoffrey, you wished to see me?”
“Yes, old friend, I did. Please,” Covington gestured towards a large leather-backed chair opposite his desk. He waited until his friend sat down, easing his back into the worn leather. “I have a mission for you, of great importance to me and I believe to the future of this company.” Covington pointed towards the wall behind Reginald and thus to the map of Nueve Italia.
“Nueve Italia, no?” Reginald inquired, “I seem to remember that the Government gave them aid some time ago?”
“Perhaps, but that is of no real consequence at the moment for we have an opportunity to turn a nice little profit because of a company based there, in Nueve Italia.”
“Is that so,” Reginald asked, turning back to face Covington. “Well, speak, my friend, go on.”
“Garibaldi and Emanuelli Military Industries,” Covington pressed a button on a hidden remote to change the screen to a view of the company logo and main offices, “produces military hardware, primarily for the domestic market—but they are seeking to expand and capitalise on the enormous market for such goods abroad.”
“I wish the Marquess would come to the same conclusion,” Reginald muttered under his breath, eliciting a knowing smile from Covington, who then continued on with his small brief.
“Of late they have introduced a line of submersible designed for the use of a single person—but the domestic market is rather small and their foray into the international market has left them with the need to generate capital and expand their production facilities to meet demand.” Covington changed the image to views of the various models of submersibles. “I have already begun small discussions with GEMI over the possibility of the sale of 49% of their shares to be purchased by Vickers, freeing up the company to expand their production facilities while allowing us to turn a profit on the success of the submersibles.”
Reginald nodded, and then turned back to look at his friend. “Why not buy them outright, or at least gain a controlling majority share?”
“Fear of foreign control, especially in defence industries is not just an Oceanian problem, Reginald. The company has expressed concerns that if we went for such a large offer that the government would reject the bid in the name of national security—and thus we would lose access to the company for sure.” Covington then leaned back into his own chair and switched off the small presentation. “I would like for you to represent Vickers in Nueve Italia to formally agree to the deal—all the ceremony and such.”
Several hours later, Reginald Kendrick watched contentedly as his personal assistants loaded his luggage onboard the small Vickers’ executive jet that would carry him to Nueve Italia. It took but half an hour to prepare the plane for its flight, and so Kendrick quickly found himself pushed back against the plush, upholstered furniture inside the aircraft. It would take at least several hours to reach the country, the drawback of living in such a geographically isolated archipelago state. He therefore dug from his pocket the small mp3 player made by Nison given to him as a gift by his granddaughter and set it to some soothing symphonic pieces by Dvorak. A long flight indeed.
It was in the latter that Vickers had come to be a fixture in the Devonport community. For just over a century it had been building commercial and military ships first from wood and then from steel and now aluminium and titanium. Its larger facilities were now operated in Philadelphia but for publicity and community relations, the company continued to operate small docks in Devonport as well as maintained its corporate headquarters in the city.
The headquarters, a modestly large—but environmentally friendly—steel skeleton sheathed in blue-green glass, was where Geoffrey Covington spent the majority of his time as executive director of the company. He had steered the firm into becoming the second largest manufacturer of ships after Breningrad Shipyards—although Vickers still focused heavily on civilian ships such as tankers and freighters, with only occasional forays into small displacement warships. His office was on the 85th floor, overlooking the Pacific and the white cumulus clouds drifting lazily southward deeper and further into the Pacific.
Yet his mind was elsewhere, a nation small compared to the United Kingdom, but one where his company could make a potentially profitable investment if he played his cards just right. Indeed, on his wall-mounted flat screen, a map of a distant land was displayed in vivid—therefore colour enhanced—satellite detail. Along the coast, a box highlighted a small port city, similar to Devonport in all likelihood, and similar in holding assets of Garibaldi and Emanuelle Military Industries, a firm based in Nueve Italia that had recently expanded into a new field of naval construction that interested Covington and the senior-most members of the board: that of small, personal submersible vehicles—billed as underwater fighters by GEMI.
Finally, he heard what he wanted, a knock on the heavy wooden doors to his office—the wood taken from the remains of a frigate built by Vickers many years ago. “Come in, Reginald,” Covington replied evenly. He watched the door open, and his slight-of-build with hair of a distinguished grey colour, walk into the office, his brown eyes quickly settling on the executive director and letting his small lips form a polite smile.
“Good afternoon, Geoffrey, you wished to see me?”
“Yes, old friend, I did. Please,” Covington gestured towards a large leather-backed chair opposite his desk. He waited until his friend sat down, easing his back into the worn leather. “I have a mission for you, of great importance to me and I believe to the future of this company.” Covington pointed towards the wall behind Reginald and thus to the map of Nueve Italia.
“Nueve Italia, no?” Reginald inquired, “I seem to remember that the Government gave them aid some time ago?”
“Perhaps, but that is of no real consequence at the moment for we have an opportunity to turn a nice little profit because of a company based there, in Nueve Italia.”
“Is that so,” Reginald asked, turning back to face Covington. “Well, speak, my friend, go on.”
“Garibaldi and Emanuelli Military Industries,” Covington pressed a button on a hidden remote to change the screen to a view of the company logo and main offices, “produces military hardware, primarily for the domestic market—but they are seeking to expand and capitalise on the enormous market for such goods abroad.”
“I wish the Marquess would come to the same conclusion,” Reginald muttered under his breath, eliciting a knowing smile from Covington, who then continued on with his small brief.
“Of late they have introduced a line of submersible designed for the use of a single person—but the domestic market is rather small and their foray into the international market has left them with the need to generate capital and expand their production facilities to meet demand.” Covington changed the image to views of the various models of submersibles. “I have already begun small discussions with GEMI over the possibility of the sale of 49% of their shares to be purchased by Vickers, freeing up the company to expand their production facilities while allowing us to turn a profit on the success of the submersibles.”
Reginald nodded, and then turned back to look at his friend. “Why not buy them outright, or at least gain a controlling majority share?”
“Fear of foreign control, especially in defence industries is not just an Oceanian problem, Reginald. The company has expressed concerns that if we went for such a large offer that the government would reject the bid in the name of national security—and thus we would lose access to the company for sure.” Covington then leaned back into his own chair and switched off the small presentation. “I would like for you to represent Vickers in Nueve Italia to formally agree to the deal—all the ceremony and such.”
Several hours later, Reginald Kendrick watched contentedly as his personal assistants loaded his luggage onboard the small Vickers’ executive jet that would carry him to Nueve Italia. It took but half an hour to prepare the plane for its flight, and so Kendrick quickly found himself pushed back against the plush, upholstered furniture inside the aircraft. It would take at least several hours to reach the country, the drawback of living in such a geographically isolated archipelago state. He therefore dug from his pocket the small mp3 player made by Nison given to him as a gift by his granddaughter and set it to some soothing symphonic pieces by Dvorak. A long flight indeed.